Chapter IX: Act III: opens upon the fine residence of Watanabe Wataru, the husband (3)

"What an obstinate creature you are! If you don't confess you shall wander in company with your child to the _Meido_,"[9] and with these words she raised her broom to strike.

Hikoroku, the clerk of the house, now came running upon the scene. He had fallen in love with Urasato and had often pressed his suit in vain. When he saw how matters stood he pushed O Kaya away.

"You are not to help Urasato!" screamed O Kaya, angrily.

"Go away, go away," said Hikoroku, "this punishment is the clerk's work--though I am only a humble servant, however humble I am I don't need your interference."

Then Hikoroku turned to Kambei and said apologetically.

"Excuse me, master, I have something to say to you; the matter is this--that dear Urasato--no, I mean Midori and Urasato--I never forget them, oh, no, no! I know their characters--they are good-hearted. This punishment is the clerk's work. If you will only leave Urasato to me I shall be able to make her confess. I am sure I can manage her. If you will make me responsible for making Urasato confess, I shall be grateful."

Kambei nodded his head, he was already tired, and said:

"Um--I would not allow anyone else to do this, but as I trust you Hikoroku, I will let you do it for a while; without fail you must make her confess, I will rest,"--and with these words he went into the house, intending to put the blame on Hikoroku if his regulation suffered because of his treatment of Urasato.

Hikoroku accompanied his master to the house and bowed low as he entered. He then came back to Urasato.

"Did you hear what the master said? Did he not say that he would not entrust this to anyone else but _me_--only to me--Hikoroku--don't you see what a fine fellow I am? If only you had listened to me before you need never have suffered so--I would have helped you, Urasato San! Perhaps you suspect me as being to blame for all this; but no--indeed, I am not--you and I are living in another world. Will you not listen to me--Urasato San?--but oh!--you have a different heart--oh! what am I to do?" and he placed his hands palm to palm and lifted them despairingly upwards to Urasato, shaking them up and down in supplication.

O Kaya had been listening to Hikoroku, for she was in love with him herself and was always jealous of the attention he paid to Urasato. She now came up and said, as she shrugged her shoulders from side to side: "Now Hikoroku Sama--what are you doing? What are you saying? Notwithstanding your promise to the master to make Urasato confess, you are now talking to her in this way. Whenever you see Urasato you always act like this without thinking of me or my feelings for you. I am offended--I can't help it! You will probably not get her to confess after all. Well--I will take your place, so go away!"

As O Kaya came up to Hikoroku he pushed her away, saying:

"No, never! You shall not hurt her--this is not your business--the master has entrusted it to me. As for you, it is ridiculous that you should love me. How ugly you are! Ugh!--your face is like a lion's. Are you not ashamed. Before the master I have no countenance left when I think of what you say to me. Now then--go away O Kaya--I am going to untie poor Urasato!"

O Kaya tried to push Hikoroku away. Hikoroku took up the broom and beat her without caring how much he hurt her. Mercilessly did he continue to beat her till she was overcome and, falling down on the snow, lay stunned for some time to come.

Having thus got rid of O Kaya, Hikoroku quickly released Urasato and Midori. As he lifted the child up she opened her eyes.

"Ya, ya! Are you still there, mother?"

Did Midori know that Urasato was her mother, or on returning to consciousness was it instinct or affection that made her use the tender name?

When she heard Midori's voice, Urasato felt that she must be in a dream, for she had feared that the child had been killed by Kambei's beating.

"Are you still alive?" she exclaimed, and caught the child in her arms while tears of joy fell down her pale cheeks.

Hikoroku looked on with a triumphant face, for he was pleased at what he had done.

"Urasato Sama, you must run away, and now that I have saved you both I can't stay here. I, too, shall be tied up and punished for this. I shall run away, too! Well, it is certainly better to escape with you than to remain here. Let us flee together now. Come with me. I must get my purse, however, before I go. Please wait here till I come back with my small savings--then I can help you; don't let anyone find you," and without waiting for Urasato's answer Hikoroku ran into the house.

Urasato and Midori stood clasping each other under the pine tree. They were shaking with cold and fatigue and pain. Suddenly a sound made them look up. Tokijiro suddenly stood before them. He had climbed out on to the roof, and walking round the quadrangle, had reached the spot where they stood and then let himself down by the pine-tree. When the two saw him they started for joy.

"Oh," said Urasato, scarcely able to make herself heard, "how did you get here, Tokijiro?"

"Hush," said Tokijiro, "don't speak so loudly. I have heard and seen all--oh! my poor Urasato, it has caused me much pain to think that you have suffered so much because of me; but in the midst of all this misery there is one thing over which we can rejoice. As soon as I heard what Kambei said about the _kakemono_ I crept downstairs and into the room he pointed out, and there I found my lord's long-lost picture. Look, here it is! I have it safe at last. The very one drawn by Kanaoka. Someone must have stolen it. I am saved at last--I am thankful. I shall be received back into my lord's service--I owe this to you, and I shall never forget it as long as I live."

Footsteps were heard approaching, Tokijiro hid himself behind a post of the gate. He was only just in time.

Hikoroku came stumbling along across the garden from the other side of the house.

"Here, here, Urasato San, we can now fly together--I have got my money--we can get out by the gate. Wait another moment, I will steal in and get the picture for you."

