THE FORTY-SEVEN RONIN
Takara deeply mourned the fate of Michizane, whom she not only loved but
had revered as the only living representative left to her of a fast
fading memory. She pondered, but wisely held her counsel. Tetsutaisho
did not fathom her, but satisfied himself and reviled her upon shallower
grounds.
When left to his own recourse, shorn of impulse, his understanding
seldom rose above the lesser order. He was big in war, but small in
consequence. Nor was his sympathy any the greater, and when she
remonstrated about her child, he laughed and told her that she, a
daughter of royalty, should be the last to question the wisdom of the
law. He only urged her to forget the circumstance and respect his will.
She acquiesced for the time being, but there was rising within her a
bitter spirit. There was coming a day when the mind, too, should assert
its rank; when the soul should attain its fulness.
"But why are you less ardent?" questioned he, one evening after having
returned from Kinsan's apartments, where, as Takara knew, he was now in
the habit of regularly spending much time.
"Would you ask me why darkness follows light, the earth rotates on its
axis, and flesh turns to stone? I thought you a man of consequence, not
an object of pity," answered she, calmly though earnestly.
Tetsutaisho stood aghast at her daring, yet thought not to search for
its meaning. Had he but looked outside, the veil might have fallen from
his blinded eyes, for the same spirit which moved Takara had roused a
host of valiant defenders. The boldness of Ikamon's stroke had so
stunned the enemy as to irrevocably establish the new order, but not
without inevitably disastrous consequences.
Even to the shogun's supporters, the destruction of the apparently
harmless Michizane, and the advent of the scarcely known child,
Iyeyoshi, seemed so veiled in mystery that many were inclined to believe
that some deep-laid scheme lay behind a rather elusive but possible
trick. In consequence, the shogun, in his weakness, anxious to hide his
stupidity behind some apparent justification, took the burden upon his
own shoulders and thus widened the breach between himself and his true
friends, increasing to that extent his dependence upon Ikamon.
The discontent due to the adoption of an heir to the shogunate became
after a time, however, somewhat allayed; but the curiosity aroused by
the banishment of Michizane increased, and the feeling of unrest at the
mikado's seat grew to such degree that before a year had passed the
south began to assume a resentful if not hostile attitude. Nearly five
years had elapsed since their favourite daughter, Takara, had been
carried away to become the wife of Shibusawa, the most promising of the
young princes under the shogunate. No results had as yet obtained from
this alliance, nor had the restoration of the kuge[12] taken place as
promised. They were dissatisfied, and Takara's misalliance was the first
pretext seized upon to rouse a determined move. Spies had been sent to
Tokyo and the whole truth discovered to a few of the leaders, yet from
policy's sake these reports had been suppressed in the hope of
perfecting a more judicious organisation before the advent of a general
uprising.
This conservatism on the part of the southern leaders baffled Ikamon,
who believed them, like himself, incapable of looking beyond
self-interest for a motive. Others might sacrifice and strive for
humanity, but the sweet-voiced god Oshaka ever whispered in Ikamon's ear
the one word, "Self." It was self that lay at the bottom; self that
raised the human above the brute; self that promised life eternal: the
gods were but self, asserted and ordained, and ordinary man was only the
blind, the halt, the sympathetic. Diplomacy was his weapon, heroism an
humbler man's part.
Tetsutaisho was now too much absorbed with personal affairs even to try
to grasp the outer shreds of a complicated political situation. True, he
had realised in some measure from time to time that an ugly gossip
circulated on the outside as to affairs at his house; yet he was slow to
appreciate its importance, and but for being urged from other sources
would have given it barely passing notice. He busied himself more with
shifting his attentions from a worn love to one that was new though
elusive, and as yet unfound.
Thus Tetsutaisho for once released Takara from his constant attention,
and when she lay down in the freedom of her chamber she marvelled at his
neglect, for she not only knew his real purpose in bringing Kinsan into
the house, but understood his utter failure. She realised that the
innocent girl's struggles had not been in vain, and she gloried in her
virtue. She said to herself:
"What a womanhood! Oh, if I had but known the way! How gladly would I
surrender the wreath of state, the power of kings, for the crown of
purity! But alas! it is not mine. It is only for those who know their
true god. May I never again see mine!"
