Emperor of Japan

by Donald Keene

  Hotta informed the Kyōto shoshidai of these developments and directed him to report them to the emperor. The court quickly countered with the command not to open any port in the region of Kyōto. Later that month, by order of the shogunate, two officials delivered a detailed report on recent dealings with foreign countries. The precedent of keeping the court abreast of current developments had been firmly established.

  Hotta sent word that he would be going to Kyōto in order to obtain imperial consent to the treaty with America. This does not seem to have reassured Kōmei, who decided to ascertain the opinions of senior court officials before Hotta arrived in Kyōto. He sent a letter to the chancellor commanding him to ask the prime minister, the minister of the left, and the minister of the right their frank opinions on foreign affairs. On hearing the rumor that Hotta was bringing with him a large sum of money, the emperor wrote to Chancellor Kujō Hisatada: “Do they suppose I can be bought? If, as long as I am the ruler of this country, I allow myself to become a mere dummy and permit trading with foreign barbarians, I shall lose the confidence of the people and will leave a shameful reputation for generations to come. I would have nowhere to hide myself from the gods or from my ancestors. I urge all of you to take these considerations to heart and not let yourselves be led astray by money.”26

  Even during these hectic days there were occasional agreeable interludes. In the eleventh month of 1857, Sachinomiya, in his sixth year, composed a poem,27 the first of his 100,000 tanka.

  Chapter 5

  The senior councillor Hotta Masayoshi (1810–1864), accompanied by two senior officials, Kawaji Toshiakira and Iwase Tadanari, left Edo for Kyōto on March 6, 1858, bringing with him lavish gifts for the emperor from the shogun Tokugawa Iesada. On the same day, Hotta sent a letter to the military liaison officers (buke densō) stating that the purpose of his visit to Kyōto was to report on the circumstances of the signing of the treaty with America. Two days later, Hotta invited to his lodgings the two military liaison officers and the three court spokesmen (gisō) and described to them in detail the situation prevailing in the world. Arguing that it was no longer possible for Japan to maintain its isolation, he showed the officials the draft of the commercial treaty and asked for the court’s approval.1

  A few members of the court, notably the former chancellor Takatsukasa Masamichi and his son Sukehiro (1807–1878), favored granting the shogunate’s request, but Kōmei sent letters to the minister of the left, Konoe Tadahiro (1808–1898) and the chancellor, Kujō Hisatada (1798–1871), urging them to respect his wishes. His letter to Kujō reiterated his unyielding opposition to making any concessions to the foreigners. If the Americans were allowed what they sought, how could he face his ancestor, the deity of the Great Shrine of Ise? If the Western barbarians insisted on opening the ports to trade, Japan should not renounce the use of arms.2

  Hotta’s mission to the court proved to be fruitless. At the audience with Hotta on April 5, the emperor repeated his conviction that signing a treaty with America imperiled the Divine Land. Hotta was given a letter in which Kōmei expressed his deep concern.3 He emphasized that if the treaty signed several years earlier opening the port of Shimoda to foreign ships, an event of grave significance to Japan, were modified in the manner the Americans asked, this would constitute a blemish on the national honor. Kōmei’s initial draft of the letter had left ultimate disposal of the matter to the shogunate, but a group of eighty-eight nobles protested so strongly against the shogunate’s policy of accommodating the foreigners that the language of the letter was made even more outspoken. Hotta left Kyōto on May 15 greatly disappointed.

  Perhaps the most striking aspect of Hotta’s visit was the vociferous opposition expressed by the nobles. It is easy to imagine that the members of the aristocracy at this time were effete courtiers, powdered, painted, and dressed in the mode of the distant past. Such aristocrats probably existed, but from this time on, many of the kuge class displayed unwonted resolution and even audacity in their efforts to return power to the emperor. This phenomenon is sometimes attributed to the practice, widespread among nobles of this time, of taking wives from the samurai class, thereby infusing the aristocracy with new vigor. This is hard to prove, but in any case, it becomes increasingly inappropriate to think of the courtiers as exemplars of gentle decadence or as epigones of the Heian court. From this time, aristocrats would be prominent in all activities directed against the shogunate.

