Province of Inaba. Among his retainers were two gentlemen, named Watanabe Yukiye and Kawai Matazayemon, who were bound together by strong ties of friendship, and were in the habit of frequently visiting at one another’s houses. One day Yukiye was sitting conversing with Matazayemon in the house of the latter, when, on a sudden, a sword that was lying in the raised part of the room caught his eye. As he saw it, he started and said–
“Pray tell me, how came you by that sword?”
“Well, as you know, when my Lord Ikeda followed my Lord Tokugawa Iyeyasu to fight at Nagakude, my father went in his train; and it was at the battle of Nagakude that he picked up this sword.”
“My father went too, and was killed in the fight, and this sword, which was an heirloom in our family for many generations, was lost at that time. As it is of great value in my eyes, I do wish that, if you set no special store by it, you would have the great kindness to return it to me.”
“That is a very easy matter, and no more than what one friend should do by another. Pray take it.”
Upon this Yukiye gratefully took the sword, and having carried it home put it carefully away.
At the beginning of the ensuing year Matazayemon fell sick and died, and Yukiye, mourning bitterly for the loss of his good friend, and anxious to requite the favour which he had received in the matter of his father’s sword, did many acts of kindness to the dead man’s son–a young man twenty-two years of age, named Matagoro.
Now this Matagoro was a base-hearted cur, who had begrudged the sword that his father had given to Yukiye, and complained publicly and often that Yukiye had never made any present in return; and in this way Yukiye got a bad name in my Lord’s palace as a stingy and illiberal man.
But Yukiye had a son, called Kazuma, a youth sixteen years of age, who served as one of the Prince’s pages of honour. One evening, as he and one of his brother pages were talking together, the latter said–
“Matagoro is telling everybody that your father accepted a handsome sword from him and never made him any present in return, and people are beginning to gossip about it.”
“Indeed,” replied the other, “my father received that sword from Matagoro’s father as a mark of friendship and good-will, and, considering that it would be an insult to send a present of money in return, thought to return the favour by acts of kindness towards Matagoro. I suppose it is money he wants.”
When Kazuma’s service was over, he returned home, and went to his father’s room to tell him the report that was being spread in the palace, and begged him to send an ample present of money to Matagoro. Yukrye reflected for a while, and said–
“You are too young to understand the right line of conduct in such matters. Matagoro’s father and myself were very close friends; so, seeing that he had ungrudgingly given me back the sword of my ancestors, I, thinking to requite his kindness at his death, rendered important services to Matagoro. It would be easy to finish the matter by sending a present of money; but I had rather take the sword and return it than be under an obligation to this mean churl, who knows not the laws which regulate the intercourse and dealings of men of gentle blood.”
So Yukiye, in his anger, took the sword to Matagoro’s house, and said to him–
“I have come to your house this night for no other purpose than to restore to you the sword which your father gave me;” and with this he placed the sword before Matagoro.
“Indeed,” replied the other, “I trust that you will not pain me by returning a present which my father made you.”
“Amongst men of gentle birth,” said Yukiye, laughing scornfully, “it is the custom to requite presents, in the first place by kindness, and afterwards by a suitable gift offered with a free heart. But it is no use talking to such as you, who are ignorant of the first principles of good breeding; so I have the honour to give you back the sword.”
As Yukiye went on bitterly to reprove Matagoro, the latter waxed very wroth, and, being a ruffian, would have killed Yukiye on the spot; but he, old man as he was, was a skilful swordsman, so Matagoro, craven-like, determined to wait until he could attack him unawares. Little suspecting any treachery, Yukiye started to return home, and Matagoro, under the pretence of attending him to the door, came behind him with his sword drawn and cut him in the shoulder. The older man, turning round, drew and defended himself; but having received a severe wound in the first instance, he fainted away from loss of blood, and Matagoro slew him.
The mother of Matagoro, startled by the noise, came out; and when she saw what had been done, she was afraid, and said–“Passionate man! what have you done? You are a murderer; and now your life will be forfeit. What terrible deed is this!”
“I have killed him now, and there’s nothing to be done. Come, mother, before the matter becomes known, let us fly together from this house.”
“I will follow you; do you go and seek out my Lord Abe Shirogoro, a chief among the Hatamotos,[16] who was my foster-child. You had better fly to him for protection, and remain in hiding.”
[Footnote 16: _Hatamotos._ The Hatamotos were the feudatory nobles of the Shogun or Tycoon. The office of Taikun having been abolished, the Hatamotos no longer exist. For further information respecting them, see the note at the end of the story.]
So the old woman persuaded her son to make his escape, and sent him to the palace of Shirogoro.
Now it happened that at this time the Hatamotos had formed themselves into a league against the powerful Daimios; and Abe Shirogoro, with two other noblemen, named Kondo Noborinosuke and Midzuno Jiurozayemon, was at the head of the league. It followed, as a matter of course, that his forces were frequently recruited by vicious men, who had no means of gaining their living, and whom he received and entreated kindly without asking any questions as to their antecedents; how much the more then, on being applied to for an asylum by the son of his own foster-mother, did he willingly extend his patronage to him, and guarantee him against all danger. So he called a meeting of the principal Hatamotos, and introduced Matagoro to them, saying–“This man is a retainer of Ikeda Kunaishoyu, who, having cause of hatred against a man named Watanabe Yukiye, has slain him, and has fled to me for protection; this man’s mother suckled me when I was an infant, and, right or wrong, I will befriend him. If, therefore, Ikeda Kunaishoyu should send to require me to deliver him up, I trust that you will one and all put forth your strength and help me to defend him.”
“Ay! that will we, with pleasure!” replied Kondo Noborinosuke. “We have for some time had cause to complain of the scorn with which the Daimios have treated us. Let Ikeda Kunaishoyu send to claim this man, and we will show him the power of the Hatamotos.”
All the other Hatamotos, with one accord, applauded this determination, and made ready their force for an armed resistance, should my Lord Kunaishoyu send to demand the surrender of Matugoro. But the latter remained as a welcome guest in the house of Abe Shirogoro.
[Illustration: MATAGORO KILLS YUKIYE.]
Now when Watanabe Kazuma saw that, as the night advanced, his father Yukiye did not return home, he became anxious, and went to the house of Matagoro to seek for him, and finding to his horror that he was murdered, fell upon the corpse and, embraced it, weeping. On a sudden, it flashed across him that this must assuredly be the handiwork of Matagoro; so he rushed furiously into the house, determined to kill his father’s murderer upon the spot. But Matagoro had already fled, and he found only the mother, who was making her preparations for following her son to the house of Abe Shirogoro: so he bound the old woman, and searched all over the house for her son; but, seeing that his search was fruitless, he carried off the mother, and handed her over to one of the elders of the clan, at the same time laying information against Matagoro as his father’s murderer. When the affair was reported to the Prince, he was very angry, and ordered that the old woman should remain bound and be cast into prison until the whereabouts of her son should be discovered. Then Kazuma buried his father’s corpse with great pomp, and the widow and the orphan mourned over their loss.
It soon became known amongst the people of Abe Shirogoro that the mother of Matagoro had been imprisoned for her son’s crime, and they immediately set about planning her rescue; so they sent to the palace of my Lord Kunaishoyu a messenger, who, when he was introduced to the councillor of the Prince, said–
“We have heard that, in consequence of the murder of Yukiye, my lord has been pleased to imprison the mother of Matagoro. Our master Shirogoro has arrested the criminal, and will deliver him up to you. But the mother has committed no crime, so we pray that she may be released from a cruel imprisonment: she was the foster-mother of our master, and he would fain intercede to save her life. Should you consent to this, we, on our side, will give up the murderer, and hand him over to you in front of our master’s gate to-morrow.”
The councillor repeated this message to the Prince, who, in his pleasure at being able to give Kazuma his revenge on the morrow, immediately agreed to the proposal, and the messenger returned triumphant at the success of the scheme. On the following day, the Prince ordered the mother of Matagoro to be placed in a litter and carried to the Hatamoto’s dwelling, in charge of a retainer named Sasawo Danyemon, who, when he arrived at the door of Abe Shirogoro’s house, said–
“I am charged to hand over to you the mother of Matagoro, and, in exchange, I am authorized to receive her son at your hands.”
“We will immediately give him up to you; but, as the mother and son are now about to bid an eternal farewell to one another, we beg you to be so kind as to tarry a little.”
With this the retainers of Shirogoro led the old woman inside their master’s house, and Sasawo Danyemon remained waiting outside, until at last he grew impatient, and ventured to hurry on the people within.
“We return you many thanks,” replied they, “for your kindness in bringing us the mother; but, as the son cannot go with you at present, you had better return home as quickly as possible. We are afraid we have put you to much trouble.” And so they mocked him.
When Danyemon saw that he had not only been cheated into giving up the old woman, but was being made a laughing-stock of into the bargain, he flew into a great rage, and thought to break into the house and seize Matagoro and his mother by force; but, peeping into the courtyard, he saw that it was filled with Hatamotos, carrying guns and naked swords. Not caring then to die fighting a hopeless battle, and at the same time feeling that, after having been so cheated, he would be put to shame before his lord, Sasawo Danyemon went to the burial-place of his ancestors, and disembowelled himself in front of their graves.
[Illustration: THE DEATH OF DANYEMON.]
When the Prince heard how his messenger had been treated, he was indignant, and summoning his councillors resolved, although he was suffering from sickness, to collect his retainers and attack Abe Shirogoro; and the other chief Daimios, when the matter became publicly known, took up the cause, and determined that the Hatamotos must be chastised for their insolence. On their side, the Hatamotos put forth all their efforts to resist the Daimios. So Yedo became disturbed, and the riotous state of the city caused great anxiety to the Government, who took counsel together how they might restore peace. As the Hatamotos were directly under the orders of the Shogun, it was no difficult matter to put them down: the hard question to solve was how to put a restraint upon the great Daimios. However, one of the Gorojin,[17] named Matsudaira Idzu no Kami, a man of great intelligence, hit upon a plan by which he might secure this end.
[Footnote 17: The first Council of the Shogun’s ministers; literally, “assembly of imperial elders.”]
There was at this time in the service of the Shogun a physician, named Nakarai Tsusen, who was in the habit of frequenting the palace of my Lord Kunaishoyu, and who for some time past had been treating him for the disease from which he was suffering. Idzu no Kami sent secretly for this physician, and, summoning him to his private room, engaged him in conversation, in the midst of which he suddenly dropped his voice and said to him in a whisper–
“Listen, Tsusen. You have received great favours at the hands of the Shogun. The Government is now sorely straitened: are you willing to carry your loyalty so far as to lay down your life on its behalf?”
“Ay, my lord; for generations my forefathers have held their property by the grace of the Shogun. I am willing this night to lay down my life for my Prince, as a faithful vassal should.”
“Well, then, I will tell you. The great Daimios and the Hatamotos have fallen out about this affair of Matagoro, and lately it has seemed as if they meant to come to blows. The country will be agitated, and the farmers and townsfolk suffer great misery, if we cannot quell the tumult. The Hatamotos will be easily kept under, but it will be no light task to pacify the great Daimios. If you are willing to lay down your life in carrying out a stratagem of mine, peace will be restored to the country; but your loyalty will be your death.”
“I am ready to sacrifice my life in this service.”
“This is my plan. You have been attending my Lord Kunaishoyu in his sickness; to-morrow you must go to see him, and put poison in his physic. If we can kill him, the agitation will cease. This is the service which I ask of you.”
