Marching down the valley, set with peaceful homes, disturbed only by the retreating fragments of a broken and routed army, twice the size of his but then endangered advance, Ieyasu marvelled the instability, the pliableness, the simplicity, and withal the potency of man.

The mountains around sat upon their base, unmovable, except at the cost of total annihilation; vegetation retained its vitality, till stricken from the root giving sustenance; wild beasts at bay, fought unto death. But man, he above all others, turned his heels at the commonest occasion, more than any other creature here on earth stupidly hearkened the devil, willingly disobeyed the divinest of injuncts, “know thyself.” It resolved that the more his liberty were granted the less intelligence he retained; and yet a new civilization had come to their door, knocking, and carrying with it seeds of discontent, quarrelling over methods of government, as unsettled about the origin of man as uncertain of God’s (Kami’s) prevision.

“Away with such nonsense,” threatened he, traveling along, fully resolved. “These hills and valleys have held to the truer doctrine since Izanagi and Izanami (the god and the goddess principles positive and negative), meeting upon the floating bridge of heaven, did as God (Kami) willed, placing man upon this earth to do and survive His edict and that only. Speculate as you will, man hears no ultimate relation to the things placed here for his use and sustenance. He is descended from above: let the jungle answer to his call; intelligence looks heavenward: the throne unmistakably echoes the voice of God.”

And in that revelation, as before, perfumed with the creeping, sheltering azalea, Ieyasu discerned the hand of Yodogima. He would now hasten to her and claim what then he had the courage to refuse. God had preserved her for him and him for her. The failure of Hideyasu, his own son, had come as a fitting rebuke to the devil lurking underneath: his soul at last seemed purified; the fragrance, the divinity of love now found within a befitting response; the mind cleared in its vision, strengthened of a will untarnished, the soul cried out, livid and alluring—God had willed him great, and in that love, which had not once failed him, the godhead unfolded atop that it is not a province or pleasure to doubt and question.

Christianity had set up faith as gospel, which had fallen at the first stand; courage faced it, divided them, and crushed theirs: his edict alone should suffice to banish as much forever from the land: what more the breath of a goddess; one fraught with the inspiration of victory; a living example of the divinity of man; the very incarnation of purity; her transcendant ideal worthy of his most uncompromising sanctity—Ieyasu, penitent, in the face of all that had gone before, regardless of doubting men’s opinions or the carping tongues of unfitted women, still believed Yodogima inviolate: held her incapable of word or deed suggestive though befitting.

“My foot is upon the dragon’s neck: appear, goddess divine; it is I who speaks!” commanded he, halting at the mountain’s crest, overlooking the spreading valley, where reposed the harbinger of his fancied haven.

The hero of Sekigahara had dreamed before, husbanded a love absorbing virtues as intense, but never had reality seemed as close as now. Fired at the thought of mastery, he would drink deeper than ideality had bidden, quaff at last the golden elixir of a realized fount, bring down to earth heaven’s supremest joy and trend thence the glad onrush with the prize of living securely resting willingly and unbidden in his arms.

The heavens over him rent in twain, and out of the once unfathomed gap there streamed the warmth and radiance of Amaterasu, grand, inspiring, and withal so promising. The light of love cast its halo over the peaceful, towering walls of Ozaka: the face of Yodogima stood out smilingly against a background of blue there reflected, overset the dark, envisaged canopy of time sweltering and seething underneath.

“She is mine—God, she is mine!” swore he, stamping down the hill-slope, his veins dilated, and expression overjoyed.

There, in the sunlight, high over the emblazoned embattlements, with the gates closed, an army of faithful defenders, at either side, overhead, and at every turret stationed, the hills and valley responding to the glad visitation of now rapidly receding, romping rain clouds, Yodogima pleasingly returned that message which holds dearer than life the truth of existence.

“It is he!” cried she, “God knows that I love him—see! He has made the very elements oblivious to any denial. Oh, Ieyasu; fail me not. What are these dead and living things, but for you? Hasten, oh hasten; dread moments fly; he comes; bravo!”

