Pathway to Japanese Literature

In times past, Benjamin Franklin wrote an autobiography to serve as a warning to his descendants. One such as this person—noble in conduct and diligent in duties—truly deserves to be called one who left a precious exemplary model for posterity. How could someone like me—no matter how prideful my heart—ever dare to undertake such a thing? If one were to ask who the most sinful person in this world is, I would indeed be foremost among them; if one were to seek out the most foolish person, there would be none surpassing me. Having reached six-tenths of my life’s span, now when I look back upon my past, there is no deed I committed that was not sinful, no plan I devised that was not erroneous indeed. Shame and repentance, followed by anguish and torment—what fills my reminiscences is solely this—ah, truly nothing but this.

The path to alleviating the anguish of repentance lies solely in reforming myself. However, how should I reform myself? This is truly another anguish. It is anguish upon anguish; it is anguish to alleviate anguish. Anguish begets further anguish; when I seek to heal one torment, another comes unbidden—I now find myself truly besieged by anguish. Therefore, writing this book is not an endeavor to forget this anguish—no, the very act of taking up the brush itself becomes a source of torment; with each character added and each line written, the anguish only grows more intense.

The anguish only grows more intense; yet I do not wish to forcibly forget this—no, those nostalgic recollections of the past only multiply with each character and line written, intertwined with torment. Ah, how nostalgic—this recollection of my anguish. Looking back—I, a woman who underestimated her own position—became engrossed in the cries for civil rights and freedom while still young; though after repeated setbacks along my path I finally managed to entrust my later life to a household, scarcely had I begun to establish my family's foundation when I found myself widowed. The bitterness of human existence pierces me to the very marrow. If there be any who would shed a single tear of sympathy for me, they too must surely be among the world’s unfortunate.

My past was nothing but setbacks upon setbacks. Yet I have always fought—never once faltering in the face of setbacks. Not merely the past, nor solely the present—as long as blood courses through my veins, even in the future, I shall continue to fight. My vocation lies in battle; it lies in combating the sins against humanity. It is precisely through this awareness of my vocation that even the anguish of retrospection—the anguished past itself—comes to feel dear.

The path to healing my repentance—the anguish of repentance—lies solely in anguish. My vocation lies in combating the sins of both the world and myself through this calling.

I who once raged against the monopoly of political power and became consumed by the cries for civil rights and freedom now devoted myself to resisting the monopoly of capital while leaning toward rescuing the unfortunate poor. That I dared to recount my half-life’s experiences with utmost candor and without concealment, heedless of appearing preposterous, was not meant to substitute for repentant atonement, but rather to declare anew my so-called battle against both society and myself.

Chapter 1: Family

I: The Counterfeit Self When I was eight or nine years old, I was praised within our estate as a bright girl; beloved by schoolteachers as a lively and innocent child; then at eleven or twelve, specially chosen at an examination hall attended by prefectural education commissioners to lecture on texts like *Eighteen Histories Abridged* and *Unofficial History of Japan*. Taking pride in this supreme honor, I secretly boasted to our townsfolk that none in this world could match my intellect. At fifteen years old, I was entrusted with an assistant teaching position at a school; receiving three yen in salary to instruct students while fulfilling daily duties, I gathered dozens of pupils at my home under the guise of review sessions and taught supplementary subjects beyond the standard curriculum—thereby enabling them to take two grade-level examinations within a single year—which earned me great trust from parents and brought such prosperity that for a time we nearly rivaled public schools.

On my way to school, I was constantly taunted by uncouth boys shouting "Freak coming through! Freak coming through!" Now I finally understand how fitting this label was—for in truth, I had indeed been a freak in those days. The term 'freak' refers to horse hooves fashioned to resemble tortoiseshell—much like how vulcanized rubber masquerades as ivory—being things that appear similar yet fundamentally differ in essence. One can only imagine how perfectly this epithet suited me then. Though it shames me to recall now, I in those days—just as my teachers called me a spirited child—needless to say comported myself like a tomboy; begrudging even the time needed to style my hair during studies, I preferred reading above all else until sixteen—keeping my hair cropped and parted at the sides while dressing entirely like a male student, attending school in the company of female pupils. The neighborhood children who witnessed this must have found it uncanny, jeering "There goes that so-called freak—can't tell if it's a boy or girl!" Each time I remember this, sweat still prickles down my back. It wasn't until the following spring when I turned seventeen—as I gradually became aware of social norms—that I grew ashamed of my cross-dressing and began growing out my hair. This marked my first joining of those who wore cropped hairstyles.

II: Civil Rights and Freedom The year I turned seventeen was one I could never forget. In my hometown gathered many advocates of Civil Rights and Freedom who interacted as intimately as siblings in daily life; Mr. Haishi Kumeo (pseudonym) too stood as a proponent of these ideals. He formed a national coalition, became its representative leader, petitioned the then-government for parliamentary establishment, and sought to shatter the people's deluded dreams before other prefectures could act. At that time existed an Ōtsue-bushi song my mother had playfully composed.

For His August Majesty’s sake—beginning with Bizen Okayama, stalwart men from numerous provinces inscribed their crimson hearts in ink; bearing the nation’s heavy burdens while treating life as light as traveling clothes, they cast aside parents, wives, and children. (Poem Insert) "Patriots leaving their provinces to ascend to the capital, the anguished era of parliamentary establishment" "Before long shall clouds and mists disperse, bringing springtide for Civil Rights and Freedom—this season comes surely now!" Unlike ordinary Ōtsue-bushi songs, as it was a time when people were enthralled by civil rights theories, they took delight in singing along to my moon lute and frequently requested its performance. From the age of fifteen onward, they had me learn the full set of womanly accomplishments—tea ceremony, flower arrangement, sewing, and etiquette—deeming such knowledge essential. Furthermore, to temper my boyish demeanor into something more feminine, they even incorporated musical training into my daily regimen, including instruments like the yakuoto and moon lute. Thus I found myself so occupied with daily studies—moving from one task to another—that until nightfall there remained scarcely a spare moment.

III: Marriage Proposals At sixteen's end came a marriage proposal I declined as misaligned with my ideals. My parents grew desperate; one day they confronted me: "Our household nears ruin—how long will you linger here? This match is auspicious—resolve yourself!" Such were their impassioned words. Then I addressed Mother: "Through your grace I've gained self-sufficiency—even exiled today, I'd want not for sustenance." Yet my plea remained—to stay humbly at your side, devoting all school income to household needs that I might ease our plight. When I earnestly proposed this, my parents—perhaps seeing my resolve immovable—let negotiations lapse.

Ah! That in this world there exist so many who—pressured by their families—marry men they feel no affection for, bound by mere ritual and mechanism; how to enable these unfortunate women to gain the path of independent self-sufficiency—this wish became deeply engraved upon my heart from that very moment. After the marriage negotiations ceased, I devoted myself even more earnestly to scholarly pursuits; resigning from my assistant teaching position at the school, I established a private academy where I instructed students with meticulous care. Thus, our family name—already renowned through generations of educational commitment since ancestral times—soon spread throughout neighboring districts. As enrollments increased daily, before long our household became the focal point of respect. We therefore rented a temple to establish a classroom; at night I taught women who lacked time for daytime studies and children from poor families; Mother took charge of calligraphy while Elder Brother handled arithmetic—both assisting me; on Saturdays we organized discussion meetings and speech gatherings to facilitate knowledge exchange; opposing old-fashioned teaching methods, we wholeheartedly adopted progressive principles.

IV: Ms. Kishida Arrives

That year, the renowned Ms. Kishida Toshiko (widow of the late Mr. Nakajima Nobuyuki) arrived on her lecture tour and held a three-day speech meeting in our town—the audience swelled like clouds until not an inch of space remained in the venue. Indeed, when Ms. Kishida advocated the grand cause of women's rights expansion through her fluent oratory—her words flowing like torrents—even I could not contain my fervor. During her stay, we deliberated with wives and daughters from families committed to reform, organized a women's association, took the lead nationwide in uniting women, frequently invited activist thinkers to lecture on theories of natural rights, freedom, and equality, and devoted ourselves to shattering ancient feminine customs. As public sentiment surged toward this movement, applicants streamed in without cease, and our association grew ever more prosperous.

V: Cooling-Off Party

That same summer, when Liberal Party members decided to hold a cooling-off party on the Asahi River and approached our women's association about joint participation, I consulted with veteran members Ms. Takeuchi and Ms. Tsushita before agreeing to their proposal, setting out by boat on the Asahi River from that evening onward. The members harmonized their instruments to perform freedom songs in chorus; those solemn tones crossing the water struck me with boundless emotion—a memory that remains vivid even now. Just then from the opposite boat came a voice—a Liberal Party member had stood on deck to deliver a speech. A murderous intensity permeated the air, leaving all listeners trembling. Had this occurred in the city, police would have ordered immediate dispersal; but here on the water—in this anarchic space free from interference—they enthusiastically continued speech after impassioned speech until their fervor dominated the Asahi River, when suddenly a man emerged from the water like a sea goblin commanding us to disband. I never imagined this boating excursion might appear suspicious enough for police to submerge themselves spying on us. The passengers, caught in feverish excitement, jostled while shouting "Kill the river demon! Beat it to death!" Yet obeying the elder's counsel, they dispersed peacefully—a fortunate avoidance of disaster. The very next day my school received orders from Governor Takasaki: "Pending investigation, you are hereby commanded to cease operations." When I demanded clarification from authorities to no avail, I had my brother-in-law—a Standing Committee Member of the Prefectural Assembly—investigate, only to learn the reason was my boating with Liberal Party members. Even he received reprimands and temporary confinement.

Chapter 2: Departure for the Capital

I: Forsaking Home That the government trampled on human rights and wantonly exercised oppression became undeniably clear through this incident. Now I understood why our senior comrades had persistently preached their doctrines. Where could any obligation lie to submit to such arbitrary rule? Though born female, how could I rest without abolishing these corrupt systems and evil laws? Burning with rage, hastening urgently, my mind turned away from teaching students as I awaited the opportune moment to depart for the Eastern Capital and confer with reformist scholars—when an earnest invitation arrived from Yamada Kotakejo, my dear friend living three ri away: "Our village festival begins tomorrow—won't you come visit?" Seeing this as perfect pretext for immediate departure to the capital, I endured heart-rending anguish while persuading my elder sister and suggesting to Mother that we visit our ancestral grave. Leading all three family members to a temple one ri distant, I offered silent prayers declaring my ambitions to our forebears. It was a crisp, clear early autumn day. The agony of betraying the home where I'd lived seventeen years, of preparing to leave my parents' loving care—though I struggled to contain it, this sorrow overflowed and must have shown in my bearing. Even during our return journey, Mother grew suspicious of my manner; discerning my resentment over the school closure, she voiced this tender yet piercing admonition: "Do you mean to seize this chance for study abroad? Though Father withholds consent, I who lament seeing you become buried timber in some rural backwater—how could I obstruct such resolve? Confide your plans freely." Yet I remained silent—knowing Father would never consent if Mother broached the matter. Thus resolving first to seek funding from philanthropic scholars before embarking on my studies, I secretly prepared to petition Mr. Dogura Shōzaburō—the renowned Liberal Party benefactor from Yamato—when news came of the party's dissolution motion. Count Itagaki and other prominent figures descended to Osaka, with Mr. Dogura relocating there too. Deeming this chance irreplaceable, I finally deceived even Mother—feigning compliance with a friend's invitation to request one week's leave before slipping from our home's eaves the next day. This occurred in early autumn of Meiji 17.

II: Having an Audience with Count Itagaki After arriving at a friend’s house and inquiring about tomorrow’s Osaka-bound ship schedule—learning it would depart around seven in the evening—I felt a belated surge of unease. Yet this being my long-held resolution, when morning came I ignored my friends’ earnest attempts to detain me and bid farewell to set out for Osaka. However, a man around forty sharing the room persistently asked about my birthplace while staring at my face, making me uneasy. I briefly suspected he might have been sent by my parents to intercept me. But since I had left home to fulfill my aspirations—not being one to elope vulgarly over walls—I saw no need for secrecy and mentioned visiting relatives in Osaka during my eastward journey. When he obstinately pressed—“Who exactly? What’s their address?”—I answered evasively. The man looked startled. “Could you be related to Fujii? What a coincidence! He was just here but left on office business. Wait—I’ll fetch him!” He hurried off to call Fujii from the office. Fujii arrived before clarifying my identity—only to find I was his cousin. He immediately bombarded me: “Why this journey east? Did you get your parents’ permission?” My claim of having consent was self-deception. Overwhelmed by his barrage of questions, I clutched my throbbing chest and feigned dizziness, insisting details could wait until landing. Lying still, we reached Osaka at nine next morning. Even Fujii’s wife, children, clerks and errand boys welcomed him joyfully—though they surely viewed my sudden presence with suspicion. That evening, I finally confessed my true reason for traveling east to the Fujii couple. His wife expressed deep sympathy, while Fujii vowed to assist me.

The very next day, I immediately visited Mr. Dogura at Ginsuirou, but he had not yet departed from Osaka—how profound was my disappointment! Yet having no alternative course, I simply continued awaiting his arrival when an invitation arrived from Mr. Haseishi Kumedai proposing to introduce me to Count Itagaki. Overjoyed, I immediately visited his residence, but Mr. Haseishi—unaware of my reason for departing Osaka—graciously imparted a heartfelt admonition: "As a woman, do not let transient emotions lead you astray from your proper path." Yet perceiving my resolve remained unshaken, he ceased further argument and instead advised me to meet Count Itagaki and present my purpose for the eastward journey. I acquiesced and finally obtained audience with the Count; when I explained my intentions for the journey and future aspirations, he expressed profound sympathy while declaring: "Once Mr. Dogura departs Osaka, I shall personally ensure your eastward plans are realized through my own entreaties rather than his. Strive earnestly for our nation and humanity's sake." On that day when I choked back tears of profound gratitude, unexpectedly came a summons from Mr. Dogura—a letter from my friend Count Itagaki containing his admiration upon hearing of your aspirations, along with his humble offer to provide educational funds. My heart soared to the heavens as I shared this joy with my cousin and urgently sent word to my parents in the countryside requesting permission for study abroad. In haste, I rushed to Mr. Dogura's residence to express gratitude for this benevolence, where I was granted fifty yen for travel expenses. Thus all preparations were completed, and as I awaited the day of my eastward journey, word arrived from my cousin in my hometown that initially caused great alarm. Yet to disregard the fortune of receiving educational funding through such people’s benevolence would have been wasteful—thus my family ultimately openly accepted my wish to depart for the capital. This was truly through the grace of Count Itagaki and Mr. Dogura.

III: Crisis at the Scholar's Desk

Several days thereafter, a letter arrived from Count Itagaki stating: “Taking advantage of a reform-minded individual’s imminent return to Tokyo, I have requested they accompany you. Come at once for introductions.” When I promptly went to investigate, this “reform-minded individual” proved to be Mr. Satō Sadamoto—then serving as secretary of the Liberal Party—at which I felt fully reassured. The following day, I boarded a ship departing Kobe; my first sea voyage proceeded without incident, and my inaugural train ride from Yokohama reached Tokyo without hindrance. I then called at the residence of Mr. Sakazaki Bin—a *Jiyūtō Shimbun* journalist whom Count Itagaki had previously contacted—where I exchanged initial greetings and formally requested future instructional guidance. Soon after, I enrolled at Shin’ei Girls’ School in Tsukiji, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with twelve- or thirteen-year-old girls while devoting myself to English studies. Concurrently, I attended Mr. Sakazaki’s lectures on psychology and Mr. Spencer’s social philosophy, thus becoming wholly immersed in scholarly pursuits. Amidst these endeavors, news that the Korean Disturbance had been immediately followed by the commencement of Sino-Japanese negotiations abruptly shattered the tranquility of my study. Observing our weak and spineless authorities—who oppress the people domestically yet grovel obsequiously toward foreign powers, staking national honor to flaunt transient splendor while bequeathing calamities for centuries to come as they frantically pursue mere personal comfort—I, ever prone to being swept away by emotion, found my indignation blazing until I cast aside even my identity as a woman, resolving that I must rise up and rouse from slumber these irresolute authorities and apathetic citizens—such was the extremity of my determination.

IV: Contemporary Impressions

Ah! Thus did I bring misfortune upon myself by resolutely casting aside my writing brush. There exists a document through which I expressed my sentiments at that time—though approaching the ravings of a madwoman—yet sufficient to understand how I became intoxicated with state-centered ideology and fervently devoted myself to loyalty to sovereign and love of country. In narrative sequence, I beg leave to excerpt it below. This was drafted during my imprisonment in Osaka Detention Center. I hereby confess: while I now lament the arrogance of aristocrats and plutocrats, I equally detest the moral decay and frivolity of those Liberal Party comrades who once shared life and death with us. Though we are but women, our unyielding resolve for the nation shall persist even unto death—this single-minded determination guided me to increasingly delight in hearing socialists' theories, while gradually making me detest the words and deeds of imperialists who busily pursue private gain.

Ah! How misguided were those thoughts of mine then—bereft of true learning, driven solely by raw emotion. Yet in those days, others recognized me as a patriot-activist agonizing over society's ills, and I embraced that identity. Let me now speak from that activist's perspective.