Tsusen agreed to undertake the deed; and on the following day, when he went to see Kunaishoyu, he carried with him poisoned drugs. Half the draught he drank himself,[18] and thus put the Prince off his guard, so that he swallowed the remainder fearlessly. Tsusen, seeing this, hurried away, and as he was carried home in his litter the death-agony seized him, and he died, vomiting blood.
[Footnote 18: A physician attending a personage of exalted rank has always to drink half the potion he prescribes as a test of his good faith.]
My Lord Kunaishoyu died in the same way in great torture, and in the confusion attending upon his death and funeral ceremonies the struggle which was impending with the Hatamotos was delayed.
In the meanwhile the Gorojiu Idzu no Kami summoned the three leaders of the Hatamotos and addressed them as follows–
“The secret plottings and treasonable, turbulent conduct of you three men, so unbecoming your position as Hatamotos, have enraged my lord the Shogun to such a degree, that he has been pleased to order that you be imprisoned in a temple, and that your patrimony be given over to your next heirs.”
Accordingly the three Hatamotos, after having been severely admonished, were confined in a temple called Kanyeiji; and the remaining Hatamotos, scared by this example, dispersed in peace. As for the great Daimios, inasmuch as after the death of my Lord Kunaishoyu the Hatamotos were all dispersed, there was no enemy left for them to fight with; so the tumult was quelled, and peace was restored.
Thus it happened that Matagoro lost his patron; so, taking his mother with him, he went and placed himself under the protection of an old man named Sakurai Jiuzayemon. This old man was a famous teacher of lance exercise, and enjoyed both wealth and honour; so he took in Matagoro, and having engaged as a guard thirty Ronins, all resolute fellows and well skilled in the arts of war, they all fled together to a distant place called Sagara.
All this time Watanabe Kazuma had been brooding over his father’s death, and thinking how he should be revenged upon the murderer; so when my Lord Kunaishoyu suddenly died, he went to the young Prince who succeeded him and obtained leave of absence to go and seek out his father’s enemy. Now Kazuma’s elder sister was married to a man named Araki Matayemon, who at that time was famous as the first swordsman in Japan. As Kazuma was but sixteen years of age, this Matayemon, taking into consideration his near relationship as son-in-law to the murdered man, determined to go forth with the lad, as his guardian, and help him to seek out Matagoro; and two of Matayemon’s retainers, named Ishidome Busuke and Ikezoye Magohachi, made up their minds, at all hazards, to follow their master. The latter, when he heard their intention, thanked them, but refused the offer, saying that as he was now about to engage in a vendetta in which his life would be continually in jeopardy, and as it would be a lasting grief to him should either of them receive a wound in such a service, he must beg them to renounce their intention; but they answered–
“Master, this is a cruel speech of yours. All these years have we received nought but kindness and favours at your hands; and now that you are engaged in the pursuit of this murderer, we desire to follow you, and, if needs must, to lay down our lives in your service. Furthermore, we have heard that the friends of this Matagoro are no fewer than thirty-six men; so, however bravely you may fight, you will be in peril from the superior numbers of your enemy. However, if you are pleased to persist in your refusal to take us, we have made up our minds that there is no resource for us but to disembowel ourselves on the spot.”
When Matayemon and Kazuma heard these words, they wondered at these faithful and brave men, and were moved to tears. Then Matayemon said–
“The kindness of you two brave fellows is without precedent. Well, then, I will accept your services gratefully.”
Then the two men, having obtained their wish, cheerfully followed their master; and the four set out together upon their journey to seek out Matagoro, of whose whereabouts they were completely ignorant.
Matagoro in the meanwhile had made his way, with the old man Sakurai Jiuzayemon and his thirty Ronins, to Osaka. But, strong as they were in numbers, they travelled in great secrecy. The reason for this was that the old man’s younger brother, Sakurai Jinsuke, a fencing-master by profession, had once had a fencing-match with Matayemon, Kazuma’s brother-in-law, and had been shamefully beaten; so that the party were greatly afraid of Matayemon, and felt that, since he was taking up Kazuma’s cause and acting as his guardian, they might be worsted in spite of their numbers: so they went on their way with great caution, and, having reached Osaka, put up at an inn in a quarter called Ikutama, and hid from Kazuma and Matayemon.
The latter also in good time reached Osaka, and spared no pains to seek out Matagoro. One evening towards dusk, as Matayemon was walking in the quarter where the enemy were staying, he saw a man, dressed as a gentleman’s servant, enter a cook-shop and order some buckwheat porridge for thirty-six men, and looking attentively at the man, he recognized him as the servant of Sakurai Jiuzayemon; so he hid himself in a dark place and watched, and heard the fellow say–
“My master, Sakurai Jiuzayemon, is about to start for Sagara to-morrow morning, to return thanks to the gods for his recovery from a sickness from which he has been suffering; so I am in a great hurry.”
With these words the servant hastened away; and Matayemon, entering the shop, called for some porridge, and as he ate it, made some inquiries as to the man who had just given so large an order for buckwheat porridge. The master of the shop answered that he was the attendant of a party of thirty-six gentlemen who were staying at such and such an inn. Then Matayemon, having found out all that he wanted to know, went home and told Kazuma, who was delighted at the prospect of carrying his revenge into execution on the morrow. That same evening Matayemon sent one of his two faithful retainers as a spy to the inn, to find out at what hour Matagoro was to set out on the following morning; and he ascertained from the servants of the inn, that the party was to start at daybreak for Sagara, stopping at Ise to worship at the shrine of Tersho Daijin.[19]
[Footnote 19: Goddess of the sun, and ancestress of the Mikados.]
Matayemon made his preparations accordingly, and, with Kazuma and his two retainers, started before dawn. Beyond Uyeno, in the province of Iga, the castle-town of the Daimio Todo Idzumi no Kami, there is a wide and lonely moor; and this was the place upon which they fixed for the attack upon the enemy. When they had arrived at the spot, Matayemon went into a tea-house by the roadside, and wrote a petition to the governor of the Daimio’s castle-town for permission to carry out the vendetta within its precincts;[20] then he addressed Kazuma, and said–
“When we fall in with Matagoro and begin the fight, do you engage and slay your father’s murderer; attack him and him only, and I will keep off his guard of Ronins;” then turning to his two retainers, “As for you, keep close to Kazuma; and should the Ronins attempt to rescue Matagoro, it will be your duty to prevent them, and succour Kazuma.” And having further laid down each man’s duties with great minuteness, they lay in wait for the arrival of the enemy. Whilst they were resting in the tea-house, the governor of the castle-town arrived, and, asking for Matayemou, said–
“I have the honour to be the governor of the castle-town of Todo Idzumi no Kami. My lord, having learnt your intention of slaying your enemy within the precincts of his citadel, gives his consent; and as a proof of his admiration of your fidelity and valour, he has further sent you a detachment of infantry, one hundred strong, to guard the place; so that should any of the thirty-six men attempt to escape, you may set your mind at ease, for flight will be impossible.”
[Footnote 20: “In respect to revenging injury done to master or father, it is granted by the wise and virtuous (Confucius) that you and the injurer cannot live together under the canopy of heaven.
“A person harbouring such vengeance shall notify the same in writing to the Criminal Court; and although no check or hindrance may be offered to his carrying out his desire within the period allowed for that purpose, it is forbidden that the chastisement of an enemy be attended with riot.
“Fellows who neglect to give notice of their intended revenge are like wolves of pretext, and their punishment or pardon should depend upon the circumstances of the case.”–_Legacy of Iyeyasu_, ut supra.]
When Matayemon and Kazurna had expressed their thanks for his lordship’s gracious kindness, the governor took his leave and returned home. At last the enemy’s train was seen in the distance. First came Sakurai Jiuzayemon and his younger brother Jinsuke; and next to them followed Kawai Matagoro and Takenouchi Gentan. These four men, who were the bravest and the foremost of the band of Ronins, were riding on pack-horses, and the remainder were marching on foot, keeping close together.
As they drew near, Kazuma, who was impatient to avenge his father, stepped boldly forward and shouted in a loud voice–
“Here stand I, Kazuma, the son of Yukiye, whom you, Matagoro, treacherously slew, determined to avenge my father’s death. Come forth, then, and do battle with me, and let us see which of us twain is the better man.”
And before the Ronins had recovered from their astonishment, Matayemon said–
“I, Arake Matayemon, the son-in-law of Yukiye, have come to second Kazuma in his deed of vengeance. Win or lose, you must give us battle.”
When the thirty-six men heard the name of Matayemon, they were greatly afraid; but Sakurai Jiuzayemon urged them to be upon their guard, and leaped from his horse; and Matayemon, springing forward with his drawn sword, cleft him from the shoulder to the nipple of his breast, so that he fell dead. Sakurai Jinsuke, seeing his brother killed before his eyes, grew furious, and shot an arrow at Matayemon, who deftly cut the shaft in two with his dirk as it flew; and Jinsuke, amazed at this feat, threw away his bow and attacked Matayemon, who, with his sword in his right hand and his dirk in his left, fought with desperation. The other Ronins attempted to rescue Jinsuke, and, in the struggle, Kazuma, who had engaged Matagoro, became separated from Matayemon, whose two retainers, Busuke and Magohachi, bearing in mind their master’s orders, killed five Ronins who had attacked Kazuma, but were themselves badly wounded. In the meantime, Matayemon, who had killed seven of the Ronins, and who the harder he was pressed the more bravely he fought, soon cut down three more, and the remainder dared not approach him. At this moment there came up one Kano Tozayemon, a retainer of the lord of the castle-town, and an old friend of Matayemon, who, when he heard that Matayemon was this day about to avenge his father-in-law, had seized his spear and set out, for the sake of the good-will between them, to help him, and act as his second, and said–
“Sir Matayemon, hearing of the perilous adventure in which you have engaged, I have come out to offer myself as your second.”
Matayemon, hearing this, was rejoiced, and fought with renewed vigour. Then one of the Ronins, named Takenouchi Gentan, a very brave man, leaving his companions to do battle with Matayemon, came to the rescue of Matagoro, who was being hotly pressed by Kazuma, and, in attempting to prevent this, Busuke fell covered with wounds. His companion Magohachi, seeing him fall, was in great anxiety; for should any harm happen to Kazuma, what excuse could he make to Matayemon? So, wounded as he was, he too engaged Takenouchi Gentan, and, being crippled by the gashes he had received, was in deadly peril. Then the man who had come up from the castle-town to act as Matayemon’s second cried out–
“See there, Sir Matayemon, your follower who is fighting with Gentan is in great danger. Do you go to his rescue, and second Sir Kazuma: I will give an account of the others!”
“Great thanks to you, sir. I will go and second Kazuma.”
So Matayemon went to help Kazuma, whilst his second and the infantry soldiers kept back the surviving Ronins, who, already wearied by their fight with Matayemon, were unfit for any further exertion. Kazuma meanwhile was still fighting with Matagoro, and the issue of the conflict was doubtful; and Takenouchi Gentan, in his attempt to rescue Matagoro, was being kept at bay by Magohachi, who, weakened by his wounds, and blinded by the blood which was streaming into his eyes from a cut in the forehead, had given himself up for lost when Matayemon came and cried–
“Be of good cheer, Magohachi; it is I, Matayemon, who have come to the rescue. You are badly hurt; get out of harm’s way, and rest yourself.”
