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THE CHESSBOARD CHERRY TREE1 IN
olden times, long before the misfortunes of Europeanisation came to
Japan,
there lived at Kasamatsu, in Nakasatani, near Shichikwai mura Shinji
gun,
Hitachi Province, a hotheaded old Daimio, Oda Sayemon. His castle stood
on the
top of a pine-clad hill about three miles from what is now known as
Kamitachi
station on the Nippon Railway. Sayemon was noted for his bravery as a
soldier,
for his abominable play at go (or goban), and for his bad temper and
violence
when he lost, which was invariably. His most intimate friends among his retainers had tried hard to reform his manners after losing at go; but it was hopeless. All those who won from him he struck in the face with a heavy iron fan, such as was carried by warriors in those days; and he would just as readily have drawn his sword and cut his best friend's head off as be interfered with on those occasions. To be invited to play go with their lord was what all his bold samurai dreaded most. At last it was agreed among them that sooner than suffer the gross indignity of being struck by him when they won they would let him win. After all, it did not much matter, there being no money on the game. Thus Sayemon's game grew worse and worse, for he never learned anything; yet in his conceit he thought he was better than everybody. Ukon Shows Sayemon that he has Already Sacrificed Himself On
the 3rd of March, in honour of his little daughter O Chio, he gave a
dinner-party to his retainers. The 3rd of March is the Dolls' Day
(Hina-no-sekku) — the day upon which girls bring out their dolls.
People go
from house to house to see them, and the little owners offer you sweet
white
saké in a doll's cup with much ceremony. Sayemon, no doubt, chose this
day of
feasting as a compliment to his daughter — for he gave sweet white saké
after
their food, to be drunk to the health of the dolls, instead of men's
saké,
which the guests would have liked much better. Sayemon himself
absolutely
disliked sweet saké. So as soon as the feast was over he called Saito
Ukon, one
of his oldest and most faithful warriors, to come and play go with him,
leaving
the others to drink. Ukon, curiously enough, had not played with his
lord
before, and he was delighted that he had been chosen. He had made up
his mind
to die that evening after giving his master a proper lesson. In a
luxuriously decorated room there was placed a goban (chessboard) with
two
go-cases containing the men, which are made of white and black stones.
The
white stones are usually taken by the superior player and the black by
the
inferior. Without any apology or explanation, Ukon took the case
containing the
white stones, and began to place them as if he were without question
the
superior player. Sayemon's
temper began to work up; but he did not show it. So many games of go
had his
retainers allowed him to win lately, he was fully confident that he
should win
again, and that Ukon would have in addition to apologise for presuming
to take
the white stones. The
game ended in a win for Ukon. 'I
must have another game,' said Sayemon. 'I was careless in that one. I
will soon
show you how I can beat you when I try.' Again
Sayemon was beaten — this time not without losing his temper, for his
face
turned red, his eyes looked devilish, and with a bullying voice full of
passion
he roared for a third game. This
also Ukon won. Sayemon's wrath knew no bounds. Seizing his iron fan, he
was
about to smite Ukon a violent blow in the face. His opponent caught him
by the
wrist, and said: 'My
Lord, what ideas have you about games? Your Lordship seems to think
curiously
about them! It is the better player who wins; while the inferior must
fail. If
you fail to beat me at go, it is because you are the inferior player.
Is this
manner of your Lordship's in taking defeat from a superior up to the
form of
bushido in a samurai, as we are taught it? Be counselled by me, your
faithful retainer,
and be not so hasty with your anger — it ill befits one in your
Lordship's high
position.' And, with a look full of reproof at Sayemon, Ukon bowed
almost to
the ground. 'You
insolent rascal!' roared Sayemon. 'How dare you speak to me like that?
Don't
move! Stand as you are, with your head bowed, so that I may take it
off.' 'Your
sword is to kill your enemies, not your retainers and friends,' said
Ukon.
'Sheathe your sword, my Lord. You need not trouble yourself to kill me,
for I
have already done seppuku2 in order to offer you the advice
which I
have given, and to save all others. See here, my Lord!' Ukon opened his
clothes
and exhibited an immense cut across his stomach. Sayemon
stood for a minute taken aback, and while he thus stood Ukon spoke to
him once
more, telling him how he must control his temper and treat his subjects
better.
On
hearing this advice again Sayemon's passion returned. Seizing his
sword, he
rushed upon Ukon, and, crying, 'Not even by your dying spirit will I
allow
myself to be advised,' made a furious cut at Ukon's head. He missed,
and cut
the go-board in two instead. Then, seeing that Ukon was dying rapidly,
Sayemon
dropped beside him, crying bitterly and saying: 'Much
do I regret to see you thus die, oh faithful Ukon! In losing you I lose
my
oldest and most faithful retainer. You have served me faithfully and
fought
most gallantly in all my battles. Pardon me, I beg of you! I will take
your
advice. It was surely a sign by the gods that they were displeased at
my conduct
when they made me miss your head with my sword and cut the go-board.' Ukon
was pleased to find his lord at last repentant. He said: 'I
shall not even in death forget the relation between master and servant,
and my
spirit shall be with you and watch over your welfare as long as you
live.' Then
Ukon breathed his last. Sayemon
was so much moved by the faithfulness of Ukon that he caused him to be
buried
in his own garden, and he buried the broken go-board with him. From
that time
on the Lord Sayemon's conduct was completely reformed. He was good and
kind to
all his subjects, and all his people were happy. A few
months after Ukon's death, a cherry tree sprang out of his grave. In
three
years the tree grew to be a fine one and bloomed luxuriantly. On
the 3rd of March in the third year, the anniversary of Ukon's death,
Sayemon
was surprised to find it suddenly in bloom. He was looking at it, and
thinking
of watering it himself, as usual on that day, when he suddenly saw a
faint
figure standing by the stem of the tree. Just as he said, 'You are, I
know, the
spirit of faithful Saito Ukon,' the figure disappeared. Sayemon ran to
the
tree, to pour water over the roots, when he noticed that the bark of
some feet
of the stem had all cracked up to the size and shape of the squares of
a
go-board! He was much impressed. For years afterwards — until, in fact,
Sayemon's death — the ghost of Ukon appeared on each 3rd of March. A
fence was built round the tree, which was held sacred; and even to the
present,
they say, the tree is to be seen. ______________________________
1 This story
(with the exception of the ghost) I believe to
be true, for the 'seppuku' of Saito Ukon is just the kind of reasoning
that
would have been held out in the days of the story, and is even to-day
possible
in many cases. See a case — quoted by Professor Chamberlain — of the
servant to
an Englishman at Yokohama, and note the number of cases in the recent
war. 2
'Disembowelled myself.' |