a half centuries been wielded by the Tokugawa family the Shogun Keiki
issued the manifesto which is here reproduced according to a translation
made at the time, though the dignity and force of the original
composition are necessarily somewhat impaired.
MANIFESTO
“A retrospect of the various changes through which the Empire
has passed shows us that after the deadness of the monarchical
authority, the power passed into the hands of the Minister of
State,—and that by the wars of 1156 to 1159 the governmental
power came into the hands of the military class. My ancestor
Iyeyasu received greater marks of confidence than any before
him, and his descendants have succeeded him for more than two
hundred years.
Though I perform the same duties, the objects of the Government
and of the penal laws have been missed, and it is with feelings
of the greatest humiliation that I find myself obliged to
acknowledge my own want of virtue as the cause of the present
state of things.
Moreover, our intercourse with foreign countries becomes daily
more extensive, and consequently our national policy cannot be
pursued unless directed by the whole power of the State.
If therefore the old regime be changed and the Governmental
authority be restored to the Imperial Court,—if the counsels
of the whole Empire be collected and the wise decisions
received,—and if we unite with all our heart and all our
strength to protect and maintain the Empire, it will be able to
range itself with the nations of the Earth. This comprises our
whole duty to our country.
However, if you [the Daimios] have any particular ideas on the
subject, you may state them without reserve.”
The Shogun had lost no time in making known to his imperial master at
Kioto his desire to submit unreservedly to the sovereign’s will, for
a courier was despatched from Yedo shortly after the arrival of the
_Kaiyo Maru_ at Shinagawa anchorage. But it turned out that after the
Shogun’s departure from Osaka an imperial messenger in the person of
the baron Higashi Kuze was sent to Kobé to assure Sir Harry Parkes and
the other foreign representatives that the engagements which had been
entered into by Japan with their respective governments would be observed
to the letter, and the imperial despatch contained an announcement of
the Shogun’s resignation. The memorable document was dated the 3rd
of February,—the day before the Shogun reached Yedo. Not only was the
imperial rescript of the most welcome,—because reassuring,—character, but
it bore for the first time in the history of Japan the sign-manual of
the Emperor in the form of his personal name of Mutsuhito. Never before
in the lifetime of the monarch had the personal name been appended to a
state paper, it being customary to attach the great seal alone, but on
this occasion both the great seal and that bearing the ruler’s own name
were affixed to the document of which Higashi Kuze (now Count) was the
bearer. The text thereof was as follows:—
The Emperor of Japan announces to the Sovereigns of all foreign
nations and to their subjects that permission has been granted
to the Shogun Yoshinobu to return the governing power in
accordance with his own request. Henceforward we shall exercise
supreme authority both in the internal and external affairs
of the country. Consequently the title of Emperor should be
substituted for that of Tycoon which has been hitherto employed
in the Treaties. Officers are being appointed by us to conduct
foreign affairs. It is desirable that the representatives of
all the treaty powers should recognise this announcement.
MUTSUHITO.
(With the Seal of Dai Nihon,—Great Japan.)
_February 3, 1868._
The Emperor’s relative Ninnaja-no-Miya, afterwards Prince Higashi
Fushimi, then became Minister for Foreign Affairs, and he wrote to all
the foreign ministers notifying to them the fact of his appointment,
and stating that it was the Emperor’s express mandate to him that all
existing agreements made by the Bakufu with foreign countries should be
respected.
For a while the Shogun retired to the temple of Uyeno, but on the
decision of the Emperor being made known to him he went first to Mito,
and not long afterwards to Shidzuoka, the chief town of Suruga province,
at that time also known by its ancient name of Sumpu. He directed
his followers without exception to adopt a similar course and submit
themselves to the imperial will, yielding the Ten-shi implicit obedience
from that time forward. In the vast majority of cases, however, this
excellent counsel fell on deaf ears, for the adherents of the Tokugawa
house were for the most part resolved by this time to carry on the
struggle to an end.
On the retirement of Tokugawa Keiki the third son of Prince Tayasu, of
the Mito branch of the family, by name Kamenosuké, at that time only
five years of age, became the lineal head of the house. He is now Prince
Iyesato, the President of the Tokio House of Peers, and bears the title
of Kō-shaku, _lit._: Duke, though by courtesy styled Prince, there being
in Japan a distinction between those who bear the simple title of Prince
and the Imperial Princes of the Blood Royal.
More recently the Emperor, in the abundance of that magnanimity which has
ever distinguished him, called the former Shogun, who is to-day in his
sixty-ninth year, to the Imperial Palace at Tokio, and conferred upon him
likewise the rank of Kō-shaku, a title similar to that borne by Prince
Tokugawa Iyesato, who, as explained, represents the older (Tayasu) branch
of the Tokugawa family, so that there are now two noblemen who hold this
rank in what in pre-Restoration days was the viceregal line of Tokugawa
Shoguns who claimed descent from Iyeyasu the Law-giver.
