Among the feudal towns of Japan which can boast of a fine castle still
standing, and of an illustrious lord as its former occupant, there
are few that can rival Hikoné. Picturesquely seated on a wooded hill
close to the shores of Lake Biwa, with the blue waters and almost
equally blue surrounding mountains in full sight, the castle enjoys
the advantages of strength combined with beauty; while the lords of
the castle are descended from a very ancient family, which was awarded
its territory by the great Iyéyasu, the founder of the Tokugawa
Shōgunate, in return for the faithful services of their ancestor,
Naomasa, in bringing the whole land under the Tokugawa rule. They
therefore belonged to the rank of the _Fudai Daimio_, or Retainer
Barons, from whom alone the _Roju_, or Senators, and other officers
of the first class could be appointed. Of these lords of Hikoné much
the most distinguished was Naosuké, who signed the treaty with the
United States negotiated in 1857 and 1858. And yet, so strange are the
vicissitudes of history, and so influential the merely incidental
occurrences in human affairs, that only a chance visit of the Mikado
saved this fine feudal castle from the “general ruin of such buildings
which accompanied the mania for all things European and the contempt of
their national antiquities, whereby the Japanese were actuated during
the past two decades of the present régime.” Nor was it until recent
years that Baron Ii Naosuké’s memory has been rescued from the charge
of being a traitor to his country and a disobedient subject of its
Emperor, and elevated to a place of distinction and reverence, almost
amounting to worship, as a clear-sighted and far-seeing statesman and
patriot.
[Illustration: “PICTURESQUELY SEATED ON A WOODED HILL”]
However we may regard the unreasonableness of either of these two
extreme views of Naosuké’s character, one thing seems clear. In
respect to the laying of foundations for friendly relations between
the United States and Japan, we owe more to this man than to any other
single Japanese. No one can tell what further delays and resulting
irritation, and even accession of blood-shed, might have taken place
in his time had it not been for his courageous and firm position
toward the difficult problem of admitting foreigners to trade and to
reside within selected treaty-ports of Japan. This position cost him
his life. For a generation, or more, it also cost him what every true
Japanese values far more highly than life; it cost the reputation of
being loyal to his sovereign and faithful to his country’s cause. Yet
not five Americans in a million, it is likely, ever heard the name of
Baron Ii Kamon-no-Kami, who as Tairō, or military dictator, shared the
responsibility and should share the fame of our now celebrated citizen,
then Consul General at Shimoda, Townsend Harris. My purpose, therefore,
is two-fold: I would gladly “have the honour to introduce” Ii Naosuké
to a larger audience of my own countrymen; and by telling the story
of an exceedingly interesting visit to Hikoné, I would equally gladly
introduce to the same audience certain ones of the great multitude of
Japanese who still retain the knightly courtesy, intelligence and high
standards of living--though in their own way--which characterised the
feudal towns of the “Old Japan,” now so rapidly passing away.
Baron Ii Naosuké, better known in foreign annals as Ii Kamon-no-Kami,
was his father’s fourteenth son. He was born November 30, 1815. The
father was the thirteenth feudal lord from that Naomasa who received
his fief from the great Iyéyasu. Since the law of primogeniture--the
only exceptions being cases of insanity or bodily defect--was
enforced throughout the Empire, the early chances that Naosuké would
ever become the head of the family and lord of Hikoné, seemed small
indeed. But according to the usage of the Ii clan, all the sons except
the eldest were either given as adopted sons to other barons, or were
made pensioned retainers of their older brother. All his brothers,
except the eldest, had by adoption become the lords of their respective
clans. But from the age of seventeen onward, Naosuké was given a
modest pension and placed in a private residence. He thus enjoyed
years of opportunity for training in arms, literature, and reflective
study, apart from the corrupting influences of court life and the
misleading temptations to the exercise of unrestricted authority--both
of which are so injurious to the character of youth. Moreover, he
became acquainted with the common people. That was also true of him,
which has been true of so many of the great men of Japan down to the
present time. He made his friend and counsellor of a man proficient
in the military and literary education of the day. And, indeed, it
has been the great teachers who, more than any other class, through
the shaping of character in their pupils, have influenced mankind to
their good. It was Nakagawa Rokurō who showed to Naosuké, when a young
man, the impossibility of the further exclusion of Japan from foreign
intercourse. It was he also who “influenced the future Tairō to make a
bold departure from the old traditions” of the country.
