OFFICIAL VISIT TO YEDO
DURING the later months of 1862 a good deal of correspondence went
forward about the Itô Gumpei (murderer of the sentry and of the
corporal) affair and the Richardson murder, and Colonel Neale held
various conferences with the Shôgun's ministers. The diplomatic history
of these proceedings has been already recounted by Sir Francis Adams,
and as for the most part I knew little of what was going on, it need not
be repeated here. The meeting-place for the more important discussions
was Yedo, whither the Colonel used to proceed with his escort and the
larger portion of the Legation staff. Some went by a gunboat, others
rode up to the capital along the Tôkaidô. At that period and for several
years after, the privilege of visiting Yedo was by Treaty restricted to
the foreign diplomatic representatives, and non-official foreigners
could not cross the Rokugô ferry, half way between Kanagawa and Yedo,
except as the invited guest of one of the legations. And now all the
foreign ministers had transferred their residences to Yokohama in
consequence of the danger which menaced them at Yedo. We younger
members, therefore, appreciated highly our opportunities, and it was
with intense delight that I found myself ordered to accompany the chief
early in December on one of his periodical expeditions thither. We
started on horseback about one o'clock in the afternoon in solemn
procession, the party consisting of Colonel Neale, A von Siebold,
Russell Robertson, and myself, with Lieutenant Applin commanding the
mounted escort. It was a miserably cold day, but R. and I combated the
temperature by dropping behind to visit Mr. Brown on our way through
Kanagawa, and then galloping on after the others. They had evidently
been going at a foot's pace during the interval. At Kawasaki we
encountered an obstruction in the shape of an obstinate head ferryman,
who did not recognize the British Chargé d'Affaires, and refused to pass
us over. The men on guard at the watch-house commanding the ferry, on
seeing some of us approach to demand their assistance, ran away. The
Colonel fumed with wrath, but fortunately at this moment there arrived
in breathless haste a mounted officer from Kanagawa, who had followed us
of his own accord on hearing that the English Chargé d'Affaires had
passed without a Japanese escort. So the ferryman collected his men, and
we got over without further trouble. A couple of miles beyond the river
we came to the well-known gardens called _Mmé Yashiki_, the
plum-orchard, where we were waited on by some very pretty girls.
Everybody who travelled along the Tôkaidô in those days, who had any
respect for himself, used to stop here, in season or out of season, to
drink a cup of straw-coloured tea, smoke a pipe and chaff the
waiting-maids. Fish cooked in various ways and warm _saké_ (rice beer)
were also procurable, and red-faced native gentlemen might often be seen
folding themselves up into their palanquins after a mild daylight
debauch. Europeans usually brought picnic baskets and lunched there, but
even if they started late were glad of any excuse for turning in to this
charmingly picturesque tea-garden. Everyone now-a-days is familiar with
the Japanese plum-tree as it is represented in the myriad works of art
of these ingenious people, but you must see the thing itself to
understand what a joyful surprise it is to enter the black-paled
enclosure crowded with the oddly angular trees, utterly leafless but
covered with delicate pink or white blossoms which emit a faint
fragrance, and cover the ground with the snow of their fallen petals. It
is early in February that they are in their glory, on a calm day when
the sun shines with its usual brilliance at that season, while in every
shady corner you may find the ground frozen as hard as a stone. But to
my taste the plum-blossom looks better on a cloudy day against a dull
background of cryptomeria when you sit by a warm fire and gaze on it out
of window. In December, however, only the swelling buds are to be seen
stretching along the slender shoots of last spring. We proceeded on our
way without any special incident until we reached the notorious suburb
of Shinagawa, half consisting of houses, or rather palaces, of ill-fame,
where a drunken fellow who stood in the middle of the road and shouted
at us got a fall from one of the troopers, and so we reached the
Legation about sunset. The rest of the staff and the infantry guard, who
had come by sea, landed about an hour later.
