The Curse of Koshiu: A Chronicle of Old Japan

  Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books

  Transcriber's Notes:

  1. Page scan source: https://books.google.com/books?id=UCQXAAAAYAAJ

  2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]; "y" with a circumflex above by [^y]; "o" with a macron above by [=o].

  THE CURSE OF KOSHIU.

  _A CHRONICLE OF OLD JAPAN_.

  BY

  The Honble. LEWIS WINGFIELD,

  AUTHOR OF "LADY ORIZEL," "IN HER MAJESTY'S KEEPING," "ABIGEL ROWE," "BARBARA PHILPOT," ETC.

  LONDON: WARD & DOWNEY, 12 YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. * * * 1888.

  [_All Rights reserved_.]

  EDINBURGH COLSTON AND COMPANY PRINTERS

  CONTENTS.

  CHAPTER I.

  Boy and Girl.

  CHAPTER II.

  The Last Hojo.

  CHAPTER III.

  Married Life.

  CHAPTER IV.

  The Abbess gives Advice.

  CHAPTER V.

  The Farmer girds His Loins.

  CHAPTER VI.

  The Young Mikado.

  CHAPTER VII.

  The Farmer's Sentence.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  Destiny is Busy.

  CHAPTER IX.

  The Execution.

  CHAPTER X.

  Forebodings.

  CHAPTER XI.

  The Curse begins to Work.

  CHAPTER XII.

  The Daimio of Nara Begins to Work.

  CHAPTER XIII.

  The Despot obeys Orders.

  CHAPTER XIV.

  The Mikado does Business.

  CHAPTER XV.

  Will Buddha Speak?

  CHAPTER XVI.

  Masago takes the Reins.

  CHAPTER XVII.

  Under the Moon.

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  Face to Face.

  CHAPTER XIX.

  The Web Is Woven.

  THE CURSE OF KOSHIU.

  CHAPTER I.

  BOY AND GIRL.

  It was towards the end of the fourteenth century that the grandeur ofthe Hojo family rose to its acme, then fell with awful crash. Thefeudal story of the Land of the Rising Sun is a long dark chronicle ofblood and tears, of crime and rapine, of vengeance and vendetta, outof which there glints at intervals a gleam of glorious heroism, ofholy devotion, of pure love and unsullied faith.

  In the stately roll of the great names of old Japan, there is none soterrible as Hojo. From time to time the patient people were ruled byone race or another of despots, cruel and selfish; the most cruel ofall, the Hojos. Even now, after five hundred years of war and havoc,of vain aspirations, power misused, and wrecked ambitions, mothersstill hush their babes to silence by breathing the dreaded name. Themost destructive insect that ravages the fairest island in theworld--the most voracious and omnivorous--is yet known as the Hojobeetle. When the first of the line erected a strong fortress--theCastle of Tsu, which will serve as background to many scenes in thisour chronicle--he gave to it a bloody baptism, by burying beneath thefoundations two hundred living men. Although their baleful course wasmarked by an ensanguined streak like a gory finger drawn across a map,they were not all black, these gruesome daimios, or even Buddha, whomwe know to be deaf, and prone to somnolence, would earlier in the dayhave bestirred himself to punish them. Maybe Buddha drinks too muchsake, for though we piously crack our finger-joints, and beat ourpalms, each morn at sunrise, and bang the gongs and pull thebell-strings each evening in the temple, he recks little of meremundane worries, letting things go from bad to worse in grievousfashion. And yet, once roused to wakefulness, his vengeance is swiftas the typhoon, as destructive and as sweeping.

  No. The lurid Hojo cloud that for a hundred years brooded overlong-suffering Japan, had silver breaks in it. The Mikados, as nominalrulers, dwelt at Ki[^y]oto; while the Shoguns, as military viceroys,reigned at Kamakura; but the dominating family, as wire-pullers,directed their movements from behind. The father of Hojo No-Kami, lastof the race, had his good points. None of his supercilious ancestorswas more superbly overbearing, more sublimely indifferent to humanpain; and yet his worst enemies were compelled to admit that, ifstern, his rule was sagacious. The Mikado, and his court of _kuges_ orlords-in-waiting, shivered before him, for his dirk was loose in thescabbard, and the order promptly to depart into another world byuncompromising _harakiri_ was ever trembling on his lips. During hiscareer three emperors had been summoned to shave their heads andretire into monkish solitude, each puppet bowled over in its turn fordaring to dispute his will; and yet the very fact of his disdaining tomask the iron hand under the glove of silk, even in dealing with thehighest, compelled the unwilling admiration of his turbulent andlight-hearted countrymen.