On the death, without male issue, of his oldest brother, Naosuké was
declared heir-apparent of the Hikoné Baronetcy. And on Christmas day
of 1850 he was publicly authorised by the Shōgunate to assume the
lordly title of Kamon-no-Kami. It is chiefly through the conduct of
the man when, less than a decade later, he came to the position which
was at the same time the most responsible, difficult and honourable
but dangerous of all possible appointments in “Old Japan,” that the
character of Baron Ii must be judged. On the side of sentiment--and
only when approached from this side can one properly appreciate the
typical knightly character of Japanese feudalism--we may judge his
patriotism by this poem from his own hand:
Omi no mi kishi utsu nami no iku tabimo,
Miyo ni kokoro wo kudaki nuru kana;
or as freely translated by Dr. Griffis:--
“As beats the ceaseless wave on Omi’s strand
So breaks my heart for our beloved land.”
(Omi is the poetical appellation of Lake Biwa, on which the feudal
castle of the lords of Hikoné has already been said to be situated.)
How the sincerity of this sentiment may be reconciled with the act
which for an entire generation caused the baron to be stigmatised a
traitor is made clear through the following story told by the great
Ōkubo. In the troubled year of 1858, the Viscount, just before starting
on an official errand to the Imperial Court at Kyoto, called on Baron
Ii, who was then chief in command under the Shōgun, to inform him of
his expected departure on the morrow. He had embodied his own views
regarding the vexed question of foreign affairs, on his “pocket paper,”
in the form of a poem. This paper the Viscount handed to the Baron and
asked him whether his views were the same as those of the poem. Having
carefully read it Ii approved and instructed Ōkubo to act up to the
spirit of the poem, which reads:
“However numerous and diversified the nations of the earth may be, the
God who binds them together can never be more than one.”
Whatever differences of view prevailed, between his political
supporters and his political enemies, as to the purity of Naosuké’s
patriotic sentiments, there was little opportunity for difference
as to certain other important elements of his character. He had
conspicuously the qualities needed for taking a position of dictatorial
command in times of turbulence and extreme emergency. Serious in
purpose, but slow in making up his mind, he had undaunted firmness in
carrying out his plans, such that “no amount of difficulties would make
him falter or find him irresolute.”
The burning question of foreign intercourse which the coming of
Commodore Perry had forced upon the Shōgunate in 1853, had afterward
been referred to the barons of the land. They favoured exclusion by
a large majority; and some of them were ready to enforce it at the
expense of a foreign war. But the recent experience of China at the
hands of the allied forces was beginning to teach the Far East that
lesson of preparedness by foreign and modern education which Japan has
since so thoroughly learned; and to the fuller magnitude of which China
herself is just awakening. To take the extreme position of complete and
final resistance to the demands of the foreign forces seemed obviously
to court speedy and inevitable ruin for the country at large. Yet none
of the barons, except the Baron of Hikoné, had a plan to propose by
which to exclude alike the peaceful foreigner come to trade and the
armed foreigner come to enforce his country’s demand for peaceful
intercourse by the use of warlike means.
It is interesting to notice that Naosuké answered the question of the
Shōgunate in a manner to indicate the consistent policy of his country
from 1853 down to the present time. He did not, it is probable, love or
admire the personality of the foreign invader more than did his brother
barons; or more than does the average Chinese official at the present
time. On consulting with his own retainers, he found the “learned
Nakagawa” the sole supporter of his views. All the clan, with the
exception of this teacher and scholar, favoured exclusion at any cost.
“The frog in the well knows not the great ocean,” says the Japanese
proverb. And as to the Japanese people, who at that time were kept “in
utter ignorance of things outside of their own country,” Count (now
Prince) Yamagata said in 1887, with reference to the superior foresight
of Baron Ii: “Their condition was like that of a frog in a well.”
In spite of the almost complete loneliness of his position among the
barons of the first rank, Naosuké advised the Shōgunate that the
tendencies of the times made it impossible longer to enforce the
traditional exclusiveness of Japan. But he also--and this is most
significant of his far-sighted views--advised the repeal of the law,
issued early in the seventeenth century, which prohibited the building
of vessels large enough for foreign trade; and this advice he coupled
with the proposal that Japan should build navies for the protection,
in future, of her own coasts. “Thus prepared,” he writes, “the country
will be free from the menaces and threatenings of foreign powers, and
will be able to uphold the national principle and polity at any time.”
