CHAPTER III.

In this place for some years to come the three strangers continued to live a quiet, uneventful life. Mutto scrupulously attended to his court duties as one of the chamberlains at the palace; but every moment of the time which he could call his own was devoted to the education of his son. Sennoske, as the boy was called, was already at the age of fifteen a man inferior to none, and almost the equal of his father in all manly accomplishments. Nor had his mind been forgotten. Mutto himself was a fair scholar, and where he thought himself deficient, or was unable through lack of time to devote the necessary attention, he had taken care to secure the best teachers. The latter gladly undertook the charge of instructing the boy, whose aptitude for acquiring knowledge was as marked as his ways and manners were winning. His father strictly supervised and regulated his studies, and showed himself somewhat a hard taskmaster, who never allowed Sennoske leisure for any amusements except such as would either strengthen his body or improve his mind, and the boy grew up having no desire for other recreation. Although passionately fond of books and of indoor studies, the tendency of the times and the examples set before him by his father, as well as by others, roused his ambition and prevented anything like neglect of physical training. This severe bodily and mental work had become easy to him,and to pass from one to the other was all that his system needed, and all the enjoyment he cared for. His intense love and admiration for his father, and the pleasure which he derived from the gratification the latter showed at his quick and steady progress, was another reason, if one had been needed, to impel him to diligence. To Sennoske his father was everything that was good and great and noble. He knew and felt how much kindness and sympathy were hidden under that austere taciturnity which in all these years had never relaxed into the faintest semblance of a smile. He remembered a sunny childhood in a beautiful home, where his father had laughed and played with him, always showing a gay, cheerful face; and he felt what a terrible shock must have been given to that nature by some fearful calamity, thus to freeze up all apparent sympathy and feeling for the outside world. He had no knowledge of what could have been the catastrophe that wrought this change; and any allusion to their former life, although not forbidden in so many words, was yet discouraged by his father in a way that prevented his ever referring to it.

WRITING TABLE.

Among those who contributed to Sennoske’s training was one whose name was then already famous in Japan,—Muramasa, the sword-smith. An immense gulf divided, at that time, thesamuraifrom the merchant, the farmer, the artisan, and, in fact, from all other classes. To this rule the sword-smithformed the only exception. He Who could forge a sword fairly well stood far higher in social rank than the artisan of equal skill in any other profession; and a master of the art, however low his extraction, was considered and treated as an equal by the two-sworded gentry. Muramasa then stood at the head of his profession, without a rival in the country. His superiority was acknowledged by his brother artisans as well as by the nobility; and many of the latter—men of great means too—would willingly have beggared themselves to obtain a sword of his making. To have a man like this living in his dominions was considered a great honor, and was, moreover, a source of real power and influence, of which the Duke was fully aware; and he had made to the smith the most extravagant offers of money, titles, and other honorary considerations to induce him duly to inscribe himself on the roll of his feudal retainers, but without success. Threats or coercion would have been worse than useless with a man whom the Shôgun himself would only too gladly have welcomed to his capital (Kamakura), and would have honored there as highly as the Duke did in his province. Any wilful injury done him would have been resented as a national loss by everysamuraiin the country; so Ono ga Sawa had fain to be satisfied with the sword-smith’s independent way of living, taking care, however, to use every opportunity to prove to him, by valuable gifts and otherwise, the honor and esteem in which he was held.

And there was good reason for all this regard and high consideration; for those famous “Muramasas,” as the blades were called after their maker, were things of beauty, of joy, of pride, and of power to their lucky possessors. The smith himselfwas an expert at using as well as making his weapon, and the proofs he had sometimes semi-publicly given of its excellence were marvellous, and wellnigh bordered on the incredible. He would cut a hair let fall in the air; he would hold his sword still in the water, with its sharp edge facing the current, and there it would of itself out a piece of paper floating toward it; then again, to show its strength, he would cut through a copper bar an inch in thickness without producing the slightest mark or indentation on the blade. Once, on a memorable occasion when discussion as to the relative merits of rival sword-smiths ran high, he asked that any three swords of the best makers be selected. This was done; and placing them side by side, he dealt with his own blade terrific blow square upon their upturned edges. It went entirely through one sword, which was the most strongly curved, passed through the steel edges of the others, and remained imbedded in the softer part which forms the back. Being with difficulty extracted, it was found that its own sharp edge had remained intact; and there was nothing but a slightly increased brightness in three different spots to show where it had been in contact.

