by Donald Keene
kono kimi no How must all the gods
ima wa to miyuru And the buddhas look upon
kanashisa wo Our grief-stricken hearts
kami mo hotoke mo When it seems this little prince
ika ni miruran Has reached his final hour?7
That night Nakayama Yoshiko collapsed with a mysterious illness that rendered her insensible to her surroundings. In addition to Buddhist incantations and readings of the sutras, yin-yang diviners were now called in to pray and twang their bows. These rites were apparently efficacious: by the end of the month, both the prince and his mother seemed to have recovered. But it was not long before the prince was stricken again, and another set of priests was summoned to pray for him. He was not completely cured until the end of the year. Although knowledge of medical science was steadily progressing in Japan—largely as the result of the increased study of European medicine—it was clear that it had yet to make headway in the palace. Indeed, apart from the number of prayers said on his behalf, a member of the imperial family was unlikely to receive medical treatment as effective as that given to persons of far humbler status.
On November 23 Tokugawa Iesada (1824–1858), the fourth son of the previous shogun, was officially appointed by the emperor as the thirteenth shogun. The emperor also named Iesada seii taishōgun, or “great general and subduer of barbarians.” This title, always of major importance as a sign of the shogun’s legitimacy,8 had possessed little military significance because the country was not threatened by barbarians; but at a time when the appearance of foreign ships was causing great consternation, it suddenly acquired immediacy. Emperor Kōmei sent the two buke densō to Edo with an imperial message: the shogun was informed that his most important task as the “great general and subduer of barbarians” was to reassure the people of the country by driving off the foreign ships, in this way avoiding national disgrace and future troubles. Chancellor Takatsukasa Masamichi sent a message of his own to Abe Masahiro, the senior adviser of the shogunate, asking what steps the shogunate was planning to calm the emperor’s uneasiness with respect to the American ships. Abe replied that no decision had as yet been made but vowed he would do nothing without considering the emperor’s peace of mind. He also urged that in the future the emperor communicate his wishes without constraint, promising to do whatever he was asked.9
The court had left the disposition of all state business to the shogunate, but ever since 1846, when Kōmei sent a message to the shogunate asking about sea defenses, he had repeatedly expressed dissatisfaction with the shogunate’s apparent reluctance to dispose of the barbarians. On March 31, 1854, without consulting the emperor, the shogunate signed the Treaty of Kanagawa with the United States. It provided that the ports of Shimoda and Hakodate would be opened to American ships, that an American consul might reside in Shimoda, and that firewood, water, and food would be supplied to ships in need of them. There was no mention of trade in this treaty of peace and amity, but the foundations for trade had been laid. The choice of Shimoda and Hakodate, both extremely inconvenient places, no doubt reflected the shogunate’s desire to keep the foreigners at arm’s length.10
It is not clear when the court first learned of the treaty. In any case, its attention was diverted from the foreign menace by another disaster. On May 5 a fire broke out in the palace and, fanned by a strong wind, quickly consumed the main buildings. The emperor was hastily evacuated to the Shimogamo Shrine along with other members of the imperial family. The fire spread so rapidly that the six or seven of the emperor’s personal attendants who managed to arrive in time to escort him to safety went barefoot. Another officer hurried to the Nakayama house and evacuated Sachinomiya to the same shrine. The devastation caused by the fire was not restricted to the palace: more than 5,400 houses belonging to inhabitants of Kyōto were reduced to ashes before the fire was extinguished.
The Shimogamo Shrine had been designated as the place of refuge in the event of a conflagration in the palace, but it was much too small to hold the members of the imperial family and their attendants. The empress returned temporarily to her original family, and others took refuge in one temple or another. The Nakayama house was one of the few inside the Gosho to escape destruction, and the prince returned there on May 15.11
The imperial family’s troubles were by no means at an end. At the end of June, Sachinomiya’s temperature suddenly shot up, and at first he did not respond to treatment. He eventually recovered, to the relief of everyone, only for a great earthquake to shake Kyōto, the most violent ever recorded for the region. It caused many deaths and destroyed innumerable houses. Even though the Nakayama house again escaped destruction, it was so small and crowded as to seem especially vulnerable to earthquakes. As long as the tremors continued, Sachinomiya was kept in the garden, where, according to the official record, he tranquilly suckled at his nurse’s breast.
Even during the various calamities, the emperor continued his study of poetry and was inducted into the secret traditions. To express his congratulations on the emperor’s achievement, the prince, it is recorded, sent an official with a box of dried cuttlefish. Presents were offered at the court on every conceivable occasion, but they were rarely of the kind favored by European royalty. The most frequently offered item was fresh fish. No doubt fresh fish, especially from the sea, was a rarity in Kyōto, situated miles inland, but it was hardly in the same class with caviar, let alone a Fabergé Easter egg. The court in Kyōto indeed lived frugally by the standards of royalty elsewhere, the austerity of their lives probably occasioned not so much by economic stringency as by long-standing traditions and perhaps also by preference.