  The upper class--Samurai, two-sword men, hatamotos, soldiers--couldappreciate his martial bearing, as, in gallant bravery of scarletarmour and gold-studded helm, he rode forth to battle, with hismartial wife beside him. For the beautiful Tomoye was a fit mother forlion whelps. Of great personal strength as well as graceful carriage,sheathed in armour like her lord, astride on a swift horse, she wasever in the van of conflict. With her own hand she cut off the head ofa rival daimio who crossed swords with her; and when her lord died,pierced through the heart by an arrow she fought till she fell besidehim. The lower class of the unarmed--mechanics, mere farmers,paltry merchants--could also from their inferior standpoint admiretheir ruler, whilst grieving at his rough treatment of the HolyMikado--mystic head of all--for he protected the workers of the hivefrom the depredations of other tyrants. The burthen of taxes wasnicely weighed to suit the backs of the bearers. The ken of the Hojowas as piercing, and minutely attentive to details, as it wasfarsighted. A petition from the elders of the meanest village was sureof immediate attention. No petty feudal master, however recklesslybold or savagely contemptuous, dared to overstep his rights.

  The result of the adamantine rule of the last Hojo but one was peace.The land that was given over usually to turmoil and bloodshed, withintervals of complete anarchy, enjoyed rest for fifteen years, duringwhich the despot set himself to consolidate his power, and fix yetmore firmly the family yoke on the necks of lords and people.

  He had two sons, the elder of whom--by Japanese paradox--was treatedas if he had been the younger. Sampei, three years older than No-Kami,was the offspring of a second wife or concubine. The latter,heir-apparent, was the whelp of the war-queen Tomoye. Now in Japanconcubinage is a recognised institution, and the son of the handmaidis no bastard. And yet the child of the bondwoman is not co-heir withthe child of the f
ree. The latter, in the case of a great family, isundisputed head of the clan, and to him the former owes allegiance,however much older in years, in the same degree as lesser clansmen.The institution is so firmly welded into the constitution of the landas, save in a few cases, to preclude jealousy.

  Of course, as in all Eastern countries, ambitious men have striven tosupplant their brothers--have hacked off their heads and reigned intheir stead--but this does not affect the principle. The two sons ofHojo grew up side by side in perfect amity. Together they learned toride and wield the sword and spear under the approving gaze of theirmartial parents. They were both soldiers--with a difference. EvenTomoye was forced to admit that of the twain Sampei, son of theconcubine, was the most promising. His nature was clear and brightas running water, simple and unsmirched, unlike that of theheir-apparent. None more brave than he, more quick and skilful withhis weapons, more ready to smite hard and heavily; and yet on occasionhe could be soft and tender as a woman. A polished politeness andchivalrous demeanour were so innate in him as to win the admiration ofthe ladies. For seductive luxury he had nothing but contempt. No-Kami,on the other hand, if brave and skilled in arms, was fierce andselfish and debauched; overfond of the harem and perfumed bath andsake cup; sullen, too, as an ill-conditioned animal; brutal to women,ruthlessly tossing them aside like shattered toys when sated withtheir charms. People nodded their pates and whispered of him thetimeworn proverb which says that there is no seed to a great man. Insooth it has ever been a common thing in this otherwise favoured landto see a great house crumble into speedy ruin through the supinenessand debauchery of its sons.

  There was no need for anxiety as to the future of Sampei. A soldierand a gentleman to the tips of his trim finger-nails, his career, inthe most war-ridden of countries, was carved clear before him. It cameto pass that Corea, conquered long since by the Amazon Empress Jingo,threw off allegiance.. Who more fitted than doughty young Sampei toreduce the rebel to obedience? Accordingly, five years before thisstory opens, the gay young general, full of life and hope, andrippling with high spirits, bade a respectful farewell to the fatherhe was never to see again, a more tender one of his fond mother,Masago, who, like many another discarded concubine, was now the Abbessof a convent, and sailed with a fleet and army for Corea, whence newsarrived from time to time, praising his deeds of valour.

