by Donald Keene
Chapter 8
The changed relationship between the emperor and the shogun is vividly illustrated by an incident that occurred on January 17, 1863. The imperial envoy Sanjō Sanetomi (1837–1891) and the vice envoy Anegakōji Kintomo (1839–1863) arrived at Edo Castle on this day with a message from Emperor Kōmei to be delivered to the shogun. The brief text reiterated his unswerving desire for every last foreigner to be expelled from the country. He urged the shogunate to decide on a concrete plan for putting jōi into effect and to convey this plan without delay to the lords of the various domains. Once the plan had been carefully considered and approved by a majority, the ugly barbarians could be eradicated.1 What was unusual was not the content of the message, a restatement of views that Kōmei had often expressed, but the manner in which the letter was presented by the imperial envoy to the shogun.
It had been the custom when an imperial envoy had an audience with the shogun for the shogun to receive him while seated on the upper level2 of the hall of audiences. The imperial envoy would prostrate himself on the lower level, following which a herald would announce his rank and name. Then the envoy, in response to a nod from the shogun, would move up to the upper level on his knees and, bowing low, transmit the message from the emperor. When he had finished, he would withdraw, still on his knees. Sanjō Sanetomi, finding this practice repugnant and denigrating to imperial prestige, communicated to the Kyōto deputy (shugo), Matsudaira Katamori, his wish that the shogunate show greater deference toward an envoy from the emperor.3
Sanjō’s protest was taken to heart, though presumably only after much debate in the shogunate. On this occasion, the envoy went directly to the upper level, and it was the shogun, at first seated on the middle level, who had to wait for a sign from the envoy before moving to the upper level in order to receive the imperial letter. It is hard to imagine a more striking example of the change in the relations between the shogunate and the court, but this was by no means the only instance of the shogunate’s new attitude of reverence toward the emperor.
The shogunate was faced with a dilemma. It clearly wished for better relations with the court, which necessitated obeying Kōmei’s injunction to expel the barbarians, but the most intelligent men in the shogunate—for example, Tokugawa Yoshinobu (1837–1913) and Matsudaira Yoshinaga (1828–1890)—were aware that opening the country was inevitable. The shogun probably had no alternative in the end but to reply to Kōmei in terms of assurances that he fully intended to carry out the principle of jōi.
The change in the relative importance of the emperor and the shogun was quickly noticed by the leaders of the different domains, and many daimyos found it necessary to visit Kyōto. The shogunate had strictly prohibited them from entering the capital, and the normal route taken by daimyos on their way to Edo from the west of Japan skirted the city of Kyōto; but at this juncture the prohibition had lost force, and daimyos now called regularly in Kyōto. Indeed, the center of politics had moved from Edo to Kyōto. Profiting by the sudden increase in its importance, the court used the influence of the visiting daimyos to persuade the shogunate to change features in the system that it found objectionable. This was the first time in at least 500 years that the emperor possessed such political importance. The main thrust of court politics was not, however, aimed at securing greater power for the emperor but at achieving the goal of jōi.
The change affected the nobles as well. Until this time they had nothing to do with national politics; instead, their political concerns were restricted to the palace and its ceremonies. Now, however, nobles began to take an active part in the government, a step toward the restoration of imperial authority.
The new importance of the emperor was underlined in 1863 when the shogun visited the capital, the first time there had been such a visit in more than 200 years. Iemochi wished to demonstrate both his reverence for the court and his profound desire to achieve kōbu gattai. The shogun was preceded by his most important advisers, including Tokugawa Yoshinobu, who visited the palace on February 27 and was received by the emperor. Three days later, Yoshinobu called at the Gakushū-in, the school for sons of the nobility founded by Kōmei’s father. On this occasion he proposed that the old practice of requiring junior members of the imperial family to enter Buddhist orders be discontinued; instead, they should be named shinnō (princes of the blood) and allowed to remain in the laity. He also proposed that after many years of confinement in the Gosho, the emperor should tour the country in the spring and autumn in the manner of the monarchs of olden times. Finally, he suggested that Prince Son’yu (who had been condemned to perpetual confinement during the Ansei purge) be allowed to return to the laity. All three proposals were calculated to ingratiate him (and the shogun) with the emperor.
The last proposal was quickly implemented: on March 18 an imperial command was issued to Prince Son’yu enjoining him to let his hair grow out.4 Before long Prince Nakagawa, as he was now known,5 became the confidant of the emperor, the member of the court he most trusted. He has attracted curiously little attention from modern scholars, but he was not only a power behind the throne6 but a man of considerable influence whose career was marked by vicissitudes suggested by his frequent changes of name. His presence at the Shōren-in, especially during the early 1860s, was a magnet drawing patriots from all over the country.
