Prologue - Daughters of The Samurai by Janice Nimura

PROLOGU E
NOV E M BER 9, 187 1
I n t h e n a r r ow s t r e e t s surrounding the Imperial Palace,

newfangled rickshaws clattered around corners, past the indigo hangings
in the doorways of the merchants, past the glowing vermilion of a shrines
torii archway, past the whitewashed walls of samurai compounds. The
runners between the shafts gleamed with sweat and whooped at those in
the way; the passengers, mostly men, sat impassively despite the jolting of
the iron-rimmed wheels. Shops selling rice or straw sandals stood alongside
others offering wristwatches and horn-rimmed spectacles. Soldiers loitered
on corners, in motley uniforms of peaked caps and wooden clogs, short
zouave jackets and broad silk hakama trousers. They stared at the occasional
palanquin passing by on the shoulders of several bearers, wondering at the
invisible occupant: an official, in a stiff-shouldered tunic? a retainers wife,
on a rare outing to the local temple? Servant girls in blue cotton darted in
and out of traffic, their sleeves tied back.
Tiny alongside the forbidding bulk of the palaces massive stone
embankments, five girls filed past. Two of them were teenagers; the others younger, the smallest no more than six. They were swathed in rich
silk, the three older ones in paler shades embroidered all over with leaves
and trailing grasses, cherry blossoms and peonies; the other two in darker
robes emblazoned with crests. Each girls hair was piled high in heavy
coils and loops secured with combs and pins. They held themselves care-
16
daughters of the samurai
fully, as if their elaborate coiffures might overbalance them. Their painted

lips were crimson bows against the powder that whitened their cheeks.
Only their eyes suggested anything other than perfect composure.
Imposing timbered gates rumbled open to admit them, and then rolled
closed again. Inside, all was quiet. Within this maze of fortresses and
pleasure gardens, time flowed more slowly: everything seemed choreographed, from the movements of the guards to the gentle fluttering of each
flaming red maple leaf. The girls padded along corridor after twisting corridor, taking small pigeon-toed steps in their gorgeous new kimonos, the
finest they had ever owned, each tightly tied with a broad stiff obi in a
contrasting hue. Grand court ladies escorted them, hissing instructions: to
keep their eyes on the polished floor just in front of their white split-toed
socks, their hands glued flat to their thighs, thumbs tucked behind fingers.
Floorboards creaked, silk rustled. The subtle perfume of incense wafted
from behind sliding doors. Stolen glances revealed screens painted with
cranes and turtles, pine and chrysanthemum; lintels carved with tigers and
dragons, wisteria and waterfalls; flashes of vivid fabric, purple and gold.
At last they arrived in a cavernous inner chamber. A heavy bamboo
screen hung there, though the girls dared not look up. Seated behind it,
they knew, sat the Empress of Japan. The five girls knelt, placed their
hands on the tatami-matted floor, and bowed until their foreheads touched
their fingertips.
Had the screen been moved aside, and had the girls been brazen enough
to lift their eyes, they would have beheld a diminutive woman of twentytwo. Her head was the only part of her that emerged from a cone of ceremonial robes: snow-white inner kimono, wide divided trousers of heavy
scarlet silk, an outer coat of lavish brocade, edged in gold. Though she held
a painted fan bound with long silken cords, her hands were invisible within
her sleeves. Oiled hair framed her oval face in a stiff black halo, gathered
behind into a tail trailing nearly to the floor, and tied at intervals with narrow strips of white paper. She had a strong chin, and prominent ears that
lent her an almost elfin look. Her face was powdered white, her eyebrows
shaved and replaced with smudges of charcoal high on her forehead. Her
p r o l o g u e
teeth were blackened, in the style appropriate for a married woman, with
iron filings dissolved in tea and sake, and mixed with powdered gallnuts.
Though her husband had just been fitted for his first Western-style clothing, personal grooming for the women of the imperial court remained, for
the moment, much as it had been for centuries.
Lacquered trays on low stands appeared before the girls, bearing bolts
of red and white crpeauspicious colorsas well as tea and ceremonial
cakes, also red and white. The girls bowed, and bowed again, and again,
staring down at the woven tatami between their hands. They did not touch
the refreshments. A lady-in-waiting emerged, holding a scroll before her.
Her hands were graceful and astonishingly white as she unfurled it. In a
high clear voice, using language so formal the girls could barely understand her, she read the words the empress had brushed with her own hand,
words no empress had hitherto dreamed of composing.
Considering that you are girls, your intention of studying abroad is
to be commended, she chanted. Girls, studying abroadthe very words
were bizarre. No Japanese girl had ever studied abroad. Few Japanese girls
had studied much at all.
The reedy voice continued. When, in time, schools for girls are established, you shall be examples to your countrywomen, having finished your
education. The words were impossible. There was no such thing as a
school for girls. And when they returnedif they returnedwhat kind
of examples would they be?
The lady-in-waiting had nearly reached the end of the scroll. Bear all
this in mind, she concluded, and apply yourself to your studies day and
night. This, at least, the girls could do: discipline and obedience were
things they understood. In any case, they had no choice. The emperor
was the direct descendant of the gods, and these were the commands of
his wife. As far as the girls knew, a goddess on earthseeing but unseen,
speaking with anothers voicehad given them their orders.
The audience was over. The girls withdrew from the scented stillness
of the empresss chamber and retraced their steps through the labyrinth
of corridors to the clamor of the world outside the walls, no doubt light-
17
18
daughters of the samurai
headed with relief. They returned to their lodgings laden with imperial
gifts: a piece of the rich red silk for each, and beautifully wrapped parcels
of the exquisite court cakes. So sacred were these sweets, it was said, that
a single bite could cure any illness. The girls might be the newly anointed
vanguard of enlightened womanhood, but their families were not about to
trifle with divine favor. Portions of the cake were carefully conveyed to
relatives and friends.
In a month, the girls would board a ship for America. By the time they
returned, if all went as planned, they would be grown women.

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PROLOGU E

NOV E M BER 9, 187 1

I n t h e n a r r ow s t r e e t s surrounding the Imperial Palace,

daughters of the samurai

fully, as if their elaborate coiffures might overbalance them. Their painted

daughters of the samurai

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