  In the fourth month of 1858, the shogunate appointed the daimyo of Hikone, Ii Naosuke (1815–1860), as tairō.4 The emperor soon afterward wrote a letter in which he predicted that Ii would make a strong attempt to secure imperial sanction for the treaty. However, he declared, there was absolutely no chance of his changing his mind.5 kōmei, whose allegiance to the shogunate was absolute, nevertheless insisted on his privilege of refusing to cooperate with its policies when he thought they were mistaken.

  Kōmei became increasingly outspoken in his condemnation of the policy of allowing foreigners into the country. On July 27, 1858, he sent envoys to the Great Shrine of Ise, the Iwashimizu Hachiman Shrine, and the Kamo Shrine to pray for divine protection. In a semmyō he asked the gods, if warfare should break out between Japan and the foreign barbarians, to send a divine wind (kamikaze) like the one that had destroyed the ships of the Mongol invaders in the thirteenth century. He also asked the gods to punish those who, by their failure to repay the blessings they had received from the country, showed themselves disloyal—meaning those who favored opening the country.6

  Kōmei’s prayers went unanswered. On July 29 the Shimoda magistrate Inoue Kiyonao met with Townsend Harris aboard the warship Powhattan, then anchored off Kanagawa, and signed the treaty of amity and commerce between the United States and Japan.7 The treaty included a schedule of dates during the next five years when ports in addition to Shimoda and Hakodate—Kanagawa (Yokohama), Nagasaki, Hyōgo (Kōbe), and Niigata—were to be opened to foreign ships.

  On July 31 the shogunate sent word to the court reporting the conclusion of the treaty with America, explaining that because of the great urgency involved, there had been no time to seek the court’s advice. When the court received this letter, Kōmei was predictably furious. He sent for the chancellor and gave him a letter in which he announced his intention of abdicating the throne.

  Kōmei was driven to take this extreme step probably because it was the only act of which he was capable that might cause the shogunate to alter its policies. If Kōmei had abdicated—the shogunate would have had to concur in this decision—his successor would have been either his son, only six years old, or a prince of a collateral line. A child-emperor might prove a disaster in these critical times, and the accession of a cousin not in the direct line of succession would probably have aroused resentment if not factionalism.

  Kōmei’s letter opened with a conventional presentation of the uniqueness of the Japanese imperial institution, especially the unbroken line of descent, contrasting it with the practices in China where in the past even persons of the lower classes had ascended the throne because of their unusual ability. Kōmei lauded the single line of emperors in Japan, but his real emphasis seems to have been on the difficulty for a man to serve adequately as emperor, even though he had not been selected for his ability. Even an unquestioning believer in the profound significance of the unbroken line of emperors would have to admit that not every occupant of the throne was outstandingly suited to the office; indeed, the Records of Japan describes emperors who were cruel and perverse. Kōmei was probably more gifted than any emperor of the century prior to his accession, which may account for his dissatisfaction with the role he was obliged to play and, ultimately, with himself. Using conventional language, but in a way that suggests these were probably his real feelings, he described his unworthiness to occupy the throne. He declared that he should have firmly declined to succeed to the throne on the death of his father, but at the time he was so overcome with emotion that he hardly knew what was happening
even as he underwent the rites of accession. Despite his ignorance, he had devoted his every energy since then to serving the gods and in particular his first ancestor, always striving to keep from besmirching the sacred line. It had been beyond his meager capacity to rule the country as he wished, and he frequently had had occasion to sigh over his failure. Ever since the disastrous fire of 1854 that destroyed the imperial palace, there had been incidents of unrest in many parts of the country, and the people could not be tranquil. He blamed this entirely on his own lack of virtue, and this had caused him immense grief.

  Most recently, foreign ships had been appearing in Japanese waters, and worst of all, an American envoy had come to ask for friendship and trade. He was sure that despite the amicable words pronounced by the foreigners, they entertained in their hearts the ambition of swallowing up Japan at some future time. If the foreigners were refused, it was likely to lead to war. He had been informed that because of the years of peace and good government, the temperament of the people had become indolent, and military preparations were not ready. In sum, the Japanese forces were no match for an enemy. But even recognizing the special circumstance of a long protracted peace, was it not lamentable that those charged with subduing barbarians had lost the qualifications of their office?