The division of opinion, and the bloody strifes of political parties,
in Japan, over the question of exclusion were not settled by the
Convention for the relief of foreign ships and sailors which followed
upon the return of the war-ships of the United States, and of other
foreign countries, in 1854. Quite the contrary was the truth. When
Mr. Townsend Harris arrived as Consul General in 1856, and began to
press the question of foreign trade and residence in a more definite
form, the party favouring exclusion was stronger, more bitter, and
more extreme than before. In their complete ignorance of the very
nature of a commercial treaty, the rulers of Japan quite generally
mistook the American demand to open Kanagawa, Yedo, Osaka, Hiogo, and
Niigata for an extensive scheme of territorial aggression. This they
were, of course, ready to resist to their own death and to the ruin
of the country. When the senators prepared a memorial to the Imperial
Cabinet, stating their difficulty and the necessity of conforming to
the foreign demand, and sent it to the Imperial Capital by the hand of
their president, Baron Hotta, they were therefore instructed to delay,
and to consult further with the Tokugawa Family and with the Barons
of the land, before again even venturing to refer the matter to the
Government at Kyoto. These instructions were, under the circumstances,
equivalent to a flat and most dangerous refusal to allow the opening of
the country at all.
It has not been generally recognised in his own country, how extremely
important and yet how difficult was the position of Mr. Townsend Harris
during the years, 1857-1858. Nor has he, in my judgment, been awarded
his full relative share of credit for laying in friendly foundations
the subsequent commercial and other forms of intercourse between the
United States and Japan. Mr. Harris’ task was in truth larger and more
complicated than that of Commodore Perry. The factors of Japanese
politics opposed to its accomplishment were more manifold and vehement.
Moreover, the question of foreign intercourse was then complicated by
two other questions of the most portentous magnitude for the internal
politics and political development of Japan. These were, the question
of who should be the heir-apparent to the then ruling Shōgun; and the
yet more important, and even supremely important question of how the
Shōgunate should in the future stand related to the virtual--and not
merely nominal--supremacy of the Imperial House. The opposition on
both these questions was substantially the same as the opposition to
permitting foreign trade and residence in the land. If then Commodore
Perry deserves the gratitude of all for making the first approaches,
in a way without serious disruption and lasting hatred, to begin the
difficult task of opening Japan, Townsend Harris certainly deserves no
less gratitude for enlarging and shaping into more permanent form the
same “opening,” while quite as skilfully and effectively avoiding the
exasperation of similar and even greater political evils.
His many embarrassments forced upon the somewhat too timid and
hesitating Shōgun the necessity of selecting some one man upon whom
the responsibility and the authority for decisive action could be
confidently reposed. Seeing this man in the person only of Ii
Kamon-no-Kami, Lord of Hikoné, he appointed him to the position of
Tairō. Now, this position of Tairō, or “Great Elder,” which may be
paraphrased by “President-Senator,” was one of virtual dictatorship.
Only the Shōgun, who appointed him, could remove the Tairō or legally
resist his demands. Naosuké was the last to hold this office; for
fortunately for Japan the Shōgunate itself soon came to an end; but
he will be known in history as Go-Tairō,--the dictator especially to
be honoured, because he was bold, clear-sighted, and ready to die in
his country’s behalf. On June 5, 1858, Baron Ii was installed in the
position which gave him the power to conclude the treaty, and which at
the same time made him responsible for its consequences of weal or woe,
to individuals and to the entire nation,--even to the world at large.
In this important negotiation the Japanese Baron Naosuké, and the
American gentleman, Harris, were henceforth the chief actors.
It is not my intention to recite in detail the history of the
negotiations of 1858, or of the difficulties and risks which the Tairō
had to face in his conduct of them. While the Mikado’s sanction for
concluding the treaty with Mr. Harris was still anxiously awaited,
two American men-of-war arrived at Shimoda; and a few days later
these were followed by Russian war-ships and by the English and French
squadrons which had so recently been victorious in their war with
China. It was by such arguments that America and Europe clinched the
consent of reluctant Japan to admit them to trade and to reside within
her boundaries!