As soon as Hikoroku had gone again Tokijiro rushed forward, and seizing Urasato and Midori by the hand, hurried them out of the garden. Once outside they felt that they had escaped from the horror and death of the tiger's mouth.

Hikoroku, not being able to find the picture, hastened back to the spot where he had left Urasato, when he ran into O Kaya, who had recovered consciousness, and now picked herself up from the ground somewhat bewildered and wondering what had happened.

"Are you Hikoroku? Are you Hikoroku?" she exclaimed, and caught him in her arms.

Catching sight of her face, Hikoroku cried out with disgust and horror.

"Ya! Avaunt evil! Avaunt devil!"

The three fugitives outside the gate heard Hikoroku's exclamation. Tokijiro caught up Midori and put her on his back. Then he and Urasato taking each other by the hand ran away as fast as they could. The dawn began to break and the birds to sing as they left the dread place behind them. From far and near the crows began to wing their way across the morning sky.

Hitherto _the crow of dawn_ had parted them--it now united them. Thinking of this, Tokijiro and Urasato looked at each other with eyes brimming over with tears, yet shining with the light of new-born hope.

[Footnote 1: The Crow of Dawn, or _Akegarasu_, another name for the story of _Urasato_. _Akegarasu_, literally rendered means "Dawn-Crow." It is an expression which typifies the wrench of parting at daybreak which lovers like Tokijiro and Urasato experience, when dawn comes heralded by the croak of a crow (_karasu_) flying across the half-lit sky--a sign that the time for the two to separate has come.

This story is taken from the _Gidayu_ or musical drama, in which the chanter mimes the voices and actions of the many different characters to an accompaniment on the _samisen_ (guitar or banjo).]

[Footnote 2: Sama, a title equivalent to Mr. It is a polite term used for both men and women.]

[Footnote 3: This is an allusion to a Chinese story, related in the musical drama, where a poor man of Kantan fell asleep and dreamed that he became Emperor and had all that he could desire.]

[Footnote 4: O is the honorific placed before female names of not more than two syllables.]

[Footnote 5: One _bu_ was about twenty-five sen in those days, but the equivalent of more than a yen in the present currency.]

[Footnote 6: _Tansu_, Japanese chest of drawers.]

[Footnote 7: A hearth sunk in the floor, covered with a grating and framework over which is thrown a quilt under which people sit to warm themselves.]

[Footnote 8: _Tekki_, the tiny metal bars which form the top of the andirons in a brazier.]

[Footnote 9: _Meido_, Hades--the abode of the dead.]

TSUBOSAKA

A story of Faith in Kwannon, the Manifestation of Mercy
(popularly known as the Goddess of Mercy)

N.B.--The Amida Buddha of the Shinshu sects of Japanese
Buddhism is the only Deity, and the Original and the
Unoriginated Buddha, Lord of Boundless Life and Light.
Amida promises to all, who with full trust and confidence
draw near and invoke His name, the safe Heaven of freedom
from sin and evil.

KWANNON is the Embodiment of Amida's Compassion, capable
of manifestation in many shapes for purposes of practical
succour. He is never manifested except for a suffering
creation.

The late Professor Lloyd says that it is a mistake to speak
of Kwannon as a female deity, that he is the son of Amida,
capable of appearing in many forms, male or female, human
or animal, according to circumstances.

See "_Shinran and his Work_" (Lloyd, p. 21).

TSUBOSAKA

The shrine of Tsubosaka, where this popular story is
placed, has been celebrated for answers to prayers from
ancient times. Tradition relates that when the fiftieth
Emperor Kwammu lived in the capital of Nara, he was
smitten with eye trouble. The head priest, Doki Shonin, of
the Tsubosaka shrine offered up prayers to Kwannon, the
Manifestation of Mercy, for one hundred and seven days for
the Emperor's recovery. The prayer was efficacious and His
Majesty's sight was restored. Since that time Tsubosaka
has been known as a holy place to which pilgrims journey
to pray for blessings and especially for health in time of
illness.

In a certain village in the province of Yamato in Japan, close by the hill of Tsubo, there lived a blind man named Sawaichi and his wife, O Sato.

Sawaichi was a honest, good-natured fellow, who earned a bare living by giving lessons on the _koto_[1] and _samisen_.[2]

O Sato was a faithful loving woman, who by washing and sewing, and such odd work, earned many an honest penny towards the maintenance of their poor little home.

For some time things had not gone well with the couple; they were growing poorer and poorer, and even the joyful singing of birds, and the sound of the temple bell, near by, emphazised their own wretchedness, and filled their souls with melancholy.

One morning Sawaichi got out his _samisen_, and striking some chords, began to play.

"Oh, Sawaichi San, what are you doing?" said O Sato, "I am glad to see that you feel in better spirits to-day. It is good to hear you play the _samisen_ again," and she laughed as cheerfully as she could.

"Oh, oh, O Sato, do I look as if I were playing the _samisen_ for amusement? Indeed, I am in no such mood. I am so depressed that I wish I could die. Nay, I am so choked with trouble that I feel as if I were going to die. Now, O Sato, I have something to say that I have been brooding over for a long time, so please sit down and listen to me."

O Sato sank softly on the mats near Sawaichi, and as she looked at the blind man, trying tenderly and carefully to divine what was troubling him, she saw that he was unusually moved, and the tears of pity rose to her eyes.

