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Updated: May 31, 2025
She would be mistress over a great mansion and many servants, and her days were to be spent in arranging for the physical comfort of Saito and the entertainment of his friends. The arrangement had seemed so simple, and so right, and she had been gratified that a desirable husband had been found. But now she could neither understand nor explain to herself her new and strange resistance.
"Because they would be killed for complaining," said the missionary. Then he told Governor-General Saito how he had once complained to the police department when a father and son were cruelly beaten in prison. "Give me their names," said the gendarme. "I will if you will give me a promise that they will be protected." "No! I cannot do that! The gendarmes are very revengeful!"
Count and Countess Saito, despite their immense wealth and their political importance, were simple, unostentatious people, who seemed to devote most of their thoughts to their children, their garden, their dwarf trees, and their breed of cocker spaniels. They took their social duties lightly, though their home was a Mecca for needy relatives on the search for jobs.
When my friend Saitô Shimei, a learned and good man, died, there was barely enough money to bury him; his needy pupils and friends subscribed to give him a humble coffin.
"Him make marry with dat girl, he say." Then she added inconsequently, with a sigh, "I much hope Saito San go to war for long, long time." For two halcyon months Yuki San lived in a dream.
"Put those things away, child, and keep to your kimono. It is your natural plumage. In those borrowed plumes you look undistinguished and underfed." The Japanese Ambassador to the Court of St. James proposed the health of the bride and bridegroom. Count Saito was a small, wise man, whom long sojourn in European countries had to some extent de-orientalised.
There was a crowd gathered round it. But the police kept them back. As Asako stepped in, she heard the click of cameras. "Asa Chan," said the lady, "don't you remember me? I am Countess Saito." Of course, Asako remembered now a spring morning with Geoffrey and the little dwarf trees. The notoriety of the Ito murder case did Asako a good turn. Her friends in Japan had forgotten her.
Subsequently, the Saito household was disturbed by one of the family feuds so common during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in Japan. Hidetatsu, desiring to disinherit his eldest son, Yoshitatsu, had been attacked and killed by the latter, and Nobunaga announced his intention of avenging the death of his father-in-law.
The husband, who was no hand at speechmaking, replied and his good-natured voice was quite thick with emotion that it was awfully good of them all to give his wife and himself such a ripping send-off, and awfully good of Sir George and Lady Everington especially, and awfully good of Count Saito; and that he was the happiest man in the world and the luckiest, and that his wife had told him to tell them all that she was the happiest woman, though he really did not see why she should be.
They gave generously; they entertained hospitably. Good-humour ruled the household; for husband and wife were old partners and devoted friends. Count Saito brought his nephew and secretary, a most agreeable young man, to see Asako. The Count said, "Asa Chan, I want you to tell Mr. Sakabé all about the Fujinami house and the way of life there." So Asako told her story to this interested listener.
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