_MEMORIES_
[Illustration: _King Edward the VIIth._
_Photographed by the Author at Balmoral. October 1904._]
_Memories. :: By
Lord Redesdale, G.C.V.O., K.C.B._
_With two photogravure plates and 16 other illustrations_
VOL. II
_LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO.
PATERNOSTER ROW ... 1915_
CONTENTS
VOL. II
CHAP. PAGE
XX.—JAPAN. AN ADVENTUROUS JOURNEY 397
XXI.—JAPAN. CIVIL WAR 413
XXII.—JAPAN. MUKASHI 435
XXIII.—JAPAN. THE MIKADO 447
XXIV.—JAPAN. SENSATION DIPLOMACY 462
XXV.—BETWIXT OLD AND NEW JAPAN 473
XXVI.—JAPAN. THE RECEPTION OF THE DUKE OF EDINBURGH 495
XXVII.—HOME AGAIN 512
XXVIII.—LORD CLARENDON AND LORD GRANVILLE 523
XXIX.—1870 551
XXX.—DAMASCUS AND RICHARD BURTON 558
XXXI.—GARIBALDI 577
XXXII.—WESTWARD 586
XXXIII.—THE MORMONS AND BRIGHAM YOUNG 614
XXXIV.—THE BLACK OPAL 640
XXXV.—LORD BEACONSFIELD 661
XXXVI.—THE OFFICE OF WORKS 683
XXXVII.—BATSFORD, AND THE HOUSE OF COMMONS 710
XXXVIII.—SIR JOSEPH HOOKER 734
XXXIX.—ANURADHAPURA 739
XL.—KING LEOPOLD II. 754
XLI.—THE VISIT OF THE FRENCH FLEET IN 1905 761
XLII.—BAYREUTH IN 1912 769
XLIII.—A LAST WORD 793
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VOL. II
HIS MAJESTY KING EDWARD VII. (_photogravure_) _Frontispiece_
_From a photograph by the Author._
THE AUTHOR, AGED TWENTY-EIGHT _Facing page_ 398
_By Samuel Lawrence._
OLD JAPAN ” 412
_From a water-colour drawing by C. Wirgman._
OLD JAPAN ” 474
_From a water-colour drawing by C. Wirgman._
GIUSEPPE GARIBALDI ” 578
FACSIMILE INSCRIPTION BY GARIBALDI ” 580
LORD BEACONSFIELD AND LORD ROWTON ” 668
_From the “Vanity Fair” cartoon (“Spy”)._
MEMORIES
CHAPTER XX
JAPAN. AN ADVENTUROUS JOURNEY
We returned to Yedo and the next few weeks were spent in the usual
humdrum way, transacting routine business, cursing the heat and the
mosquitoes, until towards the end of July, when Sir Harry Parkes and I
started for the Island of Yesso; I, with Sir Harry Keppel in his yacht,
the _Salamis_; my chief in the _Basilisk_. It was a very interesting
trip, for apart from all else it gave me my first and only sight of the
Ainu aborigines. The business part of the trip was concerned with an
inquiry into the commerce of the western coast of Japan, and especially
with an endeavour to find some suitable port for opening to foreign
trade. And so it happened that on the 7th of August the _Salamis_, the
_Basilisk_ under Captain Hewitt, with Satow on board, and the surveying
ship _Serpent_ (Commander Bullock), were assembled in the harbour of
Nanao, a town of Noto on the west coast belonging to the principality of
Kaga, the richest noble in Japan.
The Bay of Nanao is partially closed by a small island and Sir Harry
Parkes felt that it would be valuable as a port for foreign trade—far
more useful than Niigata, with its open roadstead and treacherous bar.
As he was extremely anxious to enter into communication with the clan of
Kaga, it was arranged that two of the Prince’s councillors should come
from Kanazawa, the capital of the province, to hold a conference. There
was some delay about this and it was not until Friday, the 9th of August,
that the meeting took place.
Sir Harry used every endeavour to impress upon the Kaga representatives
the desirability of entering into friendly relations with foreigners,
as the Princes of Satsuma, Tosa and Uwajima had done; but his arguments
were of no great avail. Kaga had evidently not yet quite made up his
mind as to which side he would take in the impending struggle; the plea
put forward by his agents as a reason for not opening Nanao as a port
to foreign trade was that if they did so the Government of the Tycoon
would inevitably seize upon it, and take possession of what had been
the birthright of Kaga since remote times. The emissaries raised every
possible objection, and the more they opposed the more determined Sir
Harry was to get something out of them. At last, after giving them the
roughest edge of his tongue, which in his case meant a good deal, he said
that since they were so unfriendly he should send two of his officials,
Mr. Satow and myself, to Kanazawa and thence we should travel overland
to join him at Ōsaka. This suggestion, as may be supposed, was not very
favourably received, and the interview broke up with a little less than a
show of politeness.
When the Tycoon’s people, officers who had been detailed to help
Commander Bullock on his surveying expedition, heard that Mr. Satow
and I were to undertake this journey overland, they made a great fuss,
declared that it was impossible; that they could not be answerable for
our lives, and that on behalf of their Government they must decline
all responsibility. The Tycoon’s writ clearly did not run in such
provinces as Kaga and Echizen, through which we must pass. But these were
considerations which left Sir Harry unmoved.
Still, though he was determined to gain some knowledge of the west coast,
where no foreigners had ever penetrated, and, if possible, to establish
relations with the clans and people, he was evidently a little nervous,
for when we were taking leave of him, and the Admiral and Captain Hewitt
went so far as to express great fear of the dangers which we must face,
he tried to make out that it was our own foolhardiness which prompted
the idea. This I repudiated at once, saying that we were quite willing
to obey his orders in the matter, as a question of duty, but that we
certainly should not have thought of undertaking the journey for a whim,
which would not be fair upon our people at home. Sir Harry only laughed.
To do him justice it was just the sort of trip that he himself would have
delighted in, for where his own life was concerned he was always as big a
gambler as the ace of spades.
[Illustration: THE AUTHOR, AGED 28.
_By Samuel Lawrence._]
We landed in the afternoon. The _Salamis_ got up steam and was off. The
_Basilisk_ followed. The _Serpent_ was still lying peacefully at anchor.
That evening we spent in making ready for our start the next morning.
The Tycoon’s officers tried hard to persuade us that they must go with
us. This we stoutly resisted; they would have been absolutely worse
than useless, for they were mere underlings, they could not protect us,
and would simply be spies interfering with any possibility of friendly
intercourse with the local people.
We pointed out to them that their duty was to remain with Commander
Bullock, under whose orders they at present were. In the end after a good
deal of whining on their part that if any evil thing happened to us they
would suffer, they agreed to leave us in peace provided that we would
absolve them from all responsibility; so at last they went off to the
_Serpent_, after having taken a formal receipt from the Kaga men for our
bodies, certified safe and sound at the time of delivery!
We started on the 10th of August. With the Kaga people sulky and still
sore at the dressing which they had received the day before from our
chief, the outset was not encouraging; however, grumpiness is no feature
of the Japanese nature, and no ill-will could for long make a stand
against Satow’s pleasant and conciliatory ways, and we were soon on far
better terms with our guides than we had any right to expect.
Two smart palanquins had been provided for us and ordinary ones for
our two attendants—Satow’s retainer, a Samurai named Noguchi, and my
Chinese servant Lin Fu. A guard of twenty men armed with sword and dirk,
long staves, and a crest of two paddles crossed, the badge of the Maéda
family,[1] was to escort us, whether for show or for protection might be
reckoned uncertain. They were, at any rate, of use in steering us through
the crowds which in every small town, village, or cluster of houses were
hustling for a first place to see the strange wild beasts.
Hot as it was, so soon as we were out of the town we left the cramping
discomforts of our palanquins and walked along the pretty valley trending
in a south-westerly direction. The scenery was charming—here a lagoon,
there a long stretch of seashore, and, above all, on the east the
towering mountains of Echiu, said to be some ten thousand feet high,
veritable “hills whose heads touch heaven.” Everywhere the characteristic
forest foliage of Japan; and where is foliage more picturesquely
beautiful?
We passed along one stretch of sandy beach fringing a sea the dancing
wavelets of which were as blue as the heaven above them, just the setting
for one of those old world legends in which the Japanese delight. Such
a legend is the story of the invention of the one-stringed lute, which
might have been dear to Paganini, though it is not played with a bow. It
is true that the scene of it lay far away in another province, but it
seems to fit in here, for it came to my mind as we wandered along the
romantic shore.
Once upon a time, in the dark long ago, there was at the Court of Kiōto
a Kugé, or noble, who was dearly loved by the Son of Heaven; but he had
reason to say, “Put not your trust in princes;” like women, they are apt
to change; in the caprice of a moment, the Kugé fell into disgrace and
was banished to a lonely place called Suma, a distant village occupied by
humble fisher-folk. Days and days he spent by the seaside, mourning over
the happiness which seemed to have fled from him for ever. One morning
on the beach he spied a water-worn board, a piece of jetsam from some
perished junk which the ebbing tide had left upon the sand, and as he
looked he wondered, and said to himself, for he was well skilled in art,
“Perhaps even this poor old piece of wreck may have music in it, had I
but the skill to draw out its soul.” So he pondered and racked his brain
to think how if it were fitted with a string and bridge the intervals
should be distanced. Remaining buried in thought, he of a sudden saw a
little flight of sandpipers who came and settled upon the beach near
him, making a pattern which seemed to him to have some mystic meaning in
it, and he wondered whether if he were to copy it on his piece of board
it might be the solution of his problem. When he put it to the test he
discovered to his joy that he had found the one-stringed lute which to
this day is known as Sumagoto, the harp of Suma.
So with sweet strains he beguiled the weariness of the long, lonely
hours. Hard by was a poor fisherman’s cottage, lowly indeed, but
exquisitely clean and dainty, with a whole garden of dark blue iris in
the warmly thatched roof. The old fisherman and his wife became very
friendly with the fallen noble, and their daughter, a lovely maiden of
sixteen, would sit by the hour listening entranced by the sweetness of
his music. They loved one another and were married, and she brought the
light of her beauty and grace to charm into happiness the misery of
his banishment. And so the months sped by until one day there came a
messenger from the court to say that pity had touched the heart of the
Son of Heaven and the Kugé was to be restored to his former dignities.
But he was a faithful lover, and took his humble mate with him to Kiōto,
where she became a great lady and they lived happily ever after. And that
is the story of the harp of Suma.
But this is a digression. Through the great heat we trudged along,
stopping once in a while to rest in the pleasant coolness of some pretty
tea-house, feasting on fragrant melons and those delicious apples which
are a dainty of that countryside. Some of the inns were very attractive
and the people most polite and kindly disposed; we had no reason to
complain of our reception in Kaga. The Kaga Samurai is not a fierce
warrior like the men of Satsuma and Tosa, nor is he an astute politician
like the leaders of the Chōshiu folk. Those we met seemed to be quiet and
peaceful, perhaps a little bit slow-coaches, rich and prosperous, while
their Prince, who, as I have hinted before, was rather inclined to sit
upon the fence, held an important position in the Empire on account of
his huge wealth.
Our second day’s journey lay through very pretty scenery, past Takamatsu,
a picturesque fishing village on the seashore, to Tsubata, a flourishing
little post-town, where we found a capital inn and spent the night
refreshed by an excellent Japanese dinner.
On Monday, the 12th of August, we started at 7.45 on our third day’s
tramp, which was to bring us to Kanazawa, the Kaga capital. We rested
in a temple at a place called Morimoto, where we had the usual feast of
melons and apples. The crowds were now beginning to be enormous; our
guides were anxious that we should walk into the city, the white castle
walls of which were visible peering out of a glorious dark cloud of pine
trees about a mile away.
We, however, had become surfeited of being a raree show at Ōsaka and
elsewhere, and we were conscious that in our shabby travelling clothes
we should present anything but a dignified appearance, so we tucked
ourselves up in our palanquins with the modesty of brides. Hordes of
spectators lined the streets, and even a lotus pond which commanded
a good view of a very pretty resting-place which had been prepared
for us was full of paddlers. The sightseers were of all ages, sorts
and conditions in life, and amongst them we noticed a great number of
comely maidens, for the ladies of Kaga are good to look upon. A tortuous
course brought us to our inn, where we were received with the most
dignified courtesy and all the hospitable politeness of which Japan is
such a pattern. Our sitting-room had been strewed with a huge velvet
pile carpet, and red lacquer chairs had been brought out of a temple
for our use, our hosts not realizing that long custom had inured us to
the native fashion of squatting on the mats. Soon an envoy arrived from
the Prince, expressing anxiety for our healths on account of the great
heat and regretting that he himself was not well enough to receive us;
I answered, swearing eternal friendship with Japan and especially with
Kaga, on behalf of Sir Harry Parkes. A feast was brought in at which the
envoy presided, and soon the very smart but very uncomfortable chairs
were discarded and we were hobnobbing with the _saké_ cups according to
true Japanese etiquette. Presently the Prince’s doctors arrived offering
medical attendance, pills and potions, in case we should need them.
At that time, be it remembered, the medical profession was still under
the Chinese influence, and we should hardly have been prepared to
subscribe to its methods, among which acupuncture and the burning with
moxa held a high but painful place. So we expressed our gratitude,
pleading excellent health as an excuse for not submitting to a
consultation. A political conversation followed, which was supposed to be
absolutely confidential, though as it was carried on in the presence of
apparently anybody who chose to come in and listen, the maintenance of
its deadly secrecy was not much to be relied upon.
That, however, was not our affair; we had nothing to conceal, for the
Tycoon’s Government knew perfectly well what was the object of our visit,
and that we should do all in our power to bring about the opening of
Nanao to foreign trade. The Kaga people used the old arguments. They
were perfectly ready to admit foreign trade, but they could not agree
to their harbour being made anything more than an anchorage where goods
might be landed; the rest would follow—but they repeated that they were
in deadly fear lest the Tycoon should make an attempt to seize it. By the
time the envoy left we had become excellent friends, and Satow had made
arrangements for carrying on communications with Kanazawa from Yedo. A
great point gained, for as I have said, the clan was one to be held in
reckoning. Satow even went so far as to offer to take two Kaga men as
pupils; two of the clan, we heard, were already studying in England.
As soon as our official interview was over we set out to see the town, a
huge place, hilly and picturesquely planted, of which the size had not
been exaggerated. It was said to hold 500,000 inhabitants. We found some
excellent shops where silks and lacquer and fans (for which the town is
famous, the sticks being the special secret of a family called Suba) were
to be had at exorbitant prices; but I managed to secure a very ancient
piece of lacquer, one of the three or four best specimens that ever came
in my way, and one or two other treasures. Kutani (“The nine valleys”)
is close to Kanazawa, and as a matter of course we had to buy a few
specimens of the curious red ware for which it is famous. We also found
some capital book-shops.
The civility and kindness of all the people whom we met was beyond
praise. In the evening we received a message from the _machi-bugiyo_, the
Governor of the city, begging us to prolong our stay and to make some
excursions in the neighbouring country. The invitation was so pressing
that we could not well refuse, and so on the following day, after a
morning of shopping at prices enhanced by the intermediary of the inn
servants, who could not resist the temptation of a small squeeze, we
started on horseback for Kanaiwa, an open roadstead about four miles off.
Our saddles, of European fashion, made of paper in imitation of leather,
and the bridles, were something that must be seen to be believed. The
unshod ponies were as bad as usual, but Japan is not a horsey country.
Two resting-places had been made ready to break this five-mile ride,
and another at the end! There was not much to be seen when we reached
our destination—a sandy beach and open sea, with a tiny stream running
into it. It was not easy to guess why our kind hosts had been so keen to
show it to us. We got home again before dark. In the evening two of the
Prince’s gentlemen came in for an after-dinner chat. They talked again
about the possibility of opening Nanao to foreign trade, saying very
sensibly that it would not be well to do anything which might have the
appearance of smuggling, and that it would be best to tell the Bakufu
(Government of the Tycoon) that if foreign vessels were admitted there
would surely be a certain amount of goods exchanged. We urged them to
write in that sense to Yedo. We then started upon general politics. Their
view as to the state of parties at that moment was that the Bakufu ought
to be supported on general principles, but that its power should be kept
within bounds. We talked on till late into the night, my conviction
still being that Kaga had not at that time any determined policy. It was
obvious that there was no leading influential man such as those whom
we knew in other clans. I handed them a letter of thanks for all the
kindness which we had received, which Satow translated into Japanese; and
they took their leave with great courtesy.
The following morning (August 14) we started off again after a most
friendly leave-taking, everybody begging us to come again. Our host
begs us to stop at a medicine shop kept by his father-in-law to buy a
wonderful drug called _shisetsu_, made of nitre and musk, a panacea for
all the ills to which flesh is heir. The crowds were as thick as ever,
with many very attractive young ladies. From our first resting-place we
looked back upon the great city where we had been so kindly received,
and saw the castle, typical of a feudalism that was so near its end,
standing with its high white towers on rising ground, lording it over the
burghers’ houses below, among the pine trees with which the whole town is
planted. A striking and picturesque view, and a happy memory, the value
of which is enhanced by that patina in which time enwraps all beautiful
things.
The rest of our journey through the province of Kaga was not very
eventful. Wherever we went we were met with the same gracious and
unexpected kindness that had made our stay at Kanazawa so pleasant. We
could not help being struck by the great prosperity of the country. We
passed through such towns as Mattō, with two thousand houses, Komatsu,
with two thousand five hundred, all under the mild rule of the Prince of
Kaga, and a happier people it would be difficult to find.
On the 15th we reached the frontier of Echizen, where to the outspoken
indignation of our Kaga friends, a petty official, a mere understrapper,
had been sent to meet us. Here again the Kaga people exacted from the
Echizen men a receipt for our bodies. I wonder how it was worded? Item,
received, two English officials, sound in wind and limbs, etc.? I should
have liked to have seen the document.
It pretty soon became evident that although the Echizen people were ready
to entertain us, and even to go to considerable expense in so doing, we
must not look for any real friendship. It was, no doubt, kind to give us
champagne and to provide smart pages of honour to fan us in the great
heat—small gentlemen who reminded one of the dear little boys who waited
upon the great Lord Cardinal when the wicked jackdaw of Reims stole his
ring, but there was no show of civility, and in Fukui, the capital, such
persons of gentle birth as flocked to the temple of Honguanji, where we
were, to tell the truth, magnificently lodged, only came to crowd the
passages and stare at us as if we had been gorillas. The intentional
rudeness was unmistakable. The Prince of Echizen was at that time
notoriously opposed to all foreign intercourse, and his feelings were
reflected in the conduct of his people.
On the 17th we crossed the Echizen boundary, glad to be quit of an
unfriendly and surly people, who again handed us over against a formal
receipt to the representatives of Ii Kamon no Kami. On the following
day we reached Nagahama, a place which had been visited by Sir Harry
Parkes and his party in May, so we were no longer a novelty and attracted
little attention, which was a mercy. Here we were met by an officer of
the Tycoon with a guard of eighteen of the Bettégumi (foreign guards),
which very much robbed the journey of its interest, for under the eyes
and ears of the Bakufu it was of course out of the question to hold any
familiar intercourse with the people of the various places through which
we might pass. This day we came to a place called Yanagosé, where there
was a curious institution, a _sekisho_, or barrier, which no woman might
go through without a passport. Talk about women’s rights!
On the 20th of August we reached Kasatsu, where we proposed to remain
for the afternoon to enable me to write up my report, which was bound
to be rather a long affair, for we had gathered together a formidable
budget of political and commercial information—now, after nearly half a
century crowded with stirring events, altogether obsolete, but at that
time full of interest. Here we met two or three officials with whom Satow
was acquainted, and with whom, after dinner, we were engaged until past
midnight in the usual discussions about politics, which, when held with
persons connected with the Bakufu, were as tedious as they were vapid.
More interesting, and as it turned out more fortunate for us, was the
interminable wrangle about the road which we were to take on the morrow.
We had determined on taking the shortest cut to Ōsaka, through Ōtsu, a
little town at the further end of the Biwa lake. The Japanese officials
were equally determined that we should not go to Ōtsu at all, making
every sort of difficulty, obviously on account of its proximity to Kiōto,
the sacred city. As a bait they offered to show us the famous temple of
Ishiyama, which had been closed to Sir Harry. We were obstinate, Satow
not a little suspicious at this great eagerness to take us sightseeing,
and quite appreciating what the real object was. The landlord of the
inn put in a word: “If the gentlemen are so eager to obtain commercial
information, why don’t they go to see the famous Uji tea-district? That
will be of great interest to them, whereas there is nothing to see at
Ōtsu.” We stuck to our guns, and expressed our unalterable decision to
take the nearest road by Ōtsu. We told them that we knew quite well what
they were driving at, and that they had been sent on purpose to play this
trick upon us; that if they had been candid with us we might have agreed,
but in the circumstances, No! They seemed very much crestfallen, but
returned to the charge.
At last I lost patience, and turning suddenly round, told them that if
they would write me an official letter explicitly stating their reasons,
I would go by Uji, if not, guard or no guard, we would go through
Ōtsu. After a little grumbling, they agreed to write such a letter,
and went away to draft it. No fewer than three drafts were rejected
as inadmissible, because they stated that we had not the Government
permission to travel, which as diplomatists we had a right to do, and
otherwise confused the issue; but at last they brought a satisfactory
letter, in which they said that great complications had arisen at Kiōto
on account of Sir Harry’s passing through in May, and they begged us
therefore as a favour to go by Uji. It was a hard-won triumph for us.
I have dwelt upon this midnight parley at Kusatsu at greater length than
would have been justifiable had it not been for its consequences.
When we reached Ōsaka two days later, Noguchi, Satow’s Samurai attendant,
went to a tea-house in the city in which he overheard a party of men
belonging to the Tosa clan, in a compartment separated from him by a
paper screen, telling of their disappointment at having the day before
missed the chance of murdering the two foreigners who were defiling the
neighbourhood of the sacred city. It appeared that a band of four hundred
men of the Tosa, Satsuma and Chōshiu clans had gone out to Ōtsu to lie in
wait for us. Had we taken the route which we proposed, through Ōtsu, we
should have been dead men. It was a narrow escape; a very near thing!
The fun of the thing was that the Japanese officials, in persuading us to
change our route, had not the remotest suspicion of what they were saving
us from.
Weeks afterwards I heard the whole story confirmed by Gotō Shōjirō. He
was at the time _rusui_, or agent in charge of the _yashiki_ (palace) of
the Prince of Tosa at Kiōto, and heard of the plot which he did all in
his power to stop. But his men broke out of the _yashiki_, determined to
wreak their hatred of foreigners on us. Gotō’s name must appear often
in these recollections; he became one of my best friends in Japan, and
risked his own life in the attack upon the Legation, when we were on our
way to the Mikado’s Court in the following year—as I shall presently
relate.
August 21st.—We left Kusatsu at 5.45 a.m. The heat was appalling; what
with mosquitoes and discussions we had had but scanty sleep; moreover
we had for the last day or two had little food, save rice with tea,
of which we could not eat our fill, for the condiments with which the
Japanese encourage their appetite for rice were as salt as brine, and to
us impossible. Partly by river, and partly on the tramp, stopping every
now and then to wash out our mouths, through beautiful scenery with a
glorious view of the great plain in which lie Kiōto and Fushimi—the
place of the thrilling memories of the civil war—we reached Uji at four
o’clock, very much done up with the heat and very tired.
As for the famous Temple of Ishiyama, which was to be the reward of our
listening to the blandishments of our friends of the night before, it
had been hermetically sealed to us, and all our knocking at the door
brought no answer. Seven years afterwards, on board a steamer in the
Pacific, I met a Japanese gentleman who had been present and had watched
our discomfiture and vain knockings. We bought a little tea at Uji, as
a matter of course; and at six o’clock got into a comfortable houseboat
in which we drifted down the stream, resting and looking back upon the
entrancing view. Toward morning we fell asleep.
August 22nd at 5.30 a.m. we were in sight of the glorious old Castle of
Ōsaka, and landing at six, took up our quarters in our old temple in
the Nakadéramachi. So our venturesome eleven days’ journey came to an
end; it had been intensely interesting and exciting. We never knew what
might happen; when we lay down at night we blessed our luck that there
had been no mischance, and when the morning came we pinched ourselves to
see whether we were really still alive: there were so many wandering
anti-foreign fanatics throughout the country, against whom even our kind
Kaga friends could not have protected us! However, it all ended well, and
we were successful in gaining all the information that our chief wanted.
Unfortunately the interest of our expedition paled before a tragedy. For
at five Sir Harry Parkes arrived with the news of the cruel murder of two
bluejackets of H.M.S. _Icarus_. They had been literally hacked to pieces
by a party of brawling Samurai. These poor fellows’ fate brought home to
us the danger to which we had so nearly fallen victims.
This murder led to endless interviews and discussions, which were
complicated by the fact that our people were on the wrong tack. There was
a suspicion that the murderers were Samurai of the Tosa clan—a suspicion
born of the fact that a small steamer and a sailing vessel belonging to
Tosa had slipped secretly out of Nagasaki harbour before daylight on the
morning after the crime had been committed. It was afterwards proved that
they belonged to a quite different clan, which was duly punished later.
But the chief murderer had previously committed suicide by _hara-kiri_.
