And now, suddenly, from his own lady’s mouth, came word of this plot against him! Rin’emon was planning to force him into retirement and adopt the son of Itakura Sado-no-kami to take his place. She had heard of it by chance, and when Shuri heard it from her in turn, he was, understandably, wide-eyed with rage.
Yes, it well could be that Rin’emon was deeply concerned for the House of Itakura. But did “loyalty” mean serving the House to the point of casting one’s present master aside? Moreover, Rin’emon’s fears for the House could well be groundless. And for these groundless fears he is willing to force me into retirement, thought Shuri. Perhaps behind Rin’emon’s great show of “loyalty” lay an ambition to seize control of the House for himself. For such an outright act of disloyalty, no punishment could be too cruel.
As soon as he heard about Rin’emon’s plot from his consort, Shuri summoned old Tanaka Usaemon,9 who had been his primary mentor and guardian in childhood.
“I want you to strangle that Rin’emon bastard!”
Usaemon cocked his graying head to one side. Aged beyond his years, his face had added still more wrinkles owing to the recent anxieties. Usaemon was not happy about Rin’emon’s plan either, but after all, Rin’emon had been “attached” here by the Main House.
“Strangulation would be too harsh a punishment,” he said. “Ordering him to slit his belly open like a true samurai would be another matter, however.”
Shuri looked at Usaemon with mocking eyes. Then he gave two or three hard shakes of his head.
“No, that animal doesn’t deserve seppuku. Strangle him! Strangle him!”
Inexplicably, though, even as he spoke these cruel words, tears gushed down his pale cheeks, and he once again began tearing at the hair of his temples.
Almost immediately, word of the order for his strangulation reached Rin’emon from a good friend who was one of Shuri’s close retainers.
“Fine,” he declared. “That does it. I have my own pride. I have no intention of letting them strangle me just like that.”
The moment he heard the news, he felt the indefinable anxiety that had been dogging him melt away without a trace. Now his heart was filled with outright hatred for Shuri. Shuri was no longer a lord to him. He could hate the man without reserve. Such was the instantaneous—though unconscious—reasoning behind the sudden brightening in Rin’emon’s heart.
Rin’emon thereupon took his wife and children and retainers with him and vacated Shuri’s compound in broad daylight. Following proper procedure, he left his new address posted on an inside wall. Rin’emon himself led the way, carrying his lance under his arm. The entire retinue, including young samurai and servants helping the infirm and carrying military gear and footwear, amounted to no more than ten people. With total composure, they walked out through the front gate together.
This occurred on the last day of the third month of the fourth year of Enkyō. Outside the gate, a tepid wind hurled clouds of mingled sand and cherry blossoms against the compound’s fortified latticed windows. Rin’emon stood in the wind, surveying the thoroughfare that stretched away to either side. And then, with his lance, he signaled to the group, “Go left.”
2. Tanaka Usaemon
After Rin’emon’s departure, Tanaka Usaemon served as House Elder in his place. Having helped to raise the young Shuri, Usaemon naturally viewed him with different eyes from the other retainers. He nursed Shuri through his fits with the emotions of a parent. Shuri, for his part, seemed more pliant with Usaemon. And so the relationship between master and retainer worked far more smoothly than it had in Rin’emon’s time.
Usaemon was delighted to find that Shuri’s attacks began to diminish somewhat with the arrival of summer. He did worry that Shuri might offend someone in the Castle of the Shōgun, but where Rin’emon had feared such an event for the danger it might pose to the House of Itakura, Usaemon feared it for the danger it might pose to his master.
To be sure, the House was of concern to Usaemon as well. But if an untoward event were to occur, it would be a disaster not simply because it would destroy the House but because, in causing his lord to destroy the House, it would cause his lord to be branded as unfilial. What, then, should he do to prevent such a disaster? On this point, Usaemon did not seem to have Rin’emon’s clarity. Perhaps there was nothing he could do but trust in the protection of the gods and in his own purity of spirit, and pray for Shuri’s fits to subside.
