Pathway to Japanese Literature

Nakahei's father owned a residential plot of approximately two tan and eight se in Kiyotake Village, Miyazaki District, Hyūga Province, where he had built three houses to live in. As for property, he owned fields and paddies a short distance from his residence, and while teaching Chinese classics to students at home over the years, he had continued farming without ceasing. However, Nakahei’s father had gone to Edo for training at age thirty-eight, and after a one-year interval, upon returning home at forty, he gradually came to be employed by Obi Domain; thus, he now had tenant farmers cultivate the majority of his fields.

Nakahei was the second son. When his elder brother Bunji was nine and he himself was six, their father left for Edo, leaving the brothers behind. After their father returned from Edo and the brothers had grown taller, both of them went out to work in the fields every morning with books tucked in their pockets. And while others took tobacco breaks, the two immersed themselves in reading.

This was around the time their father had first been appointed as domain professor. When seventeen- or eighteen-year-old Bunji and fourteen- or fifteen-year-old Nakahei made their usual commute to work in the fields, everyone they encountered on the road would compare the two as if by prior arrangement, whispering something to their companions should they have any. For the elder brother Bunji—tall, fair-skinned, and finely featured—and the younger brother Nakahei—short, dark-complexioned, and one-eyed—made for a truly mismatched pair. The smallpox that had struck both brothers simultaneously proved mild for the elder but severe for the younger, leaving Nakahei deeply pockmarked and costing him his right eye. That his father too had lost an eye to smallpox in childhood, and now Nakahei shared this same affliction—one could only call such "coincidence" a cruel thing indeed.

Nakahei found it painful to walk alongside his elder brother. Therefore, in the mornings he would finish his meal slightly early and leave one step ahead, while in the evenings he would stay behind a little longer to work and return one step later. However, when passersby saw him, they never ceased whispering to their companions. But that wasn't the end of it. Compared to when he walked with his elder brother, the passersby’s attitudes became far more brazen—their whispers louder than usual, with some even calling out to him.

"Look! Today the Monkey goes alone!" "That Monkey reads books—how strange!" "What? They say Monkey reads better than Monkey Handler." "Monkey! What’s become of your Monkey Handler today, huh?"

In this place with narrow thoroughfares, those one encountered were mostly acquaintances. Nakahei tried walking alone and made two discoveries. The first was that he had been standing under his elder brother’s protection all this time without ever realizing it. The second was that—astonishingly—nicknames had been given to my elder brother and me: while I, being ugly, was called "monkey," even my elder brother came to be called "monkey handler." Nakahei kept these discoveries close to his chest and did not speak of them to anyone, but after that, he no longer made any effort to go to and from the fields separately from his elder brother.

Before Nakahei, his frail elder brother Bunji died. Bunji had died during Nakahei’s time studying in Osaka while attending Shinozaki Shōchiku’s academy. At twenty-one years old in spring, Nakahei received ten ryō of gold from his father’s hand and departed Kiyotake Village. Arriving at the warehouse residence in Tosa-bori 3-chome, Osaka, he rented a room in a row house and began cooking for himself. To economize, he simmered soybeans in salt and soy sauce as a meal accompaniment—a dish dubbed “Nakahei beans” by those at the warehouse residence. When fellow residents of the row house grew concerned his health would fail on such fare and advised drinking sake, Nakahei compliantly began buying one gō measure daily each evening. He would tie paper twine around the one-gō flask and suspend it above his lantern’s flame. Reading borrowed books from Shinozaki’s academy by lamplight until midnight stillness settled, he watched steam billow from the flask’s mouth where its base warmed against the flame. Nakahei then set aside his scrolls, drank the sake with evident relish, and retired. One year later at twenty-three came news of his elder brother Bunji’s death back home. Though less learned than his younger brother, this youth of sharp intellect had long battled illness before succumbing at twenty-six. Upon receiving word of this death, Nakahei immediately left Osaka for home.

