University of Virginia Library

I. The Lady Natsu

I was made specially to order for the great Marquis Shomu Jokichi, who was my original master and owner. His family had for many centuries been one of the most powerful under the Tokugawa dynasty[2], and he himself had at one time been lord of all Kummomotta. They belonged to that proud and heroic class of Japanese called the samurai, and were one of the families who suffered death and disaster at the time of the restoration of the government system, when all classes of people became recognized equally. To-day the samurai class is practically extinct in Japan. Withal their vaunted heroism and apparent cool scorn for death; in spite of the fact that the samurai were ever ready to espouse the cause of the weak and protect those who appealed to them, they were, nevertheless, as a class, essentially tyrannous and oppressive, taking advantage of their rank to commit the most outrageous and lawless acts. I fancy that the power vested in the samurai was too unlimited, and they lost sight of the fine principles of their calling in their pride. They were proud of being the Shogun's bodyguard, and under his special protection. Though inferior in rank and income, they refused to bow to the daimyo,[3] whom they despised as boors and cowards, kept in power solely by their hereditary possessions, and they lost no opportunity of showing their contempt. The result was, ever eager for brawls, they often forced quarrels in the street, and exercised to the full the samurai's privilege of killing at will any harmless citizen in their bad books. They naturally in time became very much detested and had countless enemies; on one hand the daimyo, on the other the common people, who had enough spirit to resist them.

And yet, the finest, most noble, in fact, the very flower of the country, were found chiefly among this class. Men of the highest principle and honor, who could not have been otherwise than just and upright, and who were in every way an honor to their calling, these were forced to suffer and bear much opprobrium because of the acts of those who, either from impetuosity or wickedness, made themselves and, therefore, their class, obnoxious to all.

Notable for his goodness, kindness, and justice in those hot and feudal days was my master. Ever ready to keep the peace, and serve the Shogun loyally and well, he, after many years of devoted and unselfish service, retired to his castle which was situated on the shore of the Hayama within sight of Fuji-yama, the peerless mountain, and only a few hours ride from Tokyo.

And it was to his home that I was taken, and where I spent the first few years of my life.

The Marquis Shomu's family consisted of himself, his wife, and his daughter,[4] the Lady Natsu, whose name means summer. And she was fair as the fairest blush of a summer day!

She was a child when I first came to the family, and we fell in love with each other at sight. Every day her maid would lead her by the hand from the house, and every retainer or servant within sight would bow almost to the ground as she passed, as a mark of respect, and in token that they would serve and protect her forever. Then she would be lifted into my heart (I always like to speak of that part of me as my heart), the maid would clamber in beside her, and away we'd go, and all along the road Lady Natsu would lisp and prattle and chatter and laugh, till it seemed as of the whole world were made of sunshine and smiles. Ah! those were happy days!

She was a child of nature, and nature loved and gave her likeness to her child. Sometimes the runners would run for miles without pausing once. They were the swiftest- footed runners I have ever seen in my day. The runners of to-day—bah! what with their lying and stealing and wheedling! But Ido and Omi, never were there two such jolly, light-hearted, good-natured creatures! And so it was with all the servants and retainers of my lord's household. It seemed as if he could only draw about him the good.

Sometimes we would pause by shady spots along the Hayama, some of them luxuriantly beautiful, lovely as a fairyland dream. The slow, scintillating waters of the Hayama, the dazzling blaze of the fields, the endless blue of the skies, nature thrilled with her beauty, and Natsu!—she laughed and laughed and laughed. She was happy—we were all happy!

Thus, for ten happy years I was the constant companion of the Lady Natsu. She scarcely went out of the house but it was to be taken somewhere by me, for she was the daughter of a noble, and it would have been unseemly for her to have walked. On the sleeves of all her beautiful gowns there was a gold crest, and the crest was exactly like that painted on my back in gold. The maid would carry their lunches in dainty lacquer boxes that bore the same gold crest.

Sometimes the Lady Natsu would wish to alight while she ate her lunch, and though the maid would not have dared to permit her to do so, had they been within sight of the castle, yet she became quite lax while in the woods, and would even permit her little mistress to perch on one of my shafts held by the runners, whilst she chatted with them and shared her little luncheon just as if she were not the daughter of a great lord, but simply a shining, beautiful little sunbeam!

And the tales she would tell them, the songs she would sing! Sometimes the maid would smuggle a samisen[5] under one of my cushions, and then they would hold the widest, gayest concerts right in the open air. Ido and Omi would go through the most extravagant contortions and antics, to please their little mistress, the maid would play the samisen, and the Lady Natsu would sing and dance. Then, when they would start for home, her head would fall sleepily back against the maid, Oyoshi, and she would murmur, “Please, Oyoshi-san, do not tell my father,” for she feared he would consider this conduct unbecoming, as she was being brought up with all the care and strictness bestowed on the daughters of nobles.

When the Lady Natsu was about fifteen years of age, a terrible disaster overtook her father's household.

