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CHAPTER VIII.
THE CASTLE OF OWARI

On the shores of the Pacific Ocean, at the top of a rocky cliff, stands the fortress of the Princes of Owari. Its walls, pierced with loopholes, are so constructed as to follow the lay of the land. They are masked here and there by groups of trees and shrubs, whose fresh verdure is in happy contrast with the ragged walls of rust-colored rock.

From the summit of the fortress the view is very fine. A little bay rounds to the foot of the hill, and affords safe shelter for the junks and barks which skim the clear water in all directions; farther away the blue waves of the Pacific trace a darker line against the sky. On the land-ward side rises a chain of mountains, cultivated in patches to their very tops. Between the mountains lie valleys, where we may see villages nestling in a grove, near a brook; then the valleys end in the heart of more hills.

A broad and well-kept road winds along the undulating ground to the foot of the castle of Owari. This road, known as the Tokaido, was built by Taiko-Sama; it intersects the entire kingdom, traversing the domains of the Daimios, and is under the sole jurisdiction of the Shogun.

The Prince who ruled over the province of Owari was at this time living in his castle.

About the third hour after noon on the day that Hieyas fled from Osaka, the sentinel posted on the loftiest tower of the palace of Owari cried out that he saw a troop of horsemen galloping along the Tokaido. The Prince was at the moment in one of the courts of the castle, crouched upon his heels, his hands resting on his thighs. He was attending a lesson in hara-kiri taken by his young son.

The child, seated on a mat in the centre of the court, held in both hands a short, blunt sword, and raised his pretty artless face, already serious in its cast, towards his instructor, seated opposite him. Women were looking on from a gallery above; and their dresses made bright spots of color against the delicate tints of the carved wood-work. Enormous butterflies, birds, flowers, or variegated balls were embroidered on their robes; every head was bristling with big yellow tortoise-shell pins. They chattered together with a thousand bewitching airs and graces.

In the court, leaning against the upright post of a bronze lantern, a young girl in a closely fitting dress of sky-blue crape, with all the folds drawn to the front, fixed an absent gaze upon the little lord; in her hand she held a screen, upon which was painted a humming-bird.

"Hold the sword firmly," said the teacher; "apply it by the point, below the left ribs; be careful that the edge of the blade is turned to the right. Now grasp the hilt in your hand, and bear on with all your strength; then quickly, without moderating your pressure, move your weapon horizontally towards your right side. In this way you will cleave your body in twain according to strict rule."

The child went through the motions with such violence that he tore his robe.

"Good! good!" exclaimed the Prince of Owari, striking his thighs with his open hands. "The little fellow has plenty of courage!"

At the same time he raised his eyes to the women leaning from the balcony, and imparted his impression to them by a sign of the head.

"He will be brave and intrepid as his father," said one of them.

It was just then that news was brought to the Prince of the appearance of a band of horsemen on the royal road.

"Doubtless a neighboring lord coming to visit me incognito," said the Prince; "or else these horsemen are merely passing travellers. At any rate, there is no reason to interrupt the lesson."

The teacher then made his pupil repeat the list of incidents which oblige a man of noble race to rip himself open; namely, to incur the displeasure of the Shogun, or receive from him a public reprimand; to disgrace himself; to avenge an insult by slaying its originator; voluntarily or involuntarily to permit the escape of prisoners intrusted to one's care; and innumerable other nice cases.

"Add," said the Prince of Owari, "to be wanting in respect to one's father. In my opinion, a son who insults his parents can only expiate that crime by performing hara-kiri."

At the same time he cast another look at the women, which meant: "It is well to inspire children with a dread of paternal authority."

At this moment a loud noise of horses pawing the pavement was heard in an adjoining court-yard, and an imperious voice called out: "Lift the drawbridge! Close the gates!"

The Prince of Owari sprang to his feet.

"Who gives orders in my house?" said he.

"I!" answered the same voice.

And at the same time a group of men entered the second court.

"The Regent!" cried the Prince of Owari, falling prostrate.

"Rise, friend!" said Hieyas, with a bitter smile; "I have no longer any right to the honors that you render me; I am, for the moment, your equal."

"What has happened?" anxiously inquired the Prince.

"Dismiss your women," said Hieyas.

Owari made a sign; the women disappeared.

"Take your brother away, Omiti," said he to the young girl, who had turned terribly pale at the entrance of Hieyas.

