The Forty-seven Rônins
The books which have been written of late years about Japan have
either been compiled from official records, or have contained the
sketchy impressions of passing travellers. Of the inner life of the
Japanese the world at large knows but little: their religion, their
superstitions, their ways of thought, the hidden springs by which they
move--all these are as yet mysteries. Nor is this to be wondered at.
The first Western men who came in contact with Japan--I am speaking
not of the old Dutch and Portuguese traders and priests, but of the
diplomatists and merchants of eleven years ago--met with a cold
reception. Above all things, the native Government threw obstacles in
the way of any inquiry into their language, literature, and history.
The fact was that the Tycoon's Government--with whom alone, so long as
the Mikado remained in seclusion in his sacred capital at Kiôto, any
relations were maintained--knew that the Imperial purple with which
they sought to invest their chief must quickly fade before the strong
sunlight which would be brought upon it so soon as there should be
European linguists capable of examining their books and records. No
opportunity was lost of throwing dust in the eyes of the new-comers,
whom, even in the most trifling details, it was the official policy to
lead astray. Now, however, there is no cause for concealment; the _Roi
Fainéant_ has shaken off his sloth, and his _Maire du Palais_,
together, and an intelligible Government, which need not fear scrutiny
from abroad, is the result: the records of the country being but so
many proofs of the Mikado's title to power, there is no reason for
keeping up any show of mystery. The path of inquiry is open to all;
and although there is yet much to be learnt, some knowledge has been
attained, in which it may interest those who stay at home to share.
The recent revolution in Japan has wrought changes social as well as
political; and it may be that when, in addition to the advance which
has already been made, railways and telegraphs shall have connected
the principal points of the Land of Sunrise, the old Japanese, such
as he was and had been for centuries when we found him eleven short
years ago, will have become extinct. It has appeared to me that no
better means could be chosen of preserving a record of a curious and
fast disappearing civilization than the translation of some of the
most interesting national legends and histories, together with other
specimens of literature bearing upon the same subject. Thus the
Japanese may tell their own tale, their translator only adding here
and there a few words of heading or tag to a chapter, where an
explanation or amplification may seem necessary. I fear that the long
and hard names will often make my tales tedious reading, but I believe
that those who will bear with the difficulty will learn more of the
character of the Japanese people than by skimming over descriptions of
travel and adventure, however brilliant. The lord and his retainer,
the warrior and the priest, the humble artisan and the despised Eta or
pariah, each in his turn will become a leading character in my budget
of stories; and it is out of the mouths of these personages that I
hope to show forth a tolerably complete picture of Japanese society.
Having said so much by way of preface, I beg my readers to fancy
themselves wafted away to the shores of the Bay of Yedo--a fair,
smiling landscape: gentle slopes, crested by a dark fringe of pines
and firs, lead down to the sea; the quaint eaves of many a temple and
holy shrine peep out here and there from the groves; the bay itself is
studded with picturesque fisher-craft, the torches of which shine by
night like glow-worms among the outlying forts; far away to the west
loom the goblin-haunted heights of Oyama, and beyond the twin hills of
the Hakoné Pass--Fuji-Yama, the Peerless Mountain, solitary and grand,
stands in the centre of the plain, from which it sprang vomiting
flames twenty-one centuries ago.[1] For a hundred and sixty years the
huge mountain has been at peace, but the frequent earthquakes still
tell of hidden fires, and none can say when the red-hot stones and
ashes may once more fall like rain over five provinces.
In the midst of a nest of venerable trees in Takanawa, a suburb of
Yedo, is hidden Sengakuji, or the Spring-hill Temple, renowned
throughout the length and breadth of the land for its cemetery, which
contains the graves of the Forty-seven. Rônins,[2] famous in Japanese
history, heroes of Japanese drama, the tale of whose deeds I am about
to transcribe.
On the left-hand side of the main court of the temple is a chapel, in
which, surmounted by a gilt figure of Kwanyin, the goddess of mercy,
are enshrined the images of the forty-seven men, and of the master
whom they loved so well. The statues are carved in wood, the faces
coloured, and the dresses richly lacquered; as works of art they have
great merit--the action of the heroes, each armed with his favourite
weapon, being wonderfully life-like and spirited. Some are venerable
men, with thin, grey hair (one is seventy-seven years old); others are
mere boys of sixteen. Close by the chapel, at the side of a path
leading up the hill, is a little well of pure water, fenced in and
adorned with a tiny fernery, over which is an inscription, setting
forth that "This is the well in which the head was washed; you must
not wash your hands or your feet here." A little further on is a
stall, at which a poor old man earns a pittance by selling books,
pictures, and medals, commemorating the loyalty of the Forty-seven;
and higher up yet, shaded by a grove of stately trees, is a neat
inclosure, kept up, as a signboard announces, by voluntary
contributions, round which are ranged forty-eight little tombstones,
each decked with evergreens, each with its tribute of water and
incense for the comfort of the departed spirit. There were forty-seven
Rônins; there are forty-eight tombstones, and the story of the
forty-eighth is truly characteristic of Japanese ideas of honour.
Almost touching the rail of the graveyard is a more imposing monument
under which lies buried the lord, whose death his followers piously
avenged.
[Footnote 1: According to Japanese tradition, in the fifth year of the
Emperor Kôrei (286 B.C.), the earth opened in the province of Omi,
near Kiôto, and Lake Biwa, sixty miles long by about eighteen broad,
was formed in the shape of a _Biwa_, or four-stringed lute, from which
it takes its name. At the same time, to compensate for the depression
of the earth, but at a distance of over three hundred miles from the
lake, rose Fuji-Yama, the last eruption of which was in the year 1707.