The discussions served to make us better acquainted and increased our
respect for Gotō Shōjirō, who represented his Prince and who proved
himself to be a man of first-rate ability, quite able to hold his own
against our rather peppery chief—not an easy man to discuss matters with.
He turned out to be one of the three or four ablest men who engineered
the revolution. Like the famous Saigo, of Satsuma, and others of the
leaders in the various clans, Gotō expressed himself as keenly anxious to
establish a Gi-ji-in, or parliament. That did not come about until some
eighteen months later, and when it did ripen into being it turned out to
be a very embryonic affair.
Mercifully for Japan, speech-making had never played the same part in her
public life that it has done in some other countries, and the Parliament
started more like a debating society in a public school than a grave
assembly of legislators, which, as a matter of fact, they were not. They
might register their opinions, but they could not enact laws.
August 31st.—Satow and myself had been invited by the Prince of Awa
to go and pay him a visit at his castle in the Island of Shikoku (“the
four countries,” so called from the principalities of Awa, Tosa, Sanuki
and Iyo into which it was divided). Had the visit taken place as it was
originally meant, we should no doubt have been able over the wine-cups
to gather a good deal of information as to the attitude of the four
clans in the crisis, together with a good many particulars in regard to
the personalities of their leading men. But unfortunately at the last
moment Sir Harry Parkes insisted on going too, with the Admiral and
their respective staffs, in the _Salamis_ and the _Basilisk_; so the
whole expedition was spoilt, and degenerated into a sort of official
demonstration, at which the usual stale old political platitudes were
served up—perfectly useless discussions, in which sincerity was apt to
play a very meagre part on both sides. The weather, moreover, played us
every conceivable trick by which to make us uncomfortable.
The Prince, however, was very kind and courteous, and he had prepared
a most amusing theatrical entertainment for us, in which his retainers
acted with great spirit. They were dressed in the long trousers worn
at Court, but did not wear the _yéboshi_ (black lacquer cap). The plot
of the first piece, which consisted of three characters, the master, a
servant and a guest, was very funny. The master tells his servant to
imitate him in everything that he does, and the servant takes the order
literally, and passes on to the guest everything that the master says to
him. The enraged master cuffs the servant, who passes the thrashing on to
the guest, and so it goes on—a series of practical jokes like the “spill
and pelt” scene in a pantomime, until the master’s patience is exhausted
and he finally kicks the servant out.
Then came what was a sort of Oriental first-cousin to Offenbach’s _Les
Deux Aveugles_. A man advertises for persons deprived by nature of their
senses or limbs to enter his service. In answer to this there arrive a
lame man, a dumb man, and a blind man—all these parts capitally acted.
These three cripples are ruined gamblers who have adopted their disguises
as beggars to get employment. The great man accepts them, and having
placed them in charge of three storehouses, goes out. The men recognize
one another and propose to go to the storehouse where the _saké_ is
kept and have a drink, after which they may divide the money in the
treasure-house. Of course they get roaring drunk, and by the time the
master comes back each has forgotten his part. The blind man becomes
dumb, the lame man blind, and the dumb man is afflicted with deafness.
The exposure of the impostors is full of fun.
After the play—the wine-cup and bibulous affection. The Prince of Awa
swears that he is the Admiral’s son and elder brother to Sir Harry
Parkes; Awaji no Kami, the Prince’s son, claims intimate relationship
with Satow.
The next day there was a review of some five hundred men in a sort of
tatterdemalion European dress, some with boots, some without, those who
had them being as “justly vain” as Sir Plume “of amber snuff-box and the
nice conduct of a clouded cane.” The drill was capital.
In the evening I left for Yedo in the _Salamis_ with the Admiral. Satow
went to Sasaki in Tosa with Sir Harry to investigate the case of the
_Icarus_ murders. The Tosa people, who, as I have said, were ultimately
proved to be innocent, with Gotō as spokesman, took up a very dignified
position. Yōdo (the _de facto_ ruler of the clan, though he had nominally
become _inkiyō_ (retired) whom Satow visited) declared that if his men
were proved guilty he would punish them; if they were innocent nothing
should stir him from his line of conduct. It must have been galling to
Sir Harry to be told by Gotō that he was allowing his temper to get the
better of his discretion. A dignified demeanour is the only attitude
to observe with the Japanese, who, whatever their faults may be, are
gentlemen to their finger-tips. Bluster does not succeed, but that was a
lesson which our chief, with all his great qualities, never learned, and
in this case he was completely worsted.
Satow remained at Nagasaki till the 7th of November, so I was all alone
at Yedo in my little temple Monriuin. As a precaution I had the walks
all round the garden strewn with cockle-shells to sound an alarm in the
event of there being any unwelcome visitors after dark. One night I was
awakened about twelve o’clock by the crunching of my faithful guardian
cockles. I jumped up and lighted candles and lamps, roused the servants,
gave my sword and revolver to my Chinese servant, Lin Fu, upon whom I
could depend, and stood at the chief door with my Spencer rifle. The
ruffians, seeing that we were ready for them, made off. There were five
or six of them, as I knew, for it had been raining heavily and the
following morning I found the marks in the grass where they had slid in a
sitting position down the little hill, which was deeply scored with their
posteriors and heels—mighty unpleasant! I was too near the evilly-reputed
wine-shops of Shinagawa, famous like the wynds of Old Edinburgh for
brawls between the clans, and as the haunts of the Jō-i, the fanatics
opposed to foreign intercourse.
Another time, as I was leaving home in the morning to go to the
Legation, I saw the dead body of a Samurai lying in a pool of blood
outside my gate. It was covered with a piece of matting, but the head
had been carried off to be deposited, according to the strict rules of
_Kataki-uchi_ (vendetta), upon the grave of an enemy killed by last
night’s victim in some previous quarrel.
These were quite everyday occurrences in the Yedo of what the Japanese
now call “the olden time” (_mukashi_)—that is the period before the
revolution, only forty-eight years ago!
Meantime, although there was no great outward show politically, the
underground fires of revolution were silently gathering strength. The
Tycoon had resigned his office—in fact abolished it—though he still in
some inconsistent way claimed to be conducting affairs, and of course
remained at the head of the Tokugawa clan. The Daimios, with Satsuma,
Chōshiu and Tosa at their head, were said to be arming, and even to have
established a camp at Ōsaka. The Tosa people asserted that the Tycoon,
in his resignation, had only followed the advice contained in a memorial
from their clan, dated in October, which they showed to Satow. The
document advocated the establishment of a Parliament consisting of an
upper and lower house, the erection of schools of science and learning
in the great cities, and the negotiation of new foreign treaties. The
emissaries of the Daimios were more than ever keen to obtain instruction
in Parliamentary procedure. They were evidently all anxiety to stand well
with us.
[Illustration: OLD JAPAN.
_From a water-colour drawing by C. Wirgman._]
CHAPTER XXI
JAPAN. CIVIL WAR
On the 30th of November at daylight, Satow and I, in our usual characters
as diplomatic stormy petrels, sailed for Ōsaka to make all preparations
for the opening of that city and Hiōgo on the first day of that new year
which was to come big with the birth of a new power and fraught with
events as momentous, perhaps, as any that the history of the world has
seen. We reached Ōsaka on the 3rd of December, and were at once plunged
in the political whirlpool. Besides that we had to prepare quarters
for the Minister and his staff and the mounted escort, with fifty men
of the 9th Regiment. Much building of palisades, bonded warehouses,
custom houses, etc., was going on at what was to be the future foreign
settlement. This was going a little too fast, and we had to put a stop
to any further work until the Ministers should arrive. They might have
a good deal to say upon the subject, especially as to the palisades,
which were not a very encouraging indication of the intentions of the
Government to promote intercourse between West and East.
On the 7th we had an interview with members of the Tycoon’s Council of
State who were on their way to Yedo, and whom he had ordered to see us.
We did not get much information out of them except that the Tycoon’s
resignation was merely the carrying out of an intention formed long ago.
We were not convinced, nor were we shaken in our belief that he had been
driven to it by the persistent attitude of the clans.
On the 12th of December we had to leave for Hiōgo in order to see what
preparations were being made there for the great event. We found that
the people were in high spirits at the prospect of the opening of the
port. In Kōbé, where the foreign settlement was to be, there had been
seven days of feasting and merry-making, and there had been processions
of people dressed in red crape with carts which were supposed to carry
earth for the site of the new settlement. Similar fêtes were in prospect
in the town of Hiōgo itself. The people obviously saw that foreign trade
would spell prosperity for them.
When we got back to Ōsaka on the 13th, we found the city in an uproar
of joy and excitement. It appeared that all this was in honour of a
miraculous shower which had recently taken place of slips of paper
bearing the titles of the Gods of Isé—the ancestral shrine of Old Japan
and the chief place of the Shintō cult. Thousands and thousands of happy
fanatics were dancing along the streets dressed in holiday garb of red
and blue crape and carrying red lanterns on their heads, shouting till
they must have been hoarse, “I ja nai ka, i ja nai ka!” “How delightful,
how delightful!” The houses were decorated with many-coloured cakes,
oranges, silken bags, emblematic ropes of straw such as are hung before
the Shintō shrines, and a profusion of flowers.
It was a weird and wonderful sight, such as, maybe, will never be seen
again; and yet folk-lore and old reverences die hard. Even though all
this should be _mukashi_, as much so as the mysteries of Stonehenge are
to us, one may hope that it may yet have some life in it. “Le respect du
passé est la piété filiale des peuples,” was a fine saying of the Duc de
Broglie; one which, in these degenerate days, I never weary of quoting,
and we foreigners must not forget what the Japanese owe to the Yamato
Damashii, the spirit of old Japan. It is upon the legends of the Shintō
that it is founded. Then let the simple folk, “the hundred names,” dance
like David before the Ark, in honour of showers of paper, for to them
they mean the sacred traditions of a glorious past, and upon these is
based a heroism before which the world has bowed its head in admiration.
No sooner were we back in Ōsaka than the old political conversations
began again. Satsuma, Chōshiu, Tosa, Uwajima and Geishiu were solid for
a change; other Daimios inclined to join, but vacillating. One thing we
were clearly given to understand: if the intrigues now going on at Kiōto
failed, the Daimios would revert to the old game of murderous attacks
upon foreigners, not from any dislike of foreign intercourse, of which
they were indeed in favour, but simply in order to embroil the Tycoon
with the Treaty Powers. The obvious answer to this was that whatever
might happen in that way, the Tycoon could not be held responsible for
the action of persons over whom he, as they admitted, had no control!
The arrival of leading men in Ōsaka, so near Kiōto, at this time was very
significant. Saigo, the famous Satsuma general, who died years afterwards
by _hara-kiri_ in the rebellion of his clan, and Gotō Shōjirō were very
conspicuous figures. The latter talked a great deal about the scheme to
murder Satow and myself at Ōtsu in August and gave us many particulars.
It was a merciful escape.
Letters from Yedo showed that there the demolition of the Bakufu was an
accomplished fact. On the 20th we had an interview with Ito Shunské,
which is worth noting because it was one of our first communications
with a man, then in a humble position, who afterwards, as Prince Ito,
became the most powerful political personage in Japan. He told us that
war was quite inevitable, the object being to deprive the Tycoon of his
territory, which was far too large for the peace of the country. He would
have preferred to put off the arrival of the Foreign Representatives
and the opening of the ports, but when he was told that this was out of
the question, he said that in that case the opening must take place in
order to keep foreigners quiet whilst the plans for the reformation of
the country went on. We both warned him that if, in the course of the
revolution, foreigners were attacked or any attempt should be made to
upset the Treaties, the Japanese would be bringing upon themselves a very
grave responsibility. He admitted the force of this and promised to keep
Satow posted as to any movement that might be on foot.
On the 24th Sir Harry Parkes arrived with the other members of the
Legation, and took possession of the quarters which we had prepared in
a great tumbledown _Yashiki_ behind the castle; not perhaps the safest
place in case trouble should arise, for fighting would be focussed upon
the stronghold, but all things considered, the best that could be had.
Satow and myself were now very much more under observation than we had
been, and it was not easy to keep up our communications with the Daimios
party. The Tycoon’s guard kept a pretty sharp look-out, but we managed
to defeat them by climbing over the walls of the Legation buildings at
night, and joining our friends outside, who led us by tortuous ways to
one or other of their _Yashikis_ where we were able to confer with them
comfortably. In this way, like a couple of boys breaking out to rob a
neighbour’s apple-orchard, we contrived to keep our chief posted as to
what was going on; practical, but hardly very dignified. The end must be
held as justification for the means.
The 1st of January, 1868, was really the birthday of the new
dispensation. Up to this time, for many months, the country had been in
a fever of unrest; there had been plots and counterplots, conspiracies
and intrigues of which I have tried to give some indication, though
their details would fill volumes; there had been the resignation, or
sham resignation, of the Tycoon; there had been a gradual massing of
troops near Kiōto: the Prince of Chōshiu, who had been in disgrace, had
been forgiven, save the mark! by the Tycoon, and the Prince of Aidzu
was said to have resigned the guardianship of the palace as a sign of
his resentment of this leniency—but the report was not true, as will
be seen presently: the witch’s cauldron was seething and boiling, but
so far the peace had not actually been broken; the Daimios were still
protesting that their object was only to curb the Tycoon and restrain an
overwhelming power which had been abused.
We began to feel that the dogs of war were loose. We learned that the
Prince of Satsuma had proposed the abolition of the Tycoon and the
other old officers of State, substituting for them something analogous
to a Constitutional Government with Secretaries of State and the whole
machinery of an executive; a proposal in which we could not but recognize
the reflection of hints which, at his request, Satow and I had given
to Gotō Shōjirō. Satsuma’s views met with great opposition, many men
dreading such Radical ideas as perhaps likely to end by threatening
the kingship of the Mikado himself. Our informant said that this was no
matter for argument, it must be decided by war. The Tycoon, he admitted,
would raise no difficulties, being bent on preserving the peace of the
country at whatever cost to himself. But he could not control his people.
Things were now moving at lightning speed and every day brought some
new development. Rumours came flying fast and furious—some true, some
garbled, some false—but all pointing in one direction.
On the 7th of January an official of the Bakufu came to tell us that the
Tycoon had left Kiōto and was on his way to Ōsaka to have an interview
with M. Roches. This naturally was a mere pretext; as a matter of fact he
was leaving Kiōto because his office had come to an end. The Aidzu men
who had charge of the nine gates of the Mikado’s palace had been ousted
by Imperial command and the sacred precincts and the Emperor himself were
in the hands of the coalition Daimios. Practically the end had come.
Satow and I went out to see what was going on. We found the streets
being patrolled by soldiers with field pieces placed so as to sweep
the approaches to the castle. It was bitterly cold and the men had
their heads wrapped in mufflers—a curious addition to the pomp and
circumstance of uniform. The Aidzu people, who were posted about, told
us that the reason for the Tycoon’s withdrawal was his unwillingness to
allow fighting to take place near the precincts of the palace—a sort of
“Star Chamber” reason. They said that Satsuma wanted to do everything by
force—so like that martial clan! Tosa, on the other hand, was all for
proceeding by reason; but in either case the object was the same. As for
Gotō’s scheme for a Constitution, Japan was not ripe for that: the change
would be too sudden and too violent.
In the afternoon it became evident that the Tycoon was now close by. We
saw wonderful groups of men clad in armour. They were very civil and full
of patriotic declarations of readiness to die in the Tycoon’s cause, and
indeed, as events proved, these were no empty boasts. They were beaten,
but not before hundreds of Tokugawa men had died the death of heroes.
Presently the bugles sounded and we saw a long procession of troops
coming towards the castle.
A more extravagantly weird picture it would be difficult to imagine.
There were some infantry armed with European rifles, but there were also
warriors clad in the old armour of the country carrying spears, bows and
arrows, falchions, curiously shaped, with sword and dirk, who looked
as if they had stepped out of some old pictures of the Gem-Pei wars in
the Middle Ages. Their _jimbaoris_, not unlike heralds’ tabards, were
as many-coloured as Joseph’s coat. Hideous masks of lacquer and iron,
fringed with portentous whiskers and moustachios, crested helmets with
wigs from which long streamers of horsehair floated to their waists,
might strike terror into any enemy. They looked like the hobgoblins of a
nightmare. Soon a troop of horsemen appeared. The Japanese all prostrated
themselves and bent their heads in reverent awe. In the midst of the
troop was the fallen Prince, accompanied by his faithful adherents, Aidzu
and Kuwana. The Prince himself seemed worn and dejected, looking neither
to the right nor to the left, his head wrapped in a black cloth, taking
notice of nothing. Some of those with him recognized us and returned
our salutes. It was a wild and wonderful sight and one of the saddest
that I ever beheld. At the gate all dismounted, according to custom—save
only the War Lord himself; he rode in, a solitary horseman. It was the
last entry of a Shōgun into the grand old castle which had come into the
heritage of the Tokugawa by one tragedy, and was to pass out of their
possession by another. In each case fire, “the calamity of the dancing
horse,”[2] played its cruel part.
Sir Harry Parkes at once asked for an appointment to see the Shōgun on
the following day, which was declined; but hearing that M. Roches was
to be received, our chief was not to be held; he insisted upon making
his way in, with Satow and me—to the outspoken disgust of the French
colleague—and the two ministers were received together—not without some
recriminations and angry words between them. The Shōgun, or rather
ex-Shōgun, as he now was, seemed greatly depressed; he was a very
different man from the handsome, proud noble who had received us with
so much dignity in the preceding May. The many troubles, sorrows and
indignities which he had undergone were written in his face. He repeated
the old story of his having left Kiōto from patriotic motives, in order
to avoid civil war, which would be waged almost in the sacred presence
of the Emperor. He said that he should remain in Ōsaka, but did not
know whether he would be attacked. As to the existing order of things,
he said that the Mikado nominally ruled, but that Kiōto was occupied by
an unruly set of men, who did nothing but quarrel among themselves and
had no notion of governing. The two ministers applauded his action—the
Frenchman in fulsome language, Sir Harry in more measured terms. There
was obviously nothing much to be drawn from him, and as he complained of
feeling tired, the rather barren conference came to an end.
That evening Sir Henry Keppel, who, with my old friend, his flag
lieutenant (now Admiral Sir Henry Stephenson, Black Rod), and that
grand sailor and gallant gentleman, Captain Chandos Scudamore Stanhope,
of H.M.S. _Ocean_,[3] was on shore, insisted on my going off with him
to Hiōgo to sleep on board the _Rodney_, and hear the band play. It
was blowing great guns, and I felt pretty certain that the perfidious
bar which I knew only too well would be dangerous if not impassable. I
told this to the Admiral, but he pooh-poohed the objections of a mere
landsman, and said that I “did not know what a steam-launch could do.” So
off we went with a second boat in tow. Darkness set in, and by the time
we reached the mouth of the river it was black night.
The wind was howling like Bedlam; the sea was terrific; now and then
there was a rift in the clouds, and we could see the mockery of the
wicked moon shining luridly through the ugly green waves which towered
over us, hungry to swallow us up; we expected to go under any minute.
It soon became evident that we must cast off the boat which we were
towing; there was no other chance for her, and our desertion saved her.
Captain Stanhope took the helm, keeping the launch’s bows to the beating
seas; as he stood in the stern with his teeth set, a grim statue, as if
he had been carved in stone, he was splendid. There was one specially
evil moment, when the Admiral turned to me and said: “I don’t know what
you think, but I have never seen death so near.” This coming from the
hero of the Fatshan Creek—when his coxswain had his telescope driven
into his stomach, his boat was sunk and five of his crew killed—the old
sea warrior, who had survived heaven knows how many deadly fights with
the wild head-hunters and pirates of Borneo—was not reassuring. Stanhope
gave a sort of ghastly grin, but he went on doing battle with the demons
in the waves; it was a tough fight, but at last he managed to bring us
alongside a French man-of-war, the _Laplace_, which was lying in the
roads, with H.M. surveying ship _Sylvia_ about a mile away. We hung on to
the Frenchman; the officers were very kind to us; they lowered sardines
and biscuits and mulled claret to us—the latter most acceptable, for we
were up to our waists in water, drenched to the skin and half-frozen.
They tried to send a chair down to hoist us on board, but the sea was
running so high that it was impossible; the chair and its occupant would
have been dashed to pieces against the ship’s side. So there we remained,
being played cup and ball with for five hours; at last there came a
slight—a very slight—lull in the storm; the Admiral determined to avail
himself of it in order to make the _Sylvia_; it was a critical moment,
for we had to turn in the trough of the sea and a second too late would
have been fatal; had we shipped a wave our fires would have gone out,
and then! But Stanhope was not the man to make a mistake; we danced on
to the curled crest of the preceding wave, and after a struggle for life
reached the _Sylvia_; by that time there was some further abatement of
the weather, and we were able to be hoisted up one by one into safety and
the joy of sleep between hot blankets, after a steaming and strong glass
of grog.
When we reached Hiōgo on the next afternoon, we were met by the news that
the United States Admiral Bell, with his flag lieutenant and all his
boat’s crew, had been drowned on the bar in the same storm. The English
newspapers made a muddle between the two Admirals, and in London we were
reported lost.[4]
On the 10th I had to go back to Ōsaka with despatches for Sir Harry. I
was sent in a steam launch commanded by Lieutenant Leventhorpe. The storm
had hardly abated. The wind was still raging furiously. The impression of
the night of the 8th, heightened by the death of Admiral Bell, was upon
me, and I confess that I did not like it! But we all had on life-belts,
and we got past the bar in safety. Still our troubles were not over, for
as we neared the castle, we saw that one of the bridges was crowded with
a very hostile mob, some of whom were making ready to sink our launch
with a huge block of stone. In the nick of time our coxswain saw it, gave
the boat’s nose a twist, and the great rock splashed harmlessly into
the waves within a couple of feet of us. Some forty years later I had a
very nice letter from that good fellow, who had done us such excellent
service, asking me whether I remembered the occurrence, and the glee with
which I called out to him, “Well done, coxswain!”
When I reached Ōsaka on the evening of the 10th I found that on
that afternoon a conference had taken place between the Foreign
Representatives and the ex-Shōgun, as he now was, on the invitation
of the latter, who was desirous of making a statement on the present
condition of affairs. In the meantime it should be mentioned that
following the example of his own officials, he was no longer addressed by
his former high-sounding titles, but simply as Uyé-sama, which I should
translate by “Highness.”
Great interest attaches to this address, for it contained internal
evidence that it was his own composition and new even to those of his
advisers who were present, for the gentlemen of the Foreign Office,
who feared to see their occupation gone and themselves reduced to the
condition of “the hundred names,” could hardly suppress their surprise
and joy when he announced that he would continue to direct foreign
affairs. Their pleasure, however, was fated to be short-lived. The
statement ran as follows:
“My ancestor, Iyéyasu, settled the form of government in Japan
in its fundamental principles and all its details; for upwards
of two centuries there has been no one, from the Emperor down
to the humblest of the people, who has not paid respect to
his virtue, or who has not reaped the benefit of his good
intentions. But the world has changed. Since the conclusion
of the treaties with Foreign Powers it has been impossible
not to be aware of certain shortcomings in laws which, up to
that time, had been held to be all-sufficient and good. From
the first moment when I succeeded my predecessor I felt this,
and determined, in collaboration with Kiōto, to introduce a
reformation of these laws. Inspired by an honest love for my
country, and for the people, I laid down the Power which I had
inherited, and with the understanding on the other hand that I
should call a meeting of all the Princes of the country, with
a view to discussing the matter from the point of view of a
reform of the constitution for the public weal, and deciding it
by the vote of the majority, I placed the conduct of affairs in
the hands of the Imperial Court.
“In order to the fulfilment of this great work, my resignation
of the government was accepted by His Highness the Regent,
who had been appointed by the late Emperor as protector and
adviser of the young Ruler and by several of the Princes of the
blood and Nobles of the Court; at the same time I received the
Imperial command to carry on the government as before, until a
decision of the assembly of territorial Lords should be arrived
at. I waited for this assembly and was firmly resolved to take
part in it. In the most unexpected way, however, one morning
several Princes broke into the Palace with an armed force,
drove out His Highness the Regent, who had been appointed by
the Emperor, together with the Princes of the blood and the
Nobles of the Court, introducing in their stead certain Nobles
who had been banished by the dead Emperor, and abolished
the office of Shōgun, without waiting for the decision of
the proposed general meeting of the Council. My Hatamotos”
(petty nobles of the Tycoon’s court) “and vassal Princes were
profoundly indignant, and pressed upon me day and night the
absolute necessity of resisting by force of arms a crime which
broke the laws and set at nought the will of the people. But
inasmuch as my original intention in laying down the government
had been to assure the union of all classes of the people, such
exaggerated zeal was in contradiction to the determination
which I had adopted.
“Whatever my rights might be I would not be the cause of a
national revolution. It is with a view to avoiding such an
unhappy disturbance of the peace that I have come to Ōsaka.
My reasons for this procedure are not those which superficial
observers might presuppose. When I consider this criminal
proceeding from the point of view of love for my country and
its people, I cannot look with indifference upon the fact that
they have made themselves masters of the person of the young
Emperor, and under the pretext of the Imperial will, have given
the reins to their own egotistical desires, bringing suffering
upon the people. This is a complication which I am bound to
disentangle for the benefit of my people. Should there be any
people who disagree with me, I shall endeavour to persuade
them to bow to a majority of a general assembly and to pray
earnestly for a successful government of the country. Sharing
as I do the zeal of my ancestor, Iyéyasu, in his love for
the people, and striving with all my might to carry out the
intentions left behind him by the dead Emperor, I am inspired
by the earnest desire to unite my strength with that of the
whole nation, to carry out with all right and wisdom the task
which I have set myself, and to give effect to the views of the
assembly.
