Many years ago at Gamogun, in the province of Omi, was a castle called
Adzuchi-no-shiro. It was a magnificent old place, surrounded by walls and
a moat filled with lotus lilies. The feudal lord was a very brave and
wealthy man, Yuki Naizen-no-jo. His wife had been dead for some years. He
had no son; but he had a beautiful daughter aged eighteen, who (for some
reason which is not quite clear to me) was given the title of Princess.
For a considerable period there had been peace and quiet in the land;
the feudal lords were on the best of terms, and everyone was happy. Amid
these circumstances Lord Naizen-no-jo perceived that there was a good
opportunity to find a husband for his daughter Princess Aya; and after a
time the second son of the Lord of Ako, of Harima Province, was selected,
to the satisfaction of both fathers, the affair having little to do with
the principals. Lord Ako's second son had viewed his bride with approval,
and she him. One may say that young people are bound to approve each other
when it is the parents' wish that they be united. Many suicides result
from this.
Princess Aya made her mind up to try and love her prospective husband.
She saw nothing of him; but she thought of him, and talked of him.
One evening when Princess Aya was walking in the magnificent gardens by
the moonlight, accompanied by her maids-in-waiting, she wandered down
through her favorite peony bed to the pond where she loved to gaze at her
reflection on the nights of the full moon, to listen to frogs, and to
watch the fireflies.
When nearing the pond her foot slipped, and she would have fallen into
the water had it not been that a young man appeared as if by magic and
caught her. He disappeared as soon as he had put her on her feet again.
The maids-of-honor saw her slip; they saw a glimmer of light, and that
was all. But Princess Aya had seen more. She had seen the handsomest young
man she could imagine.
"Twenty-one years old," she said to O Sadayo San, her favorite maid,
"he must have been -- a samurai of the highest order. His dress was
covered with my favorite peonies, and his swords were richly mounted. Oh
that I could have seen him a minute longer, to thank him for saving me
from the water! Who can he be? And how could he have got into our gardens,
through all the guards?"
So spoke the princess to her maids, directing them at the same time
that they were to say a word to no one, for fear that her father should
hear, find the young man, and behead him for trespass.
After this evening Princess Aya fell sick. She could not eat or sleep,
and turned pale. The day for her marriage with the young Lord of Ako came
and went without the event; she was far too sick for that. The best of the
doctors had been sent from Kyoto, which was then the capital; but none of
them had been able to do anything, and the maid grew thinner and thinner.
As a last resource, the Lord Naizen-no-jo, her father, sent for her
most confidential maid and friend, O Sadayo, and demanded if she could
give any reason for his daughter's mysterious sickness. Had she a secret
lover? Had she a particular dislike for her betrothed?
"Sir," said O Sadayo, "I do not like to tell secrets; but here it seems
my duty to your lordship's daughter as well as to your lordship. Some
three weeks ago, when the moon was at its full, we were walking in the
peony beds down near the pond where the princess loves to be. She stumbled
and nearly fell into the water, when a strange thing happened. In an
instant a most beautiful young samurai appeared and helped her up, thus
preventing her from falling into the pond. We could all see the glimmer of
him; but your daughter and I saw him most distinctly. Before your daughter
could thank him he had disappeared. None of us could understand how it was
possible for a man to get into the gardens of the princess, for the gates
of the castle are guarded on all sides, and the princess's garden is so
much better guarded than the rest that it seems truly incredible that a
man could get in. We maids were asked to say nothing for fear of your
lordship's anger. Since that evening it is that our beloved princess Aya
has been sick, sir. It is sickness of the heart. She is deeply in love
with the young samurai she saw for so brief a space. Indeed, my lord,
there never was such a handsome man in the world before, and if we cannot
find him the young princess, I fear, will die."
"How is it possible for a man to get into the grounds?" said Lord Yuki
Naizen-no-jo. "People say foxes and badgers assume the figures of men
sometimes; but even so it is impossible for such supernatural beings to
enter my castle grounds, guarded as it is at every opening."
That evening the poor princess was more wearily unhappy than ever
before. Thinking to enliven her a little, the maids sent for a celebrated
player on the biwa, called Yashaskita Kengyo. The weather being hot, they
were sitting on the gallery (engawa); and while the musician was playing
"Dannoura" there appeared suddenly from behind the peonies the same
handsome young samurai. He was visible to all this time -- even the
peonies embroidered on his dress.
"There he is! There he is!" they cried; at which he instantly
disappeared again. The princess was highly excited, and seemed more lively
than she had been for days; the old Daimio grew more puzzled than ever
when he heard of it.
Next night, while two of the maids were playing for their mistress -- O
Yae San the flute, and O Yakumo the koto -- the figure of the young man
appeared again. A thorough search having been made during the day in the
immense peony beds with absolutely no result, not even the sign of a
footmark, the thing was increasingly strange.
A consultation was held, and it was decided by the lord of the castle
to invite a veteran officer of great strength and renown, Maki Hiogo, to
capture the youth should he appear that evening. Maki Hiogo readily
consented, and at the appointed time, dressed in black and consequently
invisible, concealed himself among the peonies.
Music seemed to have a fascination for the young samurai. It was while
music was being played that he had made his appearances. Consequently, O
Yae and O Yakumo resumed their concert, while all gazed eagerly towards
the peony beds. As the ladies played a piece called "Sofuren," there, sure
enough, arose the figure of a young samurai, dressed magnificently in
clothes which were covered with embroidered peonies.
Everyone gazed at him, and wondered why Maki Hiogo did not jump up and
catch him. The fact was that Maki Hiogo was so much astonished by the
noble bearing of the youth that at first he did not want to touch him.
Recovering himself, and thinking of his duty to his lord, he stealthily
approached the young man, and, seizing him round the waist, held him
tight. After a few seconds Maki Hiogo felt a kind of wet steam falling on
his face; by degrees it made him faint; and he fell to the ground, still
grasping the young samurai, for he had made up his mind that he would
secure him.
Everyone had seen the scuffle, and some of the guards came hurrying to
the place. Just as they reached the spot Maki Hiogo came to his senses,
and shouted "Come, gentlemen! I have caught him. Come and see!" But on
looking at what he held in his arms he discovered it to be only a large
peony!
By this time the Lord Naizen-no-jo had arrived at the spot where Maki
Hiogo lay, and so had the Princess Aya and her maids.
All were astounded and mystified except the Daimio himself, who said
"Ah! It is as I said. No fox or badger spirit could pass our guards and
get into this garden. It is the spirit of the peony flower that took the
form of a prince." Turning to his daughter and her maids, he said, "You
must take this a compliment, and pay great respect to the peony, and show
the one caught by Maki Hiogo kindness as well by taking care of it."
The Princess Aya carried the flower back to her room, where she put it
in a vase of water and placed it near her pillow. She felt as if she had
her sweetheart with her. Day by day she got better. She tended the peony
herself, and, strange to say, the flower seemed to get stronger and
stronger, instead of fading. At last the princess recovered. She became
radiantly beautiful, while the peony continued to remain in perfect bloom,
showing no sign of dying.
The Princess Aya being now perfectly well, her father could no longer
put off the wedding. Consequently, some days later, the Lord of Ako and
his family arrived at the castle, and his second son was married to the
princess.
As soon as the wedding was over the peony was found still in its vase
-- but dead and withered. The villagers always after this, instead of
speaking of the Princess Aya, or Aya Hime, called her Botan Hime or Peony
Princess.
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