Tales from Old Japanese Dramas/The Sufferings of Miss "Deep-Snow"
The Sufferings of Miss "Deep-Snow"
From
The Shō-utsushi Asagao Banashi
By
Yamada Kagashi
The Sufferings of Miss "Deep-Snow"
I
T an easy distance from Kyōto flows the Uji River whose valley is famous as the haunt of fireflies. A unique phenomenon is presented by these insects, glittering in myriads above the stream which, for the greater part of its course, meanders between picturesque lines of hills. On summer evenings the place is the resort of throngs of people bent on enjoying this brilliant spectacle.
Early one evening in the far-off days of the Ashikaga Shogun, a handsome young samurai and a Buddhist priest might have been seen, seated on a bench of a tea-house overlooking the Uji River. They had given themselves up to admiring contemplation of the beautiful landscape, now bathed in the gold of the setting sun. It was clear that they were waiting until the coming of darkness should bring the view of the luminous insects.
As time went on, the young warrior fell to writing on a tanzaku[1], and passed it to his friend, who read from it the following poem [2]:
"On yonder arch that spans the stream,
Where festive throngs pass to and fro,
Sweet must it be to feel, I deem,
The cool and gentle breezes blow."
The poem seemed to make a strong appeal to the imagination of the shaveling. Time and again he ran his eye over it before putting the paper down on the bench at his side. Then suddenly a vagrant puff of wind caught and carried it off. For a moment it floated in air, then fluttered down into a pleasure-boat that lay moored to the shore.
The samurai in question bore the name of 
The young warrior fell to writing on a tanzaku
Miyagi Asojirō. He was a retainer of Ōuchi Yoshi-oki, the governor-general of Chinzei, whose feudal hold dominated the town of Yamaguchi, in Suwō, a province whose eastern shores are washed by the Inland Sea. Although a young man about twenty-five, Asojirō had already a great name in his clan for intelligence and for proficiency in military arts. He was now studying literature in Kyōto, at that time the capital both of the Emperor and of the Shogun. To-day he was here, on the bank of the Uji, with his bosom friend, Gessin, the priest, to enjoy a relaxation from his studies.
At the moment when Asojirō's tanzaku reached the boat in its zigzag flight there arose from the little craft the sound of a samisen or guitar, accompanied by a song in a voice of exquisite sweetness. Captivated by the strains the young soldier listened with attentive ear till some time had passed, and a sigh escaped him as he turned at last to his companion and said:
"Voice and music are alike charming, my friend, in the extreme. The possessor of such a voice must be a paragon of beauty. It's a great shame that we cannot sit by her side to listen."
"Oho!" returned the priest, with a laugh. "Even our sober-sides unbends! You seem to have developed a great interest in music. Ah, well, but what a ninny I am! I have clean forgotten an important service to be held this very night. With your permission I will take myself off. See that you enjoy yourself. Good-bye," and with this cheery parting the priest hurried off to his temple duties.
The singer in the boat was a girl of seventeen endowed with surpassing beauty. She was Miyuki ("Deep-Snow"), the only daughter of Akizuki Yuminosuké, at one time chief adviser of the Kishido Clan in Aki, a province which lies adjacent to that from which Asojirō hailed. Circumstances had obliged him to resign his post and he was then living at Kyōto in comfortable retirement.
Now the strains of Miyuki's guitar had ceased. Asaka ("Light Fragrance"), her nurse, picked up the tanzaku, which had lodged on the gunwale of the boat, and handed it to her young mistress who perused it with curiosity. The beauty of the poem and of the handwriting excited her admiration, and in obedience to an involuntary impulse she looked up to the bank above. Her eyes by chance met those of Asojirō, who was looking down upon the boat, and in that momentary interchange of glances there sprang up within them an ardent desire each for the other.
At this moment, arrived two samurai, the worse for drink, who leapt into Miyuki's boat without a preliminary, "By your leave." With churlish rudeness they desired her to supply them with saké, demanding that she serve them with her own hands and entertain them with music while they drank. To all appearance a refusal would excite them to resort to any violent deed. So Asaka implored them not to press their demands on the shrinking girl, but her polite entreaties only had the result of driving them to greater length in rudeness. At this Asojirō cotdd no longer contain himself. He made his way to the boat and spoke to the ruffians at first in a tone of mild remonstrance. But far from lending an ear to his exhortations, they began to revile him bitterly and finally raised their hands in act to strike. With the quickness of thought, Asojirō pinioned their arms and threw them prostrate with a kick. This display of great physical strength was too much for their courage. They turned tail, slunk up the bank and precipitately took to their heels. Asojirō was minded to pursue them in their flight, but at Miyuki's earnest entreaty he gave up the idea.
"Please sit down and think no more about it," she said, extending a saké cup toward him. "I cannot find words to convey to you my gratitude for your timely interference. I am sorry indeed that we have nothing tempting to set before you, but allow me to offer you some wine."
"You are very kind, but I really must be going."
Here Asaka broke in. "Pray do not leave us so soon," said she. "As you see, we are all of us women, and it is to be feared that other miscreants may break in upon our privacy. I am sorry to impose upon your good nature, but let me beg of you to remain with us until our boatmen return."
"In that case," said Asojirō, "it will give me great pleasure to remain in your company."
Soon the three were exchanging cups and talking merrily. Asojirō revealed to the girl his name and circumstances and she reciprocated with a similar confidence. Miyuki's heart was bounding with joy and she seemed to wish to make a further revelation, but hesitated in expressing it. The astute Asaka was aware of this and stepped ashore with the other maid, giving as a pretext her desire to stroll along the bank awhile.
Asojirō and Miyuki were thus left alone, sitting face to face. The girl drew forth a beautiful fan, adorned with a design of morning-glories painted on a golden ground. She desired the young samurai to write some words beside the picture as a souvenir of this happy meeting. Asojirō replied that his writing would only deface the beautiful fan, but that he could not find it in his heart to refuse her earnest request. Thereupon he wrote the following poem, and restored the fan to her.
"The morning-glories are fresh and sheen,
Embossed with drops of sparkling dew;
But well-a-day! the sunlight keen
Bids fair to blight their lovely hue.
Oh, how I wish a kindly shower
Would fall, to save the charming flower!"
"Oh! it is a lovely song! lovely indeed!" cried Miyuki, in an excess of delight. "I will keep this fan about me all my life, as an amulet, I will, indeed!" And with that she wrote in turn upon a tanzaku and handed it to Asojirō, with downcast eyes.
"For him I long, nigh past control,
Who's barred from me and from my heart;
Would that a pitying breeze would start,
And waft to him my love and soul!"
At sight of this poem Asojirō comprehended her meaning and said:
"Is it possible, Miyuki, that you have such a regard for me who am only a humble samurai?"
The girl blushed rosy red as she responded: "Oh, Asojirō, you are the only desire of my heart. Pray—." But with that came a long embrace and vows of eternal fidelity.
