Soon all the privileged people admitted to the intimacy of the Queen were assembled. They went into the outer hall of the house. The Kisaki ascended a low platform, covered with carpets and cushions, and half reclined upon them. The women took their places on her left, the men on her right; and servants at once placed upon the ground, before each, a small gold plate containing dainties and warm drinks.
Through all the open panels the scented air of the woods entered the spacious room, which was filled with a greenish light, reflected from the neighboring trees. The walls were wonderfully decorated; fabulous animals, the bird Foo, the unicorn, and the sacred tortoise stood out in bold relief from a background of azure, gold, or purple, and a screen ofcloisonnéenamel, in tints of turquoise and brown, described its zigzags behind the dais. There was no furniture, nothing but thick mats, cushions, and satin hangings ornamented with birds, embroidered in circles of gold.
"I declare to you at the outset," said the Kisaki, "that I shall not utter a word. I am seized with an overwhelming laziness and indifference. Besides, I want to hear stories, and not to tell them."
Loud protests were made against this announcement.
"I am not to be moved," said the Queen, laughing; "you shall not even persuade me to pronounce a few words of flattery when your stories are done."
"Never mind!" cried Simabara; "I will tell the story of the wolf changed into a young girl."
"Do! do!" exclaimed the women; "we like the title."
"An old wolf—"
"Oh! he was old, was he?" said a young princess, with a look of contempt.
"You know very well that to give shelter to a human soul, an animal must be old."
"True! true!" cried the listeners; "go on!"
"An old wolf," said Simabara, "lived in a cave near a much travelled road. This wolf had an insatiable appetite. He therefore frequently left his cavern, went to the side of the road, and gobbled up a passer-by. But this mode of procedure was not at all to the taste of the travellers, and they ceased to frequent that road; so that little by little it became quite deserted. The wolf meditated long and deeply, seeking a way to put an end to this state of things. Suddenly he disappeared, and every one supposed he was dead. Some bold people ventured along the road, and there they saw a lovely young girl, who smiled bewitchingly upon them.
"'Will you follow me, and rest in a cool, delightful spot,' she said.
"None thought of refusing; but no sooner had they left the road, than the young girl returned to her former shape of an old wolf, and devoured the travellers; then she resumed her fair form and returned to the roadside. From that day forth not a traveller has escaped the jaws of the wolf."
The princes loudly applauded this story; but the women protested.
"That is to say that we are dangerous traps hidden beneath flowers," said they.
"The flowers are so beautiful that we shall never see the trap," said the Prince of Tsusima, with a laugh.
"Come!" said the Queen; "Simabara shall drink two cups of saki, for hurting the feelings of the women."
Simabara merrily drained the cups.
"Formerly," said Princess Iza-Farou, flashing a mischievous glance at Simabara, "heroes were plenty. There were Asahina, who could seize in each hand a warrior in full armor and hurl him to a great distance; Tametomo, with his terrible bow; Yatsitsone, whose only shield was his open fan; and how many more! Their lofty deeds were the constant theme of conversation. It was said, among other things, that on one occasion Sousige, the unrivalled cavalier, returning from a journey, saw several of his friends crouching round a chess-board; he spurred his horse over, their heads, and the animal stood motionless on his hind feet in the centre of the board. The players, struck dumb, thought that the knight had dropped from heaven. Nowadays I hear nothing to compare with that."
"Good! good!" exclaimed Simabara; "you would infer that none of us are capable of such a remarkable feat of horsemanship, and that the age of heroes is passed."
"That is exactly the idea that I wished to convey," said Iza-Farou, bursting into laughter; "was I not bound to reply to your impudent wolf?"
"She had a right to avenge us," said the Kisaki; "she shall not be punished."
"Flower-of-the-Reed knows a story, but she won't tell it!" cried a princess, who had been whispering with her neighbor.
Flower-of-the-Reed hid her face behind the loose sleeve of her robe. She was a very young girl, and somewhat shy.
"Come, speak!" said the Kisaki, "and don't be alarmed; we have nothing in common with Simabara's wolf."
"Very well! This is my story," said Flower-of-the-Reed, suddenly reassured. "In the Island of Yezo lived a young man and a maiden who loved each other tenderly. They had been betrothed from their cradles, and had never been parted. The girl was fifteen years old, and the young man eighteen. The date of their marriage was soon to be fixed. Unhappily the son of a rich man fell in love with the girl, and asked her father for her hand; and he, heedless of his former promises, gave it to him. The young couple pleaded in vain; the father was firm. Then the girl went to her lover in despair.
"'Listen!' said she; 'as we must be parted in this world, death shall unite us. Let us go to the tomb of your ancestors, and there kill ourselves.'
"They did as she proposed; they lay down upon the tomb and stabbed themselves. But the rejected lover had followed them. When he no longer heard their voices, he approached and saw them stretched out side by side, motionless, hand in hand.
"While he bent over them, two white butterflies rose from the tomb and flew gayly upwards, fluttering their wings.
"'Ah!' angrily cried the jealous survivor, 'it is they! They have escaped me; they escape into glory; they are happy! But I will follow them, even into heaven!'
"So saying, he seized the dagger which lay upon the tomb, and in his turn struck himself to the heart.
"Then a third butterfly rose into the air. But the others were far away; he could never reach them.
"Even now, to this very day, if you look among the flowers, when spring comes back to us, you will see the two winged lovers pass, side by side. Look again; you will soon see the jealous one, who follows, but can never overtake them."
"Indeed," said Iza-Farou, "butterflies are always grouped in that way: two flutter about together, and a third follows them at a distance."
"I have noticed that peculiarity too, without knowing the reason for it," said the Kisaki. "The story is pretty; I never heard it before."
"The Prince of Satsuma must tell us something," said Flower-of-the-Reed.
"I!" exclaimed the old man in some alarm; "but I don't know any stories."
"Yes! yes! you know plenty," exclaimed the women; "you must tell us one."
"Then I will relate an adventure which happened not long since to the Prince of Figo's cook."
This announcement provoked a general outburst of merriment.
"You will see," said Satsuma, "you will see that this cook had a good deal of wit. In the first place, he is very skilful at his trade, which is not a thing to be despised; and moreover he pays extreme attention to the minutest details of his work. A few days ago, however, at a feast to which I went, the servants brought in a bowl full of rice and uncovered it before the Lord of Figo. What was the latter's surprise to see in the middle of the snowy rice a black insect, quite motionless, because it was cooked! The Prince turned white with rage. He summoned the cook; and seizing the ignoble insect with the tips of his ivory chopsticks, he presented it to the fellow with a terrible look. There was nothing left for the unfortunate servant but to rip himself up as speedily as possible. But it seemed that that operation was not at all to his liking; for, approaching his master with every sign of the most lively joy, he took the insect and ate it, pretending to think that the Prince did him the honor to offer him a taste of the repast. The guests began to laugh at this display of quick wits. The Prince of Figo himself could not help smiling, and the cook was rescued from death."