With the fall of the dynasty, the samurai lost their rank and power, though as with the last gasp of the dying, they fought for their lords and their rights. A great part of them were killed in frays; many families met together and solemnly took their lives, rather than suffer the disgrace of subjection by those they had ever deemed their inferiors. Among these were my master and mistress. Their estates had been confiscated, their retainers scattered. I will never forget that night, when the souls of my beloved master and his gentle wife passed from their earthly bodies and started on the long, long road to the Meido[6] together. Deserted by friends, hunted by foes, their lands laid to waste, and their wealth stolen, they decided that death surely was more honorable and bearable than life. Faithful to the end, Oyoshi, the maid, remained with them, weeping and sharing with them their sorrows. But when they told her of their honorable decision to die, and bade her bring to them their child, the Lady Natsu, so she, too, might accompany them, Oyoshi wept more bitterly than ever.

She knelt at her young mistress's feet as she told her of the command of her parents, and begged that she be permitted to give her own life in place of her young mistress's.

The Lady Natsu's face blanched whiter than the snows that reflect the sunshine and shadows of Fuji-yama, but her voice was quite steady as she made calm answer:

“Tell my parents that I will go with them. I am willing to obey their august will in all things,” and with these filial words, she began to robe herself in the purest and finest of silks, for she was the daughter of a samurai, and in her veins flowed the rich blood of bravery and heroism.

When she had finished dressing herself, she went all through the house, bidding farewell to all the loved objects of her sweet life; she kissed the sacred stones and wept before an image of Kwannon, the great goddess of mercy. Then she passed out of the castle, for she wished also to say farewell to the things of nature that had known and loved her.

It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was shining in a gentle, mild, caressing way. Everywhere the exquisite delight of the whitest, pinkest of cherry and plum blossoms against a sky of vivid blue! Natsu sobbed as she gazed at it all. Ah! she was so vital, so full of life! She could not contemplate death with the calmness and indifference of her august ancestors.

And, lastly, she came to me, to say farewell to the old jinrikisha that she had known from childhood. She leaned her head against me in silence. I do not know whether she was thinking of me or not. Perhaps from where I stood at the top of a hill she had a fair vantage point from which to see the beauty of the place she was about to leave. But I like better to think it was sorrow at parting with me that made her climb suddenly into my heart, close her eyes and nestle far back.

I do not know what possessed me. My heart was full. I felt I must do something to save her life. A sudden wild wind moved me a trifle; my back was turned toward the hill, my shafts from it. Suddenly I began to roll—down, down, down—on and on—down the long interminable hill. What forced me along, I cannot say, and worst of all, I felt I was losing all command of myself.

The Lady Natsu sat up and held on to my sides with wide eyes of terror and shrieked aloud. When I came to a standstill, I was quite a distance from the base of the hill, and one of my shafts was broken right off. I stopped with a great jerk, and the Lady Natsu, who had fainted from fright, fell to the ground.

She lay there all that night. The next morning a party of citizens on their road to Tokyo came across us, and brought the girl back to consciousness. They felt very sorry for her, and treated her as gently as they knew how. They told her her parents were now dead, and one of them advised her to go along with them. The girl was weak and trembling, but the sweet, brave spirit in her still was there. She saw there was other women with them, and that they looked good and kind; she understood that her parents were dead, that the samurai's power had fallen, that she had nought to depend on but herself, and she still loved life. She went with them.

I was a good deal smashed and battered by my tumble and roll down the hill. On reaching Tokyo, I was sold to a daimyo for a small sum in gold; this man afterward traded me to a merchant for debt, who in turn sold me as a second-hand vehicle to a public jinrikisha stand, where I served for many, many years.

Only once again I saw my mistress, the Lady Natsu. I had been hired with several other jinrikishas to carry a large party of pleasure seekers to a picturesque tea-garden on the highway between Yedo and Kyoto. As I passed in at the gate, a number of giggling, gay geisha girls ran laughingly down to welcome the party. I thought I heard a familiar voice. It was singing the beautiful, though sad, song, “Sayonara” (Good-night). As the last weird, piercing notes died away, she rose to her feet and joined the other girls at the gate. Then I saw her quite plainly. She was the Lady Natsu!—the same, but not the same. She was beautiful, aye! more beautiful than ever, but on her face there was the stamp of repressed pain and tragedy, and as she saw me—and I think she recognized me—her eyes were drowned in a mist of tears.

Her gowns were still of the finest silk, still very rich, and, yes, still bore the proud crest of her ancestors.

I want to say that many of the daughters of the samurai after the Restoration took up the calling of the geisha girl, and, in fact, may have been the first original ones. It was necessary for them to be beautiful, clever, accomplished. This they were, and more; for they were modest, gentle, virtuous, and refined. The geisha girl of today is common and coarse in comparison. Many great lords, daimyos and nobles chose for their brides girls working in this capacity, so that some of them at least were restored to a life that resembled the luxury and ease to which they had been brought up and become accustomed. Whether the Lady Natsu met this happy fate, I do not know, but I have never ceased to pray the great Goddess of Mercy to dry her tears.