San'emon's Crime

It was the twelfth month of the fourth year of Bunsei. Hosoi San'emon, a samurai who served Harunaga, lord of Kaga, as a mounted retainer with a stipend of six hundred koku, killed a young man named Kazuma, the second son of his fellow officer Kinugasa Tahei. It was no formal duel. At about eight in the evening, Kazuma lay in wait below the southern riding ground for San'emon, who was returning from a gathering of Noh chanting. He tried to cut him down in the dark and was himself struck down instead.

When Harunaga heard what had happened, he ordered San'emon brought before him. This was not merely chance. For one thing, Harunaga was an intelligent lord. Precisely because he was intelligent, he entrusted nothing entirely to his retainers. He could not rest until he had reached a judgment himself and personally ordered it carried out. On one occasion he himself rewarded one falconer and punished another. Since the episode reveals something of his manner of dealing with affairs, its substance may be quoted here.

“Once, word came from the game wardens to the falconry that a flock of red-crowned cranes had descended upon the green rice fields of Ichikawa village in Ishikawa district. When a junior councillor reported it directly, His Lordship was delighted. At the hour of the Hare next morning his attendants assembled and he proceeded to Ichikawa. He had them bring two goshawks and two falcons, including Fujizukasa, a superb bird received from the shogunate. Fujizukasa's falconer was a man named Aimoto Kizaemon. That day His Lordship meant to fly the bird himself, but on the narrow path between the fields, still wet from rain, his footing slipped. The hawk veered upward and the cranes instantly flew away. At the sight, Kizaemon forgot himself in a burst of anger and shouted, ‘You fool! What the devil have you done?’ Then he realized that he stood before his lord. Cold sweat drenched his back; he crouched and waited to be cut down. His Lordship merely laughed. ‘The fault was mine. Forgive me,’ he said. Impressed by Kizaemon's honest devotion, after returning to the castle he granted him a new stipend of one hundred koku, raised him out of his company, and appointed him an official of the falconry.

“Later Fujizukasa passed into the care of Yanase Seihachi and for a time fell ill. One day His Lordship summoned Seihachi and asked after the hawk. Since it had already recovered, Seihachi replied, ‘Completely cured. It could take even a man now.’ Perhaps His Lordship disliked his clever answer, for he said, ‘Excellent. Then make it take a man.’ From that day Seihachi had no choice but to place chopped meat and small grains on the crown of his son Seitaro's head and fly Fujizukasa to him morning and evening. Gradually the hawk learned to alight upon a man's head. Through the chief falconer, Seihachi reported that it could now take a man. ‘That should be amusing,’ His Lordship ordered. ‘Tomorrow go to the southern riding ground and have it take the tea attendant Oba Jugen.’ At about the hour of the Dragon His Lordship came to the ground. Jugen was made to stand in the middle, and at the command ‘Seihachi, the hawk!’ Seihachi released Fujizukasa. It flew straight at Jugen and seized his scalp. Exulting in success, Seihachi drew with one hand the little knife used to remove a bird's liver and sprang forward to stab Jugen. ‘Yanase, what are you doing?’ cried His Lordship. Undeterred, Seihachi answered that once a hawk had taken its quarry, the liver must be removed, and again tried to stab him. His Lordship flew into a rage, called for his gun, and with the firearm he practiced with daily shot Seihachi dead on the spot.”

Secondly, Harunaga had long regarded San'emon with particular favor. Once, while subduing a madman, San'emon and another samurai were both wounded in the head. The other man was struck between the eyebrows, while San'emon's left temple swelled purple. Harunaga summoned them, praised their admirable conduct, and asked, “Well, does it hurt?” The other answered, “By your gracious favor, fortunately the wound causes no pain.” But San'emon replied sourly, “If even such a wound caused no pain, a man could hardly be said to be alive.” From then on Harunaga considered him an honest man—a dependable fellow who, whatever else he might do, would never flatter.

Thus Harunaga believed that the shortest way to learn the particulars of this affair was to question San'emon himself.

Summoned before his lord, San'emon came fearfully. Yet he showed no cringing. On his dark, muscular, somewhat irascible face there was even a suggestion of resolve. Harunaga began his questioning.

“San'emon, I hear Kazuma attacked you from the darkness. It appears he bore you a grudge. What was his grievance?”

“I am unable to say with certainty what grievance he bore.”

Harunaga reflected briefly, then pressed him again.

“Can you recall nothing?”