“There is no need for the Powers with which we have concluded
treaties of amity to trouble themselves about our internal
affairs. All that is of importance is that they should not
hinder the course of just principles. Insomuch as I have
loyally observed all the conditions of the treaties, I hope
all the more to deserve your approbation if I protect the
interests of all the Powers. You will, moreover, understand
that until the form of government shall have been settled by
a general discussion in an assembly of the people, it is my
duty to observe the treaties, and to carry out the agreements
which have been come to with Foreign Powers, and in general to
maintain relations with abroad.” (See Herr von Brandt’s “Drei
und dreissig Jahre in Ost Asien,” Vol. II., p. 170.)
After this remarkable address, which seems to me to be of sufficient
interest to be given in full, the leave-taking was preceded by an
anti-climax of the usual platitudes.
In the meantime the Daimios were becoming more and more united, and
were pressing for the Tycoon’s reply to the proposal that he should
surrender to the Mikado property to the value of two million Kokus of
rice, in order to form the nucleus of a national revenue. Tosa and other
chieftains proposed that they should follow suit, but Satsuma, not yet
quite educated up to the glories of self-sacrifice, was said to shy at
this idea, for which the time was not quite ripe; yet only a few more
months were needed for its consummation.
The next few days were full of interest, though there was nothing more
to be got out of the Uyésama, who by pertinacious questions about the
British Constitution adroitly parried all attempts on the part of Sir
Harry Parkes to draw him. In the meanwhile Satow and myself continued
our surreptitious visits to the Satsuma Yashiki, where we met important
men who had been sent down from Kiōto to confer with us. We had but one
doctrine to preach: let the Mikado invite the Foreign Representatives to
audience at Kiōto, and himself take over the direction of Foreign Affairs.
The news from Yedo was as bad as could be. A Satsuma Princess, widow of
the last Tycoon but one, had been spirited away by the Satsuma clansmen
in Yedo, upon which the Tycoon’s people retaliated by burning the three
Satsuma Yashikis in that city. The clansmen took refuge in a steamer
belonging to their Prince and put to sea with the Tycoon’s ships in hot
pursuit. This resulted in an insignificant sea action.
Two of our student interpreters, Messrs. Quin and Hodges, had been fired
upon as they passed in a native boat under the Satsuma battery; but no
damage was done. The Tycoon’s ship _Eagle_ was met by H.M.S. _Rodney_ off
Cape Ōshima on the 23rd—minus a foreyard arm; obviously the position was
acute and fighting there must be.
On the 27th of January we saw the sky lurid with fire in the direction of
Kiōto and heard that there had been fighting between the Tycoon’s troops
and the Daimios at Fushimi. A servant in Willis’ employ came in from that
direction; he reported large numbers of clansmen camped round great fires
in the streets. On the hither side of Fushimi were a regiment of the
Tycoon’s troops and bands of irregulars all eager for the fray.
On the 28th the Satsuma Yashiki, where we used to visit our friends from
Kiōto, was burned down—either by its inmates or, as some said, fired by
shells from the Tycoon’s troops. The Satsuma men escaped in boats, but
were fired upon from the banks and two men were killed. News came in
that Fushimi was in flames—burnt by the Daimios men who had disputed the
entry into Kiōto of the Tycoon’s troops. More soldiers of the latter were
going up. All sorts of rumours were flying about, among others a report
that the Daimios were tired of Satsuma and his arrogance. This did not
stop the fighting, nor alas! the burning of small towns and villages, the
flames of which we could see in the distance. It was heart-rending.
On the evening of the 29th we heard that the Tycoon’s troops were beaten.
At eleven o’clock of the 30th we received an intimation from the Tycoon
that he could no longer protect us. The Tycoon’s messenger promised to
get us boats to take us down the river, and we set to work to pack up the
Legation archives and what we could of our belongings.
At four o’clock in the morning a letter came from M. Roches, telling us
that he had learned that the clansmen’s troops would enter the town soon
after daylight.
It would be of but moderate interest now to relate in detail our troubles
of the next day or two, the difficulty of getting boats, the labour of
moving such chattels as we could, leaving the rest to be burnt or looted
with the Legation buildings. On the 2nd of February a first puff of smoke
announced the firing of the castle with all its glories of art. It was
time that we should leave Ōsaka. It had not been easy in those distracted
times to procure fresh food, and our men were beginning to suffer from
scurvy; a change to Hiōgo was to them a godsend.
On the 31st of January the Uyésama himself, who had been all this time in
the Castle of Ōsaka waiting the course of events, escaped in disguise in
the U.S. ship _Iroquois_, from which he transhipped into one of his own
steamers and made off to Yedo.
There has been much exaggeration as to the numbers of troops engaged at
Fushimi. There were probably not more than ten thousand of the Tycoon’s
men against some six thousand of the clansmen. And no doubt the former
would have given a better account of themselves had there not been
treachery in their camp. The General in command at a most important point
turned traitor, and the enemy suddenly poured in upon them in a quarter
where they believed themselves to be perfectly safe. Then the Tycoon’s
Commander-in-Chief deserted to the enemy. The game was up.
My part in the flight from Ōsaka was very exciting. The rest of the
Legation went down the river in boats, as I have said, and so by sea
to Hiōgo. (Shall I ever forget the sight of our dear old giant Willis,
squatting like a man-mountain on the top of the great boxes containing
the archives—for he was Chancelier as well as Doctor?) I, on the other
hand, was ordered to ride to Hiōgo in charge of the mounted escort.
We started in bitter weather with a blizzard in our teeth from the
north-west; it pricked so hard that now and then the horses would try
to turn round, and only with spur and whip could they be made to face
it. The case was awkward, for having no more to go by than the points of
the compass, we missed our way, and had to travel for a good many miles
through paddy fields of which the narrow banks were slippery with sleet
and ice. At one place two of the men, whose horses absolutely refused to
go forward, were deposited in the horrible slush of the field and were,
of course, drenched. Those who know rice fields need not be told of their
condition.
In great misery our beasts skated along the banks making very slow
progress, and I was in despair of reaching Hiōgo before dark, when at
last, after several hours, I came upon the high road at a place where
the left bank of a broad river was occupied by some eight hundred or a
thousand soldiers, waiting to be ferried across. I did not know to what
clan, or even to what party, they belonged, and I confess that my heart
was in my mouth. However, as my men came up in single file, I passed
down the word to them to take no notice whatever might happen, but if
they should be in any way insulted or molested to come to me. I went up
at once to the commander of the troops and addressed him with the utmost
ceremony, telling him who we were, and expressing the warmest friendship.
To my great relief he was quite polite and most amiable, making many
excuses for the delay which the ferrying over of his men would cause us;
I, on the other hand, apologizing to him for disturbing his men. We were
soon on the best of terms, and as soon as his soldiers were all on the
other side he sent back the ferry-boat for us. After crossing the river
we overtook him and his men again at Amagasaki; they were marching in a
great open space near the castle. My friend the commander gave a word
of command: “Halt! Front! Present arms!” My men carried their lances
and so we rode through the town in great state, and without any further
adventures good or bad reached Hiōgo a little after dark.
It had been a bitter ride, with rather more than a spice of emotion, and
I doubt whether a more shivering lot of men and horses, starved with cold
and hunger, faced the mangers that night in any part of the habitable
globe. Happily the two men who slipped into the rice-field were none the
worse for their dirty ducking.
The Ministers were lodged in the old Custom House, Satow in an
outbuilding, I in a shanty that might best be described as a Hiōgesque
version of a fifth-rate Margate lodging house. At any rate we had roofs
over our heads, we had fresh food, and our good friend, Herr von Brandt,
had unearthed a bottle of Curaçoa, over which the diplomatic body made
merry. He had already triumphed over the hungry colleagues in Ōsaka by
the acquisition of a pig; but that led to difficulties, as the priests of
the temple in which he was lodged stoutly objected to the slaying of the
unclean beast—not on account of its uncleanness, but on account of its
being a beast and therefore under the protection of Buddhistic law. The
difficulties were overcome by a compromise whereby the place of execution
was fixed in a vegetable garden adjoining a remote corner of the temple
grounds.
February 3rd.—We had news from Kiōto to the effect that the Satsuma and
Daimios party regretted our having left Ōsaka, where they stated that
they could have guaranteed our safety. However, the trick was done, and
there was plenty of work to keep us at Hiōgo. The clansmen told us that
the Tycoon had received orders to invite the Foreign Ministers to an
audience of the Mikado at Kiōto. This invitation was never delivered,
having been burked at the instigation of our good colleague, M. Léon
Roches, whose great object it was, hoping against hope, to bolster up the
Tycoon, without whom all his schemes for monopolies would of necessity
miscarry; so he never ceased throwing obstacles in the way of the
acknowledgment of the Mikado’s sovereign state.
With the restoration to power of the true Emperor the influence which he
had been at such pains to build up must tumble to pieces; it was a house
built upon foundations as unstable as the shifting sand. In his intrigues
to keep back the invitation to Kiōto M. Roches’ action was both vain and
foolish. Vain, because it did not and could not retard the visit to Kiōto
by one hour, and foolish, in that it was bound to break the eleventh
commandment.
Established at Hiōgo we were under the impression that we might now in
peace set about our business and go on with the first steps for the
opening of two ports. Never were men more deluded. We had avoided the
Scylla of Ōsaka, where, as we now knew, we should have been perfectly
safe, and had steered into the Charybdis of Hiōgo, where we were within
a few hours to undergo an experience which, by the merest luck, did not
end in a general massacre of the whole of the Foreign Representatives,
together with numbers of Consuls and subjects of various nations, and
which did end in a tragedy, gruesome and of haunting memory.
On the 4th of February, about two in the afternoon, the Foreign Ministers
were busily employed upon the land at Kōbé, which had been assigned as
a foreign settlement, when a regiment of men of the Bizen clan, coming
out of the gate of Hiōgo, halted at the word of command and opened a
murderous fire upon the foreigners. Happily they did not understand
the sights of their rifles, which, as it subsequently appeared, they
had recently received from America. They fired upon the principle laid
down, according to my old friend Lord Dorchester’s story, by one of his
sergeants in the trenches before Sevastopol. A Russian head appeared
above the battlements of the town. “What’ll I give him?” asked a private
of the Coldstream Guards. “Give the beggar a thousand yards and make
sure of him!” Several volleys were fired. Sir Harry Parkes and Captain
Stanhope were in the thick of it. All the other Ministers and many people
were under fire. Mercifully only one American sailor lad of the _Oneida_
was slightly wounded.
As soon as the British escort and the other foreign guards could be got
together they went in hot pursuit of the Bizen men, who were now in full
flight, dropping their baggage as they went. The baggage consisting
of various goods and chattels, including two small field-pieces and
a writing-desk belonging to one Ōmori Shinské, containing a burning
love-letter from a young lady of none too severe morals called Kotozawa
San! The pursuit yielded nothing; only one old woman of the Éta or Pariah
class was wounded. Being what she was, she would have fared badly had it
not been for the kindness of our good old Doctor Willis, who took her in
and nursed her when no Japanese would come near her.
Now for the so-called provocation which should justify such an outrage.
The evidence that we were able to take went to show that the men of
Bizen, notorious for their _Jō-i_ or anti-foreign feelings, on marching
through Hiōgo had lost no opportunity of insulting any foreigners whom
they met. As they went along the road north of the foreign settlement
that was to be a Frenchman named Callier, one of M. Roches’ escort, came
out of a wine-shop, and being rudely spoken to asked what was the matter.
To this the Japanese replied with threatening gestures. There was a
hubbub, and a soldier took the cover off his lance and pricked Callier,
who dashed on one side and bolted into a house. At this moment the
officer in command, Taki Zenzaburō, dismounted and gave the order to fire
on the assembled foreigners.
I am such an admirer of Mr. Longford’s “History of Japan” that it is with
regret that I feel compelled to join issue with him upon his account of
this affair, the importance of which he unaccountably slurs over. For
some reason or other a few newspaper writers who were not present and
with whom Mr. Longford sides, were minded to belittle the significance
of the attack. As a matter of fact it was about as gross a violation, not
only of constitutional custom, but of the laws of humanity, as could be
conceived. Mr. Longford characterizes the incident in his own way, saying
that subsequent investigation “shows that it was not one over which
Europeans can now feel pride.”
He tells the story as follows: “A detachment of Samurai of the Bizen
clan, escorting the Karō, the chief councillor of the Prince, passed Kōbé
on their way to Kiōto to join the loyal party. A French marine broke
the line of their procession, a gross insult in the eyes of a Japanese
Samurai, and though an attempt was made to stop him, he persisted in
passing through it. He received a lance prick for his pains, and he and
his comrades, one of whom was also slightly wounded, then ran away. The
Japanese followed them with a desultory fire which did no harm. Panic
seems to have seized the whole of the residents in the new Foreign
Settlement in the direction of which the fire went. Large forces were
immediately landed from the great fleet of men-of-war of all Western
nationalities.”
This statement of the case is wrong throughout. Mr. Longford goes on to
imply that the punishment of the officer in command of the Bizen men
was unjustifiable. Mr. Longford’s account is, as I can aver, absolutely
misleading and contrary to the evidence. He was not at Kōbé at the
time.[5] I was. But lest my version of the story should be deemed
one-sided, let me call into court a witness whose testimony is beyond
reproach. In his “Drei und Dreissig Jahre in Ost Asien” Herr von Brandt,
who was Prussian Minister in Japan at the time, puts a very different
complexion upon the episode.
“As we—that is to say, Count de la Tour, the Italian Minister, the
commanders of the U.S. warships _Iroquois_ and _Oneida_, and myself—left
the Custom House and stepped on to the open sandy space which surrounded
it we saw there a great number of foreigners, who had probably been
attracted by the sight of Japanese troops that were marching through.
There appeared to be several hundred men, who were marching towards
Ōsaka in regular order along the road which bounded the wide open space
on the north.
“We were about three or four hundred paces away from the troops, though
many of the foreigners were far nearer. All of a sudden I saw the
soldiers halt, front, and immediately I heard the rattle of a volley of
musketry and the whistling of bullets mostly over our heads. At first I
thought that it was a fight between the Mikado’s troops and the Tycoon’s
men, and was about to give expression to my indignation that such an
occurrence should be possible in the foreign settlement when a second
volley, and the flight of the Europeans who were between us and the
Japanese, told another tale. The Japanese troops had opened fire upon the
whole crowd of promenaders, among whom was Sir Harry Parkes.... I must
confess that I expected nothing else than that we should have to fight
for our lives, for I could not but think that the Japanese would follow
us up.
“I was not a little astonished when I saw that after they had fired six
or seven volleys—they were armed with repeating rifles—they quietly
marched off.” (Here follows an account of the landing of bluejackets
and marines and the fruitless pursuit of the Japanese soldiers.) “Only
one ship’s boy and another foreigner had been slightly wounded, a piece
of luck which I attribute to the Japanese having fired too high; they
must have fired many times at the flags of the treaty Powers which were
flying over the Custom House, at any rate the building was riddled with
bullets.... In the meanwhile, we had had further information as to the
Bizen troops, and had been able to ascertain (_feststellen können_)
that during their whole march through Hiōgo and Kōbé they had behaved
shamefully to all the foreigners whom they met, threatening many of them
and wounding two with their spears.”
This is a very different version of the story; it is told by the
responsible minister of a great Power, a man of singular ability and
circumspection. This version I, who was on the spot, though not myself
under what was only saved from being a deadly fire by the ignorance
of the use of the rifle’s sights, fully confirm—and it is indirectly
endorsed by the action taken not only by the whole body of foreign
ministers but also by the Government of the Mikado. Against that
you have to set the mutterings of irresponsible hearsay, to which,
unfortunately, Mr. Longford has lent the support of his authority as
historian and ex-consul.
To sum up—the attack was made by a clan known to be specially hostile to
all intercourse with the West; it was directed against all the treaty
Powers, whose flags were flying on the building set apart for their
use and whose ministers were engaged peaceably with a great number of
their fellow-subjects in laying out the future settlement under treaty
rights, escaping death by a miracle. The outrage was deliberate, and
absolutely unprovoked, the story of the breaking of the procession being
an afterthought. We heard nothing of it at the time, and that was the
view which the Japanese themselves took of it, for the guilty officer was
condemned to _hara-kiri_, and the rest of the sad story is told in my
“Tales of Old Japan.” I have only dwelt upon it because I wished to clear
up a story which, as told in Mr. Longford’s book, would remain a blot
upon the memory of men, who, after long and anxious debate, by a vote
of the majority took upon themselves a grave responsibility, in which
they were fully justified by the incontrovertible evidence which, to my
knowledge, they sifted with the most painstaking care. Mr. Longford fixes
upon Sir Harry Parkes the responsibility of the death sentence. Wrong
again!
As a matter of fact, when, on March the 2nd, two leading men, Godai and
Ito (Prince Ito) came to see whether the life of Taki Zenzaburō might not
possibly be spared, at the Council of Ministers which followed Sir Harry
Parkes and M. de Graef van Polsbroek argued and actually voted in favour
of the condemned man—but they were in a minority, and it was decided,
wisely as I thought at the time, and still think, that the decree of
the Mikado must be carried out. The Japanese petition for clemency was
very half-hearted; and over and over again Japanese gentlemen of high
position, amongst them one of the ablest of the Mikado’s ministers, in
conversation with me endorsed the action of the Representatives; they
took the same view that I did, saying that clemency would be mistaken
for cowardice. There had been too many attacks upon foreigners, many of
which had been unavenged. Here was a man of some condition guilty of what
was the greatest outrage which the anti-foreign party had attempted.
To excuse him would be to invite a repetition of such offences. The
knowledge that this officer had expiated his deed under sentence from his
Emperor would penetrate all Japan, and would prove that the Son of Heaven
was not only in favour of foreign intercourse, but was prepared to punish
any violation of the Treaties.
That night, March the 2nd, came the last act of the tragedy. I have
recounted it in my “Tales of Old Japan”; it need not be repeated here.
* * * * *
To go back a step or two. On the 8th of February Higashi Kuzé, one of the
nobles of the Court, who had been banished by the former Emperor, brought
to the Representatives the following notification:
“The Emperor of Japan announces to the Sovereigns of all
foreign countries and to their subjects that permission has
been granted to the Shōgun Tokugawa Yoshinobu in accordance
with his request to hand back the governing power. We shall
henceforward exercise the supreme authority in all the internal
and external affairs of the country. Consequently the title
of Emperor must be substituted for that of Tycoon under which
the Treaties have been made. Officers are being appointed by
us for the conduct of Foreign Affairs. It is desirable that
the Representatives of the Treaty Powers should recognize this
announcement.
“Feb. 3, 1868. Mutsuhito—L.S.”
The reading of this document, after it had been translated, led to the
poor envoy being bombarded with questions, relevant and irrelevant. The
Bizen affair, the return of foreigners to Ōsaka and various other matters
were discussed, in the midst of which poor M. Roches lost his temper and
had rather a rough time of it with some of the colleagues. It was almost
his last outburst, for he was soon to leave for Europe when Baron Brin,
a charming man, would take his place as _chargé d’affaires_. Though he
was none too civil to me personally, as an Englishman and quite opposed
to his policy, I always entertained a kind of sneaking regard for M.
Roches. He was in private life a picturesque and rather fascinating
personality. But when, for his undoing, stripped of his white burnous and
his Spahi’s uniform, he was pitchforked into diplomacy he became a round
peg in a square hole. None of his schemes and stratagems outlived the
fœtus stage, and his fireworks were but damp squibs.
His discomfiture was pathetic; the utter failure of his policy,
accentuated by the Imperial manifesto brought by Higashi Kuzé, had
destroyed the last particle of prestige that he had once had with the
colleagues, who now had no better course left to them than to follow the
lead of Sir Harry Parkes.
CHAPTER XXII
JAPAN. MUKASHI
Ito was now appointed Governor of Hiōgo and Kōbé. It is curious that so
comparatively small an office should have been spoken of as an excessive
rise for a man who was destined to become a Prince and great ruler, and
whose name was to become famous throughout the civilized world. He was a
young man of about my own age, a yōnin or man of business of the Chōshiu
clan, which some years before he had left to become a rōnin, when, with
his friend Inouyé, afterwards one of the “Elder Statesmen,” he undertook
a voyage to Europe, the two working their way before the mast. This
journey did much to open his eyes and free his views; but, apart from
that, his energies and talents were bound to push him to the front. Great
as were the services of the other clans—Satsuma especially—it was Chōshiu
that produced the two greatest men of the revolution—Kido and Ito.
On the 5th of March the Foreign Representatives returned to Ōsaka. On
the 7th there came a pressing request to Sir Harry from the Mikado’s
government to allow Dr. Willis to go to Kiōto to visit Yōdo, the Inkiyō
(retired Prince) of Tosa, who was grievously ill. Sir Harry consented on
condition that I should accompany him, for he never lost any opportunity
of getting behind the scenes in the great political drama which was
being played. I should add that during the previous month Dr. Willis had
gone to the capital to give advice and help in the case of the wounded
soldiers of the clans. On that occasion he was accompanied by Mr. Satow,
who brought back most valuable information as to the state of parties
and was able to give the government, new to all diplomatic procedure,
excellent advice as to their dealings with foreigners—especially in the
matter of the Bizen attack. They must have been the first foreigners to
set foot in the sacred city since the days of the Christian troubles
nearly three hundred years ago, for the occasional passing of the Dutch
merchants of Deshima could hardly be taken into account.
Dr. Willis and I lost no time; we started at eight o’clock in the evening
having, to use a Japanese expression, “broken our bones” in getting
ready; we could have started earlier had it not been for the delay caused
by the very officer who, with such urgent instructions, had been sent to
give us all facilities, and who had done absolutely nothing! However,
after endless wanderings through Ōsaka in search of this trusty guide,
we were finally deposited with a brazier and a lacquer box full of rice
and fish—enough for a dozen men—in a Teaboat, one of the small craft in
which the good citizens take their pleasure merrily on the river during
the summer nights, and so we slept and feasted our way up the river to
Fushimi, eight miles from Kiōto.
Here we found but little to see of the deadly battle of the end of
January. To be sure much of the town had been destroyed by fire, but
in this land, where the houses are built of wood and paper and whole
districts are burnt down by the peaceful upsetting of a brasero on a
windy day, the charred remains of a great conflagration excite little
astonishment and still less suggest the horrors of war. The burning
of the bridge at Yōdo was more significant. Yōdo was a stronghold of
the Tycoon which his general, dazzled as the clansmen said by the
appearance of the Mikado’s standard, the golden sun on a scarlet ground,
treacherously gave up to the enemy.
At Fushimi we were met by a perfect nightmare in the shape of a guard
of Tosa men—wild-looking fellows, clad in armour with their faces
hideously masked and long elf locks of black or white horsehair hanging
down from their helmets over their shoulders. With this weird escort of
pantomimic demons we marched into Kiōto along a road which was really one
long, continuous village full of shops doing a brisk trade in gods and
dolls—fairings to be taken home by pious pilgrims to the shrines of the
sacred city. The road was in a very bad state, having been much cut up
by the passing of artillery.
_Cosas d’España!_ When we reached our destination we found that we need
have been in no such violent hurry. Nothing had been prepared for our
reception, and we were kept waiting for several hours in a very shabby
outlying building, apparently a sort of guard-room for soldiers. At
last, when our patience was almost exhausted, we were conducted in
all solemnity to the Prince’s residence, one of those long, rambling,
bungalow-like buildings, or rather groups of buildings, surrounded by a
wall, and containing quarters for a whole army of retainers and soldiers.
Very white wood without a knot or flaw in it, vast roomy apartments
without a decoration or ornament of any kind, except one picture hung by
silken strings in the Tokonoma, the raised dais at one end of the room,
composed the magnificent simplicity of a great noble’s dwelling in the
days of the old Japan.
Furniture there was none save a sword rack; the fair white mats served as
bed, tables and chairs; such cupboards as were needful were let into the
wall; paper sliding screens, open at the tops, divided the rooms; there
was no privacy, and if a confidential talk was needed the profane had to
be sent away out of ear-shot, which, luckily, implied no offence. The
palace occupied by the Prince had been, until the revolution, occupied by
the Prince of Aidzu. It was spoil of war.
When we had been shown to our apartments, which were the state guest
suite of the house, the ex-Prince sent to beg that, as he was too ill to
welcome us otherwise, we would go to see him. Such a ramble through an
interminable maze of passages all alike! Even our guides were sometimes
puzzled, for they, of course, were hardly yet posted in the topography
of this recent acquisition. At last we came to the outside of the great
man’s rooms, where his retainers, all of them, no matter how high their
rank might be, laid aside their dirks (_wakizashi_), for no man must
enter his lord’s presence armed. The sword (_katana_) must always be
taken out of the girdle on entering a house.