Sawaichi cleared his throat, after waiting for a moment, and then went on:

"How rapid is the passing of time. The proverb is true that 'Time flies like an arrow.' Three years have passed since our marriage, and I have meant to ask you this many times, O Sato! Why do you hide your secret from me so long? We have been betrothed since our youth upward, and we know each other well. There is no need of secrecy between us. Why not tell me your secret frankly?"

O Sato stared at him helplessly. She could not in the least understand what was the meaning of these mysterious words. At last she said, hesitatingly:

"Whatever is the matter with you to-day, Sawaichi San? What are you talking about? I don't in the least understand. In the whole of our married life I have never had any secret to keep from you. If you find anything in me that does not please you, tell me, and I will try to mend. Is not this the way between husband and wife?"

"Well, then," said Sawaichi, "I will tell you all since you ask me."

"Tell me everything," said O Sato, "whatever it is that is troubling you. I cannot bear to think that you are unhappy," and she drew closer to her poor blind husband.

"Oh, oh, O Sato, I will tell you all--I cannot bear it longer. It hurts me. Listen carefully! We have been married just three years now. Every night between three and four o'clock I awake, and stretch out my arms to you as you lie in your bed, but I have never been able to find you, not even once. I am only a poor blind fellow and smallpox has disfigured me hopelessly. It is quite natural that you cannot love such an ugly creature as myself. I do not blame you for this. But if you will only tell me plainly that you love another, I will not be angry with you, only tell me! I have often heard people say, 'O Sato is a beautiful woman!' It is, therefore, natural that you should have a lover. I am resigned to my fate and shall not be jealous, therefore tell me the truth--it will be a relief to know it."

It was a pitiful sight to see the afflicted man, for though he spoke quietly and with evident resignation, yet the despair in his heart caused the tears to overflow his sightless eyes.

O Sato could not bear to see her husband racked by these terrible doubts. His words pierced her heart with pain. She clung to him sorrowfully.

"Oh, Sawaichi San! how cruel your suspicions are'! However low and mean I may be, do you think that I am the kind of woman to leave you for another man? You are too unjust to say such things. As you know, my father and mother died when I was a child, and my uncle, your father, brought us up together. You were just three years older than I. While we were thus growing up as boy and girl together, you took smallpox and became blind, alas! and your misfortunes accumulating, you were reduced to poverty. But even so, once betrothed, I will go through fire and water with you, and nothing shall ever part us. Not only do I feel that we are united till death, but it has been my one great hope to cure your blindness. To this end, ever since we were wedded, I have risen with the dawn and left the room stealthily, not wishing to disturb you. Thinking nothing of the steep mountain road, I have climbed to the top of Tsubosaka every morning before it was light to pray to Kwannon Sama to restore your sight. Lately I have felt disappointed with Kwannon Sama, for my prayer is never answered, though I have prayed earnestly for three years, rising before the dawn to climb to her temple on the hill. Knowing nothing of all this you condemn me as being faithless to you. It makes me angry, Sawaichi San!" and here poor O Sato burst into tears and sobbed aloud.

Sawaichi realized how false his suspicions had been, and how unworthy they were of his devoted wife. At first he could not speak but stammered pitifully. At last he found his voice and burst out:

"Oh, my wife, my wife! I will say nothing more. I have talked nonsense like the poor blind fellow that I am. Forgive me, forgive me! How could I know what was in your heart?" and here he joined his hands together, raising them in a gesture of entreaty, and then, with his sleeve, wiped away the tears from his eyes.

"Ah--no, no--not this! Do not ask pardon of your own wife, it is too much!" said O Sato, in distress. "I can face even death if your doubts are dispelled."

"The more you say, the more I am ashamed before you. Though you pray so earnestly, O Sato, my eyes will never recover their sight."

"What are you saying? Oh! what are you saying?" exclaimed O Sato. "It is only for you that I have borne all this, walking barefoot to the Shrine of Kwannon Sama every day for three years, thinking nothing of the wind or snow or frosts these wintry dawns."

"I am, indeed, grateful to you for your devotion. But as I harboured suspicions of you for a long time, thinking evil of your good, even if I pray, my prayers to Kwannon can only be rewarded by punishment, and my eyesight will never be restored."

"No, no, Sawaichi San, do not say such things," answered O Sato. "My body is the same as your body. Talk nonsense no more, but control your mind with firmness and come with me to Kwannon Sama and let us pray together."

Sawaichi rose from the mats, the tears falling from his eyes.

"Oh, my good wife, I am indeed grateful to you. If you are so determined I will follow. It is said that the grace of Buddha can make a dead tree to blossom. My eyes are like a dead tree ... oh, oh, if only they might blossom into sight! But though I am a great sinner ... who knows? Perhaps in the next world? .. Now my wife, lead me as ever by the hand!"

O Sato busied herself opening the _tansu_ and getting out Sawaichi's best clothes. She helped him to change, speaking encouraging words the while. Then they set out together and climbed the steep ascent of Tsubosaka, Sawaichi leaning on the staff in his right hand.

The couple at last reached the temple, breathless after the hard climb.

"Here we are, Sawaichi San," said O Sato, "we have come to the temple, we are now before the gate ... though prayer and devotion are important in the recovery of health, they say illness is often due to nerves. If you allow yourself to be so low-spirited, your eyes will only grow worse. Therefore, at such a time, how would it be for you to sing some song to cheer yourself?"

"Yes, yes, O Sato, as you say, anxious brooding over my troubles is not good for my eyes. I will sing some song."