  As for the future of No-Kami, it was more difficult to prophesy, andhis parents were no little anxious. His prospects were splendid; butalthough his father had endeavoured to foresee contingencies, andbuild barriers against accidents, the path of the next tyrant mustneeds be beset with thorns. His _role_ in the future would be arduous,thick strewn with snares and difficulties. To keep the _entourage_ ofthe Mikado in subjection--to hold the daimios--powerful and wealthyprinces as sturdy as the barons of the English John--in the requisitecondition of meekness, would require more statecraft, diplomacy, andforce of iron will, than could be expected of a model youth. AndNo-Kami, as we have seen, was by no means a model youth. None knewbetter than his astute and experienced parent how difficult to a youngman this task would prove; none was more distinctly aware of the frailtenure of a despot's life. At any moment he, the father, might betaken, and what then would happen to his boy?

  Treachery stalks through the history of Japan. At any instant thedominant Hojo might be murdered under his son's eyes. Would theself-indulgent No-Kami be prepared with vigorous promptitude to avengethe slain, and, seizing the dropped reins, pursue his policy? Bothfather and mother sadly shook their heads. Even their partial visioncould not but perceive that the hope of the house was a leper,abnormally sinful, inclined to become a sybarite. Was this young manto be left to steer the bark without a pilot? Certainly not. In caseof anything unexpected arising, a staff must be prepared for him tolean upon. A man must be placed by his side, old in years and inexperience, whose position and wisdom would command respect, whoseinterest it would be to bestow sound advice and timely sage reproof.

  What better guide than a prudent father-in-law? What surer loadstoneto lure an embryo debauchee from the muddy byways of low company thana beautiful patrician bride? one of the pure and slender, refined andhigh-bred maidens of noble lineage--fair and sweet as the fragrantmountain-lily--who now, as five hundred years ago, are the brightestglory of Japan.

  A crafty combination this on the part of the warrior-statesman, whichwould doubtless have been crowned with success, if he had not chancedto live in a world where mischievous spirits delight in frustratingplans the most cleverly matured. Tomoye heard, and listened dubiously.Even among the most elevated Japanese, as well as in the highestEuropean circles, papas and mammas will differ as to the ideal bride.What was the precise article that would suit No-Kami? Unfortunatelythere was not time to have one specially ordered. Since perfection ischary of repetition, it was not to be expected that another Tomoye--astern yet loving lioness--could be found for the precious youth.Indeed, so recreant a scion was he of the stock, that he might haveobjected possibly to a muscular and fiery wife whose pastime was thechopping of heads. And yet not so. A true lion-whelp was he in bloodenjoyment. Even the low-born _Geisha_ singing girls who stocked hisharem, had often cried under his buffets, and shouted shame, withtears, at his barbarous treatment of his servants.

  Alas! how sad it is that even the most sapient in mundane experiencewill be guilty of errors sometimes that are patent to the lesser fry.Is it over-anxiety that blinds them? The problem was to put the fingeron a great noble--daimio among daimios--who could compare in descentand grandeur _almost_ with the line of Hojo; who, of weight incounsel, and rather cool than hot, would stem precipitate rashness. Hemust have no son, and but one daughter, and devoid therefore of theambition which accompanies male issue, must adopt his daughter'shusband as his son; and by thus uniting the two families in closestbonds, make their interests identical. The child of the magnate (giventhat the two were found) must be mentally perfect, and a vision ofcorporeal loveliness.

  "My dear!" quoth the broad-shouldered but practical Tomoye, as withone eye critically closed she assayed the temper of a brand new sword.The lady was apt to get vexed when her lord grew warm and garrulous."My dear," she observed, "we have many rounds of mortal life to climbere, reaching the summit, we attain Nirvana. Though you are goodenough to be blind to my blemishes, even I am not quite perfect.Perfection, in our present low cycle, is so very scarce, you know."With this she beamed upon her lord, whilst artlessly belying her wordsby approvingly fingering her muscles. She was inwardly aware, withpardonable pride, that no other daimio's daughter could boast such anarm as hers.