Hurrying maids, and mirrors, and treasures dear, told the welcome that then awaited his coming. Cranes white as snow stalked lazily in the reed marshes, and flowers precious perfumed the gardens in readiness. Spotless floors and walls of golden lacquer again hushed with expectancy. There were cuckoos now of rarest note, and banks and borders of geishas to enliven every step, and charm—the soul poured out its abundance, the heart trembled at only thought, the mind waxed eager and resplendent, and the tongue failed her:

“Come, oh come—my lover, come!”

Down at the gates, across the moats, underneath the outer walls, of those triple terraced embankments, from the housed-over plain at the bottom, to the terraced enclosures above, an ardent, anxious, confident man rapped impatiently, hotly, daringly for admission.

“Who comes there?” rang out huskily, at the tunnelled-out entrance.

Ieyasu paused; the defiance seemed as if from below. No such sound had disturbed his fancied right since the days when a worthier blade dared invoke the blessings of denial, and the dull grindings of an indiscernable machine, the tireless demands of an unfaltering conventionality, startled him into questioning verily the survival of anything.

“There must be some mistake,” ventured he, coldly pondering the consequence of his arrest.

“No; there is none,” answered the keeper, in order; “travellers should make sure that they are prepared, before seeking entrance to a strange place; the princess, Yodogima, resides within, and as observed you have come a long way, with a large retinue, and must be desirous of some rest and recreation. Pray you, keep without, till quite ready; the princess just now implores: I command it.”

“But I am not a stranger here: the princess wills me enter.”

“Just so. Therefore look you well that deed and will carry corresponding virtues, before the one lower in consequence invokes another higher in authority. Come, prepare yourself; it has been done, before.”

“Ieyasu waits on none; I have the means at hand to enforce my way.”

“So you have, but consider first the defence; no man passes here except at his peril.”

Ieyasu withdrew, and Kyogoku reported the circumstance to his superior, Kitagira; who had dispatched him for his audacity had not Jokoin appeared to prevent it; Ieyasu had sent her in to inquire the reason of his refusal; she, counseling Yodogima, sought to fasten the blame upon Kitagira; thus saving her own husband, for purposes of her own, at the expense of Kitagira, an innocent man; whom Ieyasu forthwith insisted should be dismissed and banished, before himself consenting to an audience with Yodogima; having sooner effected his own entrance past Kyogoku in the disguise of a woman’s palanquin.

“Ieyasu refuses to see me, except the child’s guardian be dismissed?” repeated Yodogima, thoughtfully.

“That is the advice,” replied Harunaga, who had interceded to save Kitagira.

“Then let Kitagira produce Ieyasu; here, in audience; he has the force with which to do it: if he have not the courage, why, then, Ieyasu may dismiss him; I have, as it is, really no occasion for doing so—but, I want to see Ieyasu.”

Kitagira vacillated; he believed Harunaga’s growing influence over Hideyori and estimate by the mother unwarranted, and would have married Yodogima to Ieyasu at once had he not discerned in that the ultimate defeat of Hideyoshi, the deceased taiko’s succession. Said he, to Hayami Morihisa, a captain of the Ozaka guard:

“Ieyasu plans to wed Yodogima and substitute himself in authority over Hideyori: what we must do is to gain time. Let him take her as hostage, if he choose, but see to it that no marriage take place while the son is yet under age. Hideyori is an intelligent lad, and capable of crushing Hidetada or any other of Ieyasu’s descendants, but in the meantime, we should let Ieyasu die; to go against him now, with the crushed and defeated Christians acknowledging Ozaka’s protection, would be but to invite defeat; the daimyos and captains of established faith would, to a man, rally to the cause of Ieyasu.”

You reason well, Kitagira,” replied Hayami, thereat approved in what he said by the remainder of the seven captains, “but Harunaga, as a man, could not recommend it, and his advice is paramount at court. Nor would, nor should the daimyos submit to Yodogima’s virtual imprisonment; the taiko never contemplated any such irreverence, and I am sure that she, herself, to-day, with a voice unequalled by any other, among all classes, throughout the land, once able to resist Hideyoshi, himself, as she was, would hardly consent to a degradation of the sort you suggest, or so belittle herself and those dependent upon her as to fawn favors for or of anybody. I shall advise Harunaga of your plans and let him decide; he stands best in favor with Yodogima.”