Then beating time with his stick tapping the ground, he began to hum:

"Chin--chin--tsu: chin--chin: tsu--chin--chin--tsu," tinkling in imitation of the _samisen_.

Sawaichi cleared his throat and began to sing:

_Is suffering the cause of love?_
_Or love the cause of suffering?_
_My love must vanish like the dew ..._

_Aita ... ta ... ta ..._

The words of the song were suddenly broken by a cry of pain as Sawaichi entered the gate of the temple and tripped on a stone.

"Oh, dear, I nearly fell over that stone ... I have forgotten the rest of the song ... what does it matter now ... ho--ho--ho," and he laughed to himself strangely and softly.

They had by this time come to the main temple and stood outside, O Sato gazing at the altar where Amida Buddha and Kwannon, the Manifestation of Mercy, reigned above the lotus flowers in the fragrant mists of incense.

"Sawaichi San, we have now come to Kwannon Sama."

"Oh, indeed! Are we already there?" answered Sawaichi, "how grateful I am!" then turning his sightless face towards the altar he lifted beseeching hands, and bowing his head reverently, he repeated the Buddhist invocation:

"_Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Dai Butsu!_" (All hail, Great Buddha!)

"Listen, Sawaichi," said O Sato, earnestly, "this night let us stay together here and pray through the night without ceasing."

Then they both began to pray. The chanting of their supplication rose up clearly in the stillness of the evening hour, and it seemed as if the sand of Tsubosaka might become the golden streets of Paradise.

Suddenly Sawaichi stopped and clutched hold of his wife.

"O Sato," he said, "I must tell you the truth. I cannot believe. I came simply because it was your wish. But I shall never recover my sight, of that I feel sure."

"Why do you say such sad things?" answered O Sato, clasping her hands. "Listen! When the Emperor Kwammu was in Nara, the ancient capital, he suffered with his eyes as you do. Then he prayed to Kwannon Sama and in a short time he was healed. Therefore, pray without ceasing. Kwannon will make no difference between the Emperor and ourselves, though we are as poor as worms. Believers must be patient and go forward slowly, and with quiet minds trust devoutly in the mercy of Kwannon. So great is his benevolence that He hears all prayers. Worship! Pray! Sawaichi San! Pray! instead of wasting time in vain talk."

Thus did O Sato encourage her husband. Sawaichi nodded his head and replied:

"What you say is convincing. From to-night I will fast for three days. You must return home, shut up the house and come again. The next three days will decide my fate, whether I recover or not."

"Oh," said O Sato, joyfully, "now you speak wisely. I will go back at once and arrange everything for a three days' absence. But," she added anxiously, "Sawaichi San, remember that this mountain is very steep, and higher up one comes to the top, which falls on the right into a deep precipice. On no account must you leave the temple!"

"Oh, no, never fear, I will put my arms round Kwannon to-night--ho, ho, ho!" and he laughed to himself.

O Sato, never dreaming of what was in her husband's mind, hurried homewards, blissfully content, thinking that her yearning hopes were realized and that he at last believed.

Sawaichi listened to her retreating footsteps. When he could hear them no more, he knew himself to be alone. He fell flat to the earth and cried aloud in the bitterness and darkness of his soul.

"Oh! my wife, you will never know how grateful I am to you for all your devotion to me these long years. Though gradually reduced to the straits of poverty, you have never once lost sympathy with me. You have faithfully loved such a miserable blind wretch as myself. Alas! knowing nothing of what was in your heart I even doubted your fidelity. Forgive me, O Sato. Forgive me! If we part now we may never meet again. Oh, the pity of it!"

Sawaichi lay on the ground and gave vent to the pent-up misery in his heart. After a few minutes he raised a despairing face and said aloud:

"I will not grieve any more. O Sato has prayed devoutly for three years, and yet Kwannon gives no sign of hearing her supplication. What is the use of living any longer? There is only one thing I can do to show my gratitude to you, O Sato! and that is to die and set you free. May you live long, O Sato! and make a happy second marriage! Now, I remember that O Sato told me that there was a deep precipice on the right at the top of the hill. That is the best place for me to die. If I die in this holy place, I may hope to be saved in the next world. Lucky it is that the night is far gone, and that there is no one about ... oh, oh!"

With these words Sawaichi rose to his feet. The temple bell, the last before the dawn, rang out in the silence. Sawaichi knew that there was no time to lose. Groping his way with his stick he hastened to the top of the hill. Stopping to listen, he heard the sound of distant water flowing in the valley beneath. In his distraught state of mind it sounded to him like a call from Buddha. With the prayer "_Namu Amida Butsu!_" on his lips, he planted his stick on the edge of the hill, and with a desperate leap threw himself out as far as he could over the side of the abyss. For a few moments the sound of the body crashing through the trees and undergrowth was heard as it fell in its progress of increasing impetus down the precipice: gradually growing fainter and fainter, the noise at last altogether ceased; then all was still on the lonely mountain side.

* * * * *

Knowing nothing of all this, O Sato was hurrying back to her husband, slipping and stumbling along the familiar road in her anxiety to get to him quickly. At last she reached the temple and looked round eagerly. Sawaichi was nowhere to be seen.

"Sawaichi San!" she called again and again. "Sawaichi San!"

Receiving no answer to her repeated cries she hunted round the temple courtyard, but with no result. Becoming fearful of what might have befallen him, she called louder than before:

"Sawaichi San! Sawaichi San!"