It seemed plain enough now that the Yedo Government could not longer
wait for permission from the Imperial Government to abandon its policy
of exclusion. Two of its members, Inouyé and Iwasé, were forthwith
sent to confer with the Consul General at Shimoda. When Mr. Harris had
pointed out the impossibility of continuing the policy of exclusion,
the dangers of adhering obstinately to the traditions of the past,
and had assured them of America’s friendly intervention to secure
favourable terms with the other powers of the West, the commissioners
returned to Yedo to report. But still the opposing party grew; and
still the Imperial Government delayed its consent. Meantime the
bitterness against Baron Ii was increased by the failure of his enemies
to secure the succession to the Shōgunate for their favoured candidate.
None the less, the Tairō took upon himself the responsibility of
despatching the same men with authority to sign that Convention
between the United States and Japan which, in spite of the fact that
it bore the name of the “Temporary Kanagawa Treaty” and was subject to
revision after a specified term of years, remained unchanged until as
late as 1895. This important event bore date of a little more than a
half-century ago--namely, July 29, 1858.
It is foreign to my purpose to examine the charges, urged against
Ii Kamon-no-Kami, of disobedience to the Imperial Government and of
traitorous conduct toward his country. The latter charge has long
since been withdrawn; and for this has been substituted the praise
and homage due to the patriot who is able to oppose public opinion,
to stand alone, to be “hated even by his relatives,” and to sacrifice
his life in his country’s behalf. That the Tairō did not obey the
Imperial command to submit again the question of exclusion to a council
of the Tokugawa princes and the Barons of the land is indeed true.
On the other hand, it is to be said that the Imperial Government,
by not forbidding the Treaty, had thrown back upon the Shōgunate
the responsibility for deciding this grave question; and that the
appearance of the foreign war-ships gave no further opportunity, in
wisdom, for continuing the policy of procrastination and delay. The
hour demanded a man of audacity, of clear vision into the future, and
of willingness to bear the full weight of a responsible decision. The
hour found such a man in the Japanese Naosuké, hereditary feudal lord
of Hikoné, but by providence in the position of Tairō, or military
dictator. It was fortunate, indeed, for the future relations of the
United States and Japan, and for the entire development of the Far
East under European influences, that an American of such patience,
kindliness, tactful simplicity, and sincere moral and religious
principle, met at the very critical point of time a Japanese of such
knightly qualities of honour, fearlessness, and self-centred force of
character. This point of turning for two political hemispheres, this
pivot on which swung the character of the intercourse between Far East
and Occident, owes more, I venture to think, to Townsend Harris and to
Ii Kamon-no-Kami than to any other two men.
The concluding of the Treaty did not allay the excitement of the
country over the intrusion of foreigners, or discourage the party of
the majority which favoured the policy of either risking all in an
immediate appeal to arms, or of continuing the effort to put off the
evil day by a policy of prevarication and temporising. Less than a
fortnight after its signing, the Shōgun became suddenly ill, and four
days later he died. Two days before his death, the three English ships
had anchored at Shinagawa, a suburb of the capital of the Shōgunate;
while the Russians had invaded the city of Yedo itself and established
themselves in one of its Buddhist temples. Everything was now in
confusion. The influence of the party for exclusion--forceful, if
necessary--was now greatly strengthened among the Imperial Councillors
at Kyoto; and intrigues for the deposition of the Tairō and even for
his assassination went on apace. A serious and wide-spreading rebellion
was threatened. The resort of the Baron of Hikoné to force in order
to crush or restrain his enemies served, as a natural and inevitable
result, to combine them all in the determination to effect his
overthrow--a result which his opponents suggested he should forestall
by committing _harakiri_, after acknowledging his mistakes; and which
his friends urged him to prevent by resigning his office at Tairō.
Since Ii Kamon-no-Kami was not the man to retreat in either of these
two cowardly ways, he was destined to perish by assassination. On
March 25, 1860, one of the five annual festivals at which the princes
and barons of the land were in duty bound to present themselves at
the Shōgun’s Castle to offer congratulations, the procession of the
Tairō left his mansion at “half-past the fifth watch,” or 9 o’clock A.
M. Near the “Cherry-Field” gate of the castle, they were attacked by
eighteen armed men, who were all, except one, former retainers of the
Mito Clan, whose princes had been the most powerful enemy of Baron Ii,
but who had resigned from the clan, and become _ronin_, or “wave-men,”
in order not to involve in their crime the lord of the clan. The
suddenness of the attack, and the fact that the defenders were impeded
by the covered swords and flowing rain-coats which the weather had made
necessary, gave the attacking party a temporary advantage. Baron Ii was
stabbed several times through the sides of his palanquin, so that when
dragged out for further wounding and decapitation, he was already dead.