The last great earthquake at Yedo took place about fifteen years ago.
Twenty thousand souls are said to have perished in it, and the dead
were carried away and buried by cartloads; many persons, trying to
escape from their falling and burning houses, were caught in great
clefts, which yawned suddenly in the earth, and as suddenly closed
upon the victims, crushing them to death. For several days heavy
shocks continued to be felt, and the people camped out, not daring to
return to such houses as had been spared, nor to build up those which
lay in ruins.]
[Footnote 2: The word _Rônin_ means, literally, a "wave-man"; one who
is tossed about hither and thither, as a wave of the sea. It is used
to designate persons of gentle blood, entitled to bear arms, who,
having become separated from their feudal lords by their own act, or
by dismissal, or by fate, wander about the country in the capacity of
somewhat disreputable knights-errant, without ostensible means of
living, in some cases offering themselves for hire to new masters, in
others supporting themselves by pillage; or who, falling a grade in
the social scale, go into trade, and become simple wardsmen. Sometimes
it happens that for political reasons a man will become Rônin, in
order that his lord may not be implicated in some deed of blood in
which he is about to engage. Sometimes, also, men become Rônins, and
leave their native place for a while, until some scrape in which they
have become entangled shall have blown over; after which they return
to their former allegiance. Nowadays it is not unusual for men to
become Rônins for a time, and engage themselves in the service of
foreigners at the open ports, even in menial capacities, in the hope
that they may pick up something of the language and lore of Western
folks. I know instances of men of considerable position who have
adopted this course in their zeal for education.]
And now for the story.
At the beginning of the eighteenth century there lived a daimio,
called Asano Takumi no Kami, the Lord of the castle of Akô, in the
province of Harima. Now it happened that an Imperial ambassador from
the Court of the Mikado having been sent to the Shogun[3] at Yedo,
Takumi no Kami and another noble called Kamei Sama were appointed to
receive and feast the envoy; and a high official, named Kira Kôtsuké
no Suké, was named to teach them the proper ceremonies to be observed
upon the occasion. The two nobles were accordingly forced to go daily
to the castle to listen to the instructions of Kôtsuké no Suké. But
this Kôtsuké no Suké was a man greedy of money; and as he deemed that
the presents which the two daimios, according to time-honoured custom,
had brought him in return for his instruction were mean and unworthy,
he conceived a great hatred against them, and took no pains in
teaching them, but on the contrary rather sought to make
laughing-stocks of them. Takumi no Kami, restrained by a stern sense
of duty, bore his insults with patience; but Kamei Sama, who had less
control over his temper, was violently incensed, and determined to
kill Kôtsuké no Suké.
[Footnote 3: The full title of the Tycoon was Sei-i-tai-Shogun,
"Barbarian-repressing Commander-in-chief." The style Tai Kun, Great
Prince, was borrowed, in order to convey the idea of sovereignty to
foreigners, at the time of the conclusion of the Treaties. The envoys
sent by the Mikado from Kiôto to communicate to the Shogun the will of
his sovereign were received with Imperial honours, and the duty of
entertaining them was confided to nobles of rank. The title
Sei-i-tai-Shogun was first borne by Minamoto no Yoritomo, in the
seventh month of the year A.D. 1192.]
One night when his duties at the castle were ended, Kamei Sama
returned to his own palace, and having summoned his councillors[4] to
a secret conference, said to them: "Kôtsuké no Suké has insulted
Takumi no Kami and myself during our service in attendance on the
Imperial envoy. This is against all decency, and I was minded to kill
him on the spot; but I bethought me that if I did such a deed within
the precincts of the castle, not only would my own life be forfeit,
but my family and vassals would be ruined: so I stayed my hand. Still
the life of such a wretch is a sorrow to the people, and to-morrow
when I go to Court I will slay him: my mind is made up, and I will
listen to no remonstrance." And as he spoke his face became livid with
rage.
[Footnote 4: Councillor, lit. "elder." The councillors of daimios were
of two classes: the _Karô_, or "elder," an hereditary office, held by
cadets of the Prince's family, and the _Yônin_, or "man of business,"
who was selected on account of his merits. These "councillors" play no
mean part in Japanese history.]
Now one of Kamei Sama's councillors was a man of great judgment, and
when he saw from his lord's manner that remonstrance would be useless,
he said: "Your lordship's words are law; your servant will make all
preparations accordingly; and to-morrow, when your lordship goes to
Court, if this Kôtsuké no Suké should again be insolent, let him die
the death." And his lord was pleased at this speech, and waited with
impatience for the day to break, that he might return to Court and
kill his enemy.
But the councillor went home, and was sorely troubled, and thought
anxiously about what his prince had said. And as he reflected, it
occurred to him that since Kôtsuké no Suké had the reputation of being
a miser he would certainly be open to a bribe, and that it was better
to pay any sum, no matter how great, than that his lord and his house
should be ruined. So he collected all the money he could, and, giving
it to his servants to carry, rode off in the night to Kôtsuké no
Suké's palace, and said to his retainers: "My master, who is now in
attendance upon the Imperial envoy, owes much thanks to my Lord
Kôtsuké no Suké, who has been at so great pains to teach him the
proper ceremonies to be observed during the reception of the Imperial
envoy. This is but a shabby present which he has sent by me, but he
hopes that his lordship will condescend to accept it, and commends
himself to his lordship's favour." And, with these words, he produced
a thousand ounces of silver for Kôtsuké no Suké, and a hundred ounces
to be distributed among his retainers.