The building occupied as the legation was part of a Buddhist temple,
Tô-zen-ji, behind which lay a large cemetery. But our part of it had
never been devoted to purposes of worship. Every large temple in Japan
has attached to it a suite of what we might call state apartments, which
are used only on ceremonial occasions once or twice in the year, but
from time immemorial it has been the custom to accommodate foreign
embassies in these buildings. A suitable residence for a foreign
representative could not otherwise have been found in Yedo. As a general
rule every Japanese, with the exception of the working classes, lives in
his own house, instead of renting it as do most residents in an European
capital. The only purely secular buildings large enough to lodge the
British Minister and his staff were the _Yashiki_ or "hotels" of
_Daimiôs_, but the idea of expropriating one of these nobles in order to
accommodate a foreign official was probably never mooted. There
remained, therefore, only the "state apartments" of some large monastery
as a temporary residence until a site could be obtained and the
necessary buildings constructed. Consequently there was no ground for
the reproach which one writer at least has urged against the foreign
ministers, that by turning sacred edifices into dwelling-houses they had
insulted the religious feelings of the Japanese people. In the early
years of our intercourse with Japan it is true that we were regarded as
unwelcome "intruders," but in native opinion we "polluted" the temples
by our presence no more than we should have "polluted" any other
residence that might have been assigned to us. Tô-zen-ji lay in the
suburb of Takanawa fronting the seashore, and was therefore conveniently
situated for communication with our ships, the smallest of which could
anchor just inside the forts, at a distance of perhaps a mile and a
half. Owing, however, to the shallowness of the bay, boats were unable
to get up to the landing place at low tide, and the assistance which
could have been rendered by a gunboat in the event of a sudden attack,
such as had been experienced in 1861, was absolutely _nil_. There
remained, however, the comfort derived from knowing that a refuge lay at
no great distance, and no doubt the appearance of a gunboat within the
line of forts that had been built to keep out foreign fleets produced a
considerable moral effect upon the general population, though
desperadoes of the sort that assaulted the guard in July 1861 would
certainly have been no whit deterred by any number of threatening
men-of-war which could not reach them. Behind the house there was a
small ornamental garden with an artificial pond for gold fish, on the
opposite side of which rose a hill covered with pine-trees. A good way
off from the quarters of the minister, and at the back of the cemetery
belonging to the temple, there was a small house named Jô-tô-an, which
was occupied by the senior chancery assistant. A tall bamboo fence cut
us off entirely from this part of the grounds, and joined the house at
either end. The rooms were not spacious, and very little attempt had
been made to convert them into comfortable apartments. I think there was
an iron stove or two in the principal rooms, but elsewhere the only
means of warming was a Japanese brasier piled up with red hot charcoal,
the exhalations from which were very disagreeable to a novice. The
native who wraps himself up in thick wadded clothes and squats on the
floor has no difficulty in keeping himself warm with the aid of this
arrangement, over which he holds the tips of his fingers. His legs being
crumpled up under him, the superficies he presents to the cold air is
much less than it would be if he sat in a chair with outstretched limbs
in European fashion. To protect himself against draughts he has a screen
standing behind him, and squats on a warm cushion stuffed with silk
wool. These arrangements enable him even in winter to sit with the
window open, so long as it has a southern aspect, and foreigners who
adopt the same system have made shift to get on. But if you are going to
live in Japan in European style, you must, in order to be moderately
warm during the winter months, replace the paper of the outer wooden
slides with glass, stop up the openwork above the grooves in which the
slides work that divide the rooms, and either build a fireplace or put
up an American stove. But even all this will not make you thoroughly
comfortable. Underneath you there are thick straw mats laid upon thin
and badly jointed boarding, through which the cutting north-west wind
rises all over the floor, while the keen draughts pierce through between
the uprights and the shrunken lath-and-plaster walls. The unsuitability
of such a building as a residence for the minister and his staff had
been perceived from the outset, and long negotiations, having for their
object the erection of a permanent legation, had by this time resulted
in the assignment of an excellent site, on which a complete series of
buildings was being constructed from English designs, but at the expense
of the Shôgun's government. Other sites in the immediate vicinity had
been given to the French, Dutch and Americans for the same purpose. All
these were carved out of what had been once a favourite pleasure resort
of the people of Yedo, whither in the spring all classes flocked to
picnic under the blossoms of the cherry-trees in sight of the blue
waters of the bay. Gotenyama was indeed a famous spot in the history of
the Shôgunate. In its early days the head of the State was wont to go
forth thither to meet the great _daimiôs_ on their annual entry into
Yedo, until Iyémitsu, the third of the line, to mark still more strongly
the supremacy to which he felt he could safely lay claim, resolved that
henceforward he would receive them in his castle, just like the rest of
his vassals. From that time the gardens had been dedicated to the public
use. But already before the foreign diplomats took up their abode in
Yedo, Gotenyama had been partially diverted from its original purpose,
and vast masses of earth had been carried off to form part of the line
of forts from Shinagawa to the other side of the junk channel that leads
into the river. The British minister's residence, a large two-storied