Small wonder, then, that a truesamuraishould value such a weapon above every other earthly possession. Money alone could not buy one. It began to be known that only warriors of high standing, whose reputation for valor and fighting qualities was established, could succeed in having an order for a sword executed. If the applicant had a name for loving fighting for its own sake,—one who, when no opportunities for legitimate warfare presented themselves, would hunt up broils, quarrels, and duels,—it greatly enhanced his chances of afavorable reception from the sword-smith. The prices paid were always high enough; but far more liberal offers had often been refused because made by men—as the report went—whose reputation credited them with inclinations, if not of a pacific, yet of a less decidedly bellicose nature. One of Muramasa’s stipulations in former years had been that no sword bought of him should be sold during the lifetime of the purchaser. He dispensed with this condition now, because there was no further need for it; the lucky possessor of such a treasure would have sacrificed his lasthakama, his mistress, his wife and child probably, sooner than part with it.

STREET SCENE IN KUWANA.

The smith’s residence was in the outskirts of the city, in what had formerly been called the village of Senjuin. It was a smoke-blackened, gloomy looking building of two stories close to the street, the lower part—the doors of which were constantly closed—being the forge. On both sides of the house and in the rear was a yard which was enclosed with a bamboo fence, the stakes being placed side by side and three deep,—thus effectually preventing any possibility of getting even a glimpse through them; while their ends were sharply pointed, threatening certain impalement to any who should attempt to scale them. Here Muramasa lived with his son,—who assisted him at his craft and was initiated into its secrets,—his daughter, and only one old woman-servant.

He was not a pleasant man to look at, this cunning forger, whose handiwork caused the great and the mighty to do him honor. His eyes—very large and very prominent, ready, it seemed, to start from their sockets—had a sinister look; to which the heavy, bushy eyebrows, heaviest and bushiest in the space between the eyes, where they met, doubtless contributed. A massive chin, under a small, rather thin-lipped mouth, showed great energy and determination, while theshort stout neck, with veins like cords, the broad shoulders, and the brawny, sinewy arms, gave evidence of great physical strength. When speaking, two rows of large, regular, and beautifully white teeth partly redeemed the unattractiveness of the other features; but when angered or excited, the whole face presented an aspect of extreme hideousness and repulsiveness. At such times the mouth was firmly closed; the eyebrows moved and contracted until each individual hair seemed to stand on end; the eyes, already unnaturally large and protruding, dilated and rolled around in their sockets with a glitter like that of a snake; and a deep red, furrowed line showed itself on his forehead from the crown down to the eyebrows, making his head look as if it consisted of two halves badly pasted together.

A parallel had often been drawn between the smith and Mutto. Both these men, renowned for strength and skill, living for themselves and seemingly desirous of avoiding company, always reserved and even gloomy, and never sharing in wine-parties or other festivities, offered a great contrast to the usual style of conduct of the cavaliers at the court; for the latter, acting with the spirit of the age, although ready at any time for hard work and harder blows, believed in taking pleasure and amusement whenever and wherever it could be found. But when the two men once stood side by side in the court, it was easy to perceive that however much unlike to others, there was very little real resemblance between them.