When the latter saw the money their eyes sparkled with pleasure, and
they were profuse in their thanks; and begging the councillor to wait
a little, they went and told their master of the lordly present which
had arrived with a polite message from Kamei Sama. Kôtsuké no Suké in
eager delight sent for the councillor into an inner chamber, and,
after thanking him, promised on the morrow to instruct his master
carefully in all the different points of etiquette. So the councillor,
seeing the miser's glee, rejoiced at the success of his plan; and
having taken his leave returned home in high spirits. But Kamei Sama,
little thinking how his vassal had propitiated his enemy, lay brooding
over his vengeance, and on the following morning at daybreak went to
Court in solemn procession.
When Kôtsuké no Suké met him his manner had completely changed, and
nothing could exceed his courtesy. "You have come early to Court this
morning, my Lord Kamei," said he. "I cannot sufficiently admire your
zeal. I shall have the honour to call your attention to several points
of etiquette to-day. I must beg your lordship to excuse my previous
conduct, which must have seemed very rude; but I am naturally of a
cross-grained disposition, so I pray you to forgive me." And as he
kept on humbling himself and making fair speeches, the heart of Kamei
Sama was gradually softened, and he renounced his intention of killing
him. Thus by the cleverness of his councillor was Kamei Sama, with all
his house, saved from ruin.
Shortly after this, Takumi no Kami, who had sent no present, arrived
at the castle, and Kôtsuké no Suké turned him into ridicule even more
than before, provoking him with sneers and covert insults; but Takumi
no Kami affected to ignore all this, and submitted himself patiently
to Kôtsuké no Suké's orders.
This conduct, so far from producing a good effect, only made Kôtsuké
no Suké despise him the more, until at last he said haughtily: "Here,
my Lord of Takumi, the ribbon of my sock has come untied; be so good
as to tie it up for me."
Takumi no Kami, although burning with rage at the affront, still
thought that as he was on duty he was bound to obey, and tied up the
ribbon of the sock. Then Kôtsuké no Suké, turning from him, petulantly
exclaimed: "Why, how clumsy you are! You cannot so much as tie up the
ribbon of a sock properly! Any one can see that you are a boor from
the country, and know nothing of the manners of Yedo." And with a
scornful laugh he moved towards an inner room.
But the patience of Takumi no Kami was exhausted; this last insult was
more than he could bear.
"Stop a moment, my lord," cried he.
"Well, what is it?" replied the other. And, as he turned round, Takumi
no Kami drew his dirk, and aimed a blow at his head; but Kôtsuké no
Suké, being protected by the Court cap which he wore, the wound was
but a scratch, so he ran away; and Takumi no Kami, pursuing him, tried
a second time to cut him down, but, missing his aim, struck his dirk
into a pillar. At this moment an officer, named Kajikawa Yosobei,
seeing the affray, rushed up, and holding back the infuriated noble,
gave Kôtsuké no Suké time to make good his escape.
Then there arose a great uproar and confusion, and Takumi no Kami was
arrested and disarmed, and confined in one of the apartments of the
palace under the care of the censors. A council was held, and the
prisoner was given over to the safeguard of a daimio, called Tamura
Ukiyô no Daibu, who kept him in close custody in his own house, to
the great grief of his wife and of his retainers; and when the
deliberations of the council were completed, it was decided that, as
he had committed an outrage and attacked another man within the
precincts of the palace, he must perform _hara-kiri_,--that is, commit
suicide by disembowelling; his goods must be confiscated, and his
family ruined. Such was the law. So Takumi no Kami performed
_hara-kiri_, his castle of Akô was confiscated, and his retainers
having become Rônins, some of them took service with other daimios,
and others became merchants.
Now amongst these retainers was his principal councillor, a man called
Oishi Kuranosuké, who, with forty-six other faithful dependants,
formed a league to avenge their master's death by killing Kôtsuké no
Suké. This Oishi Kuranosuké was absent at the castle of Akô at the
time of the affray, which, had he been with his prince, would never
have occurred; for, being a wise man, he would not have failed to
propitiate Kôtsuké no Suké by sending him suitable presents; while the
councillor who was in attendance on the prince at Yedo was a dullard,
who neglected this precaution, and so caused the death of his master
and the ruin of his house.
So Oishi Kuranosuké and his forty-six companions began to lay their
plans of vengeance against Kôtsuké no Suké; but the latter was so well
guarded by a body of men lent to him by a daimio called Uyésugi Sama,
whose daughter he had married, that they saw that the only way of
attaining their end would be to throw their enemy off his guard. With
this object they separated and disguised themselves, some as
carpenters or craftsmen, others as merchants; and their chief,
Kuranosuké, went to Kiôto, and built a house in the quarter called
Yamashina, where he took to frequenting houses of the worst repute,
and gave himself up to drunkenness and debauchery, as if nothing were
further from his mind than revenge. Kôtsuké no Suké, in the meanwhile,
suspecting that Takumi no Kami's former retainers would be scheming
against his life, secretly sent spies to Kiôto, and caused a faithful
account to be kept of all that Kuranosuké did. The latter, however,
determined thoroughly to delude the enemy into a false security, went
on leading a dissolute life with harlots and winebibbers. One day, as
he was returning home drunk from some low haunt, he fell down in the
street and went to sleep, and all the passers-by laughed him to scorn.