"Good! good!" cried all the listeners; "there's a story which cannot offend any one."
"It is Nagato's turn," said Tsusima, "he must know delightful stories."
Nagato started as if aroused from a dream; he had heard nothing, noticed nothing, absorbed as he was in the ecstatic contemplation of the goddess whom he adored.
"You want a story?" he asked, looking at the company as if he saw them for the first time.
He reflected for a few seconds.
"Very well; you shall have one," he said.
"There was once a tiny pond, born upon a day of storm and tempest. It was formed upon a mossy bed, and violets and pretty flowering-shrubs surrounded it and bent over it. The clouds, its kindred, had not yet quite dispersed, when the birds came, dipping the tips of their wings in its waters, and delighting it with their songs. It was happy, and rejoiced in life, finding it good. But soon the clouds vanished, and something marvellously dazzling appeared high overhead. The water sparkled; diamond-like ripples traversed its surface; it was changed to a magnificent casket of jewels. But the clouds came back, the vision disappeared. What sorrow then, and what regrets! The pond found no more pleasure in the songs of the birds; he despised the reflections cast upon his bosom by the flowers on his shores; everything looked dark and ugly to him. At last the sky cleared again, and this time for a long period. The bright wonder reappeared; the pond was again penetrated with warmth, splendor, and joy; but he felt that he was dying beneath those golden darts, which grew more and more fiery. Yet if a light branch threw its shadow over him, if a fine mist sprang up and served him as a shield, how he cursed them for delaying his delicious annihilation for one moment! The third day he had not one drop of water left: the pond had been swallowed by the sun."
This tale plunged the princesses in sweet reveries. The men declared that Nagato had invented a new form of story-telling, and that his improvisation ought to be put into poetry.
The Queen, who understood that the Prince spoke for her ear alone, almost involuntarily threw him a look full of melancholy pleasure.
The day neared its close. Two princesses now knelt before the Kisaki, to take her orders for the next day's diversions.
"To-morrow," said she, after a few moments' consideration, "we will have a rustic breakfast and a poetic contest in the western orchard."
The party soon broke up, and the embassy was conducted to the pavilions, embowered in shrubs and flowers, which had been assigned to it.
When the Prince of Nagato woke next day he experienced a feeling of well-being and of joy to which he had long been a stranger. Yielding to the brief and idle revery which is like the dawn of wakening consciousness, his eye wandered over the dancing shadows of the leaves without, cast upon the closed blinds by the sun. Myriads of birds warbled and chattered, and one might almost think that the light itself sang in that medley of clear voices.
The Prince thought of the happy day which lay before him; it was an oasis in the dry and burning desert of his love. He repulsed the thought of speedy departure, with its train of attendant griefs, to give himself wholly up to the delights of the present; he was calm and happy.
The night before, his mind full of memories, his heart filled with emotion, he knew that sleep would hold persistently aloof. He therefore ordered a drink to be prepared which would prevent insomnia. A secret feeling of coquetry led him to avoid a feverish night. He was aware of his own beauty, having been told of it frequently; and the glance of every woman he met repeated the story daily. Had not his grace of person and of face, the charm which emanated from him, had their share in attracting the favorable notice of the Queen? They therefore deserved to be guarded from the inroads of fever and fatigue.
Calling his servants, the Prince demanded a mirror, and examined himself with eager haste.
But the first glance allayed his fears. His pallor had recovered the warm tints of which illness had robbed it; the blood returned to his lips; and yet his eyes still retained something of their feverish lustre. He paid an almost childish attention to the details of his dress, choosing the sweetest perfumes, the softest garments, of the faint but clear blue tint which he preferred.
When he left his pavilion at last, the guests were already assembled before the Kisaki's palace. His arrival caused a sensation. The men went into raptures over his toilette; the women dared not speak. But their silence was most flattering; it might be translated thus: He is worthy to be loved, even by a queen; for that perfectly beautiful body is the temple of the most refined spirit and the noblest heart in the kingdom.
The Princess Iza-Farou-No-Kami approached Nagato. "You have not asked me for news of Fatkoura, Prince," said she.
The Prince had never thought of Fatkoura, nor had he even noted her absence.
"She was ill yesterday," continued the Princess; "but the announcement of your arrival restored her to health. Depressed as she has been for some time, your return may perhaps console her. You will see her directly; she is with the Kisaki. She is on duty this week. Well! have you nothing to say?"
The Prince knew not what to say; in fact, Fatkoura's name roused both remorse and weariness in him. He reproached himself for inspiring this woman with love for him, or rather for appearing to respond to the love which he guessed she felt. He had used this false passion as a screen between the curious gaze and the sun of his real love. But he no longer had the strength to keep up hisrôleof fond lover; and instead of the pity and friendship which he strove to feel for his unfortunate victim, Fatkoura only inspired him with deep indifference.
The arrival of the Kisaki enabled him to dispense with any answer to Iza-Farou. The Queen advanced from the veranda, greeting her guests with a gracious smile as they bent one knee to the ground.
As they were to climb a mountain and pass over narrow paths, the Kisaki had donned a less ample robe than she usually wore. Her sea-green gown was of crape, wrinkled slightly, like the surface of a lake ruffled by the wind; a broad cloth of gold girdle bound her waist and formed a huge knot at the back. A branch of chrysanthemum in full bloom was embroidered upon one end of this sash. The Queen had in her hair large pins of light tortoise-shell elaborately wrought, and on her brow was a small round mirror surrounded by a row of pearls.
Soon a magnificent chariot, drawn by two black buffaloes, approached the palace. This chariot, surmounted by a roof and covered with gilding, looked like a summer-house. It was closed by blinds, which the Kisaki ordered to be raised.
The princesses and lords took their places in norimonos drawn by a large number of men in rich array, and they set joyously forth. The day was superb, a light breeze cooled the air, and they would not be troubled by the heat.
At first they passed through the gardens of the royal residence. The chariot thrust aside the straggling branches which grew across the paths, it frightened away the butterflies, and broke the flowers from their stems. Then they reached the wall that surrounds the summer-palace, and went through the lofty gateway crowned by the Mikado's bird, the Foo-Houan,—a mythological creature which took part in the creation of the world. They then followed the wall along its exterior; next they took a road bordered by tall trees and leading to the mountains. There the whole Court got down to continue the journey on foot. They formed into groups, servants opened parasols, and the ascent of the mountain was merrily begun. The Kisaki walked first. Alert and active as a young girl, she ran a few steps, gathered wild flowers from the bushes; then, when she had too large a collection, she threw them away. The merry company chatted and laughed; each one walked at his own pace. Here and there a lord took off the lacquered hat which looked like a circular shield and hung it at his belt; then he fixed his open fan in his hair twisted like a rope, so that it projected like a penthouse over his forehead.