  The emperor had left political matters to the shogunate and had hesitated to express his opinion for fear of worsening relations between the military and the court, but this had led to a difficult situation. At a loss what to do and having only limited ability, he had decided to relinquish the throne. Because Sachinomiya was too young to be his successor at a time when the nation faced a grave crisis, he therefore proposed one of the three princes of the blood.8 It was definitely not because he desired to lead a life of ease and pleasure that he was abdicating; it was because he wished someone more capable than himself to deal with the problems of state. He asked the chancellor to forward his request to the shogunate.9

  The letter plainly indicated Kōmei’s dissatisfaction with the shogunate’s inability to handle the foreigners. Although he did not mention this in this letter, he had become increasingly convinced that the foreigners had to be expelled, whatever the cost; their presence in Japan was an affront to the gods and to his ancestors. What makes this and his subsequent letters in a similar vein memorable is the impression they convey of a tormented human being. It is true that much of the phraseology is stereotyped, but no other emperor, at least for hundreds of years, had expressed such bitter frustration, such a sense of powerlessness, despite the grandeur of his title. Kōmei had become a tragic figure, and from this point until the terrible conclusion of his life, he had only brief periods of respite from anger and despair. To find parallels in Japanese history we would have to go back to the exiled emperors Gotoba and Godaigo. Perhaps Richard II, at least as Shakespeare portrayed him, resembled Kōmei even more closely in his awareness of how little control he possessed over his destiny. The barrage of letters Kōmei directed to the officers of his court, lamenting each new development, is without parallel in the correspondence of Japanese sovereigns. The letters are signed with pseudonyms, most often kono hana, or “these flowers,” a reference to the ancient Naniwazu poem:

  naniwazu ni At Naniwa Bay

  saku ya kono hana How these flowers are blooming!

  fuyugomori Prisoned by winter,

  ima wa harube to How these flowers have blossomed

  saku ya kono hana For now it is the spring.

  Did Kōmei use this pseudonym in the hopes that he, too, would, after a long winter, know the spring?

  Toward the end of the letter, he denied that he was giving up the cares of office in order to lead a life of pleasure, but paradoxically, that is the kind of life that the shogunate and many members of his court thought was most appropriate for him. Only toward the end of his reign when his feelings turned from frustration to desperation did he indulge heavily in saké and women.10 Kōmei emerges in this letter as a moving figure, a man of intelligence schooled in traditions that were rapidly becoming untenable in an age of change enforced from without.

  Kōmei’s request that he be allowed to abdicate apparently never reached the shogunate. By dint of firm persuasion, Kujō Hisatada managed to mollify Kōmei, promising that a senior shogunate official would come to Kyōto to explain the situation. But in the seventh month of 1858, the shogunate signed treaties (similar to the one concluded with America) with Holland, Russia, and England.11 On September 11 Kōmei, enraged by this new development, responded with an imperial edict declaring his intention of abdicating and demanding an explanation from the shogunate for its disregard of the imperial will.

  After receiving the letter, Kujō Hisatada replied that although it was evident that the emperor had reason on his side, the matter was of such grave importance that he would have to give it his mature consideration before offering an opinion. He met with the Court Council. Most of the members agreed that the imperial message should be forwarded to the shogunate but felt that intemperate language should be avoided. When Kujō showed Kōmei’s letter to senior court officials, Konoe Tadahiro, the minister of the left, advocated sending a copy of the letter to Tokugawa Nariaki, the former daimyo of Mito, urging him to persuade the shogunate to reform the government and take steps to protect the country from foreign insult. If Nariaki could induce two or three of the major domains to join him, the emperor’s wishes could be carried out completely.12

  This was a dangerous plan. It proposed violating the shogunate’s order, which had expressly prohibited the court from communicating directly with the domains; worse, if it were successful, it would surely foment dissension, the one thing the shogunate most feared and hated. There was a sharp division of opinion among members of the Court Council, some afraid that sending the letter would ultimately harm the court and others insisting that unless the letter was sent immediately, the emperor would certainly abdicate. In the end, one copy of the letter was given to the representative of the Mito clan living in the capital, and another to a shogunate official stationed in the palace for transmission to the shogunate.

