“May I ask you to explain the place of honour given to a garden geta?”
At these words, poured out with the impetuosity he remembered in Masamuné as a young man, the priest smiled a little. Then he withdrew to the lower end of the apartment and with tears glistening in his sunken eyes, said:—
“How rejoiced I am to see your face again. To gaze upon your unchanged features reminds me of the days of my long past youth.”
“What, your words are strange! How can I remind you of your youth, when, to my knowledge, we never met till this day?”
“My lord, have patience, and I will explain all,” replied the Zenji. “In those days I was but a servant—a sandal-bearer known as Makabé Heishiro—it is not likely so humble an individual would retain a place in your memory. It was when you were residing at the Castle of Osaki....”
He paused, but Masamuné, too amazed to utter a word, only looked intently at his former servant as if trying to recall having ever seen him before.
So Ungo-Zenji went on with his story, and in detail told all that had befallen him since that snowy day more than thirty years before. He did not spare himself, but told how through all those years he had been actuated by a feeling of revenge and revenge only, and how the thought of some day seeing his enemy in the dust had been the spur to goad him on to conquer all difficulties, to surmount every obstacle.
“At length,” concluded the priest, “I came under the notice of the Emperor who so magnified a trifling service that he loaded me with rewards and marks of favour. ‘Now is my time!’ I thought. But to my own astonishment I found that so vile a passion no longer existed in my nature—the desire for revenge had fled. I began to view the affair in a different light, and to look upon you as my benefactor. But for you I should still be a sandal-bearer—but for you the stores of knowledge at my command would never have come within my reach—but for you the intercourse I have had with the illustrious and sage men of two countries would have been an impossibility. Therefore, my hatred is turned to gratitude, my wish for vengeance to a heartfelt desire for your long life and prosperity. I pray daily that some day I may be enabled in some small measure to requite the inestimable benefits I owe to you. Your lordship now understands why I so treasure an old geta, and how it is I bear this ugly scar on my brow.”
Masamuné listened to the narrative with growing wonder and the deepest attention. At its conclusion he rose and taking the Zenji by both hands gently, but forcibly, drew him to the upper end of the apartment. When both were again seated he spoke.
“Your Reverence,” he said in a voice full of emotion. “What you have just told me quite puts me out of countenance. I can just recall the incident of which you speak and I remember how angry I felt at what in my arrogance I deemed a gross insult. I do not wonder at your desire for revenge, but, that you should renounce the triumph that was yours for the asking—that, indeed, amazes me! Such magnanimity is almost incredible! You prove to me that religion is not the empty abstraction some call it, and I humbly beg your pardon for my past offence, and request you to enrol me as one of your disciples.”