Then Magohachi, who until then had been kept up by his anxiety for Kazuma’s safety, gave in, and fell fainting from loss of blood; and Matayemon worsted and slew Gentan; and even then, although be had received two wounds, he was not exhausted, but drew near to Kazuma and said–
“Courage, Kazuma! The Ronins are all killed, and there now remains only Matagoro, your father’s murderer. Fight and win!”
The youth, thus encouraged, redoubled his efforts; but Matagoro, losing heart, quailed and fell. So Kazuma’s vengeance was fulfilled, and the desire of his heart was accomplished.
The two faithful retainers, who had died in their loyalty, were buried with great ceremony, and Kazuma carried the head of Matagoro and piously laid it upon his father’s tomb.
So ends the tale of Kazuma’s revenge.
I fear that stories of which killing and bloodshed form the principal features can hardly enlist much sympathy in these peaceful days. Still, when such tales are based upon history, they are interesting to students of social phenomena. The story of Kazuma’s revenge is mixed up with events which at the present time are peculiarly significant: I mean the feud between the great Daimios and the Hatamotos. Those who have followed the modern history of Japan will see that the recent struggle, which has ended in the ruin of the Tycoon’s power and the abolition of his office, was the outburst of a hidden fire which had been smouldering for centuries. But the repressive might had been gradually weakened, and contact with Western powers had rendered still more odious a feudality which men felt to be out of date. The revolution which has ended in the triumph of the Daimios over the Tycoon, is also the triumph of the vassal over his feudal lord, and is the harbinger of political life to the people at large. In the time of Iyeyasu the burden might be hateful, but it had to be borne; and so it would have been to this day, had not circumstances from without broken the spell. The Japanese Daimio, in advocating the isolation of his country, was hugging the very yoke which he hated. Strange to say, however, there are still men who, while they embrace the new political creed, yet praise the past, and look back with regret upon the day when Japan stood alone, without part or share in the great family of nations.
NOTE.–_Hatamoto_. This word means “_under the flag_.” The Hatamotos were men who, as their name implied, rallied round the standard of the Shogun, or Tycoon, in war-time. They were eighty thousand in number. When Iyeyasu left the Province of Mikawa and became Shogun, the retainers whom he ennobled, and who received from him grants of land yielding revenue to the amount of ten thousand kokus of rice a year, and from that down to one hundred kokus, were called _Hatamoto_. In return for these grants of land, the Hatamotos had in war-time to furnish a contingent of soldiers in proportion to their revenue. For every thousand kokus of rice five men were required. Those Hatamotos whose revenue fell short of a thousand kokus substituted a quota of money. In time of peace most of the minor offices of the Tycoon’s government were filled by Hatamotos, the more important places being held by the Fudai, or vassal Daimios of the Shogun. Seven years ago, in imitation of the customs of foreign nations, a standing army was founded; and then the Hatamotos had to contribute their quota of men or of money, whether the country were at peace or at war. When the Shogun was reduced in 1868 to the rank of a simple Daimio, his revenue of eight million kokus reverted to the Government, with the exception of seven hundred thousand kokus. The title of Hatamoto exists no more, and those who until a few months ago held the rank are for the most part ruined or dispersed. From having been perhaps the proudest and most overbearing class in Japan, they are driven to the utmost straits of poverty. Some have gone into trade, with the heirlooms of their families as their stock; others are wandering through the country as Ronins; while a small minority have been allowed to follow the fallen fortunes of their master’s family, the present chief of which is known as the Prince of Tokugawa. Thus are the eighty thousand dispersed.
The koku of rice, in which all revenue is calculated, is of varying value. At the cheapest it is worth rather more than a pound sterling, and sometimes almost three times as much. The salaries of officials being paid in rice, it follows that there is a large and influential class throughout the country who are interested in keeping up the price of the staple article of food. Hence the opposition with which a free trade in rice has met, even in famine times. Hence also the frequent so-called “Rice Riots.”
The amounts at which the lands formerly held by the chief Daimios, but now patriotically given up by them to the Mikado, were assessed, sound fabulous. The Prince of Kaga alone had an income of more than one million two hundred thousand kokus. Yet these great proprietors were, latterly at least, embarrassed men. They had many thousand mouths to feed, and were mulcted of their dues right and left; while their mania for buying foreign ships and munitions of war, often at exorbitant prices, had plunged them heavily in debt.
A STORY OF THE OTOKODATE OF YEDO;
BEING THE SUPPLEMENT OF
THE STORY OF GOMPACHI AND KOMURASAKI
The word Otokodate occurs several times in these Tales; and as I cannot convey its full meaning by a simple translation, I must preserve it in the text, explaining it by the following note, taken from the Japanese of a native scholar.
The Otokodate were friendly associations of brave men bound together by an obligation to stand by one another in weal or in woe, regardless of their own lives, and without inquiring into one another’s antecedents. A bad man, however, having joined the Otokodate must forsake his evil ways; for their principle was to treat the oppressor as an enemy, and to help the feeble as a father does his child. If they had money, they gave it to those that had none, and their charitable deeds won for them the respect of all men. The head of the society was called its “Father”; if any of the others, who were his apprentices, were homeless, they lived with the Father and served him, paying him at the same time a small fee, in consideration of which, if they fell sick or into misfortune, he took charge of them and assisted them.
The Father of the Otokodate pursued the calling of farming out coolies to the Daimios and great personages for their journeys to and from Yedo, and in return for this received from them rations in rice. He had more influence with the lower classes even than the officials; and if the coolies had struck work or refused to accompany a Daimio on his journey, a word from the Father would produce as many men as might be required. When Prince Tokugawa Iyemochi, the last but one of the Shoguns, left Yedo for Kioto, one Shimmon Tatsugoro, chief of the Otokodate, undertook the management of his journey, and some three or four years ago was raised to the dignity of Hatamoto for many faithful services. After the battle of Fushimi, and the abolition of the Shogunate, he accompanied the last of the Shoguns in his retirement.
In old days there were also Otokodate among the Hatamotos; this was after the civil wars of the time of Iyeyasu, when, though the country was at peace, the minds of men were still in a state of high excitement, and could not be reconciled to the dulness of a state of rest; it followed that broils and faction fights were continually taking place among the young men of the Samurai class, and that those who distinguished themselves by their personal strength and valour were looked up to as captains. Leagues after the manner of those existing among the German students were formed in different quarters of the city, under various names, and used to fight for the honour of victory. When the country became more thoroughly tranquil, the custom of forming these leagues amongst gentlemen fell into disuse.
The past tense is used in speaking even of the Otokodate of the lower classes; for although they nominally exist, they have no longer the power and importance which they enjoyed at the time to which these stories belong. They then, like the ‘prentices of Old London, played a considerable part in the society of the great cities, and that man was lucky, were he gentle Samurai or simple wardsman, who could claim the Father of the Otokodate for his friend.
The word, taken by itself, means a manly or plucky fellow.
* * * * *
Chobei of Bandzuin was the chief of the Otokodate of Yedo. He was originally called Itaro, and was the son of a certain Ronin who lived in the country. One day, when he was only ten years of age, he went out with a playfellow to bathe in the river; and as the two were playing they quarrelled over their game, and Itaro, seizing the other boy, threw him into the river and drowned him.
Then he went home, and said to his father–
“I went to play by the river to-day, with a friend; and as he was rude to me, I threw him into the water and killed him.”
When his father heard him speak thus, quite calmly, as if nothing had happened, he was thunderstruck, and said–
“This is indeed a fearful thing. Child as you are, you will have to pay the penalty of your deed; so to-night you must fly to Yedo in secret, and take service with some noble Samurai, and perhaps in time you may become a soldier yourself.”
With these words he gave him twenty ounces of silver and a fine sword, made by the famous swordsmith Rai Kunitoshi, and sent him out of the province with all dispatch. The following morning the parents of the murdered child came to claim that Itaro should be given up to their vengeance; but it was too late, and all they could do was to bury their child and mourn for his loss.
Itaro made his way to Yedo in hot haste, and there found employment as a shop-boy; but soon tiring of that sort of life, and burning to become a soldier, he found means at last to enter the service of a certain Hatamoto called Sakurai Shozayemon, and changed his name to Tsunehei. Now this Sakurai Shozayemon had a son, called Shonosuke, a young man in his seventeenth year, who grew so fond of Tsunehei that he took him with him wherever he went, and treated him in all ways as an equal.
When Shonosuke went to the fencing-school Tsunehei would accompany him, and thus, as he was by nature strong and active, soon became a good swordsman.
One day, when Shozayemon had gone out, his son Shonosuke said to Tsunehei–
“You know how fond my father is of playing at football: it must be great sport. As he has gone out to-day, suppose you and I have a game?”
“That will be rare sport,” answered Tsunehei. “Let us make haste and play, before my lord comes home.”
So the two boys went out into the garden, and began trying to kick the football; but, lacking skill, do what they would, they could not lift it from the ground. At last Shonosuke, with a vigorous kick, raised the football; but, having missed his aim, it went tumbling over the wall into the next garden, which belonged to one Hikosaka Zempachi, a teacher of lance exercise, who was known to be a surly, ill-tempered fellow.
“Oh, dear! what shall we do?” said Shonosuke. “We have lost my father’s football in his absence; and if we go and ask for it back from that churlish neighbour of ours, we shall only be scolded and sworn at for our pains.”
“Oh, never mind,” answered Tsunehei; “I will go and apologize for our carelessness, and get the football back.”
“Well, but then you will be chidden, and I don’t want that.”
“Never mind me. Little care I for his cross words.” So Tsunehei went to the next-door house to reclaim the ball.
Now it so happened that Zempachi, the surly neighbour, had been walking in his garden whilst the two youths were playing; and as he was admiring the beauty of his favourite chrysanthemums, the football came flying over the wall and struck him full in the face. Zempachi, not used to anything but flattery and coaxing, flew into a violent rage at this; and while he was thinking how he would revenge himself upon any one who might be sent to ask for the lost ball, Tsunehei came in, and said to one of Zempachi’s servants–
“I am sorry to say that in my lord’s absence I took his football, and, in trying to play with it, clumsily kicked it over your wall. I beg you to excuse my carelessness, and to be so good as to give me back the ball.”
The servant went in and repeated this to Zempachi, who worked himself up into a great rage, and ordered Tsunehei to be brought before him, and said–
“Here, fellow, is your name Tsunehei?”
“Yes, sir, at your service. I am almost afraid to ask pardon for my carelessness; but please forgive me, and let me have the ball.”
“I thought your master, Shozayemon, was to blame for this; but it seems that it was you who kicked the football.”
“Yes, sir. I am sure I am very sorry for what I have done. Please, may I ask for the ball?” said Tsunehei, bowing humbly.
For a while Zempachi made no answer, but at length he said–
“Do you know, villain, that your dirty football struck me in the face? I ought, by rights, to kill you on the spot for this; but I will spare your life this time, so take your football and be off.” And with that he went up to Tsunehei and beat him, and kicked him in the head, and spat in his face.
Then Tsunehei, who up to that time had demeaned himself very humbly, in his eagerness to get back the football, jumped up in a fury, and said–
“I made ample apologies to you for my carelessness, and now you have insulted and struck me. Ill-mannered ruffian! take back the ball,–I’ll none of it;” and he drew his dirk, and cutting the football in two, threw it at Zempachi, and returned home.
But Zempachi, growing more and more angry, called one of his servants, and said to him–
“That fellow, Tsunehei, has been most insolent: go next door and find out Shozayemon, and tell him that I have ordered you to bring back Tsunehei, that I may kill him.”