But suddenly a raucous voice bawling, "Asojirō! Master Asojirō!" broke in upon the blissful conversation of the young lovers. This ill-timed interruption came from Asojirō's henchman, Shikanai, who brought a letter, sent in urgent haste by his master's uncle, Komazawa Ryōan. This letter had been carried post haste by a messenger from Asojirō's native town. The gist of the letter was that his liege lord, Ōuchi Yoshi-oki, then domiciled at Kamakura, the seat of the government of the Kanryō or Vice-Shogun, had abandoned himself to indulgence in wine and loose women. Deaf to all expostulations of his retainers, he had, in an access of rage, killed one of them who had remonstrated too strongly. The letter further stated that as Asojirō's uncle distrusted his own tact and ability to cope with this crisis, it was his intention to adopt Asojirō as heir to his estates, and to resign his office in his favour. He enjoined the young man to proceed to Kamakura and to do his utmost, in virtue of his office as Chief-Councillor, to win back Yoshioki, his lord, to sobriety and decorum, but before leaving for Kamakura, he was to make all haste to his native town and there confer with his uncle as to further details.
It was clear that the situation did not admit of a moment's delay on the part of Asojirō who owed everything to his uncle. In spite of the promptings of his heart, which urged him to linger in his sweetheart's company, in spite of the maiden's entreaties that he would prolong his stay, he forced himself to say, with a sigh:
"It grieves me more than I can tell to leave your side so soon, but it is out of my power to refuse. Cherish as a souvenir of me that fan of yours on which my song is written, and wait with all patience till I join you again and claim you as my bride. Bide ever true to me, Miyuki mine." As he spoke the boatmen appeared and, with a last farewell to Miyuki, he hurried away with his servant, leaving the girl in tears.
II
Miyuki's father, as we have mentioned before, had been Chief-Councillor of the Kishido Clan in the province of Aki. The lord of this clan had become infatuated with a beautiful concubine, O-Ran ("Orchid") by name, and had given himself up to all manner of sensual pleasures to the utter neglect of government. Yuminosuké had time and again remonstrated with him but his pleadings fell upon deaf ears; and finally the old councillor had resigned his post, and was now leading a life of comfort and ease at Kyōto.
One evening a man spent with running presented himself at the door of Yuminosuké's house. This was one of his old friends, a samurai of the same clan, and he had brought a weighty message from Yuminosuké's former lord. The latter in fact had been going on in his evil courses from bad to worse. At the instigation of the scoundrelly Ashigara Denzō, a younger brother of his concubine O-Ran, he had laid heavy burdens of taxation upon the people and had exacted contributions of gold and treasures from the wealthy, with no other object than to acquire funds wherewith to glut his vices. The people of the clan, goaded to discontent, had risen in revolt, mobs had marched upon the lord's castle and the disturbance they were creating was beyond description. No one but Yuminosuké was equal to the task of quelling the rebellion; so it was the order of the lord that he should return to the clan, and re-establish peace and order.
As Yuminosuké was loyalty itself, he at once expressed his intention of obeying the command, and as the crisis was one that demanded instant action, on his part, he left Kyōto that same night and took ship at Ōsaka en route to his province. This was two or three days after his daughter, Miyuki, had parted from her lover on the Uji River.
The vessel in which Yuminosuké and his family were sailing homeward lay becalmed one night in Akashi harbour in the province of Harima. While they waited for a wind, by a strange coincidence, the ship that carried Asojirō, also proceeding homeward, anchored by their side, gunwale to gunwale. The moon shone full and the haven presented a picturesque appearance. Asojirō went up on deck and there, deep in reverie, stood looking up at the moon's bright face.
In the neighbouring vessel all were asleep save Miyuki alone. She had not yet retired and, her little heart full of thoughts of her lover, she was singing his "morning-glory" song to the strains of a koto or zither. As the song came to his ears Asojirō inclined his head and looked wonderingly down into the other ship. At that very moment Miyuki cast her eyes upon the deck of Asojirō's vessel.
"Surely it is Miyuki that I see?"
"Oh! can it possibly be you, Asojirō?"
Before this question had passed her lips, Miyuki had sprung into the other ship and the pair of faithful lovers were rejoicing at their meeting, thus miraculously brought about. To explain her presence there Miyuki recounted to Asojirō the circumstances that had led to her voyage home, then added with emotion:
"This meeting of ours in a manner so unforeseen shows that ours is a union that brooks no separation, that some mysterious bond links us one to the other. It is my hope that, for the future, where you go I also go. Grant me this, Asojirō, my lord."
"It rejoices me to hear you speak like that, my dear," replied Asojirō, "but I am now on my way home charged with a weighty mission that affects the very destiny of my lord. My duty as a samurai forbids my carrying a sweetheart with me. But we cannot fail to meet again. Let us wait against that time, Miyuki."
But the girl set her face against this proposal. "If you do not grant my request," she said bitterly, "I shall find no joy in life! The best thing I can do is to make an end of living!" And with this she drew herself together to plunge into the sea. But Asojirō caught her in his arms.
"My darling," said he, "if your heart is so set upon me, I shall take you with me to my home, let the world say against me what it will! But surely it will be a great grief to your parents if you thus take to flight, all unknown to them. Had you not better leave them a letter, my dear?" As he spoke, he felt in his bosom for a pen and paper but found none.
"Ah!" he said, sorely perplexed. "I must have dropped them into the water just now, when I held you in my embrace. What is to be done!"
"Well," said Miyuki, "it is fortunate that my parents and all the others on board are fast asleep. I will return with all stealth to our ship and write a letter there. Soon I will be back, so wait for me only a little while."
As she said this she leaped back into the other vessel, but alas! wakened by the sound of her footsteps, the crew of Asojirō's ship aroused themselves, stirred up, and shouted: "Aha! a wind at last! Up anchor! Let out the sail!"
Miyuki heard these shouts with frantic grief, but as she writhed in sorrow and despair, the ship that carried Asojirō drew farther and farther off. Scarce knowing what she did, she threw into the receding vessel the fan whereon the morning-glories were painted, and thus again these passionate lovers were separated by Fate.
III
In no long time after his return to his clan Akizuki Yiminosuké had achieved his task of quelling the popular uprising. This won for him great favour with his lord, and in recognition of his signal services he had conferred upon him again the office of Chief-Councillor. His fellow clansmen, too, looked up to him with love and respect. But amid all his success he fell short of happiness, for his beloved daughter, Miyuki, had lapsed into a profound melancholy. Day and night, with all her heart, she pined for Asojirō, and her eyes were never free from tears.
It happened one day that Yuminosuké was not at his house, having gone to the castle. Taking advantage, it is likely, of his absence, Ashigara Denzō chose this time for a call. He was a knave, outrageous in his manners, who set everybody at naught and, presuming on the position of his sister O-Ran, lorded it over his colleagues. He had long looked upon Miyuki with eyes of love, and had many a time, through a middleman, asked for her hand in marriage, but all to no avail. But now the importunate suitor had come in person, bent upon receiving a favourable reply. With arrogant insistence he urged the girl's mother, Misao ("Chastity"), to give an instant consent to his suit. The old lady, in all courtesy, besought him to grant a postponement of the decision, on the plea of her husband's absence and the indisposition of Miyuki herself. But her pleading was thrown away upon Denzō. He rose to his feet declaring that he would make his way into the girl's chamber, to see for himself whether she was ill or not. Woman though she was, Misao could not brook this insolence.
"Remember, Denzō," she cried, "that this house is Akizuki Yuminosuké's castle. Rudeness such as yours I cannot put up with."