Thus perished the man who signed the treaty with Townsend Harris, fifty
years ago, in the forty-sixth year of his age.
The motives of the two parties--that of the majority who favoured
exclusion and that of the minority who saw the opening of the country
to be inevitable--can best be made clear by stating them in the
language of each, as they were proclaimed officially to the Japanese
of that day. Fortunately, we are able to do this. So bitter was the
feeling against their feudal lord, even after his death, that it seemed
necessary, in order to prevent complete ruin from falling upon the
whole Clan of Hikoné, that all his official papers and records should
be burned. But Viscount Ōkubo, at no inconsiderable danger to himself,
managed “to save the precious documents”; for, said he, “There will be
nothing to prove the sincerity and unmixed fidelity of Lord Naosuké, if
the papers be destroyed. Whatever may come I dare not destroy them.”
From one of these papers we quote the following sentences which show
why Baron Ii as Tairō signed, on his own responsibility, this detested
treaty with the hated and dreaded foreigners. “The question of foreign
intercourse,” it says, “is pregnant with serious consequences. The
reason why the treaty was concluded with the United States was because
of the case requiring an immediate answer. The English and French
Squadrons, after their victory over China, were very soon expected to
our coasts; and the necessity of holding conferences with different
nations at the same time might cause confusion from which little
else than war could be expected. These foreigners are no longer to
be despised. The art of navigation, their steam-vessels and their
military and naval preparations have found full development in their
hands. A war with them might result in temporary victories on our part;
but when our country should come to be surrounded by their combined
navies, the whole land would be involved in consequences which are
clearly visible in China’s experience.... Trying this policy for ten
or twelve years, and making full preparation for protection of the
country during that period, we can then determine whether to close
up or open the country to foreign trade and residence.... If it were
only one nation with which we had to deal, it would be much easier;
but several nations, coming at this time with their advanced arts, it
is entirely impossible to refuse their requests to open intercourse
with our country. The tendency of the times makes exclusion an entire
impossibility.”
But the assassins, on their part, before entering on their bloody
deed, had drawn up a paper which, as signed by seventeen, or all
except one of their number, they wished to have go down to posterity
in justification of their course. They, too, all met death either
on the spot, or subsequently by public execution, for their crime
of assassination. “While fully aware,” says this manifesto, “of the
necessity of some change in policy since the coming of the Americans
to Uraga, it is entirely against the interest of the country and a
shame to the sacred dignity of the land, to open commercial relations,
to admit foreigners into the castle, to conclude a treaty, to abolish
the established custom of trampling on the picture of Christ, to
permit foreigners to build places of worship of their evil religion,
Christianity, and to allow three Foreign Ministers to reside in the
land. Under the excuse of keeping the peace, too much compromise has
been made at the sacrifice of national honour. Too much fear has been
shown in regard to the foreigners’ threatening.”
This remarkable paper then goes on to charge the Tairō, Baron Ii,
with being responsible for so dishonourable an act of compromise. He
has assumed “unbridled power”; he has proved himself “an unpardonable
enemy of his nation,” a “wicked rebel.” “Therefore we have consecrated
ourselves to be the instruments of Heaven to punish this wicked man;
we have assumed on ourselves the duty of putting an end to a serious
evil by killing this atrocious autocrat.” The assassins then go on to
swear before Heaven and earth, gods and men, that their act was motived
by loyalty to the Emperor, and by the hope to see the national glory
manifested in the expulsion of foreigners from the land.
At this distance of half a century, and considering the spirit of
the former age, we need not judge between Naosuké and his murderers
as regards the sincerity of their patriotism. But as to which of the
two parties followed the path of wisdom, there can be no manner of
doubt. Both Japan and its foreign invaders still owe a great debt of
gratitude and a tribute of wisdom, to Baron Ii Kamon-no-Kami. While
over all our clouded judgment hangs serene the truth of the autograph
of four Chinese characters with which, years afterwards, the Imperial
Prince Kitashirakawa honoured the book written to vindicate the Tairō:
“Heaven’s ordination baffles the human.”