So the servant went to deliver the message.
In the meantime Tsunehei went back to his master’s house; and when Shonosuke saw him, he said–
“Well, of course you have been ill treated; but did you get back the football?”
“When I went in, I made many apologies; but I was beaten, and kicked in the head, and treated with the greatest indignity. I would have killed that wretch, Zempachi, at once, but that I knew that, if I did so while I was yet a member of your household, I should bring trouble upon your family. For your sake I bore this ill-treatment patiently; but now I pray you let me take leave of you and become a Ronin, that I may be revenged upon this man.”
“Think well what you are doing,” answered Shonosuke. “After all, we have only lost a football; and my father will not care, nor upbraid us.”
But Tsimehei would not listen to him, and was bent upon wiping out the affront that he had received. As they were talking, the messenger arrived from Zempachi, demanding the surrender of Tsunehei, on the ground that he had insulted him: to this Shonosuke replied that his father was away from home, and that in his absence he could do nothing.
At last Shozayemon came home; and when he heard what had happened he was much grieved, and at a loss what to do, when a second messenger arrived from Zempachi, demanding that Tsunehei should be given up without delay. Then Shozayemon, seeing that the matter was serious, called the youth to him, and said–
“This Zempachi is heartless and cruel, and if you go to his house will assuredly kill you; take, therefore, these fifty riyos, and fly to Osaka or Kioto, where you may safely set up in business.”
“Sir,” answered Tsunehei, with tears of gratitude for his lord’s kindness, “from my heart I thank you for your great goodness; but I have been insulted and trampled upon, and, if I lay down my life in the attempt, I will repay Zempachi for what he has this day done.”
“Well, then, since you needs must be revenged, go and fight, and may success attend you! Still, as much depends upon the blade you carry, and I fear yours is likely to be but a sorry weapon, I will give you a sword;” and with this he offered Tsunehei his own.
“Nay, my lord,” replied Tsunehei; “I have a famous sword, by Rai Kunitoshi, which my father gave me. I have never shown it to your lordship, but I have it safely stowed away in my room.”
When Shozayemon saw and examined the sword, he admired it greatly, and said, “This is indeed a beautiful blade, and one on which you may rely. Take it, then, and bear yourself nobly in the fight; only remember that Zempachi is a cunning spearsman, and be sure to be very cautious.”
So Tsunehei, after thanking his lord for his manifold kindnesses, took an affectionate leave, and went to Zempachi’s house, and said to the servant–
“It seems that your master wants to speak to me. Be so good as to take me to see him.”
So the servant led him into the garden, where Zempachi, spear in hand, was waiting to kill him. When Zempachi saw him, he cried out–
“Ha! so you have come back; and now for your insolence, this day I mean to kill you with my own hand.”
“Insolent yourself!” replied Tsunehei. “Beast, and no Samurai! Come, let us see which of us is the better man.”
Furiously incensed, Zempachi thrust with his spear at Tsunehei; but he, trusting to his good sword, attacked Zempachi, who, cunning warrior as he was, could gain no advantage. At last Zempachi, losing his temper, began fighting less carefully, so that Tsunehei found an opportunity of cutting the shaft of his spear. Zempachi then drew his sword, and two of his retainers came up to assist him; but Tsunehei killed one of them, and wounded Zempachi in the forehead. The second retainer fled affrighted at the youth’s valour, and Zempachi was blinded by the blood which flowed from the wound on his forehead. Then Tsunehei said–
“To kill one who is as a blind man were unworthy a soldier. Wipe the blood from your eyes, Sir Zempachi, and let us fight it out fairly.”
So Zempachi, wiping away his blood, bound a kerchief round his head, and fought again desperately. But at last the pain of his wound and the loss of blood overcame him, and Tsunehei cut him down with a wound in the shoulder and easily dispatched him.
Then Tsunehei went and reported the whole matter to the Governor of Yedo, and was put in prison until an inquiry could be made. But the Chief Priest of Bandzuin, who had heard of the affair, went and told the governor all the bad deeds of Zempachi, and having procured Tsunehei’s pardon, took him home and employed him as porter in the temple. So Tsunehei changed his name to Chobei, and earned much respect in the neighbourhood, both for his talents and for his many good works. If any man were in distress, he would help him, heedless of his own advantage or danger, until men came to look up to him as to a father, and many youths joined him and became his apprentices. So he built a house at Hanakawado, in Asakusa, and lived there with his apprentices, whom he farmed out as spearsmen and footmen to the Daimios and Hatamotos, taking for himself the tithe of their earnings. But if any of them were sick or in trouble, Chobei would nurse and support them, and provide physicians and medicine. And the fame of his goodness went abroad until his apprentices were more than two thousand men, and were employed in every part of the city. But as for Chobei, the more he prospered, the more he gave in charity, and all men praised his good and generous heart.
This was the time when the Hatamotos had formed themselves into bands of Otokodate,[21] of which Midzuno Jiurozayemon, Kondo Noborinosuke, and Abe Shirogoro were the chiefs. And the leagues of the nobles despised the leagues of the wardsmen, and treated them with scorn, and tried to put to shame Chobei and his brave men; but the nobles’ weapons recoiled upon themselves, and, whenever they tried to bring contempt upon Chobei, they themselves were brought to ridicule. So there was great hatred on both sides.
[Footnote 21: See the story of Kazuma’s Revenge.]
One day, that Chobei went to divert himself in a tea-house in the Yoshiwara, he saw a felt carpet spread in an upper room, which had been adorned as for some special occasion; and he asked the master of the house what guest of distinction was expected. The landlord replied that my Lord Jiurozayemon, the chief of the Otokodate of the Hatamotos, was due there that afternoon. On hearing this, Chobei replied that as he much wished to meet my Lord Jiurozayemon, he would lie down and await his coming. The landlord was put out at this, and knew not what to say; but yet he dare not thwart Chobei, the powerful chief of the Otokodate. So Chobei took off his clothes and laid himself down upon the carpet. After a while my Lord Jiurozayemon arrived, and going upstairs found a man of large stature lying naked upon the carpet which had been spread for him.
“What low ruffian is this?” shouted he angrily to the landlord.
“My lord, it is Chobei, the chief of the Otokodate,” answered the man, trembling.
Jiurozayemon at once suspected that Chobei was doing this to insult him; so he sat down by the side of the sleeping man, and lighting his pipe began to smoke. When he had finished his pipe, he emptied the burning ashes into Chobei’s navel; but Chobei, patiently bearing the pain, still feigned sleep. Ten times did Jiurozayemon fill his pipe,[22] and ten times he shook out the burning ashes on to Chobei’s navel; but he neither stirred nor spoke. Then Jiurozayemon, astonished at his fortitude, shook him, and roused him, saying–
“Chobei! Chobei! wake up, man.”
“What is the matter?” said Chobei, rubbing his eyes as though he were awaking from a deep sleep; then seeing Jiurozayemon, he pretended to be startled, and said, “Oh, my lord, I know not who you are; but I have been very rude to your lordship. I was overcome with wine, and fell asleep: I pray your lordship to forgive me.”
“Is your name Chobei?”
“Yes, my lord, at your service. A poor wardsman, and ignorant of good manners, I have been very rude; but I pray your lordship to excuse my ill-breeding.”
“Nay, nay; we have all heard the fame of Chobei, of Bandzuin, and I hold myself lucky to have met you this day. Let us be friends.”
“It is a great honour for a humble wardsman to meet a nobleman face to face.”
[Footnote 22: The tiny Japanese pipe contains but two or three whiffs; and as the tobacco is rolled up tightly in the fingers before it is inserted, the ash, when shaken out, is a little fire-ball from which a second pipe is lighted.]
As they were speaking, the waitresses brought in fish and wine, and Jiurozayemon pressed Chobei to feast with him; and thinking to annoy Chobei, offered him a large wine-cup,[23] which, however, he drank without shrinking, and then returned to his entertainer, who was by no means so well able to bear the fumes of the wine. Then Jiurozayemon hit upon another device for annoying Chobei, and, hoping to frighten him, said–
“Here, Chobei, let me offer you some fish;” and with those words he drew his sword, and, picking up a cake of baked fish upon the point of it, thrust it towards the wardsman’s mouth. Any ordinary man would have been afraid to accept the morsel so roughly offered; but Chobei simply opened his mouth, and taking the cake off the sword’s point ate it without wincing. Whilst Jiurozayemon was wondering in his heart what manner of man this was, that nothing could daunt, Chobei said to him–
“This meeting with your lordship has been an auspicious occasion to me, and I would fain ask leave to offer some humble gift to your lordship in memory of it.[24] Is there anything which your lordship would specially fancy?”
“I am very fond of cold macaroni.”
[Footnote 23: It is an act of rudeness to offer a large wine-cup. As, however, the same cup is returned to the person who has offered it, the ill carries with it its own remedy. At a Japanese feast the same cup is passed from hand to hand, each person rinsing it in a bowl of water after using it, and before offering it to another.]
[Footnote 24: The giving of presents from inferiors to superiors is a common custom.]
“Then I shall have the honour of ordering some for your lordship;” and with this Chobei went downstairs, and calling one of his apprentices, named Token Gombei,[25] who was waiting for him, gave him a hundred riyos (about L28), and bade him collect all the cold macaroni to be found in the neighbouring cook-shops and pile it up in front of the tea-house. So Gombei went home, and, collecting Chobei’s apprentices, sent them out in all directions to buy the macaroni. Jiurozayemon all this while was thinking of the pleasure he would have in laughing at Chobei for offering him a mean and paltry present; but when, by degrees, the macaroni began to be piled mountain-high around the tea-house, he saw that he could not make a fool of Chobei, and went home discomfited.
[Footnote 25: _Token_, a nickname given to Gombei, after a savage dog that he killed. As a Chonin, or wardsman, he had no surname.]
It has already been told how Shirai Gompachi was befriended and helped by Chobei.[26] His name will occur again in this story.
[Footnote 26: See the story of Gompachi and Komurasaki.]
At this time there lived in the province of Yamato a certain Daimio, called Honda Dainaiki, who one day, when surrounded by several of his retainers, produced a sword, and bade them look at it and say from what smith’s workshop the blade had come.
“I think this must be a Masamune blade,” said one Fuwa Banzayemon.
“No,” said Nagoya Sanza, after examining the weapon attentively, “this certainly is a Muramasa.”[27]
[Footnote 27: The swords of Muramasa, although so finely tempered that they are said to cut hard iron as though it were a melon, have the reputation of being unlucky: they are supposed by the superstitious to hunger after taking men’s lives, and to be unable to repose in their scabbards. The principal duty of a sword is to preserve tranquillity in the world, by punishing the wicked and protecting the good. But the bloodthirsty swords of Muramasa rather have the effect of maddening their owners, so that they either kill others indiscriminately or commit suicide. At the end of the sixteenth century Prince Tokugawa Iyeyasu was in the habit of carrying a spear made by Muramasa, with which he often scratched or cut himself by mistake. Hence the Tokugawa family avoid girding on Muramasa blades, which are supposed to be specially unlucky to their race. The murders of Gompachi, who wore a sword by this maker, also contributed to give his weapons a bad name.