Running distractedly from the temple precincts, she hastened to the crest of the hill, and there she tripped over her husband's stick. She now knew what he had done. Frantically she rushed to the precipice and gazed far down into the abyss beneath. There in the grey light of the breaking dawn she could see the lifeless form of her husband stretched upon the ground.

"Oh! what shall I do? This is too dreadful!" she cried aloud in her anguish. Her body trembled in a paroxysm of pain. She called to her husband, but only the mountain echoes answered her.

"Oh, my husband, my husband! You are too cruel--too cruel! Only with the hope of saving you from blindness did I persevere in prayer for so long to Kwannon Sama. Alas! what will become of me, now that you have left me alone? Now I remember there was something strange in your manner when you sang that sad song coming up the hill. It may be that you had already made up your mind to die. But how could I know? Oh! Sawaichi San, if only I had known I would never have persuaded you to come to this place. Forgive me, oh, forgive me! There is no such miserable woman in the world as myself. No one but God could know that Death would separate us now. Blind man as you are, who cannot see in this world, how will you travel alone amidst the dark shadows down the road of Death? Who will lead you by the hand now? I feel as if I could see you wandering and groping there all by yourself."

Heartbrokenly she sobbed for some time. At last she shook herself with resolution; then raised her tear-stained face to the seemingly unresponsive heaven above.

"Oh, oh, I will lament no more. Everything that happens in this life is the result of sin and affinity in our previous state of existence. I will die too, and join Sawaichi in death."

With clasped hands she repeated the Buddhist prayer, "_Namu Amida Butsu_," and then, gathering all her strength for the fatal leap, sprang over the precipice and was gone.

* * * * *

The February morning broke clear and bright. Nor in the temple nor on the hillside was there any trace of the pitiful tragedy that had taken place during the night. The mists in the valley and over the mountains dispersed as the sun's rays, advancing swiftly from the east, touched the world with the transforming magic of splendour of day. Then suddenly a strange thing happened. In the rose and golden glory of the unfolding pageant of the early rushing morning, there was wafted over the Tsubosaka valley the most wonderful and uplifting strains of music, and above the bodies of Sawaichi and O Sato appeared the holy and yearningly compassionate form of Kwannon shining in a great, all-space-illuminating radiance.

"Listen, Sawaichi!" said the Heavenly Voice, "Your blindness is the result of sin in your former life. The end of this life had come for you both, but through the faith of your wife and the merits of her accumulated prayers, your lives shall be prolonged. Therefore believe and devote your lives to prayer, and make a pilgrimage to the thirty-three holy places, where you must offer up thanks for the grace of Buddha. Awake, O Sato! O Sato! Sawaichi! Sawaichi!"

With these words the divine vision disappeared; the temple bell pealed forth the hour of morning prayer, the birds began to sing, the priests to beat their gongs and drums, and to chant their orisons, and over the hillside villages and in the temple the world woke once more to life and work.

The two bodies lying in the valley rose up, wondering whether the vision which had restored them to life were a dream.

Vaguely they remembered the events of the night. O Sato gazed at Sawaichi:

"Sawaichi San! My husband! Your eyes are open!"

"Yes, yes, my eyes are open indeed! Oh, oh, my eyes are open, open, open! My eyes are open at last! I can hardly believe it," cried Sawaichi, joyfully.

"Remember that it is due to the mercy of Kwannon Sama," said O Sato.

"I am thankful, thankful, thankful!" exclaimed Sawaichi. Then looking at his wife, he asked:

"But who are you?"

"Why, I am your wife O Sato, of course!" answered O Sato.

"Oh, you are my wife, are you? How happy I am! This is the first time I see you. But how wonderful it all is. When I threw myself over the precipice, I knew nothing more till Kwannon appeared to me in a great and marvellous light and told me that my blindness was the result of misdeeds in a former life."

"I, too," said O Sato, "followed you to death and leaped into the valley where I saw you lying all alone. I, too, knew nothing till Kwannon Sama called me. Your eyes are really open, Sawaichi San! Does it not seem a dream!"

"No, no," said Sawaichi, "it is no dream. The most merciful Kwannon called me back to life and by a miracle restored my sight. Ha, ha, ha! As deep as the sea is my gratitude to Kwannon."

Taking each other by the hand and smiling happily, they climbed to the temple where they had prayed so despairingly the night before. As they went along Sawaichi raised his hands in worship towards the sunlight.

To this poor couple, now so happily restored to life and joy and hope, the hill of Tsubosaka did indeed seem Paradise through the mercy of KWANNON, the Embodiment of Amida's Compassion.

[Footnote 1: The Japanese harp.]

[Footnote 2: The Japanese banjo.]

LOYAL, EVEN UNTO DEATH

Or The Sugawara Tragedy

NOTE.--For many centuries the Fujiwara nobles (the Empresses were always chosen from this family) had secured for themselves supreme control and influence over the Mikados in Kyoto. In the ninth century another family of courtiers came into prominence, namely the Sugawara, who eventually gained sufficient power with the Emperor to be a serious menace to the schemes of the Fujiwara. At the end of the ninth century there arose one especially, Lord Michizane Suguwara, brilliant statesman, scholar, high-souled patriot and poet.