"Is your daughter's name Omiti?" exclaimed the latter, his face growing suddenly purple.

"Yes, master. Why do you ask?"

"Call her back, I beg."

Owari obeyed. The young girl returned, trembling, and with downcast eyes.

Hieyas looked at her fixedly with an expression on his face which would have alarmed any one who knew the man. The maiden, however, raised her head, and an undaunted spirit was apparent in her eyes, – a sort of self-renunciation.

"It was you who betrayed us," said Hieyas in a dull, heavy voice.

"Yes," said she.

"What does this mean?" cried the Prince of Owari with a start.

"It means that the plot so carefully contrived within these castle walls, so mysteriously concealed from all, was surprised and revealed by her."

"Wretch!" cried the Prince raising his clenched fist against his daughter.

"A woman, – a child, – to ruin a political conspiracy!" continued Hieyas. "A vile pebble, to make you stumble, and hurl you headlong to the ground! It is a mockery!"

"I will kill you!" yelled Owari.

"Kill me! what will it matter?" said the girl. "I have saved the King. Is not his life worth mine? I have long awaited your vengeance."

"You shall wait no longer!" said the Prince, seizing her by the throat.

"No; do not kill her!" said Hieyas. "I will take her punishment into my own hands."

"So be it!" said Owari; "I abandon her to you."

"It is well!" said Hieyas, signing to Faxibo not to lose sight of the young girl. "But let us leave what is past and gone; let us look towards the future. Are you still devoted to me?"

"Can you doubt it, master? And must I not now struggle to repair the wrong done you by one of my family without my knowledge?"

"Listen, then. A conspiracy has suddenly wrested the power from my hands. I contrived to escape the death that threatened me, and fled in the direction of my principality of Mikawa. Your domains lie between Osaka and my province. Your fortress overlooks the sea, and can bar the passage of soldiers coming from Osaka; that is why I stopped here, to bid you collect your troops as quickly as possible and put your country in a state of defence. Guard your castle well. I will stay here, where I am safe from sudden attack, while my faithful comrade, Ino-Kamo-No-Kami" (Hieyas pointed to a nobleman in his escort, who bowed low to the Prince of Owari, the latter returning his salute), "proceeds to the castle of Mikawa, fortifies the whole province, and gives the alarm to all the princes my allies."

"I am your slave, master; dispose of me."

"Give orders to your soldiers at once."

The Prince of Owari left the courtyard. Servants ushered their master's guests into cool, airy apartments, and served them with tea, sweetmeats, and a light meal.

Soon Ino-Kamo-No-Kami took leave of Hieyas, who gave him his final instructions; and taking with him two of the lords who had accompanied them thither, he remounted his horse and left the castle.

Hieyas then called Faxibo.

The latter was engaged in devouring a honey-cake, never taking his eyes from Omiti, as she sat in a corner of the room.

"Can you disguise yourself so that none shall know you?" he asked him.

"So that you yourself would not know me," said Faxibo.

"Good! To-morrow morning you will return to Osaka and arrange to learn all that goes on in the palace. Moreover, you will travel with a woman."

Hieyas leaned towards the ex-groom and whispered in his ear.

An evil smile hovered upon Faxibo's lips.

"Good, good!" he said; "to-morrow at dawn I will be ready to start."

CHAPTER IX.
THE TEA-HOUSE

In one of the suburbs of Osaka, not far from the beach whose white sandy slope stretches down to the sea, stood an immense building, whose roofs, of various heights, rose far above the level of the neighboring houses. The front of this edifice opened full upon a busy street, always crowded, and full of noise and confusion.

The first floor had a series of broad windows, closed by gay-colored blinds, which were often opened wide by a push from one of the inquisitive young women whose peals of laughter rang upon the air.

At the corners of the various roofs banners floated and large lozenge-shaped lanterns swung; the ground-floor consisted of a wide gallery open to the street and protected from the sun and wind by a light roof. Three big black characters, inscribed on a gilded panel, formed the sign of the establishment, and ran as follows, – "The Day-Break Inn. Tea and Saki."

Towards noon the balcony was crowded with customers; they sat with crossed legs upon the mat which covered the floor; they drank saki, or hid their faces in the cloud of steam rising from the cup of tea, upon which they blew lustily, to cool it. Women, coquettishly arrayed and carefully painted, moved gracefully about from group to group, carrying the hot drink. In the background you might see smoking stoves and pretty china cups and dishes arranged upon sets of red lacquer shelves.

