CHAPTER I.
BOY AND GIRL

It was towards the end of the fourteenth century that the grandeur of the Hojo family rose to its acme, then fell with awful crash. The feudal story of the Land of the Rising Sun is a long dark chronicle of blood and tears, of crime and rapine, of vengeance and vendetta, out of which there glints at intervals a gleam of glorious heroism, of holy devotion, of pure love and unsullied faith.

In the stately roll of the great names of old Japan, there is none so terrible as Hojo. From time to time the patient people were ruled by one race or another of despots, cruel and selfish; the most cruel of all, the Hojos. Even now, after five hundred years of war and havoc, of vain aspirations, power misused, and wrecked ambitions, mothers still hush their babes to silence by breathing the dreaded name. The most destructive insect that ravages the fairest island in the world-the most voracious and omnivorous-is yet known as the Hojo beetle. When the first of the line erected a strong fortress-the Castle of Tsu, which will serve as background to many scenes in this our chronicle-he gave to it a bloody baptism, by burying beneath the foundations two hundred living men. Although their baleful course was marked by an ensanguined streak like a gory finger drawn across a map, they were not all black, these gruesome daimios, or even Buddha, whom we know to be deaf, and prone to somnolence, would earlier in the day have bestirred himself to punish them. Maybe Buddha drinks too much saké, for though we piously crack our finger-joints, and beat our palms, each morn at sunrise, and bang the gongs and pull the bell-strings each evening in the temple, he recks little of mere mundane worries, letting things go from bad to worse in grievous fashion. And yet, once roused to wakefulness, his vengeance is swift as the typhoon, as destructive and as sweeping.

No. The lurid Hojo cloud that for a hundred years brooded over long-suffering Japan, had silver breaks in it. The Mikados, as nominal rulers, dwelt at Kiŷoto; while the Shoguns, as military viceroys, reigned at Kamakura; but the dominating family, as wire-pullers, directed their movements from behind. The father of Hojo No-Kami, last of the race, had his good points. None of his supercilious ancestors was more superbly overbearing, more sublimely indifferent to human pain; and yet his worst enemies were compelled to admit that, if stern, his rule was sagacious. The Mikado, and his court of kugés or lords-in-waiting, shivered before him, for his dirk was loose in the scabbard, and the order promptly to depart into another world by uncompromising harakiri was ever trembling on his lips. During his career three emperors had been summoned to shave their heads and retire into monkish solitude, each puppet bowled over in its turn for daring to dispute his will; and yet the very fact of his disdaining to mask the iron hand under the glove of silk, even in dealing with the highest, compelled the unwilling admiration of his turbulent and light-hearted countrymen.

The upper class-Samurai, two-sword men, hatamotos, soldiers-could appreciate his martial bearing, as, in gallant bravery of scarlet armour and gold-studded helm, he rode forth to battle, with his martial wife beside him. For the beautiful Tomoyé was a fit mother for lion whelps. Of great personal strength as well as graceful carriage, sheathed in armour like her lord, astride on a swift horse, she was ever in the van of conflict. With her own hand she cut off the head of a rival daimio who crossed swords with her; and when her lord died, pierced through the heart by an arrow she fought till she fell beside him. The lower class of the unarmed-mechanics, mere farmers, paltry merchants-could also from their inferior standpoint admire their ruler, whilst grieving at his rough treatment of the Holy Mikado-mystic head of all-for he protected the workers of the hive from the depredations of other tyrants. The burthen of taxes was nicely weighed to suit the backs of the bearers. The ken of the Hojo was as piercing, and minutely attentive to details, as it was farsighted. A petition from the elders of the meanest village was sure of immediate attention. No petty feudal master, however recklessly bold or savagely contemptuous, dared to overstep his rights.

The result of the adamantine rule of the last Hojo but one was peace. The land that was given over usually to turmoil and bloodshed, with intervals of complete anarchy, enjoyed rest for fifteen years, during which the despot set himself to consolidate his power, and fix yet more firmly the family yoke on the necks of lords and people.

