During the past two years many a sympathetic traveler has paused before the tall barred gates of a great mansion in Yamaguchi (Western Japan). Its blinds have remained closely drawn. Within Masataro Namba, head of that once proud family, has lived with his brothers and their families in a retirement scarcely less secluded than that of the grave. Until a year ago, their aged father, once a member of the Imperial Diet, shared this seclusion with them, then died of brief. . . .
All this was brought about, all this endured, because in 1924 the youthful scapegrace of the family, Daisuke Namba, attempted to slay Prince Regent Hirohito of Japan (TIME, Jan. 7, 1924). Though Daisuke was found guilty at an extraordinary session of the Supreme Court and hanged, his father, broken with grief and shame, resigned from the Diet, and enjoined upon his family and himself a voluntary retirement until Death should harvest their lives one by one.
Last week the Prince Regent passed through Yamaguchi on a tour of inspection. The populace, devoutly conscious that his lineage is traced directly to the gods, prostrated themselves before him. Reclining in his softly purring limousine, he was driven past the irrevocably barred gates of the Nambas.
Next day a royal command was borne to Matasaro Namba. Bowing humbly he received it. Perhaps it was the will of Prince Hirohito that the family of his would-be assassin should perform some even harsher expiation. . . .
An instant later Matasaro Namba's worn impassive face lighted with an elation not to be suppressed. Gravely he informed the royal messenger that the Nambas would obey as always the Prince Regent's will. They would unbar their gates, allow their children to romp once more in the sunshine. They would resume the normal lives of loyal Japanese. In token of their entire release from all humiliation, they would abandon the irredeemably besmirched name of Namba, assume that of Kurokawa.