With this angry exclamation she snatched a halberd that hung on the wall, shook it from its sheath, and levelled it full at the dastard's heart. At this danger, he was struck with consternation and cried out: "Oh, I beg a thousand pardons, Madame! Since Miyuki is really ill, I shall call again. Again I beg your pardon!" And with that he beat an instant retreat.
Shortly after the departure of this suitor, Yuminosuké returned home in the best of spirits. His wife received him at his entry, with an enquiry as to his lord's health.
"Oh! his lordship is very well indeed, my dear," returned Yuminosuké, beaming with smiles, "and my attendance to-day seemed to give him special delight, so that he even bestowed upon me cups of saké. But I have a piece of good news for you. My news is this: In my lord's presence I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of Komazawa Jirōzayémon, a samurai who has come on a mission of importance from the Yamaguchi Clan. He is young, of exceptionally fine appearance, and, better than all, an adept in military arts and well-versed in literature. Our lord seems to hold his character in the highest esteem. While we all three drank together, we talked with the utmost frankness. Our lord, who has very much in mind the marriage of our daughter, inquired of this gentleman if he was a married man. On receiving an answer in the negative, our lord spoke in the highest terms of Miyuki's person and character, and signified his willingness to use his efforts as middleman to bring about the marriage of this young samurai with our daughter. Strange to say, the young man without the least hesitation accepted this proposal, abrupt as it was, and expressed himself so heartily grateful. As for me, I was too much filled with joy to think of declining this gracious proffer. So in the presence of our lord, I exchanged with Komazawa Jirōzayémon cups of betrothal and now it falls upon you to impart to Miyuki the news of this arrangement and fill her cup of happiness. The sooner you do this the better."
To tell the truth, the joy and gratitude of the wife were extreme at hearing of her lord's good offices; but still she harboured some misgivings as to her daughter's inclination in the matter.
"This is joyful news to me, my dear," she said, "and a right good match it would be. But if you will pardon the frankness of my words, I should think that you acted somewhat rashly in accepting this match without sounding Miyuki's wishes beforehand. Is it not so?"
"Well, that idea did occur to me, my dear, but the proposal comes from our lord, and the bridegroom-to-be is so superior both in looks and intelligence that I cannot doubt that he will find favour in Miyuki's eyes. Make your mind easy on that point." And without further words the father retired to the inner room to rest.
Misao had gathered from her maids that Miyuki had been passionately in love with Asojirō, ever since her visit to the Uji River, and in her motherly sympathy had it in mind to do her best to ascertain the lover's whereabouts and bring about his marriage to her daughter. But now that Yuminosuké had formally betrothed his daughter in the presence of his lord, the engagement was too binding to be broken. So Misao came to the conclusion that there was nothing left for her but to break the news of the arrangement to Miyuki and prevail on her to submit. And tell her she did.
"You see," she continued in kind and consoling tones, "our lord himself has condescended to select a bridegroom for you; and I am told that the bridegroom of his choice is a thorough gentleman, an adept in military arts and of very handsome person. With all this you surely ought to give a ready consent. But a little time ago the black-hearted Denzō presented himself here, and insistently urged his suit for your hand and it was no easy task for me to get rid of him by threats. I fear that, presuming upon his sister's influence, he will try to steal a march upon us again with some unreasonable demand. If the news of your betrothal comes to his ear he is certain to try to frustrate it. So your wisest course is to give a prompt consent to your father's arrangement. Can you think that we could do anything to the detriment of our beloved daughter? It is best for you to entrust everything to us. Come, daughter, speak up quickly and say that you consent! But there is a matter about which I wish to ask your father's advice. I shall be back in a moment, my dear." With that the old lady disappeared into the inner room to see her husband.
Ill-fated Miyuki! She did not know of the adoption of her lover Miyagi Asojirō, by his uncle, and the consequent alteration of his name to Komazawa Jirōzayémon. To her Jirōzayémon and Asojirō were different men. Hence her mother's words struck despair into her heart. She reflected that at all costs she must hold to her vows with Asojirō. In accordance with the precept that "a chaste woman never marries twice," she ought not to enter into marriage with another man. But her father, through the good offices of her lord, had now betrothed her to a stranger! No way of escape was left for her as long as life endured. So finally she formed the desperate resolve to take her own life, that so she might to the end remain faithful to Asojirō. Thereupon, all in tears, she set herself to writing letters to her parents, and her nurse, imparting to them her melancholy purpose, and imploring their forgiveness for her disobedience. This done, she softly made her way down to the courtyard, and stole out through the postern gate, while yet the evening bell was mournfully tolling the departing day, and the air was full of the saddening cries of birds winging their way to their nests.
No long time had passed when Asaka, candlestick in hand, entered Miyuki's room, crying, "Miyuki! Miyuki!" but her charge was nowhere to be seen. Everywhere she searched, and what was her amazement to find on the desk a letter in Miyuki's hand, bearing the superscription: "Left to my Dear Parents!" In answer to her piercing cry: "My lord! My lady!" Yuminosuké and Misao rushed into the room. The father made no delay in opening the ominous letter, which was couched in some such terms as these:
"My Dear Parents:
I have exchanged vows of betrothal with Miyagi Asojirō. To marry another man would mean the violation of my duty as a chaste woman. Therefore I have come to the resolve to end my life by drowning in some stream. Let my disobedience meet with your forgiveness.
Your daughter, devoted to death,
Miyuki."
Great was the astonishment of the parents. Yuminosuké, all in a panic, could only say: "Good heavens! what a blunder I have made! But Miyuki, I hope, is not yet far off. Let search be made for her at once!" His faithful servant Sekisuké and the other members of the household were despatched in all directions in quest of the girl, and grief and horror filled the minds of all.
IV
Miyuki, after stealing out of her father's house, ran in blind haste, staggering and stumbling in continual fear of pursuit and capture. But as she ran she was so unlucky as to be overtaken by two reprobates who were fain to kidnap her. With some difficulty she made shift to escape from their toils, and at last found herself on the bank of the Osé River. The winter moon, like "an old bepainted carline," was shedding on the stream its weird beams, and the leafless branches of the willow-trees on the bank were trembling in the wind.
This river the girl had chosen to be her grave. Taking hold of one of the willow-boughs, she was just in act to leap into the stream, when suddenly she felt herself firmly grasped and held. Her captor was an old woman. Miyuki struggled hard to shake her off, crying: "I pray you, let me go." But the old crone grasped her only the more firmly and said in ingratiating tones: "My dear young lady, you seem to be travelling alone. It is a lover that leads you on this chase, I suppose. But if you choose to live, there is no reason in the world why you should not in the end join your lover. I give you my word, I will search him out and bring about your meeting. Take no rash step, my girl!"
Miyuki, innocent and simple minded as she was, had no suspicion of any trick on the part of the old woman, and lent a ready ear to her plausible words. She had no more thought of suicide.
At this moment, the two scoundrels, who had molested her before, appeared, and after scanning Miyuki's features said: "Oh! here you are! This time you shall not escape us. Come along, wench!" They would have carried her off indeed, had not the old woman thrust them aside, and with a menacing look roared out: "What is your business with this girl?"
"What, old beldame! The girl belongs to us because she is a bird limed on our twig. Come, pass her over to us!"