It happened that a Satsuma man saw this, and said: "Is not this Oishi
Kuranosuké, who was a councillor of Asano Takumi no Kami, and who, not
having the heart to avenge his lord, gives himself up to women and
wine? See how he lies drunk in the public street! Faithless beast!
Fool and craven! Unworthy the name of a Samurai!"[5]
[Footnote 5: _Samurai_, a man belonging to the _Buké_ or military
class, entitled to bear arms.]
And he trod on Kuranosuké's face as he slept, and spat upon him; but
when Kôtsuké no Suké's spies reported all this at Yedo, he was greatly
relieved at the news, and felt secure from danger.
One day Kuranosuké's wife, who was bitterly grieved to see her husband
lead this abandoned life, went to him and said: "My lord, you told me
at first that your debauchery was but a trick to make your enemy relax
in watchfulness. But indeed, indeed, this has gone too far. I pray and
beseech you to put some restraint upon yourself."
"Trouble me not," replied Kuranosuké, "for I will not listen to your
whining. Since my way of life is displeasing to you, I will divorce
you, and you may go about your business; and I will buy some pretty
young girl from one of the public-houses, and marry her for my
pleasure. I am sick of the sight of an old woman like you about the
house, so get you gone--the sooner the better."
So saying, he flew into a violent rage, and his wife, terror-stricken,
pleaded piteously for mercy.
"Oh, my lord! unsay those terrible words! I have been your faithful
wife for twenty years, and have borne you three children; in sickness
and in sorrow I have been with you; you cannot be so cruel as to turn
me out of doors now. Have pity! have pity!"
"Cease this useless wailing. My mind is made up, and you must go; and
as the children are in my way also, you are welcome to take them with
you."
When she heard her husband speak thus, in her grief she sought her
eldest son, Oishi Chikara, and begged him to plead for her, and pray
that she might be pardoned. But nothing would turn Kuranosuké from his
purpose, so his wife was sent away, with the two younger children, and
went back to her native place. But Oishi Chikara remained with his
father.
The spies communicated all this without fail to Kôtsuké no Suké, and
he, when he heard how Kuranosuké, having turned his wife and children
out of doors and bought a concubine, was grovelling in a life of
drunkenness and lust, began to think that he had no longer anything to
fear from the retainers of Takumi no Kami, who must be cowards,
without the courage to avenge their lord. So by degrees he began to
keep a less strict watch, and sent back half of the guard which had
been lent to him by his father-in-law, Uyésugi Sama. Little did he
think how he was falling into the trap laid for him by Kuranosuké,
who, in his zeal to slay his lord's enemy, thought nothing of
divorcing his wife and sending away his children! Admirable and
faithful man!
In this way Kuranosuké continued to throw dust in the eyes of his foe,
by persisting in his apparently shameless conduct; but his associates
all went to Yedo, and, having in their several capacities as workmen
and pedlars contrived to gain access to Kôtsuké no Suké's house, made
themselves familiar with the plan of the building and the arrangement
of the different rooms, and ascertained the character of the inmates,
who were brave and loyal men, and who were cowards; upon all of which
matters they sent regular reports to Kuranosuké. And when at last it
became evident from the letters which arrived from Yedo that Kôtsuké
no Suké was thoroughly off his guard, Kuranosuké rejoiced that the day
of vengeance was at hand; and, having appointed a trysting-place at
Yedo, he fled secretly from Kiôto, eluding the vigilance of his
enemy's spies. Then the forty-seven men, having laid all their plans,
bided their time patiently.
It was now midwinter, the twelfth month of the year, and the cold was
bitter. One night, during a heavy fall of snow, when the whole world
was hushed, and peaceful men were stretched in sleep upon the mats,
the Rônins determined that no more favourable opportunity could occur
for carrying out their purpose. So they took counsel together, and,
having divided their band into two parties, assigned to each man his
post. One band, led by Oishi Kuranosuké, was to attack the front gate,
and the other, under his son Oishi Chikara, was to attack the postern
of Kôtsuké no Suké's house; but as Chikara was only sixteen years of
age, Yoshida Chiuzayémon was appointed to act as his guardian. Further
it was arranged that a drum, beaten at the order of Kuranosuké, should
be the signal for the simultaneous attack; and that if any one slew
Kôtsuké no Suké and cut off his head he should blow a shrill whistle,
as a signal to his comrades, who would hurry to the spot, and, having
identified the head, carry it off to the temple called Sengakuji, and
lay it as an offering before the tomb of their dead lord. Then they
must report their deed to the Government, and await the sentence of
death which would surely be passed upon them. To this the Rônins one
and all pledged themselves. Midnight was fixed upon as the hour, and
the forty-seven comrades, having made all ready for the attack,
partook of a last farewell feast together, for on the morrow they must
die. Then Oishi Kuranosuké addressed the band, and said--
"To-night we shall attack our enemy in his palace; his retainers will
certainly resist us, and we shall be obliged to kill them. But to slay
old men and women and children is a pitiful thing; therefore, I pray
you each one to take great heed lest you kill a single helpless
person." His comrades all applauded this speech, and so they remained,
waiting for the hour of midnight to arrive.