At times an opening in the bushes revealed the city, which seemed to spread out as they rose higher and higher; but they did not stay to gaze, for their first stop was to be on the terrace before the temple of Kiomidz,—that is, the temple of pure water,—whence the view is very fine. This temple rests on one side upon immensely tall pillars of wood, reaching down to the very foot of the mountain; on the other it is supported by a rough hewn rock. It shelters beneath its broad roof, covered with blue porcelain tiles, a divinity with a thousand arms.
Upon the terrace, covered with large pebbles, which extends in front of the temple, camp-stools had been arranged, that the noble party might rest, and enjoy the beauty of the view at their ease.
They soon arrived and took their places.
Kioto lay before them, with its countless low but elegant houses, encircling the vast park of the Dairi,—a lake of verdure from which rose here and there, like an islet, a broad and magnificent roof. The eye could readily follow the clear line traced around the park by the walls.
To the south of the city a river, the Yedogava, glistened in the sun. The plain, rich and well cultivated, stretched beyond. Another watercourse, the Wild Goose River, flows through the heart of the town, near the fortress of Nisio-Nosiro, which rears its lofty ramparts and its square tower, crowned by a roof with upturned edges.
Behind the city lay a semicircle of high hills covered with vegetation and with temples of every sort, rising one above the other on the slopes, scaling them, and half hidden in foliage and flowers. The nobles pointed out to one another the temple of Iasacca, or the Eight Escarpments; the tower of To-Tse, with its five series of airy roofs; the chapel of Guihon, containing nothing but a round metal mirror, and surrounded by a vast number of pretty houses, to which people repair for tea and saki; then, lower down, nearer the plain, on the road that loads to Fusimi, the colossal pagoda of Daibouds, very lofty, very splendid, and containing within its gardens the temple of the Thirty-three thousand three hundred and thirty-three Idols,—a very long and narrow building.
The party went into ecstasies over the beauty of the situation. They delighted to lose their way in fancy in the complicated network formed by the city streets, filled with a brilliant throng, the enclosures and the courtyards, which from that height seemed like open boxes. With a single glance they traversed all Kioto; beside the river they saw a large open space, surrounded by a palisade, that was the parade-ground of the Knights of Heaven, some of whom were now galloping about the enclosure, their embroidered robes, their lances, and helmets flashing in the sun.
The dark, green mountains stood out in bold relief against the clear blue sky; some more distant peaks were violet hued; the atmosphere was so pure that the little city of Yodo was plainly visible, joined to Kioto by the long ribbon-like road crossing the golden fields.
The Kisaki rose.
"Let us be off!" she cried. "We must not linger here too long; we must drink, higher up, the water of the cascade of Otooua, which gives prudence and wisdom,—so the bonzes claim."
"Is there no fountain whose water has the power to make men light-hearted and careless?" said Simabara; "I would rather wet my lips in that."
"I don't see what you would gain," said a princess, laughing; "if there be such a fountain, you have most certainly tasted its waters."
"If there were one which made us forget life, and believe in a dream without awaking," said the Prince of Nagato, "I would drink to intoxication of it."
"I would content myself with that which gives prudence, were I in your place," said Fatkoura, who had not yet exchanged a word with Nagato.
Her bitter and satirical voice made the Prince shudder. He did not reply, but hastened to rejoin the Queen, who was climbing a stone staircase hewn in the steep side of the mountain.
This staircase, bordered by shrubs whose interlaced branches formed a verdant canopy above it, led to the cascade of Otooua. The sound of the water was already audible as it gushed from three fissures in the rock, and fell from a height into a small pond.
The Kisaki arrived first; she knelt on the grass and dipped her hands in the clear water.
A young bonze ran forward with a golden cup; but the sovereign dismissed him with a sign, and advancing her lips, swallowed the water held in the hollow of her hand, then rose and shook her fingers. A few drops fell upon her dress.
"Now," said she, laughing, "Buddha himself has no more wisdom than I."
"You laugh," said Simabara; "for my part, I believe in the virtues of the water: that is why I do not taste it."
They took a very rough path. Its very look made the women utter cries of alarm. Some declared that they would never risk their lives on such a road; but the lords went first, and extended their shut fans to the most timid, and thus the top of the mountain was reached. But then the cries of distress were redoubled. Before them lay a tiny torrent, which ran babbling over the stones; it must be crossed by jumping from rock to rock, at the risk, if one were awkward, of wetting the feet.
The Kisaki asked Nagato to let her lean on his shoulder, and passed safely over. Some of the women followed her; then turned to laugh, quite at their ease, at those who dared not venture.
One young princess paused in mid-stream, standing on a rock; she held close about her the ample folds of her robe; and, half laughing, half dismayed, would neither go forward nor backward. She only resolved upon crossing the dangerous ford when her friends threatened to leave her alone in the middle of the torrent.
There were but a few steps more to be taken ore they reached the western orchard, which is surrounded by a hedge of tea-plants. The Queen pushed open a lattice-gate, and entered the enclosure.
It was the most enchanting spot imaginable. The spring, at this height, is somewhat tardy; and while in the valley the fruit-trees had already shed all their flowers, here they were in full bloom. Upon the undulating surface carpeted with thick turf, plum-trees covered with tiny white stars, apricots, apple-trees, peach-trees with their pink flowers, cherries decked with dark-red bloom, bent and twisted and stretched in every direction their dusky branches, whose roughness formed a marked contrast to the frailty of the petals.
In the middle of the orchard a large carpet was spread on the grass, and a red satin curtain, held up by gilded poles, flapped above it. A collation was served on this rug in costly china dishes.
The guests gladly squatted around the trays loaded with dainty provisions; the walk had given all an appetite. The women arranged themselves in two groups to the right and left of the Kisaki; the men took their seats opposite her at a respectful distance.
The most outspoken gayety soon reigned throughout the noble assembly; laughter bubbled from every lip. They chattered loudly, and no one heeded the melodies discoursed by an orchestra hidden behind a screen made from fibres of the reed.
Fatkoura alone wore a gloomy look and remained silent. The Princess Iza-Farou studied her by stealth with increasing surprise; she also looked from time to time at the Prince of Nagato, who seemed lost in a delightful dream, but never turned his eyes in the direction of Fatkoura.
"What has happened?" murmured the Princess. "He has certainly ceased to love her; and I thought the wedding was so near at hand!"
The feast ended, the Kisaki rose.
"Now," said she, "to work! Let each one of us draw inspiration from Nature to compose a quatrain in Chinese characters."
They scattered in various directions beneath the trees; each one went apart and reflected. Some paused before a blossoming branch; others walked slowly along, their gaze fixed on the ground, or with head uplifted towards what could be seen of the sky through the constellations of snowy or rose-tinted flowers. Some lazy spirits stretched themselves at full length on the turf and closed their eyes.
The bright and lively hues of their dresses shone forth gayly against the green, and added one more charm to the landscape.
Soon all the poets were recalled. The time fixed for the framing of the quatrain had elapsed. They assembled and sat down on the grass. Servants brought in a huge bronze bowl, upon the sides of which writhed sculptured dragons in the midst of imaginary shrubbery. This bowl was full of white fans, decorated only by a slight sketch in one corner. On one was a tuft of iris; on another a few slender reeds, a cottage by a lake, over which bent a willow, or a bird grasping a branch of almond-flowers in his claws.
