The unhappy mother sadly followed with her eyes the pathetic little figure disappearing on her unknown path.
The unhappy mother sadly followed with her eyes the pathetic little figure disappearing on her unknown path.
The temple bell was booming the hour of parting day as Jurobei disconsolately hurried home. All his attempts had failed to procure the money wherewith to pay Izæmon's debt to Butaroku, and knowing that Butaroku was the kind of man to take a merciless revenge, he was in a mood of profound depression.
Suddenly in the road he came upon a group of beggars surrounding a little girl dressed as a pilgrim. The wretches, thinking her an easy prey to their cupidity, were tormenting the poor little wayfarer and trying to wrest from her the contents of her wallet, but she was bravely defending herself and resisting their attacks with great spirit.
Seeing how matters stood, Jurobei promptly drove the beggars away with his stick, and then, to avoid the return of her assailants, he compassionately took the child by the hand and led her home with him.
But alas! by a fatal mischance they had taken a different road to that chosen by O Yumi.
As soon as they reached the porch he called out:
"I have come back, O Yumi!"
Contrary to his expectation there was no response, and entering hastily he found the cottage empty and in darkness.
"How is it that the place is deserted? Where can O Yumi have gone to at this hour?" he grumbled as he groped his way across the room and set light to the standing lantern.
Then by its fitful glow he sank down upon the mats in gloomy abstraction and the lassitude of disappointment, and pondered seriously on the desperate straits to which he and his wife were reduced: the situation seemed hopeless, for well he knew that no clemency could be expected from the enemy and unless some money was forthcoming that very night he was a lost man. All at once a thought struck him. He beckoned the little pilgrim to draw near.
"Come here, my child! Those rascally beggars from whom I rescued you were trying to steal your wallet. Tell me, have you much money with you?"
"Yes, I have what several kind people have given me," was her reply.
"Let me see how much you have?" demanded Jurobei peremptorily.
O Tsuru, for indeed it was she, took out a little bag, and reluctantly offered a few coins for her inquisitor's inspection.
"Is this all you have, child?" he persisted impatiently.
"No, no, I have severalkoban[5]besides," answered the girl, her childish mind exaggerating the amount.
"Oh, indeed, so you have manykoban?" Jurobei mused for a few minutes. Here was an unexpected opportunity to satisfy the avarice of Butaroku. "Let me take care of thekobanfor you. It is not safe for you to keep them," said Jurobei, stretching out his hand towards her.
"No, no!" replied O Tsuru, shaking her head with decision. "When my grandmother was dying she made me promise faithfully never to show the money to any one, as it is tied together with a very precious thing. I must not give or show the bag to any one."
Jurobei, who saw deliverance from his debt of honour in the money he supposed the child to carry, tried to frighten her into giving it up to him, but she was firm in her refusal, and rose to her feet with the intention of escaping from her persecutor.
"Oh, I will stay here no longer. You frighten me!" she exclaimed, moving towards the porch.
Jurobei, in fear lest his last hope should fail, seized her by the collar of her dress.
"Oh, oh, help, help!" loudly screamed the girl in terror.
"What a noise, what a noise!" exclaimed Jurobei in exasperation, and alarmed lest the neighbours should overhear the child's cries, he roughly attempted to stifle her screams with his hand across her mouth.
For a few minutes, as a snared bird flutters in the net of its captor, the hapless O Tsuru put forth all her strength and endeavoured desperately to disengage herself; her struggles then subsided and she grew still.
Jurobei began to reason with her without removing his hold:
"There is nothing whatever to fear! The truth is I am in pressing need of some money. I do not know how much you have, but lend it to me for a few days. During that time stay here quietly. I will take you to visit the Temple of Kwannon Sama, and we will go every day to see the sights of the city near by and amuse ourselves. Never fear, only lend me all you have like a good child."
As he freed her she fell to the ground.
"What is the matter?" said Jurobei, anxiously bending over her little form.
There was no answer. She lay quite still with no sign of life or motion.
"Oh, oh!" exclaimed Jurobei. Thinking that she had fainted, he fetched water and sprinkled her pale face and tried to force a few drops between her closed lips, but there was not even a flicker of response.
The child lay dead before him. Worn out with the hardships and fatigues of the long, long pilgrimage, as a frail light flickers out before a rough gust of wind, her waning strength had failed in that last struggle. The griefs of earth were left behind and the brave little soul had set out on its longer journey to theMeido(Hades).
Jurobei was thoroughly alarmed. In that tragic moment he knew not what to do. However, hearing his wife's returning footsteps, he hastily moved the body to one side of the room and covered it with a quilt.
O Yumi entered the room in great perturbation.
"Oh, oh! Help me to look for her, help me! While you were out this afternoon, wonderful to tell! who should come here in search for us but our own child, O Tsuru. How I longed to reveal myself to her, the poor, poor little one! But the knowledge that she must share our miserable fate when we are arrested, which may be at any moment now, forced me to send her away without telling her that I was her mother. After she had gone I could not bear the thought of never seeing her again. I ran after her, but she had disappeared! She cannot have gone far. I came back to fetch you. Let us look for her together."
Jurobei was dumbfounded at this totally unexpected intelligence. He stood up as though ready to start out into the night.
"How was she clothed? What kind of dress did she wear?" he asked hurriedly.
"She wore a long-sleeved robe brightly patterned with designs of spring blossoms, and on her shoulders she carried a pilgrim's pack."
"She carried a pilgrim's pack!" echoed Jurobei forlornly, and seized with an icy trembling. The frightful truth had flashed upon his brain. He knew that he had killed his own child!
O Yumi, wondering at his hesitation, prepared to start out again.