With that, the two caitiffs set upon the old woman. But lo and behold! she pinioned their arms and sent all two to the ground with a thud. Though her strength alarmed them, they rose to their feet and prepared to renew the attack. But she flung at their feet a packet, crying the while: "There is the girl's ransom!" The ruffians were startled at the jingling sound that they heard when the packet fell. They picked it up and found in it ten gold coins. With a muttered grumble, "It's small enough, but we'll take it," they took themselves off.
The old woman, casting a quick glance around, produced a whistle on which she blew shrilly. At that signal, several sailors appeared, part of the crew of a ship that lay moored in the river. Miyuki was conducted to the vessel. Then the anchor was weighed, the oars were plied, and the ship drove out to open sea.
Just at this time, Sekisuké, Yuminosuké's servant, appeared on the bank, and called loudly to the crew; but they made as if they could not hear him and bent to their oars with might and main. But Miyuki put her head out of the cabin window, and peering through the moonlight, cried: "Oh! That is Sekisuké, is it not?" Then the sailors forced her in and slammed the window to.
Now this old woman, whose name was Aratayé, had formerly been chief maid-of-honour to Ōtomo Munéshigé, the lord of the province of Buzen. Some years before, Ōtomo had hoisted the standard of revolt against the Shogun. This rebellion quickly ended in his defeat and death at the hands of Ōuchi Yoshitaka, then Governor-General of Chinzei. This Yoshitaka was the father of Asojirō's lord, Yoshi-oki.
Aratayé, a heroine in her way, resolved to fan anew the flame of rebellion and to sap the power of the Ōuchi house, the enemies of her dead lord. With this intent she had called a muster of the surviving adherents of Ōtomo, and had established her headquarters in a cave on Mayasan, a high and steep mountain, that extends across the provinces of Settsu and Harima. To raise the sinews of war she and her followers stopped at nothing in the way of violence and cruelty. Sometimes it was a traveller done to death for the sake of his money and garments; sometimes it was a young girl kidnapped and sold to procurers. It was to their terrible mountain fastness that Miyuki was now conducted.
After an imprisonment of several days in the cave, she was disposed of to a procurer named Wanuké at the price of a hundred ryō. This trader had in mind to clear a large profit by selling the girl for a harlot. But a maiden who had held her life cheap as the price of her chastity, could not be expected to take kindly to such shameful courses. Blows, threats, persuasions, were alike powerless to bend her to the trader's will. To him she proved indeed "a useless treasure." Finally he gave her up and led her back to Aratayé's cave, demanding the restoration of the purchase-money. The old woman, at this, flew into a rage and caught the girl by the arm. "You thankless hussy!" she roared. "So you presume to object to being a woman of pleasure! It is clear that a very severe lesson is needed to bring you to your senses!" With that she snatched the red-hot tongs from the hearth and pointed them at Miyuki's face. "Come, will you drive me to sear that pretty face of yours with these tongs, or brand your cheeks with them?"
"Oh, madame, forgive me!" cried Miyuki, starting back and wailing bitterly.
"Well, if you are so much afraid of the tongs will your fear drive you to consent to go to Nagasaki as a harlot?"
"O, no, no!" Miyuki sobbed. "I am told that Chinese vessels visit Nagasaki. Nothing can humiliate a woman so much as to have her person polluted by the embrace of Chinese sailors! Pray spare me that, whatever may befall me. Send me to service as a common drudge. Gladly will I cook rice, wash clothes, draw water, or perform like menial service."
"No more words!" said the old woman, with a sardonic smile. "It's little money I'd get by selling you for such housemaid's tasks. What a pig-headed creature you are! Do you still persist in disobeying me?" And thereupon she seized the weeping girl by the hair and dragged her about.
Upon this Chisato ("Thousand Villages"), the old crone's daughter, rushed in. She was a sympathetic, sweet-dispositioned girl, and she set Miyuki free from her raging mother, with many an apology for the outrage. But still the old woman would listen to no remonstrance. She thrust her daughter aside and with the tongs showered blow after blow upon Miyuki. The delicate girl uttered but one groan and lost consciousness. Chisato flew to her side and did all in her power to rouse her from her swoon; but she was long in coming to herself.
Just at this juncture one of Aratayé's followers appeared. He had run all the way from the foot of the mountain to tell her that his comrades had intercepted a traveller in the valley. They had picked a quarrel with him to furnish them with a pretext for robbing him of his money, but he had so far proved too much for them. So they wanted the old woman to come to their help without delay. His message delivered, the emissary hurried back to the valley.
"What helpless weaklings!" exclaimed the impatient old woman. "But I suppose I must go to their help." She seized a sword, kilted up her skirts, and departed at a run. When she was gone, Chisato, with the aid of a kind-hearted young man, devoted herself most tenderly to caring for Miyuki. She treated her with water and drugs, until at long last the girl regained consciousness. Chisato was anxious lest, if the old woman should find her there on her return, she might resume her ill treatment; so she made up her mind to let Miyuki escape as soon as possible. With all kindness she informed her of the road and urged her to take to flight without loss of time. Miyuki, whose gratitude to the girl was little short of worship, gladly availed herself of this chance of escape, feeling as if she had been freed from the jaws of a poisonous serpent.
V
Miyuki, though she had got clean away, was now much at a loss whither to turn her steps, but at last she determined to betake herself to the Tōkaidō.
The Tōkaidō was the route followed by the feudal lords of the western provinces on their way to make their visits of homage to the Kanryō or Vice-Shogun at Kamakura. This potentate had at that period more power than the Shogun himself, and the samurai of the western clans, in the train of their liege-lords, went and came along the same highway, year in and year out. It is probable that Miyuki chose this route in the supposition that, sooner or later, she would encounter her lover Asojirō, who, as she believed, had gone to Kamakura to expostulate with his lord.
Day after day she trudged along forlorn and footsore. It was only after hardships manifold that she made her way to Hamamatsu in the province of Tōtōmi. But there she was stricken with blindness, the result of her incessant weeping 
A mob of urchins pelted her with stones
over her sufferings and of her longing for Asojirō. She had now spent the last penny of the money that Chisato had given her to speed her flight. Nothing remained for her but the wretched resource of begging for alms from door to door with staff in hand and to the music of a samisen, well-nigh worn-out, singing the "Morning-glory Song."
One afternoon, in her usual routine, she walked about asking alms, with samisen on shoulder, in the neighbourhood of Hamamatsu. A mob of urchins collected about her and with the cry of, "Hey, Morning-glory Beggar! Blind Stroller!" pelted her with stones and struck at her with bamboo staves. Only a world of entreaties reinforced with tears, induced the little fiends to give up their cruel sport.
As Miyuki sat by her hut, brooding over the bitterness of her fate, she heard in the distance the mournful sound of a Buddhist chant. Nearer and nearer it came, and presently a woman of middle-age, garbed in the dress of a Buddhist pilgrim, approached Miyuki.
"I have a question," said she, "that I should like to ask of you."
"What is your question?" asked the blind girl, as she wiped away her tears.
"Well," said the woman, "I wish to ask if you have not heard of a beautiful young girl of noble bearing roaming about in this neighbourhood companionless."