Each competitor took one of these fans, upon which he was to write his verse. Brushes and India ink ready mixed were also brought. Soon the black characters stood in four perpendicular rows upon the white surface of the fans; the poems were finished. Each poet read his own quatrain aloud.
The Princess Iza-Farou began:—
"THE FIRST FLOWERS."How fleeting, in life, is the timeWhen we have only joys, hopes, and no regrets?Which is the most delicious moment of spring?That when not a single flower has yet faded."
Lively approval hailed this poem.
When silence was restored, Simabara took up the word:—
"THE LOVE OF NATURE."I lift my head, and I see a flock of wild geese.Among those travellers one, who erst was in the van, now lagsbehind her mates.See how she flies behind the rest. Why does she linger thus?Because from the heights of heaven she wonders at the beautyof the scene."
"Good! good!" cried the listeners.
Some of the princes repeated the last line, shaking their heads with satisfaction.
Several other quatrains were read; then the Kisaki repeated hers:—
"THE SNOW."The sky is clear; the bees hum o'er the garden beds;A balmy breeze blows through the trees;It makes the plum-blossoms fall in showers.How delightful is the spring snow!"
"You are the master of us all!" was the enthusiastic shout. "What are our verses beside yours!"
"Our great poet, Tsourai-Iouki,[1]never wrote a more perfect poem than that," said the Prince of Nagato.
"It was from that poet I drew my inspiration," said the Kisaki, smiling with pleasure. "But it is your turn to read, Iwakura," she continued, glancing at the Prince.
Nagato opened his fan and read:—
"THE WILLOW."The thing which we love more than all else, we prefer that no oneelse should love.It belongs to another.So the willow, which takes root in our garden,Bends, blown by the wind, and adorns our neighbor's wall withits branches."
"The illustrious Tikangue[2]might be your brother," said the Kisaki; "there is no quatrain in his works superior to that. I wish to preserve the fan that your hand has illustrated; give it to me, I beg."
Nagato approached the Queen, and, kneeling, offered her the fan.
Fatkoura abruptly recited the following lines, which she improvised on the spur of the moment:—
"The pheasant runs through the fields; he attracts all eyes by hisgilded plumage;He cries aloud as he seeks his food.Then he turns towards his mate,And through love for her he involuntarily betrays the place ofhis retreat to men."
The Queen frowned, and paled slightly. A transport of rage made her heart palpitate; for she saw that Fatkoura, by this improvisation, hurled an outrageous insult at Nagato and herself. She slandered her sovereign with the daring of a soul which has lost all, and offers one buckler to revenge,—despair.
The Kisaki, feeling her inability to punish, was seized by a vague terror, and repressed her wrath. If she acknowledged that she understood the injurious intention of Fatkoura's words, must she not confess to a guilty prepossession,—an interest unworthy of her majesty,—in the love to which her beauty had given birth in the heart of one of her subjects?
She complimented Fatkoura in a very quiet voice upon the elegance of her poem; then she sent her by a page the prize offered for competition. It was a charming collection of poems, no longer than a man's finger; the fashion being for the smallest books possible.
Some hours later, while the Prince of Nagato, leaning over the edge of the terrace, was gazing down from the mountain top at the setting sun, which shed its purple glory across the sky, the Kisaki drew near him.
He lifted his eyes to her face, thinking that she wished to speak to him; but she was silent, her eyes fixed on the horizon, and full of sadness; she preserved a solemn attitude.
The reflection from the western sky disguised her pallor. She repressed some painful emotion, and strove to restrain a tear that trembled on her lashes and dimmed her sight.
Nagato felt a sort of terror; he was sure that she was going to say something dreadful to him. He would fain have prevented her from speaking.
"Queen," said he, softly, as if to dismiss the danger, "the sky looks like a great rose-leaf."
"It is the last falling leaf of day," said the Kisaki,—"of the day which is sinking into the past, but whose memory our spirits will preserve as a day of joy and peace,—perhaps the last."
She turned away to hide her tears, which, despite her efforts, flowed fast.
The Prince's heart was oppressed with inexpressible agony; he was like the victim who sees the knife at his throat. He dared not speak, lest he should hasten the sacrifice.
Suddenly the Kisaki turned to him.
"Prince," said she, "I have something to say to you: you must marry Fatkoura."
Nagato stared at the Queen in dismay; he saw her eyes were wet with tears, but full of a calm and irrevocable resolve.
He slowly bowed his head. "I will obey," he murmured.
And while she moved quickly away, he hid his face in his hands, and gave vent to the sobs which were stifling him.
[1]The two latter quatrains are translated from Tsourai-Iouki, one of the most famous poets of Japan.
[1]The two latter quatrains are translated from Tsourai-Iouki, one of the most famous poets of Japan.
[2]An illustrious Japanese poet, author of the verses entitled "The Willow."
[2]An illustrious Japanese poet, author of the verses entitled "The Willow."
The sublime Son of the Gods was bored. He sat cross-legged on a raised dais covered with mats, between curtains of gold brocade which hung from the ceiling and were drawn back in heavy folds on either side. A succession of rooms opened, one from another, before the monarch's gaze.
He thought that he was very majestic; then he yawned.
The one hundred and ninth Mikado, Go-Mitzou-No, although young, was excessively fat,—made so, no doubt, by the almost constant inaction of his life. His face was pale, no ray of sun ever resting on it; several chins reposed upon his breast; his purple robes fell about him in ample folds; the lofty plate of gold adorned his brow. At his right were arranged all the insignia of his omnipotence,—the sword, the mirror, and the iron tablet.
The Mikado found his existence monotonous. Every action of his life was arranged in advance, and must be accomplished in accordance with the most minute etiquette. If he left the precincts of the palace, he was shut up in a superb vehicle drawn by buffaloes; but he felt suffocated in that close box, and preferred to remain on his throne. If he wished to admire the flowers in his garden beds, he must go out in company with a vast suite, and the annals of the kingdom made careful note of the event. The greater part of his time was supposed to be passed in meditation: but to tell the truth, he meditated very little; his intellect had become blunted. When he tried to think, the strangeness of the ideas that buzzed confusedly through his brain astonished him. Some of his fancies were criminal, some ludicrous. The latter amused him; but he dared not laugh, knowing that he was watched. He would then strive to bring his mind back to celestial things; but it wearied him, and he returned to his whimsical dreams. Sometimes he was seized by an irresistible desire to move about, to run and jump and leap; but that would ill comport with the silent immobility appropriate to the descendant of the Gods. One day, however,—or rather one night, the mysteriously achieved his desire. He slipped out of bed, and while all around him slept, he performed a wild dance; no one ever knew it,—at least so he thought. As he never saw anything but the bent back of his subjects, he may really have supposed that he belonged to a superior race, and that the common herd of men walked on all fours. And yet he thought that they sometimes treated him like a child. His bow and arrows were taken away, because on one occasion, while a body of delegates from the Shogun lay prostrate before his throne, he let fly an arrow at the highest dignitary among them. In spite of the rage which sometimes boiled within him, he dared not rebel; his inaction, the perpetual association with women, who alone could serve him, had weakened his courage. He felt that he was at the mercy of his ministers; he feared lest he should be assassinated.