Prison Reflections (Meiji 18 [December 19, 1885] at Osaka Detention Center, Age 19) Fundamentally, I observed that our nation's civil rights remained unexpanded; consequently, women had become accustomed to archaic customs, meekly resigning themselves to slavery under men. Unaware of their inherent right to liberty, they remained indifferent to whatever corrupt systems and evil laws oppressed them, finding contentment in petty personal pleasures and deeming silken robes and sumptuous feasts life's greatest happiness and honor. How could they have comprehended the true nature of affairs? Let alone grasped matters of national welfare? What had never crossed their minds was that the vast multitudes of Japanese women—degrading themselves as if external to governance, considering political matters beyond female comprehension—showed not the slightest inclination for concern. This lack of vitality and power among women stemmed precisely from incomplete female education and the failure to expand civil rights—which naturally affected women as well. Therefore I resolved to ally myself with sympathetic civil rights advocates and devote myself fully to expanding civil rights and freedom. This had always been my hoped-for objective: once we expanded women's rights and attained equal status with men, all thirty-seven million of our sisters and compatriots would vie to participate in national governance. They would never again disregard the nation's crises, but instead eliminate the corrupt systems and evil laws created for others' benefit. When we guided culture alongside men and gained true understanding of affairs, our patriotic fervor would reach its most intense culmination. Yet observing our nation's current state—where all people being unequal despised this despotic regime and desired an impartial constitutional government; where through newspaper publications, speeches, and petitions to authorities, they daily warned that autocratic rule was untenable and ill-suited for the Japanese people; where they admonished those in power that unless a constitutional system was swiftly established allowing popular participation in governance, patriotic fervor might overflow into unpredictable actions—all such warnings fell on deaf ears. Worse still, when patriotic scholars and virtuous individuals inadvertently violated legal statutes, the current government heartlessly confined them for prolonged periods beneath prison windows. These oppressive measures against the people were truly too numerous to enumerate. Among these, what had most stirred my emotions was [the government] establishing ordinances restricting newspapers, assemblies, and speech—depriving us of the Three Great Natural Freedoms—and furthermore imposing various taxes we had never heard of since birth. Moreover, by appending phrases like "by imperial decree" to proclamations and audaciously seeking to attribute criminal charges to His Majesty the Emperor—what manner of outrage was this? Each time I dwelled on this, anguish overwhelmed me—bloody tears streamed down my face for moments on end, and though no chill gripped the air, gooseflesh rose upon my skin time and again. In but a moment's thought: should matters continue thus—with the ignorant masses resenting the cruelty of imposed taxes—what sentiments might arise? Dreadfully, their accumulated grievances could overflow, culminating in uprisings as merciless as those of the French Revolution or as tragically conceived as the Russian Nihilists' plots—such horrific convulsions being not beyond possibility. Therefore we like-minded patriots had had no choice but to eliminate this [threat] before it could sprout—which was precisely why we had previously counseled the government in days past. That we like-minded patriots counseled the current government stemmed precisely from our consideration of this administration's past conduct. Yet now that [our counsel] remained unheeded—nay, even contradicted in our true intent—with further national humiliations such as the Sino-Japanese negotiations having occurred, we found no leisure left to consider this administration. It was precisely why we had grown ever more devoted to governmental reform, seeking means to address our nation's crisis. Having deeply contemplated this matter, I observed that while diplomacy now daily expanded—outwardly maintaining amicable relations—they harbored hidden animosities within, indulging daily in the raptor's desire through survival of the fittest and law of the jungle, showing clear signs of encroaching upon the Orient. As for our nation's diplomatic condition in recent times—enumerating my perceptions—had those negotiations arising from the Korean Disturbance truly achieved results satisfying us citizens? Moreover, at this juncture, foreign scrutiny blazed with unmistakable clarity. Yet the resulting inadequacy was such that even foreigners were heard to privately lament the Japanese government’s weakness and impotence. When I reflected and reached this point—bloody tears streaming, iron guts torn asunder, heart of stone splitting—I felt my patriotic fervor pierce through me with utmost intensity. Ah! Had Japan no righteous patriots? Ah! Was there not one martyr among thirty-seven million souls who would cleanse this national disgrace? As I contemplated domestic affairs and foreign relations—the absence of treaty revisions being utterly unconscionable—sorrow churned within me until I could no longer endure this anguish. Ah! How could this be endured? Though I be but a woman, was I not fundamentally a citizen of Japan? I must not fail to avenge this national disgrace—thus did I sink into solitary anguish and torment. For there had been no other women involved in strategizing, and though Kobayashi and his associates appeared to have been planning something during this crisis, I—having left Tokyo to pursue different aspirations—had been wholly devoted to English studies for a time. Thus despite our mutual ideological respect and affection with Kobayashi, my academic commitments had made visits to his lodges exceedingly rare, and consequently I had made no effort to learn of their plotted affairs during that period. Yet when the Sino-Japanese negotiations commenced, I became profoundly stirred and resolutely cast aside my writing brush.

Kobayashi had long maintained as his principle that even among the most intimate associates, he would never bend others' wills to make them submit to his own views—how much more so when our planned endeavors all concerned matters of life and death! He was one who would wait until our spirits resonated in mutual understanding before fully articulating his thoughts. In all matters, everything proceeded precisely in this manner. Yet when the Korean Incident suddenly escalated into Sino-Japanese tensions, I—as previously stated—perceived our nation's crisis pressing upon us day and night. How could this be a time for reading? Resolutely casting aside my writing brush, I first went to Kobayashi's residence and inquired what plans existed for this critical juncture. However, he did not answer. Therefore I, through written appeals and exhausting every mode of persuasion, reiterated my convictions repeatedly—perhaps because this made some impression—until finally I managed to hear the initial framework of plans regarding this current incident. The inception was none other than this: should we initiate this current Sino-Japanese dispute, we would seize upon this action to fulfill our long-held aspirations. And though their plans were already laid, when I heard them lamenting only the lack of funds, I became deeply inspired. Resolving to somehow procure money and see their will realized, I traveled through Sagami under the guise of establishing the Fushutsu'i Company, eventually securing a modest sum. However, this sum proved insufficient to cover the expenses required for our current plans, barely meeting the activists' operational costs alone. Though I exerted myself in every possible way, alas—what person would invest substantial funds in a maiden's position? Not to mention this crucial matter—since they never informed us at all for fear of exposure—all efforts proved futile. Therefore I concluded that someone like myself could never hope to provide even one ten-thousandth of the financial assistance required by the men, and so abandoned all efforts at fundraising—resolving instead to dedicate my very person to the cause, devising various means toward that end. However, there came unexpected news that even China and Japan had peacefully concluded negotiations. Though this news proved truly ill-omened for our cause and brought some disappointment, how could we abandon our efforts midway? Even should greater difficulties arise, through spiritual concentration might we not accomplish anything? Moreover, given the prevailing climate where pro-war arguments dominated daily discourse across all strata of society—their influence truly formidable—the abrupt conclusion of peace negotiations left those thoroughly indoctrinated with such sentiments viewing this development as no windfall for our cause. Seizing this critical juncture that must not be lost, we formulated a new strategy: selecting martial activists resolved to die, first dispatching them to Korea to instigate uprising. There we drafted a manifesto, circulating it widely to gain comrades among our countrymen. By joining forces to expel the queue-wearing slaves beyond our borders and make Korea a purely independent nation, foreign observers would witness that though our government had groveled spinelessly before those queue-wearing slaves and suffered humiliation, our citizenry contained righteous patriots and heroic women who cleansed national disgrace. This would significantly impact diplomatic strategy while simultaneously serving as an excellent means to reform our domestic government—a strategy killing two birds with one stone. We yearned fervently for swift action and racked our brains devising methods, yet despite perfecting our plans, the persistent lack of funds rendered us still unable to launch. Ōi and Kobayashi had been solely devoted to fundraising, but with no further purpose remaining in this locale, the two departed to conduct lecture tours in the provinces. After some time, Ōi returned to the capital midway while Kobayashi remained alone; through Kobayashi's persistent efforts, the required funds were finally secured, prompting Isoyama and his group to definitively resolve on embarking for Korea. On the eve of their departure, Isoyama informed me that I would accompany them to Korea. Therefore, I inquired where it was needed. Isoyama informed me that it was most necessary for the interim correspondents. After careful deliberation, I consented to this. It should be noted that when I previously departed Tokyo, I had indeed promised at Isoyama's request to transport explosives, making arrangements to reach Nagasaki. Once that obligation concluded, I had hoped to return to the capital and pursue the second strategy—that is, conduct appropriate activities domestically. However, when in this locale (Osaka) it came to accompanying them for communication purposes with Korea—and since Kobayashi too agreed to this—I consequently resolved to embark on the voyage. However, Isoyama fled on the very eve of their imminent departure, and furthermore, we could not ascertain his whereabouts. As circumstances compelled Arai to assume that responsibility in his stead and resolve to go, he too accordingly determined to accompany me.

Having resolved myself to this course, I immediately consented, parted ways with Ōi and Kobayashi, embarked on the voyage with Arai, reached Kiyō, and awaited the departure of the ship bound for Incheon. During our stay there—with Arai replacing Isoyama following his desertion—discord arose among the activists, some even refusing to embark on the voyage. Unable to endure this anxiety, I attempted to indirectly explain to them the distinction between public duty and private interests.Yet tragically, they showed no consideration for such principles and would not yield.This enraged me profoundly,and though I had not yet consulted my comrades,I resolutely prepared myself for mortal reckoning. At that time I said to Arai:"No sooner had I arrived here than I discerned the activists'true intentions—men of stature yet harboring personal motives,inclined to abandon public duty.Moreover,there appears resentment toward your substitution.This situation is truly lamentable for our nation." However,when these activists insisted that remaining inland would be a better strategy,Arai responded:"Indeed,that may be so.If there are such people,let them return.What need have we for large numbers?" "Our duty to you gentlemen lies solely in becoming sacrifices who cast aside our very beings to provide favorable means for those remaining inland;thus a few resolved activists would suffice—why should we require those incapable of distinguishing public from private?" I was moved by these words—ah!Here stood one who for the nation's sake disregarded personal honor,who left all domestic affairs to Ōi and Kobayashi's charge without interference,who sought only to fulfill his duty by volunteering as sacrifice.For a moment I was struck by admiration for this man embodying patriots'true calling.Yet I too recognized that without mortal resolve in this venture,we could never fully achieve our ordinary hopes. Moreover,though my current participation was limited solely to being a communication officer,domestic matters would be sufficiently managed through Ōi and Kobayashi's activities. Even should I now become a ghost in a foreign land—if our endeavor succeeded—my lifelong aspirations too would find realization through my comrades'expansion of our cause. First,I must devote all efforts to this method;nothing surpassed enabling them to secure favorable conditions. That is,I would assist Arai in securing outcomes through this method—and for this purpose,a resolve to face certain death was indispensable.Yet being a woman lacking physical strength,I could rely only on an excellent weapon against thousands:explosives. Even if my body was weak,in confronting this with patriotic fervor—how could I yield to any activist? And thus I reflected:Though fundamentally ignorant and unlearned,this mission constituted a grave responsibility—internally serving as means for governmental reform,externally relating to diplomatic strategy,bearing the honor of casting aside life and limb.Ah!How could I begrudge ten thousand deaths?With this resolve did I steel myself. Thus even in the letter I presented to Kobayashi at Kiyō—though our homelands might differ—we would together devote ourselves to nation and cause,striving to establish freedom's new realm in the recent East;this being the implicit farewell message conveyed therein. Ah!Though I had beloved parents—what meaning remained when discarding humanity's profound parent-child bond? Yet this was private matter.How could I,a mere woman,conflate public duty with personal affairs? To thus cast aside this life that should be cherished—what compelled such willing sacrifice?There was no reason save single-minded patriotism. However,alas—the plot was exposed midway,and I could not achieve my true intent. Having encountered the misfortune of vainly groaning within prison walls and the sorrow of seeing my nation's peril treated as another's concern—I who had always held ardent patriotism and willingness for ten thousand deaths in light regard—though harboring no resentment even at prolonged imprisonment—how could I bear passing days unable to repay my country's benevolence? Ah!Thinking of this and him,I could only weep bitterly. Ah!On what day might I ever achieve my lifelong aspiration?I could only resent this fate;only grieve this plight.Ah!

On December 19, 1885, at the Osaka Police Headquarters

Osaka Prefectural Police Assistant Inspector Hirozawa Tetsurō Seal

Having presented such a verbose statement of grievances to the jailer, how utterly graceless had been my conduct at that time—affecting airs of composition with clumsy brushwork.

O you youthful people who rush headlong into fragments of emotion without reason—though I wish you might observe my example and find some cautionary lesson, such hopes too prove utterly futile. Ah, how vastly different in character was that simple, youthful self of mine—relentlessly tossed by worldly waves until sinking into misfortune's abyss, ultimately weeping over inscrutable fate's grievances while steeling myself to find death's solace—compared to my present self! Whenever I reach this point in recollection, how can I restrain these unbidden tears of nostalgia? That I, in youth's bloom, resolved to stake my life for freedom and patriotism—though partly driven by honor's thirst—sprang ultimately from my heart's deepest desire to make our people comprehend liberty's grand principle. At that time existed my humble composition,

Patriotic crimson heart deems ten thousand deaths light; Who dares claim women achieve nothing? Remember Empress Jingū’s glorious name!

V. Fushutsu'i Company

Prior to this development, while residing at Mr. Sakazaki's residence and devoting myself wholly to study, I resolved to cultivate fellow women comrades through whatever means possible. Establishing an organization called the Fushutsu'i Company, I instructed women in paths toward independent self-sufficiency—liberating them from servitude to men while enabling them to fulfill their natural vocations freely. Through this transformative influence, I aimed to reform men's violent tyranny and moral baseness. Having consulted with Ms. Tomii Oto, we secured endorsements from provincial supporters and initiated fundraising campaigns, nurturing aspirations to eventually establish a grand coalition. Yet circumstances diverged cruelly from our designs—Ms. Tomii suffered the misfortune of returning to her native region. I shall now take this opportunity to recount Ms. Tomii's personal history.

VI. Ms. Oto

Ms.Oto Tomii was born in Harima Tatsuno to a soy sauce brewery family, with one older brother and one younger sister. From childhood she loved learning,and though her merchant family deemed it unnecessary,her mother painstakingly enrolled her in the local middle school.After graduating.she studied Chinese classics under a renowned scholar in that region.Hearing of Ms.Kishida Toshiko's reputation.she once became a study maid in that household,but upon realizing she could gain no scholarly benefit from Ms.Kishida's Chinese studies-and coinciding with Ms.Kishida's marriage arrangement.to Mr.Nakajima Nobuyuki-she briefly left that house.to enter Mr.Sakazaki's circle.where she handled proofreading at.the Illustrated Freedom Lantern Newspaper Company and adopted an independent course. The woman.in our country who became.a newspaper employee-indeed.Ms.Oto should.be considered.the pioneer.of this. Thus.Ms.Oto used her surplus salary.to assist fellow women comrades.had them live together.at Mr.Sakazaki's house.to devote themselves.to studies,and personally took.on.the role.of instructor. When I visited Mr.Sakazaki and met.Ms.Oto we felt.as though we were old acquaintances.Ultimately making.a sisterly pact we swore.to assist each other throughout our lives while making.it our custom.to share all secrets without reservation.confiding.in each other about both good and bad matters. Therefore.having been informed.of.the Korean turmoil and.the increasingly urgent situation.in East Asia.I declared,"How can we women idly pass such.a critical moment?"Ms.Otoo lamented our leaders' indecisiveness and privately resolved:"Come then-let us tour.the provinces.to rouse.the people's spirit."Leaving behind.a note.of apology.for Mr.Sakazaki.she rushed.with me.to Kanagawa Prefecture. It was indeed.the spring.of1885. Both women arrived.in Ogino Town.Kanagawa Prefecture.where through.the efforts.of local supporters.Mr.Ogino and Mr.Amano they gathered comrades and ultimately attempted.to raise funds.to assist activists.Shigei(pseudonym).Hakuseki,and others.in their cause.Howevers.as.the amount proved insufficient.Ms.Otoo became discouraged and resolved.to return alone.to her hometown.to persuade her elder brother there.to contribute some funds.Their travel expenses had been secured by pawning both women's clothing.

VII. Hairdresser and Laundress

After parting with Ms. Tomii, I realized I no longer qualified to receive Mr. Dogura's educational stipend. Occupations know no hierarchy—all are equally sacred. Even while draping my body in rags, I adorned my heart with brocade's splendor, resolved to temporarily forge a path of self-reliance until I might accomplish some thunderous impact that would resound through society. At times I became a hairdresser; at others, a laundress; and still others, a seamstress. The ease of mind found in being unknown within the vast metropolis—how remarkably both arduous and joyous proved the work of self-reliance! Thus about thirty days had passed, yet there came no word from Ms. Tomii. As I agonized over the unreliability of human hearts, thinking it better to go see for myself rather than wait idly, I consulted Mr. Hakuseki about this. He responded that if her mind had changed, going would be pointless, but if not, remaining here wouldn't bring any news either. Having indeed concluded this to be so, there being no alternative but to comply with those words, several more days passed until one day arrived a letter scrawled in pencil with vague particulars. When I looked, it was a letter from Ms. Tomii—the woman I both resented and longed for. The opening read: "Ah—how I've failed and erred, fallen into this quagmire! I am no longer the Tomii of old. This sister must apologize to you with her very death. My present tragic plight defies description—confined to a corner of the second floor, each day idle, gazing at the beloved eastern skies while anguish scorches my breast. I cannot write more. I beg you to understand."

Her words were brief, yet the general situation could be surmised. I desperately sought some path of rescue, racking my brains in countless ways, but found no means. Thus resolving to shoulder Ms. Tomii's role myself and perform twice the labor to carry out this true intent, I applied myself daily to hairdressing and laundry work for disciples who had come seeking me from my hometown. Scraping by to barely sustain myself while campaigning among supporters, I greatly gained their trust.

VIII. The Shattering of Dawn Dreams

However, in early September of that year, the landlord of the house where I had rented a room called up to me from downstairs before dawn, his voice frantic: “Keiyama-san! Keiyama-san!” Still half-entangled in dawn’s lingering dreams, I hazily called back, “What is it?”—only to be told a female visitor had arrived. When I pressed again asking who it was, he replied that it was Ms. Tomii. “What?! Ms. Tomii!” I kicked off the bedding and sprang upright. Though I raced down the stairs as if dreaming—oh!—there in the garden stood that very person. Was this Ms. Tomii? Forgetting myself, I embraced her—for a time, there were only wordless tears. The beloved Ms. Tomii—who must have spent days in the same clothes—stood dazed in the garden under early autumn’s sweltering sky, clad in a sweat-stained yukata utterly soiled beyond repair, bearing the maidenly air of a young woman in her prime yet understandably self-conscious under others’ gaze. Since this was no proper state of affairs, we helped her upstairs to first celebrate her safety; when I inquired about all matters since our parting, Ms. Tomii—tears streaming—began speaking thus: After separating from you, I safely reached my hometown and rejoiced at finding my mother and siblings unharmed; when I explained these unexpected reasons for returning home in such detail, my brother appeared deeply moved and listened intently throughout. Seeing his demeanor, my heart found momentary relief; yet when I finally broached fundraising, what had seemed an expression of admiration revealed itself instead as a face aghast at my audacity—or so I later realized. When I entreated him thrice more, he gave no answer but slowly adopted an ominously subdued tone, declaring that since we had participated in such outrageous matters, he must report this to the local police station to prevent calamity before it took root. I stood both shocked and utterly appalled—having confided this precisely because he was my own brother—that he would cowardly report us and injure our sympathizers. What monstrous inhumanity! Resolving to apologize through my death alone, I faced him: “My involvement stemmed entirely from misapprehension. Now enlightened by your admonitions, I repent. Henceforth I shall obey your every command. I implore you—let those who pledged honor save face.” Through such entreaties I barely secured his consent, yet from that moment became confined upstairs while my sister stood guard. When denied brush and paper—this sorrow surpassing death—the heart imagining your anxious wait endured agony manyfold greater than the awaited’s. At last persuading my sister, I borrowed pencil and paper to send hurried word but lacked time for details. Surely they scorned me as turncoat—this bitter thought wrenched my heart so fiercely I found no nightly peace. Resolving to return east and determine my course, I finally seized escape’s chance: forcibly borrowing four yen my sister had received as midyear gifts days prior, using it as travel funds to slip out midnight-clad. Leaving a letter vowing devotion to Christianity to fulfill my aspirations, I thus reached the capital. Therefore I’m no longer our comrade—I ask you condemn not this betrayal but permit enduring friendship. Knowing your noble intent’s profound sincerity, how could I restrain moved tears? Ah! When men sell themselves for gold yet Ms. Tomii sacrifices herself through virtue to keep her brother’s secrets—changing path while striving for people and nation—what purity! My reverence deepened immeasurably.

That day, endless discussions unfolded throughout my lodgings—which we proudly called our activist den—until we lost all sense of time as daylight faded to dusk. When parting came, though our paths now diverged, we swore to uphold our founding resolve: "However different our duties, we shall surely clasp hands in freedom's new world before long." With this pledge to meet again, we bid farewell and went our separate ways. Ah, that this would become our eternal parting—this mortal being had no way of knowing.