And he did so, forthwith.

“It is a make-believe,” replied she, to Harunaga, who had related the proposal, truthfully and unreservedly; “Ieyasu is not so much to fear—yet I shall not dismiss Kitagira; he is a creature of Ieyasu’s, and my best and only pawn. Does Ieyasu still refuse me a visit?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“Please do not call me ‘dear’; it is enough to retain one’s confidence in men, without their overstepping bounds granted. But this Ieyasu: where is he now, that he can refuse?”

“Inside the castle grounds, and not so very far distant, either, your ladyship.”

“Not ‘your ladyship’, Harunaga; I said it should be ‘Yodogima’—I do believe the world itself shall sooner or later grow into a veritable machine.”

“Yodogima!”

“That is more to my liking. Why everybody or anybody so impersonal? But Ieyasu: I shall go to him, he refusing to come to me: perhaps Kitagira may thus retain his head, and I my lover. What think you, Harunaga?”

“I am at your service.”

“And I can trust you; results are the best sort of proof.”

The fires had by this time considerably abated, and out of the glowing embers there burned a warmth as steady and as sure as the reactional beating back upon a passionate ordainedly evolves within life’s exultant strand. Ieyasu sulked, and Yodogima took heart; his brow darkened, and her intention waxed the brighter; had his will been permitted, her lot need not have been resolved, for he would have her shorn of every influence but his; he believed her pure, and out of his blamelessness and its correlative demands had come reflection: making it possible for Yodogima to decide upon revealing the exact light in which she responded—the only meed of a living affinity.

“I hope I find you comfortable, and—”

“In a good humor,” responded he, to her half spoken address; barely turning to recognize her, as she approached, considerately; bowing as became her and the niceties of the situation prompted.

“Yes,” replied she, unabashed; “I am, and why should Ieyasu not be in as fair mood?”

“Perhaps I ought to be, but I cannot quite bring myself to believe that I am as deserving. You make sport with me, I do so myself, and the world is no different than we.”

“It is more alluring, however, I take it, in the case of some than of others. Look underneath the smiles, Ieyasu; it is not all gold that glitters; perchance my heart may have bled, is bleeding this very minute; do not consider me happy, till—”

“I am out of the way,” interceded he, not one whit thawed or observant.

“Look at me,” commanded she, her very frame racking with a passion that he, in his coldness, had not the power to comprehend.

“You do love me, then,” stammered Ieyasu, ravenously reading the words so lengthily written for his dull eyes to feast faun-like upon.

“Love you? I presume you know what it is to love? I do.”

“Yodogima! Forgive me,” plead he, the clouds vanishing as they had gathered: uncontrolled and misapprehended.

“Yes; but not with the assurance you possess,” replied Yodogima, more anxious to divulge than he were ready to exact, now, any secret incapable of ingraining or outliving a nature as commonplace as his.

The princess had seated herself, at leisure, a little in front of the rapidly recovering lover, whose ardor would again have bordered the extreme had not her last admonition once more set him thinking. But Ieyasu’s mind moved like a tortoise, and Yodogima flushed a little, no doubt at the prospect of having to reach a bit deeper into that unthinkable comprehension of his—with which she had wrestled mostly since their meeting underneath the really suggestive azalea.

Ieyasu observed, however, the one indiscretion, and would have bowed to the mat, at her feet—no closer contact being permitted, either in heart or at will, by the bushido and of choice—but for Yodogima’s further cautioning:

“Pray do not prostrate yourself; the victor may not prove to have been worthy.”

Ieyasu held himself, sat there in bended fashion, considering half-doubtfully, half-consciously the warning. A thousand possibilities leaped to the fore, suddenly and provokingly. Had he been wrong, and her detractors truthful; were she clever, and he over-trustful; did some terrible revelation parch those lips he had sworn divine; or was it the idle mockings of his own brutal response that troubled her and mystified him?