Prince Yōdo, the Inkiyō of Tosa, was a very remarkable man,—remarkable
even among the many notable personalities of those stirring times. A
Daimio when he resigned his position in favour of his heir and became
Inkiyō might divest himself of the pomp and circumstance of princely
rank, but he rarely gave up the actual power. Such men as Shimadzu
Saburō, of Satsuma, Daté of Uwajima, and Yōdo, all Inkiyō, remained the
real governing force in their several clans. The greatest of these was
Yōdo, whom we were presently to see. He was a far-seeing man of the
highest intelligence, and took a much more statesmanlike view of affairs
than the other Daimios.
When these were pressing, as I have stated above, for the surrender by
the Tokugawa clan of property bringing in two million kokus of rice
he saw that such a confiscation would be futile and absurd as the
nucleus of a national revenue. He it was who proposed that all the
Daimios should surrender their almost regal estates, retaining only a
percentage sufficient to maintain a suitable position; he foresaw that
the sacrifice would be rather apparent than real, and that, if the
Empire were consolidated, they would be more than compensated by being
relieved of the necessity of maintaining a whole machinery of government,
with military and, in some cases, naval forces. Satsuma and some other
Princes jibbed at this in the first instance; they had not Yōdo’s grasp
of affairs, and were wedded to what he recognized as a worn-out feudal
system. In the end they had to yield and Yōdo’s wisdom won the day.
Yōdo, like some of our own statesmen of a generation little more than
fifty years before his time, had been a very free liver. In his youth he
had a seal engraved with the device, “The drunken Daimio of the Southern
Seas.” His excesses had been notorious, and he was now paying his shot.
We found the old _viveur_—old not in years—lying on the mats in the midst
of a pile of quilts and coverlets decked with beautiful purple crape,
a cloud of strong colour contrasting sharply with the waxen mask and
hands of the sick man. At his head was his wife, an elderly lady with
her eyebrows shaven and her teeth lacquered black,[6] ministering to his
wants, and behind him sat his last and favourite young lady, a pretty
little girl hardly more than a child, with her hands under a corner of
the quilt, for the poor little soul was very cold. She had her teeth and
eyebrows left as nature had given them to her, with no disfigurement
inflicted by the tyranny of fashion. She seemed at first to be very shy
and abashed at the presence of the inauspicious and monstrous foreigners.
The ex-Prince had the most exquisite manners, all the courtesy which to a
Japanese gentleman of high rank is second nature.
He was, moreover, obviously gifted with that magnetic attraction which
is so rare even amongst the greatest men and which fully accounted for
his influence among his peers. He received us warmly and expressed great
thanks to us for arriving so quickly. I did not prolong my visit, for he
appeared to be very tired and sick—as it seemed to my non-professional
eye, sick unto death. Dr. Willis, moreover, was eager to begin his
examination. So I took my leave, wondering that a man of only forty-seven
should look so old. He seemed to have used up his life. Dr. Willis, I may
add here, soon patched him up, and he lived for several years, rendering
good service to the State, though holding no office; but he could not
shake off his old habits, and in the end they triumphed and killed him.
On the following morning I breakfasted with Gotō Shōjirō and Katsura, who
were now important officials in the Foreign Office under the Mikado’s
Government, at the house of the former, who it will be remembered
belonged to the Tosa clan and was Prince Yōdo’s chief adviser. In the
midst of our talk there arrived a dispatch which caused them great
apprehension, though as yet they had no details. When the full news
arrived it was bad enough. The story has been told before, but it needs
to be repeated here, however briefly. The most complete account is that
by Herr von Brandt, from which I have borrowed freely, refreshing my own
memory.
On the 8th of March the two French ships _Vénus_ and _Dupleix_ were in
the bay of Ōsaka, where they had been engaged in taking soundings, and
with a view of continuing this work, Captain du Petit Thouars had sent
his steam launch with a gig to Sakai, a small port provisionally open to
foreign trade, where such authorities as there were had been informed of
the operations on which these boats were engaged.
At about five o’clock in the afternoon, two of the launch’s crew asked
leave to go on shore, the people up to that time having shown every
sign of friendship, and other Europeans having previously landed there.
Hardly had they gone a few steps from the launch when they were joined
by a Samurai who made signs to them to go to the other side of the quay.
Here they were surrounded by about twenty armed men, who seized them
and tried to bind them. One of the two men tore himself away, and the
other jumped into the water, when the soldiery fired into the launch
until they believed that all the crew were dead. As soon as the officer
in the gig, whose men were unarmed—and indeed, those in the launch
had only revolvers, which had been stowed away in lockers for fear of
accidents—heard the firing, he hurried to the rescue of the launch and
was met with a hot fire of musketry. One of his men was wounded, and as
he thought that all in the launch were killed, he steered for his ship
and made his report. The massacre had been terrible; those who were not
shot were beaten to death with poles armed with iron hooks.
Captain du Petit Thouars manned his boats and at once went off to Sakai;
on the way he met the launch. Out of a crew of one midshipman and fifteen
men, only two were dead; six were severely wounded, one unwounded,
and seven missing, including the midshipman. Their bodies, cruelly
mutilated, were afterwards given up. The machinery was riddled with
bullets, but the sound man with the help of one or two of the less badly
wounded men managed to rig up a sail and so escaped. The batteries on
shore were manned and the foreign representatives were all in Ōsaka, and
open to attack. The captain of the _Vénus_ and the French Consul were,
moreover, supposed to be on their way from Ōsaka to Sakai, so Captain du
Petit Thouars wisely refrained from taking any immediate action, which
might have led to terrible reprisals.
When the news reached Ōsaka in the dead of the night, the representatives
were roused from their beds and a conference was at once held. They
determined to make common cause with their French colleague, to strike
their flags, and leave Ōsaka, until the demands of M. Roches, who had not
yet left, should be satisfied. Those demands were:
1. The execution of the two officers in command at Sakai and
all those who had taken part in the crime.
2. An indemnity of 150,000 dollars for the families of the
victims.
3. That the Prime Minister should pay a visit to the _Vénus_ to
express regret and apologize on behalf of the Government.
4. That the Prince of Tosa, to whose clan the murderers
belonged, should do the same.
5. That men of the Tosa clan should be excluded from the
foreign ports.
Bad news for Willis and me; it was the very clan in whose hands we were.
We felt that we were in a hornets’ nest. Our hosts, who should at least
have remembered that we were there to save the life of their Prince whom
they loved, were maddened by the news, frantic at the idea that clansmen,
perhaps near relations of some of them, were to be executed for a crime
in which they themselves would gladly have had a hand.
When I got back to the _yashiki_ I was met by scowling looks and fierce
mutterings. The more important men of the clan showed clearly that they,
at any rate, had no sympathy with the murderers. Prince Yōdo himself and
Gotō Shōjirō we knew would act loyally and do all in their power to
insure our safety. But it is a near thing, and an uncomfortable pass to
come to, when you can almost hear two or three hundred wild men debating
the propriety of wreaking vengeance upon you, and that moreover in a
country where at that time _kataki-uchi_, the vendetta, was a debt of
honour. However, there was nothing to be done but to put a good face upon
it, so our dear old medicine-man went on with his healing, and I took
advantage of being in a city so famous and still so new to us Westerns to
explore its many beauties, now long since unveiled and familiar to every
tourist.
At Gion, a quarter of the city where the Japanese dandies go to divert
themselves, I was bidden by two or three gentlemen to an entertainment
in a famous tea-house. In these sophisticated days I doubt whether such
a feast could be given. There was a company of the most fashionable
_geikos_—who in other parts, and indeed everywhere now, are called
_geisha_. In song and in story the _geiko_ of old Kiōto is celebrated as
an artist and for the willow-like beauty of her thighs—in this there is
no impropriety, for there are no femoral revelations, and the expression
simply means gracefulness. In singing and in dancing they excel all
others.
When these young ladies sat down between the guests I saw plainly that
I was an object of terror—none wished to come near me—the strange beast
frightened them; but at last the prettiest of them took to herself heart
of brass and squatted down beside me; shy and wild she was at first, but
after a while she became quite tame, like a little gazelle that feeds out
of your hand, and indeed her eyes had much the look of those of a pet
deer; if only her pretty lips had not been gilt!
In the middle of the feast the landlady, black-toothed and shaven-browed,
came in armed with a murderous-looking chopper in one hand, and in the
other a small stand upon which was placed a bean-curd cake, the dish for
which the house was famous. The cutting up of the bean-curd cake was a
science and a ceremony, always taking place in the presence of guests.
With a great assumption of dignity the old lady lifted her chopper,
and bringing it down with a great crack upon the wooden stand, from
the rebound of the blow gave a dozen or so little raps that sounded
almost like the roll of a drum, with which, as quick as thought, she
had sliced the bean-curd cake into as many little parts of almost
mathematically equal size, which were carried off to be roasted on
slender bamboo skewers. It was really a very pretty trick and received
with a loud tribute of applause, which the dear lady accepted with all
the consciousness of merit of a prima donna after the execution of a
brilliant _cavatina_.
As in duty bound, I ate my skewerful of bean-curds, but I confess that
I did not relish them. Then came dancing—all of it full of intention to
the elect—to me the mere poetry of motion into which I, the barbarian,
could not read the significance and the story. The palm was borne away
by two pretty little mites of about eleven years, precocious pets into
whom the Terpsichore of the Far East had breathed all her spirit, all
her grace. When the dancing was over, the _geikos_ went away to doff
their stage dresses, and appeared again as little _bourgeoises_, and the
two tiny creatures became very inquisitive about me, and insisted upon
taking off my socks (the shoes had been left _more Japonico_ at the door)
and examining my feet. Had they been Europeans I should have thought
that they were seeking for the cloven hoof. It was near midnight when I
reached the Tosa Yashiki after seven hours of real good fun. I went back
to an anxious night.
Not the least interesting part of the day had been a visit to the great
temple of Kiyomidzu, a lovely shrine hidden away in a sanctuary as
beautiful as the graces of hill, and trees and water could make it.
How cleverly the monks in all countries chose the places of their holy
retreat from the world! But what filled me with wonder—a wonder hardly
to be understood now—was the fact that I was gazing upon a panoramic
view of the sacred city, to be found in which three short months before
would have meant the shortest of shrifts. There above all was the Kinri
(literally “forbidden place”), the august but severely simple dwelling of
the Son of Heaven, itself a mystery, of which the nine gates were each
guarded by a great Daimio.
To-day all these nebulous secrets have become the common property of the
guide-books and the traveller, who without a care looks down from the
beautiful hills upon what now, shorn of its glamour, is but a dull, grey
city—if the truth must be told, rather shabby; for the grand shrines
which are the glory of its sanctity are hidden away, screened from the
profane eyes in those lovely groves which were the first temples of the
gods.
The following morning brought me a letter from Sir Harry Parkes, giving
me the details of the Sakai tragedy, in consequence of which the
ministers had left Ōsaka, and ordering me to return at once, inasmuch
as if the French demands were not complied with hostilities would break
out immediately. The Japanese officials also came to me with an account
tallying in all particulars with my Minister’s letter; but they added
that as every reparation was to be made and M. Roches’ demands were to
be complied with, there need be no alarm of war. As for my position, the
consternation in the Tosa Yashiki may be imagined. Prince Yōdo sent me a
message begging me to stay until the next day, and as I thought that I
might effect some good by doing so, that my leaving might be attributed
to fear, and that to remain certainly would tell well amongst the members
of the new Government, I determined to disobey my orders and comply with
the Prince’s request. The Japanese Government greatly appreciated the
confidence to which I thus gave expression.
Almost the whole of that day was passed in conference with high
officials, and it was not until late in the afternoon that I was able
to sally forth into a driving storm of rain for more sightseeing. I was
rewarded by seeing one _grande dame_ with her eyebrows shaven off and
artificial ones painted in high up on the forehead, as one sees the
fashions of the Mikado’s Court represented in old pictures. It was my
one and only experience of the mode so far as ladies were concerned. In
the case of the Mikado I was to see it afterwards on a more memorable
occasion.
I was roused the next morning by a message from Prince Yōdo begging me to
go and see him. I found him evidently already much the better for Willis’
ministrations, in spite of the terrible shock of the Sakai massacre. I
remained with him for two hours, discussing politics and especially the
affair about which he spoke with deep feeling and unfeigned emotion.
Had the murdered Frenchmen been his own countrymen he could not have
shown greater sympathy, nor could any man have expressed it with greater
dignity. I am bound to say that he inspired me with the utmost admiration.
He declared that the act of the murderers was one which he, in common
with every true Samurai—every man animated by the true _Yamato Damashii_,
the spirit of Old Japan, must look upon with detestation and horror.
He said that this deed, far from representing the feeling of the
Samurai, was a disgrace to Japan, and the ruffians who perpetrated it
should be rooted out from the country. He then begged me to be the
bearer of the following message to the French Minister and to the other
representatives. I took it down from his own lips, and repeat it here as
a noble and patriotic utterance.
“Although I am without precise information, I am aware that the
affair of Sakai was criminal and unjustifiable. It is a matter
of which I certainly had not the slightest cognizance. My one
wish has been to entertain friendly relations with foreigners.
The act of violence which my retainers have committed has
caused me to be deeply ashamed. I am aware that foreign nations
must feel grievously incensed. It hurts me to think that my
people should have interfered with the Mikado in his projects
for civilizing the country. I pray that Tosa alone, and not
the whole of Japan, may be rendered responsible for this
deed. I have been prevented by illness from going to Ōsaka to
punish the offenders myself, but I have sent two of my _karō_
(principal advisers, literally “elders of the family”) with
three officers of rank to represent me, taking with them one
hundred and sixty men, with orders to deliver up to justice
the guilty men. I beg you to communicate the expression of my
sentiments to the French Minister in particular, and to the
foreign representatives in general. Although this is a matter
for the Government of the country to deal with, I am anxious
that the thoughts of my heart should be made known to the
French Minister and to the foreign representatives.”
Every word that Prince Yōdo spoke was uttered with the most convincing
air of truth. I took my leave of him with great regret. My talk with
him on general subjects and the political situation had been most
interesting. He left upon me the impression that he was possessed of wide
views and great sagacity; he was a man who had notoriously done much for
his country and who, but for the poison instilled by that education in
self-indulgence which played such mischief with men of his caste, would
have been capable of very great things.
I returned to Ōsaka that evening and lost no time in delivering Prince
Yōdo’s message at Hiōgo to M. Roches, who was greatly pleased with it. My
presence in Kiōto during this affair, though it could not be otherwise
than a somewhat anxious adventure, was therefore of advantage as having
given the Prince the opportunity of making his own position clear. Sir
Harry Parkes fully approved of my having disobeyed his instructions.
On the 15th of March Prince Daté (Inkiyō of Uwajima) arrived at Hiōgo and
went on board the French ship _Vénus_ to carry the official acceptance of
the conditions laid down by M. Roches.
The 16th of March was fixed for the execution by _Hara-kiri_ of the
twenty men guilty of the murders. It was originally fixed to take place
on the quay at Sakai, where the crime was committed, but the place was
changed to a temple about a mile inland. Captain du Petit Thouars and a
company of some twenty Frenchmen were to witness the horror.
When the first condemned man came out he plunged the dirk into his
stomach with such force that his entrails protruded; he held them up
in his hand and began singing verses of hatred and revenge against the
detested foreigners who were polluting the sacred soil of the Land of
the Gods till death stopped his ghastly song. Those who came after him
followed his example, and the whole spectacle was so gruesome that when
eleven men had died—this being the number of the murdered victims—the
Frenchmen could hold out no longer, and Captain du Petit Thouars prayed
that the remaining nine men might be spared. His account of the scene
to me was blood-curdling. Brave man as he was—one of the bravest—it
nearly made him sick only to think of it, and his voice faltered as with
difficulty he told the tale.
CHAPTER XXIII
JAPAN. THE MIKADO
On the 18th Yamashina no Miya, first cousin once removed of the Mikado,
who had arrived at Hiōgo the previous day to invite the Foreign Ministers
to an audience of the Emperor at Kiōto, called upon Sir Harry. The Prince
was robed in the old court dress of a purple colour with the curious cap
(_yéboshi_) of wrinkled black paper. His teeth were blackened, but as
that process has to be renewed every two, or at most three, days, and as
they were at that moment in a transition stage, they did not look their
best. When we saw him again a few days later they had been newly polished
up, and shone like patent leather.
We reached Kiōto on the 21st and were lodged in the magnificent temple
called Chi-on-in, lying in a grove at the foot of the beautiful
Higashiyama, “the eastern hill.” Everything had been done to insure our
comfort, and the temple was guarded by troops of the Awa, Higo and Owari
clans. Our rooms were really of royal magnificence, and we were treated
to a feast of innumerable dainties set out with an elaborate etiquette
that would have satisfied the great Yoshimasa,[7] the Lucullus of Japan,
himself.
It would be difficult to forget the lovely temple with its avenues of
huge cherry trees, its vast halls, its art treasures, and its great
solemn bell rolling out deep, musical waves of sound far away over the
city; but I saw it again in 1906, quite unchanged, quite untouched by
political upheavals, and had the chance to talk over the story of forty
years gone by with the stately and venerable abbot, who remembered the
cruel days when the great State apartments were turned for the nonce into
hospital wards.
The day of the 22nd was spent in paying official visits, the chief
interest of which lay in the fact that we were entering into relations
with men who had never set eyes upon foreigners before, nobles who, like
their fathers for many centuries before them, had lived in a cloistered
seclusion hardly less strict than that of the Emperor himself, and upon
whom the light of the last weeks, even of the last days, had burst like
a flash of electricity in a cave of Stygian darkness. One great man told
us quite frankly that he, like the rest of the Court, had been bitterly
opposed to any intercourse with foreigners—now all was changed, and he
was glad of it. He afterwards apologized, saying that he was afraid that
he had spoken too freely, and that, at any rate, he felt grateful to the
English for having been the first to recognize the true position of the
Mikado.
A little later in the day Prince Daté and Gotō Shōjirō came to discuss
the ceremonial for the audience on the morrow. They seemed very anxious
as to how the boy-Emperor would play his part. It was all so new to him.
It must be remembered that only a very few of the highest nobles were
privileged to see their Sovereign face to face. Even the Shōgun did not
see him, but only knelt in front of the red lattice-curtain behind which
he heard the Son of Heaven issuing his commands. For the last ten days
the rigid etiquette had been so far broken that certain Daimios had been
allowed to see him. I could not help sympathizing with the poor young
Mikado in this prospective ordeal.
It was arranged that he should learn his speech by heart and try to
repeat it, the copy being then handed to Yamashina no Miya, who would
read it out and hand it in turn to Ito to be translated, the document
itself ultimately remaining with Sir Harry, who would reply directly to
the Mikado. As for me, I was to be presented by Yamashina no Miya to his
Majesty, who would greet me with the formula “Kuro” (“I am glad to see
you”).
The reception of M. Roches on the 22nd was the last of his Japanese
experiences. As will have been gathered, I was no great admirer of his
policy or of his proceedings, but I am bound to say that his final act
was marked by all the courtesy of his chivalrous nation. The fifth of
the demands made by him in regard to the Sakai massacre was that all
Tosa Samurai should be excluded from the foreign settlements. In answer
to Prince Yōdo, who desired to be informed how long this was to hold
good, M. Roches very graciously replied that he would leave that to the
Prince, who was far more capable than himself of being the judge in such
a matter. It was the answer of a gentleman.
The audience of the English Minister was fixed for the 23rd, and at one
o’clock we left the temple in pomp and state which it is needful that
I should describe in order that what followed may be understood. First
came the Legation mounted escort, headed by their inspector, Mr. Peacock.
These were picked men sent out from the Metropolitan Police, a gallant
little troop armed with lances, making a brave show. Then came Sir Harry
Parkes on horseback, with Satow and two high officials, Gotō Shōjirō and
Nakai Kōzō; after them a guard of the 9th Regiment under Lieutenants
Bradshaw and Bruce (afterwards Marquess of Ailesbury). My mare had
unfortunately gone dead lame, so I followed in a palanquin. After me
came a guard of some fifteen hundred or two thousand Japanese soldiers.
As good luck would have it, Dr. Willis and some naval officers whom Sir
Harry had invited, among whom were two surgeons, accompanied us.
Without let or hindrance our procession passed along a straight street
almost facing the gates of the temple, but as the leading men turned
the corner of the Shimbashi Street—a street where there are not a few
wine-shops and houses inhabited by geishas (quite respectable), two
Rōnin armed with naked swords sprang out and began slashing and hacking
in the maddest fury. The street was so narrow that our men’s lances
were hindered by the projecting eaves of the houses, and were useless.
Nakai Kōzō jumped off his horse and drawing his sword engaged one of
them, but catching his foot in his long trousers, stumbled and received
a severe cut on the head from a blow the full and deadly force of which
he contrived to parry. At this moment Gotō Shōjirō, who, with Sir Harry,
had not yet turned the corner, perceiving from the backing of the horses
and the scuffle in front that there was mischief ahead, dismounted and,
dashing forward, rushed to the rescue of Nakai. Between them, fighting
like fury, they killed the ruffian, and Nakai, jumping up, hacked off his
head. The other man rushed at Sir Harry, cutting and slashing as he went,
but fortunately missing the Minister. Satow had a narrow escape, for his
horse was wounded close to his rider’s knee, and part of the poor beast’s
nose was sliced off.
On the villain went, now cutting at the men of the 9th. I heard pistol
shots and the clatter of swords and cries of, “We are attacked!” “Kill
him!” “Shoot him!” and the like. I jumped out of my palanquin more
quickly than I ever in my life jumped out of anything, and rushed
forward. There were pools of blood in the street, and I saw the murderer
coming at me, by this time himself wounded, but not seriously, and full
of fight. His sword was dripping and his face bleeding. I knew enough of
Japanese swordsmanship to be aware that it was no use to try and avoid
his blow, so I rushed in underneath his guard and wrenched the bleeding
sword out of his grip. I handed him over to the men of the 9th, but
he managed to wriggle away from them and bolted down a passage into a
courtyard. I ran on to see whether Parkes was safe. To my great relief
he was sitting on his horse, quite unmoved, with Satow, whose pony was
bleeding, also mercifully unhurt. As I came up with them I stumbled over
something; it was a man’s head. The street was like a shambles; nine of
the escort and one man of the 9th and four horses had been wounded, some
of them lying in pools of their own blood. Sir Harry’s groom was also
bleeding. Our gallant little friend Nakai was badly hurt, but quite gay,
as usual.
Seeing that the affray was over and that there was nothing that I could
do, I ran back to make sure of the other Rōnin who had run down the
courtyard. I found that he had been shot in the face by Lieutenant
Bradshaw, but the weapon was but a toy pistol and the bullet had glanced
off the jaw-bone. When I reached the bottom of the yard, I saw my man,
a repulsive object smeared with mud and blood so that his features were
hardly human, trying to escape over a wall. I hung on to him and pulled
him down. I shall never forget the horror in his eyes as he glared
at me, evidently thinking that I should kill him. Of course he looked
upon me as a man might look upon his murderer. But my object, on the
contrary, was to save him. I wanted him, for through him I hoped to get
at the bottom of the plot. So I handed him over to the guard with strict
injunctions that he was not to be hurt.
As for the fifteen hundred Japanese soldiers, they decamped, and only
came back having in the distance fired what was something uncommonly like
a _feu de joie_. It was perhaps too much to expect of them, new as they
were to relations with foreigners, that they should show the same courage
and loyalty which had been exhibited by Gotō and Nakai.
Of course, going on to the Court was out of the question for that day.
Some time was lost in getting coolies to carry our poor fellows, at
least as many of them as were fainting from loss of blood. The others,
badly wounded though they were, insisted on sticking to their horses.
They behaved splendidly and in all that pain and trouble there was not a
single complaint to be heard.
My especial care was for my prisoner; his evidence was too important for
me to leave him to chance. Such coolies as we could muster were wanted
for our men, so in despair I pressed two honest citizens, shopkeepers,
into my service, and with dire threats made them carry him in my
_norimono_ (palanquin), for he was far too weak and exhausted to be able
to walk. The two shopkeepers were intensely disgusted, and their protests
that they were respectable burghers and ought not to be made to do the
work of _etas_ (pariahs) were almost comic; but our blood was up and they
had to do it.
It was a melancholy procession home. As I walked by the side of Sir
Harry’s horse he turned to me and said, “Sensation diplomacy this,
Mitford.” It certainly was. When we reached home our beautiful temple
was turned into a hospital. Our wounded men, bleeding as if their life
must ebb out, lay patiently in the verandah, waiting their turn for the
assistance of the surgeons, who, stripped to their shirts, seemed almost
to multiply themselves, so swift and skilful were they. Shirts and sheets
were being torn up into bandages, buckets of bloody water were being
emptied and filled again. Everything one touched was sickening, wet, and
red. It was a nightmare. Presently the head of the man whom Nakai had
killed was brought in—a terrible sight. One awful triangular wound had
laid bare part of the brain, and there was a gash from a sword on the
right jaw.
As soon as the prisoner’s wounds were dressed, Satow and I with a
retainer of Sanjo Dainagon examined the prisoner. He was a beetle-browed,
truculent-looking fellow with rolling black eyes, and his appearance was
not improved by bloodstained rags, and a large head with a shock crop of
wiry hair which, having abandoned the priesthood, he had just begun to
let grow. He said:
“My name is Ishikawa Samurō. I am a priest from a temple called Jōrenji,
near Ōsaka. I left the Castle this morning determined to kill all the
foreigners that I might meet. I came to Kiōto on the second day of this
month to join the Mikado’s bodyguard, and I lodged at the temple called
Hommanji in the Temple Street. I left it the day before yesterday and
went to the Castle. I was in the first regiment at the Castle, but could
not agree with my mates, so determined to regulate my conduct according
to my own ideas. I set out to kill foreigners; I had no accomplice. I
pray to be examined, and, if found guilty, to be executed and my crime
made known throughout the Empire.”