III. Plan to Cross to Korea

I. My Task One day our comrade Mr. Shigehei Ishizuka came and explained that preparations for crossing to Korea were complete, stating I too would join their ranks while detailing their rationale and methodology. How could this self—dedicated body and soul to long-held convictions—hesitate? I immediately commenced preparations, whereupon Nakata Mitsuko—that woman of profound camaraderie—appeared to discern my uncharacteristic behavior and seek understanding of its particulars. Yet deeming it unconscionable to implicate her in peril, I entrusted Mr. Ishizuka with encouraging her continued studies while dispatching word to Ms. Oto about my impending voyage and unresolved responsibilities—thus embarking for Korea in October of Meiji 18 [1885] with heart unburdened by lingering regrets.

II. The Suitcase Explosives My companions were Mr. Arai Shōgo and Mr. Inagaki Shimesu, but among the band of activists, I saw figures scattered here and there lying sprawled in the ship’s hold while wrapped in red blankets. The companions all pretended to be strangers to one another; the tedium and anxiety they endured defied all description. The reason I joined this mission lay in transporting explosives; as it had been decided that using a woman's personal belongings would avoid others' notice, they consequently assigned me the duty of carrying them. Thus I received all the explosive chemicals from Isoyama's hands, packed them into a Chinese suitcase disguised as ordinary luggage, and kept it constantly by my side—sometimes even using it as a pillow while stealing moments of sleep. When we reached Osaka and attempted to secretly repackage the materials at Mr. Andō Kyūjirō's residence, we discovered some damp potassium sulfide in the canister. Upon removing it to let it dry, the moment it made contact with air, blue flames erupted across its surface, nearly causing catastrophe until Mr. Andō arrived and swiftly extinguished them. Everyone praised how his many years studying pharmaceuticals—having obtained proper pharmacist credentials and currently operating a drugstore—proved their worth in this crisis. Yet reflecting now, though I had boasted of fearing no venomous creature in my recklessness, the realization that I could sleep peacefully with such supremely dangerous chemicals as my pillow makes every hair on my body stand erect. Particularly at Kobe Station when they weighed this suitcase—hearing the contents rattle inside, the station workers grew suspicious and demanded to know what it contained. Though my injured leg startled me into a gasp, I feigned nonchalance, explaining I'd packed children's toys as hometown souvenirs that had unfortunately broken from the train's excessive vibrations. To demonstrate, I deliberately shook the case, whereupon the station worker nodded sympathetically and refrained from insisting on opening it. Looking back now on those days, I still feel cold sweat dampening my back—indeed, Mr. Andō came from generations of pharmacists and was then an ardent Freedom Party member, but now I hear he serves diligently as a Home Ministry quarantine officer. When Count Itagaki served as Home Minister in previous years, he was appointed a high-ranking official in the Home Ministry, perhaps in recognition of his long years of service to national affairs; and though subsequent cabinets underwent numerous changes, his foundation in specialized skills set him apart from other inept firebrands in selection processes, rendering him most serviceable to the authorities.

III. Hachikenya

After lodging several days at Mr. Andō's residence in Osaka, I relocated to an inn called Hachikenya with boat moorings, single-mindedly awaiting our departure date for Korea, when one day Isoyama reported Hakuseki's arrival in Osaka and urged me to hasten to his lodgings. Though perplexed about the reason, I went to investigate only to find my comrades midway through a banquet, with geishas—alluringly made up—animatedly attending them as they poured drinks. How could someone like me, unaccustomed to such gatherings, do anything but shrink in mortification? Yet how could these comrades spare such leisure for extravagance? Here lay the perfect moment for confrontation. Facing Mr. Hakuseki, I utterly failed to comprehend this banquet—so utterly unlike what I had presumed upon receiving Isoyama's urgent summons about coordinating vital matters. Their idiotic antics proved visually repulsive; Ah! Even those we daily relied upon behaved thus! That hot-blooded activists should care for nothing beyond brothel visits followed reason—yet this remained the bitterest height of lamentation. To think I should sit among such company—too ashamed even to speak! Resolving "Better leave this instant," I hurled every insult that came to mind, kicked up the tatami mats, and stormed out. It was that Isoyama had specifically summoned me to witness this spectacle anticipating my reaction; yet my anger proved fiercer than imagined. Not only the comrades but even the geishas felt profound shame in their hearts, and as the entire gathering fell into discomfited silence, they brought the banquet to an abrupt conclusion.

IV. Isoyama's Disappearance

Several days after that, the explosives were completed. On the very eve of our departure, Isoyama’s whereabouts became unknown. However, when his nephew—a certain Mr. Tazaki—informed me that Isoyama was hiding in a brothel, I first went to inquire after his whereabouts. The madam of the establishment came out and insisted he was not there. “Fine, give others that excuse,” I reiterated, “but I am Isoyama’s right-hand. Knowing he’s in this house, I came on urgent business. Were Isoyama aware it’s me, he’d never hide.” The madam nodded apologetically: “Right sorry ’bout that, ma’am, but whoever comes askin’, he ain’t here—swear he ain’t! We hid ’im proper-like, see? But you bein’ a lady an’ all—best not get angry, would ya?” With that, she led me deep, deep into the innermost recesses—to a demonic chamber where her beloved courtesan Yae waited. He had no way of knowing the strict orders he had given the madam would be broken so easily, having assumed the approaching presence belonged solely to her. When my face unexpectedly appeared before him, how could he not panic in utter disarray? However, I had no desire to repeat the same dreary scene as before; instead finding myself sympathizing with him, I resolved that coaxing him into meeting Arai and Hakuseki would be best. Devising various arguments, I finally lured him out of that demonic chamber and into a rickshaw. As we set off together toward Hakuseki’s lodgings, we stopped at a comrade’s house along the way with the intention of bringing that person along. Never having imagined this deception, I trusted his intentions—truly the world contains cowardly men! He fled on the spot and ultimately vanished without a trace. Among the money he absconded with were funds that included what a Kanagawa Prefecture activist—who had boasted of discarding minor proprieties for grand achievements—had forcibly raised by attempting to embezzle taxes from the county office but failed, then breaking into a wealthy household and deceiving his own conscience in the name of a noble cause. Yet he squandered this activist’s blood-and-tears money on private debauchery, disregarded public justice to purchase a courtesan’s compliance—what buffoonish rogue is this? How fitting! As he endured the disgrace of shackles in prison—rejected by comrades as a moral degenerate, mocked by prison officials—he was ultimately wounded by an activist during his public trial. He must have realized then the fearsome workings of karmic retribution.

V. Hideout Thus Isoyama fled, and our comrades' military funds were stolen. The immediate problem became how to handle provisions for activists lodged across various locations. After urgently telegraphing the eastern capital, we sent Mr. Ishizuka to fully explain the situation and pressed Shigei to come to Osaka. He soon arrived to establish countermeasures before returning to the capital to focus on fundraising. During that period, we desperately pooled resources to cover lodging fees, narrowly avoiding the indignity of unpaid accommodations. Yet now arose pressing questions: Could funds be secured within days? How would we endure the interim? Some proposed renting a house to consolidate twenty to thirty activists—the optimal strategy—but fearing police detection, I took initiative to consult Mr. Yamamoto Ken. We rented a property under his academy's name, designating it a Baiseisho Juku branch. Thereafter I abruptly adopted the role of caretaker matron. With one comrade, I procured kitchenware and furnishings, assigning cooking rotations to activists accustomed to self-sufficiency while maintaining a facade of scholarly absorption. Secretly convening here, we devised contingency plans: "Even if Isoyama flees, shall activists' resolve waver? Nothing surpasses expediting Korean expedition funds." For ten days we strategized relentlessly. Noticing waning enthusiasm among hot-blooded youths, I sometimes visited bearing rare delicacies; other times embraced "women's sacred duty" through cooking, carried miso strainers to tofu shops, or—prodded by claims that "only women can placate rice merchants"—stammered apologies while blushing unexpectedly. I maintain it was my efforts—more than any man's—that spared twenty-odd penniless activists in Osaka from lodging disputes and let them pass three weeks uneventfully as Baiseisho Juku students. To this day I recognize this scheme's perfection, occasionally boasting of it among friends. Had I been wealthy and ignorant of poverty's bite, how could this nineteen-year-old form have attended such trifles? Only through destitution and student-era self-reliance could such desperate measures arise spontaneously. Without my resolve to cook personally, how would those magnificent activists have stooped to menial tasks? Only by renouncing self-interest could one make even demons submit. Had I sustained this resolve—clumsily though—grave errors might have been avoided. But with weak will and faltering deeds ending anticlimactically, I find myself utterly spineless, my chagrin beyond measure.

VI. A Sense of Desperation

Amid such dire straits—true to that adage of forgetting the scalding once past the throat—the impetuous activists need hardly be mentioned; even Shigei, Hakuseki, Arai, and Inagaki, having secured funds through these hardships, proceeded to frequent brothels and consort with courtesans. In such moments, I would sit alone in my inn room—back straight as a blade—recalling the past and contemplating the present, sinking into profound gloom. Feeling the ultimate powerlessness of womanhood, bitter resentment toward my comrades would well up like pus in a wound. Yet reconsidering—"I devote myself not for their sake, but for nation and compatriots"—how could I abandon this midway? Ah, if only Ms. Tomii were here... Thus I'd again writhe in desperate anguish, until one day composing this koshiore poem:

Has the Asuka River grown so turbid? Trace back to its source - you who would drink.

VII. Female Beggar

On a day when sorrow's threads proved ever more difficult to brush aside, I found myself at Hachikenya Inn. Alone in the second-floor parlor, I slid open the shoji screen and gazed down at garbage barges moored below. There stood a beggar woman with a two- or three-year-old child strapped to her back, tirelessly plucking paper scraps from the refuse and depositing them into a basket. The child crouched on its mother's back, pressed against her chest until it could no longer endure the discomfort. Letting out cries that seemed ready to suffocate it at any moment, the infant wailed desperately. Yet the mother feigned deafness, continuing her relentless scavenging until she finally collected fish entrails and bird organs from the refuse, washing them with heartbreaking diligence as if preparing a proper meal. I could not help but sigh—"Ah! So this is the depth of human misery? Poor as I am, I still fare better than this beggar." Pity for mother and child overwhelmed me, and before realizing it, I called down from the upper floor while weighting what was then a substantial sum—a 50-sen note—with a stone and tossing it to them. She stared in astonishment as though heaven itself had sent this bounty, picking it up only to hesitate again uncertainly. When I repeated my instruction to give it to the child, she at last appeared relieved—though her repeated pressing of the money to her forehead in gratitude proved unbearable to witness. I closed the shoji screen and withdrew inside, but upon attempting to go out some time later, the inn’s mistress inquired suspiciously: “Wasn’t that you, ma’am? The one who gave money to that beggar woman earlier.” “Well now, that woman came out earlier carryin’ her babe on her back, tears streamin’ down her face—said she wanted to thank you proper-like, ma’am, ’cause you threw money down from the back second floor here. Asked me to tell you her name, but I thought—what’s a beggar need with givin’ names? Told her I’d pass along her thanks instead. My, that was awful generous of you!” "Charity benefits none but oneself—recently having felt an unaccustomed clarity of spirit, I had dismissed the matter like passing clouds and smoke never to be recalled. Yet unexpectedly, I later encountered this beggar woman in unforeseen circumstances, our meeting ripening into a story-like episode."

Since the opportunity presents itself, I shall record this here.

VIII. A Tragic Scene

When that December brought the major incident to light and I was arrested at a Nagasaki inn, then transferred to Osaka (Nakanoshima) Prison for confinement, I received preferential treatment as a political prisoner over common criminals. During pretrial detention, I became designated as the warden—head of the women's section—overseeing cells housing first-time offenders and minors. Thus I devoted myself to guiding first-time offenders toward reformation and moral improvement while teaching reading and writing to minors, being addressed as "Teacher! Teacher!" by these inmates even within prison walls. Having spent three uneventful years in pretrial detention this way, I encountered numerous criminals during that period—yet among these lawbreakers existed unexpectedly decent individuals. Had they not been branded with such labels in this place, who would ever imagine them to be criminals? In this world, there are many who commit far greater evils and graver sins while strutting down main avenues in broad daylight—yet authorities overlook major crimes to pursue minor ones. How many times did I feel this to be such half-hearted governance! Anken, this emotion cannot be conveyed by anyone save those who have endured imprisonment’s bitterness—to speak of it would only make listeners cover their ears. Thus I came to share quarters with these disreputable women branded by society as great criminals and arch-villains, living alongside them day and night. At times becoming their parent, at others their friend, we grew so intimate through mutual affection that their reverence for me surpassed even the bond between schoolteachers and pupils in the outside world. This authentic unity of feeling—forged through shared sympathy within our microcosmic existence—proved something scarcely attainable through flesh-and-blood relationships in ordinary life. Amid these circumstances, the prison maintained its own spring—a hazy warmth filling the air—as we reached what seemed like April or May of the following year. One day, a guard came rattling his keys as usual, announcing "We've got a new one!" while leading a grime-stained woman of twenty-five or twenty-six. Just as he attempted to open the cell door, the woman caught sight of my face from beyond the bars and burst into loud sobs without uttering a word. Though I knew not why—perhaps simply cowed by this prison’s stern, dreadful atmosphere and dreading the suffering yet to come—I privately brimmed with tears of sympathy. Then the woman turned to me and said: “You may not remember me, but never have I forgotten you for a single day.” “I distinctly remember your face.” “Years ago at Hachikenya Inn, you must remember bestowing money upon a beggar woman—that woman was none other than I. By what karma have we met again in such a place? This too must be my husband and child’s doing—to make me repent my sins and offer thanks for your past kindness.” “The child you compassionately bestowed fifty sen upon contracted malignant smallpox and passed from this world a week ago. Today being the seventh-day memorial, I went out—my face still bearing this disease’s marks—to gather paper scraps, hoping to offer at least incense. But in my post-illness weakness I couldn’t venture far, and with my basket barely filled, I writhed knowing this wouldn’t buy incense—nay, not even a single meal. Then through my torment I glimpsed a house drying laundry where no soul stirred.” “When survival outweighed conscience—led astray by base desires—I received heaven’s instant retribution, reduced to this wretched state. The shame of appearing before you now made me weep until my very soul withered. Yet when your charity reached us, I told my bedridden husband every detail—‘This too must be divine mercy’—and bought medicine, even sweets for my child. For the first time in ages, we three exchanged smiles... only for his illness to worsen. At his hopeless end, I steeled my failing heart and resumed gathering paper scraps with my child—but heaven itself remains deaf! Though poor, my child and I never once trod evil’s path—yet you cast sickness upon us, steal my beloved, drive us to this ruin! What cruel design is this?” Her endless tears drowned all else. I had already marveled at this strange reunion while weeping over this pitiful woman’s circumstances, but recognizing this could not persist, joined fellow inmates in offering varied consolations—adding my voice to urge her: “Now focus on leaving prison swiftly to honor your husband and child’s memory with Buddhist rites.” Within about a week, she was transferred to the convicted section. “Yet consumed solely by grief at parting from me—rather than face starvation again in the outside world—I would rather commit a graver crime and remain forever in your care,” she wailed with near-maddened despair.

Indeed, the hardship of human existence drove the weak-hearted to willingly endure prison cell sufferings—who could claim this was not tragic? The authorities know well how to punish crimes—but I humbly ask: Does any law exist to aid those who have atoned for their sins? Can they guarantee these souls will not be cast back into starvation’s maw nor come to regard prison’s meager comforts as preferable?

IX. Inspection of Explosives

Prior to this, Shigei and his associates had successfully secured funds in Tokyo and obtained the necessary expenses for their journey to Korea. They immediately descended to Osaka with Inagaki to make preparations, while the activists at Baiseisho Juku had already begun departing for Korea in scattered groups. While I hurriedly prepared for the agreed-upon journey to Nagasaki with Messrs. Furui and Inagaki, a day or two before our departure, Shigei, Hakuseki, Furui—alongside certain rice brokers from Etchu Toyama who had funded this venture—joined Inagaki in indulging at the Shinmachi pleasure quarter, where I found myself unexpectedly invited to their gathering. These activists and self-proclaimed humanitarians paraded their disgrace while claiming it strengthened camaraderie—unable to forsake petty desires before grand endeavors, squandering our meager funds reserved for imminent undertakings. My discontent and heartache already dragged me to the precipice of disillusionment. On the day of departure, following Shigei's proposal, they ordered a giant catfish banquet and secretly toasted their scheme to assassinate a high-ranking official for advancing domestic and international welfare. Thus, around seven in the evening, those who boarded the ship bound for Kobe were Furui, Inagaki, and I—the three of us. The waves of the Seto Inland Sea were exceedingly calm as we arrived at Shimonoseki. At that time, an epidemic had broken out in Osaka, showing signs of gradual spread; thus quarantine measures were implemented there as well, and not only our garments but even our luggage and all personal effects were sent to the disinfection office. The disinfection method involved fumigation with sulfur, and though we three should have exchanged glances at this revelation, having feigned from the start to be mere fellow passengers to avoid attracting attention, we blended into the bustling crowd and swiftly exchanged words in that fleeting moment. When I proposed that the explosives be designated as my belongings, Mr. Furui countered: "No, they shall be registered under my possessions. Should they be discovered, that will be the end—I shall submit to arrest without resistance. Take care that our status as companions is not exposed." Recognizing Mr. Furui's unwavering resolve, I could no longer refuse and ultimately designated the explosives as his personal luggage. We then disembarked at the port and ascended to the only restaurant operating during fumigation, where we three each ordered dinner. Yet with our minds elsewhere, no morsel could pass our throats—each minute stretched like a thousand days as we waited in dread: Would officers descend upon us now? Would explosions resound this instant? After enduring what proved to be about an hour, three young inn servants finally returned shouldering our luggage. This must have been the moment when thoughts of rebirth arose. After the disinfection was completed and we had changed into our own clothes, we boarded a ship bound for Nagasaki. Braving the renowned waves of Genkai-nada, we arrived safely in Nagasaki in late November.

X. Letter of Severance While we waited here for our ship’s departure to Korea, one day an anonymous telegram arrived stating: “The luggage has gotten wet—return east.” We had previously agreed with Isoyama and others that should government scrutiny grow too intense during our Korean crossing—posing risk of exposing our major operation—any among us would send this coded warning. We deliberated intensely—had Isoyama’s cover been compromised during his hiding? Or was he himself devising cowardly schemes to obstruct us, seeking to mask his shameful flight by engineering our capture? Yet no conclusion emerged. Though we considered wiring Tokyo to confront Shigei, with our departure imminent that very day, discerning true intentions proved impossible. Casting aside hesitation, Furui conveyed our resolve to press forward to other activists. However, some disapproved of his replacement of Isoyama, creating discord. “Let such dissenters withdraw honorably to Tokyo,” we declared. “What need have we for numbers? I possess weapons to oppose legions—shall I yield to any man?” Aligning with Furui’s stance, we dispatched Inagaki back to Tokyo and resolved to cross to Korea with over a dozen resolute activists. With this settled, I felt at ease. I spent a day strolling through Nagasaki’s parks and viewing sights like the renowned Maruyama district. Returning via the promotional market, I purchased brushes, paper, and ink. At dusk when I reached our lodgings, Inagaki was absent—only Furui remained, visibly troubled. Seeing me return, we dined together while discussing how Inagaki, who had left for Maruyama around noon, still had not returned by this hour. As he carried our group’s travel funds, we could not budge until his return. Moreover, an urgent matter now required us to proceed to Saga and meet Mr. Etō Shinsaku. “If only he would return soon,” we implored. When Inagaki still had not returned by ten o'clock that night, we resigned ourselves and retired to bed. With our Korean departure imminent within days, I resolved to compose a detailed letter to Hakuseki explaining our unwavering resolve for this venture. Working alone under lamplight, I finally finished writing around midnight. Just as I prepared to sleep, Inagaki returned.