Every moment fresh passers-by, cango-bearers, and men carrying burdens would stop, ask for a drink, pay, and hurry off again.

Sometimes a quarrel would arise in front of the inn and degenerate into a brawl, to the great delight of the patrons.

For instance, a pedler ran against a dealer in shells and cuttle-fish; his basket of wares was upset, and all the fish fell to the ground and rolled in the dirt.

High words rained on either side, traffic was hindered, a crowd collected and took sides with one or the other of the contending parties, and soon two hostile armies were ready to try the fate of arms.

But a shout arose: "The cable! the cable! Don't fight; bring a cable!"

Some of the spectators hurried off, bustled into one house after another, and at last, finding what they wanted, came running back with a large rope.

Then the lookers-on took up their stand in front of the houses, leaving a free space for those who were to struggle. The latter seized the rope in both hands, there being fifteen on each side, and began to pull with all their might and main. The rope stretched and shook, then held firm.

"Courage! Hold tight! Don't let go!" was the cry on every side.

However, after struggling long against fatigue, one of the parties suddenly let go the rope. The victors fell all together in a heap, with their legs in the air, amidst the shouts and laughter of the mob, who ran to their rescue. They were helped to their feet, and a reconciliation was signed and sealed by copious draughts of saki.

The inn was thronged, and the maids were beside themselves with such an overflow of custom.

Just then an old man, leading a girl by the hand, contrived to stop a waitress as she passed, and catch her by the sleeve.

"I want to speak to the master of this establishment," he said.

"You choose your time well," said the girl, with a roar of laughter.

By a sudden movement she freed herself, and was gone before the old man could add another word.

"I will wait," said he.

A cask of saki was staved in, and the jolly drinkers talked and laughed noisily.

But all at once silence fell upon them; the shrill sound of a flute and the music of a stringed instrument were heard. The sounds came from the rooms above.

"Listen! listen!" was the general cry.

Some of the passers stopped to hear. The sound of a woman's voice was heard. The words of the song were clearly audible: —

"When Iza-Na-Gui descended to earth, his companion, Iza-Na-Mi, met him in a garden.

"'How delightful to meet such a handsome young man!' she exclaimed.

"But the God, in displeasure, replied: 'It is not fitting for the woman to speak first; meet me again.'

"They parted, and they met each other once more.

"'How agreeable to meet such a lovely girl!' said Iza-Na-Gui.

"Which of the two spoke first?'"

The voice ceased; the accompaniment went on for a few moments more.

A discussion ensued among the drinkers; they replied to the question asked by the singer.

"Of course the God was saluted first," said some.

"No, no! It was the Goddess!" shouted others. "The will of the God cancelled the first salutation."

"Did he cancel it?"

"To be sure I to be sure! They began again, as if nothing had ever happened."

"Which does not annul what had occurred; and so the woman spoke first."

The argument threatened to wax warm; but all ended by a larger number of cups being emptied. Soon the throng thinned off, and the tavern grew quiet again.

A servant woman then noticed the old man leaning against an upright post, and still holding the young girl by the hand.

"Do you want a cup of tea or saki?" asked the woman.

"I wish to speak to the keeper of the tea-house," answered the man.

The servant looked at the old man. His head was covered with a large hat of woven reeds, like the cover of a round basket; his costume, much worn, was of brown cotton. He held in his hand a fan, on which was marked the road from Yeddo to Osaka, the distance from one village to another, the number and importance of the inns, etc. The woman then examined the young girl. She was shabbily dressed. Her robe, of faded blue, was torn and dirty; a fragment of white stuff twisted about her head partially concealed her face. She leaned on a black-and-red paper parasol, torn in various places; but she was strangely beautiful and graceful.

"Have you come to make a sale?" asked the maid of the inn.

The old man made a sign that he had.

"I will tell the master."

She went off, and soon returned. The master followed her.

He was a man of repulsive plainness. His little squinting black eyes were scarcely visible between the narrow fissure of his absurdly wrinkled eyelids; his mouth, widely removed from his long, thin nose, destitute of teeth and adorned with a few stiff sparse hairs, gave a sly and mean expression to his pock-marked countenance.

"You want to get rid of that young woman?" said he, rolling one eyeball, while the other one disappeared round the corner of his nose.