He had two sons, the elder of whom-by Japanese paradox-was treated as if he had been the younger. Sampei, three years older than No-Kami, was the offspring of a second wife or concubine. The latter, heir-apparent, was the whelp of the war-queen Tomoyé. Now in Japan concubinage is a recognised institution, and the son of the handmaid is no bastard. And yet the child of the bondwoman is not co-heir with the child of the free. The latter, in the case of a great family, is undisputed head of the clan, and to him the former owes allegiance, however much older in years, in the same degree as lesser clansmen. The institution is so firmly welded into the constitution of the land as, save in a few cases, to preclude jealousy.

Of course, as in all Eastern countries, ambitious men have striven to supplant their brothers-have hacked off their heads and reigned in their stead-but this does not affect the principle. The two sons of Hojo grew up side by side in perfect amity. Together they learned to ride and wield the sword and spear under the approving gaze of their martial parents. They were both soldiers-with a difference. Even Tomoyé was forced to admit that of the twain Sampei, son of the concubine, was the most promising. His nature was clear and bright as running water, simple and unsmirched, unlike that of the heir-apparent. None more brave than he, more quick and skilful with his weapons, more ready to smite hard and heavily; and yet on occasion he could be soft and tender as a woman. A polished politeness and chivalrous demeanour were so innate in him as to win the admiration of the ladies. For seductive luxury he had nothing but contempt. No-Kami, on the other hand, if brave and skilled in arms, was fierce and selfish and debauched; overfond of the harem and perfumed bath and saké cup; sullen, too, as an ill-conditioned animal; brutal to women, ruthlessly tossing them aside like shattered toys when sated with their charms. People nodded their pates and whispered of him the timeworn proverb which says that there is no seed to a great man. In sooth it has ever been a common thing in this otherwise favoured land to see a great house crumble into speedy ruin through the supineness and debauchery of its sons.

There was no need for anxiety as to the future of Sampei. A soldier and a gentleman to the tips of his trim finger-nails, his career, in the most war-ridden of countries, was carved clear before him. It came to pass that Corea, conquered long since by the Amazon Empress Jingo, threw off allegiance.. Who more fitted than doughty young Sampei to reduce the rebel to obedience? Accordingly, five years before this story opens, the gay young general, full of life and hope, and rippling with high spirits, bade a respectful farewell to the father he was never to see again, a more tender one of his fond mother, Masago, who, like many another discarded concubine, was now the Abbess of a convent, and sailed with a fleet and army for Corea, whence news arrived from time to time, praising his deeds of valour.

As for the future of No-Kami, it was more difficult to prophesy, and his parents were no little anxious. His prospects were splendid; but although his father had endeavoured to foresee contingencies, and build barriers against accidents, the path of the next tyrant must needs be beset with thorns. His rôle in the future would be arduous, thick strewn with snares and difficulties. To keep the entourage of the Mikado in subjection-to hold the daimios-powerful and wealthy princes as sturdy as the barons of the English John-in the requisite condition of meekness, would require more statecraft, diplomacy, and force of iron will, than could be expected of a model youth. And No-Kami, as we have seen, was by no means a model youth. None knew better than his astute and experienced parent how difficult to a young man this task would prove; none was more distinctly aware of the frail tenure of a despot's life. At any moment he, the father, might be taken, and what then would happen to his boy?

Treachery stalks through the history of Japan. At any instant the dominant Hojo might be murdered under his son's eyes. Would the self-indulgent No-Kami be prepared with vigorous promptitude to avenge the slain, and, seizing the dropped reins, pursue his policy? Both father and mother sadly shook their heads. Even their partial vision could not but perceive that the hope of the house was a leper, abnormally sinful, inclined to become a sybarite. Was this young man to be left to steer the bark without a pilot? Certainly not. In case of anything unexpected arising, a staff must be prepared for him to lean upon. A man must be placed by his side, old in years and in experience, whose position and wisdom would command respect, whose interest it would be to bestow sound advice and timely sage reproof.

What better guide than a prudent father-in-law? What surer loadstone to lure an embryo debauchee from the muddy byways of low company than a beautiful patrician bride? one of the pure and slender, refined and high-bred maidens of noble lineage-fair and sweet as the fragrant mountain-lily-who now, as five hundred years ago, are the brightest glory of Japan.