After that, Nakahei went to Edo at twenty-six, enrolled under Koga Tōan, and entered Shōheikō Academy. For Nakahei—who sought to immediately delve into the meaning of the classics without relying on later commentaries—Matsuzaki Kendo held greater appeal than Koga Tōan; however, to enter Shōheikō Academy, one had to join either Hayashi’s or Koga’s school. The pockmarked, one-eyed country scholar of short stature could not escape ridicule from his peers even here. Nevertheless, Nakahei remained indifferent and silent, immersing himself in solitary reading. On a pillar by his desk was pasted a half-folded sheet bearing these words: "For now I conceal my voice like a cuckoo at Shinobu Hill—when shall I proclaim my name beyond the clouds?" “My, what grand ambitions you’ve got there,” the friends laughed as they left, though inwardly they found it somewhat unsettling. This was a remnant of his brief study of Japanese literature before devoting himself entirely to Chinese classics at nineteen—a deliberate imitation of waka poetry in an unconventional style to counter his peers’ mockery.

While still in Edo, Nakahei was appointed as the domain lord’s lecturer at age twenty-eight. And when the domain lord returned to his home province the following year, he accompanied him and returned.

Since this New Year, construction had been underway for a domain academy to be established in Nakano district of Kiyotake Village. When completed, his sixty-one-year-old father Sōshū Ō and twenty-nine-year-old Nakahei-san—who had returned last year accompanying the domain lord from Edo—were to stand together on the lecture platform as father and son. It was then that Sōshū Ō proposed finding a bride for his son. Yet this proved no simple matter. For even those hometown folk who praised “Nakahei-san will surely rise to greatness” upon hearing of his Edo return and enrollment at Shōheikō Academy could not help whispering “Nakahei-san is unmanly” behind his back whenever they glimpsed his pockmarked face, one eye, and short stature.

Sōshū Ō was a man of hardships who had even gone to Edo for his studies. Now that his son Nakahei had completed his academic training and reached the age where he would turn thirty next year, [he] truly wished to find him a bride—but was fully aware of how difficult this selection would prove.

Though not as short as Nakahei, he himself bore pockmarks and was one-eyed—the old man had tasted bitter experiences with the opposite sex. Since he himself had found it impossible to arrange a marriage by meeting unknown girls through formal introductions, it stood to reason that for Nakahei—who shared his defects and was even shorter—this too would be impossible. Nakahei’s bride had to be selected from among girls with whom they had long been acquainted and understood each other’s dispositions. The old man had also considered such matters from his own experience. Even those who were thought to be young and beautiful—if, after associating with them for some time, their lack of intellect became exposed—their beauty would eventually be forgotten. Moreover, when one reaches thirty, then forty, the lack of wisdom manifests in their face, until they can no longer be recognized as the beauty they once were. In contrast to this, even if one’s countenance bears flaws, should they be a person of talent, their ugliness becomes forgotten through continued association. Moreover, with advancing years, talent even beautifies one’s features. If one were to see Nakahei’s face—his single black eye glistening as he spoke—he would appear a splendid man. This was not merely a parent’s partiality. I do hope he can marry a woman who recognizes true character. The old man had roughly thought through these points.

The old man tried picturing which unmarried daughter among their relatives—those who saw each other during the five seasonal festivals and annual memorial services—might be suitable, weighing this candidate against that one. The most dazzling and eye-catching was a nineteen-year-old girl named Yae, whose father had been serving as a permanent Edo retainer and had fathered her with an Edo-born wife. She wore Edo-style makeup, spoke in Edo dialect, and was being drilled in dance by her mother. Even if he tried to secure her as a bride, she seemed unlikely to come—nor was she a desirable match. Though he searched for a daughter unassuming in appearance, noble in character, and somewhat book-learned, unfortunately not a single girl of that sort could be found. Each and every one was an utterly ordinary young woman.

After wavering here and there, the old man’s choice finally settled on Kawazoe’s daughter nearby. The Kawazoe family was located in Ōaza Imaizumi, Koaza Oka of the same Kiyotake Village—the parental home of the old man’s wife—where there were two female cousins of Nakahei. The younger sister Osayo was sixteen—too young to be a bride for thirty-year-old Nakahei. Moreover, she was a girl reputed for her beauty, and among the young men she was called “the Komachi of Oka.” She seemed rather mismatched with Nakahei. As for the elder daughter Otoyo, she was already twenty—not so great an age gap as to be considered excessively mismatched for a bride taken late. Otoyo’s looks were average. Her nature had nothing particularly outstanding, but she was unusually cheerful for a woman, speaking her mind without reservation. Her thoughts were utterly sincere, without any reservations. Her mother said, “She’s utterly brazen—it’s a problem!” but this was precisely what appealed to the old man.