The Emperor Uda held him in high esteem and promoted him from the position of his tutor to that of Minister of the Right.[1] In 898 the Fujiwara succeeded in compelling Uda to abdicate in favour of his son, a child of twelve years of age, expecting him to be a more pliant tool in their hands. This boy became the 60th Emperor, Daigo, who, by the advice of his Imperial father, planned to give Michizane absolute authority in state affairs. The jealousy of the vigilant Fujiwara courtiers was fully aroused, and through the machinations of Lord Tokihira (Fujiwara), Minister of the Left, his rival, Michizane, was falsely accused of high treason and banished to Kiushiu where, in the horrors of poverty and exile, he died in 903. Michizane is now known by the posthumous title of Tenjin. Many Shinto temples have been erected in his honour, and students still worship his spirit as the patron god of letters and literature.

The following drama, one of the most popular in Japanese literature, tells the story of one heroic incident in the scattering of the Sugawara family, and of the rescue of Lady Sugawara, and the loyalty of Matsuo and O Chiyo, his wife, vassals of the Sugawara.

Matsuo, the better to serve his lord's cause, feigns to be unfaithful to him and to go over to the enemy--in fact, he acts the dangerous part of a spy. The Fujiwara Minister is completely deceived and, enlisting his aid, reveals to Matsuo his secret plans for the final overthrow of the exiled Sugawara and the murder of his son. So clever and thorough is Matsuo's dissimulation that even his own father and his brothers are deluded, and Matsuo is calumniated by all who know him, accused of disloyalty to his lord (an unpardonable offence in old Japan) and disinherited by his family. Finally, in a crowning act of transcendent devotion to the Sugawara House, Matsuo and O Chiyo, to save their young lord from death, willingly substitute their own child, Kotaro, in his place. In the feudal days loyalty was the one great social obligation of the _samurai_ to his lord. And this spirit of loyalty often involved painful self-sacrifice. "Life was freely offered, not only by him who was bound by fealty to his lord, but by his children."

The following is a typical tragedy of its kind.

PERSONS REPRESENTED

LADY SUGAWARA, wife of the exiled Prime Minister or "Minister of the Right"--hiding from the enemy in Matsuo's house.

MATSUO, a devoted vassal of Lord Michizane Sugawara.

O CHIYO, wife of Matsuo.

KOTARO, the little son of Matsuo and O Chiyo.

SHUNDO GEMBA, the emissary of Lord Fujiwara Tokihira, triumphant enemy of Sugawara.

TAKEBE GENZO, a schoolmaster in the suburbs of Kyoto, also vassal of the Sugawara.

TONAMI, wife of the schoolmaster.

KANSHUSAI, Lord Sugawara's son, a handsome clever boy, eight years of age.

Several village school children and their parents.

SCENE I. Matsuo's cottage in Kyoto. Night.

Lanterns lighted in the room.

LOYAL EVEN UNTO DEATH

Or The Sugawara Tragedy

In the old capital of Kyoto, not far from the Imperial Palace, there lived a _samurai_ named Matsuo with his wife O Chiyo, and their little son Kotaro, eight years of age.

With Kotaro by her side, O Chiyo reverently on her knees pushed aside the sliding screens of an inner room, and disclosed the Lady Sugawara seated on the mats, bending forward with her face buried in her hands, her whole attitude expressive of grief and despair.

O Chiyo bowed low and said with a voice hushed in sympathy:

"It is terrible to me to think that such a great lady as you cannot go even to the veranda in the daytime for fear of being seen by your enemies. You must, indeed, feel like a prisoner--and above all, the separation from the Prime Minister, and your son and daughter. How despondent you must feel! While you were hiding in the capital the secret of your whereabouts leaked out, and you were in danger of being caught--at that crisis my husband saved you and brought you here. You must be sadly ill at ease confined in this poor house, and after what you have been accustomed to the loneliness must be very depressing. But do not despair! You may yet join your husband and son sooner than you think. Till that time comes patiently endure all hardships, hoping for happier days."

"Oh!" answered the Lady Sugawara in melancholy tones, "you are so sympathetic and good, I shall never forget your kindness, even after death. Through the malice of a bad man[2] my husband was banished to a distant place, and my poor boy and myself are refugees. The thought of them haunts me from morning till night. There is nothing but misery in dragging out my existence from day to day in this state--but I will, at least, wait till I can see them again, if but for a moment, and then die, especially as your little Kotaro reminds me vividly of my own son, to whom he bears a great resemblance. My longing to see him again grows ever more and more intense."

With these sad words the unfortunate lady burst into tears; O Chiyo, deeply affected by her sorrowful plight, wept with her, and the silence of the room was only broken by the sobs of the two women.

Suddenly, some one from outside announced in a loud voice that an emissary from an exalted personage had arrived.

Both women started to their feet. O Chiyo barely had time to conceal Lady Sugawara in an inner room, when, preceded by several attendants carrying lanterns, the emissary, Shundo Gemba, arrived in full state as befitting the bearer of an important message--he pompously entered the room and seated himself in the place of honour before the alcove.

O Chiyo's husband, Matsuo, who had secluded himself and was resting in an inner room, overhearing the commotion, came out to welcome the visitor.

"As I am suffering from illness I must beg you to overlook my lack of ceremony in not receiving you in official dress," and he bowed to the ground in a respectful manner.

