The Shogun's Daughter

by Robert Ames Bennet

I saw a slender figure bowing forward through the opening in the screens, and a flood of color leaped into my face.

“Your Highness,” I cried, “I will gladly risk all! I thank you for your gracious permission to remain!”

The Shogun stared piercingly into my flushed face; then turned with the Prince and Satsuma to watch Azai, his face, like theirs, grave almost to solemnity. With slow and graceful movements that followed one upon the other with the precision of a formal ritual, my little Princess entered with a brazier upon which the charcoal glowed in a tiny crater of rock crystal. Setting this before us, she returned to fetch, one at a time, tongs, kettle, dipper, tea canister, bowls, and various other tiny utensils.

Throughout the bringing and arranging of this equipment the profound silence was broken only by the occasional murmuring of set phrases. Azai proceeded with utmost grace and delicacy, too intent upon the correct performance of the tea ceremony to venture a glance at me. The tea, crushed into a fine powder, was mixed in a bowl with boiling water and beaten with a bamboo whisk that my darling rolled deftly between her fingers.

The first bowlful of the tea porridge was served to the Shogun upon a tray of unvarnished cypress wood, which was then set aside. But the bowl was rinsed and filled with a second mixture, which was served to the Prince on a gold-lacquered tray. Again the bowl was rinsed and used to serve the soup-like tea to Satsuma on the same tray. Last of all Azai rinsed the bowl and prepared my tea with the same delicate precision and grace.

When she approached to serve me, I looked to see her blush or tremble. I was yet to learn the full measure of a Japanese lady’s self-control. Holding the tray on a level with her adorable little chin, she knelt before me without the slightest trace of a quiver beneath her gracious smile. The exquisitely delicate rose tint of her cheeks neither paled nor deepened. Only once, as I set the emptied bowl back upon the tray, her lowered lashes lifted for an instant, to disclose to me a glimpse of the unfathomable tenderness and love in the depths of her lustrous eyes.

With the same slowness and solemnity she drew back and proceeded to carry out the brazier and service in set order, while her father, the Prince, and the Daimio noted the last stages of the ritual with their formal phrases. I sat in the meek attitude of a neophyte, but I fear I gave little heed to the solemn ritual. All too soon Azai kowtowed and disappeared. The quaint rite was at an end.

That she should have come and gone with only that one glance and never a word for me, went far to lessen the joy of seeing her. My face was grave when the Shogun looked down upon me. He nodded approvingly. “Woroto Sama seems versed in the pleasant mystery of the tea ceremony. It is known in his country?”

“I seek to learn, Your Highness. The ceremony is undeveloped in my country. As yet the drinking of tea is for the most part confined to our women.”

The word set loose upon me a flood of questions with regard to tojin women and marriage. I answered as best I could. As I anticipated, Satsuma and the Prince were no less shocked than the Shogun at the freedom allowed Occidental women. But I perceived that the severity of His Highness’s look softened when I dwelt upon the honor and respect which we accord our wives. I recalled that statement of Kohana San that Minamoto Iyeyoshi regarded his daughter with the fondness due a son.