house, which from a distance seemed to be two, stood on an eminence
fronting the sea. Magnificent timbers had been employed in its
construction, and the rooms were of palatial dimensions. The floors were
lacquered, and the walls covered with a tastefully designed Japanese
paper. Behind and below it a bungalow had been erected for the Japanese
secretary, and a site had been chosen for a second, destined for the
assistants and students. On the southern side of the compound was an
immense range of stables containing stalls for 40 horses, and on the
second storey quarters for a portion of the European guard. Some slight
progress had been made with the buildings for the French and Dutch
legations. But we knew that the people disliked our presence there. The
official and military class objected to the foreigner being permitted to
occupy such a commanding position overlooking the rear of the forts, and
the populace resented the conversion of their former pleasure-ground
into a home for the "outer barbarians." To press on the completion of
the houses and to take possession was rightly considered an important
matter of policy. A deep trench was being dug round the enclosure, and a
lofty wooden palisade was built on the inner margin, which, it was
expected, would afford sufficient protection against a repetition of
such attacks as that of the 5th July 1861, and the British ensign was to
be hoisted again in Yedo as soon as the buildings should be ready for
occupation. We all looked forward to that event with the liveliest
feelings of anticipation, and for myself I anxiously expected its
arrival because Yokohama was a hybrid sort of town, that by no means
fulfilled my expectations, and I hoped before long to become a resident
of the famous city to which I had looked with longing eyes from the
other side of Europe.
We rode daily in the environs of Yedo, to the pretty tea-house at Oji,
which is depicted with such bright colours in Laurence Oliphant's book,
to the pond of Jiû-ni-sô on the road to Kô-shiû, to the other pond
called Senzoku half way to Mariko, and to the temple of Fudô at Meguro,
where the pretty damsels at the tea-houses formed more than half the
attraction. Within the city we made excursions to the temple of Kwannon
at Asakusa, then and for long afterwards the principal sight of interest
to the foreign visitor, to Atagoyama, where other pretty damsels served
a decoction of salted cherry-blossoms, and to the temple of Kanda Miôjin
for the view over the city. But the gorgeous mausoleums of the Shôguns
at Shiba and Uyeno were closed to the foreigner, and remained so up to
the revolution of 1868. We were allowed in riding back from Asakusa to
catch a passing glimpse of the lotus pond Shinobazu-no-iké, which is now
surrounded by a racecourse after the European manner, but the Fukiagé
Park, since known as the Mikado's garden, and the short cut through the
castle from the Sakurada Gate to the Wadagura Gate of the inner circle
were shut to us in common with the Japanese public. A large portion of
the city in the immediate neighbourhood of the castle, and large areas
in every quarter were occupied by the _Yashiki_ of _Daimiôs_ and
_Hatamotos_, of which little could be seen but long two-storied rows of
stern barrack-buildings surrounding the residence of the owner. From the
top of Atagoyama alone was it possible to get a view of the interior of
such enclosures, and it must be admitted that the knowledge thus gained
completely upset the idea that the nobles lived in palaces. Irregular
masses of low brown roofs and black weather-boarded walls alone were
visible. The use of telescopes was strictly forbidden on Atagoyama, lest
the people should pry into the domestic doings of their masters.
Wherever we went a band of mounted guards surrounded us, ostensibly for
our protection, but also for the purpose of preventing free
communication with the people. These men belonged to a force raised by
the Shôgun's ministers from the younger sons of the _hatamotos_, and
numbered 1000 or 1200. They wore the customary pair of swords (_i.e._ a
long and short sabre thrust through the belt on the left side), a round
flat hat woven from the tendrils of the wistaria, for the rank and file,
and a mound-shaped lacquered wooden hat for the officers, a mantle or
_haori_, and the wide petticoat-shaped trousers called _hakama_. Between
them and the members of the foreign legations there existed no tie of
any kind, for they were changed every fifteen days just like so many
policemen, and mounted guard indifferently at all the legations. It was
not until 1867 that I managed to break through this rule and get a
special body of men attached to myself. Small guardhouses were dotted
about the legation grounds for their accommodation. As soon as it became
known that a foreigner was about to go out on foot or on horseback,
half-a-dozen were detailed to follow him at all hazards. It was
impossible to escape their vigilance. They were to prevent our speaking
to any person above the rank of a common citizen or to enter a private
house. On one occasion two members of our legation managed a visit to
the father of a young _samurai_ named Kotarô, who lived with us to study
English. The fact was reported, and when the visitors went a second time
they found the occupants of the house had removed to another part of the
city. We were allowed to sit down in shops, and even to bargain for
articles that took our fancy; but two kind of purchases were strictly
prohibited, maps and the official list of _daimiôs_ and government
officials. Anything we bought had to be sent afterwards to the legation,
and delivered to the officials of the foreign department who lived
within our gates, and payment was made to them. On one occasion the
Prussian representative, Herr Max von Brandt, made a determined stand
against this prohibition. Entering the shop of the bookseller Okada-ya
in Shimmei Maye, where we foreigners were in the habit of buying books,
he inquired for the List of Daimiôs. The bookseller replied that he had
it not in stock. Herr von Brandt knew that he had, and announced his
intention of remaining there until he was furnished with what he
required. He sent a member of his party home to the Legation to bring
out the materials for luncheon, and sat determinedly down in the shop.