This question startled Miyuki as she fancied that it might very well refer to herself, but she answered with assumed composure:
"Well, people not a few come and go along this road, you see; and among all these there may be found many girls travelling alone. But tell me the name of this particular girl, and what province she hails from."
"Her name is Akizuki Miyuki, and she is of the Kishido Clan in Aki Province."
Great was the amazement of the blind girl, when she realized from these words that the questioner was none other than her nurse, Asaka, who had come in search of Miyuki herself. Up to this point, owing to her blindness, she had failed to recognize Asaka, though speaking with her face to face; nor, on the other hand, did Asaka recognize her, owing to the great change in her appearance. Her blindness, especially, had transformed her, though Asaka, it is true, noticed in her features some points of resemblance to Miyuki.
Miyuki was now convinced that the stranger was indeed her nurse, but shame of her wretched condition forbade her to confess the truth. She felt besides, that if she told her name Asaka would insist on her returning home. But how, in such a condition, could she dare to face her parents? The mere thought of such an ordeal made her determine to tell Asaka a falsehood and lead her to abandon her search.
"I am sorry," she said in a husky voice, "but I heard a rumour that the girl you refer to threw herself into a river some days ago and was drowned, though the motive of her act is not known."
The pilgrim, at this sad news, was stupefied with astonishment and broke into bitter wailings. Miyuki attempted to console her with soothing speeches, reminding her that life and death are predetermined by Fate. She ended by kindly advising her to return home, then left her, and groped her way into her wretched shed.
Asaka followed her to the door of the hovel. "Many thanks, my girl," she said, "for your kind advice. I hope that you will take good care of yourself. Good-bye." With that she was taking her departure when an idea seemed to strike her; she softly retraced her steps and sat down before the shed, still and silent. All unaware of this Miyuki rushed out and stood with sightless eyes straining in the direction in which she supposed her nurse had gone.
"Oh, Asaka! My own Asaka!" she wailed, "All was false that I told you just now! I am that very Miyuki for whom you are searching. How I should rejoice to be able to tell you this! but in this wretched state how can I dare to reveal myself? Selfish, yes, I am very selfish not to disclose the truth to you who have come hundreds of miles in search of me! But I have not courage enough to tell you my name. Forgive me, Asaka! Oh, forgive me!"
Then the tears, which all that time she had restrained, burst forth in bitter torrents, so that Asaka, upon whom none of this soliloquy had been lost, could no longer control her emotion. In spite of herself, a loud cry of sympathy escaped her.
All aghast at this, Miyuki was in act to run away; but Asaka followed her fleeing footsteps and laid hold upon her sleeve. "There is no need to run away, Miyuki, my dear child," she said, in a voice all broken with emotion. "But oh, what a miserable plight you are in! Well I can imagine how great your sufferings have been. At sight of you I feel as if my heart would burst with sorrow. But, my dear, be easy in your mind. Only a little way from here is the place called Sayono-Nakayama, where I have been told my father Furubé Saburobei is still living. We will go there and see him, and I feel confident that with his assistance I shall be able to find where Asojirō is, and to bring about your meeting with him. So be of good heart, my dear."
Just at this juncture, Wanuké, the procurer, chanced to pass that way. He looked hard into Miyuki's face. "Ho! Ho!" said he. "This is the girl that I bought for a hundred ryō from the old crone on Mt. Maya. It's a great pity, indeed, that you have become blind. But that is an evil that physicians, I hope, can remedy. At all events, with me you must go." But as he caught Miyuki by the hand, Asaka broke in upon him. "Women though we are," she cried, "insolence such as yours cannot be overlooked," and she laid her hand upon the hilt of her sword-cane. Wanuké, too, unsheathed his sword, and for some time the pair cut and thrust at each other. Then the procurer stumbled over a stone and fell head-foremost to the ground and, following up this advantage, Asaka dealt him a heavy blow that killed him on the spot. But she also fell senseless to the ground with a groan of mortal agony.
Groping blindly about Miyuki made her way to her nurse, lifted her to her knees, and cried with all the power of her voice. "Asaka! Oh, Asaka!" At this the woman's wandering senses came back to her, and she opened her eyes. "You are very kind, my dear," she said, "but my wound is but a slight one. Don't be anxious on my account. But if the worst comes to the worst, don't fail to go and see my father, Furubé Saburobei. I am sure that he will do for you all that lies in his power. Be sure to call on him, my dear. And now let us go to my inn, and there spend all the night in talk." With that, Asaka rose to her feet and leaning on her sword, staggered away through the moonlight, with Miyuki by her side. VI
And now let us return to Komazawa Jirōzayémon. At his uncle's order, he hurried to Kamakura where he found to his consternation that the profligacy of his lord, Ōuchi Yoshi-oki, was even worse than it had been represented. Yoshi-oki, under the spell of a beautiful courtezan called Segawa, was abandoning himself day and night to vicious courses. This mode of life, if nothing occurred to check it, was certain to result in the ruin of his house and the forfeiture of his fief. Jirōzayémon had to tax all his brains before he hit upon a plan for intervention. By clever dealing with the harlot, who was, at heart, of an honest and unselfish nature, he won her over at last to his support. One day, in the midst of Yoshi-oki's merry-making, Jirōzayémon and the girl, making common cause, expostulated with him strongly, though in this the vassal risked his very life. But their words opened the eyes of the young nobleman to his folly, and he determined from that hour to turn over a new leaf.
The joy of Jirōzayémon at this decision knew no bounds. He advised his lord forthwith to return to his clan, and to this suggestion he gave a prompt assent. The Yamaguchi Clan was filled with delight at the news and the services of Jirōzayémon were spoken of in terms of highest praise.
Soon after Yoshioki's departure on his return to his clan, Jirōzayémon also started for his home, having as travelling companion a colleague named Iwashiro Takita. This Takita was a black-hearted villain, and he it was who had insinuated Yoshioki into dissolute ways and well-nigh wrought his ruin. In secret communication with the old virago of Mt. Maya, and her followers, he had been traitorously plotting the downfall of the Ōuchi house. It was but natural, then, that he should conceive a strong animosity against Jirōzayémon, who had, all unwittingly, thwarted his fell designs.
The two samurai, in the course of their journey, arrived at the post-town of Shimada, on the Tōkaidō, and put up at an inn called Ebisuya. During their sojourn in this inn it was Takita's purpose to kill Jirōzayémon, and for the accomplishment of this foul deed he had hired two confederates. One of these, a physician, was engaged to furnish poison and serve it in the tea. With this intent he secretly put the compound in a kettle of boiling water from which the tea was to be made. The other bravo, a fencer, was to steal in at midnight under the floor,[3] and from this lurking-place to stab Jirōzayémon in case the poison failed to prove effective. Hapless Jirōzayémon! Death indeed stared him in the face!
But the landlord, a worthy old fellow named Tokuyémon, had from the first seen through Takita's dark plot, and made up his mind to save Jirōzayémon's life. By a happy chance he saw the poisoner pour the noxious draught into the kettle. When the villain left the room, he emptied the kettle, filled it with fresh water and put, instead of poison, a "laughing-medicine" into the water.
