Critics may point out flaws in this story, which is casuistically vulnerable.  Let it be:  all the same it shows that Tenderness, Pity and Love, were traits which adorned the most sanguinary exploits of the samurai.  It was an old maxim among them that “It becometh not the fowler to slay the bird which takes refuge in his bosom.”  This in a large measure explains why the Red Cross movement, considered peculiarly Christian, so readily found a firm footing among us.  For decades before we heard of the Geneva Convention, Bakin, our greatest novelist, had familiarized us with the medical treatment of a fallen foe.  In the principality of Satsuma, noted for its martial spirit and education, the custom prevailed for young men to practice music; not the blast of trumpets or the beat of drums,—­“those clamorous harbingers of blood and death”—­stirring us to imitate the actions of a tiger, but sad and tender melodies on the biwa,[9] soothing our fiery spirits, drawing our thoughts away from scent of blood and scenes of carnage.  Polybius tells us of the Constitution of Arcadia, which required all youths under thirty to practice music, in order that this gentle art might alleviate the rigors of that inclement region.  It is to its influence that he attributes the absence of cruelty in that part of the Arcadian mountains.

[Footnote 9:  A musical instrument, resembling the guitar.]

Nor was Satsuma the only place in Japan where gentleness was inculcated among the warrior class.  A Prince of Shirakawa jots down his random thoughts, and among them is the following:  “Though they come stealing to your bedside in the silent watches of the night, drive not away, but rather cherish these—­the fragrance of flowers, the sound of distant bells, the insect humming of a frosty night.”  And again, “Though they may wound your feelings, these three you have only to forgive, the breeze that scatters your flowers, the cloud that hides your moon, and the man who tries to pick quarrels with you.”

It was ostensibly to express, but actually to cultivate, these gentler emotions that the writing of verses was encouraged.  Our poetry has therefore a strong undercurrent of pathos and tenderness.  A well-known anecdote of a rustic samurai illustrates a case in point.  When he was told to learn versification, and “The Warbler’s Notes"[10] was given him for the subject of his first attempt, his fiery spirit rebelled and he flung at the feet of his master this uncouth production, which ran

[Footnote 10:  The uguisu or warbler, sometimes called the nightingale of Japan.]

    “The brave warrior keeps apart
     The ear that might listen
     To the warbler’s song.”

His master, undaunted by the crude sentiment, continued to encourage the youth, until one day the music of his soul was awakened to respond to the sweet notes of the uguisu, and he wrote

    “Stands the warrior, mailed and strong,
     To hear the uguisu’s song,
     Warbled sweet the trees among.”