The swords of one Toshiro Yoshimitsu, on the other hand, are specially auspicious to the Tokugawa family, for the following reason. After Iyeyasu had been defeated by Taketa Katsuyori, at the battle of the river Tenrin, he took refuge in the house of a village doctor, intending to put an end to his existence by _hara-kiri,_ and drawing his dirk, which was made by Yoshimitsu, tried to plunge it into his belly, when, to his surprise, the blade turned. Thinking that the dirk must be a bad one, he took up an iron mortar for grinding medicines and tried it upon that, and the point entered and transfixed the mortar. He was about to stab himself a second time, when his followers, who had missed him, and had been searching for him everywhere, came up, and seeing their master about to kill himself, stayed his hand, and took away the dirk by force. Then they set him upon his horse and compelled him to fly to his own province of Mikawa, whilst they kept his pursuers at bay. After this, when, by the favour of Heaven, Iyeyasu became Shogun, it was considered that of a surety there must have been a good spirit in the blade that refused to drink his blood; and ever since that time the blades of Yoshimitsu have been considered lucky in his family.]
A third Samurai, named Takagi Umanojo, pronounced it to be the work of Shidzu Kanenji; and as they could not agree, but each maintained his opinion, their lord sent for a famous connoisseur to decide the point; and the sword proved, as Sanza had said, to be a genuine Muramasa. Sanza was delighted at the verdict; but the other two went home rather crestfallen. Umanojo, although he had been worsted in the argument, bore no malice nor ill-will in his heart; but Banzayemon, who was a vainglorious personage, puffed up with the idea of his own importance, conceived a spite against Sanza, and watched for an opportunity to put him to shame. At last, one day Banzayemon, eager to be revenged upon Sanza, went to the Prince, and said, “Your lordship ought to see Sanza fence; his swordsmanship is beyond all praise. I know that I am no match for him; still, if it will please your lordship, I will try a bout with him;” and the Prince, who was a mere stripling, and thought it would be rare sport, immediately sent for Sanza and desired he would fence with Banzayemon. So the two went out into the garden, and stood up facing each other, armed with wooden swords. Now Banzayemon was proud of his skill, and thought he had no equal in fencing; so he expected to gain an easy victory over Sanza, and promised himself the luxury of giving his adversary a beating that should fully make up for the mortification which he had felt in the matter of the dispute about the sword. It happened, however, that he had undervalued the skill of Sanza, who, when he saw that his adversary was attacking him savagely and in good earnest, by a rapid blow struck Banzayemon so sharply on the wrist that he dropped the sword, and, before he could pick it up again, delivered a second cut on the shoulder, which sent him rolling over in the dust. All the officers present, seeing this, praised Sanza’s skill, and Banzayemon, utterly stricken with shame, ran away home and hid himself.
After this affair Sanza rose high in the favour of his lord; and Banzayemon, who was more than ever jealous of him, feigned sickness, and stayed at home devising schemes for Sanza’s ruin.
Now it happened that the Prince, wishing to have the Muramasa blade mounted, sent for Sanza and entrusted it to his care, ordering him to employ the most cunning workmen in the manufacture of the scabbard-hilt and ornaments; and Sanza, having received the blade, took it home, and put it carefully away. When Banzayemon heard of this, he was overjoyed; for he saw that his opportunity for revenge had come. He determined, if possible, to kill Sanza, but at any rate to steal the sword which had been committed to his care by the Prince, knowing full well that if Sanza lost the sword he and his family would be ruined. Being a single man, without wife or child, he sold his furniture, and, turning all his available property into money, made ready to fly the country. When his preparations were concluded, he went in the middle of the night to Sanza’s house and tried to get in by stealth; but the doors and shutters were all carefully bolted from the inside, and there was no hole by which he could effect an entrance. All was still, however, and the people of the house were evidently fast asleep; so he climbed up to the second storey, and, having contrived to unfasten a window, made his way in. With soft, cat-like footsteps he crept downstairs, and, looking into one of the rooms, saw Sanza and his wife sleeping on the mats, with their little son Kosanza, a boy of thirteen, curled up in his quilt between them. The light in the night-lamp was at its last flicker, but, peering through the gloom, he could just see the Prince’s famous Muramasa sword lying on a sword-rack in the raised part of the room: so he crawled stealthily along until he could reach it, and stuck it in his girdle. Then, drawing near to Sanza, he bestrode his sleeping body, and, brandishing the sword made a thrust at his throat; but in his excitement his hand shook, so that he missed his aim, and only scratched Sanza, who, waking with a start and trying to jump up, felt himself held down by a man standing over him. Stretching out his hands, he would have wrestled with his enemy; when Banzayemon, leaping back, kicked over the night-lamp, and throwing open the shutters, dashed into the garden. Snatching up his sword, Sanza rushed out after him; and his wife, having lit a lantern and armed herself with a halberd,[28] went out, with her son Kosanza, who carried a drawn dirk, to help her husband. Then Banzayemon, who was hiding in the shadow of a large pine-tree, seeing the lantern and dreading detection, seized a stone and hurled it at the light, and, chancing to strike it, put it out, and then scrambling over the fence unseen, fled into the darkness. When Sanza had searched all over the garden in vain, he returned to his room and examined his wound, which proving very slight, he began to look about to see whether the thief had carried off anything; but when his eye fell upon the place where the Muramasa sword had lain, he saw that it was gone. He hunted everywhere, but it was not to be found. The precious blade with which his Prince had entrusted him had been stolen, and the blame would fall heavily upon him. Filled with grief and shame at the loss, Sanza and his wife and child remained in great anxiety until the morning broke, when he reported the matter to one of the Prince’s councillors, and waited in seclusion until he should receive his lord’s commands.
[Footnote 28: The halberd is the special arm of the Japanese woman of gentle blood. That which was used by Kasa Gozen, one of the ladies of Yoshitsune, the hero of the twelfth century, is still preserved at Asakusa. In old-fashioned families young ladies are regularly instructed in fencing with the halberds.]
It soon became known that Banzayemon, who had fled the province, was the thief; and the councillors made their report accordingly to the Prince, who, although he expressed his detestation of the mean action of Banzayemon, could not absolve Sanza from blame, in that he had not taken better precautions to insure the safety of the sword that had been committed to his trust. It was decided, therefore, that Sanza should be dismissed from his service, and that his goods should be confiscated; with the proviso that should he be able to find Banzayemon, and recover the lost Muramasa blade, he should be restored to his former position. Sanza, who from the first had made up his mind that his punishment would be severe, accepted the decree without a murmur; and, having committed his wife and son to the care of his relations, prepared to leave the country as a Ronin and search for Banzayemon.
Before starting, however, he thought that he would go to his brother-officer, Takagi Umanojo, and consult with him as to what course he should pursue to gain his end. But this Umanojo, who was by nature a churlish fellow, answered him unkindly, and said–
“It is true that Banzayemon is a mean thief; but still it was through your carelessness that the sword was lost. It is of no avail your coming to me for help: you must get it back as best you may.”
“Ah!” replied Sanza, “I see that you too bear me a grudge because I defeated you in the matter of the judgment of the sword. You are no better than Banzayemon yourself.”
And his heart was bitter against his fellow men, and he left the house determined to kill Umanojo first and afterwards to track out Banzayemon; so, pretending to start on his journey, he hid in an inn, and waited for an opportunity to attack Umanojo.
One day Umanojo, who was very fond of fishing, had taken his son Umanosuke, a lad of sixteen, down to the sea-shore with him; and as the two were enjoying themselves, all of a sudden they perceived a Samurai running towards them, and when he drew near they saw that it was Sanza. Umanojo, thinking that Sanza had come back in order to talk over some important matter, left his angling and went to meet him. Then Sanza cried out–
“Now, Sir Umanojo, draw and defend yourself. What! were you in league with Banzayemon to vent your spite upon me? Draw, sir, draw! You have spirited away your accomplice; but, at any rate, you are here yourself, and shall answer for your deed. It is no use playing the innocent; your astonished face shall not save you. Defend yourself, coward and traitor!” and with these words Sanza flourished his naked sword.
“Nay, Sir Sanza,” replied the other, anxious by a soft answer to turn away his wrath; “I am innocent of this deed. Waste not your valour on so poor a cause.”
“Lying knave!” said Sanza; “think not that you can impose upon me. I know your treacherous heart;” and, rushing upon Umanojo, he cut him on the forehead so that he fell in agony upon the sand.
Umanosuke in the meanwhile, who had been fishing at some distance from his father, rushed up when he saw him in this perilous situation and threw a stone at Sanza, hoping to distract his attention; but, before he could reach the spot, Sanza had delivered the death-blow, and Umanojo lay a corpse upon the beach.
“Stop, Sir Sanza–murderer of my father!” cried Umanosuke, drawing his sword, “stop and do battle with me, that I may avenge his death.”
“That you should wish to slay your father’s enemy,” replied Sanza, “is but right and proper; and although I had just cause of quarrel with your father, and killed him, as a Samurai should, yet would I gladly forfeit my life to you here; but my life is precious to me for one purpose–that I may punish Banzayemon and get back the stolen sword. When I shall have restored that sword to my lord, then will I give you your revenge, and you may kill me. A soldier’s word is truth; but, as a pledge that I will fulfil my promise, I will give to you, as hostages, my wife and boy. Stay your avenging hand, I pray you, until my desire shall have been attained.”
Umanosuke, who was a brave and honest youth, as famous in the clan for the goodness of his heart as for his skill in the use of arms, when he heard Sanza’s humble petition, relented, and said–
“I agree to wait, and will take your wife and boy as hostages for your return.”
“I humbly thank you,” said Sanza. “When I shall have chastised Banzayemon, I will return, and you shall claim your revenge.”
So Sanza went his way to Yedo to seek for Banzayemon, and Umanosuke mourned over his father’s grave.
Now Banzayemon, when he arrived in Yedo, found himself friendless and without the means of earning his living, when by accident he heard of the fame of Chobei of Bandzuin, the chief of the Otokodate, to whom he applied for assistance; and having entered the fraternity, supported himself by giving fencing-lessons. He had been plying his trade for some time, and had earned some little reputation, when Sanza reached the city and began his search for him. But the days and months passed away, and, after a year’s fruitless seeking, Sanza, who had spent all his money without obtaining a clue to the whereabouts of his enemy, was sorely perplexed, and was driven to live by his wits as a fortune-teller. Work as he would, it was a hard matter for him to gain the price of his daily food, and, in spite of all his pains, his revenge seemed as far off as ever, when he bethought him that the Yoshiwara was one of the most bustling places in the city, and that if he kept watch there, sooner or later he would be sure to fall in with Banzayemon. So be bought a hat of plaited bamboo, that completely covered his face, and lay in wait at the Yoshiwara.
One day Banzayemon and two of Chobei’s apprentices Token Gombei and Shirobei, who, from his wild and indocile nature, was surnamed “the Colt,” were amusing themselves and drinking in an upper storey of a tea-house in the Yoshiwara, when Token Gombei, happening to look down upon the street below, saw a Samurai pass by, poorly clad in worn-out old clothes, but whose poverty-stricken appearance contrasted with his proud and haughty bearing.
“Look there!” said Gombei, calling the attention of the others; “look at that Samurai. Dirty and ragged as his coat is, how easy it is to see that he is of noble birth! Let us wardsmen dress ourselves up in never so fine clothes, we could not look as he does.”
“Ay,” said Shirobei, “I wish we could make friends with him, and ask him up here to drink a cup of wine with us. However, it would not be seemly for us wardsmen to go and invite a person of his condition.”
“We can easily get over that difficulty,” said Banzayemon. “As I am a Samurai myself, there will be no impropriety in my going and saying a few civil words to him, and bringing him in.”
