“The ‘Harvest Moon’ is the time,” said he, with ecstasy, “and the shogun’s command will amply build the playhouse. I shall begin without delay.”

The prime minister returned to his home much pleased with himself and fully satisfied with his opportunities. True, the allotted few weeks were a short time, but what mattered that when he had only to advise and the scene of his intended activities would swarm with a myriad of workers. And then the applause for its doing!—for Ikamon loved gain, and he knew of no surer means than the approval of his countrymen. He said to himself:

“There have been geisha parties before, other fêtes of note, but it is now Ikamon’s turn. Why not only outstrip the past, but anticipate the future?”

In consequence the necessary work was begun and the party launched by the most sweeping and unheard of orders. As in the matter of construction, the invitations had been issued under order of the shogun, and no royal personage or noble blood of the sex was overlooked or neglected. Messengers despatched in every direction had set moving long before the harvest moon had risen many gorgeous trains; for no host or guest in that land was held in better esteem than Maido, the lord daimyo of Kanazawa. They came from north and south, from the loyal and the opposition, from kuge and bakufu.[[14]] All were his friends, and none would miss an opportunity to enjoy the hospitality that flowed from the shogun’s seat like balm in Gilead or wine from a Circean cup.

They came, and when they had arrived they beheld the grandest spectacle that they had ever known. Many thousands had laboured hard to set the scene and perfect the play. Early in its inception Ikamon had instructed Tetsutaisho as to his portion; whereupon the responsive commander constructed around the plot of a hundred acres a living wall, in which each stone was a trained soldier and every picket a sharpened steel.

Such a massing of troops had never before been seen, and Tetsutaisho had not only girdled the festive place with a brilliant setting, but taught those lords and barons a lesson in fanciful show that convinced them of the shogun’s effective strength. The human fence ended only at either side of the promontory, whereat gates were placed, over which a thousand blades stood guard. No force could pass that barrier. To them it seemed insurmountable from without and impenetrable from within.

Within the cordon of militia, however, the real wonders of the place began to unfold. Passing through the gate the guests were taken in hand and ushered along down the lines of dazzling soldiery toward the lower end of the park, where stood a dark, dense forest. Here they suddenly left the bright lights behind and were made to grope their way through the woods to the yawning entrance of an underground cave. Thence through its gloomy caverns beset with all the horrors of an imagined hades they hurried until they had finally emerged into the brilliant lights of the grand auditorium.

On the left side of the entrance was the mikado’s booth, and on the right the shogun’s: neither was better or grander than the other, but both were covered with gorgeous brocades of maple leaves and banked with solid walls of chrysanthemums. Coloured lanterns hung between the pillars in front, and open windows looked out at the back upon the city below. From the two gala booths in the centre, the royal booths stretched out on either side, skirting the brow of the hill, in the shape of a crescent, graduating in size to correspond to the several grades of nobility. To the stage in front alternate beds of flowers and open boxes, with here and there a mat-covered aisle, occupied the space. The boxes were laid with soft mats and lined with silk, while the booths were made of gold or black lacquer, with tiger or leopard skins on the floor, as suited the rank of the occupant.

Shibusawa looked out under the high roof, with its thousand-tinted, leaf-covered cone, emblazoned with dazzling lights and brilliant foliage, at the red-lacquered stage, festooned with wisteria and lined with the beautiful bell-shaped asagao. The guests were already seated in their flowing robes of silk and purple amid garlands of flowers and booths of gold, and the players began to make their appearance.

Three hundred geisha singers dressed in flaming uniforms, wearing costly jewels in their hair, came first, seating themselves in three rows across the front of the stage, with the samisens[[15]] first, the kokyus[[16]] next, and the kotos last. Next after these came nine hundred geisha dancers, who ranked in lines at both sides and at the rear of the stage. After them one hundred geisha singers, whose simple coiffures and freedom from ornamentation bespoke their purity, came in and grouped themselves in the centre of the stage. All held themselves in readiness to begin the play. Presently the music began in faint, weird strains, and as the time quickened the dancers began to sway, and as the pitch rose the singers began to chant; and when all seemed a living, moving, sounding picture, the ranks parted and down between them softly stepped a maiden whose charm and ease of manner made breathless the waiting listeners.