Even more upsetting to the emperor than the fire and the earthquake was the sudden appearance of the Russian warship Diana in Ōsaka Bay on November 7, 1854.12 Putiatin, whose flagship in the previous year had been the old tub Pallada, had now returned aboard a modern warship. The Diana remained in Ōsaka for about two weeks, creating immense consternation in the capital. One can easily imagine how Kōmei, who bitterly opposed the slightest concession to the foreigners, reacted to the intrusion of a foreign warship almost on his doorstep. He not only ordered prayers for the nation’s safety to be offered at the usual seven Shintō shrines and seven Buddhist temples but also reduced his daily meals to a minimum and observed austerities. The citizens of the capital were alarmed, and the shogunate, seeking to reassure them, commanded various domains to defend Kyōto and environs. Some officials even favored moving the emperor to Ōsaka Castle, more easily defended than the Gosho, but before further steps could be taken, the Russian ships had weighed anchor and left for Shimoda.
Negotiations between the Japanese—Tsutsui and Kawaji—and the Russians—headed by Putiatin—began in Shimoda on December 22. Putiatin, eager to obtain a treaty, expressed his government’s willingness to cede to the Japanese the island of Etorofu, even though the Russians had positive proof it belonged to them, providing the Japanese would permit trade between the two countries. Some progress was made, but the negotiations were adjourned for two days. The following day, a great earthquake struck Honshū, accompanied by a powerful tsunami that was particularly severe at Shimoda. Countless people on the shore were swept out to sea by the roaring waves, and the badly battered Russian ships narrowly escaped being dashed against the rocks. The Russians earned the gratitude of the Japanese by rescuing some Japanese from the sea.13
Shimoda was almost completely destroyed by the tsunami, and talks between the Japanese and Russians could not be resumed for ten days. The negotiations were protracted.14 In the meantime, the court in Kyōto decided that an unlucky nengō (reign-name) had been responsible for the recent disasters, and Confucian scholars were commanded to prepare a list of suitable new nengō. The shogun chose from among the names presented to him Ansei, or Peaceful Government, a term derived from a passage in the early Confucian text Hsün Tzu, which states that if the common people are at peace with the government, the ruler will enjoy peace in his office.15 Despite its auspic
ious name, the Ansei era (1854–1860) would not be characterized by peaceful government.
One of the first events of the Ansei era was peaceful enough—the baby prince first put on colored clothes in place of the white clothes he had hitherto worn. Naturally, yin-yang diviners were consulted before so momentous a step was undertaken. Tsuchimikado Hareo, the head diviner, decided that ten o’clock in the morning on the sixteenth day of the twelfth month (February 3, 1855) was the appropriate time. There was snow that day, and the baby prince, no doubt suitably bundled up for the cold, set out that morning for the temporary palace where his father resided, accompanied in his palanquin by his great-grandmother. Other members of his mother’s family, including Nakayama Tadayasu and his wife, walked behind the palanquin, reaching the palace at the prescribed hour. Not until noon, however, was Sachinomiya dressed in his first colored costume, a cloak of deep crimson worn over a white glossed-silk robe, both presents from the emperor. A ritual meal was served at which the prince was attended by his mother, Nakayama Yoshiko. After the ceremony, he was taken by his grandfather, Nakayama Tadayasu, to the temporary palace where the emperor granted him an audience and offered him two cups of saké. After having his clothes changed once again, the prince appeared before the emperor, who congratulated him and offered another cup of saké. Fruit and other delicacies were served, followed by gifts of dolls and toys, and the prince’s clothes were changed for the third time, this time to bright red. The ceremonies lasted until about four in the afternoon. On this occasion, the emperor gave the prince twelve sets of clothes, and other members of the court added to this wardrobe. Sachinomiya also gave presents to the emperor and others, mainly fish, which was followed by a general exchange of gifts among those who had participated in the ceremony.16
Five days later, unbeknownst to the emperor and his court, a treaty of friendship was signed with the Russians in Shimoda. The Japanese were more generous in their concessions to the Russians than they had been with the Americans, perhaps influenced by their favorable impression, perhaps also out of sympathy for Putiatin, who had visited Japan four times in order to obtain the treaty and who had suffered the loss of his ships in the tsunami and later storms.17 After being stranded in Japan, the Russians eventually returned to their country, some in an American transport hired for the purpose, others in a German merchant ship, and still others in a ship built by Japanese ship’s carpenters under Russian supervision. By the summer of 1855, the last Russians had left Japan.18
Although the court was unaware of these developments and the official chronicle of Meiji’s life, insofar as it mentions events in Kyōto, is devoted mainly to such milestones in his life as a bout of chicken pox that left pockmarks on his face and his first steps as a baby, the court must have sensed impending danger. Regardless of whether members of the court favored keeping the country closed or opening it, they were agreed on the necessity of strengthening the national defenses. A court order was issued to collect temple bells and recast them as guns and cannons. The shogunate prohibited the use of copper, iron, lead, and other metals for Buddhist statues or ritual implements.19
Natural disasters also continued to afflict the country. In September 1855 heavy rains and winds caused the rivers in the capital to rise dangerously, and all but two bridges over the Kamo River were swept away in the flood. On November 11 a great earthquake struck Edo, destroying half the city and causing numerous deaths and injuries.