Prince Tokugawa Keiki, during his retirement at Shidzuoka, was often
visited by those who had shared the fortunes of the Shogunate, but he
entirely refrained from all interference with politics, and lived the
life of a country gentleman, finding his recreation mainly in fishing,
and showing his sympathy with the hard-working agricultural population
in a way that won for him the respect and regard of all classes. When
the Emperor sent for him to visit Tokio, a few years ago, he set out
amid demonstrations of esteem on the part of the populace in Suruga
which must have convinced him by their spontaneity that if in the course
of events he had been compelled to relinquish the semi-regal state
in which he had dwelt at the capital, he had retained in the hearts
of his fellow-subjects of the Ten-shi a place of highest honour, and
that the affection for his person evinced at every stage of the journey
by those who were in former days his henchmen had flourished unabated
throughout the lapse of close upon four decades. A writer once described
the Shogunal entourage in terms which, after all the changes that Japan
has undergone during the last quarter of a century, read somewhat
strangely, but they serve to convey most vividly to the mind that
magnificence by which, in the pre-Restoration period, the Court of Yedo
was distinguished. There was a direct contrast between it and the almost
severe simplicity of the Kioto Dai-ri, which housed the real monarch,
in his complete seclusion, while his vicegerent performed most of the
duties of sovereignty in a city 400 miles distant. The quotation is from
an account given by one of his Highness’s own pages, and affords an
interesting sketch of the daily routine in the Shogunal palace, or Nijo,
at the Western Capital.
The usual form of address, we are told, was Go Zen (Your Highness), and
there were in the palace no fewer than fifty pages, whose duties were
to attend on the Shogun at all times, to wait at table, dress his hair
in the fashion peculiar to that time, and, when invited to do so, take
part in equestrian and other exercises. The Shogun habitually rose at
eight o’clock, and made his toilet for the day. He never wore any garment
twice, the whole of his raiment being renewed each day. At breakfast
seven or eight dishes were placed before him, but he ate sparingly at all
meals, and at ten o’clock he saw his ministers in council (the Go-ro-ju,
or assembled honoured elders). Having devoted the forenoon to affairs of
state he usually, at midday, went to the “male quarters” of the palace
to ride, shoot, or play polo,—in Japanese “da-kiu”—being skilled in
archery, and a sure shot with the pistol. On the lake he had a boat in
which he rowed himself, and he was expert in fishing with a casting-net.
At four o’clock he usually returned to the ladies’ palace, and listened
to their playing on the _koto_ or _Biwa_ (the _samisen_ was always too
vulgar an instrument to have entry to the palace) and at 6 P.M. the
evening repast of choice viands was served in great variety. His highness
dined alone, having many ladies to wait on him, as well as pages, and
the banquet often lasted until 11 P.M., with music and classic dances at
intervals during the evening. He had no companions, for the reason, no
doubt, that his rank prevented his associating on terms of equality with
even the feudal lords, who were obliged by an inflexible etiquette to
bow their heads to the floor when in his august presence, and to remain
in that attitude throughout an interview. It is recorded that in 1866 a
photograph of the Shogun was taken in his palace of Nijo at Kioto by an
officer of an English man-of-war then in Japanese waters, his Highness
wearing at the time his robes of ceremony, and it would be interesting
to learn that the portrait still exists. The Nijo was built by the first
Shogun of the Tokugawa line, the “Law-giver” Iyeyasu, and it was designed
to be as much a fortress as a palace. The gorgeous gateways, resplendent
in lacquer and gilding, leading to the inner apartments, remind one in
their wealth of embellishment of those wonderful temple gates and halls
at Nikko, constructed not long afterwards by Iyeyasu’s grandson, the
magnificent Iyemitsu, and in the splendid audience chamber, where the
Shogun sat on a dais to receive the homage of the feudal barons, the
visitor catches a glimpse, as it were, of the pomp and circumstance which
to the end of the Bakufu’s existence as a power in Japan surrounded the
person of the “Last of the Shoguns.”
For fifteen years prior to its extinction the foreign policy of the
Tokugawa Shogunate had been that which was found acceptable to the
Emperor Mutsuhito on his accession, thus the necessity for the “Tycoon’s”
intervention to secure imperial recognition for the treaties was no
longer apparent, and it was inevitable that the position he held should
eventually become untenable, apart from all other considerations of
political exigency. The predominance of the Bakufu as a military
despotism attained its zenith, to judge by the available history of the
period, in the days of Iyemitsu, and in proportion as the individual
strength and influence of the numerous feudal barons who owed it
allegiance were found to increase, the real power of the Tokugawa house
steadily diminished. While it lasted, however, the Bakufu did much to
render Japan a prosperous country, studiously fostering the arts of
civilisation in general, and diligently seeking to promote secular
education. It established academies as far back as 1857 for the study of
foreign languages and science, supplemented by a school of medicine in
1858.