Then she slept, and she dreamed that she heard Michizane's voice, that
he spoke to her, and that the words were a poem in praise of her
ancestors, that all about was a garden and in it were her friends; that
her soul turned to beauty, and joy came down from Heaven, and all was
peace. She did not wake, but saw Hyaku, the young magician, and felt the
power of his magic, although she could neither move nor speak.
The Band of Forty-Seven had entered Takara's chamber at dead of night,
and placing her in a light chair slung upon the backs of swift carriers,
well disguised, ran with the speed of the hare, the endurance of the ox;
and before they could be overtaken, or it was really known what had
happened, they were at Kyoto, in her own mother's house; when again
Takara saw the hand of Hyaku, and felt its power; she awakened and there
was real gladness in her heart. She made no inquiry as to how it all
happened, or as to the motive which prompted their timely action. She
knew that it was the ronin[13] who fetched her, and that she was welcome
when she got there. Had she known all, she would have understood better
how those trusted men had for days and months waited and watched their
chance to seize and carry her away to her friends; back to the home she
had surrendered to no purpose except that of sorrow and regret.
The news of Takara's return to the home of her childhood, and of the
manner of her escape, soon became known to the immediate friends of
Tetsutaisho's family. Maido paid but little attention to the
circumstance, and thus, probably, gave occasion for the rumour, which
gained some credence, that he had actually winked at her going and was
not particular about her returning. However that may be, his general
failing and prolonged worry over Shibusawa's absence were not a
sufficient shield for his indifference, at least in the opinion of some
of his less intimate friends. Tetsutaisho, more dazed at the audacity of
the ronin than puzzled with the reason for Takara's abduction, at first
inclined toward instituting a vigorous pursuit, but upon second thought
concluded he had best consult his friends before inaugurating any such
serious undertaking.
"It is not so much that I care for the concubine," said he to Ikamon, on
the following day; "it is the vindication of the law that prompts me to
send a detachment for her relief. These bands of marauders must be
suppressed, even at the cost of war upon their stronghold. What safety
is there for a gentleman so long as his castle may be entered and his
property carried away while he sleeps? The next we hear, it will be the
shogun himself of whom we are robbed. Give Tetsutaisho the word, I say,
and he will soon make an end of it--Saigo, the ronin, his dreamers,
Kido, and all."
Ikamon did not fire so easily as to let his enthusiasm run away with his
judgment, yet he was none the less quick to apprehend the danger
confronting them. The paltry sop thrown to Saigo and a few followers had
scarcely touched the lofty progress of the literati. There could be but
one finale: materialism must sooner or later find itself pitted against
patriotism. Iyesada, weak and uncertain, was little to the purpose in a
serious conflict, and no one knew better than Ikamon the over-sensitive
shogun's inclination to side with the last to persuade; of his want of
policy; of his anxiety and bewilderment. He therefore urged upon
Tetsutaisho the necessity of proceeding in the dark and cautiously.
"Keep these fellows at bay," said he, confidentially, "until we can
discover their real purpose and strength. In the meantime Iyesada may
die--Ikamon can then safely devise. The shogunate in the hands of an
infant is better to our purpose. The plans of the mikadate if in our
hands can be made to serve rather than defeat us. I would advise, if
advice be meet, that you send out your spies and keep at home your
force."
Tetsutaisho heeded the warning, and before long copious if not
trustworthy news came from every conceivable source. Iyesada soon died,
and the youthful Iyemochi succeeded as shogun; while Tetsutaisho
marvelled at Ikamon's wisdom, and more than ever resigned himself to the
conquest of more peaceful delights. Kinsan had suddenly become the sole
object of his attention, and for her heart he pressed his suit, more
than ever ardent, if not sincere. Maido, absolved from all these
matters, had more and more devoted himself to the memory of his son, but
now that good news had reached him he rejoiced, and anxiously awaited
the return of Shibusawa.