How the memory of its former feudal lord is cherished in Hikoné, and
how his spirit still survives and in some sort dominates its citizens,
I had occasion to know during two days of early February, 1907. The
little city, headed by Mr. Tanaka, the steward of the present Count
Ii, by letter and then by a personal visit from the Christian pastor,
Mr. Sonoda, had urgently invited us to visit them, with the promise
that we should see the castle and other reminders of its former feudal
lord. I, on my part, was to speak to them on education and morality,
the two subjects about which the serious people of Japan are just now
most eager to hear. The same gentleman who had been the medium of the
invitation, was to be our escort from Kyoto to Hikoné. But on the way,
although the wind was piercing and light snow was falling, we saw
again the familiar objects of interest about the lower end of Lake
Biwa;--Miidera Temple, with its relics of the legendary giant Benkei,
such as the bell which he carried part way up the hill and then dropped
and cracked, and the huge kettle out of which he ate his rice; then the
wonderful pine-tree at Karasaki, the sail down the lake and under the
bridge of Seta; and, finally, the sights of Ishiyama.
At a tea-house near the station here we were met by Mr. Tanaka, who had
come by train to extend the welcome of the city and who emphasised this
welcome by referring to the interest which we, as Americans, in common
with all our countrymen, must feel in the place that had been the
residence of the great Tairō. For had not he “influenced the Shōgunate
to open the country to the United States, and lost his life for his
advanced views?”
As the train conveyed us into the uplands, the snow began to fall more
heavily until it lay nearly a foot deep upon the plain and wooded
hill, crowned with its castle, of the ancient feudal town. Just as
the setting sun was making the mountains and the clouds aglow with a
rose colour, as warm and rich as anything to be seen in Switzerland,
we reached the station of Hikoné, and were at once taken into its
waiting-room to receive and return greetings of some thirty of the
principal citizens who had come out to welcome the city’s guests. On
account of the deep snow it was a jinrikisha ride of nearly half an
hour to the place where we were to be lodged--the Raku-raku-tei, just
beside the castle-moat, under its hill, and almost in the lake itself.
Here a beautiful but purely Japanese house, which was built by the lord
of the castle as a villa, stands in one of the finest gardens of all
Japan.
The fear that their foreign guests would not be entirely comfortable,
even if entertained in the best Japanese style, made it difficult for
us at first to discard or neglect the accessories especially provided,
and disport ourselves as though we were really cherishing, and not
feigning, the wish to be treated by them as their feudal lord would
have treated his friends at the beginning of the half century now gone
by. In the end, however, we succeeded fairly well in the effort to
merge ourselves, and our modern Western habits and feelings, in the
thoughts, ways and emotions of the so-called “Old Japan.”
Flags were hung over the quaint Japanese doorway of the villa; and the
manager, the landlord, and all the servants, were in proper array to
greet the long line of jinrikishas which were escorting the guests. Our
shoes removed, we were ushered through numerous rooms and corridors,
made attractive with the quiet beauty of choice screens and the finest
of mats, into the best apartment of the house. Here bright red felt had
been spread over the mats; a tall lacquer hibachi, daimyo style, stood
in the middle of the chamber; and large lacquer or brass candlesticks,
with fat Hikoné candles and wicks nearly a half-inch thick, stood on
either side of the hibachi and in each of the corners of the room.
Thus far, the surroundings were well fitted to carry our imaginations
back to the time of Ii Kamon-no-Kami himself. But there were two
articles of the furnishing sure to cause a disillusionment. These
were a pair of large arm-chairs, arranged throne fashion behind the
hibachi, and covered with green silk cushions (or _zabuton_) which
were expected to contribute both to our comfort and to our sense
of personal dignity, while we were “officially receiving”--so to
say. Without offending our kind hosts, I trust, and certainly to the
increase of our own satisfaction, we begged permission to slip off from
our elevated position, so calculated to produce the feelings of social
stiffness and remoteness, and sit, in as nearly polite old-fashioned
native style as our lack of physical training would permit, upon the
cushions transferred to the floor. In this way when our callers, who
included such truly gentle men and ladies as the Mayor of the city and
his wife, the steward of the Count, the daughter of an ex-Mayor of
Osaka, Baron Kimata, the venerable Doctor Nakashima, for thirty years
a pillar of the church and a prosperous physician, Mr. Kitamura, whose
father was a retainer and served as secretary of the Baroness Ii, and
others, came in, knelt upon the floor and touched their heads three
times to the mats, we, too, could return their salutations with the
same delightfully elaborate but now rapidly vanishing attention to the
etiquette of playing host and guest.