XI. Exposure and Apprehension Furui immediately rose to hurriedly prepare for departure to Saga and left the lodgings at midnight. Only Inagaki and I remained. Whether due to exhaustion from his revelries or not, Inagaki fell into deep slumber the moment he lay down. As for me—knowing that once we crossed to Korea I would never again set foot on my homeland’s soil alive—my thoughts grew turbulent: Had our comrades truly possessed funds to spare for carousing in pleasure quarters, we might have borrowed some to visit our hometowns en route and at least bid distant farewells to parents and siblings. Engrossed in these reflections while hovering between sleep and wakefulness, I suddenly became aware of clamorous noise. When I casually opened my closed eyes, there they were—over a dozen inspectors and officers brandishing police lanterns in their hands, their lights swinging wildly as they burst into the room we had relied on as our fortress. Startled and about to rise, I saw the innkeeper approach and announce it was a traveler inspection. Having resolved that our cause was lost, I answered the officer’s questions while feigning complete ignorance of all matters. I maintained that I had merely accompanied Inagaki, whereupon the inspector nodded and bound Inagaki with rope while seemingly prepared to spare me further accusation. How mortifying then that the letter I had composed for Hakuseki earlier that evening should emerge from within my bedding. The police inspector’s gentle countenance abruptly turned stern as he clamored for my arrest too, whereupon the patrol officer acknowledged the order yet continued with apparent kindness: “In any case you must come to the station. Prepare yourself against the cold.” Without means to resist, I obediently took out available garments and wrapped myself until my body resembled a bulky caterpillar. Soon, escorted by officers along the path, each step felt suffocating. The moment we arrived at the police station, national security detectives subjected us to interrogations. Through their tone alone I realized they had already probed even our midday park stroll and subsequent stop at the promotional market to purchase writing materials on our return—thus understanding that our operation had collapsed days before we still foolishly dreamed it safe.

Part IV: Pretrial Detention

I. Near Suffocation

After the interrogation concluded, I was detained in the holding cell—a prison cell that truly resembled those seen in plays—with my entry into confinement occurring around three o'clock in the morning. In the midnight hour when all worldly sounds had fallen completely silent, the eerie and dreadful clatter of the prison latch being removed made even my resolute self shudder until every hair stood on end. Born with a frail heart, I could not withstand the sudden surge of palpitations—my pulse raced wildly until I felt near suffocation. Yet the police officers showed no mercy, treating me like a common thief as they shoved me into pitch-black confines and bolted the door shut once more. What heartless cruelty! If I must die, let me die here and now—how could I submit to such lawless punishment? Yet no tears came. I, who had staked my life as a woman to resist this tyrannical government, now burned with shame at my own complaints about "abuse" and "injustice"—as if I hadn't always known the world's rule: victors are sanctified, losers vilified. Steeling myself, I turned my thoughts inward until I became one already dead while yet alive. By expelling all passions, I found prison dreams gentler than any inn's rest. When I awoke the next morning in a different cell, meal time had long passed.

II. The Faces of Comrades When I first entered here, I thought it resembled a hole, but when dawn broke I saw the ceiling stood high—no suitable place to hang oneself. The window served merely to admit light, encircled with iron bars—so sturdily constructed that no matter how mighty a person might come, the thought of breaking through the cell never even arose. When I requested water and washed my hands, soon the morning meal was delivered through a small window. I had thought it would never pass my throat, yet found it unexpectedly savory and devoured it in an instant—astonished at my own audacity. After finishing the meal, as I walked about the cell, I suddenly noticed a gap between the thick floorboards that allowed a view beneath. When I tried peering through it—ah! There I saw my comrade wrapped in a red blanket, similarly taking a stroll. The one imprisoned next to me was Mr. Naitō Rokurō’s voice. In which prisons might Inagaki and Furui have been detained? While descending into this hell, as I grew accustomed and my bodily sufferings lessened, what surged unbidden to mind were my parents back home and our comrades in Tokyo and Osaka. Each time my thoughts reached this point, I felt scalding tears gush forth.

The morning after finishing breakfast, I was taken to the interrogation room where they questioned me about my residence, occupation, social status, age, and place of birth. When finally asked why I had come to this locality, I answered it was merely aimless wandering. To this they responded: "We detain you based on conclusive evidence. Only through unreserved disclosure of lingering attachments could conduct matching your customary behavior emerge." Deeming this reasonable, I ultimately confessed involvement in the major event as outlined in my written statement of reflections.

III. Transfer to Osaka

After the interrogation at the police station concluded, it was decided that we would be transferred to Osaka. Around eight or nine o'clock in the evening, we exited through the police station gates in single-file. Even with hurried steps, my woman's legs lagged behind; dragged along by the ropes around my waist from both sides throughout the journey, I barely managed to reach the pier, whereupon they transferred us onto the ship. When they saw me being escorted by police officers, the passengers stared wide-eyed as though their gallbladders had burst—particularly fixating their gaze upon me. Though I declared my conscience was clear while keeping my face lowered, I found myself unable to even muster the courage to exchange words with my comrades; after a day and night wishing I could vanish into a hole, we finally arrived in Kobe. As was customary, clerks and errand boys from various inns came boarding the ship, waving lanterns emblazoned with their establishments' names while calling out "Hey now, Hōraiya Inn here!" and "Hey now, Nishimura here!", urgently pressing us to choose their lodgings—until they suddenly noticed the police officers escorting us and the ropes around our waists. Their shocked faces falling silent struck me as comical, yet through this I saw clear through people's fickle hearts, finding it too wretched for words.

That night when I was placed in Osaka Prefectural Police Station's detention cell, I felt utterly wretched from the voyage's fatigue and emotional distress, consumed by anguish. The two officers who had escorted me—one under fifty, the other around twenty-five or twenty-six—took pity on me. Being a woman, they specially prepared a detention area and kindly looked after me there. Since arriving here, in stark contrast to Nagasaki's dreadful detention center, I received treatment akin to house arrest in my family residence. These two officers took turns guarding me while engaging in casual conversation, and during meals would prepare warm dishes to serve me—showing utmost kindness throughout. Even after being transferred to Nakanoshima Prison approximately two weeks later, they treated me as a political prisoner, with none of Nagasaki's harshness in their conduct. The Nagasaki Police Station's inhumanity—treating people as no different from dogs or cats—had initially provoked intense indignation. Yet I resigned myself by recalling how even the Tokugawa Shogunate had once persecuted powerful activists during the Meiji Restoration's grand enterprise. Here in Osaka, however, they did not treat pretrial detainees as ordinary criminals. Even the chief guard patrolled periodically with polite speech, taking particular pleasure in conversation, while some guards initiated unnecessary talks solely to accommodate my wishes.

IV. A Fair-Featured Woman

What struck me as peculiar was a fair-featured woman sharing my cell—her nature not base in the slightest—who persistently sought instruction in reading and writing. Moved by her earnestness, I taught and guided her as best I could, whereupon she came to revere me ever more deeply while I grew fond of her in turn, until we became mutually devoted. Whenever I bathed, she would come scrub my back clean. At night we shared bedding frigid as agar jelly, warming it with our body heat. Lying alternately head-to-foot, she clasped both my feet between her own armpits so no chill could penetrate—such was the precious sincerity of her care. This woman was born in Osaka to ancestors who had lived comfortably, but when her parents' generation came, the family fortunes abruptly declined. Following local custom, she became the mistress of a certain gentleman—a robber and villain intent on living a short but bold life. Consequently, this woman who had become his mistress was suspected of surely knowing about these circumstances, and had already spent over a year's long days being pointlessly sent through pretrial detention. Upon hearing these circumstances, I found myself unable to contain my sympathy. Each time the warden made his rounds, I would explain the situation in detail and plead the woman’s innocence. Though I knew not whether my efforts bore fruit, after my transfer to Mie Prefecture, I heard the glad tidings that she had indeed received a verdict of not guilty. Yet this very closeness with the woman became, through some strange and utterly baseless false charge, the cause for our temporary separation—an absurd episode that shall serve as one example illuminating the true nature of prisons at that time. I shall now record its general outline for broader reference.

V. The Baffling Frame-Up The fact that I loved her and she revered me stemmed from circumstances already described. Though the world overflowed with licentious and unscrupulous women, my compassion naturally focused on her alone due to her exceptionally wretched situation, creating a semblance of parental devotion toward a child. Yet being nearly the same age—clearly precluding parent-child relations, nor resembling sibling bonds—how must this have appeared to outsiders? At that time, while I remained wholly consumed by vanity and ambition—idolizing "Jandâku" as my ideal and considering Russia's Nihilists my ultimate allies—whatever perceptions others formed about our relationship's nature lay completely beyond my awareness, indeed beyond my contemplation. Moved simply by her kindness, I strove to repay her by teaching everything within my capacity. Then one day a guard came and abruptly ordered her to gather her belongings and leave the cell. Assuming an innocence verdict had been declared and her release finally granted—indeed, any resolution would bring joy—our mutual delight only intensified parting's sorrow, leaving us choking back tears in the gloom. Yet instead, she was relocated to a cell two rooms distant from ours. Her shock mirrored mine—so overwhelming it stifled tears; though outraged by the authorities' lawlessness, bewilderment outweighed anger initially. Just then another guard approached me sneering, "Mr. Kageyama must feel lonely tonight." Uncomprehending his implication, I replied that desolation gripped me not merely tonight but from this very moment—why impose such heartless measures blocking our path to reform? Though finding the prison administration's actions bizarrely excessive, I had previously resolved to raise these questions calmly during the warden's next inspection. Yet the guard merely smiled blandly and taunted anew: "How pitiful—you must ache terribly without your 'wife.'" His dismissive tone stung bitterly, and before I knew it fury overwhelmed me—still oblivious to their imagined charges. "This prison doesn't reform criminals," I denounced, "it drives them deeper into depravity!" To this he offered only a strained smile: "Such matters require self-examination." My agitation mounting, I turned inward—had I erred? If guilty, let it be heard! What justification existed for separating us? Yet the guards, accustomed to dealing only with villains, wore expressions of gross misunderstanding. They ignored my words completely, departing with derisive laughter. Resolved to await the warden's inspection and fully explain our case, I found her—in separation's anguish—abandoning habitual decorum. Whenever guards retreated from earshot, she would implore tearfully: "Teacher! Teacher! Why must we be parted? Please demand answers swiftly and restore us!" Had the warden but arrived then, I would have petitioned immediately for reunion, consoling her repeatedly with urgings to endure this unbearable trial a little longer.

VI. Direct Petition For a prisoner to directly petition the warden was deemed an almost unprecedented and unforgivable act of insolence, yet I remained wholly ignorant of this fact. One day when I stopped the warden during his rounds, he appeared startled. However, judging me different from ordinary convicts, he listened to my appeal. With renewed astonishment, he interrogated her before silently returning to his office. Shortly thereafter, she came back to my cell as desired. When I later learned the truth behind this matter, it proved so vile that even putting it to paper felt defiling. Whether true today I cannot say, but in those days—perhaps due to endless years of tedium—homosexual practices thrived among male prisoners, while female inmates too sought kindred spirits and formed marital bonds. Among these women, the bolder assumed husbandly airs while gentler ones took wifely roles; thus reveling in illicit affections that made them forget years of confinement. When fickleness arose, jealousies mirroring those between men and women would spark incidents where inmates harmed others or themselves. Indeed, I personally witnessed and knew well a female prisoner who attempted suicide in the latrine using work scissors. Thus while those ignorant guards weren't entirely unreasonable to mistake my pure compassion for immoral depravity—being unable to recognize my character—their judgment struck me as so ludicrous and infuriating that it remains one of my most indelible memories.

Part V: Convicted Prison

I. Sanitary Cells After spending over a year in Nakanoshima Pretrial Prison, I was transferred to the convicted ward at Horikawa Prison. Though still awaiting trial, I was treated as a special guest during transfer as my court date approached. The inevitable parting with her came; the nearing judgment of guilt or innocence offered only slight consolation. At Horikawa they opened and prepared an entire room for me. Compared to Nakanoshima Pretrial Prison, these cells were cleaner still—worthy of being called proper rooms. Transferred here, I finally felt myself nearing the outside world. Even in this place, close friends soon appeared before me—young lifers. Each night they stroked my feet and massaged my shoulders, exerting utmost kindness to gain my favor. Having received strict upbringing under my parents' care, whenever treated with such affection, I couldn't suppress nostalgic yearnings stronger than those I'd felt toward my own family.

II. O-Masa

Here at Osaka Prison, there was a renowned lifer known as O-Masa. Endowed with striking beauty and keen intellect—her nature being quick-witted in all matters—O-Masa had come to be praised as indispensable for recruitment work, so much so that none could envision such operations without her. Respected and relied upon by fellow prisoners as a veteran recruiter and informant over many years, she too began drawing close to me with affectionate familiarity after my transfer here. Whenever she noticed my weariness from reading, she would bring snacks she had purchased along with other foods, imploring "Deign to teach me arithmetic—how does one write Arabic numerals?" With every spare moment devoted solely to these pursuits, there were even times when she carried water herself under the pretense of exercise, earnestly urging me to take walks while sprinkling the grounds. She had been born in Kyoto into a respectable family, yet through some twist of fate, as a woman she developed an obsessive mania for geisha pursuits. In striving to achieve her desires, she stole tens of thousands in money—the recompense for which swiftly made her one condemned to spend bitter years here. At that time, as the Penal Code differed from today’s—being an era when sentence lengths were determined by the amount stolen—she, though merely a thief, had received a life sentence. Her brilliance was evident at a glance—truly what one might call a sharp-witted person. How tragic that she had fallen into depravity beyond humanity! When I heard she too had become one of those destroyers of human ethics, I involuntarily shuddered. Yet owing to her inherently keen nature, she diligently adhered to prison regulations without slacking—a merit that earned her sentence reduction by several degrees. After uneventful release, she demonstrated profound repentance, ultimately revealing sincere devotion through a shaven head and black robes. She came to my Tokyo lodgings once or twice, even appearing onstage herself in a play titled *Shimazu Masahiro's Confessional Record*. But of her subsequent fate, I have heard nothing.

III. Engrossed in Daydreams Though I immersed myself daily in reading during imprisonment, had I been free to receive new books, I might have conducted extensive academic research. Yet only Chinese classics like the *Analects* and *Great Learning*, along with religious texts such as the *Discourse on Primitive Man* and the *Bible*, were permitted. At times I resolved to teach myself English studies—drawing on some prior study with Westerners—and applied myself diligently each day. Still, never achieving mastery before abandoning the endeavor remains mortifying. In prison, I indulged in fantasies of how I would fulfill my ambitions upon release, yet no sooner was I freed than those very fantasies turned against me; overwhelmed by despair, I unwittingly sank into depravity—how bitterly I regret having wasted half my life in such delusions! At the very least, my resolve to henceforth live as a proper human being leaves no room for repentance—so pressing is this conviction.

IV. The Truth About Prison Guards During my imprisonment, having no particularly sorrowful thoughts to dwell upon, it was only natural that I passed my days idly. Given that this was a time when ambition burned fiercely within me, the warden, chief guard, and regular guards would come daily to engage me in conversation and offer comfort. Whenever I composed letters, young guards—under the pretext of supervision but driven by curiosity—would arrive at my cell to engage in playful writing, delighting in my blushes. Some escalated their antics beyond what could be considered earnest conduct, seeking to toy with me, while others sent love letters filled with genuine ardor, pressing for favorable replies. Still others made veiled allusions like “If you were Xu Shibin, I would be Napoleon.” All these officials scrutinized my every frown and smile—a spectacle both comical and absurd. Thus even the female warden, hoping to gain my favor, secretly sent food and sweets—such being the state of affairs that my prison life proved several degrees more comfortable than the constrained outside world. Unconcerned with trial matters, I unwittingly spent another year thus until around November of the nineteenth year [1886], when I suddenly caught a cold. The fever gradually intensified until diagnosed as typhoid fever, whereupon I was moved to the infirmary. Though treatment was not neglected, the fever grew increasingly severe, plunging me into critical condition—so much so that not only did the warden and prison officials worry excessively, but my lawyer petitioned for bail and even wired my parents in Okayama about my dire state. There in Okayama, they resigned themselves to my death; on the night the telegram arrived, relatives and old acquaintances gathered to mourn my misfortune, even discussing retrieving my remains. Yet fortunately, before long I began recovering, and after several dozen days finally returned to the main prison—a joy I shall never forget to this day. The other prisoners too had apparently been praying day and night for my full recovery, for upon seeing me return to prison, they rejoiced as though welcoming their own parents back from the dead. This too remains something for which I still cannot adequately express my gratitude. Though I had temporarily recovered from a serious illness contracted in that confining prison, my weakness was so extreme that I feared I might collapse from exhaustion rather than the disease itself. Yet even this condition gradually improved until I became more corpulent than before falling ill—so much so that seeing photographs from that time still shocks me.

V. The Obituary of Ms. Tomii Several days later at the court session on May 25, 1887—just as I entered convalescence—every strand of my hair had fallen out, leaving me shamefully exposed to others' gazes with a scalp as bare as a boiled egg. Only later did I learn that my beloved Ms. Tomii Oto, then free in the outside world, had contracted the same illness as I. Medicines proved futile, and she had passed into the netherworld. How unreliable is human life! While Ms. Tomii Oto had devoted herself to pious reflection since our imprisonment—converting to Christianity and ardently studying the Bible to become a missionary—I, clinging to deluded attachments, survived, while she, steadfast in her faith, passed away. Should we deem the departed Ms. Tomii unfortunate? Or proclaim the living me fortunate? When I received this news, I was truly overwhelmed by boundless emotion.

VI. A Physiological Transformation

Here lies another matter I must record. Though such matters should be shunned as taboo subjects that most would keep silent about even if true, I venture to expose my personal shame for two purposes: first for those studying physiology and its relation to psychology, and second as evidence that I possessed more masculine than feminine qualities at that time. I can only pray readers will not condemn this as mere vulgarity.

Now, what matter must I record here? It is this: my body being unusual in that until the age of twenty-two while imprisoned, I had not known the monthly cycle proper to women. While I had heard that ordinary girls typically develop their monthly cycles around fifteen years of age, I—as my mother constantly fretted—was born with a boyish constitution, utterly devoid of feminine delicacy. I felt not the slightest shame when seated among boys at Chinese classics lectures. Thus Mother—excessively anxious about my future—would frequently recite the old poem *"Without love, human hearts would cease to be; through this we know life’s poignancy"* to admonish my conduct. Yet even when all my childhood friends had married and reached childbearing age, with me alone showing no signs of what ought to be present, Mother grew increasingly unsettled, agonizing whether I might belong to what society calls a barren woman. However, now being in prison, that matter suddenly occurred one day—the shock of that moment needs no explanation now. My appearance being unusually withdrawn, with even my complexion grown pallid, a close female prisoner grew suspicious and repeatedly questioned me until I could no longer keep it concealed. When I finally disclosed the matter, her astonishment far surpassed my own.