At a second questioning, he said: “I had an accomplice, one Hayashida,
I forget his other name.[8] He is the son of a village doctor, not
belonging to the Samurai class, from Katsura Mura, a village near Kiōto.
He is a Rōnin. He belonged to the first regiment of Guards. I heard last
night from the servants that foreigners were going to Court. I waited
to see them pass. I did not know to what nation they belonged. It was
the first time that I had seen foreigners. I repent of my crime. It was
a sudden thought on the part of both of us. I had no previous hatred to
foreigners.”
On being shown the head of the man who had been decapitated in the
street, of whose death up to this time he was unaware, he added:
“This is the head of Hayashida. Since he is dead I wish to live no
longer. Please cut off my head as soon as possible. We had been drinking
together at a wine-shop. I forget the name of the shop.”
To this second statement the wounded man adhered through a strict
cross-examination, and he solemnly stated that there was no other person
in league with him.
Naturally enough this outrage excited the greatest consternation at
the Court of the Mikado, and in the evening his Majesty sent Tokudaiji
Dainagon, and several of his highest officers of State, dressed in their
court robes, to present his condolences and the expression of his deep
regret at what had occurred. They inquired with great sympathy as to the
state of the wounded men.
This, taken in conjunction with the gallant behaviour of Gotō and Nakai,
and with the prompt punishment meted out for recent attacks, could leave
no doubt as to the sincerity of the horror which was expressed. Nearly
forty years later—in 1906—when I was sent with Prince Arthur on the
Garter Mission, it fell to my lot to take the Grand Cross of the Royal
Victorian Order to the Marquis Tokudaiji, Lord Great Chamberlain as he
then was, and he reminded me of the ghastly circumstances of our first
meeting on that memorable evening in Kiōto.
Our people, savage at the treatment which their comrades had received,
were none too keen to minister to the wants of the prisoner. I could not
but feel some compassion for the poor wretch, and so I took him tea and
rice and soup, and filled his pipe with tobacco; after a while he became
quite tame and confidential. It is a curious sensation that of talking
with one’s would-be murderer. The poor fellow was very grateful and said
over and over again that if he had known what kind folk the foreigners
were, he never would have embarked upon an enterprise which he now deeply
regretted. He said that he felt ashamed when he thought of the care and
attention which he was receiving. Now, since Hayashida was dead, his only
wish was to die too. He had heard of the fame of Satow as a scholar, but
did not know to what nation he belonged. As for me, I was beginning to
feel towards him as one might towards a dangerous wild beast beginning to
show signs of willingness to feed out of one’s hand.
This morning (the 24th) he had to undergo another examination by a
Japanese official, who furnished us with an example of the criminal
procedure of Japan in those days. This gentleman was an inspector of the
bodyguard, who, by representing himself as belonging to the Jō-i, or
anti-foreign party, and applauding the prisoner’s deed, gradually wormed
himself into his confidence, and got a good deal of fresh information out
of him, especially a statement that there were three other accomplices,
also belonging to the first regiment of Guards, who had been waiting
in a house further down the street ready to spring out and follow up
the action of himself and Hayashida should they fail, or only partially
succeed, in their attempt. The prisoner stated that he was twenty-nine
years of age—Hayashida, the dead man, was a lad of eighteen. He repeated
his thanks for the kindness which he had received at my hands and at
those of Doctor Willis. Once more he begged to be executed quickly.
Hayashida was dead and he had no care to live. The three men whom he
denounced were of course arrested, and equally of course, denied their
guilt.
In the afternoon we had a second visit from the ministers of the Mikado.
They brought with them a despatch conveying in writing the apologies
which they had delivered orally the evening before; they offered the
fullest reparation, expressing their willingness to indemnify the wounded
men, and to make provision for their families should they unfortunately
die. Nothing could be more dignified or more satisfactory in every way
than the language which they held—a notable contrast to our experiences
of Bakufu days. Sir Harry Parkes had made no complaint and demanded
no reparation. The action of the Government was as spontaneous as it
was noble: what a blessing it was to be quit of the old wrangling and
bullying which alone bore fruit a few months before.
The envoys begged that Sir Harry would not allow the madly wicked act
of a few ruffians to stand between the Mikado and friendship with
Foreign Powers. It would have been churlish not to meet them halfway and
accordingly the visit which had been so cruelly interrupted was fixed to
take place on the day after the morrow.
Looking back at the whole affair calmly, it seems miraculous, first that
two men should have risked certain death in attacking a party of some
seventy Englishmen armed with all the newest weapons (though, as I have
said, our escort were badly hampered in the use of their lances which
after this episode we discarded), and secondly that they should have been
able to work such havoc before they were stopped. It only shows how much
mischief a man may do if he does not try to save his own skin—that is
the whole essence of success in running amok. If he is faint-hearted and
looks to his own safety, he cannot do much harm. Another wonder was that
Sir Harry, conspicuous in his gold-embroidered coat, should have escaped
scatheless. Obviously it was a blind fury. The attack was irrational
and to us unintelligible; but the Jō-i were animated by the spirit of
a priest of Isé, who lived a century earlier, and wrote a patriotic
pamphlet, proving that the children of Japan are the offspring of the
gods—the rest of the world the issue of dogs and cats. Was it meet and
proper that the descendants of cats and dogs should defile the city,
the court, and even the sacred presence of the Son of Heaven? Among the
papers of our prisoner was found a document setting forth his political
creed; he admitted belonging to the Jō-i—the anti-foreign party; he
thought it right that the Mikado should govern; he had heard that a
barbarian doctor had polluted the holy city (this alluding to Willis’ two
visits with Satow and myself; so a mission of charity was turned into
an excuse for murder!). Three days later he was deprived of his rank as
Samurai, and put to death by the common headsman.
The Mikado’s Government announced that they were prepared to strike
at the root of all this fanaticism. They declared that the murder or
insulting of foreigners, hitherto regarded by the fanatics as acts of
heroism, was an infamous and wicked crime, and they were prepared to
publish a decree enacting that those guilty of such acts should be
deprived of their swords, their names struck off the roll of Samurai,
that they should be executed as felons without the privilege of
_Hara-kiri_, and that after death their heads should be exposed on the
execution ground. We were bound to confess that such a decree as this
would indeed be a drastic measure, meaning far more to a Samurai than the
Western man would generally realize.
I should add here that the Queen presented swords of honour to Gotō
Shōjirō and Nakai in recognition of the gallantry with which they
protected her minister.
* * * * *
It was the 26th of March, the third day of the third moon; an auspicious
day in the omens of which the most punctilious of soothsayers could find
no fault or foreboding of evil. The tragically postponed audience of the
Mikado was now to take place. The Government were naturally very anxious
after the events of two days before, and extraordinary precautions were
taken to prevent the recurrence of any such misadventure. From early dawn
the many-acred courts of the temple were crowded with men-at-arms arrayed
in all the panoply of ancient armour, with helmets and mustachioed
vizors. The picturesque figures of these warriors, framed in the setting
of the heavy-eaved architecture of the sacred buildings, were striking
even to us who by this time were tolerably well used to such startling
sights.
How would it have struck an Englishman transported on the carpet of
some Afrit or Jinn of the “Arabian Nights” out of the everyday moil and
toil of Fleet Street into the midst of all this medieval glamour? Were
we back in the middle of the eleventh century, in the days of the wars
when the white flag of the Minamoto was borne out to battle against the
red standard of the Taira?—days when gods and fairies took sides in the
struggle, as in the old fights before Troy? Two great Daimios, Prince
Daté, the Inkiyō of Uwajima, and the Prince of Hizen, had been told off
to conduct us in person to the Palace; their retainers, more numerous
than the tail of a Highland chieftain, armed with tasselled spears and
other weapons of the olden time, made a brave show.
Our own retinue was sadly reduced. Our mounted escort could only muster
two men, who with drawn swords rode on either side of Sir Harry. Satow
and I rode immediately behind him. The drawn swords, I should mention,
were very significant, and would have a startling effect in the streets
of Kiōto, for in Japan the blade was never bared save for bloodshed,
and the sight of them would have a meaning which my readers can hardly
realize. However, there was no need for their use this time. The streets
were admirably kept, and although huge crowds had gathered together to
see our procession, they were quite orderly, and there was no sign of
any disturbance—which would have been almost impossible—nor was there an
ugly word uttered. We had a longish way to go, and reached the Gosho, the
Imperial Palace, at about one o’clock.
The Palace of the Son of Heaven, unlike the dwellings of most Oriental
potentates, who delight in show and magnificence (indeed has not
“oriental splendour” become a proverbial expression?), was chiefly marked
by a noble simplicity; it was not even fortified, but was surrounded by
plain whitewashed walls topped with grey tiles, of which the nine gates,
as I have already said, were each committed to the charge of the troops
of one of the great Daimios. Still, in spite of its studied plainness,
the Gosho was not without a certain grandeur of its own. There was none
of that economy of space which always makes a mean effect; the courtyards
were vast and kept scrupulously clean with fresh white sand; the
buildings, of which there were many, although entirely without ornament,
were large and roomy, bearing a great stamp of dignity.
At the inner gate of ceremony, the gate used by princes of the blood,
we dismounted and were led by the great officers of State through a
succession of courtyards to a waiting-room, where we were received by
Yamashina no Miya, a cousin of the Emperor. Here we were plied with
sweetmeats, sponge cake,[9] tea and talk, waiting until the Mikado, who
was eating his mid-day meal, should be ready to hold his Court.
It was interesting to see in the flesh, if I may use the expression,
a scene such as we are familiar with in the paintings on ancient gilt
screens and kakémonos. The court dress had a peculiar _cachet_, a
“flavour” as the Chinese would put it, of its own. The black cap
(_yéboshi_) tied under the chin had something of the effect of the
huge piles of hair worn by women, which one sees caricatured about the
thirties of the nineteenth century. The coat was of dark silk, hanging
loose, with long, wide sleeves, and the sword was slung instead of being
thrust into the girdle, sticking out behind like a tail. The trousers
were baggy and clumsy in make, of lighter-coloured stuff than the coat.
But the strangest part to our eyes of the whole get-up were the
shoes—huge black lacquer sabots worn in crossing the courtyards, but of
course doffed on entering a room, so constructed that the wearer had to
shuffle along in the most uncertain fashion, the very parody of walking.
The costume altogether might appear grotesque to a new-comer, but we had
so long learned to associate it with the dignity of old tradition that
its oddness had ceased to raise our wonder.
On a sudden, as we were waiting in the ante-room, there arose the wild
and picturesque strains of flute, mouth-organ, lute, drums and other
instruments of string, wood and percussion, belonging to his Majesty’s
private band,—a curious wailing music. Here again we had something with
a flavour entirely its own, though one of the Japanese gentlemen who had
been in England said that it reminded him of the Italian opera. The power
of the imagination could hardly go further.
Is there anything so utterly odious as waiting? The three of us, Parkes,
Satow and myself, had worked and waited many months, not altogether in
safety, for this consummation of a policy which we, loving Japan, and
at the same time penetrated with a sense of its importance for England,
indeed for the world, knew to be right. But now this last half-hour of
sponge cake and compliments seemed interminable.
At last! At last (I pray forgiveness if I dwell upon our impatience) we
were ushered into the Presence. Only Sir Harry Parkes and myself were
to be presented—Satow, by far the most important man of the three, not
having at that time been presented at our own Court, could not, according
to etiquette, be presented to a foreign sovereign. Unfortunately the
rain, which had been threatening all the morning, had begun to fall in
torrents, so we had to splash through the various courtyards, ankle-deep
in wet sand. Guards of honour were stationed at intervals—an unknown
sight in the precincts of the Gosho, into the inner enclosure of which no
soldiers had up to that time been admitted. We were introduced into the
Audience Hall by the Prince of Hizen.
Passing up a double flight of steps we entered the audience chamber, a
long hall forming one side of a courtyard of which the remaining three
sides were a verandah open only on the inside. In this verandah sat the
band, clothed in red, blue and gaudy colours, with lacquer caps upon
their heads. The Presence Chamber itself was a long room, very simple
and plain. In the centre was a canopy supported by four slender pillars
of black lacquer draped with white silk, into which was woven a pattern
in red and black; the drapery was caught up and festooned with black and
red ribbons. On the inside of each of the two front pillars stood a lion,
curiously carved in wood, the one black, the other gilt, about two feet
high. Like our own Lion and Unicorn they had some mystic meaning, some
hidden connection with the Kingly order.
Under the canopy was the young Mikado, seated in, or rather, leaning
against, a high chair. Behind him knelt two Princes of the blood, ready
to prompt him, if need should be, in the playing of his part. Outside the
canopy and in front of His Majesty knelt two other Princes of the blood.
On a raised floor decked with costly green silk, close to the canopy,
stood Sir Harry and myself, our conductor, the Prince of Hizen, kneeling
beside us. On one side Ito Shunské, Governor of Hiōgo, who was to act as
interpreter, was also kneeling. On either side of the canopy in a double
or treble row, extending to the end of the Hall, stood the great Princes
of the Empire, men such as Satsuma, Chōshiu, Uwajima, Kaga, and other
great nobles—to us, up to that time, no more than names, but now realized
in the flesh. It certainly was a very imposing sight; perhaps it is
difficult to convey an idea of all that it meant to us, who had worked so
hard to this end.
As we entered the room the Son of Heaven rose and acknowledged our bows.
He was at that time a tall youth with a bright eye and clear complexion;
his demeanour was very dignified, well becoming the heir of a dynasty
many centuries older than any other sovereignty on the face of the globe.
He was dressed in a white coat with long padded trousers of crimson silk
trailing like a lady’s court-train. His head-dress was the same as that
of his courtiers, though as a rule it was surmounted by a long, stiff,
flat plume of black gauze. I call it a plume for want of a better word,
but there was nothing feathery about it. His eyebrows were shaved off
and painted in high up on the forehead; his cheeks were rouged and his
lips painted with red and gold. His teeth were blackened. It was no small
feat to look dignified under such a travesty of nature; but the _sangre
Azul_ would not be denied. It was not long, I may add, before the young
sovereign cast adrift all these worn-out fashions and trammels of past
ages, together with much else that was out of date.
When we had taken our places the Mikado addressed Sir Harry Parkes as
follows:
“I hope that your Sovereign enjoys good health. I trust that the
intercourse between our respective countries will become more and
more friendly and be permanently established. I regret deeply that an
unfortunate affair which took place as you were on your way to the Palace
on the 23rd delayed this ceremony. It gives me great pleasure, therefore,
to see you here to-day.”
Now this speech, regarded as an oratorical or literary effort, was not
very remarkable. And yet, if we consider the circumstances, we cannot but
admit that there was in it much upon which we might fairly congratulate
ourselves. We were standing in the presence of a sovereign whose
ancestors for centuries had been to their people demigods—to foreigners
almost a myth. The sanctity of their seclusion had been inviolate, they
had held no intercourse with a world of which they knew nothing. Now,
suddenly, the veil of the temple had been rent and the Boy-God, in
defence of whose Divinity myriads of his subjects were ready gladly to
lay down their lives, had descended from the clouds to take his place
among the children of men, and not only that, but he had actually allowed
his sacred face to be seen by, and had held communion with, “The Beasts
from Without.” That is how the mere fact would present itself to the
minds of the Japanese.
Then as to the matter of the speech there was none of the old, haughty
arrogance of the heaven-born. The Queen was spoken of with due
respect,[10] in itself a new departure, and the apology for the outrage
which had taken place two days before was couched in becoming language,
nor had there been anything in the whole ceremonial which could wound the
susceptibilities of the most exacting foreigner. The barrier of centuries
had been broken down, and Japan was ready to enter into the comity of
nations on equal terms.
As might be expected from his extreme youth and the novelty of the
situation to one who had only recently left the women’s apartments, the
Mikado showed some symptoms of shyness. He hardly spoke above a whisper,
so the words were repeated aloud by the Prince of the Blood on his right
side and translated by Ito Shunské. When Sir Harry had made a suitable
reply we were conducted out of the Presence Chamber by the Prince of
Hizen. The whole ceremony did not last much more than a quarter of an
hour.
So ended a ceremony which had been most imposing not only on account of
its inner meaning, but also by reason of the halo of simplicity, instinct
with solemn dignity. Tradition and the atmosphere of sanctity were more
striking than all the gold and silver and jewels of an aurungzebe on his
peacock throne.
On the 27th we left Kiōto. It was no easy matter to convey our poor
wounded men, who had ridden into the holy city a few days before, looking
so smart and handsome; however, we procured eight huge litters and
managed to get them by easy stages to the boats. I may say here that none
of them died, though several underwent great suffering, and two were
crippled for life and had to be invalided home.
On the 29th Sir Harry and the rest of the Legation went back to Yokohama
to look after the interests of trade, in a neighbourhood where there was
still much sporadic fighting and where the British community were not
unnaturally anxious, and I was left behind at Ōsaka to keep up relations
with the new government which was to make its headquarters there.
CHAPTER XXIV
JAPAN. SENSATION DIPLOMACY
So I was left on my lonely job, which lasted from the last days of March
till the beginning of August. I was the only European in the great city
(for the Consulate, under Mr. Russell Robertson, was far away down the
river); there were no foreign residents, and I was often for a week
at a time without seeing a European face, or hearing any language but
Japanese. I managed to secure a lodging not far from the office where
Prince Daté and Higashi Kuzé were conducting foreign affairs and I lived
in Japanese fashion on rice and fish, with which I was served from a
neighbouring cook-shop.
It was the hardest-worked time of my life. Parkes, at the request of
the Japanese, had chosen me for the task because he was in that way
able to dispense with depriving himself of one of his interpreters; my
orders were to communicate not only with him, but also directly with the
Foreign Office at home, whenever an opportunity should offer by a passing
man-of-war. I had therefore to copy every one of my drafts in duplicate,
and my communications with the Japanese Ministers in triplicate, as
according to treaty I was obliged to send my despatches in English as
well as in Japanese, and of course the translation into Japanese was an
immense addition to my labours. There was, moreover, rarely a day when
the Ministers did not expect to have an interview, often very lengthy,
upon some subject or other, and visitors from the various clans often
came to discuss politics and air their views. In this way I was at work
from early dawn till night, and kept two Japanese secretaries constantly
employed. Neither of them knew a word of English, so they were only of
use as amanuenses for their own language. I may say here in passing that
when the Foreign Office asked the Treasury to reimburse me the money
that I had paid for their salaries the answer was that I seemed to have
made good use of my opportunities, and if I had earned any reward I must
seek for it in my own profession. That is the return which I got for
work which was no part of my business as secretary, and which actually
cost me money. In addition to my written work I had to have interminable
interviews with Prince Daté and Higashi Kuzé at the Foreign Office, or
to receive them and many of the leading Japanese in my own house. Often
I worked from twelve to fourteen hours. “Bob” Lowe, afterwards Lord
Sherbrooke, was Chancellor of the Exchequer when the Foreign Office sent
in the claim on my behalf. He was always a very good friend to me, and
told me that he refused because he thought he would be doing me a good
turn, which, he said, I thoroughly deserved. So between two friendly
stools I fell to the ground!
Captain du Petit Thouars in the _Dupleix_ was left to watch over French
interests. He was one of the most charming of men, an ornament to the
French Navy. He died in 1890 (?) as Vice-Admiral at Brest, having
rendered brilliant service on shore during the war of 1870. As soon as
our respective ministers’ backs were turned I went to him and pointed
out how absurd and harmful were the jealousies and intrigues which had
gone on between the two Legations. I told him that I would keep him
accurately informed as to anything that might happen on shore, and hoped
that he, being in the roadstead on board his ship, would let me know of
any maritime movement that might take place. I said that we still had
to deal with a crisis which was far from settled, and that I could not
conceive that our interests should not be identical. He quite agreed, and
so we determined to work together in the common cause. He was as loyal as
his own sword, and we became fast friends. During those critical months
neither of us could often leave his post, so we seldom met; when we did
it was a privilege to be the friend of such a man.
It was, as I have said, a solitary life that I led—the life of a recluse.
How my London friends would have stared at my surroundings! I rigged
up a table at which to write, and a chair—those were indispensable;
otherwise my long, narrow room was innocent of furniture other than
two handsome screens, still in my possession, which shut off my bedless
sleeping-place, where I lay like a Japanese gentleman on a quilt, and
slept the sleep of the man that is mentally and physically tired out. My
verandah opened on to a slip of garden not much larger than a good-sized
dining-table—a little gem in its way, with a miniature Mount Fuji, a
shrine to Inari sama, a forest, a waterfall plashing into a lake, in
which were several fan-tailed gold-fish.
I hardly expect to be believed when I write that one day, as I was
sitting at work, I saw a huge otter come sneaking into my little
paradise. I cocked my Spencer rifle—the friend that I always kept at
hand, for there were plenty of scowling Jō-i about—but the enemy heard
the click and bolted before I could get a shot at him. It was a strange
invasion in a city of some half million of souls!
Apart from the ordinary work of our relations with the Foreign Office
there were two matters which Sir Harry had specially entrusted to me. The
one was to insist upon the publication, without delay, of the new law
with regard to attacks upon foreigners, and the second was to watch over
the case of the Urakami Christians. Neither of these was an easy matter
to deal with.
It will be seen from my translation of the law that it was an edict which
must have needed great courage on the part of the new Government to draw
up and still greater courage to publish, as they had promised to do,
throughout the Empire. It said:
“Now that the Imperial Government has been newly established,
in obedience to the principles of the Court it has been
commanded that friendly relations shall exist with foreign
countries, and that all matters should be treated directly by
the Imperial Court. The treaties will be observed according
to international law, and the people of the whole country,
receiving with gratitude the expression of the Imperial Will,
are hereby ordered to rest assured upon this point. From
henceforth those persons who by violently slaying foreigners
or otherwise insulting them would rebel against the Imperial
commands and brew trouble in the country, and all other
persons whatsoever, are hereby ordered to behave in a friendly
manner. Those who do not uphold the majesty and good faith of
their country in the eyes of the world, being guilty of most
audacious crime, will, in accordance with the heinousness of
their offence, even should they belong to the Samurai class,
be stripped of their rank and will meet with a suitable
punishment. Let all men receive these Imperial commands by
which riotous conduct, however slight, is strictly forbidden.
“Published at Kiōto, March 28th (1868).”
This decree naturally aroused great susceptibilities. To strip a Samurai
of his rank deprived him of the right of execution by _hara-kiri_; he
would have to die by the sword of the common executioner, his head would
be exposed on the pillory, and his property would be forfeited; he
would be reduced to the level of the lowest scum of the earth, and his
family would be ruined and wiped out. Only think of what that must mean
to these proud and chivalrous heirs of the centuries! The privilege of
self-immolation was one of the dearest and most precious rights of the
very class which had brought about the revolution, the class, indeed, to
which the members of the Government themselves belonged. However anxious
the Government might be to issue such an edict all over the country—and
it was impossible to doubt their sincerity in the matter—they were in
great difficulties. They were obviously wishful to do everything that
they could to conciliate foreign Powers and to enable their country to
take an honourable place among the nations; their own interests were at
stake, as well as ours, and this they felt.
They tried hard to persuade me to let them defer the publication of
the edict until it could be incorporated in a new code of laws which,
they said, was about to be drawn up. To this I had resolutely to refuse
assent. At the same time I could not but see that they had to consider
old prejudices, old jealousies, old hatreds; “rust cannot be cleared off
an old blade with one rubbing;” they had to go forward warily. However,
to cut short a long story and the record of many an hour of debate,
every minute of which increased my respect for Prince Daté and Higashi
Kuzé, I succeeded in getting the government to post the famous edict in
every town, village and hamlet throughout the land. My chief was greatly
pleased. It was a triumph for which he received great kudos.
The case of the Urakami Christians furnished me with a still more
difficult task.
“Think not that I am come to send peace on earth; I came not to send
peace, but a sword.” In no country did these words, with the terrible
forecasts that follow them, prove more true than in Japan. When St.
Francis Xavier, under the guidance of a gentleman of the Satsuma clan,
reached the land of Sunrise, the great missionary met with many troubles,
but was rewarded by great successes.
I do not propose to tell the story of the first efforts to Christianize
Japan—suffice it to say here, that all went well until the heavy-footed,
clumsy Franciscans in Japan, as in China, trampled to death the seed
of religion which had been sown and diligently watered by the more
delicate Jesuits. Interference with the laws and internal affairs of the
country were meat and drink to the Franciscans, so that the great Kido
was historically justified when, on one occasion, he said: “It seems to
me that missionaries are men who are sent here to teach the people to
disobey the laws of their country.” Those who are curious in such matters
will find the history of the persecutions—sometimes, it must be admitted,
retaliations—admirably told in Mr. Longford’s “Story of Old Japan.”[11]
The persecutions of Hidéyoshi and Iyéyasu failed entirely to outroot
Christianity; it simply disappeared out of sight. There were in many
parts of the country small scattered colonies of Christians, faithful
men who, without the teaching of a priest or the ministrations of a
pastor, clung to the creed for which more than two centuries before
their forefathers had been tortured and perished. It must have been a
very simple form of faith without much dogma about it, but they believed
in God and worshipped the Saviour who had died for their sins, and
that was enough. One such colony existed at Urakami, a village not far
from Nagasaki, the chief scene of the old persecutions, a community
entirely composed of Christians, numbering some four thousand souls. The
reactionaries at the Court of Kiōto had determined that these people must
be put to the sword and extirpated.