The old man had resolved thus, but now found himself at a loss as to how to broach the matter. To these girls—who always received whatever he said with reverent acceptance—he could not possibly address the matter directly. Since his wife’s parents had passed away, only junior relatives remained in the Kawazoe household; were he to broach the subject carelessly, it might cause consternation on their side. Between unrelated parties, when such proposals were made and ended in failure, interactions often failed to proceed as smoothly as before for some time. When dealing with relatives, even greater care had to be taken in such matters.

Here was Nakahei’s sister, referred to as the Madam of the Nagakura household. The old man revealed his intentions to her. “Had it been for my late brother’s bride, she’d have come without hesitation—” Madam Nagakura began before pausing briefly. Madam Nagakura had not been considering Miss Otoyo from that perspective. However, having been entrusted by Father and upon considering it, she could think of no other daughter suitable to be her brother’s bride, nor did she believe Miss Otoyo would voice any refusal—and so Madam Nagakura finally undertook the role of messenger.

The Kawazoe household was preparing for the Doll Festival. In the back room, having pulled out and scattered various labeled boxes everywhere, Miss Otoyo took out one by one the imperial court dolls and five musicians from among them, removing the cotton and Yoshino paper wrappings and arranging them when her younger sister Miss Osayo kept reaching out to help here and there. “Just let me handle it,” Miss Otoyo scolded her sister.

The shoji there slid open, and Madam Nagakura showed her face. In her hand, she held a branch of red peach blossoms she had cut as a gift. “My, you’re in the midst of such busy preparations.” Miss Otoyo took out the old man and old woman dolls and was inserting a broom and rake into their hands when she paused to look at the peach blossoms. “Have the peaches at your home already bloomed so much? The ones here still have much smaller buds.” “Since I was in a hurry when heading out, I only managed to cut a little,” said Madam Nagakura. “If you wish to arrange many, just send for as many as you need, you know.” With these words, she handed over the peach branch.

Miss Otoyo received it and, after telling her sister, “You’re to leave this exactly as it is,” took the peach branch and went to the kitchen.

Madam Nagakura followed from behind. Miss Otoyo took down a hand bucket from the kitchen shelf, carried it out to the nearby wellside, drew up one bucketful of water, and tossed in the peach branch. Every motion she made was briskly efficient. Madam Nagakura—who had come bearing her mission—could not help smiling faintly, thinking this woman would make an immediately capable bride for her brother. Having kicked off her clogs and stepped into the kitchen, Miss Otoyo wiped her hands on a towel hanging from a wall pole. Madam Nagakura sidled up beside her.

“The Yasui family has decided to take a bride for Nakahei.” Madam Nagakura bluntly broached the subject without preamble. “Oh! From where?” “A bride?” “Yes.” “As for that bride—” She paused, staring fixedly at Miss Otoyo. “You—” Miss Otoyo wore a look of stunned dismay before her face softened into a smile. “You’re lying.” “It’s true.” “I came specifically to discuss this.” “I intend to inform your mother presently.”

Miss Otoyo released the towel, let both hands hang limp, and stood facing Madam Nagakura. The smile disappeared from her face. "I do consider Mr. Nakahei an eminent man, but I have no desire to take him as husband," she stated coldly.

Miss Otoyo’s refusal had been delivered with such blunt finality that Madam Nagakura found no opening to prolong the discussion. Yet burdened by this weighty errand—unable to return without addressing the girls’ mother—she tersely recounted her failed direct appeal to Madam Kawazoe, drank the white sake served in a cut-glass cup, and made her farewells. Being favorably disposed toward Nakahei, Madam Kawazoe deeply lamented this botched proposal and entreated that Miss Otoyo’s rash response remain undisclosed to the Yasui family while she attempted persuasion herself. Madam Nagakura thus agreed to temporarily withhold delivering Miss Otoyo’s answer, but convinced no change of heart would come, departed after leaving her caution: “Pray do not press this matter forcefully,” rising to take her leave.