When the appointed hour came, the Rônins set forth. The wind howled
furiously, and the driving snow beat in their faces; but little cared
they for wind or snow as they hurried on their road, eager for
revenge. At last they reached Kôtsuké no Suké's house, and divided
themselves into two bands; and Chikara, with twenty-three men, went
round to the back gate. Then four men, by means of a ladder of ropes
which they hung on to the roof of the porch, effected an entry into
the courtyard; and, as they saw signs that all the inmates of the
house were asleep, they went into the porter's lodge where the guard
slept, and, before the latter had time to recover from their
astonishment, bound them. The terrified guard prayed hard for mercy,
that their lives might be spared; and to this the Rônins agreed on
condition that the keys of the gate should be given up; but the others
tremblingly said that the keys were kept in the house of one of their
officers, and that they had no means of obtaining them. Then the
Rônins lost patience, and with a hammer dashed in pieces the big
wooden bolt which secured the gate, and the doors flew open to the
right and to the left. At the same time Chikara and his party broke in
by the back gate.
Then Oishi Kuranosuké sent a messenger to the neighbouring houses,
bearing the following message:--"We, the Rônins who were formerly in
the service of Asano Takumi no Kami, are this night about to break
into the palace of Kôtsuké no Suké, to avenge our lord. As we are
neither night robbers nor ruffians, no hurt will be done to the
neighbouring houses. We pray you to set your minds at rest." And as
Kôtsuké no Suké was hated by his neighbours for his covetousness, they
did not unite their forces to assist him. Another precaution was yet
taken. Lest any of the people inside should run out to call the
relations of the family to the rescue, and these coming in force
should interfere with the plans of the Rônins, Kuranosuké stationed
ten of his men armed with bows on the roof of the four sides of the
courtyard, with orders to shoot any retainers who might attempt to
leave the place. Having thus laid all his plans and posted his men,
Kuranosuké with his own hand beat the drum and gave the signal for
attack.
Ten of Kôtsuké no Suké's retainers, hearing the noise, woke up; and,
drawing their swords, rushed into the front room to defend their
master. At this moment the Rônins, who had burst open the door of the
front hall, entered the same room. Then arose a furious fight between
the two parties, in the midst of which Chikara, leading his men
through the garden, broke into the back of the house; and Kôtsuké no
Suké, in terror of his life, took refuge, with his wife and female
servants, in a closet in the verandah; while the rest of his
retainers, who slept in the barrack outside the house, made ready to
go to the rescue. But the Rônins who had come in by the front door,
and were fighting with the ten retainers, ended by overpowering and
slaying the latter without losing one of their own number; after
which, forcing their way bravely towards the back rooms, they were
joined by Chikara and his men, and the two bands were united in one.
By this time the remainder of Kôtsuké no Suké's men had come in, and
the fight became general; and Kuranosuké, sitting on a camp-stool,
gave his orders and directed the Rônins. Soon the inmates of the house
perceived that they were no match for their enemy, so they tried to
send out intelligence of their plight to Uyésugi Sama, their lord's
father-in-law, begging him to come to the rescue with all the force
at his command. But the messengers were shot down by the archers whom
Kuranosuké had posted on the roof. So no help coming, they fought on
in despair. Then Kuranosuké cried out with a loud voice: "Kôtsuké no
Suké alone is our enemy; let some one go inside and bring him forth.
dead or alive!"
Now in front of Kôtsuké no Suké's private room stood three brave
retainers with drawn swords. The first was Kobayashi Héhachi, the
second was Waku Handaiyu, and the third was Shimidzu Ikkaku, all good
men and true, and expert swordsmen. So stoutly did these men lay about
them that for a while they kept the whole of the Rônins at bay, and at
one moment even forced them back. When Oishi Kuranosuké saw this, he
ground his teeth with rage, and shouted to his men: "What! did not
every man of you swear to lay down his life in avenging his lord, and
now are you driven back by three men? Cowards, not fit to be spoken
to! to die fighting in a master's cause should be the noblest ambition
of a retainer!" Then turning to his own son Chikara, he said, "Here,
boy! engage those men, and if they are too strong for you, die!"
Spurred by these words, Chikara seized a spear and gave battle to Waku
Handaiyu, but could not hold his ground, and backing by degrees, was
driven out into the garden, where he missed his footing and slipped
into a pond, but as Handaiyu, thinking to kill him, looked down into
the pond, Chikara cut his enemy in the leg and caused him to fall, and
then, crawling out of the water dispatched him. In the meanwhile
Kobayashi Héhachi and Shimidzu Ikkaku had been killed by the other
Rônins, and of all Kôtsuké no Suké's retainers not one fighting man
remained. Chikara, seeing this, went with his bloody sword in his hand
into a back room to search for Kôtsuké no Suké, but he only found the
son of the latter, a young lord named Kira Sahioyé, who, carrying a
halberd, attacked him, but was soon wounded and fled. Thus the whole
of Kôtsuké no Suké's men having been killed, there was an end of the
fighting; but as yet there was no trace of Kôtsuké no Suké to be
found.
Then Kuranosuké divided his men into several parties and searched the
whole house, but all in vain; women and children weeping were alone to
be seen. At this the forty-seven men began to lose heart in regret,
that after all their toil they had allowed their enemy to escape them,
and there was a moment when in their despair they agreed to commit
suicide together upon the spot; but they determined to make one more
effort. So Kuranosuké went into Kôtsuké no Suké's sleeping-room, and
touching the quilt with his hands, exclaimed, "I have just felt the
bed-clothes and they are yet warm, and so methinks that our enemy is
not far off. He must certainly be hidden somewhere in the house."