It is perhaps not surprising that the resumption of power by the Mikado
should have led to a revival of Shintō, the religion of the Gods, from
whom he claimed descent. The more bigoted of the men by whom the Emperor
was surrounded, new to government and little suspecting the troubles
which, in the altered condition of things, religious intolerance could
not fail to bring upon their country, were fired by zeal for the old
worship, and they demanded the extirpation of the religion in which they
saw its chief enemies. Urakami was a prominent and notorious centre of
that faith, and its people must be the first victims.
If we put ourselves for a moment in the place of the new ministers, it
is not difficult to realize the anxious thought which this movement,
even more than the question of the new edict mentioned above, must have
caused them. Bigotry and fanaticism are terrible foes to fight, and, in
this particular instance, the trouble must have been increased by the
knowledge that any disinclination to proceed to extremities would be set
down as something akin to disloyalty to the Emperor and a denial of his
divine rights. The ministers with whom I had to deal were large-minded
men with liberal views, but they, on their side, had to reckon with
important personages, who, after being immured, as their forbears had
been for centuries, in the mystic darkness of a prehistoric cloister,
were no more fit to face the sunlight of the nineteenth century than
those perhaps fabulous batrachians which have whitened for aeons untold,
encased in the crevices of the limestone rock. In a little time they were
to face it, and they did so gloriously; but the day had not come yet, and
they were still purblind.
The sudden awakening of a sovereign and his court from the sleep of eight
centuries was a wonder which still, after some fifty years, reads like
a fairy tale even to those who witnessed it. Among the men who composed
it there was no great wealth, no ostentation to dazzle the eye—and yet
everything to fascinate the imagination. These men, dwelling in simple
houses, living frugally—even poorly—were surrounded by a halo before
which the territorial magnates, lords of great castles, with all their
pomp and splendour and martial glitter, had to humble themselves. The
Kugé believed, and they could make others believe, that for all their
apparent poverty and humility they were in some mysterious way trustees
for the glory of the Gods, from whom, like their divine Emperor, they
claimed descent.
Naturally enough, amongst men who had lived in the mystery of ancestral
seclusion, unbroken by any sign or sound from without, there must be
a majority among whom it would be idle to expect an immediate flow of
liberal ideas; they thought as their fathers thought, as their forbears
had thought in the eleventh century, when the veil was drawn over the
holy city and all light shut out till now. Some there were who amazed us
by the way in which they met the new situation. Physically, inbreeding
had done its work. Many of the nobles were puny, pale and anæmic ghosts,
in whom Dr. Willis, a sound observer, found many signs of hereditary
degeneration. Others again, equally bearing the stamp of aristocratic
descent, were strong and well nurtured. Side by side with Daté, the burly
Inkiyō of Uwajima, Higashi Kuzé, the Court noble was not imposing in
stature, but his mind was clear and nimble, and indeed, it was wonderful
to watch the success with which many of these recluses, whose lives had
been spent in the iteration of dull and mentally exhausting ceremonies,
threw themselves into the whirlpool of affairs.
Iwakura, for instance, who afterwards went as Ambassador to Europe,
was one of the most pliant of the new statesmen with whom we came into
contact. The three brothers Saionji, and some others, were born men
of the world. But these men of more advanced views were few and far
between, and amongst the others there can be no doubt that our friends
in preaching toleration had an even more difficult task than that which
lay before Disraeli when he started upon educating his party. Had the
Emperor been a little older his generous spirit would have lightened
their burden. But he was a mere boy, not yet able to make his personal
influence felt. It was not long in coming; for among the heroes of the
days of the restoration none deserve more admiration and respect than
the Emperor Mutsu Hito. Hardly was he freed from the luxurious care
and tender coddling of the women’s quarters than he was forced to take
up his august inheritance at a moment of storm and stress for which the
history of his country—perhaps we might say, of the world—furnishes no
parallel. He faced the ordeal manfully from the very first, and he seems
at once to have recognized the importance of the fact that the days of
Japan’s isolation had come to an end, and that, if the Land of the Gods
was to preserve its dignity, it must be by casting off the old slough of
tradition and prejudice.
Before many years had elapsed he made himself a real, and not a nominal,
power. The full measure of his personal weight will perhaps never be
known. What we do know is that he was a most generous monarch, an
indefatigable worker, and that he had the art of surrounding himself with
the best and wisest advisers. Had he been opposed to a forward policy
the prestige which attached to the Son of Heaven would have enabled him
to stay the hands of the clock; his power of obstruction would have been
almost unlimited. As a matter of fact his action was always in favour of
progress, and in nothing did he show this more conspicuously than in the
attitude which, from the first, he took up towards foreigners. Doubtless,
in the earlier days he, like his ministers, had to be careful not to run
too violently against tradition and prejudice.
In order to understand the policy of the new government, in regard to
the native Christians, it is essential that these very real difficulties
which they had to encounter should be understood. In dealing with them,
Daté and Higashi Kuzé evidently knew that they had to conciliate a number
of their more retrograde peers who might easily wreck the ship. Their
hand was not an easy one to play; they held but one trump card—national
ambition, which could not but be frustrated by disregarding the public
opinion of the world, and even that card they must persuade others to
take at trump value; a little too great precipitancy, a little lack of
caution, and they might raise a storm of fanaticism which it would be
hard to quell and which might ruin their game. In our discussions I had
to minimize dangers which I knew to be no sham, and to lay stress upon
advantages of which the government were probably as well aware as I was.
One difficulty with which I had to contend was the danger of appearing to
interfere in the internal affairs of the country. No foreigner’s safety
or welfare was at stake. There was not a single missionary concerned. The
foreign legations then could not do more than offer friendly advice and
that, too, in the most discreet fashion. Day after day and week after
week we carried on our weary debates; but at any rate I was at last
able to obtain the assurance that there would be no massacre, no such
persecution, no such wholesale cruelty, as had stained the early days of
the seventeenth century. So far it was a triumph, well worth the pains it
cost, but I was certain that there must be some temporary sacrifice to
the old-world prejudices of the Court, which were still too strong to be
altogether ignored. That sacrifice would take the shape of deportation.
When in the month of August I returned to Yokohama I found Sir Harry
Parkes just about to start for a conference with the colleagues. “What
am I to tell them?” he asked. I answered that he might assure them that
there was no danger, such as had at one time been dreaded, there would
be no executions—no torture—that the utmost that would be done would be
a breaking up of the community at Urakami, that the families would be
distributed among various clans, and that I did not believe that even
that measure of intolerance would be of long duration. Sir Harry was
delighted with the result of my negotiations and went off in great glee
to reassure the colleagues. It was really a great victory. My forecast
was correct; though, in 1870, there was a fresh outburst of fanatical
zeal and many families were exiled, in 1872, with the new and generous
order of things, the exiles were restored to their homes; missionaries
are now free all over the country, and who will may be baptized.
In spite of the pleasure of having independent and responsible work to do
I confess that I was not sorry when my exile at Ōsaka came to an end. It
had been a lonely time in the midst of an obviously hostile community.
The heat had been intense—the work very laborious, no rest from morning
till night, food none too plentiful, though, indeed, there was little
temptation to eat. I was, moreover, run down and out of health. So I was
delighted when my good friend du Petit Thouars sent to say that he was
leaving for Yokohama and would give me a berth, as he heard that I, too,
was to rejoin my chief.
Those were halcyon days on board the _Dupleix_. The too often storm-vexed
Inland Sea was a dream of beauty, its countless smiles rippling under a
cloudless sky. The ship was the perfection of comfort, the cook a genius,
and my host—one of the most agreeable companions, a man whose goodness of
heart was equalled by his wit and the catholicity of his reading. His men
adored him, and no wonder!
I was quickly back in my fairy-tale quarters in the little temple of
Monriuin, overlooking the Bay of Yedo—soon to become Tōkiō, in order that
the last vestige of the power of the Tokugawa family might be swept away.
My little temple home was not much bigger than a doll’s house, but it was
very pretty and snug and to a tired and overworked man it was a delight
to slip on a bath-gown in the early morning and drink in the refreshing
breezes which came blowing into the garden from over the sea.
I had plenty to amuse me, and leisure to go on plodding at my “Tales
of Old Japan,” which were growing in bulk. The stories themselves were
not such hard work; but the notes and appendices involved much labour
in looking up authorities and gathering together odds and ends of
information. Parkes used to say that, if ever the book was published,
they would be the best part of it.
The civil war was now practically at an end. The Shōgun, shorn of his
rank, was easing his scholarly mind in the composition of Chinese poetry
in his romantic castle of Shidzuoka, the favourite castle of his great
ancestor Iyéyasu, where, leading the life of a country gentleman, he for
some forty years devoted himself to agricultural pursuits, especially to
improving the cultivation of tea. In this way he found good employment
for the vast number of retainers whom he was unable to support as in
old days, but whom he would not turn adrift. He was a kind and generous
master.
There was still fighting in the north, and the Prince of Aidzu did
not capitulate until towards the end of the year. Enomoto, who was in
command of the ships of the Tokugawa, had taken his fleet to Hakodaté in
the island of Yesso, where he was joined by Captain Brunet and another
officer of the _mission militaire_, and by one or two French midshipmen
from the _Minerve_. Enomoto’s attempt to proclaim a republic in Yesso
was an utter failure; by the month of June, 1869, he was hopelessly
defeated; the French officers, who had surrendered to their own naval
commander, were shipped off on board the _Coetlogon_ to Yokohama, where
M. Outrey, who had succeeded M. Léon Roches as French Minister, would
not even allow them to land, but ingloriously packed them off in the
_Dupleix_ to Saigon. The departure of these troublesome French gentlemen
with their tails between their legs, was a source of infinite joy to Sir
Harry Parkes, and of great relief to M. Outrey, who had been much annoyed
by their conduct. Enomoto himself, the arch-rebel, was forgiven, and was
afterwards Japanese Minister in Peking.
All these things, however, took place months after my arrival in Yedo.
The great city through which the furies had been raging so violently,
burning temples, setting fire to _yashikis_, fighting, murdering,
crucifying,[12] the streets ringing with the fierce war-songs of the
clansmen, was now at peace. The days floated by uneventfully in a dull
monotone which was a new and, to tell the truth, delicious sensation; it
was long since I had enjoyed such a feeling of peace and security. Now
and then some visitor would come, eager to be shown the historic beauties
of the famous place; now and then I had to ride to Yokohama on Legation
business; otherwise the silence of Monriuin was unbroken.
It was a blessed calm after the storm. Still, it would not have been
wise as yet to lay aside revolver and sword, for so long as the Samurai
were allowed to wear sword and dirk there was always the danger lest
some fanatic swashbuckler, perhaps in his cups, might empty his scabbard
in our honour. A blow would soon be given, and we had had experience
enough of what Captain du Petit Thouars called “le marteau rasoir”—a
good definition of the heavily-weighted, keen-edged _katana_. The law
depriving the Samurai of the right to carry the _dai-sho_, sword and
dirk, was one of the wisest enactments of the new _régime_, but that was
not to come for many a long month.
CHAPTER XXV
BETWIXT OLD AND NEW JAPAN
The period upon which we were now entering was of singular interest and
historical importance. It was the connecting link between the old Japan
and the new, a transition-time in which the ancient feudalism still spoke
(indeed, one may ask whether its voice is even now, in 1915, quite hushed
to silence?) when many schemes were fought out, some still-born, some
doomed to a swift death, others, embryonic at first, but fated to grow
into greatness.
Of these none was more significant, none more pregnant with consequences
than the remission by the Daimios into the hands of the Mikado of the
great fiefs which they had held from time immemorial. This, as I have
shown, sprang out of the proposal of the Daimios that the Tokugawa family
should be made to give up lands bringing in a revenue of two millions
_kokus_ of rice; and it was to that remarkable man, my friend Prince
Yōdo, the Inkiyō of Tosa, that the credit belongs of seeing that, having
once started on a forward policy, they must be prepared to go on with
it, and that the consolidation of the Empire must of necessity involve
the creation of an Imperial revenue, together with the abolition of
provincial home rule. At the same time no little praise is due to the
other territorial magnates for the ease and rapidity with which they
assimilated what to them must have seemed profoundly distasteful and
revolutionary ideas.
[Illustration: OLD JAPAN.
_From a water-colour drawing by C. Wirgman._]
I translated the first memorial announcing the laying at the foot
of the throne the vast ancestral territories, signed by Mori Saisho
Chinjo (Chōshiu), Shimadzu Shosho (Satsuma), Nabeshima Shosho (Hizen),
Yamanouchi Shosho (Tosa). It was published in the _Kiōto Gazette_ of the
5th of March, 1869, and is worth giving in full, for it was a document
which made history.
“In the opinion of certain ministers (the writers) the Great
Body must not lose a single day, the Great Strength must not
delegate its power for one day. Since the heavenly ancestors
established the foundations of the country the Imperial line
has lasted without a break for ten thousand ages. The Heaven
and the Earth belong to the Emperor; there is no man who is
not his servant. This constitutes the Great Body. The Emperor
governs his people, conferring rank and property. It is his to
give and his to take away; of our own selves we cannot hold a
foot of land, we cannot take a single man. This constitutes the
Great Strength.
“In the days of old the Emperor governed the sea-girt land,
and trusting to the Great Body and to the Great Strength, the
Imperial wisdom ruled over all; thus truth and righteousness
being upheld, there was prosperity under Heaven. In the Middle
Ages the ropes of the net were loosened, so that men playing
with the Great Strength and striving for the power crowded
upon the Emperor, and half the world tried to enslave the
people and to steal the land. Beating and gnawing, theft and
rapine, ruled in the land. When the Great Body that should
have been preserved, and the Great Strength that should have
been maintained, were gone, no means were left for repressing
these evils. Traitors encouraged traitors and the strong preyed
upon and devoured the weak. The greater traitors seized tens
of provinces, the lesser traitors maintained retainers by the
thousand. Then arose the Bakufu, which also parcelled out
territories and men as might seem good to it, among private
individuals, thus planting and stablishing its own power. So it
came about that the Emperor wore a vain and empty rank, and,
the order of things being reversed, looked up to the Bakufu as
the dispenser of joy and sorrow. For six hundred years and more
the waters turned from their course have flooded the land and
reached to Heaven.
“During this time the Bakufu borrowed the name and authority
of the Emperor to hide the traces of thefts of lands and men,
being forced to use the Imperial name as a screen, since the
relations and duties of the vassal to his lord cannot be laid
aside after ten thousand years. Now the Great Government has
been newly restored, and the Emperor in person undertakes the
direction of affairs. This is indeed a rare and mighty event.
We have the name of an Imperial Government: we must also have
the fact. Our first duty is to illustrate our faithfulness
and to prove our loyalty. When the line of Tokugawa arose it
divided the country among its kinsfolk, and there were many who
thus founded the fortunes of their families. They waited not
to ask whether the lands and men that they received were the
gift of the Emperor. For ages until this day, they continued to
inherit these lands. Others said that their possessions were
the prize of their spears and bows, as if they had broken into
store-houses and stolen the treasures that they contained,
boasting to the soldiers round them that they had done this
regardless of their lives. Those who break into store-houses
are known by all men to be thieves, but those who rob lands and
steal men are not looked upon with suspicion. How are loyalty
and faith confused and destroyed! Now that men are looking
for an entirely new Government, the Great Body and the Great
Strength must neither be lent nor borrowed.
“Our dwelling-place is the Emperor’s land: the food which we
eat is grown by the Emperor’s men. How can we call it our own?
We now reverently offer up the list of our possessions and men,
with the prayer that the Emperor will take good measures for
rewarding those to whom reward is due and for mulcting those
to whom punishment is due. Let the Imperial commands be issued
for altering and remodelling the territories of the various
clans. Let the civil and criminal codes, the military laws down
to the rules for uniform and the construction of engines of
war, all proceed from the Emperor; let all the affairs of the
Empire, great and small, be referred to him. After this, when
the internal relations shall be upon a true footing, the Empire
will be able to take its place side by side with the other
countries of the world. This is now the most urgent duty of the
Emperor, as it is that of his servants and children. Hence it
is that we, in spite of our own folly and vileness, daring to
offer up our humble expression of loyalty upon which we pray
that the brilliance of the heavenly Sun may shine, with fear
and reverence bow the head and do homage, ready to lay down our
lives in proof of our faith.”
A truly memorable document, to which, on the following day, the Emperor
made answer, saying that “His Majesty is filled with admiration of the
loyalty” of the four Daimios.
Other Daimios followed suit, the Prince of Echizen, however, raising the
suggestion that there should be a public debate as to whether the present
was a proper and fitting opportunity for the movement.
One Daimio, following the example of the four leaders, “has the honour
humbly to make a statement”—and a very characteristic statement it is.
“The Emperor, having taken upon himself the task of ruling, the owls
have changed their cry,[13] the grass and the trees have bent to the
wind. This has been one day in ten thousand years which it has been
our privilege to witness. The land girdled by the sea has beheld and
wondered. Deeply should I fear to retain for my own the territory which
my poor clan has received from the Emperor; therefore it is my desire to
offer up my lands and my people. I humbly implore the Imperial decision.
“Sd. TODA UNÉMÉ NO SHO.”
(_Kiōto Gazette_ of March 10th, 1869.)
I feel inclined to add extracts from a similar memorial by the Prince of
Unshiu, taken from the _Kiōto Gazette_ of March 12th, 1869:
“Your servant Sadayasu in his folly and worthlessness, ignorant
of the laws of decorum, dares to lift up his voice in defiance
of all propriety. To discuss the affairs of the Government
of the Empire is a crime deserving ten thousand deaths....
Truly we may say that after an interval of seven hundred
years the foundation has been laid of a reformation which
shall last for ten thousand generations. The Emperor issues
his illustrious commands and the millions of the people are
purified in the reformation. Hence it is that your servant
Sadayasu, disregarding the heinousness of the crime which he
is committing, dares to offer up his humble opinion. The
affairs of the Empire may be said to have their seasons ... it
is to these seasons that we must direct our minds. The present
restoration is such a season.
“The first consideration is that the root of the tree should be
firmly planted. The root is the sovereign power; to restore the
sovereign power to the Emperor is to plant the root firmly....
In the Middle Ages the military class curtailed the possessions
of the Emperor.... In their mutual struggle the great swallowed
up the small, the strong took possession of the weak.... The
feudal Princes presented the picture of a land divided into
petty kingdoms maintained by force ... so that the people of
the remote districts knew not that above all there was One who
was Lord of the myriads and of the millions. How can such a
grief be endured? But now that the tangled machinery of the
State has been renewed, the myriads and the millions, purified
in the overflowing dews of the deep benevolence, will at once
reverently recognize their Emperor, and the roots of the tree
will be firmly planted. The roots being firmly planted, the
branches and leaves will flourish luxuriantly. How much the
more, now that friendly relations exist with foreign countries,
should we place our divine country under the sovereign rule,
and setting up our Emperor as the Head of the Universe, and
restoring the singleness of the supreme power, illustrate its
virtue and strength to the four seas.
“Your servant Sadayasu acknowledges gratefully that, degenerate
as he is, he is yet the chief of the least of all the clans.
At a moment so auspicious as the present, how can he refrain
from expressing his humble opinion? Cheerfully braving the
punishment of the headsman’s axe, he dares to lift up his
voice. If perchance your servant who offers up the lists of
his lands and men to the Emperor should find favour, and his
petition be graciously accepted, what happiness could equal
this? He prays that the All-wise and Illustrious will take his
poor request into consideration. Your servant Sadayasu, in fear
and awe, bows the head once and again. Fainting and dying, he
lifts his voice.”
The _Kiōto Gazette_, which gave to the world these memorials, cast much
in the same shape as that hoary old journalistic curiosity the _Peking
Gazette_, was one of the first-fruits of the new order of things. It
was a most interesting publication, full of odds and ends of quaint
information, and for some months, when our withers were unwrung by any
rousing excitement, I used to amuse myself by picking plums out of it and
translating them for the benefit of the Legation. The memorials by the
great nobles surrendering their fiefs, of which I have given specimens
above, were published in the _Gazette_. I suspect that many of the
announcements would excite as much curiosity among the Japanese of to-day
as they did in 1869 among us.
* * * * *
(1.) On the first day of the New Year [February the 11th, 1869] the
Emperor worships the Gods of the Four Points of the Compass, and on this
occasion His Majesty in the Court of the Hall called Seiriyo Den does
homage before the Gods of Heaven and Earth and prays for a prosperous
year and long life. He also in the same place prays to the tombs of his
ancestors. The Court performs _Go Sekkai_ (similar acts of worship).
A proclamation announces to the Princes assembled at Kiōto that these
acts of worship will take place, and on the second day will take place
the ceremony of the worship of Haku Ba[14] (“the white horse”) by the
Court. On the third day dancing and singing by the officers of the Court.
The Princes may be present on these four days at their convenience. On
the second the Mikado partakes of the food called _Ō-yukago Gozen_. On
the second cups of wine are presented to the Ministers of State and on
the third to various officials, and on the latter day the whole of the
Daimios present at Kiōto receive fans from the Emperor.
(2.) On the fourth day the Ministers of State assemble on the middle and
second stages of the Ko-gosho (small hall of audience), and the Hoshō
(Prime Minister) reads out the imperial address—a patriotic document.
(3.) On the twelfth day there will be Kagura dances in honour of the
_Kami_ (gods of the country), and on the thirteenth day there will be
Kagura in honour of the Imperial change of residence to Yedo. Together
with these dances there will be Shintō services from the night of the
tenth day until the morning of the fourteenth. Persons in mourning,
Buddhist priests and nuns will not attend on these occasions.
Regulations for the presentation of wedding gifts of a sword and box of
dried fish to the Emperor from the various Princes; the Empress Mother
and the Empress receiving only dried fish.
(4.) 5th day. The dance called Senshiu Banzai—“a thousand autumns and ten
thousand years.”
The murder of the Minister of State, Yokoi Heishirō, on his return from
Court. The Emperor addresses him a letter of inquiry. (He had been killed
on the spot and his head carried off by the murderers, so it was a
post-mortem compliment.)
(5.) 7th day. The ceremonies of Haku Ba, “the white horse.” This is a
ceremony in honour of spring. Although the Chinese characters for “white
horse” are used, “Hakuba” should be pronounced “Aoma”—“the black horse.”
In the book “Kuji Kongen,” the following explanation is given: “If on
the 7th day of the 1st month, a person should see a black horse it is
said that pestilential vapours will not affect him during that year.” The
Emperor Nimmei or Nimmiyo (A.D. 834-850) is said to have seen a black
horse on that day in the part of the palace called Horaku Den, “the hall
of abundance and happiness.”
In the book called “Yo No Kotozawa Mondō,” a collection of saws and
proverbs, the Li Chi is cited, where it is written that persons leading
seven black horses should go out to welcome the coming spring on an
eastern moor. _Aoi_, light green, is the colour of spring and _aoi_ is
also used for the colour of a black horse. The ceremony is therefore the
hailing of spring.
Various appointments and reliefs from duty.
(6.) On the 17th it is announced that on the 19th the Emperor will
witness dancing. Officials from the fourth rank down to the Hanji and
Shiji may be spectators; they will take their places in the corridor, and
money will be given to them wherewith they may purchase crane’s flesh and
wine.
NOTE.—These curious religious dances, which remind one of the dances
of the choristers at Easter in the Cathedral of Seville, are of great
antiquity. It is written in the Nihon-ki, the history of Japan, that
when the Emperor Inkiyō died in the forty-second year of his reign
(A.D. 453) the King of Corea, being shocked and grieved at the news,
sent eighty boat-loads of presents with musicians and eighty musical
instruments, but the court of Japan was ignorant of their use. In the
twentieth year of the Emperor Suiki (A.D. 612) Uimashi, Kichiuto and
Katai came to Japan from Hiyakusai in Corea, announcing that having
studied in China, they had learned various accomplishments together
with the art of dancing, and specially the dances called Mai, a kind of
minuet which the Chinese call Wu, danced to the accompaniment of musical
instruments. These three men were sent to a place called Sakurai Mura,
and persons of tender age were gathered together to be taught by them.
Two years later (A.D. 614) in the twenty-second year of the same reign,
one Inugami Mitasuki was sent to the Court of China to be instructed in
various accomplishments and returned in the following year. In the reign
of the Emperor Nimmei (A.D. 834-850) Fujiwara no Sadatoshi went to China
for the same purpose and in A.D. 847 was appointed Uta no Kami, “the Lord
of Song,” as the chief instructor in the arts of singing and dancing. In
the reign of the same Emperor Nimmei it is recorded that an old man named
Hamamushi of the province of Owari, who at eighty-three years of age was
as active as a boy, was summoned to dance before the Emperor. He it was
who invented the dance called Choju-gaku, the dance of long life. (The
legend taken from the first eclipse of the sun, when the sun-goddess hid
in a cave and was tempted out by the dancing of her turbulent brother, is
too well known to be more than referred to here. But it is the foundation
of the mystic dances of the Shintō.)