"To get rid of my child!" screamed the old man. "I only consent to part from her to protect her from misery and want."

"Unfortunately I have more women now than I need; and they are every one of them quite as pretty as she is. My house is entirely full."

"I will look elsewhere," said the old man, making a pretence of going.

"Don't be in such a hurry," said the landlord; "if your demands are not too extravagant, perhaps we can come to terms."

He made the man a sign to follow him into the entrance hall from which he had just come; this hall looked out on a garden, and was quite empty.

"What can your girl do, I say?" asked the frightful squint-eyed fellow.

"She can embroider, she can sing, and play on several instruments; she can even compose a quatrain at a pinch."

"Ah-ha! is that so? And how much do you want for her?"

"Four kobangs."

The innkeeper was about to exclaim, "No more!" but he restrained himself.

"That's exactly what I was going to offer you," said he.

"Well, it's a bargain," said the old man; "I hire her to you to do whatever you bid her, for a term of twenty years."

The buyer hurriedly brought brushes and a roll of paper, and drew up a bill of sale, which the old man readily signed.

The young girl meantime stood like a statue; she did not waste a look on the old man, who pretended to wipe away a tear as he pocketed the kobangs.

Before leaving, he bent towards the innkeeper's ear and whispered: "Keep your eye on her; watch her well; she will try to escape."

Then he quitted the Day-Break Tea-house; and whoever saw him, as he turned the corner of the street, change his pace, rubbing his hands and outstepping the nimblest, might well have suspected the reality of his old age and his white beard.

CHAPTER X.
THE TRYST

The Prince of Nagato lay stretched upon a black satin mattress, one elbow buried in a cushion and the other arm held out to a doctor crouching beside him. The doctor was feeling his pulse.

At the Prince's bedside, Fide-Yori, seated on a pile of mats, fixed an anxious look upon the wrinkled but impenetrable face of the physician. An enormous pair of spectacles, with round black-rimmed glasses, lent a comical expression to the grave face of the worthy man of science.

Near the entrance of the room knelt Loo, his forehead touching the floor, in honor of the King's presence. He amused himself by counting the silver threads in the fringe of the carpet.

"The danger is over," said the doctor at last; "the wounds have closed; and still the fever continues, for some reason which I cannot understand."

"I will explain it to you," said the Prince, eagerly drawing back his arm; "it is my impatience at being nailed to this bed, and forbidden to enjoy the open air."

"What, friend!" said the Shogun, "when I myself come hither to share your captivity, are you so impatient to be free?"

"You know very well, dear lord, that it is for your affairs that I am so anxious to be up and doing; the departure of the embassy which you are sending to Kioto cannot be indefinitely delayed."

"Why did you ask me as a special favor to make you chief of that embassy?"

"Is it not my delight to serve you?"

"That is not your only motive," said Fide-Yori with a smile.

"You allude to my supposed love for Fatkoura," thought Nagato, smiling in his turn.

"If the Prince is reasonable, if he gives up this over-excitement which exhausts him, he may start in three days," said the doctor.

"Thanks!" cried Nagato; "that news is better than all your drugs."

"My drugs are not to be despised," said the doctor; "and you must take the one which I will send you presently."

Then he bowed low to the King and his noble patient, and retired.

"Ah!" exclaimed Fide-Yori when he was alone with his friend, "your impatience to be off proves to me that I am not mistaken. You are in love, Iwakura; you are beloved; you are happy!" And he heaved a deep sigh.

The Prince looked at him, surprised at this sigh, and expecting a confidence; but the young man blushed slightly, and changed the conversation.

"You see," said he, opening a volume which he held on his knee, "I am studying the book of the laws; I am looking to see if it does not need softening and altering."

"It contains one article which I would advise you to suppress," said Nagato.

"Which?"

"That which treats of mutual suicide for love."

"How does it run?" said Fide-Yori, turning over the leaves. "Ah! here it is: —

"'If two lovers swear to die together, and commit hara-kiri, their bodies shall be handed over to the officers of justice. If one of them be not mortally wounded, he or she is to be treated as the murderer of the other. If both survive the attempt, they shall be ranked as reprobates.'"

"That is shameful," said Nagato; "hasn't one a right to escape by death from a grief too heavy to be endured?"

"There is a religion which says not," murmured Fide-Yori.