Jirōzayémon, when he entered the guest-room, sat down face to face with Takita, and the latter ordered his quacksalver to serve his travelling-companion with tea. But the landlord, who kept them company in the room, winked at Jirōzayémon in a significant manner, and the cautious samurai, taking the hint, refrained from touching the tea. The poisoner lost patience. To set at rest any fear of danger, that Jirōzayémon might entertain, he said, "Let me test the tea, gentlemen," and swallowed a cupful at a draught without any show of fear. An antidote, that he carried ready in his bosom, was his reason for acting in this confident manner. But in no long time the "laughing-medicine" began to take effect and he began to laugh, "Ha! Ha!" until every word, every syllable he tried to utter, turned into a peal of laughter. Try as he might, he could not check the spasms of laughing that shook him. So violent they became that his inward parts were troubled and he was forced to excuse himself and leave the room. Takita, sorely disappointed at the failure of his poisoning scheme, also went out on the pretext of going to the bath.
Jirōzayémon likewise left the guest-room, and withdrew to his own apartment which an andon was filling with a dim light. As he sat there alone, lost in reverie, his eye chanced to follow the outline of the characters traced on the tsuitaté or screen. What was his surprise to read in them the "Morning-glory Song" which, in the previous year, he had composed for Miyuki on the Uji River! Who and what, he asked himself in wonder, had caused this song to be written on a screen in a public inn? Then all at once came back into his mind the blissful hours he had spent on the Uji River, his regretful parting with Miyuki, and that moonlight night in the harbour of Akashi. A thousand thoughts of his sweetheart rushed upon his mind.
At this moment the landlord stole into the room and told to Jirōzayémon in whispers, the story of the poison and the laughing-medicine. In all good-will he advised him to stand ever on his guard in future. After thanking the old man heartily, Jirōzayémon asked him to clear up the mystery of the presence of the "Morning-glory Song" on the screen.
"That, sir," Tokuyémon answered, "is a song that is sung by a beautiful blind girl. The story that they tell about her is very touching. It is said that she is a daughter of a good samurai family, probably of Aki Province. For some reason that nobody can explain she ran away from home, and since that time has roamed about from one place to another. At last she lost her sight through much weeping and now she begs from door to door, singing this song to the strains of a samisen or koto. Some time ago a relative of hers, a woman, came in search of her and even managed to find her, but the woman died soon after. So the girl now wanders alone about this neighbourhood and in spite of her blindness she is a very sweet singer so that everybody feels for her and lends her patronage. Among us this song of hers is very well known and we generally call her 'Asagao' ('Morning-glory'). An unhappy fate for a young girl, is it not, sir?" concluded the landlord, his eyes running over with tears.
"Unhappy, indeed," said Jirōzayémon, his heart beating fast with the thought that this forlorn girl might be Miyuki. "To-night I feel strangely lonesome. I should like to listen to the blind girl's singing. Please be so kind as to send for her."
"Your wish is law, sir," replied mine host with prompt assent.
VII
Tokuyémon, in leaving Jirōzayémon's apartment met Takita on his way in. The two samurai had talked for some time together when the chamber-maid appeared and said: "Asagao has just come, sir."
"Asagao!" exclaimed Takita, with a look of wonder. "Who is this Asagao, my friend?"
"The name, I am told," answered Jiroōzayémon "is that of a blind girl who goes about begging in this neighbourhood, and playing on the koto or the samisen. As I feel lonely to-night I have sent for her. I wish to listen to her music"
"A blind woman—and a beggar!" broke in Takita, with a forbidding expression. "But, my dear sir, you cannot admit a stroller of that sort into your room. You had better make her perform in the garden, and send her about her business as soon as she has played a tune."
Jirōzayémon in his gentle manner ordered the maid to bring Asagao inmiediately before the verandah.
As we have seen, Miyuki had, some time before, met her nurse, Asaka, but her joy at this meeting was but a fleeting happiness, for Asaka's wound proved mortal, and soon carried her off. Thus Miyuki again became a solitary wanderer.
In prompt obedience to Jirōzayémon's order, the blind girl came, an old koto on her shoulder, feeling her way into the garden with her cane.
"Is it the gentleman of this room that has called me," she asked with a respectful bow. "May I have the honour of playing for you a tune on the koto?"
Jirōzayémon, at a single glance, recognized his sweetheart, greatly changed though she was. What a pitiful transformation! At sight of it he wept inwardly. But Takita, quite unaware of this, roared out:
"What a disgusting spectacle! I say, you beggar, you can't wait upon us in such a plight. Take yourself off!"
"Don't speak so cruelly, Takita," said Jirōzayémon, his heart big with grief and compassion. "She is here because I have sent for her—it ill beseems a samurai to chide a woman. Come, girl, 
Mr. Gadō as Asagao
sing us your favourite song—the 'Moming-glory Song' if I remember aright."
Poor blind Miyuki! Quite ignorant of the presence of her lover, she loosed her instrument from her shoulder and played, singing the while in plaintive tones:
"The morning-glories are fresh and sheen
With sparkling drops of morning dew,
But well-a-day! the sunshine keen
Bids fair to blight their charming hue.
Oh, how I wish a kindly shower
Would fall, to save the lovely flower."
"Well done! Well done, Asagao!" cried Jirōzayémon with enthusiasm. "Your song has moved me to tears."
"Well done, indeed!" echoed Takita, in a mild tone, that contrasted strangely with his former harshness. "You were not born a beggar, girl. Your touch on the koto, your personal beauty, and the grace of your manner are sufficient proof of that. I think a sketch of your personal history would be an interesting tale for us. Please tell it to us minutely."
"Your question, sir, shows me the kindness of your heart," responded Miyuki and she went on to tell, with all frankness and modesty, her story from beginning to end—how she had run away from home to save her chastity, how she had suffered and wandered, and how her constant weeping had led to blindness.
Every word she spoke struck upon Jirōzayémon's heart, awakening a sense of pity and gratitude. How great was his longing to tell her his name and take her to his heart! But in presence of his colleague such action was impossible.
"You have indeed shown yourself the most loyal of women, Asagao!" he exclaimed. "Surely your lover would rejoice, if he could but hear your story."
The night was wearing on. Miyuki, therefore, bade farewell to the samurai and rose in act to go, but she departed with great reluctance, with Jirōzayémon's kindly words still lingering in her ears. Takita also withdrew to his bedroom.
Jirōzayémon then hastily called the maid and bade her request the landlord to come at once and see him. While she was gone upon her errand he sought out a fan on which he wrote some inscription. He was proceeding to wrap up in paper a sum of money and some medicine when lo and behold! before his eyes flashed the point of a naked sword that had pierced the mat from beneath the floor. With great presence of mind he upset upon the blade the lukewarm water from the kettle. In all likelihood the would-be assassin mistook this water for blood and concluded that his thrust had gone home. At any rate, a masked man, drawn sword in hand, broke into the room and slashed at Jirōzayémon. Without losing his presence of mind the samurai engaged him with his fan, and in the midst of the fight Tokuyémon appeared in the room and beheld the struggle with open-mouthed astonishment.
The fight was of short duration. Jirōzayémon disarmed his opponent and scarcely had the young man taken up the fallen sword, when the ruffian's head fell to the mat.
"You are, indeed, a skilful swordsman, sir," the landlord broke out, with an involuntary cry of admiration. But Jirōzayémon coolly ordered him to dispose of the corpse and after the room had been cleaned, said to the old man:
"I have a favour to ask of you. It is that you be so kind as to send again for that blind girl."