Mutto’s athletic but slight and supple figure was cast in quite a different mould from the smith’s heavy, awkward-looking frame; and in so far as other than physical attributescould be discerned, the difference became even more marked. The look of gloom on the face of the former seemed like a dark veil, obscuring its naturally pleasant and cheerful expression. The regular features could never have settled into such clearly-cut, bold, determined lines if their possessor had always been given to inactive brooding and sorrowing. They now spoke unmistakably of weary resignation; but it was a new-born resignation foreign to the man’s real nature, and implanted there by some unaccountable calamity. In demeanor he was quiet and dignified, and in the performance of his often monotonous duties as chamberlain he had been known to stand sometimes for hours like a statue, scarcely moving either limbs or features.

With the smith, body and face were cast in a heavy, coarse mould, and both gave evidence of the savage restlessness and discontent of the mind within. Very seldom were they characterized by anything like repose. In general the eyes rolled about in their sockets, glancing here and there with a preoccupied air, while the whole lower part of the face twitched convulsively; and this movement often extended even to the limbs and body. It was evident that no other influence but the thoughts within him induced this unquiet. When he found himself observed, he could by a strong effort resume outward composure; but he would at such times hurl back a look so vicious that few cared to encounter it twice.

The neighborhood where the smith’s house stood was very lonely. In former years it had been a small fishing-village called Senjuin, which in time, as the castle-town of Kuwana gradually extended, became one of the outskirts of the latter. This was many hundred years ago. With its loss of independence,in spite of the proximity of the great town, it lost also its well-to-do look, and became the resort of the very worst and the very poorest elements of the population. During the great Minamoto wars, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, it suddenly developed into prosperity. The streets became lined with stores, mechanics’ workshops, small manufactories of different articles of military equipment; and with these, not a few wine-shops, houses of bad repute, and gambling-dens. There was then continual marching and countermarching; regular and irregular bodies of troops, such as could be induced to take the field by threats or promises, through motives of partisan loyalty, from love of adventure, or through the more mercenary object of gain or booty to be reaped, were being continually formed, and Kuwana had become a noted resort for such bands to equip themselves, most of the new traffic concentrating itself in that part where Senjuin had formerly stood.

The town possessed abundant natural advantages. Its neighborhood abounded with many kinds of good woods, includinga great variety of bamboos,—so necessary in the production of articles of every-day use. Inland products could easily and cheaply be brought down on the river which ran beside the town. Its situation by the sea-shore, and the never-failing supply of fish which was thereby secured, was also of great value at a time when fields were irregularly tilled and the cost of cereals often reached famine prices. The advantage of being able to go and come by sea or land was not slight, and was especially appreciated by those lawless characters who abounded at the time, and a goodly number of whom could always be found there. Whatever the disposition and tendency of these gentry might have been, however, they were kept in check by the proximity of the castle with its garrison, which prevented anything like excess of violence or ill-doing. Burglaries, robberies, and murders even were no rarity; but assistance was always at hand when a brawl assumed too great dimensions. No band of robbers could come and levy contributions or commit other outrages as they did sometimes in smaller towns and villages.

Thus this quarter of the town grew up and flourished as long as the war lasted. With the return of peace this prosperity waned, and soon departed altogether. The working part of the population moved away nearer the castle-walls and the old, established centre of business; and the disreputable part, finding their occupation gone, left for other regions. In the course of a few decades the place had become almost entirely deserted. Some of the houses at first had been taken down and removed, some had been destroyed by fire, and not a few had fallen down, rotting away in unshapely heaps. All those that yet stood were in a state of extreme decay. Passingbeggars androninsoften used them as a temporary refuge, and a great deal of real danger to unarmed wayfarers lurked under the shadow of this apparently deserted solitude. It was also a favorite spot for duels and night-brawls, and many a manly form was often found there in the morning lifeless and covered with sword-cuts.

