For the first decade after the Meiji Restoration, it remained much as it had been. In the gourd-shaped pond lay limpid water, and atop a miniature hill drooped the branches of pine trees. The two pavilions, the House of the Resting Crane and the Bower of the Purified Heart, had also endured. Into the pond, from a cliff at the far end of the garden, cascaded swirling white water. Among the golden kerias—their expanse growing year by year—stood a stone lantern to which Princess Kazu is said to have given a name on her journey through the region. There was nonetheless the undeniable intimation of impending ruin. Particularly at the beginning of spring, when the upper branches of the trees within and beyond the garden suddenly sprouted new buds, one could sense all the more intensely that lurking behind this picturesque artifact was a menacing and savage power. The retired head of the family was a gruff old man who spent untroubled days in the main house, which looked out on the garden.