The other two having joyfully accepted the offer, Banzayemon ran downstairs, and went up to the strange Samurai and saluted him, saying–
“I pray you to wait a moment, Sir Samurai. My name is Fuwa Banzayemon at your service. I am a Ronin, as I judge from your appearance that you are yourself. I hope you will not think me rude if I venture to ask you to honour me with your friendship, and to come into this tea-house to drink a cup of wine with me and two of my friends.”
The strange Samurai, who was no other than Sanza, looking at the speaker through the interstices of his deep bamboo hat, and recognizing his enemy Banzayemon, gave a start of surprise, and, uncovering his head, said sternly–
“Have you forgotten my face, Banzayemon?”
For a moment Banzayemon was taken aback, but quickly recovering himself, he replied, “Ah! Sir Sanza, you may well be angry with me; but since I stole the Muramasa sword and fled to Yedo I have known no peace: I have been haunted by remorse for my crime. I shall not resist your vengeance: do with me as it shall seem best to you; or rather take my life, and let there be an end of this quarrel.”
“Nay,” answered Sanza, “to kill a man who repents him of his sins is a base and ignoble action. When you stole from me the Muramasa blade which had been confided to my care by my lord, I became a disgraced and ruined man. Give me back that sword, that I may lay it before my lord, and I will spare your life. I seek to slay no man needlessly.”
“Sir Sanza, I thank you for your mercy. At this moment I have not the sword by me, but if you will go into yonder tea-house and wait awhile, I will fetch it and deliver it into your hands.”
Sanza having consented to this, the two men entered the tea-house, where Banzayemon’s two companions were waiting for them. But Banzayemon, ashamed of his own evil deed, still pretended that Sanza was a stranger, and introduced him as such, saying–
“Come Sir Samurai, since we have the honour of your company, let me offer you a wine-cup.”
Banzayemon and the two men pressed the wine-cup upon Sanza so often that the fumes gradually got into his head and he fell asleep; the two wardsmen, seeing this, went out for a walk, and Banzayemon, left alone with the sleeping man, began to revolve fresh plots against him in his mind. On a sudden, a thought struck him. Noiselessly seizing Sanza’s sword, which he had laid aside on entering the room, he stole softly downstairs with it, and, carrying it into the back yard, pounded and blunted its edge with a stone, and having made it useless as a weapon, he replaced it in its scabbard, and running upstairs again laid it in its place without disturbing Sanza, who, little suspecting treachery, lay sleeping off the effects of the wine. At last, however, he awoke, and, ashamed at having been overcome by drink, he said to Banzayemon–
“Come, Banzayemon, we have dallied too long; give me the Muramasa sword, and let me go.”
“Of course,” replied the other, sneeringly, “I am longing to give it back to you; but unfortunately, in my poverty, I have been obliged to pawn it for fifty ounces of silver. If you have so much money about you, give it to me and I will return the sword to you.”
“Wretch!” cried Sanza, seeing that Banzayemon was trying to fool him, “have I not had enough of your vile tricks? At any rate, if I cannot get back the sword, your head shall be laid before my lord in its place. Come,” added he, stamping his foot impatiently, “defend yourself.”
“With all my heart. But not here in this tea-house. Let us go to the Mound, and fight it out.”
“Agreed! There is no need for us to bring trouble on the landlord. Come to the Mound of the Yoshiwara.”
So they went to the Mound, and drawing their swords, began to fight furiously. As the news soon spread abroad through the Yoshiwara that a duel was being fought upon the Mound, the people flocked out to see the sight; and among them came Token Gombei and Shirobei, Banzayemon’s companions, who, when they saw that the combatants were their own friend and the strange Samurai, tried to interfere and stop the fight, but, being hindered by the thickness of the crowd, remained as spectators. The two men fought desperately, each driven by fierce rage against the other; but Sanza, who was by far the better fencer of the two, once, twice, and again dealt blows which should have cut Banzayemon down, and yet no blood came forth. Sanza, astonished at this, put forth all his strength, and fought so skilfully, that all the bystanders applauded him, and Banzayemon, though he knew his adversary’s sword to be blunted, was so terrified that he stumbled and fell. Sanza, brave soldier that he was, scorned to strike a fallen foe, and bade him rise and fight again. So they engaged again, and Sanza, who from the beginning had had the advantage, slipped and fell in his turn; Banzayemon, forgetting the mercy which had been shown to him, rushed up, with bloodthirsty joy glaring in his eyes, and stabbed Sanza in the side as he lay on the ground. Faint as he was, he could not lift his hand to save himself; and his craven foe was about to strike him again, when the bystanders all cried shame upon his baseness. Then Gombei and Shirobei lifted up their voices and said–
“Hold, coward! Have you forgotten how your own life was spared but a moment since? Beast of a Samurai, we have been your friends hitherto, but now behold in us the avengers of this brave man.”
With these words the two men drew their dirks, and the spectators fell back as they rushed in upon Banzayemon, who, terror-stricken by their fierce looks and words, fled without having dealt the death-blow to Sanza. They tried to pursue him, but he made good his escape, so the two men returned to help the wounded man. When he came to himself by dint of their kind treatment, they spoke to him and comforted him, and asked him what province he came from, that they might write to his friends and tell them what had befallen him. Sanza, in a voice faint from pain and loss of blood, told them his name and the story of the stolen sword, and of his enmity against Banzayemon. “But,” said he, “just now, when I was fighting, I struck Banzayemon more than once, and without effect. How could that have been?” Then they looked at his sword, which had fallen by his side, and saw that the edge was all broken away. More than ever they felt indignant at the baseness of Banzayemon’s heart, and redoubled their kindness to Sanza; but, in. spite of all their efforts, he grew weaker and weaker, until at last his breathing ceased altogether. So they buried the corpse honourably in an adjoining temple, and wrote to Sanza’s wife and son, describing to them the manner of his death.
Now when Sanza’s wife, who had long been anxiously expecting her husband’s return, opened the letter and learned the cruel circumstances of his death, she and her son Kosanza mourned bitterly over his loss. Then Kosanza, who was now fourteen years old, said to his mother–
“Take comfort, mother; for I will go to Yedo and seek out this Banzayemon, my father’s murderer, and I will surely avenge his death. Now, therefore, make ready all that I need for this journey.”
And as they were consulting over the manner of their revenge, Umanosuke, the son of Umanojo, whom Sanza had slain, having heard of the death of his father’s enemy, came to the house. But he came with no hostile intent. True, Sanza had killed his father, but the widow and the orphan were guiltless, and he bore them no ill-will; on the contrary, he felt that Banzayemon was their common enemy. It was he who by his evil deeds had been the cause of all the mischief that had arisen, and now again, by murdering Sanza, he had robbed Umanosuke of his revenge. In this spirit he said to Kosanza–
“Sir Kosanza, I hear that your father has been cruelly murdered by Banzayemon at Yedo. I know that you will avenge the death of your father, as the son of a soldier should: if, therefore, you will accept my poor services, I will be your second, and will help you to the best of my ability. Banzayemon shall be my enemy, as he is yours.”
“Nay, Sir Umanosuke, although I thank you from my heart, I cannot accept this favour at your hands. My father Sanza slew your noble father: that you should requite this misfortune thus is more than kind, but I cannot think of suffering you to risk your life on my behalf.”
“Listen to me,” replied Umanosuke, smiling, “and you will think it less strange that I should offer to help you. Last year, when my father lay a bleeding corpse on the sea-shore, your father made a covenant with me that he would return to give me my revenge, so soon as he should have regained the stolen sword. Banzayemon, by murdering him on the Mound of the Yoshiwara, has thwarted me in this; and now upon whom can I avenge my father’s death but upon him whose baseness was indeed its cause? Now, therefore, I am determined to go with you to Yedo, and not before the murders of our two fathers shall have been fully atoned for will we return to our own country.”
When Kosanza heard this generous speech, he could not conceal his admiration; and the widow, prostrating herself at Umanosuke’s feet, shed tears of gratitude.
The two youths, having agreed to stand by one another, made all ready for their journey, and obtained leave from their prince to go in search of the traitor Banzayemon. They reached Yedo without meeting with any adventures, and, taking up their abode at a cheap inn, began to make their inquiries; but, although they sought far and wide, they could learn no tidings of their enemy. When three months had passed thus, Kosanza began to grow faint-hearted at their repeated failures; but Umanosuke supported and comforted him, urging him to fresh efforts. But soon a great misfortune befell them: Kosanza fell sick with ophthalmia, and neither the tender nursing of his friend, nor the drugs and doctors upon whom Umanosuke spent all their money, had any effect on the suffering boy, who soon became stone blind. Friendless and penniless, the one deprived of his eyesight and only a clog upon the other, the two youths were thrown upon their own resources. Then Umanosuke, reduced to the last extremity of distress, was forced to lead out Kosanza to Asakusa to beg sitting by the roadside, whilst he himself, wandering hither and thither, picked up what he could from the charity of those who saw his wretched plight. But all this while he never lost sight of his revenge, and almost thanked the chance which had made him a beggar, for the opportunity which it gave him of hunting out strange and hidden haunts of vagabond life into which in his more prosperous condition he could not have penetrated. So he walked to and fro through the city, leaning on a stout staff, in which he had hidden his sword, waiting patiently for fortune to bring him face to face with Banzayemon.
[Illustration: TRICKS OF SWORDSMANSHIP AT ASAKUSA.]
Now Banzayemon, after he had killed Sanza on the Mound of the Yoshiwara, did not dare to show his face again in the house of Chobei, the Father of the Otokodate; for he knew that the two men, Token Gombei and Shirobei “the loose Colt,” would not only bear an evil report of him, but would even kill him if he fell into their hands, so great had been their indignation at his cowardly Conduct; so he entered a company of mountebanks, and earned his living by showing tricks of swordsmanship, and selling tooth-powder at the Okuyama, at Asakusa.[29] One day, as he was going towards Asakusa to ply his trade, he caught sight of a blind beggar, in whom, in spite of his poverty-stricken and altered appearance, he recognized the son of his enemy. Rightly he judged that, in spite of the boy’s apparently helpless condition, the discovery boded no weal for him; so mounting to the upper storey of a tea-house hard by, he watched to see who should come to Kosanza’s assistance. Nor had he to wait long, for presently he saw a second beggar come up and speak words of encouragement and kindness to the blind youth; and looking attentively, he saw that the new-comer was Umanosuke. Having thus discovered who was on his track, he went home and sought means of killing the two beggars; so he lay in wait and traced them to the poor hut where they dwelt, and one night, when he knew Umanosuke to be absent, he crept in. Kosanza, being blind, thought that the footsteps were those of Umanosuke, and jumped up to welcome him; but he, in his heartless cruelty, which not even the boy’s piteous state could move, slew Kosanza as he helplessly stretched out his hands to feel for his friend. The deed was yet unfinished when Umanosuke returned, and, hearing a scuffle inside the hut, drew the sword which was hidden in his staff and rushed in; but Banzayemon, profiting by the darkness, eluded him and fled from the hut. Umanosuke followed swiftly after him; but just as he was on the point of catching him, Banzayemon, making a sweep backwards with his drawn sword, wounded Umanosuke in the thigh, so that he stumbled and fell, and the murderer, swift of foot, made good his escape. The wounded youth tried to pursue him again, but being compelled by the pain of his wound to desist, returned home and found his blind companion lying dead, weltering in his own blood. Cursing his unhappy fate, he called in the beggars of the fraternity to which he belonged, and between them they buried Kosanza, and he himself being too poor to procure a surgeon’s aid, or to buy healing medicaments for his wound, became a cripple.