Madam Nagakura had left the Kawazoe gate and gone perhaps two or three blocks down the road when Otokichi, a servant employed by the Kawazoe family, came running up from behind. He had come with a message: they suddenly had something they wished to discuss and requested her to return despite the inconvenience.

Madam Nagakura was taken aback. She simply could not believe that Miss Otoyo had changed her mind so abruptly. What could this be about? Thinking this, she returned to Kawazoe together with Otokichi. “I apologize for troubling you to call you back as you were leaving.” “The fact is, an unforeseen matter has arisen.” Madam Kawazoe, who had been lying in wait, spoke before the returned guest could take her seat. “Yes.”

Madam Nagakura watched the mistress's face. "This concerns Mr. Nakahei's marriage proposal, I presume." "As I consider this a match beyond what one could hope for, I summoned Otoyo and discussed it with her, but she still refuses to go." "When that occurred, Osayo heard of the matter from her sister and came to me, seeming poised to speak yet remaining silent." "When I inquired what troubled her, she said, 'Might I be permitted to go to Mr. Yasui instead?'" "Thinking she might not fully grasp what becoming a bride entails when making such a request, I questioned her thoroughly, but she declared resolutely, 'If only they would have me, I wish to go.'" "This is indeed terribly forward of us, and while I cannot presume to know their thoughts on the matter, I wished foremost to consult you." Her tone carried palpable hesitation.

Madam Nagakura was all the more astonished. When Father had spoken of this matter, he had said, "Osayo is too young." He had also remarked, "She's too exceptional." Yet it had long been clear he bore no dislike toward Miss Osayo. Most likely Father had weighed the match's propriety and hoped for Miss Otoyo—older and of ordinary looks—as the fitting choice. Moreover, should the young and beautiful Miss Osayo come, there would be no deficiency. Still, how extraordinary that the reticent Miss Osayo had voiced such words to her mother. "In any case," Madam Nagakura deliberated aloud, "I shall broach this with Father and brother. If feasible, I should wish to fulfill Miss Osayo's desire as she intends." "Well, if such be the case." "Though Father proposed Miss Otoyo, upon brief reflection I deem he would find no fault with Miss Osayo." "I shall presently visit their house to make the entreaty." "Yet for that timid Miss Osayo to have uttered such to you—how extraordinary."

“That is so.” “I too was truly astonished.” “Even if I may believe I understand everything my child is thinking from A to Z, I am quite mistaken.” “If you would be so kind as to speak to Father, I shall call the person in question and hear them out here.” Having said this, the mother called her younger daughter.

Osayo timidly slid open the shoji screen and entered.

The mother said, “Now then, about what you mentioned earlier—if Mr. Nakahei were to accept someone like you, you would truly go through with it, wouldn’t you?” Miss Osayo flushed crimson to her ears, murmured “Yes,” and bowed her head even lower. Just as Madam Nagakura had been astonished, so too had Sōshū Ō been taken aback. Yet none was more startled than Nakahei himself, the prospective groom. While most met this news with bewilderment mingled with joy, the neighborhood youths reacted with envy veiled as puzzlement. They began whispering everywhere: “Oka no Komachi weds into the monkey’s house.” Soon this rumor permeated every corner of Kiyotake village until none remained unastonished. This was pure astonishment—untainted by either joy or spite.

The wedding was arranged through the matchmaking of the Nagakura couple and concluded before the peach blossoms had scattered. And thus Miss Osayo, who until then had been spoken of solely as beautiful and regarded as doll-like—like a moth emerging from its cocoon—shed her reserved and timid demeanor to become a splendidly poised wife in a household frequented by numerous young scholars. In October, when the Meikyōdō Hall of the academy was completed and relatives and old acquaintances gathered for the Yasui family’s celebratory banquet, before the beautiful and resolute young wife, the guests’ heads bowed naturally. She stood entirely apart in character from the ordinary brides who are mocked by others.

The following year, when Nakahei was thirty and Miss Osayo seventeen, their eldest daughter Sumako was born. In July of the year after next, it was decided that the domain’s school would be relocated to Obi. In the subsequent year, the sixty-five-year-old Venerable Sōshū was appointed president of Obi’s Shuntokudō Academy, and thirty-three-year-old Nakahei served as an assistant instructor under him. The house in Kiyotake came to be occupied by a man named Yuge who had been living next door, and the Yasui family received a replacement plot of land in Kamo, Obi.