Greatly excited by this, the Rônins renewed their search. Now in the
raised part of the room, near the place of honour, there was a picture
hanging; taking down this picture, they saw that there was a large
hole in the plastered wall, and on thrusting a spear in they could
feel nothing beyond it. So one of the Rônins, called Yazama Jiutarô,
got into the hole, and found that on the other side there was a little
courtyard, in which there stood an outhouse for holding charcoal and
firewood. Looking into the outhouse, he spied something white at the
further end, at which he struck with his spear, when two armed men
sprang out upon him and tried to cut him down, but he kept them back
until one of his comrades came up and killed one of the two men and
engaged the other, while Jiutarô entered the outhouse and felt about
with his spear. Again seeing something white, he struck it with his
lance, when a cry of pain betrayed that it was a man; so he rushed up,
and the man in white clothes, who had been wounded in the thigh, drew
a dirk and aimed a blow at him. But Jiutarô wrested the dirk from him,
and clutching him by the collar, dragged him out of the outhouse. Then
the other Rônin came up, and they examined the prisoner attentively,
and saw that he was a noble-looking man, some sixty years of age,
dressed in a white satin sleeping-robe, which was stained by the blood
from the thigh-wound which, Jiutarô had inflicted. The two men felt
convinced that this was no other than Kôtsuké no Suké, and they asked
him his name, but he gave no answer, so they gave the signal whistle,
and all their comrades collected together at the call; then Oishi
Kuranosuké, bringing a lantern, scanned the old man's features, and it
was indeed Kôtsuké no Suké; and if further proof were wanting, he
still bore a scar on his forehead where their master, Asano Takumi no
Kami, had wounded him during the affray in the castle. There being no
possibility of mistake, therefore, Oishi Kuranosuké went down on his
knees, and addressing the old man very respectfully, said--
"My lord, we are the retainers of Asano Takumi no Kami. Last year your
lordship and our master quarrelled in the palace, and our master was
sentenced to _hara-kiri,_ and his family was ruined. We have come
to-night to avenge him, as is the duty of faithful and loyal men. I
pray your lordship to acknowledge the justice of our purpose. And now,
my lord, we beseech you to perform _hara-kiri_. I myself shall have
the honour to act as your second, and when, with all humility, I shall
have received your lordship's head, it is my intention to lay it as an
offering upon the grave of Asano Takumi no Kami."
Thus, in consideration of the high rank of Kôtsuké no Suké, the Rônins
treated him with the greatest courtesy, and over and over again
entreated him to perform _hara-kiri._ But he crouched speechless and
trembling. At last Kuranosuké, seeing that it was vain to urge him to
die the death of a nobleman, forced him down, and cut off his head
with the same dirk with which Asano Takumi no Kami had killed himself.
Then the forty-seven comrades, elated at having accomplished their
design, placed the head in a bucket, and prepared to depart; but
before leaving the house they carefully extinguished all the lights
and fires in the place, lest by any accident a fire should break out
and the neighbours suffer.
As they were on their way to Takanawa, the suburb in which the temple
called Sengakuji stands, the day broke; and the people flocked out to
see the forty-seven men, who, with their clothes and arms all
blood-stained, presented a terrible appearance; and every one praised
them, wondering at their valour and faithfulness. But they expected
every moment that Kôtsuké no Suké's father-in-law would attack them
and carry off the head, and made ready to die bravely sword in hand.
However, they reached Takanawa in safety, for Matsudaira Aki no Kami,
one of the eighteen chief daimios of Japan, of whose house Asano
Takumi no Kami had been a cadet, had been highly pleased when he heard
of the last night's work, and he had made ready to assist the Rônins
in case they were attacked. So Kôtsuké no Suké's father-in-law dared
not pursue them.
At about seven in the morning they came opposite to the palace of
Matsudaira Mutsu no Kami, the Prince of Sendai, and the Prince,
hearing of it, sent for one of his councillors and said: "The
retainers of Takumi no Kami have slain their lord's enemy, and are
passing this way; I cannot sufficiently admire their devotion, so, as
they must be tired and hungry after their night's work, do you go and
invite them to come in here, and set some gruel and a cup of wine
before them."
So the councillor went out and said to Oishi Kuranosuké: "Sir, I am a
councillor of the Prince of Sendai, and my master bids me beg you, as
you must be worn out after all you have undergone, to come in and
partake of such poor refreshment as we can offer you. This is my
message to you from my lord."
"I thank you, sir," replied Kuranosuké. "It is very good of his
lordship to trouble himself to think of us. We shall accept his
kindness gratefully."
So the forty-seven Rônins went into the palace, and were feasted with
gruel and wine, and all the retainers of the Prince of Sendai came and
praised them.
Then Kuranosuké turned to the councillor and said, "Sir, we are truly
indebted to you for this kind hospitality; but as we have still to
hurry to Sengakuji, we must needs humbly take our leave." And, after
returning many thanks to their hosts, they left the palace of the
Prince of Sendai and hastened to Sengakuji, where they were met by the
abbot of the monastery, who went to the front gate to receive them,
and led them to the tomb of Takumi no Kami.
And when they came to their lord's grave, they took the head of
Kôtsuké no Suké, and having washed it clean in a well hard by, laid it
as an offering before the tomb. When they had done this, they engaged
the priests of the temple to come and read prayers while they burnt
incense: first Oishi Kuranosuké burnt incense, and then his son Oishi
Chikara, and after them the other forty-five men performed the same
ceremony. Then Kuranosuké, having given all the money that he had by
him to the abbot, said--
"When we forty-seven men shall have performed _hara-kiri_, I beg you
to bury us decently. I rely upon your kindness. This is but a trifle
that I have to offer; such as it is, let it be spent in masses for our
souls!"