VII. The Ideal Husband In this manner, my male-like development had been early, yet as a woman, I was remarkably belated. However, as a woman destined to take a husband sooner or later, I had previously cherished the ideal that when the time came to choose a spouse, I should wed some illustrious hero of resounding fame. Yet having dwelled in my small, sheltered world ignorant of society—like a bat reigning supreme in a village without birds—I remained unaware of my limited perspective. Firmly believing this man to be the world's greatest champion, I first listened to his teachings on the Freedom and People's Rights Movement as my mentor. As my admiration gradually deepened, I abruptly formed a marital contract with Hajime. Yet since we still lacked circumstances to form a "home," I had discussed my intentions with my parents and siblings for future reference while vowing that we would devote ourselves wholly to the nation—only for my school, the means of my self-sufficiency, to be unexpectedly shut down, plunging me into the misfortune of relocating eastward. Further participating in those aforementioned plans, I nearly sacrificed myself entirely until reaching a state of having nowhere left to exist. Struggling daily for mere survival—unlike other activists who sought aid from Shigei, Hajime, and their ilk—I sustained my ephemeral life through hairdressing and laundry work. Then, as the Korean incident began and we journeyed to Nagasaki, I recalled how Hajime—with whom I had formed a marital contract—and even those who had left wives and families behind in their hometowns felt no shame in devising excuses to consort with prostitutes, escalating at last to shameless acts like Isoyama’s. Reflecting deeply on how such self-serving individuals could ever achieve great deeds, I consequently sent Hajime that farewell letter in Nagasaki. Yet now, upon receiving news of the trial’s commencement, I felt ashamed at the thought of the farewell letter I had addressed to Hajime in a moment of impassioned resolve being unexpectedly made public—and an inexplicable pity toward Hajime arose within me. Were he to see this letter, he would surely burn with shame at his conscience or resent my recklessness. I had been too unyielding; unable to remain silent about how he had defiled our purest love and trampled our sacred bond, I wrote that missive resolved to leave no regret unvoiced from my heart, believing death would claim me within a week. Men of principle or those with tears would surely choke on sympathetic sobs reading it—yet how might Hajime perceive it? Ah, the pity of facing him in court! Because of this letter, he would likely disgrace the honor of our supporters and tarnish his own dignity—ah, what pitiable wretchedness! Precisely because I anticipated never meeting those comrades again, I announced the existence of our marital contract—yet had I foreseen my current circumstances, I would not have committed such folly as forcibly disclosing past affairs to one whose love had cooled, thereby brewing mutual disadvantage. Yet in truth, I lamented my comrades' heartlessness—particularly resented Hajime's cruelty. Rather than live to become love's slave again, submitting to a fate forcibly crafted by others' hands, I resolved to nobly become a martyr for freedom and people's rights. Thus did I seek his repentance—only to fall not into comrades' custody, but instead into police officers' grasp. What an utterly disgraceful turn of events! I agonized over whether to feign illness and avoid appearing in court on the day of the trial’s commencement—but ultimately, it proved futile.

VI. Public Trial

I. During the Transfer

When the day finally arrived, I felt elated to breathe outside air for the first time in three years—and perhaps relatives from my hometown might come bearing news of my beloved parents. Anticipating this joy, I rode in the prison carriage under guard escort. Upon exiting the prison gate, the stretch from the station entrance to Edo-bori Court became an indescribable tumult, as though people themselves formed living walls. It is said that the citizens of Osaka, who had never understood what politics truly was, finally began developing political ideas following this incident—a fact that sufficiently demonstrates how our trial captured the public's attention.

II. The Public Court Scandal By around December 1885, the number of suspects had progressively swelled to approximately two hundred individuals. However, most were filtered out through preliminary hearings, leaving sixty-three defendants remaining when the public trial commenced. Yet as this constituted an unprecedented large-scale trial in recent memory with no courtroom capable of holding all defendants simultaneously, authorities temporarily divided the sixty-three into nine groups, assigning three lawyers to each—thus finally convening the court. First came the reading of the indictment, which stated: "Prior to this, Isoyama Kiyobei (...) judged Shigei, Hajime, and others too cold-hearted and unreliable for collaboration." When the recitation reached this point, defendant Ujiie Naokuni in the third row flushed crimson with rage, shoulders heaving visibly. Upon arriving at page fifteen's upper section, seventh line—"the aforementioned resolution to advance party member Tashiro Kikichi currently in Nagasaki"—he suddenly lunged at Isoyama Kiyobei in the front row, roaring as he seized the man's neck. The courtroom erupted into chaos within and without, prompting guards and police at the main gate to draw swords against potential disorder. Amid the uproar, guards and bailiffs rushed in, finally prying Ujiie away from Isoyama. When Ujiie attempted to protest, the judge ordered guards to remove him from court before adjourning to deliberate further, reconvening proceedings that afternoon. Thereafter trials continued regularly, though never again with all sixty-three defendants present—typically only one group accompanied by guards appeared per session. Moreover, spectators gathered daily at the main gate from three a.m., some requiring three or four days before securing gallery seats. Our passageways remained perpetually choked by human walls.

III. Shigei's Love Letter Even amidst this, Hajime would occasionally steal glances from the guards, write his thoughts on a slate, send it to me, and routinely reproach me for my cold demeanor. (Paper slates were permitted by the court and distributed to all defendants for writing their thoughts, which were then brought into the courtroom to serve as material for arguments.) Nevertheless, since resolving myself in Nagasaki, I had ceased to believe my comrades' words. "You are a hypocrite who divides your affections two or three—nay, four or five—ways," I would always coldly retort. "How could pure love ever be toyed with here?" What came as a surprise was that Shigei had sent me a letter imbued with heartfelt sentiments. During my time in Tokyo, I had visited his residence on multiple occasions to request even travel expense assistance regarding Ms. Tomii’s rescue—yet at that time, he had shown a clear distaste for women’s forwardness and an aversion to our engagement in national affairs. Who could have imagined he would now profess such ardent sincerity toward me? I remained utterly perplexed, dismissing it all as mere curiosity about an unusual woman, and consistently refrained from replying. Yet when his feelings eventually manifested even in his conduct—appearing thoroughly suspicious—I reasoned that such earnestness could not go entirely unanswered, and drafted a brief consoling response. From then on, our exchanges grew increasingly frequent, until shamefully, even my wariness toward men—hardened by Hajime—began to fade. This was indeed the fuse that plunged half my life into an abyss of misfortune—when I reflect on it now, I feel nothing but terror and bitter regret. Yet at that time, being utterly incapable of foreseeing such an outcome, I basked in the thought of having an illustrious hero as my husband. Thereafter, I took daily pleasure in appearing at the public trial court, eagerly awaiting that man—a peculiar state of affairs indeed. Thus I became as excited as if intoxicated by sweet sake, my often-depressed spirits lifting as mutual respect arose between us. At times, encountering their warm breath, my crude emotions naturally dissipated, and I felt my character suddenly elevated and refined—all while the public trial closed like a pleasant dream, until I was sentenced to over a year of light imprisonment. Shigei, Hajime, and other prominent figures received heavy sentences such as fixed-term exile or life imprisonment, and all of them filed appeals; however, I alone was placed among those with finalized judgments. Having relied on remaining in Osaka with my comrades—where I might occasionally hear news of that person—this being my sole comfort, the disappointment I felt upon learning of my impending transfer to Tsu City in Mie Prefecture likely resembled that of a monkey tumbling from its tree.

Chapter Seven: Commencement of Duties

I. The Warden's Admonition

To Ise were only those of us who had received one-and-a-half-year sentences, with over ten fellow travelers. Under normal circumstances, the scenery along the Tokaido's Fifty-Three Stations might have inspired poetic verses. Yet clad in persimmon-colored straight-sleeved uniforms with waist ropes, being escorted by police officers left even myself devoid of inspiration—not a single trivial verse could emerge. Moreover, when all the Osaka officers who had accompanied us were replaced at Kusatsu, leaving no familiar faces whatsoever, we arrived at Tsu City Prison in Mie Prefecture amidst our gloom. We arrived at dusk. The warden, having apparently received prior notice, made a special effort to come to work and summoned us all to a waiting room. In a voice I cannot forget to this day, he declared: "I am Warden Hiramune Nori of this institution. You defendants have been transferred here from Osaka Prison. Now that you are under my jurisdiction, you must strictly observe prison regulations and strive to earn early parole through good conduct to regain your freedom. State your names, occupations, and social statuses." He made each of us announce our identities. When my turn came, he said: "You need not speak—you are Keizan Ei. To think a young woman like yourself would plot such grave matters and now stand before me! Your parents must be unaware. Ah, where might they be now? How they must worry about you through summer heat and winter cold! Surely you too think of them? What misfortune that you mistakenly believed yourself serving the nation! How your parents must grieve! Those loyal to their country must also be filial to their parents!" This admonition, delivered with feigned tears of sympathy, overwhelmed me with sorrow. Before my comrades, the homesick tears I had suppressed until now burst forth as though a dam had broken—I could not lift my face for some time. The warden contemplated deeply—Yes, this must be so—and perceived my situation. "Henceforth," he instructed, "strictly observe prison regulations; guide and teach wayward female prisoners toward reformation; admonish our compatriots’ ignorance; achieve your professed ideals of loyalty to the sovereign and love of country. Though your sentence is but one and a half years, devise means for early release since no clemency precludes it—fulfill filial piety at your parents’ side." Thereafter, during his rounds, he persistently exerted such efforts that I ultimately forgot my own light imprisonment, devoting all energy to guiding fellow inmates toward virtue.

II. Women's Prison Labor Duties

Each morning at five o'clock, I would rise and prepare myself; whenever the women's prison overseer came to open the cells, I would sit in silent meditation with the others to observe propriety, then proceed to the wellside to wash our faces in turn. After completing these rituals, we took meals at the administrative office before finally commencing the day's labor—either sewing crimson garments or weaving cloth and spinning thread. To document the standard garment quotas: for crimson straight-sleeved garments, three single-layer ones, two lined ones, or one-and-a-half padded ones; leggings were set at four pairs to be sewn. Old mending tasks also had predetermined quantities based on repair scale, with the women's prison overseer individually allocating each assignment. Though I naturally had no fixed duties and could have spent entire days with books unopposed, I chose instead to fulfill women’s proper roles and dispel societal misconceptions by willingly joining female prisoners with assigned tasks—each day completing their daily quotas before returning to my cell about two hours prior to work’s end to read—this became my established routine. Therefore, when I was released from prison, I was paid appropriate wages for my labor, and even the portion remaining after pocket money still amounted to over ten yen. Whereas those serving heavy imprisonment customarily submitted seventy percent to the authorities while retaining thirty percent as their own, I conversely allocated thirty percent to the authorities and kept seventy percent as my possession—had my imprisonment been prolonged, this would have allowed me to accumulate substantial savings that might have served some purpose upon release.

III. The Elderly Maid of the Tōdō Household My happiness lay in this truth: wherever imprisoned, I invariably gained two or three sympathizers offering clandestine and overt protection. Foremost among them stood Aoki, the women's prison overseer, who each time demonstrated concern for my fatigue by bringing paper-wrapped sweets, gazing with apparent envy as I immersed myself in solitary reading. Thus I too came to regard her as a mother figure, engaging without reservation. Even after my release from prison, I could not forget her. When she later came to Tokyo as senior attendant to Count Tōdō's household, I promptly visited to relive former days. Having exhaustively pondered how to repay her kindness, I eventually took custody of her second daughter and instructed her in scholarly arts.

IV. Young Girls

During my imprisonment, there were two girls aged sixteen and eighteen; the younger was called Ohana, the elder Okiku. The warden had specially entrusted me with these two girls—not only to teach them reading, writing, and arithmetic but also to instruct them in moral principles while caring for them as much as possible—through which I soon learned what had brought them there. Ohana's nature wasn't inherently wicked; she had simply been born into poverty. Once during a village festival when her numerous siblings lacked proper attire, she resented her own rags each time she saw playmates in fine clothes—in the impulsiveness of her girlish heart, she stole garments hung at a neighbor's house. As for Okiku, orphaned young and raised by her uncle—whether by innate disposition or from enduring mistreatment—she frequently strayed into vice, having already entered prison seven times, with even her days of freedom sometimes lasting merely one under open skies. Observing them both possessing ordinary looks made more pitiable by circumstance, I desperately wished to take them into my rural home after their release and guide their life paths. Placing the girls on either side, I taught them reading and writing equally without partiality. Gradually they grew attached, vying to ease my burdens—massaging shoulders, pressing legs, offering me their own rationed treats—their touching kindness deepening my sorrow: why commit theft despite such virtue? I instructed them that if freed before me, they must inquire at this prison and come meet me without fail—yet ultimately neither appeared. After my release, prison authorities informed me neither returned—Ohana, being local, had been sold to Nagoya brothels shortly after release, while Okiku never reached her uncle's home, her whereabouts unknown. That such tragedies occurred wherever I was imprisoned—I still don't know what karma caused this. Perhaps as reverberations from long confinement in this cramped world—even if seeing such unified focus of hearts—that their convergence always centered on me suggested some peculiar power I possessed? If such power truly existed, then once free, gathering all unfortunate souls to grant them light's glimmer might not be impossible—such was my conviction then.

V. The Ignorance of Prison Guards In this city’s prison, unlike its counterpart in Osaka, many among the female prisoners were uneducated and illiterate, and most overseers in the women’s ward were widows of guards who had taken up the work to scrape by. Thus they acted on personal whims rather than reasoned principles when managing inmates, ignorant of proper methods. Having established the practice of judging rewards and punishments solely by labor quotas, prisoners could not conceive of rehabilitation regardless of sentence length—the wicked only sank deeper into depravity while scheming to satisfy overseers’ demands, fostering an atmosphere of cunning deceit. Therefore, true prison reform requires appointing overseers of moral stature through adequate compensation. To persist with such unqualified supervisors would mean prisoners forever greeting them with veiled contempt—outward compliance masking inner scorn. Could this ever serve as genuine rehabilitation? Ms. Aoki alone—naturally compassionate despite lacking formal education—had often expressed her wish to resign rather than endure these miseries. After my release, she indeed left her post to become an elder maid in the Tōdō household. Does she still draw breath?

VI. Constitution Promulgation and Amnesty

One day—setting aside other matters—I had completed one year of hard labor and been awarded four commendation marks; now having obtained another, I was anticipating parole when Mr. Kozuka Gitaro came from Osaka requesting a meeting. Hearing he came from Osaka, my heart leapt with both joy and trepidation as the guard escorted me to the visitation room. There stood Mr. Kozuka welcoming me with a smile; after apologizing for his prolonged silence, he began explaining: “I’ve come at patrons’ request to inspect conditions for all inmates. An imperial rescript will be issued on this Empire Day to promulgate the Constitution, and humbly speaking, there may be clemency for...” But the guard interrupted—“No official notices have arrived from authorities yet; refrain from reckless statements”—issuing this caution. Mr. Kozuka continued speaking: “You appear completely unaware, but official notice will arrive soon—likely tomorrow. How are your clothing preparations coming along? Will they be ready in time?” After giving various detailed instructions, he withdrew for the day. I was taken completely by surprise—there must be some joyous official notice coming today or tomorrow—and so I combed my hair in preparation, when sure enough, by evening came the guard’s command to present myself at the warden’s office with books and such. Now truly feeling as though I could soar to the heavens, I was escorted to the waiting room, where the wardens stood solemnly arrayed and reverently read out the amnesty proclamation. The Warden declared with solemn dignity: “Your crimes have been completely expunged under the amnesty decree—from this day forth, you shall be a free person.” “Henceforth, strive even more diligently for the nation.” No sooner had I heard this than a strange feeling abruptly surfaced in my breast. From yesterday through today, this body that had been employed as a traitor became a loyal patriot within one hour to receive the amnesty decree’s grace—what a wondrous spectacle! “Life is but an illusion”—who first coined that phrase? For a moment I stood utterly stunned. Through Mr. Kozuka’s thoughtful arrangements, I changed into newly tailored clothes and, alongside six comrades, arrived at an inn—glancing back repeatedly—after passing through Mie Prefecture Prison’s main gate.

Chapter Eight: Release from Prison

I. The Young Lady's Decorum

As the inn had already made all necessary preparations, the treatment we received was truly enough to bring tears to one's eyes. That evening, we were invited by local supporters to a renowned restaurant in the area for a welcome banquet. The following day, having received a special invitation from someone hosting a tea gathering, I arrived there in the afternoon. Maintaining the Young Lady's Decorum, I was served a light tea reception. When someone then requested that I too prepare a serving, I managed to clumsily perform the basic tea preparation. Though I was born and raised in a poor household, it was through Mother's compassion that I had learned such arts, however modestly. Otherwise, I might lose face—how strange that I should now be thinking of my parents’ kindness in such a way. After days spent not dwelling on such matters, I was finally escorted by local supporters including Mr. Nagai Katsu as we reached Suzuka Pass. From there, proceeding toward Osaka partly on foot and partly by train, we were met by Mr. Ueki Emori along the way, who presented me with a beautiful bouquet of roses—the others in our group also received various gifts.

II. Osaka's Grand Welcome

When we arrived at Osaka Umeda Station, the welcoming crowd was in utter frenzy; our comrades' safe release from prison was celebrated with banzai cheers that seemed to shake heaven and earth. No sooner had we arrived at the station than, amidst supporters vying to be first in presenting flower bouquets, there he stood—Father!—whom I had parted from seven years prior, disregarding his post-illness frailty as relatives supported him. "Oh, Father!" I cried out in a voice drenched with tears, unashamed before the crowd. Those around me, moved by this display, found themselves similarly choking back sympathetic tears. Thus compelled by circumstance, I was accompanied by fellow patriots and parted from Father to reach a prepared location. Protected by great red and white banners inscribed with phrases like "Celebrating the Patriots' Release" and "Welcoming the Patriots' Return," I was paraded through Osaka City in a rickshaw. Father, who had come all this way to meet me, found himself struck by boundless emotions—joy at my safe release and awe at the citizens' frenzied welcome—completely forgetting his prior worries. "Even should I die now," he said through tears, "I'd have no regrets. That you should receive such generous treatment from these gentlemen and hospitality from the citizens surpasses all imagination." Yet we had already received similar kindness from the late Nakae Chōmin-sensei and Mr. Kurihara Ryōichi. As night fell and I returned to the inn, just when I thought to finally catch my breath, visitors came in an unending stream. With no choice but to meet each one individually and express gratitude for their kindness, the commotion grew so intense it nearly made my head spin. The following day, since Shigei, Hajime, Furui, and others were expected to arrive from Nagoya, I went with comrades who had already reached Osaka to meet them at the station. They soon arrived and accepted flower bouquets from us, after which we attempted to walk to the Shinonome Newspaper Company. But tens of thousands of onlookers and greeters filled even the vast Umeda Station until there was scarcely room to stand. Forming a group with Shigei, Hajime, and the rest, we were swept along by the crowd—feet barely touching the ground as though suspended mid-air—until we barely managed to enter the newspaper office. Before the newspaper office too, spectators gathered like mountains, forcing them to close the gates and admit only essential personnel. Beyond the entrance, ceaseless cries of "Banzai for Shigei! Banzai for the released prisoners!" mingled with rising fireworks and commencing sword dances. Mr. Nakae declared, "Today we witness female supremacy over males! You stand as a lone red blossom amidst verdant foliage—your exceptional deeds among men throughout this affair merit special commemoration." Thus they made me sit upon a table where various receptions ensued. By the time they all returned to their respective lodgings, dusk had already fallen.