At age thirty-five, Nakahei accompanied the domain lord to Edo once more and returned the following year. This was the first time Miss Osayo had kept watch over the empty home during a somewhat prolonged absence.

Sōshū Ō passed away at sixty-nine from a stroke. This occurred the year after Nakahei returned from his second journey to Edo. At thirty-eight, Nakahei departed for Edo a third time, leaving twenty-five-year-old Miss Osayo to guard their home once more. The following year saw him appointed director of Shōheikō Academy. Soon after, the outer Sakurada domain residence named him Ōbanjo Ban’gashira—chief guard commander. The subsequent year brought his temporary return home before finalizing plans to resettle in Edo. Now he vowed to summon Miss Osayo once housing arrangements were secured there. Having resigned his domain post, he resolved instead to establish a private academy.

Around this time, Nakahei’s academic attainments were finally recognized by society, and he gained an eminent friend like Shionoya Tōin. When the two took walks together, though neither presented a particularly fine figure as men, Shionoya’s considerable height made him imposing regardless, leading to jibes like “Shionoya—a towering ten feet reclining against clouds; Yasui—a mere three feet buried in grass-heads.”

Even in Edo, the frugal Nakahei maintained an extremely austere lifestyle. As a newcomer upon returning, before entering the dormitory at Shōheikō Academy, he stayed at the domain’s lower residence in Sendagaya, then at the upper residence in Sakurada, or at Konchi-in within the grounds of Zōjōji Temple—but he always cooked for himself. Even after finally resolving to relocate and moving out, he stayed temporarily in Sendagaya, but after the lower residence caught fire, he purchased a house for sale in Gobanchō for twenty-nine ryō.

It was when they had moved from Gobanchō to a rented house in Kamibanchō that they sent for and welcomed Miss Osayo. This was the so-called Sankei Juku Academy, where the lower floor contained two or three rooms of three-tatami mats and four-and-a-half-tatami mats each, while the upper floor served as a study bearing a plaque inscribed "Bamboo Mountain Studio." Bamboo Mountain Studio derived its name from when they had uprooted tiger-striped bamboo by the roots from their homeland’s Tano Village, Kariya district, upon relocating to Edo. Nakahei was forty-one that year, and Miss Osayo twenty-eight. Following their eldest daughter Sumako, they had three girls in total—second daughter Mihoko and third daughter Tōbaiko—but due to a minor illness, Mihoko passed away early, so Miss Osayo came to Sankei Juku bringing eleven-year-old Sumako and five-year-old Tōbaiko.

The Nakahei couple did not employ a single maid at the time. Miss Osayo cooked the rice, and Sumako went out shopping. Sumako’s thick Hyūga accent proved incomprehensible to the merchants, so she often returned dejectedly without completing her errands. Miss Osayo worked diligently without regard to her appearance. Even so, not a trace remained of the former beauty who had once been called “Oka no Komachi.”

Around this time, a man named Kuroki Magoemon came to meet Nakahei. He had originally been a fisherman in Obi’s outer coast but was specially summoned to become a foot soldier due to his expertise in product studies. Miss Osayo served tea and set it out before retreating to the kitchen; seeing this, Magoemon made a face that mingled cunning with absurdity and posed a question to Nakahei.

“Professor.” “Would that be your wife?” “Indeed. She’s my wife.” Nakahei answered composedly. “Ah… Has Madam pursued scholarly studies?”

“No. She has not engaged in what you would call proper scholarly studies.” “Then Madam must possess insights surpassing even your scholarly knowledge, Professor.”

“Why?” “But seeing that such a peerless beauty has become your wife, Professor...”