  My lord was provoked, and rubbed his nose. When you are erecting airytowers, practical people are exasperating. It was evident she hadgained a point, so she proceeded to follow it up.

  "Where in broad Japan do you propose to seek these paragons? This pinkof perfect daimios, and his yet more model child?"

  There was a tendency to irreverence in this tone, which requirednipping in the bud. The eye of the Mikado's master shot forth a gleam,before which even the lioness cowered. When his mind was made up, theHojo brooked no argument.

  "Be it as you will!" Tomoye dutifully murmured. "My lord is all-wise,all-powerful; his wife his willing slave. Go forth and seek theparagons, and let us hope you will find them soon."

  To please him whom she loved best on earth, Tomoye made believe to beconvinced; and yet her woman's tact whispered down in the deeprecesses of her manly bosom, that my lord, for all his wiliness, waswrong; that he was building a fool's paradise far up in [OE]ther, outof which her dear boy might tumble.

  Curious to relate, the paragons concerning whom she was tempted to bedisrespectful were not far to seek. With but little hocus-pocus fatherand daughter were conjured on the scene, as absolutely the "verything," to all appearance, as the cunning Hojo had conceived them. Hedeclared as much at least, and dutiful Tomoye acquiesced, slightlypinching her lips in silent protest. Instead of the "very thing" whichwas to bring about complete success before its time in o
ur wearypilgrimage of cycles, the mother's instinct beheld with propheticvision, in the proposed alliance, the worst elements of discord anddefeat,--of so dire and dread a tragedy as should shake Japan to itscentre, and annihilate the dominating house. Yet who was she, thewarrior wife reflected in her humility, to set up puny instinctsagainst the ripened statecraft of my lord? Her muscles were betterthan her brains. Should she presume to know more than he who held inhis hand Mikado, nobles, people?--whose nod was law in the landbeloved of Buddha? who had preserved it from contamination fromwithout? Her place was to bend before the will of the dictator, andoffer prayers for her husband and her son.

  * * * * *

  The most perfectly poetic spot in all poetic Japan, whose ensanguinedhistory is made beauteous to the eye of a fastidious posterity by theflora of chivalry and valour, is Nara.

  Lovely and secluded, sweet-smelling and umbrageous Nara! The Nara ofto-day--how much more the Nara of five hundred years ago--suggests tothe incursive foreigner a bit of Eden's garden.

  In very early times the central mart of Japanese opulence (which ebbedby-and-by to Ki[^y]oto), it came after a while to be recognised as thespecial home of holiness. Accepting the better part, it exchanged theshimmering sham glory of mundane ambition for the sheen reflected fromabove. Some twenty miles from Ki[^y]oto--time-honoured residence ofMikados, and therefore a sacred city--the small town of Nara stands ona plain surrounded by rugged hills. Passing through low grey streets,leaving on the left a huge and ornate pagoda, you enter a tangle ofwild greenery--an ideal wood of immense cryptomerias darkling skywardafter light. A jungle of variegated foliage, so sweet and fresh, maskshalf their altitude, while the undulating ground beneath is brokeninto verdant waves chequered with blossoms of all hues. This forest isvast and silent, save where a white-robed group of pilgrims sauntersalong its glades--undefended by barriers, save those of religiouscustom. And what more tough than they? If sprightly and given toskull-cracking, the Japanese live in terror of their deities, whowithout exception are vindictive. Buddha and the lesser lightsare awful and threatening and ever-present, and the favouritehunting-grounds of Buddha are the hallowed groves of Nara.

  The thickets teem with game. All kinds of coy animals which usuallyflee at sight of man, here hold undisputed sway. The intruder is ontheir territory, and they let him know it. The timorous doe standswith soft unstartled eyes across the path, sniffing with moistnostrils the expected cake. And if the white-clad pilgrim should havestriven to combine economy with cure of soul by investing in cheapofferings, the scornful stag and his following will shake their ears,and bound away to relate to the gods the insult. With head on oneside, birds look critically down from boughs, nor think of flight;hares, taught by impunity, instead of making off, white scut in air,groom nose with paw, undaunted.