“Nothing that I can properly call a cause. Yet there is one matter which he may perhaps have resented.”

“What was that?”

“It happened four days ago. There was a year-end tournament at the school of our fencing instructor, Yamamoto Kozaemon. I acted as judge in his place, though only for bouts among pupils below the rank of mokuroku. I was also judge when Kazuma fought.”

“Who was Kazuma's opponent?”

“Tamon, eldest son of Hirata Kidayu, an attendant upon Your Lordship.”

“And Kazuma lost?”

“Yes. Tamon scored once on the wrist and twice on the head. Kazuma did not score at all. In a three-point match it was an ugly defeat. He may therefore have borne a grudge against me as judge.”

“He thought your judgment partial?”

“Yes. I showed no partiality, nor had I any reason to do so. But Kazuma may have suspected it.”

“What of ordinary days? Do you remember ever quarreling with him?”

“I never quarreled with him. Only—”

San'emon paused. He did not seem to be deciding whether to speak; rather, he appeared to be arranging the order of what he meant to say. Harunaga kept his expression gentle and waited quietly. Before long San'emon continued.

“There was this. On the day before the match, Kazuma suddenly apologized to me for an insult he said he had offered a short while before. I had no idea what insult he meant. When I asked him, he answered only with a bitter smile. I could do nothing but tell him that I remembered no insult and still less any need for an apology. Kazuma then seemed satisfied. He said simply that perhaps he had been mistaken and asked me not to think of it. I remember that by then his bitter smile had become almost a private grin.”

“What had Kazuma mistaken?”

“That I am unable to tell. It must have been some insignificant trifle.—There was nothing else.”

Another short silence followed.

“Then what of Kazuma's nature? Did you ever think him suspicious?”

“I did not. If anything, he was youthfully open, unashamed to show whatever he felt—though he was perhaps somewhat quick-tempered.”

San'emon paused, then added with something more like a sigh than speech:

“And that bout with Tamon was an important one.”

“In what way important?”

“Kazuma held only a kirigami certificate. Had he won, he would have received the mokuroku rank. The same was true of Tamon. Among the pupils of the school, Kazuma and Tamon were evenly matched rivals.”

Harunaga remained silent for a while, apparently thinking. Then, as if abruptly changing his mind, he turned to the night on which San'emon had killed Kazuma.

“Kazuma was certainly waiting for you below the riding ground?”

“I believe so. Snow began suddenly that night, and I was passing beneath the riding ground holding an umbrella. I had no attendant with me and wore no rain cloak. The wind rose, and snow came whipping in from the left. Instinctively I swung my half-open umbrella toward that side. At that instant Kazuma struck. He cut only the umbrella and did not wound me.”

“He struck without calling out?”

“So far as I recall, he said nothing.”

“What did you suppose your assailant to be?”

“There was no time to suppose anything. The moment my umbrella was cut, I leapt back to the right. By then I seem already to have kicked off my wooden clogs. A second stroke came. It slit my haori sleeve for some five inches. Leaping back again, I drew and swept at him in one motion. I believe it was then that Kazuma was cut in the flank. He said something....”

“Something?”

“I do not know what he said. He merely cried out amid the violence. At that moment I knew clearly that it was Kazuma.”

“You recognized his voice?”

“No, my lord.”

“Then why did you know it was Kazuma?”

Harunaga gazed fixedly at San'emon. San'emon made no reply. Harunaga repeated the question, urging him on, but again San'emon merely lowered his eyes to his hakama and would not readily speak.

“San'emon—why?”

Harunaga had somehow assumed the dignity of another man. Such sudden changes of manner were among his customary devices. Still looking down, San'emon at last opened his closed lips. Yet the words that escaped them did not answer why. Unexpectedly, they were a deeply dejected confession of guilt.

“It is San'emon's crime that a promising samurai who might have served Your Lordship was made rust upon my sword.”

Harunaga frowned slightly, but his solemn gaze did not leave San'emon's face. San'emon continued.

“Kazuma had ample reason for resentment. When I judged the tournament, I behaved with partiality.”

Harunaga's frown deepened.

“A moment ago you said that you had shown no partiality and had no reason to.”

“That remains true even now.”

Considering each word, San'emon continued as though making a confession to himself.

“My partiality was not of that kind. As I have said, I neither wished deliberately to make Kazuma lose nor wished Tamon to win. But that alone does not mean I was impartial. In truth I placed greater hopes in Kazuma than in Tamon. Tamon's technique is cramped. However cowardly the means, he thinks only of winning: his is a corrupt art. Kazuma's art was not so base. He met his opponent honestly and followed the true way. I even believed that in another two or three years Tamon could never equal Kazuma's progress....”