On the first day of the eighth month that year, then, when the Tokugawa government held the so-called Ceremony of the First Fruits, Shuri attended an event at the Castle for the first time since his illness. Like the other lords, both greater and lesser, he dressed entirely in white and joined the solemn procession marking the initial entry, one hundred and fifty-seven years earlier, of the great Tokugawa founder, Ieyasu, into Edo Castle on this day celebrating the year’s harvest. On his way home, Shuri also visited Junior Councilor Itakura Sado-no-kami, who was living in the Castle’s Western Enclosure at the time. When Shuri reached home, apparently without having given offense to anyone in the Castle, Usaemon felt he could breathe freely once again.
But his joy did not survive the day. Soon after night fell, like a terrible omen, a messenger arrived from Itakura Sado-no-kami demanding that Usaemon come to the Castle immediately. Usaemon had never heard of any such occurrence—a sudden summons to the Castle after dark—in all the years that Rin’emon had been House Elder before him. He hurried to Sado-nokami’s mansion with a deep sense of foreboding.
And, just as he had feared, Sado-no-kami told Usaemon that Shuri had indeed committed an offense. After attending the ceremony, and still dressed from head to toe in white, Shuri came to visit Sado-no-kami in the Western Enclosure. Noting that Shuri’s color was bad, Sado-no-kami had supposed that he was still not fully recovered from his illness, but once they started conversing, Shuri evidenced no sign of infirmity. Relieved, Sado-no-kami had gone on chatting with Shuri about one thing or another until he happened to ask after Maejima Rin’emon as he always did. Shuri’s brow suddenly darkened and he said, “That Rin’emon bastard ran off from my house.” Sado-no-kami knew quite well what sort of person Rin’emon was: he was certainly not a man who would desert his master’s house without a good reason. Sado-no-kami asked Shuri for an explanation and, at the same time, admonished him: if a retainer “attached” by the Main House committed a blunder of any kind, it was a serious violation for Shuri not to have informed the relatives and sought their advice. Shuri’s eyes flashed with rage when he heard this and, grasping his sword hilt, he declared, “Rin’emon may be one of your special favorites, Sado-no-kami, but let me tell you this: whatever my shortcomings, I will punish my own retainers as I see fit. You may be the ‘Junior Councilor’ of the moment, but I will thank you to keep your advice to yourself.” Even Sado-no-kami, with all his experience, was stunned by this outburst, and, using the press of his official duties as a convenient excuse, he hurried out of the room.
Having recounted the day’s events thus far, Sado-no-kami scowled at Usaemon and said, “Now listen to this.” First of all, Usaemon was seriously at fault in having failed to notify the relatives of Rin’emon’s departure. Secondly, Usaemon was also wrong to allow Shuri to enter the Castle while he was still apt to have fits. Fortunately, today’s offense had only been against Sado-no-kami, himself another Itakura; but if Shuri had uttered such abusive remarks in the presence of the assembled Great Lords, his 7,000- koku estate would have been confiscated then and there.
“From now on, Usaemon, you must adopt a strict policy of keeping Shuri at home. It is especially important that you never allow him to attend any functions at the Castle.” Sado-no-kami glared at Usaemon as he spoke. “I am worried that you may begin taking after your master and having fits yourself. Remember, now, I have given you strict orders.”
Usaemon knit his brow and declared, “I understand completely, Your Lordship. From now on, I will exercise the utmost caution.”
“Goo
d. Make sure that nothing like this ever happens again,” said Sado-no-kami, all but spitting out his words.
“I will stake my life on it, Your Lordship.” Usaemon looked at Sado-no-kami with pleading tear-filled eyes. These were eyes that begged for pity and, at the same time, displayed Usaemon’s unshakable determination—not that he would succeed in preventing Shuri from leaving the house but that, if he failed to prevent such an occurrence, his way was clear.
Sado-no-kami saw this, scowled again, and looked away as if utterly weary of the whole business.
If I follow the will of my master, the House will be placed in danger. If I act to support the House, I will have to contravene the will of my master. Rin’emon, too, was caught in this dilemma. But Rin’emon had the courage to cast his master aside for the sake of the House. Or rather, he placed far less importance on his master to begin with. And so it was easy for him to sacrifice his master for the House.
