The true story behind the legend of the 47 Rōnin - Adam Clulow
“Do you remember my grudge
from these past days?”
cried Asano Naganori,
lord of Akō domain,
his gaze fixed on Kira Yoshinaka,
a senior master of ceremony.
Asano extended his short sword,
charged through the castle corridor,
and struck Kira.
While the wound wasn’t fatal,
its consequences would be.
The incident took place in April 1701
in Edo, Japan— modern-day Tokyo.
The Tokugawa military government had
gained power about a century before.
This ushered in a period
of peace and stability
following the Warring States
or Sengoku era,
which was marked by constant
bloodshed and conflict
wrought by warlords and their samurai.
To secure their rule,
the Tokugawa government aimed
to tame the samurai class.
Individual samurai carried two swords
and served a single lord till death,
but their duties became primarily
bureaucratic and administrative.
Meanwhile, Tokugawa legal practice
stipulated that both sides
would be disciplined
in the event of a violent quarrel.
However, when officials convened following
Asano's attack on Kira,
they decided to punish only Asano,
the incident’s perpetrator.
They ordered Asano to commit seppuku,
or ritual suicide.
But they didn’t stop there.
They also commanded the seizure
of Asano’s castle,
the disbandment of his house,
and the arrest of his younger brother.
The news traveled quickly
back to Asano’s domain.
Overnight, the roughly 300 samurai
in Asano’s retainer band
found themselves dispossessed
of their homes and stipends
and turned into rōnin,
or masterless samurai.
They didn’t know why Asano attacked Kira—
no one did.
Some have speculated that Asano
refused to pay a bribe to Kira,
who was supposed to be guiding him
in proper etiquette,
so Kira humiliated him;
others, that Asano had simply “gone mad.”
This left the samurai of Akō domain
in crisis,
facing a tension that lay at the very
heart of the Tokugawa period.
They were a privileged class of warriors
inundated with epic legends of samurai
loyalty, heroism, and martial glory.
But they were forbidden
from using violence—
their traditional role at once
celebrated and restricted.
Some of Asano’s samurai said they should
peacefully comply with government orders;
others, that they should immediately
follow their lord into death.
One faction, led by Horibe Yasubei,
argued that they must see their lord’s
apparent wishes through by killing Kira,
claiming that so long as Asano’s enemy
was alive,
they were dishonored.
However, the effective leader
of Akō domain’s samurai, Ōishi Yoshio,
believed that if they complied
with official orders,
Tokugawa authorities might show mercy
and permit Asano’s brother to succeed him.
So, the samurai peacefully
surrendered the castle.
But their hopes were dashed when Tokugawa
officials placed Asano’s brother
in another family’s custody,
leaving them without a path
to restore their status.
Most accepted the government’s terms.
But in the end, 47 of Asano’s samurai,
including Horibe and Ōishi, didn’t.
And instead of formally asking permission
to take revenge
via the government’s vendetta system,
they began plotting to kill Kira covertly.
Almost two years after Asano’s death,
the rōnin, led by Ōishi,
broke into Kira’s residence
and killed 16 of his samurai
and wounded 23 others
before beheading Kira himself.
They presented Kira's head
at Asano's grave,
then surrendered to the
Tokugawa officials,
justifying their violence by saying they
couldn't live under the same heaven
as their lord’s enemy.
The rōnin’s actions created considerable
problems for the Tokugawa government.
The rōnin had broken the peace
and a range of laws.
But authorities also knew the importance
of honor and loyalty among samurai.
After weeks of deliberations, officials
decided the rōnin could be praised—
but must be punished.
They were permitted to commit seppuku,
which offered them honorable deaths,
and they were laid to rest next to Asano.
But their story soon morphed into legend.
Within weeks, it was dramatized
for the stage.
And soon after, scholars began
debating the rōnin’s actions,
some praising them
as perfectly loyal and dutiful samurai;
others condemning them
as delusional criminals.
Over the next three centuries,
Japan continued examining
and adapting the story—
in theater, film, propaganda, and beyond—
grappling with the tensions
between law and culture, past and present,
and repeatedly relitigating the incident
long after an official verdict
was rendered.