Gemba replied haughtily:

"However ill you may be you must listen to the command of Lord Tokihira (the new Prime Minister who had supplanted Sugawara). Sugawara's son, whose hiding-place was hitherto unknown, has at last been discovered by some one who has revealed the secret. The boy is now in the house of Takebe Genzo, by profession a teacher of Chinese writing, but in reality a secret and staunch supporter of Michizane. This man passes the young lord off as his own son. There is no one on our side who knows Kanshusai except yourself, so you are commanded to identify the head as soon as it is cut off, and to bring it as a trophy to Lord Tokihira. By way of reward for this service sick leave will be granted you, and on your recovery you will be created Lord of Harima. There is no time to be lost, so you must make preparations at once."

O Chiyo, who was listening with a beating heart in the next room, felt keenly apprehensive, for her husband had been extra moody and reticent of late, and she could neither fathom what was in his mind, nor what answer he would make to the dreadful proposition of this man straight from the enemy's camp.

To her utter consternation Matsuo replied:

"What kindness on the part of our lord! No greater honour could be conferred upon our house. I will obey the command at once. But owing to my illness matters cannot be arranged as speedily as I could wish. If that man Genzo should happen to hear that I am going to attack him and wrest his prize from him, he may escape with the young Sugawara."

"Do not trouble yourself about that," returned Gemba, "it is only a _ronin's_[3] hut, and need not even be surrounded."

"But Takebe, knowing that Lord Tokihira is instituting a search for the boy, still boldly harbours him--it is certain that the schoolmaster can be no common man--we must be very cautious in dealing with him," objected Matsuo.

"You are quite right," replied the envoy, "if they should manage to escape both of us will be blamed."

"Yes, indeed," Matsuo agreed; and then as if suddenly struck by the thought, "I am sorry to trouble you, but do not fail to let your men keep a sharp watch on every exit of the village during the night."

"All right," responded the other, "you need not trouble on that score, every necessary precaution will be taken."

"Well, then at an early hour to-morrow I will accompany you to Takebe's house," said Matsuo.

"Thank you for your trouble," and the two men took leave of each other, Gemba departing from the house in the same haughty style as he had entered it.

Matsuo, with a troubled heart, watched until the emissary's procession had disappeared in the distance. Before he could carry out his intended plan he must first sound his wife.

During the interview O Chiyo had waited in the next room, a silent witness of all that had taken place between her husband and Lord Tokihira's messenger. As soon as Gemba's party had taken their departure she opened the sliding screens and with some trepidation confronted her husband.

"It seems," said the wife, "by what Gemba had to communicate, that the hiding-place of our young lord is at last discovered. Before the assassin has had time to carry out his murderous work let us send for him here, and try to rescue the poor child before he falls into the hands of the enemy. There is no time to lose."

As Matsuo made no response, O Chiyo pressed him again and again not to delay.

At last he laughed cynically.

"You do not seem to have the slightest idea of what is in my mind! I brought Lady Sugawara here from Kita's house so that I might deliver her up together with her son's head at the same time--that is why I have hidden her here."

"What are you saying?" gasped O Chiyo. "Can it be your real intention to betray them to Tokihira?"

"Yes," answered her husband, calmly looking her in the face, "now is the time to grasp my long-wished for ambition--my fortune has come at last," and he smiled as if well pleased with himself.

This was the first time that Matsuo had given any hint of his sinister intention towards the innocent Lady Sugawara and her son, and O Chiyo was so startled and horrified that for a few moments she was choked for utterance. She had hitherto felt convinced that he was devoted, heart, soul, and body, to the cause of their beloved ex-Prime Minister. Bitter tears fell from her eyes, and she moved nearer to him on the mats; in the earnestness of her appeal she stretched out a hand and laid it on his arm, till she could find words to falter out:

"Oh, my husband, since when has this dreadful scheme taken possession of your heart? For the Sugawara family I have been quite resigned to your being misunderstood and disinherited by your father's house, and the severance of all relationship with your brothers--indeed, so staunch and whole-hearted has been your devotion to this cause that I always intended to apologize and explain matters to your family when the time came. Now suddenly, without the least warning, your lifelong fidelity has been perverted into treachery. However great your ambition for promotion may be, to betray the wife and child of our Lord Sugawara into the hands of Tokihira is impossible. Are you a devil or a dragon? The punishment for such baseness will fall not only on yourself, but on your child. Oh! purify your heart from this evil intention, and conduct the Lady Sugawara and her son safely to the ex-Prime Minister in Tsukushi,[4] I implore you!" and the distraught woman lifted her hands in an attitude of prayer to her husband, while the tears coursed down her cheeks.

But, unmoved by her appeal, Matsuo still laughed contemptuously.

"What silly woman's talk! I have now no parents or brothers--they are strangers to me! It would be foolish to forget our own child's welfare for the sake of exiles banished by the State. You may say it is against reason and righteousness, but I do it for the sake of my boy--there is no treasure more precious than a son."

"Oh! oh!" sobbed O Chiyo, "how heartless you are! If you think so much of your own boy, Lady Sugawara's feelings must be the same for her son. To attain your ambition at the expense of others, sorrow can bring you no good. Your life will end in sorrow and misery as the result of such a deed."

Matsuo became more incensed, and sternly bade his wife be silent.

"If the Lady Sugawara overhear you and escape, everything will be lost, you foolish woman!" and with these words Matsuo turned to leave the room. His wife seized the edge of his robe and tried to hold him back.

"Do not hinder me, whatever you do!" he said, angrily, and pushing her aside, he disappeared in the direction of Lady Sugawara's room.

