by John Allyn
The next morning the men of Ako were divided into four groups and sent to stay in the local mansions of the lords of Hosokawa, Hisamatsu, Mori and Mizuno. Here they would stay until such time as their punishment would be fixed and carried out. Although he would much have preferred to keep his friends with him, Oishi felt obliged to designate Hara, Kataoka, and Horibe as the leaders of the other three groups. He was sure of their ability to deal with any situation and knew he could count on them to set examples for the other men. He shook each one by the hand as they left, knowing the chances were great that he would never see them again. Hara and Kataoka were last and a lump came into Oishi’s throat as he bade them farewell. Hara was solemn but Kataoka forced a grin. “We’ll meet again,” he said, “in the next world if not in this.” Then they were gone and the long waiting began. The days passed slowly with alternating rumors of leniency and harshness of sentence, but Oishi had little interest in keeping up with the latest reports. He was content that he had carried out his mission to the best of his ability and was ready to die at any time.
There was one unexpected visitor. Late one winter afternoon Oishi was visited by the tall, distinguished-looking Araki, who had carried the original petition for restoration of the castle to the Shogun’s councilors. Araki was anxious to report that from all appearances the government officials concerned did not think Oishi and his men were entirely in the wrong. From Araki, Oishi also learned for the first time of the fate of Sahyoe, Lord Uesugi, and Chisaka.
He thanked Araki for the news, although he did not really think such decisions would have any effect in his own case. The Shogun was merely displaying complete impartiality in the matter of enforcing the feudal code. Oishi and his men had broken other provisions of the same code by taking revenge into their own hands, and he expected they would suffer similar consequences.
Araki further informed him that there was tremendous public sympathy on the side of the men from Ako and that this was undoubtedly causing the delay in their sentencing. The Shogun had even taken the unprecedented step of asking for ballots among the daimyo and consulting other learned men to be sure of doing the right thing. As grievous lawbreakers, guilty of flagrantly disobeying the edict against taking revenge, they were clearly liable for the death penalty, but circumstances seemed to dictate that they not be executed as common criminals. Since they had surrendered the castle at Ako peaceably, it was also accepted that they had shown no personal malice toward the Shogun.
“So how do matters stand now?” Oishi asked with more show of interest than he felt. “Does it look like we will be executed or exiled or imprisoned with torture? I can’t see how the sentence could be any less severe.”
“There is one hope,” said Araki gravely. “The Shogun is conferring with the Abbot of Ueno, the highest authority of Buddhism in Edo. It appears that Tsunayoshi wants him to intercede.”
Oishi let out his breath in a long sigh. “I had no idea we’d become so important.”
“The whole country is talking about you,” said Araki, surprised that Oishi seemed so oblivious of his own fame. “They’re even performing plays about you and your men in the theaters of Osaka and Kyoto.”
“Kabuki plays?” said Oishi, aroused now to think that their deeds should be imitated by the common players he had seen in the theater.
“What’s the matter with that?” asked Araki. “Where else can our noble traditions be so effectively held up as an example for all?”
“Even the peasants . . .” muttered Oishi.
“Even the peasants,” agreed Araki. “You and I know they are not capable of maintaining the eternal self-discipline of a samurai. But does it do any harm to let them see the examples of their betters and to try to emulate them in their own lives?”
“No, I guess not,” admitted Oishi, and then he smiled. He knew someone who would be surprised and pleased to hear him make that statement.
Tsunayoshi’s interview with the Abbot of Ueno was short and produced little in the way of results. The Shogun, a stickler for etiquette, the protector of dogs, and the unregenerate admirer of young boys, was troubled that he would have to execute such brave men for living up to the feudal code as they saw it, but the venerable old abbot could not help him.
“There is a well-known law against the taking of revenge,” the gray haired priest gently reminded him. “And think of the possible consequences if we allow those who flagrantly break it to go free.”
“I didn’t necessarily mean to set them free,” Tsunayoshi put in nervously. “But as the spiritual leader of the country, if you could recommend leniency . . .”
“But I cannot,” the Abbot said. “I am as bound by the law as you are. There is nothing anyone can do.”
Tsunayoshi stood silently for a moment, then bowed and left. At this stage there was truly nothing anyone could do. Except for making one slight alteration in the sentence. This was within his authority and would better serve his own sense of justice.
Early in February the four daimyo who were keeping Oishi and his men in custody were notified that sentence had finally been passed by the Shogun’s Council and that representatives of the censor’s office would be sent to carry it out. Lord Sengoku immediately notified Oishi that even the Abbot of Ueno had felt powerless to do other than to let the law take its course, and they were accordingly sentenced to death.
Oishi nodded. This was what he had expected all along. But he was due for a surprise when Lord Sengoku told him the manner in which they were to die. Although lordless men and hence not legally entitled to such treatment, they were to be allowed to disembowel themselves in the noble ceremony of seppuku. Oishi could hardly believe his ears and fell forward in a deep bow of gratitude to Lord Sengoku. Then he hastened to tell his men the good news.
On the appointed day, the censors arrived and the men were summoned one by one to platforms outside their respective reception halls. Oishi was to go first, followed by Chikara, and then the rest of the men in order of rank. Oishi bade them farewell and shook their hands with a proud smile. He spoke to Chikara last, but in exactly the same crisp soldierly manner as he had to the others. Then he stepped outside.
It was a clear cold winter’s day, much like the one on which Lord Asano had died. Oishi thought of this as he walked slowly and with dignity to his place on the platform before which the ceremonial dirk was laying. He thought, too, of his wife’s tears and of Okaru’s laughter and of his son’s bravery and of the limitless loyalty of such men as Hara, Kataoka, Mimura, Yoshida, Onodera, and the rest. Then his mind came back to himself. There was only one thing left now and he would have done all that was expected of him. As he poised the dirk for the last swift thrust he thanked the gods of heaven and earth for the chance he had had to prove himself as a samurai. In the end this was all that mattered, for a man will only be as long as his life but his name will be for all time.
The men from Ako had defiantly disregarded the Shogun’s law, but by dying for their lord they showed their devotion to what they considered the higher morality. A samurai was not taught to revere the Shogun as part of a deliberate policy to prevent loyalty to a lord from developing into a larger loyalty to country and national ruler. It was felt that in this way the Shogun would be better able to maintain his status against the Imperial Court at Kyoto. The wisdom of this policy was proved during the controversy over the restoration of the Emperor in 1868. When the need for a single strong ruler to deal effectively with the Western powers was recognized, many samurai worked against the weakening Shogunate and helped bring about its final disintegration.
The Forty-seven Ronin were buried at Sengaku-ji temple in a special plot adjacent to the tomb of their beloved master. Lady Asano’s tomb is also here, facing the markers of the loyal followers’ graves. One can also view the well where Kira’s head was washed and nearby there is a museum containing relics of the armor and weapons actually used by the men of Ako.
Sengaku-ji is only a short ride by bus or train from the bustling
center of Tokyo but inside the temple grounds it is surprisingly easy to go back in spirit to feudal times. The scent of antiquity hangs over Sengaku-ji, as well as the odor of the incense burning before the graves in what has become a national shrine.