“Tell me, Yodogima—no, no; you must not; it would kill me; it is not true; they speak falsely—shall this weapon vindicate me, or you, Yodogima; you have but to nod the head, and spare your lips!”

“Ha, ha, ha—Ieyasu! Put away that knife and invoke a wit. I should never have guessed you half so sentimental. Why, I do believe you would make a martyr of yourself, or me—who wouldn’t be at all worth the trouble. Come; sit down again; let us reason it out; one drop of blood is, after all, worth a lot of nobleness—as codes are written in these times.”

“I’ll never sit down, till you declare them false—that you are determined to talk, as all women are. Nor have I anything to gain, at my age, by reasoning; acting is all important, whatever the point, now that the end crowds fast upon me. Shout it if you like, but consider well the effect.”

“I shall do nothing of the kind. Take care of your own shattered prospects; I have all I can do to bear with you, let alone conserve your ease. You deny me the privilege of explaining, hence defeat me of a duty I had intended performing.”

“Oh, well; I can presume as much.”

“If you like, pray do.”

“I shall.”

“Then what?”

“Go.”

“And why?”

“Because you are lost.”

“Then I but knock in vain!”

“Christianity is responsible for it, not I—understanding had saved the need of forgiveness.”

“Perhaps; but I should advise you, if advice be meet, to listen; there may not be, after all, so much to choose, between knowledge and faith. Have you no other estimate?”

“No; nor do I want one; I am satisfied.”

“And I am pained; yet I have faith: were ‘knowing’ my only asset, I should shut you in, here, till good and done with you; I, too, might make some sordid use of a plaything, but there are larger compensations in store for those who look more charitably upon their brothers: therefore I dismiss you, with a suitable escort hence.”

Ieyasu went as permitted and directed.

Had she driven her lover from her? Should she have accepted him on faith, granted his unchallenged desire, and ignored truth? Might either passive, or, if needs be, active lying have resolved better their happiness? Could heaven be attained without knowledge? Buddhism said no; Christianity claimed yes, but deeper than these, broader than either, more compelling than any other, Yodogima’s religion searched, expanded, and enforced truth’s unclaimed adherence. And yet, how attain it? In denying him, she had falsified: in accepting she had done more: how reduce the blessings of God—infinite, all-compulsory?

The very thought of her great sin overbore Yodogima with a determination to survive any test. The walls around her resounded with a growth and a strength fairly laughing to scorn the very desirability of absolution—Ieyasu had done right, and yet erred; Christ filled a void, at least, and for that should not be cast upon.

“I’ll live down the wrong I’ve done,” mused she, “and when it’s absolved with the blood shed of my own veins, there’ll be no need of condonations, and faith, hope, and charity, knowledge, uprightness or consideration, the state, the church, and the castes, shall have vanished in the stead of one united and indivisible brotherhood, where sin and sorrow, the virtues and the joys are no longer remembered of man.”

The countenance of her fathers looked down from an old kakemono (picture) hanging from the wall, behind the shrine, above the potted pine, with kindly expression.

The princess gazed long and earnestly thereat, then said to herself:

“You, too, shall vanish, and all that we prize or hate of this earth shall have sometime proven itself of no more final consequence than the slenderest reed that grows and withers with the rising and the setting of the sun. My little sins and virtues, his, and theirs, will then resolve and not abide the existence of a soul. God himself shall stand revealed, and the world attain its destined end—a heaven here where men are doomed, and none denied, of treasures yet undreamed.”

Sitting within the confines of her own allotted environment, far removed from the turmoils of rendering, shorn of creation’s compensatory appeal, but clothed with the choicer products of highest endeavor, Yodogima, too, pondered the complexity of human nature, and its languor or celerity in rendering the tidy milestones so highly prized or bitterly condemned as we go. Yet, unlike Ieyasu, she had partaken thereof a self-suffered resignation. What the consequence?