About nine years previous to the time when the first incidents related in this narrative took place, Muramasa the sword-smith, who had already acquired considerable reputation in his craft, arrived in Kuwana, and for a trifle bought a plot of land, where he erected his house in the manner already described. It was the worst-reputed part of the whole neighborhood, near the high road, which skirted one end of the deserted village, and opposite to a large open, level space, where once had stood houses which had been burned down, and in whose place a plentiful supply of weeds had sprung up. These were, however, kept well beaten down; for it was this particular spot which was generally chosen when the brawlers or duellists fought in greater numbers. Muramasa had been accompanied by a young wife, a son about fourteen years of age, the offspring of a former marriage, and an old married serving-couple. From the very beginning he had led a lonely and solitary life, as he did afterward. He repaired one of the old buildings on the land he had bought, so as to make it temporarily habitable while his new house was being constructed.

JAPANESE LANDSCAPE.

His wife always remained utterly secluded; and even of the mechanics engaged by him to put up the new house, only one or two got a passing glance at her through a half-open door orwindow,—sufficient, however, it seems, to make them speak in glowing terms of her marvellous beauty. Two years after her arrival she died in giving birth to a daughter, who was named O Tetsu. It then began to be bruited about that she had been anEta(a pariah), the queen of her tribe, famous for her surpassing loveliness. This report, which, it was said, first originated with a travelling showman who had formerly known Muramasa in other places, gradually assumed a more definite shape, and it was whispered that she had been rescued by the smith while being abducted by some nobleman and carried to the latter’s castle. Rumor went still further, and stated that it was not a man of low degree, but one of the mighty lords of the land who had attempted this outrage, and that six of his most trusty blades engaged in the execution of the design had been cut down and disabled by the smith who fought single-handed. Careless of the opinion of the world, he afterward made the outcast Eta his lawful wife. He loved her fondly and passionately, and she reciprocated his sentiments.

ANETA.

After her death, all that there was of kindness, of love, and of sympathy in his nature went out toward his daughter. Tothe outer world he became, if possible, more grim and reserved than he had been before. He shunned all such chance acquaintances as he had made, he went to the court—where even hitherto, in spite of an open invitation, he had rarely made his appearance—only when the occasion rendered his presence unavoidable; beyond this he paid and received no visits whatever. The only persons who gained admittance to his house were a few old teachers whom he had engaged for his daughter. The aged serving-man who had accompanied him had died three or four years after their arrival, and no one had taken his place, the old serving-woman being the only domestic who remained to do the necessary duties about the house.

The smith’s son, now a man over thirty years of age, resembled his father in outward looks and appearance, and if his face showed rather more good-humor, it was probably merely a negative quality arising from its lack of expression. Physically he was as strong and stout as the smith; but his mind was of a very inferior order. He was, however, an expert in all that pertained to swords; and on this point could discourse pleasantly and with an intelligence that sometimes bordered on eloquence. As regarded everything else, his mental and reasoning faculties seemed to present a perfect blank, he being unable to understand causes and effects, unless they were of the most simple kind, such as could be learned mechanically. For his father he showed great awe and reverence, and toward his half-sister he evinced an affection which was as deep as it was humble, and might be likened to that of a faithful dog. He displayed it by a desire to be close to her in those short periods when he was not engaged in work. At such times he would oftenput his hand furtively but tenderly on some part of her dress; and when she perceived it, he would bend forward, as if waiting for a smile or a caressing word, which were the usual acknowledgments, and to which, when given, his only response was a broad, pleased grin. He rarely spoke on anything not connected with his craft, but to express his wants and feelings used certain signs, which those about him had learned to interpret. He might almost have passed for an idiot, were it not for his clear, logical talk on everything connected with his profession, and for a quickness of movement of both hand and limb which such beings do not usually possess, and which in him was developed to a remarkable degree. It is probable that he was naturally endowed with but limited reasoning powers. These, however, would have been sufficient for the narrow range of views and the limited routine duties of a peasant or a laborer in those days; but in the position in which he was placed, the comparatively strong claims made upon him in the exercise of his profession had, so to say, absorbed all that there was of intellect and drawn it into this one channel, leaving everything else a blank.

SWORD-GUARD.

Back to Index Next