The guards were at their wits' end. At last they dispatched a messenger
to the castle to represent the impossibility of inducing him to give
way, and at last towards evening there came an order to say that for
this once the foreigner was to have the book. So the day was won. As a
matter of fact, however, it was never necessary to proceed to this
extremity, as we could easily procure what we wanted in the way of maps
and printed books through our Japanese teachers. MSS. were always a
difficulty. As nothing could be published without permission, any book
that touched upon governmental matters had from of old to be circulated
in MS. Amongst such works were the so-called "Hundred Laws of Iyéyasu,"
which were supposed to embody the constitution of the Japanese
government. The book contains references to offices of state that were
instituted after his time, and the utmost that can be alleged in its
favour is that it perhaps contains a few maxims from his lips and
certain rules as to the appointment of high political functionaries that
were observed in actual practice. There was another book, of undoubted
authenticity, containing a vast mass of administrative regulations, of
which I never obtained a copy until after the revolution, when it was no
longer of practical value. That MS. is now in the British Museum.
Another expedient for eluding the censorate was printing forbidden books
with moveable types. It was frequently resorted to during the last years
of the Shôgunate and at the beginning of the new rule of the Mikado,
especially for narratives of political events during that period and for
one or two important treatises on politics. Shimmei Maye was one of our
favourite resorts in those days; here were to be had cheap swords,
porcelain, coloured prints, picture-books and novels. I much regret that
I did not then begin to collect, when the blocks were comparatively
fresh; a complete set of Hokusai's Mangwa, in perfect condition, could
be had for a couple of dollars, and his Hundred Views of Fuji for about
a couple of shillings. But I had little spare cash for such luxuries,
and all my money went in necessaries.
Two days after our arrival in Yedo we paid a visit to the Gorôjiû, or
Shôgun's Council. The word means "August Elders." It was somewhat _infra
dig._ for a foreign representative to use the prefix _go_ in speaking of
them, but the phrase had been caught up from the Japanese who surrounded
the minister, and for a long time I believe it was thought that _go_
meant five. I unveiled the mistake, and when I afterwards became
interpreter to the Legation we adopted the practice of giving them the
bare _rôjiû_, except in addressing them direct, when etiquette demanded
the honorific. I was unprovided with anything in the shape of uniform,
and had to borrow a gold-laced forage cap from Applin. We came
afterwards to look with much contempt on these gauds, and to speak
derisively of "brass caps," but in 1862 I was young enough to take
considerable pride in a distinctive mark of rank, and after this
occasion lost no time in buying a bit of broad gold lace to wear like my
fellow officers. It was an imposing procession, consisting as it did of
half-a-dozen "brass caps," the military train escort of twelve men under
their gorgeous lieutenant, and a flock of about forty Japanese guards
hovering about us before, behind, and on either flank. In these days a
foreign representative may often be detected approaching the office of
the minister for foreign affairs without any suite, and in the humble
_jinrikisha_ drawn by one scantily clad coolie. The interview took place
in a long room in the house of one of the _rôjiû_. A row of small
black-lacquered tables extended down each side, and chairs were set for
the Japanese as well as the foreigners. On each table stood an earthen
brasier, a black-lacquered smoking-stand, with brass fire-pot and
ash-pit, and two long pipes, with a supply of finely cut tobacco in a
neat black box. Three of the ministers sat on the right side of the
room, and with them an _ometsuké_, whose title was explained to me to
mean spy. I suppose "censor" or "reporter" would be nearer. Below them
sat eight _gai-koku bu-giô_, or commissioners for foreign affairs. We
used to call them governors of foreign affairs, probably because the
governor of Kanagawa was also a _bu-giô_. In the centre of the room sat
a "governor" on a stool, while two interpreters (one of whom was
Moriyama Takichirô) squatted on the floor. The four higher Japanese
officers alone were provided with tables and chairs, the "governors"
sitting on square stools, with their hands in the plackets of their
trousers. After some complimentary talk about the weather and health,
which are _de rigueur_ in Japan, a double row of attendants in light
blue hempen robes (we used to term the upper part "wings") came in
bearing aloft black lacquer boxes full of slices of sponge cake and
_yôkan_ (a sweetened bean paste), and afterwards oranges and persimmons.