Chapter Nine: Relationship with Shigei

I. Consent to Marriage

Thereafter, Shigei, Hajime, Furui, and the other gentlemen lodged at Matsuou while I stayed at Harahira, with the remaining comrades securing various inns. For several days we continued uninterrupted between invitations here and banquets there without distinction of day or night. However, due to arrangements required for hometown welcomes, we decided to part ways as each saw fit. On the very night before my scheduled departure for Okayama the following day, Shigei sent word requesting: "If there's any discussion needed, come to Matsuou." When I went to investigate the matter, neither Shigei nor Hajime were there. Just as I resignedly prepared to return to my lodgings, Shigei returned alone. He rejoiced at my visit, then declared he could never forget the deep kindness shown since our imprisonment, that our mutual safe release was truly fortunate, and that he had resolved here to fulfill our marriage promise. Though this had been my longstanding resolve, on the night of our Osaka arrival, during Father's pillow talk, he revealed that Nakae Chōmin-sensei and Mr. Kurihara Ryōichi had these past two or three days persistently urged upon me that I should marry Hajime; accordingly, I had responded that after returning home in any case, I would consult with my elder brothers and finally carry it out. My shock upon hearing this could be likened to a bolt from the blue; ultimately, Nakae Chōmin-sensei and Mr. Kurihara, being unaware of the deeper circumstances, had mistakenly believed my relationship with Hajime remained unchanged from before, their well-meaning intention being to seize this opportunity to have us marry. But spilled water cannot be returned to the tray—I told Father I would explain everything properly after returning home, then met with both Nakae-sensei and Mr. Kurihara to fully relate the circumstances and apologize for my lack of such intentions. Upon this, the two gentlemen finally realized their misunderstanding, and thereafter never again spoke of such matters. Though my resolve had solidified, I could not help recalling how Hajime—my childhood companion—and I had once visited each other day and night in mutual affection, exchanging many lessons in those bygone days. Moreover, perceiving that even now Hajime bore me no visible malice, binding myself to Shigei through marriage at this juncture felt emotionally unbearable—my feelings tangled like threads. When I answered that I would consult my parents after returning home, he who knew of my history with Hajime would not easily consent. "If you return home with Hajime," he pressed relentlessly, "outside mediation might force an unwanted reconciliation. We must not lose this moment." Thus did I ultimately—though deeming it rash—give my consent, an error that would haunt me lifelong.

II. The Family's Welcome

Thereafter, setting out on our homeward journey by ship with Hajime and five or six relatives, we soon arrived at Samban Port where several hundred supporters—including students from our school and their parents from a certain district—awaited us in an indescribably chaotic scene. Upon disembarking and reaching the harbor inn, Mother came rushing out, clinging to me with tear-streaked hands as she cried, "You've returned safely! To see your healthy face after that terrible illness—what joy!" Ah, though I'd resolved not to cry on this auspicious day, unbidden tears of happiness spilled forth as she called the brothers, nephews and nieces to share the rejoicing. After concluding greetings, I suddenly noticed a young man at my side—this person who had kindly assisted me in various ways aboard the ship. When I inquired who he might be, someone exclaimed, "Have you forgotten your brother Junzō?" I was astonished. How people change! Seven years had passed since I left my hometown, when he was but a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old in his rowdy adolescent phase. Yet now he had even taken a wife and would soon become someone called "Father." Truly, people undergo their greatest transformations from around thirteen to seventeen or eighteen years of age; laughing over how natural it was that we barely recognized him, we boarded a horse-drawn carriage together and departed toward Kankō Pavilion in Okayama Park to attend the welcome banquet hosted by Okayama's supporters.

This park was the rear garden of Marquis Ikeda, who formerly held a domain yielding 350,000 koku, and ranks among Japan's Three Great Parks with views that defy full appreciation across the four seasons. The banquet had been organized by Mr. Nozaki—one of Okayama's foremost wealthy citizens—along with other prominent figures, who invited us and our parents and relatives. Speeches were given by various attendees, and renowned musicians were summoned to perform a stirring new-style poem titled "Song of Freedom," harmonized with two Western pianos. When I heard this, I clasped my hands without thinking—Ah! For the sake of this freedom, how could I begrudge even death?—and was struck by boundless emotion. When the singing ended and Hajime offered his response, the banquet commenced; after all had enjoyed themselves to the fullest and set out for home, it was already nearing lamplighting time.

III. Long-Awaited Homecoming

Thus I returned to my long-abandoned family home, escorted by my mother and brothers. When I thought back to how lonely and sorrowful my departure had been, returning now surrounded by crowds in such bustling splendor felt utterly surreal. Memories of childhood and friends welled up within me—visions from infancy and companionship that came and went through my mind like dreams, illusions, and finally like images in a revolving lantern. From the town outskirts near our home, every eave glowed with beautifully arranged red lanterns as though preparing for a grand shrine festival. As I wondered whose sake this celebration was really for, I wished I could crawl into a hole—death itself seemed preferable to enduring this false adulation. Ah! How could I—bound by secret vows to Shigei—ever repay such lavish hospitality? Thus did I writhe in silent torment.

IV. Major Sensation

At my home, relatives and old acquaintances were invited to hold a grand banquet. Geisha musicians came, dancing girls came, and the entire household was in a frenzy. After the banquet ended, various quiet conversations arose, and by dawn, the revelry still showed no signs of abating. They sought to recount seven years' worth of experiences in a single night and hastened to hear them all before dawn. At dawn, local supporters and journalists organized a welcome banquet, inviting us to a restaurant called Uokyū where they served Korean crane dishes—apparently in reference to that incident we were involved in. Thus for several days there were not enough hours for the banquets here and receptions there—even relatives who had long been distant now competed to gather and see me. My reputation had spread so far that, to my chagrin, not even three-year-old children failed to utter the name Keizan Ei.

V. Common-Law Marriage

One or two months thereafter, news came from Tokyo that Shigei and others would be conducting a Great Unity speaking tour through the Osaka region to the Chūgoku region. When I received a special message from Shigei's relatives in Osaka requesting my presence, recognizing this was no time for hesitation, I first disclosed my relationship with Shigei to my parents. Though we might form a common-law union now, its public revelation must await an opportune moment—for Shigei currently had a wife who, since Meiji 17, had gone insane and become incapable of rational judgment, necessitating her return to her family home. Yet as she was someone who could not be casually discarded, having made no lifetime provisions for such a person beforehand, the idea of hastily divorcing her now was unthinkable. Therefore, Shigei would continue accumulating favorable results in his legal practice as his profession, and when he achieved victory in a major case and gained tens of thousands of yen, they would present it to him to secure his livelihood for life, after which they would sever their ties—or so he declared. Since this seemed reasonable, we made a provisional agreement to enter into a common-law marriage. When I asked for their opinion, my parents—still intoxicated by my hollow reputation—consented that matters should be left to my discretion, adding that were Shigei to come locally, they would host him at our home for introductions to relatives and ceremonial toasts with brothers despite formal distance. Heartened by their enthusiasm, I felt reassured and met Shigei under the pretext of visiting Osaka friends to convey my parents' intentions. His joy knew no bounds—he insisted on immediately presenting himself to my parents and accompanied me to Okayama. After accepting our family's hospitality and formally discussing my circumstances with my parents, he personally placed a precious ring on my finger before departing—a treatment leaving no room for objection. To my eyes, even my parents appeared thoroughly satisfied from the outset. From that time onward in Tokyo, Osaka, and Kobe alike, I accompanied Shigei as surface-level comrades—appearing together at speech meetings and social gatherings—while our bond grew ever more entangled with each passing day.

Chapter Ten: Three Anecdotes

I. A Certain Female Student

At that time, I had taken along one female student. Born in Echigo yet bearing no resemblance to a seventeen-year-old maiden, she had inexplicably cropped her hair and adopted male attire—a thick white cotton hakama sash wrapped firmly about her waist—disguised like some rustic farmer's son. Having relied on Shigei to reach Tokyo through her desperate wish to become Keizan's disciple, I found his request—"Let her serve you as a student servant"—impossible to refuse and initially consented. Yet when pressed about why she emulated a man who had undergone a sex change, she declared: "Having heard you possess a masculine temperament, I became convinced you would never accept me unless I appeared thus." Deliberately shearing her long black tresses, she had reportedly exchanged women's robes for men's garments. Had society so gravely misjudged me? Or was I being denounced—unbeknownst to myself—as that arrogant, uncouth woman who would stop at nothing to surpass men? The shame of it! To speak plainly: since becoming ashamed of my childhood male attire, I had resolved to contribute whatever modest measure I could through the distinctive qualities Heaven bestows upon women. Yet having unexpectedly become involved in this drab incident, I must have invited such misconceptions. My previous involvement in what are considered men's affairs stemmed solely from matters concerning the nation's fate—matters where even a woman should not stand idly by. If I were fortunate enough to possess the gentle compassion and love considered common to women, I intended only to use these qualities to encourage capable men and, though inadequate, to always support them from behind. The notion of vying for power with those men or contending for achievements never once crossed my mind. I remained unshaken in my conviction that women must persist as women and men as men—for only through such mutual complementarity between the sexes can true gender harmony exist. Yet having unwittingly fostered such misunderstanding became both my profound sorrow and source of discontent. Therefore I earnestly admonished the female student about her error, compelling her to grow out her hair and exchange garments for women's attire—whereupon she transformed into a stunning beauty who soon returned home to become another man's lovely wife. The photograph of the newlyweds sent at that time still exists today, and whenever I face it, I find myself sitting here with a smile rising to my lips.

II. The Great Bizarre Story

Around that time, there occurred an even more bizarre incident. On the day I established my residence in Tokyo, a certain Mr. Kikuchi from Fukuoka Prefecture—who had become a Christian missionary devoting himself to spreading the faith—arrived carrying a letter of introduction from Kaetsu Shibusa, then a member of the House of Representatives, and requested an audience with me. I, who had never refused an audience with anyone regardless of status, immediately had my student servant usher him into the parlor and went out to meet him. To my bewilderment, the man stared fixedly at my face while muttering “This is unexpected—utterly unexpected” under his breath. In evident disarray, he offered no return greeting to my salutations, continuing to gaze at me in blank astonishment. I first grew suspicious, then ultimately fearful—this must be a madman! How outrageous of Mr. Kaetsu to introduce such a lunatic!—and though seven parts anger simmered in my heart, I continued stealthily observing the madman’s antics. Suddenly the guest transformed into a picture of shameful remorse. “Young lady,” he entreated, “pray examine this document.” When I heedlessly opened it, I found an utterly unexpected marriage proposal. The document stated: “[...] Having perceived your resolve to stake your life in the Korean Incident, and observing that your bond with Hajime no longer remains as before, I concluded that seeking marriage elsewhere would be futile given my own appearance—a short-statured, bulging-foreheaded, snub-nosed monstrosity resembling a one-eyed ogress. Thus have I resolved to abandon myself entirely, devising this desperate gambit [of proposing].” “What will become of this pitiable young lady?” “Unfortunate as I am, my former wife eloped with her paramour, leaving me solitary. Were I to marry such an ugly woman, I would not sink into such sorrow; our household would instead live harmoniously in service to God, and so forth.” Though I tried to compose my face after finishing reading this, some trace of displeasure must have shown through, for the guest grew all the more shamefaced. “Ah! What a blunder—this is inexcusable negligence!” “The shame of immediately concluding you must be an ugly woman upon hearing of your conduct, young lady.” “When I consider how my imagination has proven false, it stands to reason that any man who truly knows you would inevitably desire to make you his wife.” “But if you, young lady, do not accept my intentions, I shall ultimately sink into an abyss of sorrow.” Ah! Overcome with frustration and nearly beside himself, he suddenly pulled a small knife from his pocket and threw it at me, then stabbed it into the table to threaten me, attempting to forcibly extract my consent to marriage. Now convinced he had truly gone mad, I hastily summoned a student servant, had him entertain the guest as best he could while withdrawing to observe the unfolding situation. The student servant coaxed and placated the visitor, leading him outside and personally escorting him to a certain church in Tsukiji.

III. Kawakami Otojiro

Prior to this, while staying in Osaka, we received an invitation from supporters in Wakayama City and decided to travel there with Shigei. Together with Unoke Kumano (modern council member Yamaguchi Kumano), Koike Heiichiro, and Maekawa Torazo, we arrived at the location and attended a social gathering organized by local supporters where Shigei and others delivered speeches. Unable to refuse their urging for me to deliver a speech, I somehow managed to fulfill this obligation, then attended the newly established Women's Moral Reform Society where I attempted another clumsy address. After finishing group photographs with everyone, I visited Wakaura through Mr. Maekawa Torazo's invitation. The next day in a place called Tanabe, yet another speaking event was held where through the supporters' welcoming reception and generous hospitality, I brought great honor upon myself. While thus traveling around various places giving speeches with Shigei, I received several invitations even from near my hometown. At this time, though society still believed the marriage arrangement between Hajime and me remained in force—making accompanying Hajime weigh heavily on my conscience—having already campaigned extensively with Shigei, I found myself unable to refuse traveling with Hajime. Moreover, severing ties with him entirely seemed somehow callous given our old friendship. Thus when Shigei returned to Tokyo, I too temporarily went back home, attending several local welcome receptions and social gatherings. Amidst this stay, Kawakami Otojiro's troupe descended upon Yanagigawa-za Theater in Okayama City, having adapted the Osaka Incident into a play for their opening performance. Unable to decline their earnest invitation to attend, I accompanied my parents one day to view it. However, being from an era when theatrical arts had not yet developed to today's standards—both in stagecraft and dialogue delivery—the production verged on farcical absurdity, utterly devoid of any merit worth witnessing. Moreover, how thoroughly the Osaka Incident had captured public attention at that time could be understood from how it made the town's sons and daughters think themselves less than human if they hadn't seen this play, and from the theater's daily crowds packed so tightly there was no room to drive a needle—it was both wondrous and utterly absurd. During this theatrical run, Kawakami repeatedly visited my school along with prominent members of his troupe, treating the students to storytelling performances and presenting them with sweets in an exceedingly courteous manner. One day, he specially had a servant bring a large new stage curtain, explaining: "As this curtain is to be used exclusively during my lectures on the great cause of people's rights, I humbly request that you inscribe upon it the name of my revered elder sister—that is, it should ostensibly appear as a gift from your esteemed self, thereby allowing me to preserve some measure of dignity." Being well acquainted with Kawakami's character and conduct at the time, I consented to this matter believing it would not be perceived as equivalent to presenting curtains to the likes of Shin-koma or Iekitsu. However, when local supporters who heard of this—while advocating personal freedom and equality themselves—apparently still clung to unbroken class-based ideologies, they immediately opposed me with considerable vehemence. Compelled to convey my changed intentions to Kawakami and decline the inscription, he left behind an impassioned letter seething with indignation and departed Okayama that very day. Around Meiji 23 or possibly 24 (1890-1891), when I too traveled east to Tokyo and was passing through Hongō Cutting, I unexpectedly encountered members of Kawakami's troupe wearing splashed-pattern half-coats with dyed collars. Unconsciously scrutinizing one of them, I realized this was none other than Kawakami himself. He appeared greatly astonished, yet his manner of greeting after our long separation showed no trace of last year's ill will. He explained they had decided to stage performances this time at Asakusa Torigoe and were rushing about advertising with his troupe as you see here—having endured considerably more hardships than the previous year, he thought their skills had somewhat improved. As they intended to perform Eto Shinpei's story, he earnestly requested that I bring my family to attend. When several days had passed and the invitation indeed arrived, I invited my parents and student friends to attend the performance. Truly, the troupe's progress was astonishing—he who had been half political supporter and half actor the previous year had finally transformed into this purely professional new actor. He recounted how imperial princes who once would never have granted him an audience had now not only graciously attended his performance under special decree but even summoned him near their august presence to receive words of praise—nay, deigned to personally shake hands—as he choked back tears of joy, proudly declaring this too was the benefit of becoming a proper actor. Ah, had he maintained goodwill toward us, his success would never have come to pass; his success was entirely a gift obtained by abandoning his own principles and losing his fighting spirit. Truly, the unreliability of human hearts resembles a trickster’s sleight of hand—yesterday’s activist becomes today’s actor. What more can I say? I hear that in recent years, through his wife’s influence, he has become a jester-like retainer to a Grand Cordon Marquis and now devotes himself solely to currying favor with certain so-called upper-class gentlemen.

He too appeared to be a man remarkably skilled in worldly affairs. Could it be that such spineless creatures existed solely within Kawakami?

Chapter Eleven: Becoming a Mother

I. Pregnancy

Prior to this, during my continued stay in my hometown, formal proposals concerning my relationship with Hajime arrived from others, while Hajime himself directly expressed his desire to rekindle our former affections. Finding this state of affairs intolerable, I consulted Shigei in Tokyo to obtain his consent, informed my parents, and once again embarked on the journey to the capital in late July of the 22nd year [1889]. Around this time, my physical condition became abnormal—with each passing day I suffered nausea and frequent vomiting. Realizing what this meant, after returning to the capital I confided in Shigei about consulting my parents in the countryside, but he would not permit it, insisting we keep it secret from others. Though this left me deeply resentful, being in such constrained circumstances left no alternative—I had no choice but to obey his instructions. Securing lodgings in a quiet place, I resolved to begin living as an ordinary woman through a three-person household with a maid and student servant. Yet contrary to these intentions, Shigei treated me in a manner utterly detestable even to mention—no different from a common-law wife—as if he had forgotten every vow made both to me and my parents. What manner of behavior was this? Though I knew not what circumstances compelled him, to sink me into such wretchedness without considering how even the fetus would suffer society's slander—could this truly be called parental affection? Each time we met, I urgently entreated him thus. He too finally showed signs of concern: "Let us delay the announcement a while longer. Were we to inform your parents in the countryside of your pregnancy now, they would inevitably demand immediate marriage formalities. Though making it public would be simple, neither my position nor yours permits this without proper preparations. Above all, given today's circumstances where even managing an invalid proves difficult, you must understand there is nothing to be done." He was currently handling a very promising case in his legal practice—should this matter reach successful conclusion, obtaining tens of thousands in remuneration would prove effortless; therefore he earnestly entreated me with nothing but this plea: to endure temporary anguish while taking utmost care of the fetus. Having trusted him completely from the start—to the extent of entrusting my very life—I could not possibly doubt him now that matters had reached this pass, suspecting deception or temporary evasion. Though I might incur my parents' wrath someday with no means to explain myself, I used this situation as pretext to summon my aunt to Tokyo. After confiding my circumstances and entrusting her with my personal affairs, I devoted myself solely to praying for the fetus's wellbeing while strictly forbidding any outings. Yet now newspapers clamored to know—"Where is Keizan?"—demanding reports about the woman who had once stirred such commotion.