  In his letter, Kōmei recognized that signing a treaty with America had, under the circumstances, been inevitable, but he reproved the shogunate for not having followed his suggestion that the major domains be consulted before taking further diplomatic steps. He also expressed concern over unrest within the country and urged a policy of kōbu gattai, the union of aristocracy and military. This phrase summed up Kōmei’s ideal of cooperation by the court and shogunate in driving out the foreigners, as opposed to the more familiar sonnō jōi, and it would figure prominently in the discourse of the late Tokugawa period.

  Once again, Kōmei was dissuaded from abdicating. On September 23 word of the death of the shogun Tokugawa Iesada reached the capital. He had died more than a month earlier, but the shogunate had kept this a secret, and only at this time was the court informed. The shogun’s death may have inhibited Kōmei from following up on his plan to abdicate. In any case, at the beginning of the ninth month he managed to get Kujō Hisatada, the chancellor and a supporter of the shogunate’s policies, replaced by Konoe Tadahiro, a man whose attitudes he found more congenial.

  On October 13, 1858, Manabe Akikatsu (1804–1884), a senior councillor (rōjū), arrived in Kyōto. This seemed to be in keeping with the promise that the shogunate had made to send a senior official, but Manabe had no intention of apologizing to the emperor for having signed a treaty with the Americans without obtaining imperial consent. Rather, he had come by command of Ii Naosuke to restore Kujō Hisatada to his former position as chancellor. That was not all. He intended to rid the capital of all those who opposed the shogunate’s policies. This marked the beginning of what was known as the Great Purge of the Ansei era. Eight samurai leaders of the sonnō jōi faction were executed, including such admired men as Yoshida Shōin, Hashimoto Sanai, and Rai Mikisaburō. Yoshida Shōin’s crime had been to join the plot to assassinate Manabe on his way from Edo to Kyōto, but the �
��crimes” of the others were by no means so clear. Members of the aristocracy (even those of the most exalted families) who were suspected of sonnō jōi leanings were also questioned and forced to resign their offices. Others, judged to be more deeply involved, were confined to their quarters or ordered to shave their heads and become Buddhist priests.

  Manabe, perhaps by way of consolation, brought for the emperor lavish gifts from the new shogun, Tokugawa Iemochi. Kōmei, however, declined to give Manabe an audience.13 His feelings toward the shogunate official who had removed Konoe Tadahiro, his choice as chancellor, and replaced him with Kujō Hisatada, a man he did not trust, can easily be imagined. Manabe had a meeting instead with Kujō, reinstalled as chancellor, and told him why, in view of world conditions, Japan had to sign treaties of friendship and commerce with various foreign powers. He also presented to Kujō the memorials sent by various daimyos and a copy of the provisional treaty with America. These documents were afterward submitted to the emperor.

  That same day, November 29, the emperor promoted the new shogun to the senior second court rank and on the following day named him “great general subduing barbarians.” It may have seemed to Kōmei as if he were bestowing the highest honor in his power on a likely enemy. During the next months, Kōmei continued to write letters expressing his rage over the prevailing situation. At the end of the year, he finally gave an audience to Manabe Akikatsu, who was about to return to Edo. He gave him a letter that opened, “Friendship and commerce with the foreign barbarians constitutes a fatal flaw in the Imperial Land, a pollution of the Divine Land.” The emperor urged a return to “the good system of the closed country [sakoku].”14 He was willing to pardon the signing of the treaties, although he himself did not approve of them, in view of conditions both inside and outside Japan. Nonetheless, the breathing space obtained by signing the treaties should be used to implement the policy of kōbu gattai. Although this concession was the first of many that Kōmei would have to make, his ultimate objective, freeing Japan of the barbarians, never wavered.