And the abbot, marvelling at the faithful courage of the men, with
tears in his eyes pledged himself to fulfil their wishes. So the
forty-seven Rônins, with their minds at rest, waited patiently until
they should receive the orders of the Government.
At last they were summoned to the Supreme Court, where the governors
of Yedo and the public censors had assembled; and the sentence passed
upon them was as follows: "Whereas, neither respecting the dignity of
the city nor fearing the Government, having leagued yourselves
together to slay your enemy, you violently broke into the house of
Kira Kôtsuké no Suké by night and murdered him, the sentence of the
Court is, that, for this audacious conduct, you perform _hara-kiri_."
When the sentence had been read, the forty-seven Rônins were divided
into four parties, and handed over to the safe keeping of four
different daimios; and sheriffs were sent to the palaces of those
daimios in whose presence the Rônins were made to perform _hara-kiri_.
But, as from the very beginning they had all made up their minds that
to this end they must come, they met their death nobly; and their
corpses were carried to Sengakuji, and buried in front of the tomb of
their master, Asano Takumi no Kami. And when the fame of this became
noised abroad, the people flocked to pray at the graves of these
faithful men.
Among those who came to pray was a Satsuma man, who, prostrating
himself before the grave of Oishi Kuranosuké, said: "When I saw you
lying drunk by the roadside at Yamashina, in Kiôto, I knew not that
you were plotting to avenge your lord; and, thinking you to be a
faithless man, I trampled on you and spat in your face as I passed.
And now I have come to ask pardon and offer atonement for the insult
of last year." With those words he prostrated himself again before the
grave, and, drawing a dirk from his girdle, stabbed himself in the
belly and died. And the chief priest of the temple, taking pity upon
him, buried him by the side of the Rônins; and his tomb still remains
to be seen with those of the forty-seven comrades.
This is the end of the story of the forty-seven Rônins.
* * * * *
A terrible picture of fierce heroism which it is impossible not to
admire. In the Japanese mind this feeling of admiration is unmixed,
and hence it is that the forty-seven Rônins receive almost divine
honours. Pious hands still deck their graves with green boughs and
burn incense upon them; the clothes and arms which they wore are
preserved carefully in a fire-proof store-house attached to the
temple, and exhibited yearly to admiring crowds, who behold them
probably with little less veneration than is accorded to the relics of
Aix-la-Chapelle or Trèves; and once in sixty years the monks of
Sengakuji reap quite a harvest for the good of their temple by holding
a commemorative fair or festival, to which the people flock during
nearly two months.
A silver key once admitted me to a private inspection of the relics.
We were ushered, my friend and myself, into a back apartment of the
spacious temple, overlooking one of those marvellous miniature
gardens, cunningly adorned with rockeries and dwarf trees, in which
the Japanese delight. One by one, carefully labelled and indexed boxes
containing the precious articles were brought out and opened by the
chief priest. Such a curious medley of old rags and scraps of metal
and wood! Home-made chain armour, composed of wads of leather secured
together by pieces of iron, bear witness to the secrecy with which the
Rônins made ready for the fight. To have bought armour would have
attracted attention, so they made it with their own hands. Old
moth-eaten surcoats, bits of helmets, three flutes, a writing-box that
must have been any age at the time of the tragedy, and is now tumbling
to pieces; tattered trousers of what once was rich silk brocade, now
all unravelled and befringed; scraps of leather, part of an old
gauntlet, crests and badges, bits of sword handles, spear-heads and
dirks, the latter all red with rust, but with certain patches more
deeply stained as if the fatal clots of blood were never to be blotted
out: all these were reverently shown to us. Among the confusion and
litter were a number of documents, Yellow with age and much worn at
the folds. One was a plan of Kôtsuké no Suké's house, which one of
the Rônins obtained by marrying the daughter of the builder who
designed it. Three of the manuscripts appeared to me so curious that I
obtained leave to have copies taken of them.
The first is the receipt given by the retainers of Kôtsuké no Suké's
son in return for the head of their lord's father, which the priests
restored to the family, and runs as follows:--
a"MEMORANDUM:--
aITEM. ONE HEAD.
aITEM. ONE PAPER PARCEL.
The above articles are acknowledged to have been received.
Signed, { SAYADA MAGOBELI. (_Loc. sigill._)
{ SAITÔ KUNAI. (_Loc. sigill._)
"To the priests deputed from the Temple Sengakuji,
His Reverence SEKISHI,
His Reverence ICHIDON."
The second paper is a document explanatory of their conduct, a copy of
which was found on the person of each of the forty-seven men:--
"Last year, in the third month, Asano Takumi no Kami, upon the
occasion of the entertainment of the Imperial ambassador, was
driven, by the force of circumstances, to attack and wound my
Lord Kôtsuké no Suké in the castle, in order to avenge an
insult offered to him. Having done this without considering the
dignity of the place, and having thus disregarded all rules of
propriety, he was condemned to _hara-kiri,_ and his property
and castle of Akô were forfeited to the State, and were
delivered up by his retainers to the officers deputed by the
Shogun to receive them. After this his followers were all
dispersed. At the time of the quarrel the high officials
present prevented Asano Takumi no Kami from carrying out his
intention of killing his enemy, my Lord Kôtsuké no Suké. So
Asano Takumi no Kami died without having avenged himself, and
this was more than his retainers could endure. It is impossible
to remain under the same heaven with the enemy of lord or
father; for this reason we have dared to declare enmity against
a personage of so exalted rank. This day we shall attack Kira
Kôtsuké no Suké, in order to finish the deed of vengeance which
was begun by our dead lord. If any honourable person should
find our bodies after death, he is respectfully requested to
open and read this document.