  Hidden away, centre of an intricate labyrinth--enclosed in manycourts, each hung with myriad lamps in bronze-like fringes round theeaves--stands the Holy of Holies, Buddha's hunting-box, wherein a bandof virgins perform weird shinto rites for the behoof of awe-struckpilgrims. At stated seasons this bevy of priestesses, emerging fromstrict retirement, performs the _kagura_, a slow swanlike measure,with many and intricate figures and waving of fans and bells andkerchiefs, accompanied by priestly flutes--which (doubtless good forthe soul, since its weary length is interminable) is soothing also toear and eye, for the ladies are graceful and slender in their loosered trousers and gossamer robes, their long locks flowing as theyfloat to and fro, with a background of gold screens, and beyond theantique forest. How peaceful a life, free from sordid cares, mustthese holy damsels lead! Far from the fretful striving of the churlishworld--its hate and jealousy and bitterness and disillusion--no callto arms or shock of war invades this calm retreat. They shareungrudgingly their Eden with the beasts and butterflies, guileless andcontent as they, strumming the three-stringed samisen, sailing throughmaze of solemn _kagura_, doing tender service in the temple.

  Among the troop of maidens was one who wore no religious habit.Although she had taken no vows, priests and virgins loved her as muchas if one of themselves. Brought up among them with the hares andbirds for comrades, as stately and as gentle as the deer, she sharedfrom childhood, being motherless, their pure and contemplative life.Strangers often said that the fairest thing in lovely Nara was thetall and pale O'Tei. Some compared her to the unblown white lotos asit sways dreamily in the breeze. Others dubbed her pearl; but laterall agreed that young Sanjo the armourer was delivered of the neatestsimile when he fashioned a white fawn of purest silver and gave it tothe maiden for a hairpin. As a child she had always been still andgiven to day-dreams, peering into the flowers as if she could readsecrets there, or gazing into the opal sky in search of angels, orwatching the pallid stars as they glimmered forth out of the deepeningblue. Yet was she as gay as the chirping cicadas in the trees, aslight and fleet as her four-footed friends, as, pattering on daintyclogs in wayward mood, she would leave the forest for the town, andpeeping in at Sanjo's, shake an arch finger at the brawny armourers,while they wiped their swart brows, and laughed.

  It was by a whimsical coincidence that the celebrated family of Sanjo,from time immemorial armourers in chief to the Mikados, as theMiochins were to the Shoguns, should have set up the forge, emblem ofwar, hard by the sacred wood, the type of peace. But so it was.Indeed, as I write, the existing Sanjos occupy the ancestral dwelling.They are poor now. Their occupation is gone, for civilisation andEuropean ways have stepped in and ruined them. At the period whichoccupies us, the blowing of the forge-bellows and the welding of ironon the anvil were in curious contrast to the surrounding calm. Manylords who came hither in pilgrim guise to improve their soul's estate,looked in at Sanjo's ere they went away, to buy new blades and armour.The holy forest was an oasis of peace in a world of uproar; for wasnot the castle of the powerful lord of Nara but a mile beyond thetown; and did not close by (happily concealed by a hill from his proudgaze) the fortress of the Daimio of Osaka rear its majestic front,home of his hereditary foe? Of course it was enough for two greatfeudal lords to dwell cheek by jowl for them to hate one anothercordially. These two were as jealous as two rival beauties. The outermoat at Nara was wider than that of my lord of Osaka, but then theinterior of Osaka's stronghold was the more splendid, and its armourymore richly furnished. Hence frowns and jibes and backbitings fromgeneration to generation, varied now and then by siege or battle,accompanied by fire and massacre.