For me, however, that is impossible. I am far too close to my master to think only of what is best for the House. How could I possibly force this master of mine into retirement for the sake of the “House”—a mere name? Shuri may no longer have the toy “devil-quelling bow” I gave him at New Year’s long ago, but in my eyes he is still that same little boy. I still have vivid memories of explaining picture books to him, of holding his hand in writing practice, of putting the tail on his kite…
And yet, if I simply let my master have his way, the House is not the only thing that will perish. Terrible things may happen to my master himself as well. In calculating what is best for everyone, the policy adopted by Rin’emon was undoubtedly the wisest—indeed, the only course to take. I see that perfectly well. And yet, for me it is an impossibility.
Mind running over the same ground again and again, Usaemon walked back to Shuri’s residence, arms folded in dejection, as lightning flashed in the distant sky above.
The next day Shuri heard in detail from Usaemon about everything that Sado-no-kami had ordered. His face clouded over, but that was all. He gave no sign of flying into one of his rages. Usaemon, though still concerned, felt some relief as he withdrew that day from his master’s presence.
For some ten days thereafter, Shuri remained shut up in his room, staring into space, lost in thought. Not even the appearance of Usaemon would prompt him to speak.
There was one exception, however. On a day when a light rain was falling, he heard a cuckoo cry, and he muttered, “They say cuckoos rob nightingales’ nests.”
Usaemon leaped on the opportunity to make conversation with him, but Shuri fell silent again and cast his eyes toward the murky sky. At other times he kept his mouth clamped shut like a mute, staring at the paintings on the room’s sliding doors or at the white paper shoji in the window. His face revealed no emotion whatever.
One night, though, two or three days before the assembly of the 15th, at which all the greater and lesser lords residing in Edo were due to participate in a joint audience before the Shōgun, without warning Shuri summoned Usaemon. He ordered his attendants out of the room, and, alone, the two men took up formal positions on the matted floor, sitting opposite each other on their heels and looking into each other’s eyes. With a gloomy expression, Shuri began to speak:
“Sado-no-kami was right: my physical condition makes it impossible for me to perform my duties properly. I, too, believe that I should retire as head of this household.”
Usaemon hesitated to respond. He could only hope that Shuri was expressing his true feelings. But how could he have so easily come to accept the idea of ceding his inheritance to another?
“I agree with you entirely, My Lord. I am sorry to say this, but if His Lordship Sado-no-kami says so, there really is nothing else we can do. But first… it might be a good idea… to inform the close relatives —”
“No, not at all. My retirement is quite another matter from my punishing Rin’emon. My relatives need not be consulted. They will assent readily enough.” Shuri said this with a bitter smile.
“Oh no, surely not, My Lord.”
Usaemon’s expression made it clear that his heart was breaking for Shuri, but Shuri did not respond to his remark.
“So, in any case, once I retire, I will not be able to present myself at the Castle even if I want to. Therefore…” Shuri looked hard at Usaemon and continued as if weighing each and every word. “Before I retire, I wish to present myself at the Castle one more time and be granted an audience with His Sequestered Lordship of the Western Enclosure.10 Tell me now: will you let me go to the Castle on the 15th?”
Usaemon fell silent and knit his brows.
“Just this one time,” Shuri said.
“Forgive me, Your Lordship, but going to the Castle is the one thing…”
“… you won’t let me do, eh?”
They sat looking at each other, saying nothing. In the silent room, the only sound was that of the lamp wick sucking up oil. To Usaemon, this short interval felt like a year. Having sworn as he did to Sado-no-kami, he could not give Shuri permission without forfeiting his honor as a samurai.
“I ask this of you knowing full well what Sado-no-kami told you,” Shuri said. “I also know that you will earn the displeasure of the family if you allow me to enter the Castle. But think about it from my point of view: I am deranged, a madman who has been abandoned not only by his entire family but by his own retainers.”
As Shuri spoke, his voice began to tremble with emotion. Usaemon saw his eyes filling with tears.