A crafty combination this on the part of the warrior-statesman, which would doubtless have been crowned with success, if he had not chanced to live in a world where mischievous spirits delight in frustrating plans the most cleverly matured. Tomoyé heard, and listened dubiously. Even among the most elevated Japanese, as well as in the highest European circles, papas and mammas will differ as to the ideal bride. What was the precise article that would suit No-Kami? Unfortunately there was not time to have one specially ordered. Since perfection is chary of repetition, it was not to be expected that another Tomoyé-a stern yet loving lioness-could be found for the precious youth. Indeed, so recreant a scion was he of the stock, that he might have objected possibly to a muscular and fiery wife whose pastime was the chopping of heads. And yet not so. A true lion-whelp was he in blood enjoyment. Even the low-born Geisha singing girls who stocked his harem, had often cried under his buffets, and shouted shame, with tears, at his barbarous treatment of his servants.

Alas! how sad it is that even the most sapient in mundane experience will be guilty of errors sometimes that are patent to the lesser fry. Is it over-anxiety that blinds them? The problem was to put the finger on a great noble-daimio among daimios-who could compare in descent and grandeur almost with the line of Hojo; who, of weight in counsel, and rather cool than hot, would stem precipitate rashness. He must have no son, and but one daughter, and devoid therefore of the ambition which accompanies male issue, must adopt his daughter's husband as his son; and by thus uniting the two families in closest bonds, make their interests identical. The child of the magnate (given that the two were found) must be mentally perfect, and a vision of corporeal loveliness.

"My dear!" quoth the broad-shouldered but practical Tomoyé, as with one eye critically closed she assayed the temper of a brand new sword. The lady was apt to get vexed when her lord grew warm and garrulous. "My dear," she observed, "we have many rounds of mortal life to climb ere, reaching the summit, we attain Nirvana. Though you are good enough to be blind to my blemishes, even I am not quite perfect. Perfection, in our present low cycle, is so very scarce, you know." With this she beamed upon her lord, whilst artlessly belying her words by approvingly fingering her muscles. She was inwardly aware, with pardonable pride, that no other daimio's daughter could boast such an arm as hers.

My lord was provoked, and rubbed his nose. When you are erecting airy towers, practical people are exasperating. It was evident she had gained a point, so she proceeded to follow it up.

"Where in broad Japan do you propose to seek these paragons? This pink of perfect daimios, and his yet more model child?"

There was a tendency to irreverence in this tone, which required nipping in the bud. The eye of the Mikado's master shot forth a gleam, before which even the lioness cowered. When his mind was made up, the Hojo brooked no argument.

"Be it as you will!" Tomoyé dutifully murmured. "My lord is all-wise, all-powerful; his wife his willing slave. Go forth and seek the paragons, and let us hope you will find them soon."

To please him whom she loved best on earth, Tomoyé made believe to be convinced; and yet her woman's tact whispered down in the deep recesses of her manly bosom, that my lord, for all his wiliness, was wrong; that he was building a fool's paradise far up in Œther, out of which her dear boy might tumble.

Curious to relate, the paragons concerning whom she was tempted to be disrespectful were not far to seek. With but little hocus-pocus father and daughter were conjured on the scene, as absolutely the "very thing," to all appearance, as the cunning Hojo had conceived them. He declared as much at least, and dutiful Tomoyé acquiesced, slightly pinching her lips in silent protest. Instead of the "very thing" which was to bring about complete success before its time in our weary pilgrimage of cycles, the mother's instinct beheld with prophetic vision, in the proposed alliance, the worst elements of discord and defeat, – of so dire and dread a tragedy as should shake Japan to its centre, and annihilate the dominating house. Yet who was she, the warrior wife reflected in her humility, to set up puny instincts against the ripened statecraft of my lord? Her muscles were better than her brains. Should she presume to know more than he who held in his hand Mikado, nobles, people? – whose nod was law in the land beloved of Buddha? who had preserved it from contamination from without? Her place was to bend before the will of the dictator, and offer prayers for her husband and her son.

* * * * *

The most perfectly poetic spot in all poetic Japan, whose ensanguined history is made beauteous to the eye of a fastidious posterity by the flora of chivalry and valour, is Nara.

Lovely and secluded, sweet-smelling and umbrageous Nara! The Nara of to-day-how much more the Nara of five hundred years ago-suggests to the incursive foreigner a bit of Eden's garden.