And yet, at times, an immense pride took possession of him; he felt divine blood course through his veins; he knew that the earth was not worthy to be trodden beneath his feet, that the race of men had no right to behold his face; and he dreamed of making thicker still the veils which separated him from the world. Then, the very next moment, he would fancy that perfect happiness lay in solitary rambles over the mountains, in working in the open air, in being the lowliest of men; then he would be seized by a vague despair, he would groan and bewail his fate. But he was soon persuaded that his grief was nothing but a homesick longing for heaven, his native land.
Just now the Mikado was ready to receive the envoys from Fide-Yori. They had come to testify the latter's gratitude towards the supreme ruler, who had conferred the title of Shogun upon him.
The curtains were drawn before the throne; then the princes were ushered in, falling at once upon their faces, with arms extended in front of them. After a long delay the curtain was drawn aside.
Profound silence reigned: the princes remained with their faces on the floor, motionless.
The Mikado considered them from the height of his throne, and made silent reflections upon the arrangement of the folds of their garments, on a sash end which had turned over and showed him the wrong side. He thought that the crest of Satsuma, a cross within a circle, looked like a dormer window barred by two bamboo slats.
Then he wondered what they would all think if he were suddenly to utter frantic yells! How he would like to see them jump up, with stupefied faces!
In a few moments the curtain was again let down; the princes withdrew backwards. Not one word had been uttered.
After the audience the Mikado left the platform and was stripped of his very burdensome state dress. Robed once more in simpler garments, he bent his steps towards the apartments in which he took his meals.
Go-Mitzou-No regarded the dinner-hour as the most agreeable moment in the day; he prolonged it as much as he possibly could. The Mikado liked good living; he had a decided preference for certain dishes. On account of these preferences a terrible difficulty had formerly arisen. The Son of the Gods could not reasonably be expected to bend his lofty mind to the details of the kitchen and decide upon the dishes he would eat; and yet no more could he submit to the caprices of his cooks or his ministers. After prolonged reflection the Mikado found a way to reconcile all parties. He ordered that thirty-three entirely different dinners should be prepared for him every day, to be served in thirty-three saloons. It then only remained for him to walk through those rooms, and choose the meal that pleased him best.
Sometimes it happened that after eating one dinner he would go into another hall and eat a second.
When he crossed the threshold of the first of the thirty-three rooms, twelve very noble and most beautiful damsels received him. They alone were entitled to wait upon him. Their hair, in the presence of their lord, must be undone, and hang dishevelled in the folds of their trailing garments.
The Mikado had seated himself on a mat before the dinner of his choice, and had begun to eat, when the Kisaki entered, unannounced. She, too, when appearing before the supreme master, was obliged to wear her hair flowing loosely. Her superb black tresses were therefore unconfined, and fell in waves to the very ground.
The Mikado raised his eyes to her in amazement, and hurriedly swallowed the morsel that he had in his mouth.
"My beloved companion," said he, "I did not expect to see you!"
"My divine lord," she replied, "I have come to inform you that I shall very soon lose one of my women; the fair Fatkoura is about to marry."
"Very good! very good!" said the Mikado; "and whom?"
"The Prince of Nagato."
"Ah-ha! I consent to the marriage."
"And what princess do you name to take the place of the one who is to leave me?"
"I will name any one whom you may select."
"I thank you, master," said the Kisaki; "and I depart from your divine presence, imploring your pardon for having dared to interrupt your repast."
"Oh, it's no matter!" said Go-Mitzou-No, who hastened, as soon as his wife had gone, to make up for lost time.
Some days after the reception of the embassy, towards the tenth hour of the morning, the hour of the serpent, a young cavalier rode at full speed along the road which leads from Osaka to Kioto.
At that hour the road is very crowded; beasts of burden, pedlers, men and women of the people pass and repass along its entire length. Peasants carry the produce of their fields to the suburban towns; they are on their way to Fusimi, Yodo, and Firacca. Merchandise of every kind is taken from Osaka to Kioto,—rice, salt-fish, metals, and precious woods; while Kioto sends to the city of the Shogun tea, silk, bronze vases, and various sorts of lacquered ware.
The young horseman paid not the faintest heed to the crowd; he gave his steed the reins, and urged him on with his voice. Moreover, the road was always free before him; people sprang quickly aside at the sound of the furious galloping feet, and the passers-by retreated to the roadside, which was bordered here and there with houses made of beech-wood.
The rider moved so rapidly that, in spite of all their efforts, the curious could not distinguish his features.
"It's a warrior," said one; "I saw the gleam of his weapons."
"That was no great thing to see," said another; "every time he moved he glittered like lightning."
"It's a warrior of high rank; I saw the gold thongs of his whip of office."
"Is he a general?"
"Ask the swallow, as she flies, to see whether the copper horns shine upon his helmet; she alone is capable of overtaking that knight."
When he reached Kioto, the young soldier did not slacken his pace; he rode through the city at a gallop, and entering the palace, inquired for the envoys of the Shogun.
"They are at the summer-palace," was the answer; "or rather they are not there. They have joined our divine Kisaki in the chase; they started at sunrise."
"In which direction did they go?"
"Towards the shores of Lake Biva, at the foot of the mountains," replied the lackey; "but, my lord, do you wish to join the illustrious hunters?"
"Bring me a horse," said the young man coldly, without answering the question.
At the same time he alighted, and the servant led away his weary steed; soon two grooms brought forward another, equipped, and full of spirit.
The soldier again mounted, and rode away.
Lake Biva lies behind the chain of hills that surrounds Kioto. To reach it, several valleys must be traversed, and many roundabout paths pursued. The young man could not keep his horse at a steady gallop, on account of the many hills up and down which lay his course. Sometimes, instead of following the windings of the road, he galloped over the thick grass in the valleys, to cut short his journey. At the end of an hour he came out upon the lake-shore; but then he did not know which way to turn.
The lake, blue as a sapphire, stretched before him far as the eye could roach. To right and left rose small copses and thickets and brown rocks; whilst beyond them lay broad pastures covered with moss and heath. Of the hunt, no trace, no sign by which he might guess in which direction he was to follow.
The young soldier seemed in no wise disconcerted by this circumstance; he spurred his horse up a slight eminence and gazed around him. He then perceived, in the midst of a bamboo grove, the roof of a tiny temple half buried in the trees. Thither he hurried, and, without dismounting, rudely struck the alarm-bell.
The noise waked the keeper of the temple, a bald-headed old bonze, with long, thin face.
He ran out, rubbing his eyes.