II. Childbirth and Bizarre Dreams How immense was the anguish I endured during that time! After months of uneventful days, in early March of the twenty-third year [1890], I gave birth to a son. His name shall remain unspoken—to openly present him to society's gaze with a mother who embodies remorseful degradation could never benefit his future, or so I reasoned. Yet regarding his naming, there occurred a peculiar episode; though it may invite accusations of superstition, being fact, I feel compelled to record it. From the moment this child quickened within me, my dreams teemed with violent portents. Once I wandered lost in deep mountains surrounded by thousands of wolves; mustering desperate courage, I pulled down their grizzled leader, seized its jaws, and split the beast from maw to tail—whereupon the remaining cubs scattered in panic. Another time materialized before me that passage from *Eighteen Abridged Histories* I had studied as a girl: "When Yu crossed the river, a flood dragon pursued his boat. All aboard trembled save Yu, who gazed heavenward and declared: 'My life is Heaven's gift—I labor exhaustively for the masses. Life is transient lodging; death our homecoming.' The serpentine creature coiled menacingly, yet Yu's unflinching stare made it lower its head, droop its tail, and retreat." There I stood in Yu's place, reciting his words until the dragon finally withdrew. Yet when delivery came, it proved an extraordinarily difficult birth—two days and nights of agony. Just as people clamored that only a doctor's intervention could conclude the ordeal, labor pains began. At that very moment, a torrential downpour erupted with thunderous roars, rain lashing violently. In that instant, the infant's first cry rang out, and the deluge—so fierce it seemed capable of overturning basins—abruptly ceased, leaving skies clear. According to the student servant's later account, when the rain poured fiercest that day, there appeared what people call a dragon whirlwind—they saw a long, thin serpent-like object ascending to heaven. Finding it miraculous that my child bore repeated connections to dragons, I bestowed upon him a name derived from this phenomenon and prayed his future would overflow with blessings.

III. Child's Family Registration At the very moment I gave birth to my child, yet another anguish emerged. The problem was this: unless Shigei and I were publicly recognized as husband and wife, how were we to register the child’s birth? Fortunately, the doctor whom I had frequently consulted during my pregnancy was from Shigei's hometown—a man who had long admired Shigei’s reputation and desired to establish friendly relations with him. When relatives devised a plan through this physician to preserve both parties’ secrets, this chivalrous man immediately consented. Taking advantage of his own childless status, he registered the infant as his legitimate firstborn son with the authorities. Thus we both barely managed to escape public scrutiny and overcome what seemed a trial more bitter than death, but before we could even rejoice with a “Hallelujah!”, a telegram arrived from my hometown announcing my mother’s critical condition.

IV. Attachment Since less than thirty days had passed after childbirth, the doctor urgently advised that long-distance travel would be dangerous. However, having never informed my parents of this delivery, it was now impossible to explain matters—especially with Mother gravely ill. How could I remain indifferent? If I were to die en route, then die I would; nothing could stop me. Disregarding all dissuasion, I entrusted the child to my aunt and wet nurse while tearing myself away, arriving at Shinbashi Station accompanied by a student servant and maid. As I waited for departure, my heart shattered into fragments wondering how my child fared—truly an anguish akin to vomiting blood. Indeed, no sorrow surpasses parting with one’s helpless beloved child—that I was compelled to endure even this seemed Heaven’s punishment for sins born of secrecy. Steeling myself, I embarked on this solitary journey. Aboard the train, I encountered Mr. Kataoka Naoharu traveling with his sister-in-law—a woman cradling an infant she caressed incessantly. Witnessing this, I felt anew the wretchedness of a mother abandoning her child: the pitiable babe torn from the familiar breast it had learned to seek, suddenly given cow’s milk through an unwieldy feeding bottle. How must you weep now? The breast you crave remains here, yet each second carries me farther from you. My usual fortitude deserted me—since bearing this child, I had grown more womanly than any ordinary matron.

Despite my body—which had been such a source of concern—suffering no ill effects, the train that was supposed to proceed directly to Kobe made an abrupt stop at Shizuoka. That night, I took lodging at an inn near the station together with Mr. Kataoka's family. Since I had deliberately written a pseudonym in the lodging register, Mr. Kataoka likely failed to recognize me as Keizan Ei.

V. Crisis The next day, upon arriving in Okayama to visit my beloved Mother, I was overjoyed to hear that her critical illness had somewhat abated. When relatives heard of my long-awaited return home, they came flocking. Yet Mother, alarmed at my unusually pale complexion, urged everyone to summon a doctor, insisting something was gravely wrong. This spelled crisis—if a doctor’s examination were to reveal my childbirth, then regardless of my own fate, Mother’s illness that had finally begun to subside might instead worsen through this ordeal, leading to irreversible regret. I resolved firmly that I would rather die than undergo examination, and so informed everyone I felt perfectly fine while enduring my chest pains in silence, praying devotedly for Mother’s full recovery. Gradually—like layers of thin paper being peeled away—she healed until she could finally sit up in bed and join in robustly singing modern ballads while harmonizing my moon lute with my brother’s koto.

In mid-spring she fell ill—her aged form nearing dissolution like white clouds at blossom's peak—yet through kin gathering daily to tend her, the sickness gradually abated. Truly a child's preciousness surpasses even medicine's power. After a week's stay—with Mother's illness fully healed—my heart's arrow of longing to see my child shot forth irresistibly. Without willing it, I fashioned plausible pretexts to announce my return to Tokyo while declaring I would soon bring Father and Mother to serve at their feet in the capital. When I returned and beheld my beloved child's healthy face, the gloom accumulated over ten-odd days finally lifted.

Chapter Twelve: Shigei's Betrayal

**I. Again Demanding Fulfillment of the Promise** During my absence, Shigei had apparently visited multiple times to check on the child. Given that he still lacked any biological children of his own, how could he not feel joy upon seeing he now had a healthy son? Yet it was precisely this fear of societal judgment that compelled him to suppress his affection, enduring the longing to see the child morning and night. Now that we'd met today, I had to urge him to fulfill our agreement at last—continuing to deceive society day after day while subjecting even this child to disgrace was too cruel for a parent! "Announce it publicly at once and preserve my honor," I pressed. "If this secret were exposed through inaction," I pleaded through tears, "I could never face my parents alive again." When I later reiterated this appeal in writing, he too appeared deeply troubled internally—though maintaining outward composure—until one day he lifted the child, gazing intently at its features as hot tears streamed down. Yet he never spoke his true intentions. From that day onward, his visits grew increasingly infrequent. Perceiving some unresolved dissatisfaction in this behavior, I—fearing the collapse of our arrangement—spent an entire day persuading him with plans to establish a girls' school. After compelling him to disburse five hundred yen, I informed my parents and siblings back home and resolved to bring the entire family to Tokyo.

II. The Whole Family Relocates to the Capital Ah, through my own convenience alone, I compelled that ancestral home—revered as teacher through generations—to abandon its native soil in a single morning and wander beneath unfamiliar eastern skies. The horror of this sin defies all possible means of atonement; even now, there is not a single day when I do not offer heartfelt apologies to my late Father and Brother. Yet at that time, my parents' joy knew no bounds—what fortunate circumstances to be able to live in Tokyo! Declaring this entirely due to lingering prestige from my involvement in the Korean Incident, I scolded my reluctant Brother for his indecisiveness as we brought the entire family to take up permanent residence in Tokyo—this being October of 1891. On our journey to the capital, we visited acquaintances in Osaka and spent days sightseeing in Kyoto before boarding a ship from Kobe. Our party of eight—parents, brother and his wife, myself who had gone ahead from Tokyo to meet them, and my younger brother’s child’s wet nurse—all traveled in high spirits. After safely completing the long sea route to Yokohama without incident, we immediately took the train to Tokyo. When we entered our lodgings in Kanda Nishikichō, the aunt who had arrived over a year prior rejoiced greatly, tending to and comforting everyone without reserve in their prolonged storytelling.

**III. Reason for Betrayal** After our family gathered in Tokyo, Shigei's behavior transformed completely—he visited only rarely and with evident dissatisfaction. Yet I remained oblivious to this shift, single-mindedly assuming he felt ashamed before my parents and siblings for not fulfilling our prior agreement. Though I repeatedly assured him of my family's lack of ill will, he continued making excuses to avoid coming, until gradually our interactions grew distant and ultimately even communication ceased entirely. This was a matter of grave significance—he had completely changed his heart. During my absence in the countryside, he had formed an illicit relationship with Izumi Tomiko, who had been my closest friend, and conspired to estrange me.

IV. Izumi Tomiko (Alias)

Here I shall recount the background of Izumi Tomiko (currently the wife of a certain Doctor of Agriculture); she was by birth a native of Bizen. When her father was imprisoned for committing prison guard theft while employed at a prefectural office, she became the wife of a certain lawyer Okazaki and relied on that connection to secure her father’s defense. Thus Mr. Okazaki stood as her indispensable benefactor—when I was released from prison, he accompanied me, even specially welcoming and escorting me to my hometown, such that our relationship became almost sisterly. Yet when Mr. Okazaki’s household finances deteriorated, she disdained this circumstance. Clinging to the hollow reputation of Shigei—then at the zenith of his influence—she abandoned both her husband and benefactor Mr. Okazaki, resolutely rushing to Tokyo to associate with Shigei, ultimately succeeding in stealing his affection. Unaware of such ambitions, I continued maintaining our former closeness when one day correspondence arrived from Shigei; yet reading through it made no sense—a logical outcome, for Tomiko had been hospitalized for days and given birth to a child. Therefore, that correspondence—which should have been sent to her in the hospital—had been mistakenly addressed to me through Shigei’s carelessness; truly, this could be called divine punishment. Having come to know this truth, my inner turmoil needs no elaboration here. When I immediately confronted Shigei and Izumi about their immorality, Shigei only revealed his degenerate nature all the more, while Izumi—perhaps because she was a woman after all—may have felt some remorse. Afterward, I heard nothing of her for a long time until learning she had once again employed her usual tricks to successfully pose as the esteemed wife of an agricultural science PhD, now maintaining a most tranquil, joyous, and pure household. It is said that the son born between Shigei and Izumi Tomiko had been raised by her biological brother Mr. Izumi, but when this brother went mad and became unreliable, the boy resolved to seek out Shigei and entrust himself to him. However, due to a single word from Shigei's mistress Oryu, he was harshly rebuffed. Compelled by necessity, he went to inquire at the residence of his birth mother Mrs. Tomiko—now the wife of a certain PhD—only to be denied even a meeting. Since that time, his whereabouts remain unknown. He would have been around thirteen or fourteen years old. Having heard that he grew up amidst hardships and developed an unnaturally mature countenance, I could only think: Ah, what heartlessness! What wickedness! Though both parents had received superior educations, driven by their own vainglory they ruthlessly exposed this promising boy to life's harsh winds without feeling even a shred of pity—then turned away the child who finally managed to seek them out. Such miserly inhuman fiends! My sympathy knew no bounds—I resolved to discover his whereabouts and care for him however possible—yet still lacking even means to ascertain whether he lived or died remains my deepest regret.

V. The Shocking Mediator At this juncture, having realized I had been thoroughly manipulated by Shigei and completely deceived, I steeled myself against thoughts verging on madness—thoughts of how I could possibly explain myself to my parents and siblings—and sought out a certain man from among my former comrades, one renowned for his deep moral integrity who had once sworn to share life and death with me. After explaining the entire situation and requesting his mediation—ah! How unreliable human hearts prove!—he declared: "What use is persuasion or reproach toward someone already changed? There remains no recourse." How infuriating to receive this unexpected counsel—"Would it not be better to swiftly abandon your attachment and seek a more suitable match? The world teems with capable men; how foolish to wallow in degradation for his sake alone!" And then to realize: Ah, you who now bore the honorable station of Diet member must have concluded it equally foolish to persist in noble struggles—having yourself discarded initial aspirations to grovel before those government magnates who were once political enemies. For did not the world equally abound in paths to glory without need to soil oneself for grand principles? Ah! These men of stature who, once achieving their ambitions, could not forget the lingering bitterness of hardship and thus willingly endured any humiliation! Though I directly rebuked them as despicable souls and condemned their vileness to the utmost, he—Shigei—appeared utterly unperturbed, as if scheming to deceive me through his changed heart. With a smile deflecting this heated condemnation, he subsequently visited me repeatedly anyway, employing all manner of honeyed words while ingratiating himself with my family members to win their favor. The transparent nature of these machinations proved both pitiable and absurd. No—because of him I became suspected by his wife. When I consider how this has persisted to this very day, the bitterness and fury know no bounds. The activists involved in our Korean Incident found their years of hardship after release from prison recognized as virtuous deeds by their hometown's supporters; most were then selected as Diet members, entering a time of prosperity all at once. None now looked back upon the hardships of those days. Even their wives clung to empty titles and hollow prestige, having utterly abandoned the principles and true callings they once championed. Single-mindedly chasing personal glory, they reduced themselves to professional debtors and bribe-takers—so much so that people sang of how no one in the world had fallen as low as the idealists of that era. Precisely because he was such a weak-willed coward, he seized upon the supreme disgrace I had suffered through Shigei as a convenient opportunity, declaring with that shamelessly twisted mouth of our times: "If you grow weary of it, simply seek out a better replacement." What a lesson this was!

VI. Cutting Ties with Shigei

Behold the disordered state of their households! Wives who had endured years of hardship with their beloved husbands found no moment to rejoice at their release from prison—instead experiencing greater anguish than during their incarceration. While the husbands indulged in drunken excesses that harmed public morality, growing ever more arrogant in their selfish conduct, the wives too became despondent to the point of recklessness, succumbing to carnal desires like their spouses, until even their children were forced to taste endless suffering. Such cases proliferated everywhere—ah! What error it was to have relied on these men! From now on, I must sever my relationship with Shigei, resolutely repent, and dedicate my entire being to my beloved child. Though I may be unworthy, I resolved to raise my child with my own hands, swearing I would never seek even a single coin of his support. Having sent word of this decision to completely sever ties with him, and having declined all household protection to adopt a completely independent course, I then explained these circumstances to my parents and sought their approval. They flew into a rage, berating me with threats of sending someone to formally denounce me. That I failed to recognize him as such a morally bankrupt individual was entirely my error—no amount of reproach now could undo this, serving only to parade my shame. Yet through both admonishing and appeasing them, they gradually came to accept the situation.

VII. Calamities Strike Repeatedly

Thereafter I established a Women's Vocational School, and having fortunately obtained support from various quarters, the entire family engaged in its operation: Mother took charge of calligraphy, Brother of reading and arithmetic, Father of accounting, Sister-in-law of embroidery and sewing, Younger Brother of drawing, and Younger Brother's Wife of English studies—each kindly teaching their assigned subjects. Students came streaming in not only from Tokyo proper but also nearby regions, until we temporarily reached full capacity. We restored our household's former customs and resumed pure living—ah, how sorrowful is human existence! In the winter of 1892 (Meiji 25), Father took to bed with what seemed a common cold, yet developed heart complications that proved beyond medicine's reach, ultimately passing away. Barely forty days had elapsed since we tearfully conducted his funeral procession when Aunt too followed him in death. This Aunt had caused me great concern since my pregnancy, yet departed this world before I could repay her kindness—a regret that lingers to this day. In April of the following year, even my cherished elder brother passed away, and with three funerals held within such a brief span of months, our already impoverished household sank into abject misery beyond remedy. Though through the goodwill of supporters we barely managed to sustain ourselves and complete preparations to reopen the school, separated from Father and Brother who had been our pillars of support, and with my sister-in-law having returned to her parents' home while leaving her child behind, we found it impossible to easily resume classes. As our family once again faced the pitiful prospect of bankruptcy, I could do nothing but weep over my misfortunes. Resolving now to go abroad to fulfill my aspirations, I had just begun gradually devising measures for my family's welfare during my absence when Heaven—not yet having abandoned me—unexpectedly granted me an encounter with Fukuda Yusaku, whom I would come to deeply respect.

Chapter Thirteen: Husband

I. Mutual Sympathy

Prior to this, in the spring of Meiji 23 (1890), I had met Fukuda at Mr. Arai Shōgo’s residence on one occasion; at that time, being involved with Shigei, I had retained no particular memory of Fukuda. He, however, had apparently known of my circumstances and harbored intentions to establish a friendship. One day when visiting a friend at the Kantō Club, a gentleman approached me with a smile where we chanced to meet—opening with “There is something I wish to discuss at your home”—and offered polite greetings: this was Fukuda. When I inquired what matter that might be, he replied that he had assumed my school remained in operation, expressing his desire to make a request regarding a relative’s child coming to the capital from his hometown. I accordingly informed him I had currently closed the school due to circumstances, though while maintaining no formal school life outwardly, I still provided reading and calligraphy guidance to two or three students residing at my home. I explained that while accepting his visit posed no inconvenience under this arrangement, truthfully we had fallen into such dire poverty that we could no longer sustain even the semblance of a proper school. His profoundly affected reaction was only natural—for he too, since returning from America, had devoted himself as an instructor at Dōjinsha in Koishikawa Takehaya-chō until Principal Keiu’s untimely passing left them no choice but to close the institution. Our circumstances being precisely aligned, he seemed unable to contain his sympathy, frequently comforting me in my misfortunes. Yet as he sank deeper into misery through irreconcilable differences with his parents, this mutual pity intensified—until he confessed his desire to sail abroad again and end his days in that foreign land. Struck by his passion yet protesting, I countered: “You who were born heir to wealth—who graduated from Michigan University after overseas study, now returned triumphantly with a Bachelor of Laws degree—why utter such desolation?” I—born into poverty and facing compounded misfortunes that nearly stripped me of survival—had argued our plights were incomparable; yet truly, he wandered through circumstances more bitter than mere poverty. Tears welled in his eyes as he retorted: “To equate being born wealthy with happiness? You err completely. Even if daily existence proves most inconvenient, so long as there is joy in family unity—what greater fortune exists in this world?” “My overseas study stemmed from being forcibly married by my parents to a cousin—someone I never held the slightest affection for from the outset. Resenting this imposition to the extreme, I conceived the impulsive decision to pursue foreign education.” “Thus my parents must have recognized their error, for they continued funding my studies abroad throughout seven years of training. Upon returning home anticipating to implement my ideals within our household—reality diverged cruelly. My parents’ callousness surpassed their past severity; finding life in that family unbearable, I repeatedly sought refuge elsewhere. Unwittingly I strayed into ruinous paths, amassing mountainous debts until finally incurring Father’s wrath. Learning he intended to disown this prodigal son whose future seemed hopelessly adrift, I resolved—against my heart’s desire—to sail once more for that foreign land and end my days there.”

"Ah, I too am an unfortunate soul cast adrift—better to yearn for unknown foreign shores than mingle among these immoral Japanese gentlemen," I lamented. He suddenly became animated: "Then would you consider accompanying me? Having studied there myself for nearly ten years, I know that land intimately." This earnest proposal struck me like discovering a pure spring on a distant desert journey. Overwhelmed by both joy and longing, we subsequently met repeatedly, our relationship deepening through shared confessions of life's harsh realities. One day he proposed anew: "If you have no objections, let us marry now and begin preparations for our journey." Having already resolved in my heart that this man was the one, I immediately gave my consent. We formally pledged to marry—I informed Mother of the circumstances while he openly announced it to his friends—and from then on began living together, establishing for a time a harmonious household.