III
FUJITA TOKO
Outside the Japanese Empire the name of Fujita Toko is but little known,
yet he undoubtedly exercised an influence which tended greatly towards
the making of Modern Japan, if only by reason of his pronounced hostility
to the Regency of the Bakufu and his steadfast, unwearying inculcation of
the doctrines of loyalty to the real sovereign and constant preparation
for national defence. That he was in advance of his age is clear, for he
lived in an era when Japan was secluded from the outer world, and was
mainly dependent on such information regarding it as filtered through
from Holland by way of the Dutch settlement at Nagasaki. Fujita was a
renowned Chinese scholar and teacher of the classics, born in the third
year of the Bunkwa period (1806), at Mito, in eastern Hondo, the seat of
one branch of the Tokugawa family which for 250 years virtually ruled
the country from Yedo. Mito is distant from the capital some fifty-five
miles by railway, and is now the chief town of the Ibaraki prefecture,
with a population of about 35,000, but in the time of Fujita it was
accessible only by road through Tsuchiura, a town at the extremity of
the large inlet or lagoon named Kasumi-ga-ura which penetrates from the
Pacific a long way inland just to the north of Cape Inuboye. Mito itself
is about twelve miles from the coast and is a flourishing agricultural
centre, famed for its output of barley, beans, millet, and buckwheat.
Tobacco is also extensively cultivated in this region, which is at the
present day in the enjoyment of exceptional facilities of communication,
for sea-going steamers call at Choshi, an anchorage at the mouth of the
river Toné, close to Cape Inuboye, and smaller craft ply between Choshi
and the towns situated along the Toné or on the shores of Kasumi-ga-ura,
in addition to the branch railway from Oyama on the main line to the
north of Japan and a separate line in connection with the capital through
Tsuchiura.
[Illustration: FUJITA
SAKUMA
YOSHIDA]
Fujita Toko was not merely a celebrated professor of Chinese literature
in an age when classical learning was highly prized, but he was the
friend and counsellor of the famous Rekko, senior prince of Mito, whose
seventh son, born in 1837, was destined to play so conspicuous a part
in the affairs of the nation, and who happily still occupies a leading
position as Prince Tokugawa Keiki, better known in pre-Restoration
days as the Shogun Hitotsubashi, and whose share in the revival of
imperial rule is elsewhere referred to in these pages. The head of the
Mito house, Prince Tokugawa Nariaki, strenuously opposed the Bakufu
form of government and its policy towards foreign powers, but there is
no direct evidence that he was personally antagonistic to the people
of the Occident. Dark deeds were attributed to his followers, but the
perpetrators were at all events in theory “ro-nins” or outlaws, who had
voluntarily severed their connection with the clan beforehand, and for
whose crimes the house of Mito was not to be held responsible. This was
particularly the case in regard to the assassination of the Regent or
Tairo, Ii Kamon-no-Kami, in 1860, at the Sakurada Gate in Yedo. Though
the murderers had once, it turned out, been followers of the “old prince
of Mito”—as he was termed—they had cut themselves adrift from the clan,
and were acting independently of it when they perpetrated the crime that
so profoundly stirred the community.
Fujita had long before this taken up his abode in Yedo, and dwelt in
that part of the capital known as Koishikawa, down to the date of the
terrible earthquake of 1855, in which he, in common with many thousands
of his fellow-citizens, was engulfed. He spent practically the whole
of his life, however, in Mito, and thither came in 1842 the future
Commander-in-chief of the Imperial Forces in the War of the Restoration,
and at a later period Minister for War in the Government of Revived
Imperial Rule, Saigo Takamori. Saigo became Fujita’s pupil, and there is
no doubt that the professor instilled into Saigo’s mind a hostility to
the Shogunate as deep and enduring as his own, to bear fruit in after
years when the possibility as well as the desirability of effecting a
complete revolution in the administration came to be a matter no longer
of secret consultation but of free and open discussion. If in the
affectionate remembrance of his countrymen Saigo Takamori was the “sword
and spear” of the Revolution of 1868, as Kido was its “brain” (employing
a phrase once much in vogue), the thoughts of people in Japan must often
turn to the long since dead Mito scholar who implanted in his pupil the
conviction of the pressing need that there was for a return to the old
order of things, and the personal rule of the real emperor.