"Most certainly, sir," answered the landlord, his head on one side, "but as Asagao has gone to the town of Shimizu she cannot be here to-night."
"How unfortunate! And I must be on the road to-morrow morning not later than four o'clock. What an unlucky creature I am! Well, landlord, I must leave in your care these three things for Asagao, as her fee for our entertainment. Please give them to her when she next comes here."
Tokuyémon received and carefully scrutinized the articles. "This, sir, is a very large sum of money. And a beautiful fan and a packet of medicine into the bargain!"
"The medicine," said Jirōzayémon, "is for the eyes. It is a sovereign remedy, imported from China. Let this preparation be administered, mixed with the blood of a man born in the year of the Rat and any eye-disease will be cured on the instant. It is indeed miraculous in its power."
"It is in truth a precious gift, sir," said Tokuyémon with a respectful reverence. "How grateful Asagao will be to you! In her name I thank you most heartily, sir."
At that moment the clock struck four, and Takita, arrayed in travelling gear and waited on by his retinue, came in and urged Jirōzayémon to take the road. He accordingly changed clothes without loss of time and with a friendly farewell to Tokuyémon, set out upon his journey. But he left his heart and soul behind him at the inn. He thought of his sweetheart and thought of her only. Would he ever again, he wondered, have a chance to meet her? Bitter tears of grief and regret welled up, as it seemed, from his very breast.
Tokuyémon, looking after them as their figures lessened in the distance, said to himself: "Both those men are samurai, yet how different they are in nature! One a very rascal, and the other all kindness and compassion! What a fine character that Jirōzayémon is! But I think that, for all his kindness, these gifts for Asagao are too great a price for her trifling services to-night. I fancy there is more in this than meets the eye."
Scarcely half an hour had passed, when Miyuki again appeared at the inn. Immediately on her return from Shimizu, she had turned her steps thither, as some instinct had warned her to do.
"Oh, is that you, Asagao?" cried the old landlord. "But you come too late. That kind samurai who last night called for you, bade me send for you again. But I heard that you had gone to Shimizu, and told him it was useless. Then he left in my care a large sum of money for you, a beautiful fan, and some medicine for the eye, of great efficacy. It is now a good while since he set out on his journey. But here are all his gifts, Asagao."
"It was very kind indeed, of the gentleman," said the girl, with an air of wonder. "I am only sorry that I could not thank him in person. But please look at the fan and tell me if anything is written on it."
"Well," said Tokuyémon, as he opened the fan, "there is a morning-glory painted on a golden ground and, strangely enough, your song of the 'Morning-glory' is written above the flower. On the other side is the signature, 'Miyagi Asojirō, now named Komazawa Jirōzayémon.'"
"Oh! was that Asojirō himself?" cried Miyuki, all panic-stricken. "I fancied that the tones of his voice were familiar but I little dreamed that it was Asojirō. How long is it since he left the inn?"
"It was but a little time ago. Is he an acquaintance of yours, my girl?"
"An acquaintance! More than an acquaintance. He is none other than that husband whom I have sought for such a weary time! But I have no time to throw away. I will try to overtake him."
Without more words, she began to run. "I say!" shouted Tokuyémon, clutching at her sleeve; "it is dangerous for you to run like that."
"No! No! What is it to me if I do die?"
"But, blind as you are, you will never overtake him!"
To this Miyuki gave no heed. She shook off Tokuyémon and sped away.
Dawn had not yet come; it was still dark and dreary. The rain which a little time before had begun to fall, had gradually increased and was now coming down in torrents.
VIII
A little to the west of the town of Shimada flows the largest river on the Tokaidō—the Ōi River. In days of yore, when engineering was yet in its nonage, no bridge could be built, no practicable ferry-boat devised, on account of the great width of its bed and the swiftness of the current. Therefore travellers were carried across this river on small litters called rendai, borne aloft on the shoulders of naked coolies. But whenever the stream was swollen by heavy rains, all communication between the two shores was suddenly cut off.
By the time Miyuki, all spent with running, had reached the Ōi River, the torrential rainfall had had its effect and the current of the river was running with great fierceness. As, stumbling and staggering, she gained the bank, she called out in a faltering voice to the coolies:
"Can you tell me if a samurai, one Komazawa Jirōzayémon, has already crossed the river?"
"He has crossed but now; but as the river has come down in sudden flood any further traffic across the stream is impossible." With that the coolies went their several ways.
At these cruel words, the baffled girl fell to the ground, but in a moment she was on her feet again, and turning to the heavens her sightless eyes, "How merciless ye are, ye gods," she cried, with writhing body, and stamping foot. "Amid all my woes, amid all the hardships of these long dreary months, not for a single moment did I forget to call on you, that ye might vouchsafe to me, yet one more meeting with my beloved; yet now, so cruel ye are, at this moment of all moments, ye have cut off from me my passage across this stream!" Then her defiance collapsed and she murmured with an air of resignation: "Ah, all is plain to me now. This sudden swelling of the river reveals to me that I am not destined to become Asojirō's bride. It is the will of the gods, of a surety, that by my own act I should put an end to my life. What reason have I for clinging to life?"
Even as she spoke, she gathered a number of small stones and placed them in her flowing sleeves. Thus prepared, she was on the point of plunging into the roaring river, when a loud voice cried:
"Hold, Miyuki, hold!" and she felt a hand grasp her sleeve.
The newcomer was none other than Sekisuké, her father's faithful servant, who, in company with Tokuyémon, had come in pursuit of Miyuki. The girl made a desperate struggle to free her sleeve, crying: "Oh, that is Sekisuké, is it not? But I have come here too late! After manifold hardships and wanderings, I managed last night to come face to face with Asojirō, but woe is me! I am blind and did not recognize him. When I knew it was he I ran after him, but, unhappy wretch that I am, all traffic across the river is now cut off. Oh, Sekisukê! what shall I do?"
"I can well imagine how grieved and disappointed you must feel," answered the servant, "and with all my heart I sympathize with you. But never give way to despair, for I assure you that I will manage by some means or other to bring about your meeting with Asojirō and that very soon. But now let me tell my own story. After searching for you with all diligence, month after month, I felt almost inclined to give up the quest in despair. Then, strange to say, two nights ago I saw your nurse, Asaka, in a dream, and from her I learned that you were then at the Ebisuya, an inn at Shimada. I gathered but this, for something broke my dream. But travelling day and night I made all haste to the inn, and have had the good fortune to come in time to save your life. This is a joyful moment for me! But in regard to Asaka, I believe that she donned the habit of a pilgrim and set out along the Tokaidō in search of you. Have you not come across her anywhere?"
"Yes," answered Miyuki, tearfully. "I fell in with Asaka last month at Hamamatsu, but that very night it unluckily happened that she was forced to fight a ruffian, and in that fight received her death-wound. When at the point of death she told me that her father, one Furubé Saburobei, was living at Sayono-Nakayama and adjured me to call on him for help."
Tokuyémon, when he heard these words, showed signs of great surprise.