The one bright spot of 1855 for the court was the completion of a new palace, replacing the one destroyed by fire in the previous year. It had taken a year and seven months, as opposed to two years and ten months for the previous palace, completed in 1788. Although the country was faced with urgent problems of defense, Abe Masahiro ordered that rebuilding the palace take precedence, a sign of the importance he placed on “relieving the imperial mind.” When asked his wishes for the new palace, the emperor replied that although he could think of various improvements that might be made, he would be satisfied, in view of the national emergency, if the palace were rebuilt without changes. That the shogunate should have asked the emperor’s wishes, and that the emperor declined to be extravagant because of the national emergency, shows how great a change had occurred not only in their relations but in the emperor’s awareness of political developments.
The cost of the new palace was met with contributions from the shogunate and the various daimyos, notably Maeda Nariyasu of Kaga (1811–1884), the richest of the daimyos. The emperor, his consort, the prince, and the others of the court moved in procession to the new palace on January 1, 1856. The prince was attended by his great-grandmother. She had shaven her head when she entered Buddhist orders but, for this joyous occasion, wore a wig.
Chapter 4
As 1856—the third year of Ansei—opened, Emperor Kōmei, installed in his new palace, was able to enjoy what for his turbulent spirit were rare moments of tranquillity. But even at this relatively peaceful time, there were occasions for alarm. Foreign ships were observed with increasing frequency in the waters off Ōsaka, and the shogunate, fearing that this must cause the emperor grave concern, reinforced Kyōto with guards from the Hikone, Kōriyama, and other domains; but perhaps reassured by the splendor of his new palace, the emperor felt no special need of extra guards and sent a message to the chancellor asking that their numbers be gradually reduced.1
The emperor, however, was never entirely free from worry. At this time, he seems to have been bothered less by the presence of foreigners in Japan (his usual source of unhappiness) than by Sachinomiya’s health. At the end of the previous year, the prince had run a fever. The area around his mouth was swollen, and he had trouble eating. The chief abbot of the Kakushō-in rushed to the palace and spent the night in prayers. Jinkai, the abbot of the Gojō-in, performed spells, apparently to good effect: on the same day the prince seemed better, although the respite was only temporary. On February 15 the prince’s temperature suddenly shot up. He was racked with coughing and could not fall asleep until midnight. The only nourishment he could take was sugar-water. On the seventeenth he was able to swallow a little rice gruel but slept very little. The emperor prayed for his recovery at the sanctuary and offered rice to the gods. The empress had prayers said at the Gion Shrine, and Jinkai once again performed spells.
The prince did not recover fully for another ten days. Of course, every child has illnesses, and parents worry each time their child has a cold; but in the case of children of the imperial family, each illness, however slight, may have seemed like a presage of death. When the physicians’ remedies seemed ineffectual, the only hope lay in prayers. Probably, too, as time went by and no other son was born to the emperor, each fluctuation in the prince’s health was a matter of grave concern to the entire court.
On April 29 of that year, Sachinomiya visited his father in the imperial palace. Although he was not yet three years old, he already displayed characteristic stubbornness: he refused to get into the palanquin that had been provided, and his nurse had to carry him in her arms. The prince also so disliked having people stare at him that a curtain was stretched along the path from Nakayama Tadayasu’s house (where the prince lived) all the way to the palace gate. Although the curtain shielded him from the eyes of the curious, it forced people to make a detour around his path. But despite the inconvenience, the curtain was used whenever he went to the palace. He generally walked the short distance accompanied by members of his mother’s family and a chamberlain or two.2
The emperor grew increasingly fond of his son and sometimes kept him in the palace overnight or even for a month at a time. Nakayama Tadayasu missed having his grandson in the house, but judging that it was best for the child to become accustomed to the palace, he contrived to stay out of his sight when on duty there. Sometimes the prince played in the empress’s garden. His great-grandmother, Nakayama Tsunako, who often accompanied him, composed this poem as she watched him cross the little stone bridge in the empress’s garden:
noboru beki
The child of the sun
kagiri shirarenu Destined to rise to
hi no miko no Incalculable heights
watarisometsuru Has crossed for the first time
ama no iwahashi The stone bridge of heaven.3
On August 21, 1856, two months after this peaceful scene was celebrated in Tsunako’s poem, the American consul, Townsend Harris, arrived in Shimoda aboard the warship San Jacinto. Four days later, he called on the magistrate of Shimoda, Okada Tadayasu, and informed him that henceforth he would be residing permanently in Shimoda. Okada, apparently acting on orders from the shogunate, did not recognize Harris’s right to remain in Shimoda and enumerated the existing regulations prohibiting foreigners from staying in Japan. Harris, refusing to be swayed, insisted that his residence in Japan was in accordance with the Treaty of Kanagawa, and if the officials failed to accord him the treatment appropriate to a consul, he would go directly to Edo and complain in person. After keeping Harris waiting a full month, the shogunate finally agreed to let him reside in Shimoda. In the meantime, Harris had raised the American flag at the Buddhist temple Gyokusen-ji, which he called the consulate. The shogunate commanded its representative in Kyōto, the shoshidai, to report this development to the chancellor.4