"You need not go to look for our child!" Jurobei hoarsely muttered. "She is already here!"
"Has she come back?" cried O Yumi in excitement. "Tell me where she is."
"She is lying there under that quilt," he replied, pointing to where the body lay.
O Yumi quickly crossed the room and drew back the coverlet. "My child! Oh, my child! At last, at last I may call you so!" cried the delighted mother sinking on her knees in a transport of joy.
Long and tenderly she gazed at the little figure, lying prone before her. But how strange that her clothes were still unloosened and the heavy pack had not been unstrapped from the tired shoulders. O Yumi touched her hands and found them cold. Panic-stricken, she listened at the child's breast only to find her fears confirmed and that the little form was still and lifeless.
"Oh, oh, oh!" wailed O Yumi, "She is dead! She is dead!"
The shock was too deep for tears. For a moment the unhappy woman was paralysed.
Then turning to her husband:
"You must know how she died. Tell me! Tell me!" she gasped distractedly.
The half-dazed Jurobei related as well as he could all the events of that fatal afternoon. He finished his recital:
"I put my hand over her mouth to stop her screaming, and on releasing her she fell to the ground. I had no intention of killing her and pitied the poor unfortunate girl, though I had no idea that she was my little Tsuru. That I should have slain our own child must be the result of sin committed in one of the former states of existence, alas! Forgive me, O Yumi! Forgive me!" and the stricken man broke down and wept.
"Was it you, her father, who killed her?" cried O Yumi, in horror.
"Oh, my child, my own child!" she sobbed. "It was your fate to come in search of such cruel, unnatural parents. When you told me of the hardships you had suffered in looking for them, my soul was pierced with woe. When I refrained from making myself known to you I felt as though my heart must break. It was only the depth of my love for you that made me drive you away from our door. If only I had kept you here this would never have happened. This calamity has come upon us as a result of my driving you away. Forgive me, oh, forgive me! O Tsuru, O Tsuru!" and the miserable mother gathered the lifeless form of her little daughter to her breast and rocked herself to and fro in the frenzy of grief unutterable.
"Words are useless. What is done can never be undone. If only I had not known that she possessed the money to help me out of this crisis it would never have happened. Money is a curse!" he said in broken accents, as he took out from the folds of the child's dress the bag containing the coins. Opening it only threeryo[6]were disclosed.
"What a miserable pittance! Can this be all? I made a mistake in thinking she had a great deal. This certainly must be retribution for some bad action in my previous existence!"
His hand still searching the bag came upon a letter. He drew it forth and read the address:
"To Jurobei and his Wife!"
"Ah! this is my mother's handwriting!"
Jurobei tore it open and began to read:
"Ever since the day you left home we must have felt mutual anxiety concerning each other's health and welfare. This is the natural feeling between parent and child, so I shall not write more upon this subject, but inform you of the real reason for this letter without further detail."First of all what I wish to tell you is, that it has come to my knowledge that Onota Gunbei has the lost Kunitsugu sword in his possession. Immediately I tried to obtain indisputable evidence of this fact, but as I am only a stupid woman, on second thoughts I feared that were I to take any steps in this direction it might result in more harm than good."Intending, therefore, to seek you out and let you proceed in this matter, I began to prepare myself and O Tsuru for the journey. But at the last moment I was suddenly taken with a mortal illness and was compelled to relinquish all hope of setting out to find you. I write this letter instead. As soon as it reaches your hands return home at once."Restore the sword to its rightful owner and earn your promotion—for this I shall wait beneath the flowers and the grass."
"Ever since the day you left home we must have felt mutual anxiety concerning each other's health and welfare. This is the natural feeling between parent and child, so I shall not write more upon this subject, but inform you of the real reason for this letter without further detail.
"First of all what I wish to tell you is, that it has come to my knowledge that Onota Gunbei has the lost Kunitsugu sword in his possession. Immediately I tried to obtain indisputable evidence of this fact, but as I am only a stupid woman, on second thoughts I feared that were I to take any steps in this direction it might result in more harm than good.
"Intending, therefore, to seek you out and let you proceed in this matter, I began to prepare myself and O Tsuru for the journey. But at the last moment I was suddenly taken with a mortal illness and was compelled to relinquish all hope of setting out to find you. I write this letter instead. As soon as it reaches your hands return home at once.
"Restore the sword to its rightful owner and earn your promotion—for this I shall wait beneath the flowers and the grass."
"Oh," exclaimed Jurobei, "then it was Gunbei who stole the sword. How grateful I am to my mother for this discovery. But what a cruel blow to think that she is dead!"
O Yumi took the letter from his hand and continued to read aloud:
"My greatest anxiety now is concerning little O Tsuru left helpless and friendless, and about to start alone on this journey. If by the mercy and help of the Gods she reaches you safely, bring her up tenderly and carefully. She is a clever child. She writes and plays thekotowell, besides being clever at her needle, and can skilfully sewcrêpeand silken robes. I myself have taken pains to instruct her, and am proud of my pupil. Give her an opportunity of showing her handiwork, and then praise her both of you."She brings with her the medicine which I have found by experience to suit her best. Should she ail at any time, fail not to administer it. Although repetition is irksome, yet again I beg you to take every care of my precious grandchild."
"My greatest anxiety now is concerning little O Tsuru left helpless and friendless, and about to start alone on this journey. If by the mercy and help of the Gods she reaches you safely, bring her up tenderly and carefully. She is a clever child. She writes and plays thekotowell, besides being clever at her needle, and can skilfully sewcrêpeand silken robes. I myself have taken pains to instruct her, and am proud of my pupil. Give her an opportunity of showing her handiwork, and then praise her both of you.