"Do you know which way the royal hunt went?" said the young man.
"This morning I heard the barking of dogs, the neighing of horses, and loud laughter," said the bonze; "but I saw nothing. The hunters did not pass this way."
"Then they must have gone to the right," said the warrior, dropping a piece of silver into the alms-chest covered with a lattice work of bamboo.
He started off at a gallop. He rode for a long time, pausing occasionally to listen. At last he heard a distant barking, although the shore lay desolate before him. He stopped, and looked in all directions.
The barking came from the mountains; the sound of horses' hoofs was also indistinctly heard.
Suddenly, without a break, the sounds became loud and clear. Black dogs sprang from a narrow gorge between the hills, speedily followed by men on horseback.
The entire hunt passed before the young man. He recognized the Kisaki by the red gauze veil which floated around her. Some of the princesses held a hooded falcon upon their left fist. The lords bent forward, ready to let fly their arrows; each grasped a huge black lacquer bow.
As all the hunters had their heads thrown back, and were watching a falcon chasing a buzzard, high in the heavens, they passed without observing the young warrior. The latter at once rode alongside of them.
The dogs started a pheasant, which rose screaming from a bush. A fresh falcon was unleashed.
As he rode, the soldier sought out, among the nobles, the Prince of Nagato, and approached him.
"Stay, Iwakura!" he cried; "Fide-Yori sends me to you."
The Prince turned his head with a start; he drew in his horse. They lingered behind.
"Signenari!" exclaimed Nagato, as he recognized the young leader. "What has happened?"
"I bring important news," said Signenari. "Civil war threatens us. Hieyas has levied armies; he holds half Japan. With an amazing promptitude, he has collected large forces,—far superior to ours. The danger is imminent; therefore the master desires to rally all his followers around him."
"Alas! alas!" cried Nagato, "the future alarms me! must the land, then, be bathed in the blood of its own children? What does General Yoke-Moura say?"
"Yoke-Moura is full of energy and confidence; he has assembled a council of war. But still another misfortune has befallen us: we have lost the Prince of Mayada."
"Is he dead, that dear old man?" said Nagato, bowing his head,—"the only one who never yielded to the invading power of Hieyas! He could not have loved Fide-Yori more dearly, had he been his father. It was he who, on the death of the Tycoon, brought the little boy into the Hall of a Thousand Mats and presented him to the princes, who swore allegiance to him. How many have betrayed him since that day. How many more will yet betray him! Poor Mayada, you alone could win some semblance of respect from Hieyas; now he fears nothing mortal."
"He shall fear us, I swear it to you!" cried Signenari, with an heroic flash in his eye.
"You are right! Forgive me for this temporary weakness," said the Prince, lifting his head. "I am so crushed with grief that this sad news overwhelmed me for an instant."
The hunters had noticed the Prince of Nagato's absence. Supposing some accident had occurred, an alarm was raised, and the whole Court came flying back.
They soon perceived the Prince, talking with Signenari. They joined and surrounded them, asking a thousand questions. The dogs barked, some of the horses reared and plunged; the falconers recalled their birds, who refused to obey, and continued to pursue their prey.
"What has happened?" said one.
"It's a messenger."
"Does he bring tidings from Osaka?"
"Bad news!"
Nagato led Signenari to the Kisaki's side.
The Queen was mounted on a white horse covered with a network of pearls, and decked with silken head-tassels.
"Here is the bravest of your soldiers," said Nagato, turning to Signenari. "He comes from Osaka."
Signenari bowed low; then resumed his grave and reserved attitude.
"Speak!" said the Kisaki.
"Divine Sovereign, it is with pain that I disturb your pleasures," said Signenari; "but I must inform you that the peace of your kingdom is threatened. Hieyas has raised a part of Japan in revolt; he is preparing to attack Osaka, that he may usurp the power intrusted to your servant Fide-Yori by the celestial Mikado."
"Is it possible!" exclaimed the Kisaki. "Would Hieyas dare commit such a crime? Has the man no soul, that, to satisfy his insatiate ambition, he does not hesitate to arm brothers against brothers, and to shed on Japanese soil the blood of Japan's sons? Are you sure of what you state?"
"The news was brought to Osaka last night by messengers sent in hot haste by the princes; the latter were hurriedly striving to fortify their provinces. The Daimio of Arima arrived this morning at dawn and confirmed the news of the messengers. Scouts were instantly sent to various points, and the Shogun ordered me to recall his ambassadors as swiftly as possible, to hold a council."
"Let us return to the palace," said the Kisaki.
The party set out silently; only the princesses whispered together as they stared at the young warrior.
"What a beauty he is?"
"You might take him for a woman!"
"Yes; but what daring in his eye!"
"What coldness too! His tranquil gravity disquiets and alarms."
"He must be terrible in battle."
"Terrible, too, to her who loves him; his heart seems to be of steel, like his sword. Do not look at him so steadily."
Nagato rode up to the Queen.
"These events will delay your marriage, Iwakura!" said she, with a strange feeling of delight.
"Yes, Queen," said the Prince; "and the chances of war are many: perhaps it may never take place. However, as Fatkoura is publicly known as my betrothed, I wish her to go, until the wedding, to my castle of Hagui, where she will live with my father. If I die, she will bear my name, and be ruler over the province of Nagato."
"You are right," said the Kisaki; "but death will spare you. I will make vows for your preservation."
Nagato looked at her reproachfully. He dared not speak, but his eyes expressed his thought; they said plainly: "You know that death would be sweeter to me than the union which you force me to make."
The Kisaki, deeply moved, turned away her head and spurred on her horse. They returned to the Dairi.
When the Mikado learned the tidings of probable war, he seemed afflicted; but in secret he rejoiced. He did not love the Regent, nor did he care much more for the Shogun. Although he was their sovereign lord, he had a confused feeling that they ruled him. He knew that they both kept a watchful eye on him, and he feared them. He was therefore delighted to think that they would mutually inflict on each other all the evil that he wished them both.
That same day the envoys of Fide-Yori left Kioto and returned to Osaka.
In less than two months, as Signenari had stated, Hieyas had made himself dreaded; he had at his beck and call an army which public report numbered at five hundred thousand. The provinces of Sagama, Mikawa, and Sourouga, which belonged to him, had furnished large bodies of soldiers. The lord of Owari, the most devoted of Hieyas' allies, had commanded every able-bodied man in his principality to take up arms; so that there was not a laborer left upon his lands. The Prince of Tosa was powerfully entrenched in the large Island of Shikoku, lying to the south of the kingdom, opposite Osaka Bay. From that point he threatened the Shogun's capital.
The majority of the sovereign lords of Japan, confident of the success of Hieyas, lent him their aid, and held their forces at his disposal.