(7.) 18th day. Matsudaira Idzumi no Kami is reproved on account of riots
which have taken place in his district.
On the same day is issued a proclamation summoning the nobles of high and
lower degree to Yedo. It goes on to say, “The Emperor is grateful for the
fatigues and expenses of various natures which men have endured since
last spring for their country’s sake. But the summoning of this assembly
is connected with matters of the highest importance to the country.
Therefore let every man receive the Imperial will and obey it with as
little pomp and useless expense as possible.”
Rules for the division of duties.
Rules for the offices of the Council and Government—(an excerpt or two
from these may be of interest). Office hours are from 10 a.m. till 2 p.m.
except when stress of work delays the closing hour.... In all discussions
the office of the Jingi (Gods of Heaven and Earth—Shintō) will take
precedence. Other departments will follow in due order and without
confusion ... at twelve o’clock officers will retire for their midday
meal. Private conversation and gossiping is forbidden.
High prices having been paid for condemned and worthless vessels, a
regulation is issued forbidding the purchase of ships and men-of-war
directly from foreigners without previous survey and permission of
authorities of the open ports.
(8.) 19th day. Dancing before the Emperor.
(9.) 20th day. Priests and officials of the Shintō shrines summoned to
court to congratulate the Emperor and pay their respects.
Arrangements for lectures to be delivered before the Emperor on Japanese
and Chinese subjects.
Announcement of conclusion of treaties with Sweden and Norway, two
countries ruled by one king, and Spain.
(10.) 22nd day. The Empress Mother will take up her abode in a new
residence on the 11th of next month at ten in the morning.
Sentences on the men connected with the murder of the two sailors of
H.M.S. _Icarus_.
(11.) Proclamation to various clans dealing with requests for permission
to become Inkiyō, and petitions affecting the succession to estates and
the adoption of children.
NOTE.—Adoption is considered as in all respects the same as right of
birth. A gentleman once told me that he had an unbroken pedigree of a
thousand years—“With adoption at various times?” I asked. “Certainly,”
was the answer. He was amazed when I told him that in my country there
were such pedigrees without adoption.
Memorial of Chōshiu, Satsuma, Hizen and Tosa resigning their fiefs
(translation given above).
(12.) 25th day. List of persons to whom the oath of allegiance has been
administered.
Order for visit of congratulation to the Emperor, Empress and Empress
Mother on the occasion of her removal to her new Palace. Persons in
mourning to attend for the purpose on the following day.
30th day. The Prince of Chōshiu has heard that the Emperor is about
to send an envoy to his country and begs to decline the honour.
Answer.—“This petition has been taken cognizance of by the Emperor, who
has urgent reasons for issuing the orders in question, which will not be
revoked.”
(13.) 2nd day, 2nd month. Proclamation forbidding the Princes and Nobles
to have excessive retinues—also forbidding their retainers to cry out to
the people to prostrate themselves as they pass.
3rd day. Canonization of an ancestor of the Prince of Chōshiu who lived
in the sixteenth century. To the Mori Saisho—father and son:
“Whereas your ancestor Oyé Motonari, who received posthumous honours of
the third rank during a period when the three duties of Prince, Father
and Husband, and the five virtues of Benevolence, Justice, Decorum,
Knowledge and Truth, were thrown into confusion, was the only man who set
a brilliant example of loyalty and virtue; whereas he slew and expelled
the wicked and the rebel, and whereas he over and over again offered up
tribute to relieve the Emperor in his need; such patriotism and loyalty
at this distance of time excites deep admiration in the Emperor, who
directs that he be canonized as a _Kami_ (Shintō god) and orders that his
worship shall endure for all generations.
“The Emperor commands that his shrine be called the Shrine of Toyosaka.”
Order for the circulation of a book of religious instruction called
“Kiōto Fu Koku Yu Dai I.” As Sir Harry Parkes in forwarding my
translation to the Foreign Office said, “An interesting instance is thus
furnished of the endeavours of the Mikado’s Government to educate the
mind of the nation on the political questions of the day. The intimate
connection of religion with politics in a country in which the Emperor
is regarded as the Vicegerent of Heaven upon earth is, of course,
obvious.” A paper translated by Mr. von Siebold contains the following
expressions: “The Government and religion of a country are closely
united.... The law of the Mikado and the religion were in ancient days
called _the wings of a bird or the wheels of a cart_. This old saying is
very correct.”
The treatise is so curious and so instructive as a human document that I
add my translation of it in an appendix.
Although the printing of pirated editions of other books is strictly
forbidden an exception is made in the matter of the reproduction of this
pamphlet.
Order that taxes be paid in bank notes (_kinsatsu_) at the rate of 120
riyos paper for every 100 riyos specie.
Other orders relating to paper money.
Order for the establishment of a mint and new coinage.
(14.) 9th day. Appointment of a lady-in-waiting[15] and a _naishi_
(waiting-woman of lesser rank).
(15.) 12th day. Five villages in the province of Echizen are to
manufacture paper for bank notes. The paper is called Hoshō Gami.
(16.) 13th day. A loan of half a million riyos is asked for by the Prince
of Kubota, who, being the only noble in Ōshiu and Dewa who remained
faithful to the Emperor during the war, suffered grievous losses. A loan
of 200,000 riyos authorized, the Government being sorely straitened for
money.
(17.) The various districts and cities are ordered to send in returns
of their average revenues for the last five years—also returns of the
incomes of petty nobles and principal officials, and of the Shintō
shrines and Buddhist temples within their jurisdiction. The petty nobles
and officers are warned to send in returns to facilitate the above.
Similar orders are sent in to the clans in respect of taxes and customs
levied in their territories during the last five years, and also in
respect of revenues of shrines and temples.
(18.) 17th day. Two gentlemen, Kuabari Taifu and Funabashi Jijiu Sammi,
are reproved for not studying, and by their idleness disgracing their
ancestors.
Two gentlemen are ordered to proceed to Kiōto in order to practise
vaccination.
The Imperial journey from Kiōto to Yedo is fixed for the 7th of next
month. Stern orders are issued to prevent any harsh treatment of the
people by members of the suite or their servants. In the latter case the
masters will be held responsible.
NOTE.—The issue of this order shows that there was great truth in the
stories we used to hear of bullying and terrorizing by the retinues of
Daimios and nobles on their journeys to and from Yedo.
The priest Embun of the Temple Niakuōji has been ordered to unfrock
himself and enter the army as a cadet of the family of Namashina. Having
thus been created a noble of the Court (_Kugé_) he will receive an income
of forty-eight _kokus_ (about £100 at the then price of rice).
When the Emperor goes to worship at Isé (where are the shrines of the God
Ancestors) members of the retinue will stop at the post town of Seki and
rejoin the procession at the post town of Isu, after the acts of worship
shall have been accomplished.
Distribution of troops of the various clans. The Prince of Kaga to send
his contribution of rice for the army to the War Office at Yedo.
An edict forbidding the _rusui_, or agents in charge of Daimios’
_yashikis_, to continue the practice of spending money on theatrical
entertainments, singing parties, exhibitions of wrestlers and debauchery.
An edict which says that whereas the various clans have been in the
habit of negotiating loans directly with foreigners in violation of all
propriety, it is now ordered that henceforth clans wishing to borrow
money from foreigners shall address a petition to the Foreign Office,
which will grant or refuse its consent.
An edict regulating the opening of mines, for testing the purity of gold,
silver and copper, and for preventing the robbery of the peasants who
work the mines by evilly-disposed persons.
Regulations for the employment of foreigners only with the consent of the
Foreign Office.
(19.) 25th day. To the Princes of the Blood, _Kugés_ and Princes.
“The first day of next month having been fixed for the ceremony of
shaving off the eyebrows of the Empress, you are ordered to offer your
congratulations at the palace of the Empress Dowager and of the Empress.
It is not necessary to present offerings. Persons in mourning will attend
on the following day.”
Similar orders are issued to officers of the fifth rank and upwards.
Rules prescribed as to dresses of ceremony (_Ikan_ and _Shitataré_).
Orders as to the Emperor’s journey. Visits of congratulation to be paid
by Princes of the Blood, etc., at the palaces of the Empress Dowager and
Empress. “During the fifteen days following the Imperial departure each
of you will proceed once to the Palace to inquire after the Emperor’s
health.”
The 28th instant having been fixed for the revival of the ancient
ceremony of praying for a prosperous year, the Emperor will be engaged in
prayer, and religious exercises will be continued from the evening of the
26th until the morning of the 29th. Persons in deep or slight mourning,
Buddhist priests and nuns should avoid going to Court on those days.
Appointments of Boards of Trade at open ports; new purchases and orders
not to be entered upon until old obligations shall have been settled.
(20.) 24th day. Regulation of prices of horses and coolies during the
congestion of traffic caused by removal of the Court to Yedo.
(21.) 25th day. An order for framing rules and regulations for the House
of Parliament, for which accommodation will be found in the Castle.
Despatch of a mission to Koyasan.
NOTE.—A mountain in Kishiu where there is a temple founded by Kōbō
Daishi, and other temples. Koyasan is the home of the Koya Maki
(_Sciadopitys verticillata_.)
* * * * *
These few extracts from the earliest numbers of the _Kiōto Gazette_ seem
to me to have a certain interest as showing the great variety of affairs
with which the newly-established Government had to busy itself. Some were
small, others important: the _Dai-jōkwan_ (the new Government) had to
imitate the elephant’s trunk—pick up a pin or uproot a tree.
THE “GI-JI-IN,” OR PARLIAMENT
It is generally agreed that the British House of Commons is the mother of
parliaments. The new House of Representatives at Yedo was its youngest
babe. Like those of all other babes, its first footsteps were somewhat
tottery and uncertain. It had to learn to walk before it could run. The
first debates did not reveal much oratorical power or even promise of
power; oratory was, as I think I have said before, not one of the natural
gifts of the nation; but the subjects of discussion were interesting and
the arguments used by the speakers very instructive to all students of
the country’s idiosyncrasies.
The Imperial Parliament was opened on the 18th of April, 1869, under
the Presidency of Prince Akidzuki. The Emperor’s message to the House—a
maiden effort—was as follows:
“Being on the point of visiting our eastern capital, we have convened the
nobles of our Court, and the various Princes, in order to consult them
upon the means of establishing the foundations of peaceful government.
Laws and institutions are the basis of government. The petitions of the
people at large cannot be lightly decided. It has been reported to us
that brief rules and regulations have been fixed upon for the Parliament,
and it seems good to us that the House should be opened at once.
“We expect you to respect the laws of the House, to lay aside all private
and selfish considerations, to conduct your debates with minuteness
and firmness; above all things, to take the laws of our ancestors as a
basis. Adapt yourselves to the feelings of men and to the spirit of the
times. Distinguish clearly between those matters which are of immediate
importance and those which may be delayed; between things which are less
urgent and those which are pressing. In your several capacities argue
with careful attention. When the results of your debates are communicated
to us it shall be our duty to confirm them.”
It will be seen that this Imperial message contains, especially in
the last sentence, something more than a promise of constitutional
government, while reference to the spirit of the times is all the more
remarkable considering the source from which it comes.
The first subject of debate was upon the position of the cadet branches
of the great princely houses. It was proposed that in the event of the
heads of such cadet branches being attainted of treason or crime, their
properties should return to the elder branch and the guilty person alone
be rendered responsible. If the property of an attainted cadet branch
were held of the Crown, and not of the elder branch, then the property
should revert to the Crown.
The institution of the Parliament was followed by the production of
a newspaper called the _Kogishō Nisshi_ or “Journal of Parliament.”
It shows that, however crude and elementary the debates might be, the
institution gave opportunities such as had never existed before of
ventilating important subjects and publishing the discussions for the
instruction of the people. It also gave the Government the chance of
issuing from time to time papers of questions, the object of which was
the political education of the members themselves. One of these papers
was so remarkable that I have no hesitation in giving my translation of
it here _in extenso_.
(Blue Book, Japan, No. 3. 1870.)
(Translation.) Seventeen subjects of inquiry as to the means
of washing away the Shame of Our Country in regard to foreign
relations.
MEMORANDUM ON THE FOREIGN RELATIONS OF JAPAN, DRAWN UP BY THE
FOREIGN OFFICE.
(1.) From ancient times till the present day the question of
opening or closing the country has been a frequent theme of
debate. Are the barbarians birds or beasts with whom we ought
not to associate?—or, seeing that our country is not really
rich and strong, should we take of their surplus to supply our
deficiencies and then sweep them away? Or shall we change our
teaching altogether to the Western fashion, opening schools
for the acquisition of Western accomplishments and mastering
the arts of gunnery and of shipbuilding, and when we have done
this, drive them utterly from the country? Or shall we cut the
barbarians down? All sorts of schemes of this nature have been
debated down to the present day. If Japan is to be opened,
shall we keep our foreign relations as they at present exist,
or shall we place them upon a new and different footing?
(2.) If it be determined that Japan should be closed, ought the
foreigners to be expelled with decision, or shall we cut down
and slay the foreigners who are living here? And when they come
to fight us (in revenge for this) what will be the proper way
for us to meet them?
(3.) If, when the foreigners come with their armies to invade
us we having no soldiers ready to oppose them, our people and
the Emperor’s house fall together to rise no more, what then?
(4.) If, when the time comes for us to struggle with the
foreigners, there should be persons to raise the extraordinary
argument that we ought not to pit our soldiers and our strength
against them, how shall we be justified in holding such
language?
(5.) If it be decided to close the ports, when the time
comes for us to fight, in what province shall we place our
illustrious Imperial House in safety, and how shall we protect
it? What will be the result of our precautions?
(6.) If at the present time there are men who violently
murder innocent foreigners, or who coin base money, or who
borrow excessive sums of money, yearly and monthly piling up
iniquity upon iniquity, when the foreigners shall have taken
counsel together, and set their forces in motion to attack
our Government and demand reparation, they will appropriate
the open ports, stop our shipping upon the seas, and take
possession of our islands, and then how shall we ward them off;
what device shall we invent to suppress them?
(7.) It appears that at the present moment the party in favour
of opening the ports are the advocates of Western civilization,
while the party in favour of closing the ports advocate the
Japanese and Chinese civilization. If one or the other policy
is to be adopted once for all, which of these two will it be
fitting that we should determine and fix upon?
(8.) At a juncture like the present how will it answer in the
end to make our Shintō religion the religion practised in truth
and in fact by the whole people of Japan?
(9.) When the policy to be pursued is adopted, will that of
opening or that of closing the country be best adapted to the
spirit of the times, and on which side will the advantage or
disadvantage, the gain or loss, show themselves in the end?
(10.) The object of the treaties between Japan and other
countries was to promote friendship and commerce between our
people and foreigners. For the last few years foreign countries
have vied with one another in sending their fleets and soldiers
to reside in Japan for the protection of their people. Should
any trouble arise, they will send out their troops in a
moment to protect the different places at which they reside.
At the present moment there are some three thousand British
troops here. The next in numbers to these are the French. The
Americans and other countries have only their fleets. As yet
our illustrious and divine country has not been brought into
contempt before the foreigner; the present danger is lest we
should call upon ourselves that contempt. What is the proper
line of conduct for us at present to adopt in order to clear
away that danger?
(11.) Reflecting upon this introduction of troops in accordance
with the principles of international law, it is unheard of that
soldiers should be stationed in any other places than colonies
of the mother-country. During the last few years several
tens of foreign merchants have been murdered, and for every
man so murdered the foreign Governments have increased their
forces until they have reached their present large numbers.
As these murders increase they will, in the same proportion,
add to their troops and fortify themselves more and more. What
measures shall we adopt to put a stop to this?
(12.) If, as the years and months roll on, foreigners continue
to be murdered, and in this way foreign forces are augmented
until all the ports are filled by them, this will be the
greatest pollution and disgrace that could befall our divine
country. As it is, we bear an evil name before the nations of
the world. Animated by the patriotic spirit of Samurais of
Japan, how shall we wipe out the blot of these misdeeds in
sight of the world?
(13.) The presence of these foreign troops points to the
impotence of our Government to preserve peace and to protect
native and foreigner. It is proclaimed that, until the power
of life and death, of giving and of taking away, belongs to
the Government,[16] the troops cannot be sent back to their
respective countries. This power of life and death, of giving
and of taking away, is the prerogative of the Government.
The preservation of peace and the protection of native and
foreigner is the very essence of that which is right and
proper. The principle of mutual relief and assistance is that
upon which treaties of amity should be observed. At the present
moment we have come to such a point that we are tutored by
foreign countries as to our own internal policy. What good
scheme shall we adopt to blot out this shame?
(14.) In the days of the Shōgun’s government the power of life
and of death, the power of dismissal from and nomination to
office was in the hands of low persons.[17] This caused the
restoration of the government to the Emperor. How shall we
guide our chariot clear of the rut in which that which preceded
it was overturned?
(15.) The representatives of foreign Powers when they go
through the streets or in the country are preceded and followed
by soldiers; what means shall we adopt to put an end to this
irregularity? or shall we take no steps to put a stop to it?
(16.) It has happened that when the officers or soldiers of the
cities, clans and district towns fall in with foreigners on
the high road, disturbances have occurred; what means shall be
adopted to punish such offences? or, indeed, has the Government
the power to punish them?[18] When foreigners ask these
questions how can we give them a true and faithful answer?
(17.) If it be desired to decide clearly between peace and
war, an earnest and determined effort is necessary in either
case. If our energies are relaxed for one single step we shall
suddenly be precipitated into the misfortunes consequent upon
our want of decision, and the power of the Government will fall
into the hands of unprincipled persons. Therefore, is it not
desirable that the question of peace or war should be decided
once for all?
The above questions are of all importance at the present
moment. They must be treated with honesty and sincerity, and
we earnestly beg you to settle these subjects, conducting your
deliberations in accordance with the spirit of the times.
(Signed) FOREIGN OFFICE.
I translated several of the debates of the young Parliament; they were on
various subjects. Here are one or two of the headings:
(1.) The confiscated estates of cadet branches of noble families
attainted of treason—shall they be forfeit to the crown or shall they be
given to the elder branch?
(2.) In cases of urgent necessity it has hitherto been the custom to
extort large levies of money from farmers and rich merchants. One Ono
Seigorō proposes to substitute for this method of raising money, which
he stigmatizes as little better than robbery, a national debt on the
European model; and that the Government should borrow money from the
people on the security of bonds bearing interest at the rate of 3 or 3½
per cent.
The voting upon this measure was as follows:
Ayes 123
Noes 30
For the abolition of levies,
but against the National Debt 32
Against the abolition of levies,
but for the National Debt 2
---
187
(3.) On reckoning distances, temple lands and villages occupied by Etas
(the pariah class) have not been taken into account, because these have
not been required to furnish coolie labour to the Government. This has
led to confusion—and it is proposed to rectify the error.
Ayes 172
Noes 7
Indifferent 13
---
192
(4.) A proposal to abolish the practice of bearing familiar names. Also
that titles be abolished, and great and small known only by their proper
personal names. Question not decided.
(5.) A motion for introducing into the public service competitive
examinations upon the Chinese principle.
The sixth debate was upon the question of establishing partnerships
between Japanese and foreigners; and here the new institution was upon
dangerous ground—the more so in that some of the honourable members spoke
of “foreign barbarians.” The foreign representatives felt bound to warn
the Government that whatever the House might please to say the treaties
must be respected and foreigners spoken of with courtesy. The Government
were not slow in apologizing.
Two of the debates were extremely interesting; they were translated by
Mr. Aston; the subject of the one being prohibition of _seppuku_ (the
classical word for _hara-kiri_) and the other a motion that it should
be optional for the Samurai to wear sword and dirk. As may be imagined,
these proposals met with scant favour. _Seppuku_, it must be remembered,
was a punishment, the highly prized privilege of the Samurai, the
armiger, or gentleman, of Japan. It saved him from the disgrace of dying
by the sword of the executioner, and it preserved his property, which
would otherwise have been forfeited, for the benefit of his family. As a
voluntary act it is not yet extinct. The death of my friend the heroic
General Nogi, the hero of Port Arthur, bears testimony to that. Some of
the arguments used by the speakers were full of character; one member
defined _seppuku_ as “the very shrine of the Yamato Damashii, the spirit
of old Japan, and the embodiment in practice of devotion to principle.”
Another said: “To prohibit it would be to remove one of the pillars of
the Constitution.” One patriot declared that “It is an ornament to our
country, and is one reason of its superiority over the countries beyond
the seas.” “We ought to maintain a custom which fosters a sense of shame
in the military caste and in the existence of which doubtless consists
the superiority of Japan over other countries.” “Why should this custom
be prohibited in imitation of the effeminacy of foreign nations?” “In
this Country of the Gods it is not necessary to discuss such a law.”
Again, “The _seppuku_ has its origin in the vital energy of this divine
country and is the shrine of the Yamato Damashii. Its practice should be
extended.” “The reason why _seppuku_ is practised in this Empire and not
in foreign countries is because this Empire is an Empire.” It would be
tedious to multiply instances of utterances of this class. They show the
still prevalent belief in the divine superiority of the speakers’ country
and the deeply-rooted veneration for what in their eyes was an act of
heroism when voluntary, of privilege when enforced. When the question was
put to the vote only three men voted for abolition; two hundred against;
no vote, six. Of what were looked upon as the recreant three, one man was
said—with what truth I know not, but it was widely believed—to have been
murdered shortly afterwards as the reward of his vote.
In the debate on the question of making it optional to wear two swords
there was even less discussion. The proposal was negatived unanimously.
Here, again, some of the speeches were instructive.
One gentleman, Sonoda Tamatsu, said: “It is a good maxim for the soldier
in peace time never to forget war. What shall we say of a measure that
asks us, even in the midst of civil disorder, to forget the existence of
civil disorder? What, I ask, is the character of the times in which we
live? The object of the soldier caste wearing two swords is that they may
suppress war by war; but as the chief glory of the sword consists in its
resting quietly in its sheath, it follows that a natural stimulus is
given to letters,” etc.
So the motion was lost, but a year or two later the Government, finding
it impossible to check the old broils and troubles which became so
dangerous when hot-headed men were armed with deadly weapons, passed
a law making the wearing of swords illegal. The famous old saying of
Iyéyasu, “The girded sword is the living soul of the Samurai,” has become
a dead letter. The sword is laid upon the sword-rack on the _tokonoma_
(raised dais), an heirloom and object of reverence, but the Japanese
gentleman goes forth unarmed, and there is peace in the land.
CHAPTER XXVI
JAPAN. THE RECEPTION OF THE DUKE OF EDINBURGH
There was a great stir in Japan in the summer of 1869, when it was known
that the Duke of Edinburgh was coming in the _Galatea_. The Japanese
Government were wildly excited, for it was the first time that a Royal
Prince had paid a visit to the Mikado, and they were determined to give
his Royal Highness a reception at Yedo worthy of his rank and of the
Monarch who was to entertain him. Hama-go-ten, a beautiful garden by the
sea, was determined upon as his residence; and the preparations were
made in the most generous fashion. Furniture and all the equipments
necessary to European ideas of comfort were procured from Hong Kong; but
the decorations were carried out entirely in the native fashion, and most
beautiful and artistic they were.
In order that nothing might be wanting the Japanese asked Sir Harry
to allow me to help them, for in those times they were not so well
acquainted with Western habits as they are now; so a couple of rooms were
made ready for me in Hama-go-ten so that I might be on the spot, and
there I remained for about a month. I was also to serve as interpreter to
the Duke, and as I should have to act on the occasion of his interview
with the Son of Heaven, I had to be coached in the language of “the
people above the clouds” (royalties and courtiers), for there are matters
of etiquette and proper phraseology at this as at all courts in which it
would be very easy to make some awkward mistake.
It was a pity that the Japanese did not have the inspiration to lodge
the Duke in one of their own charming pavilions; but they were bent upon
preparing a European house for him, and so a rather ugly, ramshackle
wooden house with green shutters was run up in a hurry. The ugliness of
the outside, however, was made up for by the decorations within. The
walls were a perfect riot of colour and gold, which in less deft hands
would have been glaring and violent, but the artists had the secret of
so mastering and intermarrying the most hostile colours that the whole
effect was delightful and a succession of surprises. The discordant note
was struck by the furniture dealers of Hong Kong; their wares, with a
strong flavour of Tottenham Court Road in them, jarred piteously with the
imaginative poetry of the Japanese artists.
The Duke arrived in the harbour of Yokohama on the 31st of August, and,
after the usual salutes, levées, addresses and all the other wearinesses
of which loyalty is capable, drove up to Yedo, along the picturesque
Tokaido, in one of the Emperor’s carriages. Mr. Eliot Yorke, Captain
Haig, Mr. Ramsay (afterwards Lord Dalhousie) and Lord Charles Beresford
were those who accompanied him from the _Galatea_. I was specially
attached to him during his stay, and of course Sir Harry Parkes went
with him. All along the road he was received with the same honours
that would be paid to the Mikado himself. The shutters of the upstairs
rooms in the houses by the wayside were hermetically sealed with bits
of paper stuck across them so that no Peeping Tom should look down upon
the august person—a custom long since passed away in these days, when
the Emperor shows himself as freely as any European sovereign. As the
Duke’s carriage went by, the people who thronged the road and streets
fell prostrate, touching the earth with their foreheads. A most elaborate
programme had been drawn up for his Royal Highness’ arrival. I extract
from my translation of it one or two items which savour of the old-world
ceremonial of the court, now quite forgotten. The rest deal with salutes,
refreshments, etc.