"She brings with her the medicine which I have found by experience to suit her best. Should she ail at any time, fail not to administer it. Although repetition is irksome, yet again I beg you to take every care of my precious grandchild."
Here O Yumi, unable to read further, broke down in lamentations and cried aloud.
Now the spiteful Butaroku, finding that Jurobei did not come to pay Izæmon's debt according to agreement, was highly incensed. Knowing that the authorities were on the alert to seize Jurobei, he maliciously went and lodged information of his whereabouts.
Just at the moment they had finished reading the momentous letter the officers of the law arrived outside the house with a great noise, shouting and clamouring.
Jurobei and O Yumi, to gain a few minutes' time, snatched up the body of O Tsuru and quickly concealed themselves in a back room.
The police entered and a scene of wild confusion ensued. Confident of finding their prey hidden somewhere in the cupboards, they broke down the walls, theshoji, the boards of the ceiling, and even the little shrine dedicated to the Goddess Kwannon.
Jurobei had in those few moments braced himself up for a desperate fight. He would rather die than surrender to the law before his mission of finding the sword had been accomplished. Like a whirlwind he rushed into the room where his adversaries were battering down all before them, and like a demon of fury he attacked them, mortally slashing with his sword each man that attempted to lay hands on him.
The savage bravery of his onslaught was terrific, and so dexterous and unerring was his aim that he seemed possessed of superhuman strength: his opponents were terror-stricken, and in a few minutes, like a spider's nest, when the threads of the binding web are broken by rough contact, they fled for their very lives and rushed scattered in all directions.
"Now is our time! Let us escape!" cried O Yumi.
Both began to run from the wrecked house.
"You have forgotten our child!" Jurobei whispered brokenly.
"She needs our anxiety no more. She is safe beyond the suffering of this world. We will bury her here before we leave."
Hurriedly retracing their steps they re-entered the house, and seizing the debris that lay strewn in all directions, placed it in a heap upon the little corpse. It was the work of a few moments to light the torches: this was the sole alternative that was left them to prevent their beloved dead from falling into the desecrating hands of callous strangers.
It was impossible to carry the body with them in their flight.
As the flames crackled and blazed up, Jurobei and O Yumi stood side by side, praying for the departed soul with uplifted hands placed palm to palm, while they watched the burning of their child's funeral pyre.
It was springtime, and in the town of Tokushima the cherry-blossoms were bursting into bloom. The second of March[7]had come, and Onoto Gunbei was secretly rejoicing in the wicked thought that his schemes for the disgrace of his rival had been successful. Sakurai once removed from his path, his own advancement would be certain. To-morrow Sakurai must take the Kunitsugu sword to the palace and lay it in state before the Daimio. For reasons of his own Gunbei knew that this would be a matter of impossibility. Sakurai would therefore be suspected of having stolen it and his degradation would be the certain result.
Gunbei's sinister features relaxed into a malignant smile as he proudly stalked along the road on his way to the shrine at the western end of the town.
Two of his retainers were following at a respectful distance in his rear.
He had reached the precincts of the temple when one of these men came hurrying up:
"My lord! Jurobei, the man for whom you are constantly on the look out, is in that tea-house close by. I have just recognized him. What steps shall we take?"
"Very good!" said his master. "You have done well. Let us hide ourselves, and when he leaves the place rush upon him unawares and seize him."
Jurobei, after a short time, walked out from the hostelry. His mind was entirely engrossed with the thought that the sword must be retrieved from Gunbei's possession before the morrow, the third of the third month.
As he abstractedly strolled along, the enemy lying in ambush pounced upon him from behind. But his years ofronin'shard and reckless life had trained his muscles to such phenomenal strength that in the tussle that followed, within a few rounds, he came off triumphantly the victor.
Gunbei, who had been a spectator of this unequal contest, drew his sword.
Jurobei, noting his action, caught up one of Gunbei's men and used him as a shield to ward off the blows.
The news of the fight was soon carried to Sakurai, who immediately hurried to the spot.
Directly he became aware of the identity of Gunbei's opponent, he shouted:
"What presumption to stand up and attack your superior. Surrender at once!"
He then turned to Gunbei.
"I will take him, therefore put up your sword."
Jurobei, who understood that this was strategy on his master's part, obediently allowed himself to be bound. Sakurai then handed him over to Gunbei, who gave him in charge of his henchmen and bade them conduct him to his house.
Gunbei's joy was extreme at having Jurobei in his power. He ordered him to be secured to a tree in the inner garden while he stood and mocked at him.
"Ho, Jurobei! I have a grudge to pay off against you. Why did you kill two of my men three months ago—tell me that?"
"I slew them because they intended to murder my master," replied Jurobei.
"Indeed! I believe that you are also the man who stole the sword for which your master is responsible—ho, ho, ho! You are both robbers, you must have connived at the theft of the sword together—confess!"
"You may say what you like of me, but you lie with regard to Shusen."
In a rage Gunbei and his accomplices put their sheathed swords beneath the ropes which bound Jurobei, and twisted them round and round so that they cut into the flesh and inflicted great torture on their victim.
Now it happened that Takao, the Daimio's illegitimate half-sister, whom Izæmon had been enabled to rescue from the infamous quarter through Jurobei's help, had been taking refuge in Sakurai's home. Here she had been seen by Gunbei, who had fallen madly in love with her beauty, and had planned to make her his mistress. One day in the absence of Sakurai he had sent his retainer, Dotetsuke, to carry her off by force.
Takao, now installed beneath Gunbei's roof, was obliged to listen to his dishonourable advances, but so far had managed to repel them. She was in the secret of the lost sword, and her purpose was to use the present occasion as an opportunity of laying hands on it if possible.