"Is it possible," said he, "that you are the daughter of Akizuki Yuminosuké? And your nurse? Could she have been Asaka, my own daughter? I am that very Furubé Saburobei whom you desire to meet. In my youth I was your grandfather's retainer and by him I was treated with great favour. But, if the truth must be told, I formed a liaison with one of his maids-of honour and both of us were to be put to death by our lord's own hand. Yuminosuké, however, interceded for us in the kindness of his heart and we were dismissed from the household without further punishment. During our long wanderings my wife gave birth to a girl. When the child was only two years old the mother was carried off by illness, and as I could not bring up the child single-handed, I gave her to my aunt to care for. I am happy to learn that she grew to be a woman and entered into the service of Yuminosuké, my benefactor, and that even after death her loyalty endured so that in a dream she showed Sekisuké where he might find you. What an admirable woman she was! But I, too, Miyuki, have something which I can present to you!"
Even as he spoke, he drew his dagger and plunged it into his side.
"Why do you thus devote yourself to death?" cried Sekisuké in amazement.
Tokuyémon's answer came, broken by groans of agony: "I was told by Jirōzayémon that the remedy he gave to Miyuki was of miraculous potency, and was brought from China. He said, too, that if it were administered mixed with the blood of a man born in the year of the Rat, it would cure, on the instant, any affection of the eyes. By great good fortune I was born in the year of the Rat, and I have resolved to give my life in return for Yuminosuké's kindness. So take my blood, Sekisuké, and, blended with the wondrous cure, administer it to Miyuki."
Sekisuké, his eyes streaming with tears of admiration and sympathy, drew forth a cup and caught in it some of the blood that gushed from the wound of the dying man. Then from the weeping girl's bosom he took the packet of medicine, dropped it into the blood, and presented the mixture to Miyuki. "Words are too weak to utter thanks for such a deed as yours, Tokuyémon," she said, and drank it at a draught. Wonder of wonders—the darkness was gone from her eyes, and at that moment she could "see even the creeping of an ant."
Miyuki's joy knew no bounds; Sekisuké in his delight was moved to dance, and Tokuyémon was well content. "Now there is nothing left in life that I can desire," said he. "Farewell, Miyuki! Sekisuké, farewell!" and with that he drew the dagger through his body to the other side, then slashed his throat across, and so breathed his last. IX
Komazawa Jirōayémon, after his return to his clan, set himself, heart and soul, to the task of assisting Ōuchi Yoshioki in the carrying out of reforms in administration, and grew in ever greater favour with his lord. On a certain day it happened that the household of Jirōzayémon were in a bustle of preparation, wishing to give a fitting welcome to his lord, who had announced his intention of honouring him with a visit at his private residence. As the sweeping and dusting went on busily the maids incessantly laughed and chattered, their tongues no less busy than their hands. "Surely in all this great world there is none who is like to our master either in looks or in brains. She certainly is a lucky woman who is destined to become his wife—such a fine gentleman as he is! She will be the happiest woman in all Japan!"
At the hour appointed, Lord Ōuchi, with Iwashiro Takita in attendance, duly arrived. Jirōzayémon, with all reverence, welcomed him at the portal, and ushered him into the guest-room with words of greeting: "It gives me great delight to see you well and in good spirits, my lord. I am very grateful that you deign to honour my humble dwelling with your august presence. No greater honour could fall to the lot of our family, my lord."
Yoshioki had hardly seated himself when he broke into speech, while the expression of his face betrayed the gravity of his mood: "There is a rumour that the remnants of the Ōtomo faction are prowling about in the bordering provinces trying to stir up rebellion. If we leave them unmolested a very serious state of affairs will develop. What do you advise? Shall we strike now and try to wipe them out once and for all?"
"That, my lord," said Takita, "is out of the question. The Ōtomo partisans are not, by any means, to be made light of and if, at the rallying-cry of war, all the adherents of that house make head against our clan from several provinces our peril will be very grave indeed. They will muster so strong that to face their great forces with our small army would be more futile than to attempt to smash a huge rock with a hen's egg. In my opinion the safest course for you is to go again to Kamakura and by leading a life of pleasure there to distract their attention from us, and so avert the danger."
Jirōzayémon was not slow to perceive the treacherous motive that underlay Takita's suggestion, but he dissembled his thoughts with a show of utter ignorance.
"Takita is right in what he says, but I have an opinion of my own," he said calmly; "but the discussion of this matter will bear waiting till another occasion. For to-day, I would ask you, my lord, to make yourself at home in the inner apartment." To this proposal Yoshioki nodded his assent and quietly walked into the inner room, followed by the two samurai.
Just as the sun was setting, and when the dusk was gathering, there came a knock at the porch of Jirōzayémon's house. He went in person to the entry and found a man standing there, who forthwith proceeded to introduce himself: "My name is Sekisuké, and I serve Akizuki Yuminosuké, Chief Councillor of the Kishido Clan of Aki Province. Very important business has brought me to make this call upon you, sir."
The puzzled samurai scanned his visitor narrowly and caught sight of a beautiful young woman hiding bashfully behind Sekisuké. What need to tell that this was Miyuki?
"Are you indeed Sekisuké? I have often heard of you," said Jirōzayémon, with a show of familiarity, holding his emotion in check. "For all the trouble you have taken for Miyuki's sake I owe you hearty thanks. I am happy indeed to see you again, Miyuki. When, a few days ago, I chanced to fall in with you at Shimada I had a great desire to make myself known to you. But to my great mortification, I could not do so in the presence of my travelling companion. I beg you to overlook my apparent unkindness. I take it that the restoration of your eyesight is due to the specific that I left with Tokuyémon for you. Nothing could give me greater joy, my dear!"
Miyuki could no longer control her emotion. She burst into tears and through her sobs no words would come. So Sekisuké spoke in her stead and related all that had befallen her. "As she is now quite restored to health," he went on, "I have brought her here without delay, and I am very glad to find you well. I can well imagine how joyful and happy Miyuki must feel."
"Then it seems to me," said Jirōzayémon, "it is now high time that we should wed with my lord's permission. By a happy chance he is even now here in my house. I will go at once and request his consent."
In no long time the youthful lovers had the happiness of exchanging cups of marriage in the inner apartment, under the auspices of Lord Ōuchi, and a few days later a splendid banquet was given in honour of their nuptials.
| · | · | · | · | · | · | · |
Shortly afterwards the treachery of Iwashiro Takita came to light and he met a traitor's death. Aratayé, the old heroine of Mt. Maya, made away with herself for some unknown reason, and all her followers dispersed in despair.
- ↑ A tanzaku is an artistically prepared strip of moderately heavy paper, about two inches wide and twelve inches long, designed for the inditing of a short poem, or for the painting of a picture. A man of taste often takes a few of these strips with him, when visiting places noted for flowers or fireflies, and writes on them versicles of 31 or 17 syllables, composed on the spur of the moment, when the imagination is excited by sights of beauty.
- ↑ The original is trite in thought as may be inferred from this rendering, but the poem may justly be looked on as noteworthy, in that it is a very clever imitation, in similarity of diction and phrasing and of construction generally, of a famous poem in the Kokinshū, or "Poems, Ancient and Modern" (an anthology compiled in A.D. 905 at the mandate of the Emperor Daigo).
- ↑ The thin wooden floor of a Japanese house is usually about three feet above the ground.