The untimely death of Ikamon caused little regret, even at Tokyo; no attempt was made to apprehend his murderers, and Daikomitsu settled down, satisfied in the enjoyment of his emoluments. Shibusawa remained without his sphere and Takara soon ceased to supersede the ease and comfort flowing from official complaisance. The new policy encouraged quietude, but lacked stability, and only, perhaps, Shibusawa fathomed the true cause for unrest.

Yet, being unprepared, he could take no part in its effective solution. Like his father before him he had held himself aloof as much as possible from the turmoils of state, devoting his energies to internal security and improvement; not because of seeking to shirk his duties, but that he might better prepare himself for the responsibilities. He knew in his own heart that from the day Perry’s guns first sounded in the harbour the foreigner had secured a permanent foothold, and that with him he had brought a new life, the introduction of which meant more to them than all the family quarrels and local measures of all the centuries that had gone before.

Not only this, but he saw that in adapting themselves to the new relations feudalism must go, and with it there would and should fall some of the evil tendencies of the day; none disapproved by him more than that of class limitation upon marriage. He had come to believe the home the foundation of all organised society, and held that as it harmonised the affinities of life so government should make possible the highest beauties consistent with universality; and as time went on repeated confirmations of his views so strengthened his belief that he began to search for a means of absorbing as much of the new civilisation as might be forced upon them, or as should seem beneficial, without losing in any measure their own autonomy. Finally he had abandoned all hope in the shogunate and, in consequence, begun to look toward the mikadate. It seemed his only natural alternative; possibly the most logical one.

Daikomitsu on the other hand found himself more completely submerged in the shogunate than he at first anticipated. He had intended to rid himself of the ronin, but not until their attack upon the foreign legation at Tokyo did he succeed, emerging with a complete vindication of his true diplomatic qualities. He had not only effectually cleared the country of these desperadoes, but placed himself upon a high pedestal, and even Tetsutaisho began to admire him, though he could not fully respect him.

During the transition stage, lasting from Daikomitsu’s accession to the death of Komei, Shibusawa had ample time to prepare for the work himself planned or by others thrust upon him. These were trying times; this a patient, energetic, and ambitious people, and not alone fate, but fortune proved a moving force behind their destiny. From the first Takara’s hand had been felt, though Shibusawa knew it not. She developed among the adherents of the south a strength that gave her voice in the councils shadowing the court at Kyoto, and she used it to advance a single purpose—the only one, as she thought, consistent with her duties as a wife and her position as a kuge—furthering the cause of her husband and building the fortunes of the mikado.

Gradually though unconsciously this influence began to be felt by Shibusawa, and before he knew it he had gone so far into national affairs that he needs must play an important part. Nor did he give himself solely to political matters, for Kinsan remained ever before him; and though without possible communication he loved her constantly and truly. He saw in her more and more the ideal of existence, the soul of the universe, the crowning glory of all that is. He longed for her and had he the power would have sought her and claimed her and taken her, even though his former convictions had been true or remained uncontradicted. Without knowing her sacrifices, something told him that her heart was true, and he asked of himself:

“After all, of what consequence is the flesh?”

Taking advantage of a measure enacted early under Daikomitsu’s incumbency, authorising the daimyos and princes of the blood to remove their families and lawful kin from the capital, Shibusawa asked his sister Yasuko to come to him, and though still mourning the loss of her husband she accepted the invitation and proved to be a great consolation to her brother, they becoming fast and true friends and she a liberal adviser. In her he found a companionship that helped him through the many events leading up to his call to the front, though in no measure did it deter him from shaping a course toward his high ideal.

The mikado had taken it upon himself to send an embassy to Europe and America to examine and report conditions, while the shogun had in person conferred with his highness at Kyoto. The latter event resolved itself into a proposal by the mikado that the shogun accompany him on a pilgrimage to the temple Hachiman at Yamashiro, that he might deliver his own sword to the mighty war god Ojin, thus inducing his celestial mightiness to drive out the “barbarian foreigners”; at which the shogun somewhat reluctantly expressed his indisposition to join in such a hazardous undertaking, thereupon retiring to his own stronghold; never again proposing or sanctioning a conference with his “heavenly brother-in-power.”

Shortly after this, possibly for the purpose of encouraging a breach between the two courts, several of the southern daimyos, together with Saigo, Iwakura, and some other kuge attempted to carry off to the southward the person of the mikado, and were prevented in their daring scheme only by the timely interference of Shibusawa. He had been urged into taking the step by Takara through the auspices of Kido, and for the heroism displayed gained high esteem at Kyoto; the schemers themselves coming gradually to respect him and Saigo to believe in him. Henceforth Shibusawa attended their councils and his voice rose to be felt, while Takara began to worship him, and used all her energies and influence to further his friendship with the mikado and raise his standing in the south.

Soon after, the Shimonoseki affair once more roused the country; and the report of the foreign embassy maddened them. They had returned and said in substance:

“We are the barbarians!”

In consequence of this, as the mikado remarked, “foolish report,” the embassy were forthwith reprimanded and deprived of office; the mikado declaring:

“Diabolical spirits rule in this land of the gods, intending to do away with customs dear to us. They must forthwith be driven out.”