On hearing the commotion she opened theshojiand eagerly scanned the direction whence it arose. To her astonishment and distress she recognized in the bound and helpless form none other than her valiant friend Jurobei. The thought that she owed her deliverance from her wretched past to his chivalrous generosity flashed through her mind. Trained to resource and intrigue, on the spur of the moment she resolved to pretend that Jurobei was her brother. This feigned relationship would afford them facilities for consultation concerning the sword. Impetuously advancing to the edge of the veranda, she looked earnestly at the captive and uttered a piteous cry:
"Oh, oh! it is my brother! Oh! my poor brother!"
"This is interesting!" jeered Gunbei. "Are you really brother and sister?"
Takao implored Gunbei to release Jurobei.
"If you listen to me I will set him free," replied Gunbei, whose desire was all the more inflamed by her rejection of his suit. "But if you refuse to obey me, I will torture him with both fire and water."
Takao wept with her face hidden in her sleeves. "Is it possible that you are asamurai?" she sobbed.
"Does your heart know no sympathy—no mercy? This is unendurable! I cannot bear to see it!"
"It is you who know no sympathy either for me or your brother. I have made conditions with you, Takao. It rests entirely with you. Accept my love and you are both free."
"Such a matter cannot be decided of my own will. I am a woman and not a free agent. I must consult my elder brother."
"Very well," responded Gunbei, "if you cannot decide this by yourself, by all means consult with your elder brother Jurobei—and come to a good understanding. I will leave you both for a while."
At a sign Gunbei's henchmen released Jurobei. "Persuade your sister to obey me and I will forgive you all and set you free. I must have Takao's affection. Think well, and give me an answer that will gladden me."
Then turning to Takao he continued:
"If you finally reject my proposals you shall both be cruelly put to death. Your two lives depend upon your will. I shall await your decision in the inner part of the house."
Here Gunbei retired. Blinded by his wild passion for the unfortunate girl he was unable to see the resolution expressed on both their faces. Both his mind and soul were clouded by the desire to possess at all costs the beautiful woman who defied him. Unaware of her high birth, the knowledge of which would have abashed him in his pursuit of her, he considered that she was the legitimate prey to his will.
Takao and Jurobei were left alone. They entered the room, crossing the veranda. Seating themselves, Jurobei made a profound obeisance at a respectful distance from Takao.
"Even though it is for the sake of the Kunitsugu sword, it is a sacrilege that the close relative of our noble Daimio should for one moment be called the sister of such a poor fellow as myself."
"It is not worth while to trouble your mind about these trifles while the finding of the sword is at stake. Think not of who is master or servant. We must find the sword this very night."
"Yes, yes," replied Jurobei, "I have the same purpose as yourself. Now is a good opportunity. Gunbei is madly in love with you. For a time pretend to listen to his wooing—whatever he may say do not let it anger you—then while he is off his guard draw out the sword he is wearing from its sheath: if thehabaki(the ring which secures the guard to the blade) is of gold, ornamented with carven butterflies and flowers, and the markings on the edge of the blade is themidare-yake,[8]be sure that it is the missing Kunitsugu sword. Then give me a sign. Till that moment I will be waiting in concealment close at hand."
"Yes, yes," answered Takao. "Although Gunbei's attentions are hateful to me, it is my duty, for the sake of the sword, to pretend to yield to him for a short time. In this way Sakurai will be saved. Let us agree upon a signal. I will go to the stream and, throwing some cherry flowers into it, I will repeat:
Hana wa sakura:Hito wa bushi.The cherry is first among flowers:The warrior first among men."
They separated quietly. Takao sank upon the mats, musing sadly. The prospect that lay before her was utterly revolting to her mind. Meanwhile Gunbei, eager to know the result of the conference he had permitted between the two, quietly entered the room from behind.
Her attitude of dejection greatly enhanced her pale and aristocratic beauty, and Gunbei thought that she looked more ravishingly lovely than he had ever seen her before. The sight of her inflamed his longing to possess her as his own.
"What a woman!" he thought to himself. "She shall be mine!"
As he moved across the room, Takao, who was hitherto unaware of his presence, started to her feet.
"No, no," remonstrated Gunbei in seductive accents, "I cannot allow you to run away—do not deceive yourself for one moment. I have come for your answer, Takao. It is 'Yes,' is it not?"
He thought that as he found her alone and in this pensive frame of mind that Jurobei must have persuaded her to become his paramour. His pulses throbbed and the blood in his veins ran fire. In his overmastering passion he did not notice that his would-be victim shuddered as he took her hand and drew her close to him till she was reclining on his knees. Dreamily he whispered:
"Takao, you are as beautiful as an angel. Yield to my desire and I will make you my wife. Only listen to me, and all shall be as you wish both for yourself and your brother, Jurobei.—Come, come! Let us belong to each other!" and he endeavoured to draw her towards the inner room.
Takao, in the meantime, had rested her hand on the hilt of his sword and was about to draw it from its sheath.
"What are you doing, Takao! Why do you touch my sword?" asked Gunbei sharply, roused out of his reverie of love.
"Think of me no more! With this sword I will cut off my hair and become a nun. You may rest assured that never shall another man touch me all my life."
With these words she attempted to draw the sword from his girdle.
Gunbei, thwarted in his longing for the beautiful woman, now lost his temper. He pushed her roughly to one side:
"You scorn my love then? You are an obstinate creature! Instead of forgetting you I will torture Jurobei. You shall soon know what my hatred means." Clapping his hands, he called his confidential servant:
"Dotetsuke! Dotetsuke!"
When the man appeared his master wrathfully gave the imperious command:
"Tie up that woman to yonder cherry-tree."