Hieyas had established himself at Yeddo,—then a mere suburb, whose fine strategic position tempted him. Situated about mid-distance of the length of the great Island of Nipon, at the extreme end of a bay which cut deeply into the land, and surrounded by high mountains, it was easily fortified, and once fortified, impregnable. Moreover, its position in the centre of Japan, in view of the small width of the island, allowed communication by land to be readily cut off between the large Island of Yezo, the northern part of Nipon, and its southern portion, in which lay Kioto, Osaka, and the principalities of Fide-Yori's partisans. In this way, one half of Japan was insulated, and thus forced to remain neutral, or take sides with Hieyas.
The aged Regent displayed an unparalleled activity. In spite of his advanced years and precarious health, he proceeded to every spot where he thought his influence necessary. With those princes who were hostile to him, he feigned that he still held the power no longer his, and claimed from them the number of troops which they were bound to furnish the Government in time of war. Then he hastily despatched those men to distant points. In case his enemies learned the truth, they were thus disabled from harming him.
But after realizing these daring schemes, and preparing for the violent struggle necessary in order to usurp the supreme power, Hieyas felt so weak, so enfeebled by fever and pain, that he imagined he was about to die. He speedily summoned his son, who was then residing at the castle of Mikawa.
Fide-Tadda, son of Hieyas, was at this time forty-five years old. He was a man of no great personal valor, but patient, persevering, and submissive to minds superior to his own. He professed a boundless admiration for his father. He instantly hastened to the side of Hieyas, taking with him his youngest daughter, a lovely girl of fifteen.
Hieyas lived in a stronghold which he had built years—before at Yeddo, and which was not yet wholly finished. From the room in which he lay, stretched on thick cushions, he saw through the large window the beautiful Fusiyama, from whose snow-covered summit issued a column of delicate white smoke.
"Is that your daughter?" said Hieyas, as Fide-Tadda approached him with the girl.
"Yes, illustrious father; this is the younger sister of the Shogun's wife."
"The Shogun's wife!" repeated Hieyas, shaking his head and sneering. "The little thing is very pretty," he added, after inspecting the young girl minutely, making her blush and drop her long black lashes on her cheeks. "Take good care of her; I shall need her."
Then he made a sign to dismiss the child.
"I may die, my son," he said when he was alone with Fide-Tadda; "that is why I sent for you. I wish to give you my last instructions,—to trace out the line of conduct which you are to follow when I am no more."
On hearing his father speak in this way, Fide-Tadda could not repress his tears.
"Stop, stop!" cried Hieyas, smiling; "do not weep for me yet, I am not dead; and you shall see that my mind, is not impaired, as that old Mayada would have people think. Listen to me, and treasure my words in your memory."
"Every word that falls from your mouth is to me what a fine pearl would be to a miser."
"I will be brief," said Hieyas; "talking tires me. Know first, my son, that the predecessor of Go-Mitzou-No, the present Mikado, once honored me with the title of Shogun. It was after the death of Taiko. I made no parade of the title, not wishing to offend the friends of Fide-Yori. I allowed the princes and the people to fall into the habit of calling me the Regent. What mattered the name by which the power was known, so long as the power rested in my hands? But now the title of Shogun is of the utmost importance to me, for it is hereditary, and I can abdicate in your favor. You spoke just now of the Shogun. I am the Shogun. Fide-Yori did indeed receive the same title, and I never reminded his insolent councillors that it was really mine. I acted prudently. I was in their hands; they might have slain me. But now I undertake this war,—be well assured of it,—as sole representative of the legal power. I have had embroidered off my banners the three chrysanthemum leaves, the insignia given me by the former Mikado; and it is in the name of his heir that I lead my armies on to battle. I act without his authority, true; but as soon as I gain the victory he will approve my acts."
Hieyas paused for an instant, and drank a little tea.
"Only," he soon resumed, "death may surprise me,—it threatens me even now; and my work must be finished after I am gone. That is why I now abdicate in your favor. You will remain at the castle of Mikawa, sheltered from the hazards of war, watching over your daughter, who may serve for one of my plans, until the day when victory shall proclaim you master of Japan; then you will establish your residence at Yeddo, the best-situated city in the kingdom. Now I will try to put clearly before you the object for which you are to strive in your government of the nation. Taiko-Sama, who was a man of genius, although he was the son of a peasant, conceived the plan, as soon as he gained power, of uniting the sixty-one petty kingdoms composing Japan into a single kingdom, to be ruled by the Shogun. The life of one man was not long enough to see this project realized. Taiko, nevertheless, undertook it with great vigor, always carefully concealing his intentions. I alone was the confidant of his hopes, and hitherto I have revealed them to no one. When Taiko plunged the princes into the war with China, which seemed to so many an act of madness, it was done to weaken the nobles by a costly war, and to keep them away from their provinces for a time. While he led them to the field, I carried out his orders at home. I superintended the construction of the Tokaido,—that broad road which impudently passes directly through regions formerly subject to their own princes only; I summoned to Osaka the wives and children of the absent lords, under pretext of protecting them from all danger, if by any accident the Chinese army should invade the land. When the princes returned, we refused to let the women go home. They were to live permanently at Osaka; they are still there, precious hostages, who answer for the fidelity of their husbands and fathers. As Taiko was also a great warrior, victory crowned his dangerous enterprise and strengthened his power.
"The Mikado had long paid little heed to the affairs of the empire. Taiko thought it well that he should pay even less attention to them; he made his power imaginary.... Listen!" continued Hieyas, lowering his voice: "this power must be diminished still more; the Mikado must retain merely the title of sovereign. Load him with honors, deify him more and more, so that he may lift his eyes to heaven, and turn them away from earth forever.
"Taiko was interrupted by death in the execution of his task, which was but just begun; the princes are still powerful and rich. Continue this work after me; parcel out the kingdoms, sow discord between the nobles. If two friends hold neighboring principalities, forbid them to reside within their domains at one and the same time; if they are foes, on the contrary, let them dwell together. War will break out between them, and one at least will be enfeebled. Always keep their wives at Yeddo. Bring into fashion a ruinous luxury; the women will help you in this. Empty the coffers of their husbands, that they may be forced to sell their estates. But if one of them be rich enough to provide for all these outlays, pay him a visit, and oblige him to spend his last bit of gold to receive such an honor fitly. Be careful to close Japan strictly against all strangers: the princes might make formidable alliances with them. Therefore let no ship coming from distant countries enter our ports. Seek out the Christians and massacre them remorselessly: they are capable of fomenting revolt and insubordination. You understand me fully, my son? You must strive to make of Japan a single empire, subject to but one master. But this end will be long and difficult of attainment, and man's life is brief; wherefore, when time has blanched your hair, you must summon your son, as I summoned you to-day, and transmit my words to him. I have finished."
"Father," said Fide-Tadda, kneeling before Hieyas, "I swear to fulfil your wishes to the letter."
"Good, my child; but send for the doctor," said Hieyas, who breathed laboriously, exhausted by his long discourse.
The doctor was brought.
"Illustrious scholar," said Hieyas, looking fixedly at him, "am I very ill?"
"No, master," said the doctor, with some hesitation.