Then tea was served in two manners, simply infused, and also the
powdered leaf mixed up with hot water and frothed. The conversation
proceeded at a very slow pace, as it had to be transmitted through two
interpreters, ours who spoke Dutch and English, and theirs who spoke
Japanese and Dutch. This gave rise to misunderstandings, and the
Japanese ministers seemed every now and then to profit by this double
obstruction to answer very much from the purpose, so that Colonel
Neale's observations had to be repeated all over again, interpreted and
re-interpreted. Often the ministers would seem at a loss, whereupon one
of the "governors" would leave his stool and glide up to whisper
something in his ear. This proceeding reminded one of the flappers in
Laputa. The principal topic was the murder of the sentry and corporal
at Tô-zen-ji which has already been related. To all the demands made by
Colonel Neale, in accordance with the instructions he had received from
Lord Russell, the _rôjiû_ objected, and when he informed them that the
British Government required the payment of £10,000 in gold as an
indemnity to the families of the two murdered men, they opened their
eyes very wide indeed. They offered $3000. Colonel Neale at last lost
all patience, which no doubt was what they were aiming at. He gave them
a piece of his mind in pretty strong language, and the interview came to
an end, after, I suppose, a sitting of about three hours length, without
anything having been settled. I forget whether it was on this occasion
that Siebold literally translated the epithet "son of a gun" by _teppô
no musuko_; the adjective that preceded it he did not attempt to
translate, as it has not even a literal equivalent in Japanese. The way
in which the ministers contradicted themselves from time to time was
something wonderful, and the application of the good unmistakeable
Anglo-Saxon word for him who "says the thing that is not," was almost
venial.
Of course Colonel Neale did not omit to complain of the ferryman and the
guards at Kawasaki, who had run away instead of putting us over the
river, and Eusden in translating used the words _zij sloopen alle weg_,
which excited my risible muscles kept at too great a stretch through
these tedious hours. I whispered to my neighbour, "they all sloped
away"; a terrible frown from the old gentleman rebuked my indecorous
behaviour, and I was afterwards informed that I should never be allowed
thenceforth to be present on one of these solemn occasions. That was a
relief to me, but I confess I ought to have felt more contrite than I
did. At the age of nineteen and a half a boy is still a boy, but I ought
to have manifested more respect for my elders.
Early in February we received news that the legation buildings in
Gotenyama had been destroyed by fire on the night of the 1st. Many years
afterwards I learnt on the best possible authority that the incendiaries
were chiefly Chôshiû men belonging to the anti-foreign party; three at
least afterwards rose to high position in the state. These were Count
Itô, Minister President of State (1886); Count Inouyé Kaoru; who the
third was I forget. It need scarcely be said that they long ago
abandoned their views of the necessity of putting an end to the
intercourse of their country with the outside world, and they are now
the leaders of the movement in favour of the introduction into Japan of
whatever western institutions are adapted to the wants and wishes of the
people.
Willis and I were now living together in a wing of the legation house at
No. 20 on the Bund, and a young Japanese _samurai_ named Kobayashi
Kotarô messed with us. He had been placed under Willis' charge by the
Japanese Government in order to acquire the English language, and was a
nice boy, though perhaps not endowed with more than average abilities.
He disappeared to his home about the time that the ultimatum of the
British Government was presented to the Council of the Tycoon in the
spring of 1863, and we never heard of him again. I had the teacher
Takaoka Kanamé now all to myself, and was beginning to read Japanese
documents. Across the hills south of the settlement lived a priest who
knew something of the Sanskrit alphabet as used in Japan, and I used to
go once or twice a week to him for instruction, but these studies were
interrupted by the rumours of war that began soon to prevail; and the
lessons from the American missionary, Mr. Brown, also came to an end, as
I was now able to get on alone.