Nakahei involuntarily scoffed. And, amused by Magoemon’s presumptuous flattery, he had him play his favorite basket chess before sending him home. The year Mrs. Osayo left the province, Nakahei moved to Ogawamachi, and the following year he purchased a house outside Ushigome Mitsuke. The price was a mere ten ryō. The eight-tatami room had an alcove and a surrounding veranda; additionally, there was one four-and-a-half-tatami room, one two-tatami room, and a small wooden-floored area. Nakahei set up a desk in the eight-tatami room and read surrounded by books piled like mountains. Around this time Kashimaya Seibei of Reiganjima began lending out his collection of books. Despite being a polymath Nakahei had no inclination to collect books. Due to his frugality and avoidance of extravagance he did not face financial hardship but lacked sufficient funds to purchase books in abundance. He would borrow books read them copy extracts and return them. Even his attendance at Shinozaki’s academy in Osaka had not been to learn from Shinozaki himself but rather to borrow books. His lodging at Konchi-in in Shiba was also for scouring its library. In this year their third daughter Tōbaiko died of a sudden illness and their fourth daughter Utako was born.

In the following year, when the lord of the domain became a court presenter, Nakahei was ordered to assume the position of Oshiaikata, but he declined, citing his poor eyesight. Because he had done nothing but read books in dim light, his eyes had indeed deteriorated.

In the year after next, Nakahei moved to Azabu Nagasaka Ura-dōri. He had them bring an old house from Ushigome and build it. Immediately after moving in, Nakahei embarked on an observation tour to Matsushima. The attire consisted of a light blue woven cotton split-pattern haori and pleated hakama trousers, with silver-mounted daisho swords at his waist, a sedge hat on his head, and straw sandals on his feet. When he returned from his journey, Miss Osayo, now thirty-one years old, gave birth to their first son. This was Munēzō, the prodigy who would later grow into a handsome man resembling Oka no Komachi and declare his ambition to govern the realm through the Twenty-Nine Chapters of the Wen Shang Shu. Tragically, he died of acute diarrhea in the summer he turned twenty-two.

After an interval of one year, the Nakahei couple temporarily resided in the row houses of Kamitate and then relocated to Banchō Sodefuri-zaka. That winter, Miss Osayo, at thirty-three, gave birth to her second son, Kensuke. However, because her breast milk was scarce, she sent him as a foster child to the headman’s household in Zōshigaya. As Kensuke grew up, he became a man of unusual appearance resembling his father; later taking the name Antō Ekisai, he practiced medicine in two locations—Tōgane and Chiba—and while teaching Chinese studies on the side, he committed suicide in Chiba due to his inherent chronic liver ailment. He was twenty-eight years old. The grave is at Daijiji Temple in Chiba Town.

The American ships came to Uraga and the world entered an age of tumult when Nakahei was forty-eight and Miss Osayo thirty-five. Nakahei, who had become renowned throughout the realm as the great Confucian scholar Master Sekiken, narrowly avoided being swept into the whirlpool of the times again and again. In Obi Domain, they appointed Nakahei to the position of consultation officer. Nakahei presented coastal defense policies. This was when he was forty-nine. At age fifty-four, he associated with Fujita Tōko and became known to Lord Nariaki of Mito. At age fifty-five, because Perry came to Uraga, he advocated the expulsion of foreigners and port closure. In this year, because he disliked the domain’s governance, he resigned. However, he was made to resign from his position as consultation officer and merely became something called yōninkaku, while his actual duties remained unchanged from before. At age fifty-seven, he advocated the Ezo colonization theory. At age sixty-three, he requested retirement from the lord of the domain. It was the year Senior Councillor Ii was assassinated at Sakurada Mitsuke and Lord Nariaki passed away.

The family moved to Hayabusa-chō when he was fifty-one; the following year they suffered a fire, sold off the remaining earthen storehouse and architectural fittings, and relocated to Banchō; when he was fifty-nine, they moved to Zenshōji-dani in Kōjimachi. It was during his time in Banchō that he wrote "We do not discuss border affairs" and posted it on the second floor. Miss Osayo recovered from a somewhat serious illness when she was forty-five, but from the year-end when she turned fifty she took to her bed again and passed away on the fourth day of the New Year when she was fifty-one.

It was the year her husband Nakahei turned sixty-four. What remained were two sons with brief destinies—Munēzō and Kensuke—and among the daughters, Sumako, who had married Tanaka Tetsunosuke (son of the Akimoto family’s steward) only for the union to end in separation, then through Shiotani’s mediation wedded patriot Nakamura Teitarō of Shimabara in Hizen Province under the alias Kita Arima Tarō, along with the ailing fourth daughter Utako. After her later husband died in prison, Sumako returned to the Yasui family with her two children, Oito and Kotarō. Utako followed her mother in death seven months later at the age of twenty-three.