The reception over, with its accompaniment of tea served in ceremonial
cups, we were urged, in spite of our protest that we had had dinner
upon the train, to a bountiful feast. This, too, was of a mixed
character; part of it taken from two large hampers of foreign food
sent on from our hotel in Kyoto, and part of it fish from the lake,
cooked _a la Japonaise_ and served on pretty shell-shaped plates,
rice in covered bowls manufactured in Hikoné in the days of the great
Baron, and other native viands, made more tempting by the harmonious
suggestions of the dishes in which they were served. Such delicate
pleasures of suggestion, also, belong to the art of living as practiced
in feudal Japan. And when, notwithstanding remonstrance, the dishes
themselves were divided between guests and hosts,--the portion of the
latter to be retained, it was explained, as “memorabilia of the honour
of being permitted to serve, etc.,”--this, too, was quite in the spirit
of the time when Ii Kamon-no-Kami was lord of Hikoné.
After the supper we were led to the large audience-hall of the former
villa, where all the _shoji_ were plain gold-leaf and the ceilings
chastely but beautifully panelled; here we were fairly compelled to sit
in the throne-like chairs on the raised alcove, which was in feudal
times reserved exclusively for the lord of the clan. The cold made
the combined efforts at heating of a modern oil-stove at the back,
with antique hibachi on either hand, by no means ungrateful. Beside
each of the guests knelt an interpreter, who was to announce the
different numbers and translate their comments on the music; while
all the hosts sat ranged along the other side of the hall, native
fashion on the floor. Thus a somewhat weird but vivid and interesting
picture, reminiscent of the older times, was made by this large and
dimly lighted baronial hall, in which the lord of Hikoné may well
enough himself have listened to some of the same music which was played
for us. The first number on the programme proved to be a selection
of the oldest style of Japanese concerted music; it was played on
three different kinds of flute by three young men, all dressed in
dark silk kimonos and in head-dress of two hundred years ago. Then
two pretty girls, beautifully gowned and with faces powdered and lips
tinted vermillion and gold,--the ancient manner of decoration in such
cases,--together with their teachers, played a Spring “nocturne” on
three _Kotos_, or Japanese harps. Other selections followed; and
the concert closed with a queer fugue-like performance on Chinese
flutes--one short and the other a full yard long, but both gaily
decorated with silken cords and tassels.
The evening’s entertainment over, we returned to our room, which had
now been converted into a bed-chamber in truly royal native style. Six
large wadded _futons_, three to lie upon and three for covering, all
made of fine silk, had been laid upon the floor, with quilts rolled
up and tied together for pillows, and lead tanks covered with a soft
flannel and filled with hot water to secure additional warmth. For the
thin wooden shutters which enclosed the piazza and the paper _shoji_
within, however closely drawn, could not serve efficiently to keep out
the cold, snow-laden wind. It was part of the stately fashion with
which everything was conducted, to assure us that all the bedding was
quite new and had never been used before.
[Illustration: “ALL COVERED WITH FRESH FALLEN SNOW”]
In the morning, when the room had been again prepared for its day-time
uses, the beauty of its screens and other simple furnishings, painted
in raised chrysanthemums by one of the Kano school, was made the more
charming by the light reflected from the snow-covered ground and cloudy
sky. The garden was a picture such as can be seen only in Japan; its
tiny curved stone-bridge over an artificial pond, the dark green
twisted pines, the stately mountains in the distance; and all covered
with fresh-fallen snow--a landscape made dignified by nature and
exquisite by man.
The later morning hours were occupied with receiving calls, each one
of which bore some fragrance of the memory of the man who had, as
the sons and daughters of his retainers firmly believed, sacrificed
his life in the country’s cause. For still in Hikoné, the memory of
Ii Kamon-no-Kami, and the pride in him, confer a certain title to
distinction upon every citizen of the place. And not only this; but we,
being Americans and so of the people with whose representative their
feudal lord had joined himself to bring about a period of peaceful
and friendly intercourse between the two nations, were expected to
sympathise with them in this feeling. In genuine old-fashioned style,
many of these visitors brought with them some gift. Among these gifts
was a small bit of dainty handiwork, made by the Baroness Ii and given
to the father of the man who gave it to us, in recognition of his
services as her secretary. It was the sincerity and simple dignity
of these tokens of friendship which raised their bestowal above all
suspicion of sinister motive, and made it easier for the foreigners to
receive them and to transport themselves into the atmosphere of the
“Old Japan.”