O Chiyo fell as her husband tore himself from her detaining grasp, and lay prostrate on the mats, stunned with the horror of what he was about to do. After a few minutes she collected herself.

"Oh, oh! it seems like some dreadful dream," she murmured in acute distress. "I have lived happily with Matsuo for so many years, and surely he cannot be such a bad man. For the sake of our boy he has lost his conscience. Poor lady! Poor lady! In total ignorance of his change of heart she has trusted to him as her chief staff and pillar of support. How can I look her in the face after this? To prove to her that I am not one with my husband it is better to kill myself and ask her pardon in another world."

The poor woman, in her grief and perplexity, wept and trembled by turns. After a few minutes she wiped away her tears and sat up with determination written on her face.

"It is now impossible to change my husband's cruel purpose," she said to herself aloud. "My innocent little Kotaro will be taught wrong ways, he will grow up a degraded man and come to a bad end. I foresee it all quite plainly. It is far better to kill him now and let his pure soul accompany me on my long journey to the next life. Besides, when Kotaro is no longer alive, Matsuo may return to his better nature and repent of his treacherous schemes, and the knowledge of it will reach me and I shall be glad, even after death."

At this moment her little son came gaily running to her. Knowing nothing of the tragic web of death, which Fate, like a grim spider, was weaving round him, he playfully caressed his mother, his bright eyes shining, his little face alight with smiles.

"Mother, Mother, the lady inside is calling you! Come, quick, quick!"

As O Chiyo looked at the child's innocent face the tears rose to her eyes.

"Oh! Kotaro, my little son, come here--here," she said with a sob, and drew him close to her side. "Oh! Kotaro, listen attentively to what I am going to say, like a good boy. The lady in the inner room is the wife of your father's and your mother's lord, and yours also, Kotaro. For many years we have received nothing but favours and kindness from them, therefore we owe them both a debt of great gratitude. Now, Kotaro, your father tells me that he intends to kill that good unfortunate lady, our own lord's wife--therefore, I, your mother, cannot remain alive any longer--I have decided that my spirit shall accompany her as an attendant to the other world. But you, Kotaro, are the favourite of your father--perhaps you would like to remain behind in this world with him?"

"Oh, no, no," answered the child, "I won't stay with such a cruel father. If you die, I want to die with you!"

"Oh, how sensible you are, Kotaro. Even if you had refused to die, I must have killed you for the sake of your father--you seem to understand that without being told. I have, therefore, the more pity for you as you are so intelligent and your wish is to die with me. When your father sees you lying dead, sorrow may make him repent of the evil path he has chosen. The other day I made a consecrated banner for the grave of little Sakura Maru, your uncle. How little did I dream, while making it, that I should ever use it for my own son."

With these words she drew out a dagger which had been concealed in her _obi_,[5] unsheathed it, and with raised hand was about to stab the child.

"Stay, stay, do not be too hasty!" the voice of Matsuo rang out sharply in the silence, as he suddenly appeared in the open _shoji_[6] leading Lady Sugawara by the hand. As they entered the room in front of the startled O Chiyo, whose hand, poised to strike the fatal blow, fell to her side, Matsuo made a gesture to Lady Sugawara to take the place of honour by the alcove.

Matsuo then seated himself opposite Sugawara's unhappy wife in the lowly seat near the exit of the room, prostrating himself before her.

"It is quite natural that your ladyship and my wife do not know my true heart: now let me speak the truth," he said, with quiet and impressive dignity. "After the overthrow of your house and the banishment of Lord Sugawara, when my brother became _ronin_ and quarrelled with me, I served Prince Tokihira for some time. I was soon disgusted with his ways, and finding my situation untenable, asked for sick leave, with the purpose of finding your son so that I might do my best to restore your house to its former position. I did everything in my power to help you, but to my dismay nearly everyone was in league with the enemy. It was part of my plan, you must know, to throw our crafty enemy off the scent, and it was to this end that I entered his service and pretended to be one of his party. I played my part so well as to deceive my own father, who, despising me for a disloyal and faithless man, condemned my conduct and disinherited me, for he, too, was devoted to your cause. For this policy also I separated from my brothers. In thus misleading the enemy I felt sure that I could be of some use in saving you and your son at a critical moment. It was a drastic step to take, but Tokihira has been completely misled, and events have turned out just as I expected. This night, as you must have heard, I received strict orders to act as identifier of your son's head. As Takebe is a faithful man he will not kill our young lord, of that rest assured. But alas! he is one, while the enemy are many. 'If anything should happen to our lord's son, it can never be undone,' these were the thoughts that troubled me this evening when I overhead what your ladyship said, that Kotaro bore a strong resemblance to our young lord; and the idea flashed into my brain that our boy can be used as a substitute to save him. At the same time it occurred to me, that if my wife's love for Kotaro obstruct my plans I should be powerless, so to prove what was in her heart I said cruel things that I did not mean--that, for the sake of my boy, I would betray you and your son. She did not understand me, and then and there decided to kill herself and Kotaro, and by thus removing the cause of my supposed temptation to induce my repentance. What a noble wife!"

O Chiyo, as she listened to this long explanation from her beloved husband, wept for joy, and Lady Sugawara was overcome with emotion at the surpassing loyalty of her retainers; they seemed to her to be exalted above ordinary human beings--and were as Gods in the pure sphere of a selfless world.