[Footnote 29: See Note at end of story.]
It was at this time that Shirai Gompachi, who was living under the protection of Chobei, the Father of the Otokodate, was in love with Komurasaki, the beautiful courtesan who lived at the sign of the Three Sea-shores, in the Yoshiwara. He had long exhausted the scanty supplies which he possessed, and was now in the habit of feeding his purse by murder and robbery, that he might have means to pursue his wild and extravagant life. One night, when he was out on his cutthroat business, his fellows, who had long suspected that he was after no good, sent one of their number, named Seibei, to watch him. Gompachi, little dreaming that any one was following him, swaggered along the street until he fell in with a wardsman, whom he cut down and robbed; but the booty proving small, he waited for a second chance, and, seeing a light moving in the distance, hid himself in the shadow of a large tub for catching rain-water till the bearer of the lantern should come up. When the man drew near, Gompachi saw that he was dressed as a traveller, and wore a long dirk; so he sprung out from his lurking-place and made to kill him; but the traveller nimbly jumped on one side, and proved no mean adversary, for he drew his dirk and fought stoutly for his life. However, he was no match for so skilful a swordsman as Gompachi, who, after a sharp struggle, dispatched him, and carried off his purse, which contained two hundred riyos. Overjoyed at having found so rich a prize, Gompachi was making off for the Yoshiwara, when Seibei, who, horror-stricken, had seen both murders, came up and began to upbraid him for his wickedness. But Gompachi was so smooth-spoken and so well liked by his comrades, that he easily persuaded Seibei to hush the matter up, and accompany him to the Yoshiwara for a little diversion. As they were talking by the way, Seibei said to Gompachi–
“I bought a new dirk the other day, but I have not had an opportunity to try it yet. You have had so much experience in swords that you ought to be a good judge. Pray look at this dirk, and tell me whether you think it good for anything.”
“We’ll soon see what sort of metal it is made of,” answered Gompachi. “We’ll just try it on the first beggar we come across.”
At first Seibei was horrified by this cruel proposal, but by degrees he yielded to his companion’s persuasions; and so they went on their way until Seibei spied out a crippled beggar lying asleep on the bank outside the Yoshiwara. The sound of their footsteps aroused the beggar, who seeing a Samurai and a wardsman pointing at him, and evidently speaking about him, thought that their consultation could bode him no good. So he pretended to be still asleep, watching them carefully all the while; and when Seibei went up to him, brandishing his dirk, the beggar, avoiding the blow, seized Seibei’s arm, and twisting it round, flung him into the ditch below. Gompachi, seeing his companion’s discomfiture, attacked the beggar, who, drawing a sword from his staff, made such lightning-swift passes that, crippled though he was, and unable to move his legs freely, Gompachi could not overpower him; and although Seibei crawled out of the ditch and came to his assistance, the beggar, nothing daunted, dealt his blows about him to such good purpose that he wounded Seibei in the temple and arm. Then Gompachi, reflecting that after all he had no quarrel with the beggar, and that he had better attend to Seibei’s wounds than go on fighting to no purpose, drew Seibei away, leaving the beggar, who was too lame to follow them, in peace. When he examined Seibei’s wounds, he found that they were so severe that they must give up their night’s frolic and go home. So they went back to the house of Chobei, the Father of the Otokodate, and Seibei, afraid to show himself with his sword-cuts, feigned sickness, and went to bed. On the following morning Chobei, happening to need his apprentice Seibei’s services, sent for him, and was told that he was sick; so he went to the room, where he lay abed, and, to his astonishment, saw the cut upon his temple. At first the wounded man refused to answer any questions as to how he had been hurt; but at last, on being pressed by Chobei, he told the whole story of what had taken place the night before. When Chobei heard the tale, be guessed that the valiant beggar must be some noble Samurai in disguise, who, having a wrong to avenge, was biding his time to meet with his enemy; and wishing to help so brave a man, he went in the evening, with his two faithful apprentices, Token Gombei and Shirobei “the loose Colt,” to the bank outside the Yoshiwara to seek out the beggar. The latter, not one whit frightened by the adventure of the previous night, had taken his place as usual, and was lying on the bank, when Chobei came up to him, and said–
“Sir, I am Chobei, the chief of the Otokodate, at your service. I have learnt with deep regret that two of my men insulted and attacked you last night. However, happily, even Gompachi, famous swordsman though he be, was no match for you, and had to beat a retreat before you. I know, therefore, that you must be a noble Samurai, who by some ill chance have become a cripple and a beggar. Now, therefore, I pray you tell me all your story; for, humble wardsman as I am, I may be able to assist you, if you will condescend to allow me.”
The cripple at first tried to shun Chobei’s questions; but at last, touched by the honesty and kindness of his speech, he replied–
“Sir, my name is Takagi Umanosuke, and I am a native of Yamato;” and then he went on to narrate all the misfortunes which the wickedness of Banzayemon had brought about.
“This is indeed a strange story,” said Chobei who had listened with indignation. “This Banzayemon, before I knew the blackness of his heart, was once under my protection. But after he murdered Sanza, hard by here, he was pursued by these two apprentices of mine, and since that day he has been no more to my house.”
When he had introduced the two apprentices to Umanosuke, Chobei pulled forth a suit of silk clothes befitting a gentleman, and having made the crippled youth lay aside his beggar’s raiment, led him to a bath, and had his hair dressed. Then he bade Token Gombei lodge him and take charge of him, and, having sent for a famous physician, caused Umanosuke to undergo careful treatment for the wound in his thigh. In the course of two months the pain had almost disappeared, so that he could stand easily; and when, after another month, he could walk about a little, Chobei removed him to his own house, pretending to his wife and apprentices that he was one of his own relations who had come on a visit to him.
After a while, when Umanosuke had become quite cured, he went one day to worship at a famous temple, and on his way home after dark he was overtaken by a shower of rain, and took shelter under the eaves of a house, in a part of the city called Yanagiwara, waiting for the sky to clear. Now it happened that this same night Gompachi had gone out on one of his bloody expeditions, to which his poverty and his love for Komurasaki drove him in spite of himself, and, seeing a Samurai standing in the gloom, he sprang upon him before he had recognized Umanosuke, whom he knew as a friend of his patron Chobei. Umanosuke drew and defended himself, and soon contrived to slash Gompachi on the forehead; so that the latter, seeing himself overmatched, fled under the cover of the night. Umanosuke, fearing to hurt his recently healed wound, did not give chase, and went quietly back to Chobei’s house. When Gompachi returned home, he hatched a story to deceive Chobei as to the cause of the wound on his forehead. Chobei, however, having overheard Umanosuke reproving Gompachi for his wickedness, soon became aware of the truth; and not caring to keep a robber and murderer near him, gave Gompachi a present of money, and bade him return to his house no more.
And now Chobei, seeing that Umanosuke had recovered his strength, divided his apprentices into bands, to hunt out Banzayemon, in order that the vendetta might be accomplished. It soon was reported to him that Banzayemon was earning his living among the mountebanks of Asakusa; so Chobei communicated this intelligence to Umanosuke, who made his preparations accordingly; and on the following morning the two went to Asakusa, where Banzayemon was astonishing a crowd of country boors by exhibiting tricks with his sword.
Then Umanosuke, striding through the gaping rabble, shouted out–
“False, murderous coward, your day has come! I, Umanosuke, the son of Umanojo, have come to demand vengeance for the death of three innocent men who have perished by your treachery. If you are a man, defend yourself. This day shall your soul see hell!”
With these words he rushed furiously upon Banzayemon, who, seeing escape to be impossible, stood upon his guard. But his coward’s heart quailed before the avenger, and he soon lay bleeding at his enemy’s feet.
But who shall say how Umanosuke thanked Chobei for his assistance; or how, when he had returned to his own country, he treasured up his gratitude in his heart, looking upon Chobei as more than a second father?
Thus did Chobei use his power to punish the wicked, and to reward the good–giving of his abundance to the poor, and succouring the unfortunate, so that his name was honoured far and near. It remains only to record the tragical manner of his death.
We have already told how my lord Midzuno Jiurozayemon, the chief of the associated nobles, had been foiled in his attempts to bring shame upon Chobei, the Father of the Otokodate; and how, on the contrary, the latter, by his ready wit, never failed to make the proud noble’s weapons recoil upon him. The failure of these attempts rankled in the breast of Jiurozayemon, who hated Chobei with an intense hatred, and sought to be revenged upon him. One day he sent a retainer to Chobei’s house with a message to the effect that on the following day my lord Jiurozayemon would be glad to see Chobei at his house, and to offer him a cup of wine, in return for the cold macaroni with which his lordship had been feasted some time since. Chobei immediately suspected that in sending this friendly summons the cunning noble was hiding a dagger in a smile; however, he knew that if he stayed away out of fear he would be branded as a coward, and made a laughing-stock for fools to jeer at. Not caring that Jiurozayemon should succeed in his desire to put him to shame, he sent for his favourite apprentice, Token Gombei, and said to him–
“I have been invited to a drinking-bout by Midzuno Jiurozayemon. I know full well that this is but a stratagem to requite me for having fooled him, and maybe his hatred will go the length of killing me. However, I shall go and take my chance; and if I detect any sign of foul play, I’ll try to serve the world by ridding it of a tyrant, who passes his life in oppressing the helpless farmers and wardsmen. Now as, even if I succeed in killing him in his own house, my life must pay forfeit for the deed, do you come to-morrow night with a burying-tub,[30] and fetch my corpse from this Jiurozayemon’s house.”
[Footnote 30: The lowest classes in Japan are buried in a squatting position, in a sort of barrel. One would have expected a person of Chobei’s condition and means to have ordered a square box. It is a mistake to suppose the burning of the dead to be universal in Japan: only about thirty per cent of the lower classes, chiefly belonging to the Monto sect of Buddhism, are burnt. The rich and noble are buried in several square coffins, one inside the other, in a sitting position; and their bodies are partially preserved from decay by filling the nose, ears, and mouth with vermilion. In the case of the very wealthy, the coffin is completely filled in with vermilion. The family of the Princes of Mito, and some other nobles, bury their dead in a recumbent position.]
Token Gombei, when he heard the “Father” speak thus, was horrified, and tried to dissuade him from obeying the invitation. But Chobei’s mind was fixed, and, without heeding Gombei’s remonstrances, he proceeded to give instructions as to the disposal of his property after his death, and to settle all his earthly affairs.
On the following day, towards noon, he made ready to go to Jiurozayemon’s house, bidding one of his apprentices precede him with a complimentary present.[31] Jiurozayemon, who was waiting with impatience for Chobei to come, so soon as he heard of his arrival ordered his retainers to usher him into his presence; and Chobei, having bade his apprentices without fail to come and fetch him that night, went into the house.
[Footnote 31: It is customary, on the occasion of a first visit to a house, to carry a present to the owner, who gives something of equal value on returning the visit.]
No sooner had he reached the room next to that in which Jiurozayemon was sitting than he saw that his suspicions of treachery were well founded; for two men with drawn swords rushed upon him, and tried to cut him down. Deftly avoiding their blows, however, he tripped up the one, and kicking the other in the ribs, sent him reeling and breathless against the wall; then, as calmly as if nothing had happened he presented himself before Jiurozayemon, who, peeping through a chink in the sliding-doors, had watched his retainers’ failure.