"That of the European bonzes! That whose doctrines public rumor says you have accepted," said Nagato, striving to read his friend's face.

"I have studied that creed, Iwakura," said the Shogun. "It is pure and impressive, and the priests who teach it seem full of abnegation. While our bonzes think of nothing but making money, they scorn wealth. And then, you see, I cannot forget the terrible scene which I once witnessed, nor the sublime courage of the Christians as they submitted to the horrible tortures which my father ordered to be inflicted on them. I was a child then. I was taken to see them executed, to teach me, so my guardians said, how such creatures should be treated. It was near Nangasáki, on the hill. That nightmare will never cease to trouble my dreams. Crosses were planted on the slope so thickly that the hill seemed covered with a forest of dead trees. Among the victims, whose noses and ears had all been cut off, walked three little children, – I seem to see them still, – disfigured and bleeding, but revealing a strange courage in the face of death. All the poor wretches were fastened to the crosses, and their bodies were pierced with lances; the blood ran in streams. The victims made no outcry; as they died, they prayed that Heaven would pardon their executioners. The spectators uttered frightful shrieks, and I, overcome by terror, screamed with them, and hid my face on the breast of the Prince of Mayada, who held me in his arms. Soon, in spite of the soldiers, who beat them back and struck at them with their lances, those who witnessed that dreadful scene rushed up the hill to wrangle for some relic of those martyrs, whom they left naked on their crosses." As he spoke, the Shogun continued to turn over the pages of his book.

"Exactly," he said, with a movement of horror; "here is the very edict pronounced by my father when he commanded the massacre: —

"'I, Taiko-Sama, devote these men to death, because they come to Japan, calling themselves ambassadors, although they are not so; because they remain in my domains without my leave, and preach the law of the Christians, contrary to my commands. I decree that they shall be crucified at Nangasáki.'"

Fide-Yori tore out this and several ensuing pages, containing laws against the Christians.

"I have found what I wanted to expunge," he said.

"You do well, master, to spread your protecting arm over those mild and inoffensive men," said Nagato; "but beware lest the report which spreads from mouth to mouth, and accuses you of being a Christian, take shape, and your enemies use it against you."

"You are right, friend; I will wait till my power is firmly established, to declare my sentiments, and atone, as far as may be, for the blood spilled before my very eyes. But I must leave you, dear invalid; you are growing tired, and the doctor ordered you to rest. Be patient; you are nearly cured."

The Shogun left the room with an affectionate glance at his friend. No sooner had he gone, than Loo sprang up; he yawned, stretched himself, and made a thousand grimaces.

"Come, Loo!" said the Prince, "run out into the gardens for a little while; but don't throw stones at the gazelles, or frighten my Muscovy ducks."

Loo hastened away.

When he was alone, the Prince drew quickly from under his mattress a letter wrapped in green satin; he placed it on his pillow, leaned his cheek against it, and closed his eyes to sleep.

This letter was the one given him by the Kisaki; he preserved it as a precious treasure, and his only joy was to inhale its faint perfume. But, to his great distress, it had seemed to him, for some days past, as if the perfume were evaporating; perhaps, accustomed to inhale it, he did not notice it so strongly.

Suddenly the Prince rose up; he remembered that inside the envelope this subtle and delicious perfume would doubtless be better preserved. He broke the seal, which he had not hitherto touched, thinking that the envelope was empty; but to his great surprise he drew out a paper covered with written characters.

He uttered a cry and tried to read, but in vain. A red veil shimmered before his eyes; there was a buzzing in his ears; he feared lest he should faint, and rested his head on the pillow. He, however, succeeded in calming himself, and again looked at the writing. It was an elegantly worded quatrain. The Prince read it with indescribable emotion: —

"Two flowers bloomed on the banks of a stream. But, alas! the stream divided them.

"In each corolla lay a drop of dew, the shining spirit of the flower.

"Upon one of them the sun fell; he made it sparkle. But she thought: Why am I not on the other bank?

"One day these flowers hung their heads to die. They let fall their luminous soul like a diamond. Then the two drops of dew met at last, and were mingled in the stream."

"She gives me a tryst," cried the Prince, "farther away, later on, in another life. Then she has guessed my love! She loves me, then! O Death! can you not hasten? Can you not bring nearer the celestial hour of our reunion?"

The Prince may have thought his wishes granted; for, falling back on his cushions, he lost consciousness.