Dotetsuke obediently dragged Takao into the garden and bound her with the rope that had a little time before made Jurobei a prisoner to the same tree.
Gunbei, who had watched the execution of his cruel order from the veranda, retired into the room to meditate sulkily on his ill-success. His heart was bitter within him with chagrin and baffled desire.
Suddenly, through a small side gate, there appeared a priest of sinister appearance who, approaching the balcony, saluted Gunbei.
"According to your wishes I have prayed seven days in succession for the Daimio of Tokushima to be seized with mortal illness. Where is my reward?"
"Do not speak so loudly!" reproved Gunbei. "You may be overheard! You shall be duly compensated for your services later. This is not the time. Return at once!"
"Yes, yes, I will obey you, but do not forget to let me have the money soon."
And Kazoin, the wicked priest, fingering his rosary and praying for evil, departed as stealthily as he had come.
Meanwhile the unhappy Takao was left alone. She struggled to free her hands from the cords that cut into her tender flesh, but in vain.
"What shall I do?" she sobbed. "Jurobei must be waiting for my answer. I must find some means of letting him know my condition. Is there no way by which I can get free? I am powerless to find the sword or to help Shusen."
She struggled desperately against the tree and in her anguish she murmured:
"Gunbei is surely a devil in human form. He has stolen the sword himself in order to incriminate others. Shusen will be lost and his house ruined unless we can recover it this very night."
In her violent efforts to wrench herself free the cherry-tree was shaken and several blossoms fell into the stream. The falling flowers brought hope and comfort to Takao's heart.
"The holy Buddha has come to our aid," she reflected. "Jurobei will surely see the flowers in the water, and think that it is the pre-arranged signal."
Meanwhile Jurobei, from his hiding-place, was watching the stream, waiting with impatience for the promised sign. Just as he was beginning to chafe at the unexpected delay he caught sight of a cluster of white blossoms floating down the current of the rivulet.
"Ah, then it was the Kunitsugu sword which Gunbei stole and wore on his person, never letting it out of his sight night or day."
Gunbei had watched the execution of his cruel order from the veranda.
Gunbei had watched the execution of his cruel order from the veranda.
Creeping along within the shadow of the trees he stealthily made his way across the inner garden towards the room where he expected to find Takao.
But what was his surprise when he came upon her bound to the cherry-tree.
"Jurobei, at last you have come!" she gasped.
"Takao Sama, whatever has happened? Why are you treated like this?"
"It is because I could not endure Gunbei's hateful attentions," she answered, weeping. "Help me, I cannot move!"
Jurobei set to work to unfasten the ropes and in a few minutes Takao was released.
"Leave this matter to me!" advised Jurobei. "I will find some means of outwitting Gunbei yet."
And Jurobei, followed by Takao who was endeavouring to arrange her disordered robes, boldly strode into the room of his enemy.
The screens were pushed aside and Gunbei appeared. He glared fiercely at the intruding couple.
"How dare you release that woman without my permission?"
"It is my intention to counsel her to comply with your wishes," replied Jurobei, "therefore have I set her free—to give her to you as my sister."
"Ya, Jurobei, have your powers of persuasion induced your sister to consent to my proposals?" inquired Gunbei in mocking tones.
"Yes, I know not which I am, an elder brother or a go-between. If you have any other work for me, I am at your service."
"Ha, ha!" sneered Gunbei, "then as your sister agrees to please me we shall now be members of the same family. As a sign that we are closely related, take this by way of congratulation," and suddenly drawing his sword, he slashed at Jurobei.
Jurobei's keen eye forestalled the action, and, skilled fencer that he was, like lightning he seized a bucket close at hand and, holding it up, adroitly parried the rain of blows with this improvised shield.
"What does this mean?" he exclaimed. "This is too much attention even from a relative. It is troublesome. Surely so much ceremony between members of the same family is unnecessary. Please take it back."
Gunbei's answer was another wild attack on Jurobei, who nimbly avoided the thrusts.
While his whole attention was engrossed in trying to cut down Jurobei, Takao stole behind him and snatched the long sword hanging at his side from its sheath.
"Here is the Kunitsugu sword," she joyfully exclaimed.
On hearing these words, Gunbei turned like a demon of fury upon her.
"If you have found it I will kill you both," shouted Gunbei.
But before he could execute his threat Jurobei seized him from behind.
Dotetsuke, a secret supporter of Shusen Sakurai, and who all this time has acted the part of a spy and pretended accomplice in Gunbei's vile schemes, now escorted his real master upon the scene.
Sakurai loftily addressed his unmasked foe.
"Your villainous plots are all laid bare, and it is impossible for you to escape justice. Confess all and pray for mercy."
Gunbei, choking with rage, flung off Jurobei and rushed upon his abhorred rival.
Sakurai skilfully parried the onslaught, seized Gunbei, and with a prodigious effort hurled him out into the garden.
"Dotetsuke!" called Sakurai, "come and help us!"
"Yes, yes!" answered the man, as he ran to Jurobei's assistance in holding the wretch down.
Gunbei started.
"What? Are you also on Shusen's side?" and he gnashed his teeth in impotent fury.
"You have won!" He turned to Shusen. "It is useless for me to attempt to conceal the truth. I stole the sword, thereby hoping to bring about your ruin. I can say no more. Take the sword and return to your house. Does not that suffice?"
"The sword is but a small part of the crimes you have committed. Listen, villain that you are! You have done a much greater wrong. Our Lord, the Daimio of Tokushima, has loaded you with favours, and you, like a dastardly traitor, have requited his kindness by conspiring to compass the death of your benefactor."
"Silence, Shusen! That is a lie. I have always hated you as my rival, but I have borne no spite towards our Lord. What proof could you possibly have for such base allegations?" and Gunbei stared hard at his accuser.