"15th year of Genroku. 12th month.
"Signed, OISHI KURANOSUKÉ, Retainer of Asano
Takumi no Kami, and forty-six others."[6]
[Footnote 6: It is usual for a Japanese, when bent upon some deed of
violence, the end of which, in his belief, justifies the means, to
carry about with him a document, such as that translated above, in
which he sets forth his motives, that his character may be cleared
after death.]
The third manuscript is a paper which the Forty-seven Rônins laid upon
the tomb of their master, together with the head of Kira Kôtsuké no
Suké:--
"The 15th year of Genroku, the 12th month, and 15th day. We
have come this day to do homage here, forty-seven men in all,
from Oishi Kuranosuké down to the foot-soldier, Terasaka
Kichiyémon, all cheerfully about to lay down our lives on your
behalf. We reverently announce this to the honoured spirit of
our dead master. On the 14th day of the third month of last
year our honoured master was pleased to attack Kira Kôtsuké no
Suké, for what reason we know not. Our honoured master put an
end to his own life, but Kira Kôtsuké no Suké lived. Although
we fear that after the decree issued by the Government this
plot of ours will be displeasing to our honoured master, still
we, who have eaten of your food, could not without blushing
repeat the verse, 'Thou shalt not live under the same heaven
nor tread the same earth with the enemy of thy father or lord,'
nor could we have dared to leave hell and present ourselves
before you in paradise, unless we had carried out the vengeance
which you began. Every day that we waited seemed as three
autumns to us. Verily, we have trodden the snow for one day,
nay, for two days, and have tasted food but once. The old and
decrepit, the sick and ailing, have come forth gladly to lay
down their lives. Men might laugh at us, as at grasshoppers
trusting in the strength of their arms, and thus shame our
honoured lord; but we could not halt in our deed of vengeance.
Having taken counsel together last night, we have escorted my
Lord Kôtsuké no Suké hither to your tomb. This dirk,[7] by
which our honoured lord set great store last year, and
entrusted to our care, we now bring back. If your noble spirit
be now present before this tomb, we pray you, as a sign, to
take the dirk, and, striking the head of your enemy with it a
second time, to dispel your hatred for ever. This is the
respectful statement of forty-seven men."
[Footnote 7: The dirk with which Asano Takumi no Kumi disembowelled
himself and with which Oishi Kuranosuké cut off Kôtsuké no Suké's
head.]
The text, "Thou shalt not live under the same heaven with the enemy of
thy father," is based upon the Confucian books. Dr. Legge, in his
"Life and Teachings of Confucius," p. 113, has an interesting
paragraph summing up the doctrine of the sage upon the subject of
revenge.
"In the second book of the 'Le Ke' there is the following
passage:--'With the slayer of his father a man may not live
under the same heaven; against the slayer of his brother a man
must never have to go home to fetch a weapon; with the slayer
of his friend a man may not live in the same State.' The _lex
talionis_ is here laid down in its fullest extent. The 'Chow
Le' tells us of a provision made against the evil consequences
of the principle by the appointment of a minister called 'The
Reconciler.' The provision is very inferior to the cities of
refuge which were set apart by Moses for the manslayer to flee
to from the fury of the avenger. Such as it was, however, it
existed, and it is remarkable that Confucius, when consulted on
the subject, took no notice of it, but affirmed the duty of
blood-revenge in the strongest and most unrestricted terms. His
disciple, Tsze Hea, asked him, 'What course is to be pursued in
the murder of a father or mother?' He replied, 'The son must
sleep upon a matting of grass with his shield for his pillow;
he must decline to take office; he must not live under the same
heaven with the slayer. When he meets him in the market-place
or the court, he must have his weapon ready to strike him.'
'And what is the course in the murder of a brother?' 'The
surviving brother must not take office in the same State with
the slayer; yet, if he go on his prince's service to the State
where the slayer is, though he meet him, he must not fight with
him.' 'And what is the course in the murder of an uncle or
cousin?' 'In this case the nephew or cousin is not the
principal. If the principal, on whom the revenge devolves, can
take it, he has only to stand behind with his weapon in his
hand, and support him.'"
I will add one anecdote to show the sanctity which is attached to the
graves of the Forty-seven. In the month of September 1868, a certain
man came to pray before the grave of Oishi Chikara. Having finished
his prayers, he deliberately performed _hara-kiri_,[8] and, the belly
wound not being mortal, dispatched himself by cutting his throat. Upon
his person were found papers setting forth that, being a Rônin and
without means of earning a living, he had petitioned to be allowed to
enter the clan of the Prince of Chôshiu, which he looked upon as the
noblest clan in the realm; his petition having been refused, nothing
remained for him but to die, for to be a Rônin was hateful to him, and
he would serve no other master than the Prince of Chôshiu: what more
fitting place could he find in which to put an end to his life than
the graveyard of these Braves? This happened at about two hundred
yards' distance from my house, and when I saw the spot an hour or two
later, the ground was all bespattered with blood, and disturbed by the
death-struggles of the man.
[Footnote 8: A purist in Japanese matters may object to the use of the
words _hara-kiri_ instead of the more elegant expression _Seppuku_. I
retain the more vulgar form as being better known, and therefore more
convenient.]