“Welcome, welcome, Master Chobei,” said he. “I always had heard that you were a man of mettle, and I wanted to see what stuff you were made of; so I bade my retainers put your courage to the test. That was a masterly throw of yours. Well, you must excuse this churlish reception: come and sit down by me.”
“Pray do not mention it, my lord,” said Chobei, smiling rather scornfully. “I know that my poor skill is not to be measured with that of a noble Samurai; and if these two good gentlemen had the worst of it just now, it was mere luck–that’s all.”
So, after the usual compliments had been exchanged, Chobei sat down by Jiurozayemon, and the attendants brought in wine and condiments. Before they began to drink, however, Jiurozayemon said–
“You must be tired and exhausted with your walk this hot day, Master Chobei. I thought that perhaps a bath might refresh you, so I ordered my men to get it ready for you. Would you not like to bathe and make yourself comfortable?”
Chobei suspected that this was a trick to strip him, and take him unawares when he should have laid aside his dirk. However, he answered cheerfully–
“Your lordship is very good. I shall be glad to avail myself of your kind offer. Pray excuse me for a few moments.”
So he went to the bath-room, and, leaving his clothes outside, he got into the bath, with the full conviction that it would be the place of his death. Yet he never trembled nor quailed, determined that, if he needs must die, no man should say he had been a coward. Then Jiurozayemon, calling to his attendants, said–
“Quick! lock the door of the bath-room! We hold him fast now. If he gets out, more than one life will pay the price of his. He’s a match for any six of you in fair fight. Lock the door, I say, and light up the fire under the bath;[32] and we’ll boil him to death, and be rid of him. Quick, men, quick!”
[Footnote 32: This sort of bath, in which the water is heated by the fire of a furnace which is lighted from outside, is called _Goyemon-buro,_ or Goyemon’s bath, after a notorious robber named Goyemon, who attempted the life of Taiko Sama, the famous general and ruler of the sixteenth century, and suffered for his crimes by being boiled to death in oil–a form of execution which is now obsolete.]
So they locked the door, and fed the fire until the water hissed and bubbled within; and Chobei, in his agony, tried to burst open the door, but Jiurozayemon ordered his men to thrust their spears through the partition wall and dispatch him. Two of the spears Chobei clutched and broke short off; but at last he was struck by a mortal blow under the ribs, and died a brave man by the hands of cowards.
[Illustration: THE DEATH OF CHOBEI OF BANDZUIN.]
That evening Token Gombei, who, to the astonishment of Chobei’s wife, had bought a burying-tub, came, with seven other apprentices, to fetch the Father of the Otokodate from Jiurozayemon’s house; and when the retainers saw them, they mocked at them, and said–
“What, have you come to fetch your drunken master home in a litter?”
“Nay,” answered Gombei, “but we have brought a coffin for his dead body, as he bade us.”
When the retainers heard this, they marvelled at the courage of Chobei, who had thus wittingly come to meet his fate. So Chobei’s corpse was placed in the burying-tub, and handed over to his apprentices, who swore to avenge his death. Far and wide, the poor and friendless mourned for this good man. His son Chomatsu inherited his property; and his wife remained a faithful widow until her dying day, praying that she might sit with him in paradise upon the cup of the same lotus-flower.
Many a time did the apprentices of Chobei meet together to avenge him; but Jiurozayemon eluded all their efforts, until, having been imprisoned by the Government in the temple called Kanyeiji, at Uyeno, as is related in the story of “Kazuma’s Revenge,” he was placed beyond the reach of their hatred.
So lived and so died Chobei of Bandzuin, the Father of the Otokodate of Yedo.
NOTE ON ASAKUSA
_Translated from a native book called the “Yedo Hanjoki,” or Guide to the prosperous City of Yedo, and other sources._
Asakusa is the most bustling place in all Yedo. It is famous for the Temple Sensoji, on the hill of Kinriu, or the Golden Dragon, which from morning till night is thronged with visitors, rich and poor, old and young, flocking in sleeve to sleeve. The origin of the temple was as follows:–In the days of the Emperor Suiko, who reigned in the thirteenth century A.D., a certain noble, named Hashi no Nakatomo, fell into disgrace and left the Court; and having become a Ronin, or masterless man, he took up his abode on the Golden Dragon Hill, with two retainers, being brothers, named Hinokuma Hamanari and Hinokuma Takenari. These three men being reduced to great straits, and without means of earning their living, became fishermen. Now it happened that on the 6th day of the 3rd month of the 36th year of the reign of the Emperor Suiko (A.D. 1241), they went down in the morning to the Asakusa River to ply their trade; and having cast their nets took no fish, but at every throw they pulled up a figure of the Buddhist god Kwannon, which they threw into the river again. They sculled their boat away to another spot, but the same luck followed them, and nothing came to their nets save the figure of Kwannon. Struck by the miracle, they carried home the image, and, after fervent prayer, built a temple on the Golden Dragon Hill, in which they enshrined it. The temple thus founded was enriched by the benefactions of wealthy and pious persons, whose care raised its buildings to the dignity of the first temple in Yedo. Tradition says that the figure of Kwannon which was fished up in the net was one inch and eight-tenths in height.
The main hall of the temple is sixty feet square, and is adorned with much curious workmanship of gilding and of silvering, so that no place can be more excellently beautiful. There are two gates in front of it. The first is called the Gate of the Spirits of the Wind and of the Thunder, and is adorned with figures of those two gods. The Wind-god, whose likeness is that of a devil, carries the wind-bag; and the Thunder-god, who is also shaped like a devil, carries a drum and a drumstick.[33] The second gate is called the Gate of the gods Nio, or the Two Princes, whose colossal statues, painted red, and hideous to look upon, stand on either side of it. Between the gates is an approach four hundred yards in length, which is occupied by the stalls of hucksters, who sell toys and trifles for women and children, and by foul and loathsome beggars. Passing through the gate of the gods Nio, the main hall of the temple strikes the eye. Countless niches and shrines of the gods stand outside it, and an old woman earns her livelihood at a tank filled with water, to which the votaries of the gods come and wash themselves that they may pray with clean hands. Inside are the images of the gods, lanterns, incense-burners, candlesticks, a huge moneybox, into which the offerings of the pious are thrown, and votive tablets[34] representing the famous gods and goddesses, heroes and heroines, of old. Behind the chief building is a broad space called the _okuyama_, where young and pretty waitresses, well dressed and painted, invite the weary pilgrims and holiday-makers to refresh themselves with tea and sweetmeats. Here, too, are all sorts of sights to be seen, such as wild beasts, performing monkeys, automata, conjurers, wooden and paper figures, which take the place of the waxworks of the West, acrobats, and jesters for the amusement of women and children. Altogether it is a lively and a joyous scene; there is not its equal in the city.
[Footnote 33: This gate was destroyed by fire a few years since.]
[Footnote 34: Sir Rutherford Alcock, in his book upon Japan, states that the portraits of the most famous courtesans of Yedo are yearly hung up in the temple at Asakusa. No such pictures are to be seen now, and no Japanese of whom I have made inquiries have heard of such a custom. The priests of the temple deny that their fane was ever so polluted, and it is probable that the statement is but one of the many strange mistakes into which an imperfect knowledge of the language led the earlier travellers in Japan. In spite of all that has been said by persons who have had no opportunity of associating and exchanging ideas with the educated men of Japan, I maintain that in no country is the public harlot more abhorred and looked down upon.]
At Asakusa, as indeed all over Yedo, are to be found fortunetellers, who prey upon the folly of the superstitious. With a treatise on physiognomy laid on a desk before them, they call out to this man that he has an ill-omened forehead, and to that man that the space between his nose and his lips is unlucky. Their tongues wag like flowing water until the passers-by are attracted to their stalls. If the seer finds a customer, he closes his eyes, and, lifting the divining-sticks reverently to his forehead, mutters incantations between his teeth. Then, suddenly parting the sticks in two bundles, he prophesies good or evil, according to the number in each. With a magnifying-glass he examines his dupe’s face and the palms of his hands. By the fashion of his clothes and his general manner the prophet sees whether he is a countryman or from the city. “I am afraid, sir,” says he, “you have not been altogether fortunate in life, but I foresee that great luck awaits you in two or three months;” or, like a clumsy doctor who makes his diagnosis according to his patient’s fancies, if he sees his customer frowning and anxious, he adds, “Alas! in seven or eight months you must beware of great misfortune. But I cannot tell you all about it for a slight fee:” with a long sigh he lays down the divining-sticks on the desk, and the frightened boor pays a further fee to hear the sum of the misfortune which threatens him, until, with three feet of bamboo slips and three inches of tongue, the clever rascal has made the poor fool turn his purse inside out.
The class of diviners called _Ichiko_ profess to give tidings of the dead, or of those who have gone to distant countries. The Ichiko exactly corresponds to the spirit medium of the West. The trade is followed by women, of from fifteen or sixteen to some fifty years of age, who walk about the streets, carrying on their backs a divining-box about a foot square; they have no shop or stall, but wander about, and are invited into their customers’ houses. The ceremony of divination is very simple. A porcelain bowl filled with water is placed upon a tray, and the customer, having written the name of the person with whom he wishes to hold communion on a long slip of paper, rolls it into a spill, which he dips into the water, and thrice sprinkles the Ichiko, or medium. She, resting her elbow upon her divining-box, and leaning her head upon her hand, mutters prayers and incantations until she has summoned the soul of the dead or absent person, which takes possession of her, and answers questions through her mouth. The prophecies which the Ichiko utters during her trance are held in high esteem by the superstitious and vulgar.
Hard by Asakusa is the theatre street. The theatres are called _Shiba-i_,[35] “turf places,” from the fact that the first theatrical performances were held on a turf plot. The origin of the drama in Japan, as elsewhere, was religious. In the reign of the Emperor Heijo (A.D. 805), there was a sudden volcanic depression of the earth close by a pond called Sarusawa, or the Monkey’s Marsh, at Nara, in the province of Yamato, and a poisonous smoke issuing from the cavity struck down with sickness all those who came within its baneful influence; so the people brought quantities of firewood, which they burnt in order that the poisonous vapour might be dispelled. The fire, being the male influence, would assimilate with and act as an antidote upon the mephitic smoke, which was a female influence.[36] Besides this, as a further charm to exorcise the portent, the dance called Sambaso, which is still performed as a prelude to theatrical exhibitions by an actor dressed up as a venerable old man, emblematic of long life and felicity, was danced on a plot of turf in front of the Temple Kofukuji. By these means the smoke was dispelled, and the drama was originated. The story is to be found in the _Zoku Nihon Ki_, or supplementary history of Japan.
[Footnote 35: In Dr. Hepburn’s Dictionary of the Japanese language, the Chinese characters given for the word _Shiba-i_ are _chi chang_ (_keih chang_, Morrison’s Dictionary), “theatrical arena.” The characters which are usually written, and which are etymologically correct, are _chih chue_ (_che keu_, Morrison), “the place of plants or turf plot.”]
[Footnote 36: This refers to the Chinese doctrine of the Yang and Yin, the male and female influences pervading all creation.]
Three centuries later, during the reign of the Emperor Toba (A.D. 1108), there lived a woman called Iso no Zenji, who is looked upon as the mother of the Japanese drama. Her performances, however, seem only to have consisted in dancing or posturing dressed up in the costume of the nobles of the Court, from which fact her dance was called Otoko-mai, or the man’s dance. Her name is only worth mentioning on account of the respect in which her memory is held by actors.
It was not until the year A.D. 1624 that a man named Saruwaka