The Kingdom of Slender Swords
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[r= CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Cornell University Library PS 3535.I95K5 The kin< idom of slender swords 3 1924 021 670 108 Cornell University Library The original of tinis bool< is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021670108 THE KINGDOM OF SLENDER SWORDS BV HALLIE ERMINIE RIVES (Mrs. Post Wheeler) With a Foreword by His Excellency Baron Makino ILLUSTRATIONS BY A. B. WENZELL INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS Copyright 1910 The Bobbs-Meerill Company PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH &. CO. BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS BROOKLYN, N. Y. TO CAROLYN FOSTER STICKNEY FOREWORD It has been my happy fortune to have made the acquaintance of the gifted author of this book. From time to time she was kind enough to confide to me its progress. When the manuscript was completed I was privileged to go over it, and the hours so spent were of unbroken interest and pleasure. What especially touched and concerned me was, of course, the Japanese characters depicted, the motives of these actors in their respective roles, and other Japanese incidents connected with the story. I am most agreeably impressed with the remarkable in- sight into, and the just appreciation of, the Japanese spirit displayed by the author. While the story itself is her creation, the local col- oring, the moral atmosphere called in to weave the thread of the tale, are matters belonging to the do- main of facts, and constitute an amount of useful and authentic information. Indeed, she has taken un- usual pains to be correctly informed about the people of the country and their customs, and in this she has succeeded to a very eminent degree. I may mention one or two of the striking charac- teristics of the work. The sacrifice of the girl Haru of may seem unreal, but such is the dominant idea duty and sacrifice with the Japanese, that in certain emergencies it is not at all unlikely that we should behold her real prototype in life. The description of the Imperial Review at Tokyo and its patriotic sig- nificance vividly recalls my own impression of this spectacle. It gives me great satisfaction to know that by pe- rusing these pages, the vast reading public, who, after all, have the decisive voice in the national gov- ernment of the greatest republic of the world, and whose good will and friendship we Japanese prize in no uncommon degree, should be correctly informed about ourselves, as far as the scope of this book goes. We attach great importance to a thorough mutual understanding of two foremost peoples on the Pacific, in whose direction and cooperation the future of the East must largely depend. It is, therefore, incumbent upon us all to do our utmost to cultivate such good understanding, not only for those immediately con- cerned, but for the welfare of the whole human race. In the chapters of this novel the author seems al- ways to have had such high ideals before her, and the result is that, besides being an exciting and agreeable reading, the book contains elements of serious and instructive consideration, which can not but contrib- ute toward establishing better and healthier know- ledge between the East and West of the Pacific. N. Making. Sendagaya, Tokyo, 9th of August, 1909. CONTENTS CHAPTER I Where the Day Begins II "The Roost" . III The Land of the Gods IV Under the Red Sunset V The Maker of Buddhas VI The Baying of the Wolf-Hound VII Doctor Bersonin VIII "Sally IN Our Alley" IX The Web of the Spider X In A Garden of Dreams XI Ishikichi XII In the Street-of-Prayer-to-the-Gods XIII The Whorls of Yellow Dust XIV When Barbara Awoke XV A Face in the Crowd XVI "Banzai Nippon" XVII A Silent Understanding XVIII In the Bamboo Lane XIX The Bishop Asks a Question XX The Trespasser XXI The Resurrection of the Dead XXII The Dance of the Capital XXIII The Devil Pipes to His Own XXIV A Man Named Ware XXV At the Shrine of the Fox-God XXVI The Nightless City . XXVII Like the Whisper or a Bat's Wings CONTENTS— Co«/j««tfrf CHAPTER PAGE XXVIII The Forgotten Man • 233 XXIX Daunt Listens to a Song . • 244 XXX The Island of Enchantment . 252 XXXI The Coming of Austen Ware . 266 XXXII The Woman of Sorek . 276 XXXIII The Flight . 284 XXXIV On the Knees of Delilah . 288 XXXV When a Woman Dreams . 292 XXXVI Behind the Shikiri . 297 XXXVII • t'y I* 303 XXXVIII The Lady of the Many-Colored Fires 308 XXXIX The Heart of Barbara . 320 XL The Shadow of a To-Morrow . 