Nor was he alone in his belief, for before the close of the season his rabid adherents rallied and defeated a detachment of the shogun’s army sent against them; encouraging the mikado to issue the famous edict against the Christians, whereby more than three thousand converts fell victims to its bane and were distributed among the daimyos as slaves at common labour. Nor were they protected by the shogun nor greatly mourned by their friends; the dislike of the foreigners had become so rooted that even the shogunate seemed a crumbling structure ready to fall at the first organised assault. The revolt spread; but, at the call of a new leader, who raised the banner of right shorn of weakness and purged of the last taint of bigotry and dark mysticism.

Shibusawa proved the man of the hour, and he brought honesty and intelligence to the rally of courage and patriotism. He arose in his power, put a check upon blind impulse, and set in motion the forces that were to start the wheels of progress, to open the way to a place in the sisterhood of nations. Addressing a letter to the mikado he said:

“The western foreigners of to-day are different from those of a former day. They are much more advanced and powerful; the conflict is an unequal one, and Japan will be shattered like roofing tile. The cry that reaches you comes from those who do not understand; it is a misfortune longer to attempt to close our doors. Instead let us devote ourselves to house-building, husbandry, forestry, jurisprudence, and science, and the benefits derived will more than offset the loss sustained at the hands of the foreigners. There is a better way to meet their aggression than by resort to force, and if your majesty will so permit we pledge ourselves to serve you, the divine and rightful ruler of this land.”

The letter had its effect, and thenceforth there were but two parties, both of which tolerated the foreigner, and with one of which every loyal citizen must sooner or later cast his fortunes. In the following autumn Iyemochi died, and Hitotsubashi proclaimed his successor, began to discharge the offices of shogun, as the vacillating tool of the strongest triumvirate that had yet undertaken to rehabilitate the waning powers of a rapidly fading court.

Hitotsubashi proved an easy dupe and ready listener by turns to Daikomitsu, Okotsuba, and Tetsutaisho, the three ministers who were destined to guide the fortunes of the tottering shogunate till the last faint quiver told of its final collapse, while Mutsuhito, succeeding the deceased mikado, Komie, in the following spring, began that series of brilliant moves which welded together the hearts of his people and secured to him his rightful position as supreme and undivided ruler of his country. From this time forth the mikadate were united upon one thing—the downfall of the shogunate. They had had enough of dual government, with its intrigues and dangers—if glorious—and the liberal Mutsuhito pledged himself to the constitution, by which Shibusawa had proposed the people’s rights, and for which he gave his undivided support.

The time had come to strike, and when Shibusawa proposed in open council that Kido be instructed to address a letter to Hitotsubashi as shogun, Saigo rose and asked its purport. Shibusawa answered:

“Advise the shogun to abdicate in favour of the mikado.”

A stillness settled over the chamber, then a roar of applause burst forth such as had never before been heard. The giant Saigo thundered his approval, white-haired men leaped in the air, and everybody shouted:

“Long live the mikado!”

The letter, demanding an immediate answer, forthwith reached the hands of Daikomitsu, who, startled with the warning, repaired to the temple of Shiba, and there prayed to Omikami for light, that he might not “stumble in the darkness.” Acting upon the advice of this good goddess he laid the matter before his associates in the triumvirate, resulting in a division of opinion.

Tetsutaisho was a samurai, and none such ever dreamed of defeat. A thousand years of feudalism had well taught them their profession. Continued success made them believe themselves invincible. The shogun was their idol and war their deliverance. Thus the commander-in-chief urged the shogun’s defence, and would not agree to any other means than force. He was overruled and a more diplomatic course proposed, yet he sulked and withheld approval. Tetsutaisho had assented to Hitotsubashi’s assumption of the functions of shogun because he believed it necessary; and he was perfectly willing that he should be held and used as a dupe, but this letter from the south appeared to be a direct attack upon the shogunate, and no matter who was shogun he believed it high time to strike rather than quibble. Daikomitsu answered:

“A resignation from Hitotsubashi, an incumbent, can in no manner affect the shogunate, an established institution. If the people want to continue the one they will restore the other, besides such an act would forever put the question out of our way. It would also confuse and baffle the opposition, thus giving us time to prepare an effective defence.”

“But we are prepared,” answered Tetsutaisho.

“I doubt it.”

“Then you distrust the samurai?”

“No.”

“What then?”

“Hitotsubashi.”

“He has no following.”

“He has friends, and we can best insure their support and the enemies’ confusion by advising this resignation. They dread us more than him.”

“The opposition has given us a splendid chance,” interposed Okotsuba.

“And we are wasting our opportunities,” answered Tetsutaisho.

“We have no cause to move; we do not recognise the combination,” said Daikomitsu.

“The resignation will test their purpose. I say let us send it forthwith,” said Okotsuba, recognising the force of Daikomitsu’s argument.

“I recommend it,” said Daikomitsu, earnestly.

“I do not approve of it,” answered Tetsutaisho resolutely.

Upon the theory that his resignation would not in fact be accepted, Hitotsubashi finally signed the letter of resignation; whereupon, without any serious dissension, it was forwarded to Kyoto, and Daikomitsu felt relieved, though puzzled as to what the next move would be.