Shusen smiled superciliously as he clapped his hands. In answer to the summons, Izæmon led in a prisoner, Kazoin, the wicked priest.
"Here are my witnesses of your schemes against the life of the Lord of Tokushima."
Gunbei realized his checkmate: there was nothing to be gained by lying further. He was a declared traitor. In desperation he attempted to rally his strength and attack Sakurai again, but he was promptly seized and again thrown down into the garden.
"You are a bad man, Gunbei. Our Lord shall judge you." Then turning to the men he gave the command:
"Bind him, hand and foot!"
When the mortified Gunbei lay helpless and cringing at his mercy, Shusen turned to his trusty vassal and addressed him, saying:
"Jurobei, I promote you in my service. You are a true and faithful knight. Let us rejoice, for we have triumphed and our enemy will receive his deserts—he is defeated!"
Takao here brought forward the sword and placed it slowly and ceremoniously before Jurobei who had staked his life, his house, his all, and lost his only child in the tragic search.
"It is found in time!" she said. "Look, the dawn breaks! It is the morning of the third of March!"
Receiving the weapon with a profound bow, Jurobei, on bended knees, raised it aloft in both hands and presented it to his feudal master, saying:
"To your keeping is at last restored the stolen treasure of our Daimio!" and thus ended the
Quest of the Lost Sword
NOTE.—Kunitsugu was the name of a famous swordsmith who lived at the end of the Kamakura Period, 1367.
[1]A small knife which fits into the hilt of a sword.
[1]A small knife which fits into the hilt of a sword.
[2]The Shrines of Kumano or The Three Holy Places date from the first century B.C., and are famous for their healing powers. The Nachi waterfall is the third of these ancient shrines, and is No. 1 of the thirty-three places sacred to Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy.
[2]The Shrines of Kumano or The Three Holy Places date from the first century B.C., and are famous for their healing powers. The Nachi waterfall is the third of these ancient shrines, and is No. 1 of the thirty-three places sacred to Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy.
[3]Lit. Flower-Capital = Kyoto.
[3]Lit. Flower-Capital = Kyoto.
[4]In old Japan the sentence of imprisonment, execution, and even crucifixion fell on the wife as well as all the children, even to the youngest babe of the criminal.
[4]In old Japan the sentence of imprisonment, execution, and even crucifixion fell on the wife as well as all the children, even to the youngest babe of the criminal.
[5]Koban= the name of an ancient pure gold coin elliptical in shape, worth about oneYen, but the purchasing value perhaps a hundred times what it is in the present day.
[5]Koban= the name of an ancient pure gold coin elliptical in shape, worth about oneYen, but the purchasing value perhaps a hundred times what it is in the present day.
[6]Ryo = Yen, about two shillings, but in those times equal to perhaps a hundred times its present value.
[6]Ryo = Yen, about two shillings, but in those times equal to perhaps a hundred times its present value.
[7]March by the old calendar fell a month later than the present way of reckoning.
[7]March by the old calendar fell a month later than the present way of reckoning.
[8]Swords of different smiths were distinguished by the marks on their blades, formed by the different methods of welding. Themidare-yakeis an undulating line like the waves of the sea.
[8]Swords of different smiths were distinguished by the marks on their blades, formed by the different methods of welding. Themidare-yakeis an undulating line like the waves of the sea.
The beautiful tragedy of Kesa Gozen has been familiar to me since the days of my early youth, when hand in hand I walked the school garden with Fumiko, my friend, and listened with the ardour of a romance-loving nature to the many stories of old Japan, and more especially of its heroines of antiquity, with which she loved to make me familiar.
Fumiko was the daughter of a naval officer, well versed in the literature of her own land, and a good English scholar. I had only just come to Japan, an Anglo-Japanese girl who had been brought up in England, knowing nothing of my fatherland. "Friendships are discovered, not made," says a philosopher, and in our case this was true. In her delightful and sympathetic companionship I began to forget the heart-aching homesickness for my motherland, and to learn to accustom myself to the strange country to which fate and my father had brought me. There is nothing more pitiful than the abysmal loneliness and utter hopelessness of the young, cut off from those they love, and planted in antipodal surroundings; they have no experience to tell them that misery, like joy, is but a condition of time, and that both pass and alternate. Who can say what drew us together? Yet never was I happier than when she put her hand in mine and made me her confidante, and great was my sorrow when she married and left me to pace the garden alone and to the memory of all the stories she had told me. To her I owe my awakening to the beauty of Japanese romance and the love of those old tragedies.
Many years have passed since then, but when I was told that Danjiro was acting the drama of Kesa Gozen at the Kabukiza Theatre my mind flashed back to those convent-like days when Fumiko and I
Lo, as some innocent and eager maidenLeans o'er the wistful limit of the world,Dreams of the glow and glory of the distance,Wonderful wooing and the grace of tears,Dreams with what eyes and what a sweet insistenceLovers are waiting in the hidden years,
stirred to life stories of love and duty, old as the dawn which first broke upon the island empire, yet ever new and living while hearts throb to the music of the ideal.
But I am long in coming to the story of Kesa Gozen. This beautiful and touching story of the Japanese ideal of woman's character and morals is told in the drama calledNachi-No-Taki Chikai No Mongaku, "The Priest Mongaku at the Waterfall of Nachi" (it is characteristic of the Japanese that they have ignored the heroine in the title of the drama), which was acted by Danjiro Ichikawa, the star of the Japanese stage, at the Kabukiza Theatre during the month of October 1902. The heights of romance and tragedy are scaled, and the pathos of a woman's unflinching and voluntary sacrifice of life, rends the heart. The heroine is not a Francesca da Rimini, caught up by the whirlwind of passion and blown whithersoever it listeth, but a woman who finds herself confronted by a vehement and determined love, out of the toils of which she sees no escape, and so, in the prime of youth and beauty, to save her husband's name, her mother's life, and her own virtue, she calmly arranges by stratagem to die by the hand of her impetuous and would-be lover.