There is a little story still current in Japan relative to the time of
Saigo’s departure from Mito, after a stay of some years’ duration there
under Fujita’s tuition. The master had bidden a number of his friends
to a supper in Saigo’s honour, and in accord with ancient custom Fujita
offered his _sakazuki_ (wine-cup) to his pupil in token of friendship,
but Saigo, to Fujita’s surprise, at first begged to be excused. When
rallied on his excessive caution Saigo explained that he went in
fear lest under the influence of wine he might be guilty of acting
imprudently, but Fujita would not accept the plea. “A man who aims at
distinction as a samurai must never refuse his master’s invitation to
take wine with him,” declared Fujita,—meaning, apparently, that a soldier
must place himself unreservedly in the hands of his chief,—and Saigo
thereupon took the risk, as he deemed it, on that occasion, and drank
several cupfuls of _Sake_. Fujita was pleased with his pupil’s spirit,
and often said of him afterwards that whatever Saigo might undertake
he would assuredly succeed in, as he could accommodate himself to
circumstances.
Fujita had many other students of classical literature staying with him
at Mito at various times, it being a period when not only was there the
highest appreciation of Chinese literary composition, but things Chinese
in general had a vogue in Japan which approximated to that which in
later years was developed in respect of things European. There was,
moreover, a growing disposition among the samurai to apply themselves
to the study of such arts and sciences as were revealed to them through
translations of foreign works introduced by the Dutch at Nagasaki. To
thinking men of the type of those who went to Fujita for instruction
the Dutch books formed the only media whereby the desired information
concerning the Western world could be obtained, and considering the
difficulties under which those who sought knowledge in those days must
have laboured the perseverance shown in its pursuit reflects vast credit
on professors and pupils alike. Long prior to Commodore Perry’s first
visit in 1853 the Japanese people were cognisant to some extent of the
existence of railways, and steam engines,—even of the electric telegraph,
it is said, which was at that time quite new to Europe and America,—and
blast furnaces, mills, and workshops of different kinds had been set up
on plans obtained from Nagasaki, with no inconsiderable share of success.
Other industrial inventions had been introduced, which, if they did not
precisely originate in the Occident, had at least been brought to some
degree of perfection there, such as the art of printing from movable
types, which is said to have belonged in the first place to Korea, and
so with human effort in other directions it was at last discovered that
all unknown to the Western world the leaven had been working in the
various strata of society in Japan with results as astounding to the
onlooker as they were beneficial in their effects on the nation. The
disposition towards independence of political thought that arose from the
perusal of foreign writings which found their way to the country in its
period of seclusion was productive, when once the upheaval commenced,
of a mental activity that manifested itself in a thousand ways in the
last half-century, and there is little likelihood, despite her eagerness
for progress, that Japan will ever forget those who aided in the past
to bring about her emancipation from a feudal system which sapped her
energies and blighted her prospects of advancement. Fujita Toko lives in
the hearts of his countrymen.
IV
SAKUMA SHURI (OTHERWISE SHOZAN)
In the eighth year of the Bun-kwa era, corresponding to A.D. 1811,
during the reign of the Emperor Kokaku, was born in the little town of
Matsu-shiro (Pine citadel) in Shinano province, a man who was destined
to leave his mark on the annals of his country for all time. Little has
ever been heard of him, so far, outside his own land, but in Japan he is
regarded as one of the forerunners of a new regime,—a patriot to whom
the Japanese people of the present day are indebted in no small degree
for the privileges which they now enjoy. His family name was Sakuma,
and his common or as we might say, his baptismal name was Shuri, but to
the student of history he is best known, perhaps, by his _nom de plume_
of Shozan. His poetical works fill many volumes, and I venture to quote
one of the numerous “thirty-one syllabled” poems which he penned, as an
example of his endeavours to stimulate his fellow-countrymen to throw off
the yoke of feudalism:—
Kokoro-mi ni izaya sakeban Yama-biko no
Kotaye tataseba koye wa oshimaji.
(When once to our loud shouts Echo vouchsafes an answer
The vocal effort made to gain her favour counts for naught.)
It is recorded of him that even as a child he evinced an unusual gravity
of demeanour, so much so that his behaviour was that of an adult rather
than a boy of seven, and the neighbours were apt to shake their heads in
doubt as to what manner of man he would grow up to be. He cared nothing
for the ordinary sports of Japanese children of his years, who, as we
have often been assured, dwell in a perfect paradise as far as their
play is concerned, but was at all times distinguished by a taciturnity
wholly unbefitting one so young. His cleverness was the subject of
general remark, and he was a source of intense pride and satisfaction to
his parents. In Japan, as in the West, children who betray extraordinary
ability are objects of the most marked admiration.