“Previous to his Royal Highness’ arrival in Japan, prayers will be
offered up to Kanjin for his prosperous voyage.” Kanjin, literally the
God of China. This is the revival of an extremely ancient ceremonial
which dates from a time when there was no intercourse with abroad,
excepting with China through Corea. Kanjin is therefore the patron saint
of foreigners, who are all united under his protection under the generic
name of Tōjin, or “men of the Tang” dynasty of China.
“On the day before his Royal Highness’ departure for his residence at
Yedo, the roads will be cleaned and repaired; and prayers for his safe
journey will be offered up to the God of Roads.”
“On the day on which his Royal Highness may be expected to arrive in
Yedo, religious ceremonies will take place at Shinagawa [the suburb
through which he would pass] to exorcize all evil spirits. On his Royal
Highness’ arrival, a Prince of the Blood will visit him, to inquire after
his health.”
“When his Royal Highness is about to enter the gate of the castle the
ceremony called Nusa will take place.”
Nusa is a sweeping away of evil influences with a sort of flapper with a
hempen tassel.
The prayers and pious orisons of the Shintō priests were heard; the
Duke arrived and departed in unbroken health and spirits; all evil
influences, all malignant _oni_ and _bakémono_ (devils and ghosts) had
been successfully exorcized. When I read my old notes of all these things
I seem to be looking across a long vista of forgotten centuries into the
gloom of prehistoric times; I am transported back into the days when the
God Hachiman decided the fates of battles, when Inari Sama and his foxes
ruled the harvest, and Benten was the supreme Queen Goddess of beauty.
Playgoing in the old days, before the restoration in 1868, was entirely
confined to the lower classes; no gentleman could afford to be seen
in a public theatre; in private, it is true that famous actors would
occasionally be hired to give a representation at the _yashiki_ of
some rich noble, to whom the ordinary performance would be forbidden.
There were, however, certain classical dances and plays which were
specially performed in theatres attached to the palaces. The _bugaku_,
for instance, were dances or pantomime plays the performance of which
was confined to the Emperor’s palace, so that very few Japanese, and
those only of the highest rank, ever witnessed them.[19] The Nō, on the
other hand, were a kind of classical opera performed on stages called
_nō butai_, which were attached to the _yashiki_ of some of the great
nobles. These operas—I know no better name for them—are of the greatest
antiquity. They are supposed to recall the performances by which the
Sun Goddess was lured out of the cave in which she had hidden in order
to escape from the persecutions of her turbulent brother—a legend which
is supposed to have been the poetic explanation of the first eclipse.
They had, moreover, a religious intention in the first instance, having
been arranged at the Emperor’s command by one Hada Rawakatsu in the
last decade of the sixth century. A special performance of Nō was given
in honour of the Duke of Edinburgh in the _yashiki_ of the Prince of
Kishiu—which had the reputation of being, after the Castle, the most
luxurious palace in Yedo.
This was the first time that such a performance was witnessed by
foreigners. Opposite the principal reception room, where his Royal
Highness sat, and separated from it by a narrow courtyard, was a covered
stage, approached from the green-room by a long gallery at an angle of
forty-five degrees. Half a dozen musicians, robed in dresses of ceremony,
marched slowly down the gallery—something like the entrance of the
actors in _Sumurun_, as arranged by Reinhardt—and having squatted down
on the stage, gravely made obeisance. The performances then began. There
was no scenery, no stage appliances; the descriptions of the chorus or
the actors took their place. The dialogue and choruses were given in a
nasal recitative, accompanied by the mouth-organ, flute, drum and other
classical instruments. The ancient poetry of these pieces is full of the
most delicate fancies obscured by archaic puns and plays upon words; so
it was with no little difficulty that, with the assistance of a man of
letters, I prepared the arguments of the plays.
I published these long years ago,[20] so there is no need to repeat them
here.
During the Duke’s stay there were entertainments of all sorts, for the
Japanese were determined that he should carry away the happiest memories
of his visit. The most famous of the fat wrestlers of Japan, monstrous
mountains of adipose tissue, gave a show and there were dancers,
musicians, conjurors; Chō-chō San[21] came specially for the butterfly
trick, which has never been so well described as by Sherard Osborn in
that long-since-forgotten little gem, “A Cruise in Japanese Waters.”
All these were shown in a setting the beauty of which it would be hard
to exaggerate. The garden of Hama-go-ten was a masterpiece of Japanese
horticulture. I believe that it no longer exists, the land having been
sold for commercial purposes. When the first part was sold I had the luck
to be able to buy two of the great bronze lanterns which decorated it.
How little I thought when I used to wander through the lovely grounds
during the weeks which I spent there making ready for the Duke that one
day many years later two of the precious ornaments which I admired so
much would find their way to my own home in far-away Gloucestershire!
The most interesting episode of the visit was, of course, the reception
by the Emperor at the Castle. The official reception took place in the
audience chamber; his Royal Highness, Sir Harry Parkes, Sir Henry Keppel
and the officers in attendance on the Duke were shown into the room where
the Mikado stood on a raised dais with two of his personal attendants
and the Prime Minister behind him. The Duke and I took our places on the
dais opposite to the Mikado. It was rather nervous work for me, for it is
so easy to bungle into some absurd mistake where foreign etiquette and a
very stately phraseology have to be observed; however, it all went off
well, there were the usual commonplaces exchanged, and then his Majesty
invited his Royal Highness to meet him more privately in the garden.
After a short delay, during which the Princes and dignitaries of the
Court came to pay their respects, the Duke was shown into the delicious
little Maple Tea-house in the Castle gardens, where tea and all manner of
delicacies were served. Then came a summons to the Waterfall Pavilion,
where the Emperor was waiting; only Sir Harry, the Admiral, and myself
went in with the Duke. Dull is the office of the Court newsman! Difficult
it is to become artistically enthusiastic over the presentation of
diamond-mounted snuff-boxes! But this particular Court ceremony was
certainly something out of the common. It can never occur again. East and
West were sharply defined. There were no cocked hats or gold-laced coats
among the Japanese of those days. The Emperor and all his Court were
living pictures out of the dark centuries.
The next time that I saw the Mikado was on the occasion of my second
visit to Japan, in 1873. He was sitting back in a barouche, surrounded
by an escort of lancers, dressed, like himself, in European uniform. A
modern of the moderns.
When I went for the third time, in 1906, with Prince Arthur of Connaught,
his Majesty reminded me of that visit in 1869, when I acted as
interpreter—but he was now surrounded by a Court in which the men were
all the counterparts of European ministers, their breasts covered with
stars and decorations from potentates great and small, and the ladies
all wore tiaras and dresses from Paquin’s! Alas for the vanishing of the
Picturesque!
The Japanese Government were very grateful for the trouble which I had
taken to make the Royal visit a success, and when the Duke left the
Foreign Ministers sent me a very pretty letter of thanks, with a lacquer
box, which the English Foreign Office allowed me to accept.
AN AUSTRIAN MISSION
Towards the end of 1869 there came an Austrian Mission to conclude a
treaty with Japan. As usual we pulled the chestnuts out of the fire
for them. The Mission was commended to our good offices and we had to
dry-nurse them, put them up to the ropes, and furnish them with an
interpreter. The head of the Mission was Admiral Petz, the hero of Lissa,
a most interesting personality; the second in command, charged with the
negotiation of the commercial details of the affair, was Baron Calice,
who afterwards made a sort of name for himself as Austro-Hungarian
Ambassador at Constantinople.
With the Admiral I made great friends. One day as we were sitting
together watching the picturesque junks sailing to and fro in front of a
great warship in the Bay of Yedo, he gave me an account of the battle
of Lissa in which he had played so great a part three years before. The
island of Lissa, practically an Austrian fortress plunged in the Adriatic
sea, was attacked on the 18th of July, 1866, by the Italian fleet under
Admiral Persano. The Austrian Admiral Tegethoff went out to relieve the
besieged stronghold, and on the 20th the great sea-fight took place.
Admiral Petz’s story of the battle was most exciting. Although ironclads
had been in existence for some years, Lissa must have been the first
action in which they played their part. The Italian fleet, with eleven
armoured ships and a powerful ram, was by far the stronger; the Austrians
had only seven. The wooden ships on the two sides were about even in
number.
Admiral Petz, then Commodore, was in command of the _Kaiser_, an
old-fashioned wooden battleship. There was a moment when he was engaged
at close quarters with three Italian ironclads, the four ships blazing
away for dear life or death. He was on the bridge, half choked and
blinded by the thick, poisonous smoke and flames belched out by his own
and the enemy’s guns, his ears deafened by the roar of the cannon. It
was like hell-fire let loose upon the waters. All of a sudden a puff
of wind cleared the air, and to his dismay he saw the huge bulk of the
dreaded _Ré d’Italia_, supposed to be the most powerful armoured vessel
afloat, bearing down upon him. Iron attacking oak; an unequal fight. It
was a horror: if she rammed him it was certain death for all. A sudden
inspiration struck him; he had just time to make a despairing dash at the
monster before she could reach him. He gave the necessary order, full
steam ahead, charged and drove his bows into her, striking her amidships.
To his amazement the blow crashed into her, boring a huge hole in her
iron sides as easily as if they had been made of paper, and the great
terror sank into the sea with all her crew.
The Austrians had had the best of it all through the fight, another
ironclad, the _Palestro_, had been blown up, the other three, with which
Petz had been engaged, were badly hurt, and now this last disaster broke
the Italians and sent them in full flight to Ancona. The battle was won!
Admiral Tegethoff summoned his captains to the flagship, and when they
were all drawn up on the quarterdeck, he went up to Petz, kissed him on
both cheeks, and said: “This is your victory!”
The _Kaiser_ was naturally very much mauled, but the wooden ship had
scored; she had practically disabled two other ironclads and battered
a third before sinking the _Ré d’Italia_, and could carry her wounds
bravely into port.
Long years afterwards at luncheon at the Travellers’ Club, I was telling
the story as I had it from Admiral Petz himself. My dear old friend, Lord
Alcester, the famous admiral, who was nothing if not stiff in opinions,
stoutly denied the possibility of a wooden ship in any circumstances
sinking an ironclad; but
“Facts are chiels that winna ding
And downa be disputed,”
the _Ré d’Italia_ with her crew of six hundred lies at the bottom of the
Adriatic, the _Kaiser_ came away a cripple covered with glory, and her
gallant Commodore received the Maria-Teresien order—a distinction even
more rarely bestowed than the V.C. To earn it three conditions must be
fulfilled—the feat must have been performed at risk of life; it must have
been spontaneous, without any superior command, and it must be successful.
It was good to hear the brave sailor tell his tale, simply and without
any suspicion of vainglory. He would not admit that he had done anything
wonderful. He saw death before him as he stood on the bridge—a sudden
idea flashed across his brain—Impossible? Why not try? That was all.
* * * * *
On the 1st of January, 1870, I left Japan. The work of the last two years
had told upon me. I was out of health, and had almost to be carried on
board ship by our good Doctor Willis. I went to Singapore, and there
awaited the arrival of the Messageries ship _Hoogly_, which was to
bring my friend and colleague, Gustave de Montebello, who afterwards,
as Ambassador at St. Petersburg, initiated the _entente_ between France
and Russia, which was destined to bear fruits which now, in 1915, are
ripening to their full value. A month of the _dolce far niente_ at
Singapore, a life of lotus-eating, resting in a luxurious rattan chair,
breathing in a balmy, spice-laden atmosphere on a verandah broad enough
to protect me from any insidious attacks of the sun, set me quite on
my legs again, and by the time my friend arrived, I was as lively as a
thrush, and ready to enjoy the delights of a voyage with one of the most
agreeable of companions, both of us hungry for home, and yet full of the
memories of our past experiences.
Montebello was not well treated by his Government. I met him in
Switzerland not long before his death; he had been superseded, and his
political foresight had not been recognized as it should have been; but
he was too great a gentleman to express any resentment, even to me. He
died as he had lived, a noble Frenchman, chivalrous to the last. But that
he felt acutely I well knew.
Our voyage had an element of excitement in it. At Singapore we were told
that we were to go through the Suez Canal. If so, we should be the first
ship to go through as a matter of business, apart from the vessels that
had taken part in the gala proceedings at the opening. At Point de Galle
we heard that it was impossible. At Aden there was a fresh contradiction,
and when we reached Suez, through we went! We stuck in the middle
and smashed one flange of our screw, but in spite of that we reached
Marseilles all right, and were immediately put in quarantine, because a
poor fellow had died of consumption on board, and been buried at sea in
the Red Sea. Montebello used his official position to get himself and me
landed in spite of all objections, we being bearers of despatches—for I
took good care never to travel without a Foreign Office bag—and so with
all expedition we reached Paris.
_APPENDIX_
GOVERNMENT TREATISE ON POLITICS AND RELIGION, PUBLISHED TO THE PEOPLE
(_Translation_)
“JIM MIN KOKU YU DAI I”
INTRODUCTION TO PART I
This treatise, the “Koku Yu Dai I,” is published with the object of
making known the institutions of the Country of the Gods, and of
declaring the intentions of the Imperial Government, and to this end five
copies will be distributed to every Kori or parochial sub-division of
every province throughout the country. The officials, and not only they,
but all well-disposed men, will give their earnest attention to this
object, and will exert themselves to instruct all persons, down to the
women and children, in the principles of this treatise.
The privilege of publishing this treatise has been granted to the
Imperial Library of Kiōto, kept by Murakami Kambei, and all persons may
freely purchase it.
The above will be made known throughout all the sub-divisions of the
Province of Yamashiro.
(_Signed_) GOVERNMENT OF KIŌTO.
“KOKU YU DAI I”
Man is the sublime essence of all things. Between heaven and earth there
is no more honourable thing than man. Our country is specially called
the Country of the Gods, and of all the countries in the world there is
none the institutions of which excel those of our country. Is it not
a disgrace past speaking of that the privileged being called man, who
dwells in the excellent Country of the Gods, should pass his life in
heedless vanity? Man differs from the birds and from the beasts in that
he can discern the laws of reason, and in that he has a heart capable of
gratitude and virtue. Loyalty and filial piety are also the essence of
the heart of man. He who in ever so slight a degree is wanting in this
heart has the face of a man but the soul of a beast, and though he be
shaped as a man, yet is he even less than the birds and the beasts.
If, then, a man wishes to fulfil his duties as a man, and having been
born in the Country of the Gods desires not to turn his back upon the
spirits of that country, let him above all things bear in mind the
privilege of being born a Japanese, and set his heart upon repaying the
debt of gratitude which he owes to his country.
We have said that the institutions of the Country of the Gods excel
those of other countries. Of old the heavenly ancestors of the Emperor
created this country, and established the duties of men in their mutual
relations. Since that time the line of Emperors has never been changed.
Generation has succeeded generation in the rule of this country, and
the Imperial heart has ever been penetrated by a tender love for the
people. In their turn the people have reverenced and served generation
after generation of Emperors. In foreign countries the lines of Princes
have been frequently changed; the people owe their Sovereign a debt of
gratitude which extends over two or three generations; the relations of
Sovereign and subject last for a hundred or two hundred years; the Prince
of yesterday is the foe of to-day; the minister of yesterday is the rebel
of to-morrow.
In our country we have no such folly. Since the creation of the world we
have remained unmoved; since the creation of the world the Imperial line
has been unchanged and the relations of Sovereign and subject have been
undisturbed; hence it is that the spirit of gratitude has intensified and
grown deeper and deeper. The especial point in which the institutions
of our country excel those of the rest of the world is the creed which
has been established by the heavenly ancestors of the Emperor, and which
comprises the mutual duties between lord and servant.
Even in foreign countries, where lords and servants have over and over
again changed places, these mutual duties are handed down as a matter of
weighty importance. How much the more does it behove us to pay a debt of
deep and inexhaustible gratitude which extends over the ages.
Is there any man who thinks that he has never received a penny from the
Emperor? Is there any man who thinks that he is not beholden to the
Emperor for one tittle of help in his need? Is there any man who believes
that it is of his own merit that he passes through the world, and who
feels not the favours which he has received from his country? If there be
such a man, great is his mistake. He is like the man in the proverb who
is grateful for the light borrowed from his lamp, but is heedless of the
thanks which he owes to the moon and to the sun.
The favours which a man receives from his country are so vast as to be
without bounds. Reflect carefully upon this. Since it is by the heavenly
ancestors of the Emperor that this country was created, there is no
single thing existing in the land which is not the Emperor’s. At our
birth the water in which we are washed is the Emperor’s. At our death
the ground in which we are buried is the Emperor’s. The rice which we
eat, the clothes which we wear, the cap which we put on, the staff which
supports us, are all the produce of the Emperor’s land.
Again, the money which enables us to pass through life easily is coined
by the will of the Emperor; so that whether we hoard our wealth or give
out our coin to meet our daily wants, it is by the help of the Emperor
that we are able to transact our business.
Further, lest wicked men should hinder us, offices and guard-houses are
established in different places. Ruffians and thieves are punished;
children may be trusted to walk abroad with money, and no man will rob
them; old men and women may be left to watch the house, and lawless men
will not break in. You plant your fields with rice and your gardens with
green things. You set out goods for sale and clothes to dry in your shops
and wayside stalls, and no man comes to steal them; here is no small
cause of gratitude. If perchance any evil deed should be done, no means
are left untried to discover the guilty man, and the Imperial orders are
issued to punish him according to his crime.
If there were no such Imperial authority to exercise justice, each man
would have to trust to his own strength. The weak would be slain by the
strong; the old would be pushed over by the young; rice and money would
be seized by force. But since this exercise of justice exists, although a
single or double hedge may be easily broken through, there is no need to
set guards, for there are none to force an entrance, and so we pass our
lives in peace and safety.
There are yet further ways in which the generations of Emperors have
cared for the sorrow of their people. Remember with reverence that there
was once an Emperor who in the cold winter night stripped his clothes
that he might know by his own feelings the sufferings of the poor.[22]
When he looked at the rice before him he reflected that the grain was
planted by the sweat of the farmers, and acknowledged their labours. We
must be truly grateful that morning and night the Emperor’s prayers have
been offered up that his people might be spared from storm and from rain;
from famine, plague, and cholera. Nor is it for ourselves alone, nor for
our generation only, that our gratitude is due. Since the creation of
the world generation after generation of our ancestors have passed their
lives under the shadow of their Emperors. How many endless generations
of our children’s children shall be nurtured under the same gracious
protection?
During the last three hundred years, the land being at peace, the power
of the Emperor was gradually relaxed. Although the Emperor existed, it
was as though he were no more. The consideration and love of the Emperor
for his people did not reach them; it was arrested on its way. Bribery
and corruption flourished; even good men fell into evil ways, and bad men
prospered. The Emperor was greatly afflicted; he neither ate nor rested
in peace. Still, however great might be the afflictions which he had
to undergo himself, they were as nothing to those which he suffered on
account of his people’s grief.
Now at last the Imperial Government has been restored to its ancient
form; the affairs of the country are placed upon a brilliant basis; the
hearts of great and small are united; the desires of all men have been
accomplished, and men may more than ever pass their lives in peaceful
tranquillity. Preserving those institutions in which the Emperor’s
country excels all other countries, we will illustrate the power of our
Emperor to the world. Reverently receiving the Imperial will, we will
humbly obey his commands; we will set our hearts upon serving him for
his sake. Bent upon requiting every particle or hair’s breadth of favour
received during generations after generations, we will not turn our backs
upon our duty as the people of the Country of the Gods.
First year of Meiji (1868).
(Printed officially by the Imperial Printers. Published at Kiōto by
Murakami Kambei and Inouyé Jihei; at Yedo, by Mohei at the Suwaraya; and
Ichibei, at the Idzumiya.)
INTRODUCTION TO PART II
On a former occasion in the first part of this treatise, we set forth
the institutions of the Country of the Gods, and made known the will of
the Imperial Government; in continuation of this we now publish a second
part, in which we shall treat of the form and power of the countries of
the world, and shall show how the best interests of our divine country
may be served. Officials and all well-disposed men will give their
earnest attention to this object, and will exert themselves to instruct
all persons, down to the women and children, in the principles of this
treatise.
The privilege of publishing this treatise has been granted to the
Imperial Library at Kiōto, kept by Murakami Kambei, and all persons may
freely purchase it.
PART II
On the occasion of the Imperial journey to Yedo last year, his Majesty
took upon himself the direction of the machinery of the State. Up to that
time the precepts of the Emperor had not reached the Eastern Provinces
of the country. While the accumulated masses of business were only
half-accomplished, the days and nights had sped swiftly, and the period
for the celebration of rites on the third anniversary of the death of the
late Emperor had come round.
His Majesty accordingly in the first place returned to Kiōto, and having
concluded the funeral rites and his own marriage ceremony, he gave orders
for his second visit to Yedo. Thus does he again subject his sacred
person to fatigue, and although it may be said that this is owing to
the spirit of the time, yet it is in truth a matter to be grateful for,
and the people, perceiving the Emperor’s intentions, should deeply and
carefully lay them to heart.
Now the spirit of the present differs from the spirit of the past. The
countries of the world have joined themselves in a relationship of peace
and friendship. Steamers are sent round the world, heedless of stormy
waves or of foul winds. The communication between lands distant ten
thousand miles from one another is as that between neighbours; country
competes with country in producing rifles and guns and machinery, and
each revolves plans for its own advantage and profit. Each vies with
the other in devising schemes to obtain the mastery, each exerts itself
to keep up the strength of its armies, each and everyone strives to
invent warlike contrivances. But in spite of all this, there is a great
principle existing over all the world which prevents civilized countries
from being lightly and lawlessly attacked.
This principle is called international law. How much the more, then,
would our divine country, the institutions of which excel those of all
other countries, be turning her back upon the sacred precepts established
by the heavenly ancestors of the Emperor should she be guilty of violent
and lawless acts. Such a thing would be the greatest shame and disgrace
to the Country of the Gods. Hence it is that the Emperor has extended a
faithful alliance to those foreigners who come here lawfully and rightly,
and they are allowed free and uninterrupted access to this country.
Following this example set by the Emperor, his subjects when they receive
no insult from the foreigner should observe the same principle and
refrain from blows and fighting. If by any chance we should be put to
shame before the foreigner it is hard to say what consequences may ensue.
It is our especial duty to publish to the world beyond the seas the
ancient spirit of the Country of the Gods and the excellent institutions
established by the heavenly ancestors of the Emperor, that the countries
of the world may admire and envy the power of our Sovereign. To this
end it is above all things needful that the whole of Japan should be
penetrated by the Imperial precepts, and that the strength of the country
should be united in one whole. Without this it will be hard for the
spirit of the country to stand, without this, on the contrary, we shall
have to endure the scorn of foreign nations.
Should so much as a hair’s end of shame attach to the Country of the
Gods, what excuse can we offer to the long line of Emperors who succeeded
their heavenly ancestors. To be the cause of grief to the Emperor is
worse than irreverence.
The country districts of the Eastern Provinces are far removed from the
capital, and there are persons who, not awed by the will of the Emperor,
subject the people, as it were, to torture by fire and torture by water.
Terrible as the conduct of such men is, the great mercy and pity of the
Emperor’s heart acknowledges that their fault is to be laid to the fact
that his precepts have not reached them; we see with reverent gratitude
that he takes their sins upon himself and that his generous rule spares
them. Further, that by the spreading of his precepts all ignorance may
cease, he undertakes a long journey, braving the heat and the cold, and
exposing his precious person to fatigue.
As far as the extreme limits of the islands of Yesso and of Liukiu
the Emperor treats all men who are born on Japanese soil as his own
children. He makes no distinctions between men—caressing the one and
repelling the other. He looks upon all alike, his mercy extends to all.
His compassionate love for his people knows no rest by day or by night.
After a while he will be pleased to visit all his dominions. The present
capital, Kiōto, has been the Imperial residence for more than a thousand
years, and in its sacred earth are buried the ancestors of the Emperor.
It follows that of all places that is the place which the Emperor reveres
the most. You, whose special privilege it is to dwell near this spot,
bathed in the dew of the Emperor’s deep mercy, reverently acknowledge
his will, and penetrated by the sense of this feeling, in all matters
humbly obey his commands. Loyalty and filial piety arouse you to observe
our upright and excellent institutions. Let each man zealously perform
his special duties, that he may relieve the mind of the Emperor of its
troubles, and let each man, so far as in him lies, set his heart upon the
sacred cause of our divine country.
Second year of Meiji (1869).
(Printed officially by the Imperial Printers, Yedo. Published by Mohei at
the Suwaraya, in the first ward of the Nihonbashi Street, and by Ichibei
at the Idzumiya in the Mishima at Shiba.)
INCLOSURE 2 IN NO. 12
EXTRACT FROM THE GOVERNMENT “GAZETTE” OF MARCH 15th, 1869
(_Translation_)
The book called “Kiōto Fu Koku Yu Dai I” (or Imperial Precepts published
to the people by the Government of Kiōto) will be circulated throughout
the cities, clans, and districts for the instruction of the people in
matters of politics and religion. Although the publication of pirated
editions of other books is strictly forbidden, an exception is made in
favour of this book.