These tragic events took place in the year 1160, and a full account of them may be found in the "Gempei Seisuiki," a record of the rise and fall of the two great rival clans, the Taira[1]and the Minamoto, whose struggles for supremacy disturbed Japan for many years, and find a parallel in the conflicts of the White and Red Roses in England.
What is known historically of the story is this. Kesa, the heroine, was the only child of a widowed mother called Koromogawa, after the place of her residence during her married life. The word "Koromo" means the vestments of a priest, and her daughter was consequently called "Kesa," which means the "stole," her real name being Atoma. Both her father and grandfather were knights. The mother and daughter led a secluded life, always bordering on poverty, and at times menaced by actual want.
Koromogawa took charge of an orphaned nephew, a boy, a few years older than Kesa, and the two young cousins grew up together, with the old-fashioned result that the lad fell in love with the lass. At the age of sixteen, Yendo Morito, called away probably on business connected with his clan, had to leave Kesa, just then budding into exquisite beauty. Before leaving he entreated his aunt to promise him Kesa in marriage. Koromogawa complied. Yendo did not return for five years, and in the meantime, Watanabe Wataru, a wealthy and handsome young warrior, proposed for the hand of Kesa. The mother, probably in consideration of the advantages of the match from a worldly point of view, neglected her promise to Yendo, and married Kesa to Wataru, who also was the girl's cousin. After they have been married two years Yendo Morito returns and sees his lovely young cousin by accident. His boy's love, cherished fondly during long years of absence, flames into a man's overmastering passion at sight of her. He learns, to his despair, that she is married to another, and in his wrath determines to kill his aunt who, by her faithlessness to her promise, has made his life a misery. He rushes out and entering his aunt's house draws his sword upon her. She, to gain time, weakly promises that he shall see Kesa that very evening. Yendo, fain to be content with this hope, retires, and Koromogawa summons her daughter by a letter.
When Kesa arrives she finds that her mother has made all arrangements to kill herself, and on learning the circumstances she undertakes to see her cousin, and quiets her distressed parent. Then she interviews Morito and tells him that she has always loved him, but before she can be his he must first put her husband out of the way. To this he willingly consents. She bids him come that night to the house, where she will make her husband wash his hair and drink wine so that he may sleep soundly. Yendo is to steal in at midnight and, by feeling for the damp hair, find and slay his rival. Kesa returns home, washes her own hair, and sleeps in the room she has pointed out to Yendo, having carefully put her husband to sleep in an inner room.
This is an interesting psychological point, and is perhaps obscure to the Western reader. The ethical training of a Japanese woman teaches her that in any great crisis she is the one to be sacrificed. Kesa, rather than be the cause of a quarrel which would involve her husband and her mother in a blood-feud with Yendo, puts herself out of the way, and by doing so not only saves the lives of all concerned, but preaches a silent and moving sermon to her kinsman, whose ungoverned conduct is contrary to the teaching of all Japanese moralists.
The mad and reckless lover comes, but when he thinks to gaze with triumph on the severed head of his hated rival he is stricken with horror to find that he has murdered the woman he loved so passionately. He confesses his crime to the husband and they both become monks. Years after, from the obscurity of the monastery, having survived a long interval of austere life and self-inflicted penances, there rises into the prominence of political life a monk called Mongaku, who is the friend and counsellor of the great Shogun, Yoritomo, the head of the Minamoto clan. Mongaku, the monk, is the knight Yendo Morito.
It is the opinion of some that Kesa really loved Yendo, but her filial obedience obliged her to marry the man whom her mother chose for her. Then, when she found how great was her cousin's love for her, and knowing that in her heart she returned his love, but that she could not be his without sin, she went gladly to her death, rejoicing, doubtless, that it was by the sword of her beloved she should perish.[2]
This version is the more beautiful and tragic, for we have a woman triumphant in the face of the strongest temptation that can ever beat against a human heart. The invincible yearning of the flesh must have been there, but the soul battled bravely and won. The power of beauty, the joy of conquest in love, these are hers; but Kesa, remaining faithful to duty, by her death places the honour of the family beyond all danger of blemish through her.
The present drama does not recognize this latter version, but is founded on the former. The tragedy is epic from beginning to end, and "is lifted from the outset into the high region of things predestined." Fate, like some dread spider, weaves her fatal web of love and doom, and Kesa is caught in the meshes. The grand simplicity of the play and the purity of purpose of the heroine recall the Greek drama and the Roman tragedy ofLucretia. Kesa allows herself no petty, despicable dalliance with admiration; vanity lures her not from the narrow path of right. She sees that nothing will swerve Yendo from his irresistible passion, and she resolves to die. "Fear in the face of danger dies," and having quickly made up her mind she never vacillates nor looks back, but moves forward with the dignity of sublime reserve to pre-determined and self-imposed death. And Kesa was only seventeen years of age. Think of it!
Act I.The play begins with a scene in the open air. A new bridge has been built near the town of Osaka, which can be seen with the hills and pine-trees in the distance. Numbers of Buddhist priests appear in gorgeous robes and offer prayers for the safety of the new bridge.
Some village officials, a retainer of Yendo Morito, who is superintendent of the works, and Watanabe Kaoru, a brother-in-law to Kesa, the heroine, appear, and the young knight tells those present that his brother's wife Kesa is coming to see the opening of the new bridge.