  Among the many who were firm friends of the Sanjos, was, naturallyenough, Sampei. Of course, so gallant a young gentleman could wear noarmour but Sanjo's, could wield no sword but one that bore his mark.One morning, standing beside the anvil, and laying down the law to anobsequious audience, on military subjects, he beheld, framed in thedoorway, such a delightful vision, that his heart gave a great thump,and he dropped the precious blade, whose temper he was criticallytesting by the bisecting of a coin. It was only for a second. Startledby the apparition of a distinguished stranger, and grown unaccountablybashful of a sudden, the blushing and beautiful O'Tei cried Oh! and,turning on her clogs, scampered back into the wood, whither theinflammable Sampei would swiftly have followed, had he not beenrestrained by the armourer.

  "Beware!" the latter whispered, grasping him tightly by the skirt."That maid is not for thee! The heiress of the Daimio of Nara willlook higher than a soldier of fortune!"

  Sampei laughed, to conceal his annoyance. It is exasperating andhumiliating too, to a handsome young soldier, who as such adores thesex, to be bluntly informed that the loveliest girl whom he has everlooked upon is hopelessly out of reach. And yet he could not deny thathis friend was right. The White Fawn of Nara might never be his, forone so noble and so fair could command the most splendid of _partis_.But was that any reason why he should not look at her? He washeartwhole. No doubt of that. His soul was devoted to his sword; but,as dashing young warriors have done time out of mind, he liked todally with maidens, and the prettier they were the better. Instead ofpurc
hasing a blade and departing straightway, he all at once becamefastidious. This one was too light; that one ill-balanced.

  Japan is the land of blades. From the tail of the Dragon was born thesword which the Sun-goddess bestowed on the first Emperor. By thesword of the clustering clouds, Yamato-Dake subdued the East. It wasquite fitting that our young general should be particular. Sanjoproduced in vain his rarest achievements. There was "Knee-cutter" and"Beard-divider," unrivalled masterpieces, which Sanjo himself so lovedthat he had always declined to part with them. But there was nosatisfying this capricious and arrogant youth. Sanjo would be goodenough to set himself to work and create an inspiration; and Sampei,to whom time had all at once become no object, would remain at Naraand superintend the progress of the miracle. And so it came about thatthe blade, taking long to make, O'Tei (curious, after the fashion ofmaidens) came pattering along the street, just to see if the youngwarrior was gone. Oddly enough, he was still there; with face towardsthe door too. This was well, if strange; for he was comely; extremelycivil, to boot; courteous, and vastly respectful; could troll richsnatches of merry song, and tell diverting tales with dancing eye andglittering teeth; while as for his smile, it did one good to baskunder it--so bright it was, so warm and genial, exuberant withbubbling youth.

  The brawny workers at the anvil vowed with grins and nudges that 'twascharming to watch these two--she, the type of the patrician beauty ofher country--complexion of palest olive, nose aquiline, cheek bones atrifle high, perfectly moulded chin and throat, eyes and hair a deepblack, the former raised the least little bit in the world at theouter corners--as she lounged in a steely _kimono_ of finest crapedrawn up over one of scarlet. And he was in his way as bonny aspectacle. Exceeding dark of skin; of low stature, as are most of theJapanese, but admirably proportioned and muscular; his luxuriant sablelocks (shaven away in the centre, lest the eyes should be obscured inbattle), fastened in two tresses at the back, while a becoming bluefillet bound his temples, knotted at the side in a bow.

  I am afraid I must admit at once that Sampei, to whom I am verypartial, was a sad flirt. He invented appalling tales of death andslaughter, for the pleasure of seeing the cheek of O'Tei grow whiter,then set himself to woo the delicate sea-shell colour back withwell-timed jest; and was flattered and pleased to find that he couldlearn to play upon her as on some fragile instrument. To the girl hisradiant advent was a strange and wondrous break in the sweet monotonyof years,--a revelation like the raising of some veil that masks theinfinite; and she marvelled vaguely whether the perfumed wood wouldhold so rich a charm when _he_ was no longer there to rouse the echoeswith his laughter. Hand in hand they wandered--artless children--whilethe soft-eyed deer peeped out at them approvingly. They visited herfavourite haunts; the open glade where the glorious lilies grew inclusters--lemon-yellow, or white, brown centred; where the greatjewelled butterflies tumbled low along like junks under heavy sail;where beds of scarlet blossoms like geraniums nestled in sheets on thebank of a crystal stream--home of flights of glittering dragon-flies,black and iron-blue, like the cohorts of the warlike Osaka. And thenthe sharp _twee twee_ of the cicadas, answering or calling one anotherout of the deep stillness of the canopy above, the boom of the hoarsebees, the buzzing of gossamer wings, the click of the cricket, the humof the myriad tiny voices up in the dense green, which joining inharmonious chorus form a silence--a haven of solitude and rest.