The afternoon of this day was set aside for the lecture, which was
to be held in the large room of one of the city’s Primary-School
buildings. On reaching the school we found the flags of both
countries--the two that Ii Kamon-no-Kami and Townsend Harris had
bound together by Treaty, a half-century ago--hung over the door, and
at the back of the platform on which the speaker was to stand. But
before he could begin, the guests must be presented to yet other of
their hosts, who also came to leave in their hands testimonials of
their pride in Ii Kamon-no-Kami and of the good-will of Hikoné to the
visitors from the United States.
One will not easily find elsewhere a more intelligent and serious
audience than the 500 who sat upon the floor of the school-room in
the castle-town of the patriot Naosuké, on the afternoon of February
3, 1907. One will probably not find at all, outside of Japan, in a
place of the same size, so many persons to listen so patiently to so
long a discourse on similar themes. For the talk in English and its
interpretation into Japanese required more than two solid hours. Nor
could this time, of itself, suffice. There must also be elaborate
thanks returned by the steward of the present Count, in the city’s
name; and to the thanks a reply by the lecturer, both extended to a
proper length. For such deliberateness in doing what it is thought
worth while to do at all, is also characteristic of the time when Ii
Kamon-no-Kami or the other Japanese Barons discussed with Townsend
Harris every point of the Treaty, during the months so trying to the
patience and ingenuity of both parties.
The lecture over, and greetings and leave-takings exchanged, the
foreign guests were escorted to the station by a long row of following
jinrikishas. In the private room of the station-master the time
of waiting was spent in anecdotes and stories reminiscent of that
disturbed and critical but glorious past. The chief of police who had
been attendant, in order to give dignity to the occasion and to secure
the visitors from the least shadow of annoyance--danger there was
none--now comes forward to be presented and be thanked. Tea and cakes
are served; and these are followed by renewed expressions of gratitude
and friendship. In spite of remonstrance, the sweet-faced old doctor
and the Christian pastor are instructed to accompany us all the way
back to our hotel in Kyoto. And when, after renewed expressions of
esteem for Ii Kamon-no-Kami and of the friendship for us and for our
country, we send our escort back to Hikoné by the midnight train, we
certainly--and I trust--they also, had pleasant and permanent memories
established, connected with the beautiful castle-town on Lake Biwa and
its now honoured, old-time feudal lord.
And I, for my part, had certain impressions confirmed by this
interesting visit to the home of the famous lord of Hikoné. It is in
the country places of Japan, and especially in its old feudal towns,
that the choicest products of its characteristic civilisation are, at
present, to be found. Here the virtues of chivalry chiefly linger; here
these virtues are being combined with the intelligent outlook over the
world imparted by modern education and with some of the virtues which
are in particular fostered by the faith of Christianity. The result
is a charming type of manhood and womanhood which the Western World
may well admire, and, in some respects, emulate. It is this spirit of
chivalry which has carried the nation along its wonderful career down
to the present time. And it is the hope of the thoughtful Japanese, as
well as of their sympathising foreign friends, that _this_ spirit will
not be quenched by the inpouring of the commercial spirit of the modern
age.
Again also, it was impressed upon my mind that no other of the formerly
“hermit nations” has hitherto incurred such grave risks in yielding
to Western forces for its so-called “opening,” as did Japan in the
years from 1853 to 1868. But then, no other nation has reaped such
benefits from the yielding. For Japan was opened--the great majority
of its leaders and people being reluctant and hostile--by the display
of a superior force of Western armament and at the risk of having the
national life deluged, if not extinguished, in blood. Yet the heart of
the nation has learned to respond with gratitude to those who brought
about such a turning of the door which had hitherto been closed to
the world, upon the hinges of destiny. “Commodore Perry,” said Count
Okuma to the writer some years ago, “was the best friend Japan ever
had.” With the name of the Commodore we may fitly couple that of the
Consul-General, Townsend Harris; and we may not unfitly add that one
of the best foreign friends which the United States ever had was the
Japanese Tairō, Baron Ii Kamon-no-Kami. When we remember what risks
his nation ran, under his leadership, in order to solve peacefully
the vexed question of foreign trade and foreign residence, may we not
also remind ourselves of the propriety that somewhat more of the same
spirit of chivalry should govern our conduct in dealing with the same
question, now that a half-century of continued friendship has bound
together the two nations, whose representatives--the one so patiently,
the other so bravely--solved it in that older time of agitation and
threatened disaster?