In a few minutes Kesa, the picture of youth and grace, in lovelycrêperobes, her face hidden by a gossamer gown held over her head with both hands (an ancient custom resembling the Turkishyashmak), comes fluttering over the bridge like some radiant moth, followed by two attendants, Tamakoto and Otose. Before saluting her brother-in-law Kaoru, she removes the gauze veil and reveals to all a face of surpassing loveliness—gracefully oval in shape, a complexion white as the lily, lips crimson as the bud of the peach blossom, and long almond eyes, surmounted by eyebrows like the crescent of the new moon. She speaks to her brother-in-law, who tells her that he is going to see her cousin, Yendo Morito, the superintendent of the new bridge. Kesa then prepares to retire and, donning the gauze-robeyashmak, her attendants helping, she turns to go home. As she moves away Yendo Morito, on horseback, crosses the bridge and, catching sight of the beautiful woman, watches her disappear into the distance. The priest and officials bow in polite salutation, but he is oblivious to everything near him, for his gaze is riveted on the retreating figure of Kesa. He thrills with rapturous emotion at the sight, and happy memories of their childhood and early youth rush over him.
The tragedy begins here. Yendo Morito, after several years' absence, sees his cousin for the first time and, shaken with a mighty love, now learns that she, who was promised to him in his boyhood, is already the wife of another—of his kinsman, Watanabe Wataru.
Act II.The curtain is pulled aside upon the maternal home of Kesa, a small thatched cottage in the country near Kyoto. The whole aspect of the little home denotes genteel poverty, tranquil retirement, and spotless cleanliness. The two ladies who accompanied Kesa in the first Act, Tamakoto and Otose, are discovered in the little sitting-room discoursing. Koromogawa, an old lady with flowing grey hair, comes out from an inner room and receives her two visitors. In the course of conversation they ask her to tell them the reason why she has lived so long in such a remote place as the province of Mutsu. In compliance with their request, Koromogawa says:
"I am the daughter of a knight who held the province in tenure for his services to his feudal lord. My husband was a retainer of the Governor of Mutsu, and so when we were married we went and lived at Koromogawa. My daughter Kesa was born to me there. Soon after my husband died, and I went back with my child to my old home, and have since lived a quiet and humble life. On my return the people of this neighbourhood called me after the place, Koromogawa, where my married life had been spent, and my daughter was called Kesa, though her real name is Atoma. She grew up here and married Watanabe Wataru."
At this point an official named Gorokuro, who seems to be on friendly terms with the old lady, comes in and sits by the charcoal hearth and makes a cup of tea for every one present. The hearth is square, sunk in the floor, and the kettle hangs, gipsy fashion, over the fire, as is the way in the houses of the poorer classes. While serving tea Gorokuro complains of the behaviour of Yendo Morito during the building of the bridge. This young and impetuous knight treated the workmen in such a rigorous manner that insubordination resulted, and he, Gorokuro, had great trouble in controlling them. This incident gives the key to the young knight's character. Koromogawa apologizes to Gorokuro for the trouble her nephew Yendo has given him.
While this conversation proceeds, Kesa, accompanied by one of her husband's retainers, Kisoda by name, arrives. Having dropped her sandals on the stepping-stone to the veranda, she removes her veiling robe, enters the house, and greets the old lady with low bows. She says that, whilst on her way home from visiting a temple with her husband, she has come to see her mother. In a little while the two ladies, Tamakoto and Otose, take their leave, and Kesa and her mother retire to an inner room.
Yendo Morito is now seen approaching the house along thehana-michi, and announces himself at the gate. Koromogawa, in answer to the call, comes out to receive him and asks his business. He replies that his business is private and that he must speak with her in secret. Koromogawa then ushers her nephew into a back room, and the passing of the daylight is marked by the lighting of a candle. As he enters the house he starts at the sight of a woman's sandals on the steps, and evidently guesses that Kesa is near at hand. Little dreaming of the storm that is brewing, the old lady asks her nephew to be seated. He ominously remains standing with his hand upon his sword. Suddenly the young knight's eyes flash, he snatches the sword from its sheath, and seizing his astonished aunt, his pent-up sense of injury and the misery of his thwarted hopes find vent in these words:
"Prepare to die at once! You are my enemy, and I am of the Watanabe clan, who never allow their enemies to live even for a day."
"What wrong have I done you that you should wish to kill me?" exclaims the terrified woman.
"Five years ago, before I went away, you promised to give me Kesa in marriage. I come back, and at the opening of the Watanabe bridge I see her, but only as the wife of another. I have always loved Kesa, and now I am bitterly disappointed and sick—sick with hopeless love and despair. It is true no correspondence has passed between us, but that has nothing to do with your promise. Ever since I last saw Kesa I have been ill, and I cannot and will not live without her. This is all your fault. You are my enemy, you shall die! and I will then kill myself. We will die together—prepare yourself!"
"Wait a moment!" shrieks the terrified mother. "I did not mean to break my promise, but Wataru compelled me to give her to him. If you really still love her I will get her back somehow or other. Only calm yourself and listen to reason."
But the young knight is reckless to madness; the old woman's pleading is lost upon him and, perhaps guessing that Kesa is in the next room, he determines to appeal to her filial piety so as to make her appear. He raises his sword and seizes his aunt again, but he has no time to strike: the sliding of a screen, the rustle of a woman's silken garments, and between Yendo and the victim of his vengeance there darts the lovely Kesa—his arm is stayed by her small hand, and, tremulous with agitation, a voice he has longed to hear for many lonely years says:
"Spare my poor old mother!"
The mother throws herself between Kesa and Yendo, crying:
"I am ready to die. You must not sacrifice your virtue to save me."