“The whole world mocks me. I must yield my inheritance to the hands of a stranger. The sun may never shine on me again. This is what has become of me! I can’t believe that you, Usaemon—that you of all people would deny me the one desire I have left in this life: merely to present myself at the Castle one last time. You might pity me, Usaemon, but I know you do not hate me. I think of you as a father, Usaemon. As a brother. No, I feel even closer to you than to a father or a brother. You are the one person in the whole wide world that I can depend upon. And it is precisely because I feel so close to you that I dare to ask you this one impossible favor. But it is something I will never ask of you again in this life. This one time is all I ask for. Please, Usaemon, try to understand what I feel in my heart. Please grant me this one impossible wish. I beg you, like this…”
Shuri leaned forward, dropping his hands to the floor before his House Elder. With tears streaming from his eyes, he began to lower his forehead to the mat. This was more than Usaemon could bear.
“Please, Your Lordship, raise your hands from the mat, raise your hands. Please don’t humble yourself to me this way. I don’t deserve…”
He grasped Shuri’s hands, forcing them up from the mat. And then he cried. And the more he cried, the more his heart seemed to fill—and then to flood—with a calm confidence. In the midst of his tears, he vividly recalled the declaration he had made in the presence of Sado-no-kami.
“All right, then, My Lord,” he said to Shuri. “Whatever Sado-no-kami might say, I can settle any eventuality by slitting open this wrinkled old belly of mine. I will let you go up to the Castle, and the fault will be mine alone.”
Shuri’s face shone with joy when he heard this: he looked like a different person. The sudden change reflected the skill of an actor, but it had a naturalness that no actor could summon. He let out a wild burst of laughter.
“Then you will let me go? Oh, thank you, Usaemon! Thank you so much!”
Beaming, Shuri looked to his left and right.
“Did you hear that, everyone? Usaemon is going to let me go to the Castle!”
Everyone? Shuri had cleared his attendants from the room beforehand; there was no one present but him and Usaemon. Still on his knees, Usaemon inched anxiously closer to Shuri, and, in the light filtering through the lantern’s paper shade, he peered fearfully into the young man’s eyes.
3. Bloodshed
Shortly after the fifth hour of the morning on the fifteenth day of the eighth month of the fourth ye
ar of Enkyō, in the Castle of the Tokugawa Shōgun, Shuri murdered Hosokawa Etchū-no-kami Munenori,11 Lord of Kumamoto Castle in Higo Province, a man he neither loved nor hated. The particulars of the event are as follows:
Among the Great Lords of the realm, those of the Hosokawa family were outstanding for their military attributes. Even Her Ladyship, Munenori’s consort, known as “the Princess,” was talented in the martial arts. It was inconceivable, therefore, that there might be anything lacking in the martial skills of Munenori himself. That such a man from such a distinguished lineage should have met such a miserable end at the hands of a relative amateur could only have been due to sheer bad luck.
In retrospect, however, it became clear that there had been any number of omens in the Hosokawa house foretelling the occurrence of this calamity. First, the Hosokawas’ villa in suburban Shinagawa-Isarago had burned to the ground earlier that year. What made this all the more ominous was that the house contained a shrine to the god of the North Star with a miraculous stone that spurted water before any fire could spread, and so the villa had never burned down before. Then, early in the fifth month, someone noticed that a protective amulet from the Aizen’in Temple had been miswritten. Hanging on the front gate, where it should have said “MAY THIS HOUSE KNOW CONTINUED LUCK IN BATTLE AND FREEDOM FROM CALAMITIES,” the word “CALAMITIES” had been omitted. They consulted with a priest from a family temple and decided to have the plaque rewritten immediately at Aizen’in. The third omen came early in the eighth month, when mysterious big lights appeared night after night from the area of the mansion’s great hall and flew off toward the neighborhood of Shiba.
In addition to these signs, at noon on the 14th a retainer well versed in astrology—a man named Saiki Moemon—came to see the Tokugawa censor stationed in Munenori’s Tokyo residence and said, “Something terrible might happen to His Lordship tomorrow, the fifteenth. When I was studying the skies last night, the General’s Star12 looked as though it was ready to fall. Better to err on the side of caution. Please make certain that His Lordship does not leave the house.” The censor himself had little faith in astrology, but he knew that Lord Munenori had great respect for this man’s prognostications. He decided at least to tell one of Munenori’s close attendants, and from him it reached the ear of Etchū-no-kami himself. As a result, they decided that on the fifteenth he would forgo both a performance of Nōand Kyōgen13 and a courtesy call that he had planned to make on his way home from the Castle. Attendance at the Castle itself, however, he would not put off.