  It was not possible to linger in the shadowed aisles whose pillarswere the giant cryptomerias, without feeling subdued and softened; anda suspicion flitted more than once across the mind of the youngsoldier that perchance the career of hurly-burly and the clash ofsteel were a mistake, the contemplative life a better. What happiermethod of getting through the cycle than to muse away the years, tillcalled to go, with gentle O'Tei, and the forest, and the animals? Andthen, the sylvan influence and flash of the clear eyes removed, Sampeiwould wake and shake himself in distress, and know that the ground wasdangerous. The contemplative life was good for girls and shavenpriests, and men who had succumbed in the battle. Youths with livesspread out before like a trail of moonlight on the sea, must gird uptheir loins and elbow their way through the medley. Too long alreadyhad the young General dallied, wasting time. And yet, not wasting, forhe and she were to be friends for life--that was quite settled--dearbrother and loving sister, trusting each other without question,certain, in moments of emergency, of the completest helpfulness andsympathy. It was delicious to possess such a sister, a soft warmsunspot on his harsh career; more she might never be, and herecognised that this was well.

  Her gentleness unnerved his arm, he was wont jestingly to say, for hernature was woven of such frail glass threads that just as the rush ofthe herd snapped the slender lily-stems, a rude puff of wind mightshatter it. Some day she would find a suitable husband, and heradopted brother would love him for her sake; and then they wouldrecline in the long grass and fall a-talking of what the lucky mortalwould be like. To match with the perfection of O'Tei he must be aperfect creature. Not a bluff soldier like Sampei. No, that wouldnever do, for like a tender plant must the dear maid be cherished. Tothe end must the White Fawn be screened from din of war and rudesurroundings. Poor hearts! They were both so young and ignorant andhopeful. They knew not how futile a pastime is the building ofair-palaces. They were unaware that Fate is a sad marplot, and that ifwe plan a matter in a certain way, it will surely come out quiteotherwise.

  The Shinto virgins were somewhat scandalised by the romanticproceedings of the fair O'Tei and the too good-looking General. Theywere disinclined to approve of him, for they knew he had said that,with faces painted a dead white, eyebrows at top of foreheads, andlong flat hair well-oiled, they looked like the dolls of Asakusa. Aribald military person was not expected to have taste, or to knowwherein lies true beauty, but he might show more respect for youthfulgorgons. O'Tei did little credit, they averred, with tart displeasure,to her education. If she pined for male society, was not the templefull of holy bonzes? The heiress of Nara showed lamentable signs ofincipient depravity. What business had she with Sanjo, the commonarmourer? She who, wayward always and inconsistent, when taught likeevery prospective chatelaine to wield a pike, had been wont to tossdown the silver-mounted weapon, with a pout, vowing that she hatedfighting.

  Things could not go on as they were, for the situation was a falseone. Sanjo grew nervous. If the Daimio of Nara, who as Kuge or courtnoble lived usually at Ki[^y]oto in attendance on the Emperor, were tohear that his only child, instead of innocently floating through mazesof _kagura_, was using his (Sanjo's) forge for flirting purposes withan ineligible man who was the son of a concubine, there would betrouble; and Sanjo was not unaware of the parable concerning iron potsand earthen pipkins. All were relieved, therefore, except O'Tei, whowas hazy as to her own sentiments, when the news arrived that therebellion in Corea was to be quelled, and that Sampei was to commandthe expedition.

  When brother and sister parted, O'Tei clung round the neck of theyouth, and, weeping bitterly, shivered she knew not why. Lovingly hekissed her brow, and disengaged himself from her embrace, and was morethan ever certain as he rode away that, perfect in a congenial sphere,as wife of some grandee who would appreciate her gentle excellence,his sweet and sensitive sister would make the worst of consoles forone whose trade was war.