What kind of woman was Miss Osayo? Endowed with beautiful skin yet clad in coarse garments, she spent her life serving the frugal Nakahei until her end. In Obuse, about two ri from Hoshikura in Obi Agata Village, there lived a man named Yasui Rinpei of the same clan, whose wife Oshina kept one cotton striped lined kimono as a memento of Miss Osayo. It is likely that Miss Osayo rarely wore silk garments.

Miss Osayo served her husband without shirking any hardship. And she demanded nothing in return as compensation. She was not merely content with coarse garments. She never expressed a desire to reside in a grand residence, nor did she wish to use fine furnishings; she neither longed to eat delicious food nor sought to see interesting things.

That Miss Osayo was so simple as to be incapable of understanding luxury—no one could believe this. That she was so detached—materially or spiritually—as to desire nothing—no one could believe this. Miss Osayo undoubtedly harbored an extraordinary hope—one before which all things had become as insignificant as dust and debris.

What did Miss Osayo hope for? The world’s wise ones would surely claim she had hoped for her husband’s advancement. I who write this cannot deny it either. However, if one were to say that Miss Osayo provided her husband with toil and endurance as merchants invest capital to seek profit, only to die before receiving any recompense, then I—in my dullness—cannot agree with that.

Miss Osayo must surely have hoped for something in the future. And until she closed her eyes for the last time, her beautiful gaze remained fixed on some far, far-off place—perhaps she did not even have the leisure to perceive her own death as a misfortune. Perhaps she had not even clearly discerned what that object of hope truly was.

Six months after Miss Osayo’s death, Nakahei was summoned to Edo Castle at sixty-four. Two months later he had an audience with the Tokugawa shogun and was appointed to the yōnin-seki position; in the following year he was promoted to upper seats of both guard units. As Nakahei had become a direct retainer of the shogunate, Obi Domain summoned Kensuke. Subsequently—since Kensuke too became an official dispatched from Shōheikō Academy—the domain established its succession through Ito (eldest daughter born to Sumako by Nakamura in Ansei 4) by taking Takahashi Keizaburō as son-in-law. However this couple died young. It was this house that Kotaro—later born to Sumako—would eventually inherit. At sixty-six Nakahei was appointed magistrate of Mutsu Hanawa Domain with a stipend of 63,900 koku but pleaded illness to avoid assuming office and instead joined the kobushin group.

At sixty-five, he moved his residence to Shitaya Toshimachi; at sixty-seven, after temporarily staying at the domain’s upper residence, he purchased and relocated to a house by the moat outside Hanzo Gate in Kōjimachi 1-chōme. The Kaigakurō, where he viewed the moon with strategist Kumoi Ryūyū, was the second floor of this house.

In the wake of the shogunate’s collapse, during that tumultuous year in Edo, Nakahei formally retired at seventy. Before long, Kaigakurō was destroyed by a spreading fire, so they temporarily took shelter in the domain’s upper and lower residences. Amidst the city’s turmoil, Takahashi Zenbei—a farmer from Oji-Ryōga Village—hid in his younger brother Masakichi’s house. Sumako had gone to Obi three years prior; thus Kensuke’s wife Shukuko—who had come from the Amano family—and Chigiku, whom Shukuko had borne in August of the previous year, accompanied him to Nakahei’s hideout. Shukuko, who had been in poor health following childbirth, passed away at nineteen six months after arriving at the hideout. She died without ever meeting her husband in Shimousa.

Nakahei remained in the hideout until winter, then moved to the Yoyogi residence of Hikone Domain. This was due to the connection formed when Hikone Domain published Saden Shūshaku for him. The following year, at seventy-one, he moved to his former domain’s Sakurada residence, and at seventy-three, he relocated again to Dote Sanbanchō. Nakahei passed away on September 23rd at the age of seventy-eight. The ten-year-old granddaughter Chigiku, born to Kensuke and Shukuko, inherited the house. After Chigiku’s premature death, Saburō, the second son of Kotarō, succeeded.

Taishō 3rd Year, April