Left with no other choice, Yoshiteru turned to Tesshu for assistance.
Farete yosi / kumoritemo yosi / Fuji no yama / moto no sugata fa / kafarazarikeri
(Be it clear or be it cloudy, Mount Fuji remains unchanged in its original form.)
This was the poem Yamaoka Tesshu had composed to express his state of mind when he resigned as a Tokugawa retainer to enter the service of the Meiji government. He possessed at least a gentleman’s familiarity with waka.
“How about this?” Yoshiteru whispered. “Kimi ga yo fa / tiyo ni yatiyo to / utafu besi / kiku no sakaduki / ukuru kafi nasi (May your reign last for thousands of generations; yet it is worthless to receive this chrysanthemum cup.)”
“Terrible. You sound like a complete amateur,” Yamaoka grimaced.
“What is wrong with an amateur composing an amateur’s poem?”
“The first half is impossible to fix as it is, but let us twist it slightly: Kimi ga yo fa / tiyo yorodu yo to / utafu nari. As for the second half, it lacks any elegance. Do not include words that openly criticize the Emperor. Merely hint at it. Make it something like: Kefu kokonofe no / kiku no sakaduki.”
“I see. If that is the case, it is passable.”
“Yes. That should do fine.”
Thereupon, Yoshiteru stood up and recited the verses in a resonant, ringing voice:
Kimi ga yo fa / tiyo yorodu yo to / utafu nari / kefu kokonofe no / kiku no sakaduki
(We sing that your reign may last for ten thousand generations, as we receive this chrysanthemum cup within the palace gates today.)
“What an utterly clumsy poem!” the drunk, red-faced Hironao bellowed. It was an incredibly insolent display in the imperial presence. “Very well, let me show you how it is done. I shall compose one about you. Listen closely:
Sake ni yofi / kafo no katati mo / Fisizima ka / uta wo yomu yara / hadi wo kaku yara
(Drunk on saké, is that twisted face of yours a distorted island—a Hishijima? Whether you are trying to compose a poem or merely making a fool of yourself, who can tell?)”
Yoshiteru, burning with silent rage, spoke in a low tone to Tesshu. “To be humiliated to this extent by a beggar of a court noble in the presence of His Majesty—I have no choice but to cut him down. However, as detestable as he is, I cannot bring myself to murder a high official of the Emperor. If I commit such an atrocity during a banquet, I will be punished as a madman, bringing ruin upon my entire clan. Yet, it is equally absurd to harbor a grudge and seek vengeance later. I have no choice but to quietly resign from my post.”
“And what will you do once you resign?” Tesshu questioned.
“I will return to Kagoshima.”
“To Kagoshima?”
“Yes.”
Hishijima was a surname unique to the Satsuma province, said to belong to the descendants of the Seiwa Genji clan, or perhaps a clan of foreign lineage.
“Wait a moment,” Tesshu checked him. “During the Political Crisis of 1863, you chose the path of serving the Empire rather than resigning from office to return to the countryside alongside Saigo Nanshu (Takamori). Having made that choice, you now propose to throw away your public duties and flee back to your home province? How is that any different from what Nanshu did? Are you going to chase after Nanshu now, and become one of his conspirators after all this time? Listen to me closely. Right now in the western provinces, disgruntled samurai like yourself are raising rebellions one after another—first Shimpuren, then Akizuki, and now Hagi. They are finally plotting a massive uprising in Tsukushi, seeking to place Satsuma’s Nanshu at their head. If you return to Satsuma at a time like this, you will inevitably be swept into it. Are you, a man who once rose to become the Captain of the Emperor’s Imperial Guards, going to become a rebel alongside Nanshu? Do you not understand how much trouble that would cause the government, and His Majesty the Emperor? And all for what—simply because you were mocked by a court noble? Pay no mind to such a creature. Ignore him and continue to serve the Emperor.”
“But a man’s honor…”
“Which is more vital—your personal honor, or the grand righteous cause of the nation? Recall once more the significance of the Boshin War, which brought about the collapse of the Tokugawa world. Look at me. I was originally a direct retainer of the Shogun, one of the eighty-thousand samurai of the Tokugawa. Now, I bow my knee to serve the Satsuma-Choshu government. Whose disgrace do you think is greater—your humiliation, or mine?”
The sharp rebuke of Yamaoka Tetsutaro, a true son of Edo, struck a deep chord within the heart of Hishijima Yoshiteru, the proud stalwart of Satsuma.