II. The Impoverished Scholar

Around that time, newspaper articles had reported my marriage to Keizan Ei—son of a wealthy farmer—but in truth, Fukuda Yusaku was but an impoverished scholar with nothing but the clothes on his back. Since returning to Japan as what they now called a "high-collar" man, he had been enticed by these so-called activists—really just pseudo-heroes—through wine and women into becoming either a guarantor or co-signer for their usurious loans. Ultimately burdened with tens of thousands in debt and reprimanded by his parents, he now disdained returning home. He had no leisure to reflect on the honor of having brought back his Bachelor of Laws diploma from America; the precious certificate had become like scrap paper, reduced to a mouse’s nest in a cupboard corner. Whether out of excessive pity or sheer resentment, they declared that if pressured enough he would return home—that they had not educated him to become some official in Tokyo. As parents, they subjected their child to unbearable humiliation and anguish, threatening disinheritance if he refused to return—raising various difficult issues. Yet he showed no inclination to compromise his aspirations and ideals for wealth, until even such formidable parents grew weary and resigned themselves to leaving him to his own devices. Thus he first consulted with friends about establishing independence and became an English teacher, taking up his lecturing post at home. Thanks to his credentials, student numbers increased abundantly until he reached a state lacking nothing in livelihood. At this point—perhaps because he intended to settle permanently in Tokyo—his parents back home began urgently urging his return under the pretext of his father's illness, all the more frequently so as to diminish his thoughts of staying. When he reluctantly returned home, his parents lamented their advancing age and declining vigor to manage household affairs, imploring him to stay and take charge of everything. Being inherently tender-hearted, he might resist tyrannical oppression, but before his parents’ reasoned words, every corner of his endurance crumbled away. He considered remaining at home yet upon reflection—burdened with massive debts as he was—returning now would clearly bring ruin upon his father and household. Declaring he had no regrets about ceding the family estate to his younger brother and resolved not to waste years of arduous study, he proposed seeking viable prospects in Tokyo. His parents’ dispositions shifted instantly, rebuking him as an unfilial wretch and ingrate. Compelled to retract his previous statement and agree to remain permanently under their roof, he found it unbearably bitter to think of rendering seven years of arduous study meaningless by taking up ploughs alongside country folk, wasting precious time in vain. Moreover, as I too realized I could never adapt to unfamiliar sericulture and weaving work should I join this farming household—resolving instead that establishing funds as soon as possible to make our way in society through respective specialized paths would prove best—he again addressed his parents: stating his determination to cede the family estate to his younger brother and seek independent livelihood, then requesting a modest capital allocation. Met with utterly unexpected vitriol—berated as one who cared nothing for his household—and abruptly ordered to leave immediately, he steeled his resolve. Thus becoming a wanderer once more, he came to Tokyo where through a friend's mediation he joined the staff of the Yorozu Chōhō newspaper company. He received his monthly salary—this was both the first and last time.

III. Mutual Conjugal Affection Though we had finally secured means for basic sustenance, when he first came to Tokyo he possessed little more than the clothes on his back—having sold every household item to scrap dealers, even the trivet from our brazier—barely escaping starvation. The wretchedness of these circumstances defies description. Yet this man born to wealth voiced no complaints; rather, his manner of finding contentment in honorable poverty left me unable to sit idly by in pity. I, by contrast, had long been accustomed to destitution. Having obtained that mutual affection I once craved, I instead felt spiritually enriched. Ah, you privileged wives of powerful houses who flourish in this wretched world! While you endure lifelong indignities without reprieve—deceived by hypocritical ceremonial love and compelled under Confucian discipline to secretly weep from love's deprivation—compared to my circumstances, I took no small pleasure in pondering where true happiness lay. I know love recognizes neither nobility nor baseness; neither wisdom nor folly. Were my husband to divide his affections elsewhere and shame me, I would confront the adulterous man with the same measures men employ against adulterous women. For Eastern women—particularly those lacking self-sufficiency—this principle may seem excessively extreme. Yet when we consider women must direct their affections solely one way while men may let theirs stray according to convenience, who could fail to recoil at this imbalance? Even those professing humanitarian ideals show no dismay at this inequity; though one might blame ancient customs for the cruel unanimity in condemning women, in this twentieth century there exists no justification for tolerating such vile practices.

However, this was not solely men's failing; women's servile dependency had likely contributed most significantly to perpetuating these evil customs. They constantly nursed secret dread that abandonment by their husbands would leave them instantly destitute, driving them to cling desperately to anything available. Thus their love resided not in their spouses but in themselves—in terror of personal deprivation. How wretched this love appeared! That they could only submit silently to men's brutalities with no recourse but bitter resentment—was this not utterly infuriating? In my view, marriage should form only when both partners' affections align—which is why I could never countenance unions mechanically arranged by others. When I pledged myself to Fukuda, though fully aware we'd lack food and clothing from the very next day, I understood matrimony's essence lay in mutual devotion rather than material concerns—knew too that such provisions mattered little. Let none accuse me of wallowing in mindless passion—my husband's profound love never wavered in the slightest. For my sake, he discarded tens of thousands in wealth as casually as one might cast off worn-out sandals. The overseas travel that formed one marital condition remained ever-present in our thoughts, yet with funding still unrealized, I found myself in an extraordinary physical state; all matters diverged from our aspirations until, in poverty's grip, I bore a son we named Tetsurō.

IV. Divine Entreaties

Yet within barely two months of birth, the child contracted bronchiolitis—a grave illness—and fell into critical condition. In what might be called desperate divine entreaties during trying times, the couple reverted to primal desperation: heedless of wind or rain, they made daily pilgrimages to Tsukudo Hachimangu Shrine ten blocks from their home, praying for their beloved child's recovery while renouncing all customary indulgences in food and entertainment. Though these efforts might not have been the direct cause, the child gradually improved thereafter. Attributing this recovery solely to divine mercy, both spouses expressed profound gratitude and continued visiting the shrine faithfully for years without fail.

V. The Material and the Immaterial From childhood, I had delighted in theater and variety halls, finding particular pleasure in jōruri ballad recitation. Yet since bearing this ailing child, I had wholly abandoned such diversions. Though Fukuda would compassionately urge me to indulge when occasion permitted, I declined—having discovered an intangible amusement that required no physical form. My mind raced singularly toward preserving domestic tranquility. Even as I endured days steeped in anguish, I shared in Fukuda's tribulations—our combined efforts briefly securing employment that brought fleeting joy, only for circumstances demanding his provincial return to arise abruptly. His once robust frame grew burdened beyond mere fatigue, caught between endless trials that left him adrift in purposeless days heavy with unease.

VI. Plans for Korea

Having thus contemplated that this course would bode ill for our future prospects, we one day consulted about forthcoming matters and engaged in various maneuvers, when fortunately Fukuda obtained passage to that land through qualification as legal advisor to the Korean government. Deeming this auspicious, we did not inform our hometown—securing half the travel funds from friends and the remainder through extraordinary means—until our preparations for crossing to Korea stood wholly complete. At that time, as the Korean government was undergoing major reforms and even Park Yeong-hyo—who had once been an exile in Japan—was participating in state affairs with resplendent authority, individuals from Japan such as Hoshi Tōru and Okamoto Ryunosuke responded to their summons to become advisors to the royal court. Furthermore, Marquis Saionji had already crossed to Korea bearing an imperial decree. Therefore, through these individuals, Fukuda could readily seek connections with prominent figures in that country. Moreover, Seo Hong-beom—the Minister of Justice of that nation and a former classmate from their American studies—eagerly offered repeated assistance. On the very day of departure, he turned to me: "In our homeland, our objectives were constantly hindered by provincial matters, leading to failures in all endeavors and causing you immense distress. Through this journey, I may somewhat make amends." Having entrusted you with our sick child—"I pray you treasure him"—he resolutely parted ways, only for yet another great calamity to befall him barely two weeks later; truly a sorrowful fate.

VII. Campaign of Obstruction Prior to this, hearing of Fukuda's planned Korea voyage, his provincial parents—fearing the increasing difficulty of recalling him home—resorted to extreme measures: they had usurious moneylenders file a lawsuit over division of Fukuda's family assets, thereby binding him legally, stripped him of his civil rights to prevent government employment, ultimately plotting to leave him no path but destitute return to his hometown. As soon as he arrived at Incheon Port, the aforementioned judgment was immediately cast upon him from the consulate. He had never dreamed his parents' benevolence could reach such extremes; precisely because he single-mindedly envisioned future happiness, he had secured money so hard-earned it drew blood, daring to leave behind his beloved wife and sick child in an unfinished farewell. Yet this benevolence turned instead into harm—too shameful to speak of to others—and how profound was the sorrow when he later returned to the capital and wept like a man. Indeed, he bore a disgrace more bitter than death while selling off the winter gear he had painstakingly acquired and other personal belongings to secure travel funds, at last managing to set out on the journey back to the capital.

VIII. Agony That Draws Blood The moment I arrived in Yokohama, a message came urging me to come to his location immediately. Entrusting my sick child to another’s care, I hastened to the inn only to find his complexion unnaturally pallid, his possessions reduced to a single Western suit hanging on his frame. With increasing desperation, he began confessing his absolute refusal to return home. “Though as your husband I must have caused you heartrending grief,” he said, “given how you’ve always endured hardships without complaint, there remains no alternative—I shall return to my hometown resolved to live out my days among rustic folk as though already dead.” “That I have failed to uphold my aspirations and now find myself compelled to return home brings shame before you and our friends,” he continued. “Yet my parents’ affection exceeds all measure, leaving me no choice but to serve at their side.” “Caring for a sick child while sitting idle is ultimately an impossible task—I will gladly become a sacrifice for our son. I beg you to understand this earnest resolve of mine and wait a little longer for the right time.” Now even I could no longer refuse. We finally resorted to separation—yet his doting nature found living apart from our beloved child unbearable. Seizing upon my renewed pregnancy as an opportunity, he proposed taking our ailing firstborn Tetsurō back to his hometown: “Let me care for him in Mother’s stead. Though temporary grief is inevitable, grant me one child to alleviate domestic desolation.” Unable to decline this entreaty, I steeled myself against this heartrending agony and ultimately entrusted Tetsurō to his hands—if only to ease his provincial sufferings. When I recall the anguish of those days, even now as I sit, I feel scalding tears welling up—such is the force of that memory.

IX. New Life Thus he once again donned an iron mask and returned home with their beloved child in tow. His parents—oblivious to his inner turmoil—simply rejoiced at his destitute homecoming, resolved to confine him to the household. Yet observing how he remained tethered to the child’s side day and night, nurturing it no differently than a devoted mother would—with no apparent ulterior motives—they instead grew reassured. They began personally caring for their cherished grandson while even sending me monthly stipends as the child’s mother. Meanwhile, our conjugal affection only deepened daily—perhaps because he frequently traveled to the capital—until shortly after our second son Kyōtarō’s birth, when relatives urged me to visit the countryside. To this he secretly countered: “You’d do better not to come.” For even were I to enter a cold-hearted household like his, I had already foreseen I could never remain there long. Knowing full well that arriving empty-handed—without proper garments or funds—might be tolerable in other households but would only burden him further in this case, I initially refused adamantly to go. Yet when relatives grew insistent, urgently pressing me with “At least come for the child’s sake—bend your pride and visit,” I found myself drawn by affection for both husband and son. Thus half-heartedly did I busy myself with currying favor from his parents through sewing tasks and childcare duties—ah, how altered my circumstances had become when I reflect upon it.

X. Ah, Death

But how could someone like me—an outsider—possibly remain long in such a household? Observing particularly how coldly and cruelly my parents-in-law treated Fukuda, I came to feel myself wretchedly handled like livestock—more agonizing than a bed of needles. Resolving that if my resentment were to provoke conflict, then so be it—for mutual benefit—I one day plotted to secretly return to Tokyo with an infant on my back. Yet relatives intercepted me mid-journey, thwarting my aim. He too seemed to perceive my resolve that familial harmony was hopeless, for this time he resolutely petitioned the relatives for disinheritance, declaring he would live separately to determine his future course. I concurred—what use was a hundred thousand in assets? After discussions, I returned first to Tokyo anxiously awaiting whether his decisive action would succeed. A month later, the family council resolved to keep our legitimate son Tetsurō under his grandparents’ care. When he came to Tokyo, we at last opened our furrowed brows in joy, creating a warm household—though beneath lay my intent to fulfill our original marital promise. Tragically, battered by countless failures, he developed brain disease; by his final Tokyo arrival the illness had penetrated beyond cure. Even deranged behaviors became frequent, so I entreated friends to arrange convalescence near Kamakura and Hiratsuka—preparations never neglected—yet his chronic ailment proved incurable. At our youngest Chihiro’s birth, he sank into unconsciousness never to rise again, ending his thirty-six-year life as our eternal parting.

XIV. Great Resolve

Ah, among life's sorrows there exists none greater than being preceded in death by one's beloved husband. I too once considered donning nun's robes in my overwhelming grief, but the Fukuda family home's cruelty—having executed incomprehensible measures since my late husband's lifetime, such as transferring the fields allotted during our household separation to relatives' names under the pretext of covering medical expenses, thereby effectively returning them to the main estate—left no room for complacency. After his death, they showed even less regard for their bereaved family's starvation, abandoning us outright. Thus realizing I—now solely responsible for my children—could not afford to renounce the world for a carefree existence, I resolved to guard my late husband's household while struggling daily to make ends meet. Friends and acquaintances, unable to bear witness, specially visited my parents-in-law to request support for the survivors. Yet they offered not a shred of sympathy, only grudgingly promising to send trivial pocket money. Given these circumstances, I—aside from nursing the infant—also found it impossible to neglect the education of the two older children. Spending days in anguish and torment, I succumbed to neurasthenia, spending many days bedridden, until I even received warnings from physicians to change my mindset, else I might never regain health. Death would rather be a blessing; yet with my children still young, were I not here, what would become of them? Thus mustering my spirit once more—for only through raising three children soundly could I fully discharge my responsibilities and establish a path to repay my husband's love—I engaged in profound self-reproach, ashamed of my womanly weakness. Devoting myself entirely to prayers for bodily health without neglecting convalescence, I gradually regained former vigor. Having resolved that even should I venture into the turbulent waves of this transient world, I would never drown, upon the first anniversary of my late husband's passing I devised a strategy of mutual support between self and others, hereby recommencing my activities. Convinced of the critical need for women and girls to cultivate practical skills, I consulted with like-minded individuals about these ideas and received their wholehearted endorsement. Thus, on the anniversary of my late husband's death, I established the Tsunohazu Women's Art School. To support this institution's maintenance, I also founded the Japan Women's Permanent Livelihood Association, through which we solicited support from dedicated patrons and arranged for the purchase of scholarship students' craftwork. The purpose of the Permanent Livelihood Association is as follows.

Japan Women's Permanent Livelihood Association Establishment Manifesto Without permanent assets there can be no constant mind; the tendency for poverty to lead to disorder is human nature, and thus inevitably unavoidable. Therefore, if one wishes to have people fulfill their duties where they lie, one must first devise a way to provide them with permanent assets. To attempt preserving their dignity and fulfilling their true nature without this is akin to traversing land without carts or crossing waters without boats—means by which one can never achieve such aims permanently.

Now in our nation there exists no place—urban or rural—where schools remain unestablished; even in remote mountain villages one could hear the chanting of lessons. Particularly in women's education, recent years had seen remarkable progress—elevating feminine dignity and enabling the expression of women's inherent nature—at which we greatly rejoiced. Yet observing the current state of ordinary women's schools, their curricula pursued mere lofty ideals, while their so-called craft departments prioritized elegance to produce luxury goods—providing no actual assistance to livelihood. Though they might cultivate refined ladies for influential households, they utterly failed to produce capable housewives competent in managing middle-class homes. This truly stood as a deficiency of our enlightened age—and precisely why we could not but harbor secret apprehensions.

For women who become wives to organize households—capably supporting their heaven-ordained partners to eliminate future cares—or who through misfortune must part from these spouses yet still maintain independent livelihoods while resolutely upholding their moral integrity: while this naturally depends on the knowledge and spirit accumulated through daily cultivation, we consider it imperative that they first achieve freedom from bodily assaults of hunger and cold, liberation from mental anguish over hardships, and tranquil acceptance of their circumstances.

However, when it comes to suitable occupations for women, their number remains exceedingly limited; what little promise exists lies solely in the embroidery of silk handkerchiefs. Silk handkerchiefs once reached peak export prosperity, with annual volumes surpassing one million dozen and production costs exceeding three million yen, occupying a position of genuine importance among our domestic products. Yet subsequent trends shifted abruptly: credit within trade markets collapsed utterly, export volumes dwindled increasingly, until we faced this lamentable state. While this undoubtedly stems from various causes, the inconsistency in manufactured goods and the inferiority of their quality must assuredly be counted principal among them. Moreover, that such inconsistency and inferior quality arise from deficient moral integrity among both producers and business operators—does this not demand our most urgent reflection?

As civilization advanced and the division of labor progressed, large-scale mechanical manufacturing flourished, achieving the capacity to meet people's needs through low prices. Yet machine-produced goods, being inherently devoid of individual character and lacking artistic essence, remained confined to mere practical utility—incapable of being cherished as works of art. Yet as economic society progressed and material wealth abounded, yesterday's luxuries transformed into today's necessities, while those objects cherished as luxuries inevitably became none other than artisanal masterworks brimming with unaffected vitality. Therefore, in our nation where standards of food, clothing, and shelter remained low, we employed our domestic silk fabrics and supplemented them with our nation's female artisans endowed with heaven-sent aptitude for delicate handicrafts—as if adding wings to a dragon. By exquisitely producing these goods to soar across global markets, what rival in all the world could possibly prevail against us? Yet that reality ran counter to this principle—a source of unbearable sorrow for us; therefore, if those with great capital were now to achieve uniformity in their products through planning and to attain superior quality by refraining from pursuing petty profits, their success could be awaited with certainty.

We here observe that through our previous establishment of the Women's Art School—rescuing young women from destitution, instructing them in means of livelihood, enabling them to secure permanent assets and cultivate constancy of mind—we aim to achieve both personal sustenance on an individual scale and the fulfillment of duties as Japanese women on a grand scale; thus our endeavor has now taken initial root. We hereby organize this association and desire to provide special advantages concerning the export of their manufactured goods. Reflecting upon ourselves, we recognize our shallow learning and deficient talent; added to this, our meager strength proves insufficient. Yet that we still dare undertake this great endeavor stems solely from a single sincere emotion we could neither suppress nor contain. I beseech you, my brothers and sisters of this world—if blood flows in your veins and tears moisten your eyes—come forth and lend your support to this cause.

November 3, Meiji 34 Respectfully Submitted by the Founder This endeavor remained halfway completed—who could say how it might unfold? The transient world of human affairs defied prediction. Yet to persevere in this founding intent would be my future duty.

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Over thirty years of half a lifetime—when I looked back, it seemed but a dream. Ah, had I now awakened? Or having awakened, was I entering a new dream? Would I abandon this world, or would this world abandon me? Should I advance? Ah, but I possessed neither means nor talent. Should I retreat? Then cold and hunger would assail me. Standing upon the shore between life and death, there remained but one path to take: to devote myself wholly to sincerity and await Heaven's decree.