"I command you to speak nothing but the truth. Am I very ill?
"Yes," said the physician.
"In danger of death?"
"Not yet; but the life of fatigue which you lead may hasten your end."
"Could I live to see the end of the war which I am undertaking, supposing that it should last six moons?"
"Oh, yes!" said the doctor; "you might oven prolong the war considerably beyond that time."
"Well! then I am rich," cried Hieyas, laughing. "I need not be in haste; I will take a few days of rest."
A strange commotion reigned in the castle of Fide-Yori. Military leaders, clad in ponderous cuirasses, constantly passed through the gate in the outer wall; the tread of their horses' hoofs re-echoed from the lofty vaulted roof. They hurriedly entered the third enclosure, and reached the Shogun's palace.
Fide-Yori, in a room opening from the Hall of a Thousand Mats, was holding council, surrounded by the chiefs of his army and those princes who were most loyal to him.
The young Shogun's brow was clouded; he did not hide his anxiety, shared by most of the warriors. Some, however, full of trust and ardor, strove to raise their master's courage.
"Our situation is not desperate," said General Sanada-Sayemon-Yoke-Moura, the most skilful soldier in the empire; "we must face it coolly. Hieyas has but one advantage over us: while we had no thought of war, he was collecting his armies; he is ready to begin the strife; we are not prepared. But in a few days this inferiority will cease to exist; our troops will be in marching order, and, the contest will become equal. For the present, therefore, we must occupy the enemy with trifling skirmishes,—keep him at a distance,—while we assemble our forces around Osaka."
"My advice is, that you should attack Hieyas at once, and not allow him to assume the offensive," said General Harounaga, a soldier of little merit, who had been rapidly promoted by the active protection of Yodogimi, the Shogun's mother.
"How can you think of such a thing?" exclaimed young Signenari. "Our army would be slaughtered in a few hours by forces three times its size. We must occupy the forts, and protect ourselves from any surprise until all our forces are assembled. If Hieyas has not then attacked us, it will be time enough to take the offensive."
"I maintain my proposition," said Harounaga. "I have an idea that Hieyas's army is not nearly so numerous as you suppose. How, in the space of a single moon, could he make himself so formidable?"
"We cannot act on suppositions," said Yoke-Moura; "and we are in no condition to make an attack. The first thing to be done is to increase the army."
"How many soldiers have we at the present time?" asked Fide-Yori.
"Let me see," said Yoke-Moura: "Signenari, who, in spite of his youth, has just been honored with the rank of general, has twenty thousand men under him; Harounaga has as many; Moto-Tsoumou and Massa-Nori each command ten thousand soldiers; Moritzka has fifteen thousand, and Yama-Kava five thousand. I am at the head of thirty thousand troops. That makes a total of one hundred and ten thousand soldiers."
"By what means shall we swell the list?" said the Shogun.
"You do not consider, master," said Yoke-Moura, "that the Princes have not yet sent in the troops which they are bound to furnish you in time of war, and that these troops will at least treble the number of your army."
"Nor must we forget," cried the Prince of Aki, "that certain provinces are directly threatened by Hieyas or his allies, and that those provinces will be obliged to withhold their soldiers, under penalty of instant invasion."
"The most exposed provinces," said Signenari, glancing at a map, "are those of Satsuma, Nagato, and Aki, on account of their vicinity to the principalities of Figo and Tosa."
"What!" exclaimed Fide-Yori, "have the Prince of Figo and the Prince of Tosa deserted me?"
"Alas! friend," said Nagato, "you did not know it; and yet I long since told you of their treachery. But your pure soul cannot believe in crime."
"If it be so," said the Shogun, "the Princes must keep their soldiers, and return at once to take command of them. You must leave me, Iwakura."
"I will send a substitute," said the Prince of Nagato. "I have decided to remain here. But let us not think of that; let us hasten to act, and to send our troops to their various posts; let no time be lost in idle words."
"I agree with Yoke-Moura," said the Shogun; "the enemy must be kept off from Osaka while we assemble our forces."
"Let General Moritzka start immediately with his fifteen thousand men," said Yoke-Moura; "let him proceed to the province of Isye, and inform the prince who governs that country of our plan for defence. He can leave him five thousand men, with orders to watch the movements of the lord of Owari, his neighbor, and to blockade his fortress, if possible. Then let Moritzka traverse the breadth of Japan; and, leaving on the frontiers of the rebellious provinces as many men as he may deem requisite, enter the principality of Wakasa, and there establish himself. With the armies levied by the princes of that region we shall soon have nearly forty thousand men on the frontier. Yama-Kava and his five thousand soldiers will encamp on the shores of Lake Biva, behind Kioto; the Knights of Heaven can then join them, and take up their quarters on the heights. Harounaga will lead his army to Yamashiro, and cover Osaka on the north; Signenari will occupy the Island of Awadsi, to the south of Osaka, and hold in check the traitor lords of Tosa and Figo, whose attack at this time would be much to be dreaded. The rest of the army will remain in the suburbs of the city, ready to move to those points most in danger."
"There is no change to be made in the plan which you propose," said the Shogun; "let all be done as you direct, and without delay."
The Generals knelt in turn before the Shogun; then left the room.
"Princes," said the Shogun to the nobles who remained with him, "return to your estates. Let those whose domains are threatened retain their soldiers; let the others immediately send me all the men at their disposal."
The princes bowed before their master, in order of their rank,—Satsuma, Ouesougui, Arima, Aki, Wakasa; then they withdrew. Fide-Yori was left alone with Nagato.
"Iwakura," he said, looking him in the eye, "what do you think of this war?"
"I think that it will be bloody; but justice is on our side. Even if conquered, we shall be noble and glorious; and Hieyas, were he victor, would be covered with reproach. We have youth, strength, and energy. Hope marches before our armies."
"I thank you, friend, for your attempt to encourage me by your own confidence. My heart is full of anxiety."
"I must leave you, master," said the Prince of Nagato; "I must call together my troops."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you think that I would rest inactive, useless, here? Do you think that I would look on and see others slaying and being slain, and not join the fray? I have no soldiers, but I will find some."
"At least, I entreat you not to summon those who guard your lands; do not leave your domains open to invasion."
"I have no idea of doing so," said the Prince; "I will not send for those soldiers. Not that I care to preserve my principality, but my father resides at the castle of Hagui, and my betrothed has lately joined him. I must shield their precious lives behind the living rampart of my loyal army. Not one man shall leave the province of Nagato."
"Well, where will you get the troops of which you speak?" asked the Shogun.
"That is a secret," said the Prince. "When my forces have accomplished some valiant deed, I will bring the men before you."
"I cannot guess your schemes," said Fide-Yori; "but I am sure that you will do nothing that is not noble and heroic. Go, my friend."
Prince Nagato returned to his palace, where he found assembled some twenty samurai, his vassals, who came to ask his orders.
"Hold yourself in readiness to travel," said the Prince; "collect your servants and prepare your baggage. Before sunset you shall know my purpose."