“Then why did you make Kazuma lose?”

“That, my lord, is precisely the point. I certainly wanted Kazuma, rather than Tamon, to win. But I was the judge. A judge must cast aside private inclination at every moment. Once he stands with his fan between two bamboo swords, he must obey Heaven's justice. Believing this, I thought of nothing but fairness when Tamon and Kazuma faced each other. Yet, as I have said, I wanted Kazuma to win. The balance in my heart was already tilted toward him. In my single-minded effort to level that balance, I naturally placed a weight upon Tamon's pan. Looking back, I added too much. I was too lenient toward Tamon and too severe toward Kazuma.”

San'emon paused again. Harunaga only listened in silence.

“The two stood in the middle guard, neither making the first attack. Presently Tamon saw an opening and went for Kazuma's head. With a shout Kazuma parried beautifully and at the same instant struck Tamon's wrist. My partiality began at that very moment. I was certain the point belonged to Kazuma. But no sooner did I think so than I wondered whether the bamboo sword might have struck too lightly. That second thought dulled my decision, and I failed to raise the fan for Kazuma as I should have done. They faced each other again for a while in the middle guard. Then Kazuma attacked Tamon's wrist. Tamon swept aside his sword and struck Kazuma's wrist. Tamon's blow seemed weaker than Kazuma's had been; at least it was no finer. Yet at once I raised my fan for Tamon. Thus the first point went to him. I thought I had blundered. But beneath that thought something whispered, ‘No, the judge has not erred. You imagine an error only because you favor Kazuma.’...”

“And then?”

With some displeasure Harunaga urged on San'emon, who had once more fallen silent.

“Again their sword tips touched. I think this was their longest contest of spirit. The instant Kazuma's sword met his opponent's, he suddenly thrust. The thrust landed hard, but at the same instant Tamon's sword struck Kazuma's head. I held my fan upright to declare a simultaneous hit. Yet perhaps it was not simultaneous. Perhaps I had merely hesitated to decide which came first. No—the thrust may well have landed before Kazuma received the blow to his head. In any event, after this exchange the two faced each other a fourth time. Again Kazuma attacked first. He thrust once more, but the point of his sword was a little high. Tamon tried to pass beneath it and strike the body. For some ten exchanges they fought blade against blade. At last Tamon closed the distance and struck Kazuma's head....”

“And that blow?”

“That blow was splendid. No eye could doubt that the point was Tamon's. After losing it, Kazuma grew increasingly desperate. The more I saw his desperation, the more I wanted to raise my fan for him on the next occasion. Yet the more strongly I wished it, the more I hesitated to raise the fan. After another pause they exchanged seven or eight blows. Then, for some reason, Kazuma tried to throw his body against Tamon. I say ‘for some reason’ because ordinarily Kazuma would never resort to such a thing. I was startled—and rightly so. Tamon turned his body aside and beautifully took the head once again. No final point could have been more abrupt. All three times I had raised my fan for Tamon.—That is what I mean by my partiality. On the balance of the heart it may have been no more than the error caused by adding a single hair. Yet because of it Kazuma lost the match on which so much depended. Now I find nothing strange in his resentment.”

“But why, when you cut at him, did you realize that it was Kazuma?”

“I am unable to say for certain. Thinking now, perhaps somewhere deep within me I felt I had wronged Kazuma. That may be why I instantly knew the attacker to be him.”

“Then you pity Kazuma for the way he died?”

“Yes, my lord. And, as I said before, by needlessly causing the death of a samurai capable of useful service, I have above all failed in my duty to Your Lordship.”

Having finished, San'emon bowed his head as though the weight had only now descended upon him. Despite the cold of the twelfth month, a faint sheen of sweat glimmered on his forehead. Harunaga, whose good humor had returned, nodded several times with easy generosity.

“Good. Good. I understand your true heart. What you did may have been wrong, but it could not be helped. Only from now on—”

Without finishing, Harunaga glanced at San'emon's face.

“You knew it was Kazuma after your first stroke. Why, then, did you not refrain from killing him?”

At Harunaga's question San'emon proudly raised his dark face. His eyes again held the fearless gleam they had shown before.

“I could not leave him alive. San'emon is Your Lordship's retainer, but he is also a samurai. I may pity Kazuma; I do not pity an assailant.”

—December 1923—