326 XLI Unforgot • 334 XLII Phil Makes an Appeal • 338 XLIII The Secret the River Kept 345 XLIV The Laying of the Mine • 353 XLV The Bishop Answers a Summons . 360 XLVI The Golden Crucifix . 366 XLVII "If This Be Forgetting" . • 371 XLVIII While the City Slept • 379 XLIX The Alarm • 389 L Whom the Gods Destroy . 396 LI The Laugh . 401 LII The Voice in the Dark 409 LIIl A Race with Dawn . 414 LIV Into the Sunlight . 425 LV Know All Men By These Presents . 428 THE KINGDOM OF SLENDER SWORDS THE KINGDOM OF SLENDER SWORDS CHAPTER I * WHERE THE DAY BEGINS BARBARA leaned against the palpitant rail, the light air fanning her breeze-cool cheek, her arteries beating like tiny drums, atune with the throb, throb, throb, of the steel deck as the black ocean leviathan swept on toward its harbor resting-place. All that Japanese April day she had been in a state of tremulous excitement. She had crept from her berth at dawn to see the hazy sun come up in a Rosicrusian flush as weirdly soft as a mirage, to strain her eyes for the first filmy feather of land. Long before the gray-green wisp showed on the hori- zon, the sight of a lumbering junk with its square sail laced across with white stripes, and its bronze seamen, with white loin-cloth and sweat-band about the forehead, naked and thewed like sculptures, as they swayed from the clumsy tiller, had sent a thrill through her. And as the first far peaks etched themselves on the robin's-egg blue, as impalpable I THE KINGDOM OF SLENDER SWORDS and ethereal as a perfume, she fek warm drops com- ing with a rush to her eyes. For Japan, every sight and sound of it, had been woven with the earliest imaginings of Barbara's orphaned Hfe. Her father she had never seen. Her mother she remembered only as a vague, widowed figure. In Japan they two had met and had married, and after a single year her mother had returned to her own place and people broken-hearted and alone. In the month of her return Barbara had been born. A year ago her aunt, to whom she owed the care of her young girlhood, had died, and Barbara had found herself, at twenty-three, mistress of a liberal fortune and of her own future. Japan had always exercised a potent spell over her imagination. She pictured it as a land of strange glowing trees, of queer costumes and weird, fantastic buildings. More than all, it was the land of her mother's life- romance, where her father had loved and died. There was one other tangible tie—her uncle, her mother's brother, was Episcopal bishop of Tokyo. He was returning now from a half year's visit in America, and this fact, coupled with an invita- tion from Patricia Dandridge, the daughter of the American Ambassador, with whom Barbara had chummed one California winter, had constituted an opportunity wholly alluring. So she found her- self, on this April day, the pallid Pacific fuming away behind her, gazing with kindling cheeks on WHERE THE DAY BEGINS that shadowy background, vaguely intangible in the magical limpidity of the distance. The land was wonderfully nearer now. The hills lay, a clear pile of washed grays and greens, with saffron tinted valleys between, wound in a haze of tender lilac. By imperceptible gradations this un- folded, caught sub-tones, ermine against umbers, of warmer red and flickering emerald, white glints of sun on surf like splashes of silver, till suddenly, spec- tral and perfect, above a cluster of peaks like purple gentians, glowed forth a phantom mountain, its golden wistaria cone inlaid in the deeper azure. It hung like an inverted morning-glory, mist and mother-of-pearl at the top, shading into porphyry veined with streaks of verd and jade—Fuji-San, the despair of painters, the birthplace of the ancient gods. The aching beauty of it stung Barbara with a tender, intolerable pang. The little fishing-villages that presently came into sight, tucked into the clefts of the shore, with gray dwellings, elfishly frail, climbing the green slope behind them—the growing rice in patches of cloudy gold on the hillsides—the bluish shadows of bamboo groves—all touched her with an incommunicable delight. A shadow fell beside her and she turned. It was her uncle. His clean-shaven face beamed at her over his clerical collar. "Isn't it glorious?" she breathed. "It's better 3 THE KINGDOM OE SLENDER SWORDS than champagne! It's like pins and needles in the odor in tips of your fingers ! There's positively an the air like camelias. And did any one ever see such colors?" She pointed to the shore dead-ahead, now a serrated background of deep tones, swimming in the infinite gold of the tropic afternoon.