The enhanced political importance of Kyōto at this time, confirmed by the shogun’s visit, did not mollify the extremists, who maintained their loathing of anyone suspected of collaborating with the shogunate. Another wave of terrorist activity swept over the capital. Some men were killed, and others were threatened with death. On the night of March 10, 1863, four assailants killed the Confucian physician Ikeuchi Daigaku (1811–1863). The murderers, following the tradition of such assassinations, left behind a note explaining why they had killed Ikeuchi:
This individual always enjoyed the favor of exalted personages. In the period around 1858 he allied himself with samurai of just principles and exercised himself on their behalf in various ways but in the end betrayed them, entering into communication with corrupt officials and causing the deaths of many loyal samurai from different domains, in this way himself escaping punishment. His crimes are such that heaven and earth cannot hold him. For this reason, divine punishment has been administered, and his head is exposed.7
Ikeuchi had been one of four heroes of the jōi faction, along with Umeda Umpin, Yanagawa Seigan, and Rai Mikisaburō. At the time of the Ansei purge, the shogunate, considering Ikeuchi to be particularly dangerous, pursued him. In the end he gave himself up, but instead of being put to death, he was released after a relatively brief imprisonment, giving rise to the suspicion that he must have cooperated with the shogunate.
Not content with just killing Ikeuchi, his assailants cut off his ears, delivering one to Nakayama Tadayasu and the other to Ōgimachisanjō Sanenaru, together with notes warning that unless they resigned their positions, they would be dealt with in the same manner. These nobles were accused of being two-faced—in public advocating righteous action but in private favoring compromise and halfhearted measures. The assassins asserted that moreover, the two men had taken bribes in return for services rendered to the cause of kōbu gattai; this, they declared, had led to their hatred. Tadayasu was enraged by the false accusations made against him, but in the end both he and Ōgimachisanjō, alarmed by the threat to their lives, resigned their posts, pleading ill health. Tadayasu was replaced by Sanjō Sanetomi as the guardian of Prince Mutsuhito.
Incidents of violence and intimidation multiplied in 1863 as samurai and rōnin, intoxicated with the principle of jōi, went on a rampage, killing and maiming; and they kept up tension in the city by circulating false rumors. There were more than seventy incidents of murder, arson, and intimidation during the year, each explained by a statement left by the head of the victim or pasted on a wall. The shogunate authorities were powerless to control the disorders, and it was left to the court—in whose name the outrages were commi
tted—to remonstrate with the unruly “patriots.” The emperor, never wavering in his support of the shogunate, gave orders for samurai belonging to the sixteen domains stationed in the capital to assemble at the Gakushū-in, where they were instructed not to meddle in politics and especially not to throw unsigned missives into the houses of gentlemen. They were told that if they had complaints, they should send them under their signature to a responsible official. The emperor also summoned the daimyos of the sixteen domains and directed the chancellor to inform them of his views on carrying out jōi. He urged them to feel free in the future to visit the Gakushū-in and express their views, especially on matters pertaining to national defense.
Living people were not the only victims of the violence. On March 11 nine men broke into a hall at the Tōji-in containing wooden statues of the Ashikaga shoguns, cut off the heads of the first three, and carried them to the Sanjō Bridge, where they were displayed with signs explaining the crime of each.8 The gesture was interpreted by persons of the time as a covert attack on the Tokugawa shoguns, and the representatives of the shogunate in Kyōto were quick to respond. The perpetrators of the crime were arrested, and the appropriate punishment was much debated.9
On April 21 the shogun Tokugawa Iemochi arrived in the capital with more than 3,000 retainers. He proceeded to Nijō Castle, the official residence of the shogun in Kyōto. The visit was potentially dangerous. The city was filled with partisans of sonnō jōi, and any one of them might have staged a suicidal attack on the shogun. On the following day, Iemochi sent Tokugawa Yoshinobu to the palace to express his apologies for the incompetence he had displayed in governing the country ever since becoming shogun. He nevertheless asked that the emperor, following time-honored custom, renew his authorization to rule. His wish was granted.10
On April 24 Iemochi himself went to the palace to pay his respects. The emperor granted the shogun an audience, graciously welcoming him and offering a ritual cup of saké. Later the emperor summoned Iemochi to his study, where the two men chatted. The emperor’s manner of receiving the shogun was polite but not deferential: the court had decided that the shogun ranked below the minister of the center (naidaijin), the fifth highest rank in the court government.
The reverence with which Iemochi begged the emperor to grant the benefit of his divine wisdom if ever any action of the shogunate failed to meet with his approval also contrasted strikingly with the arrogance displayed by Tokugawa Iemitsu in 1634 during the last visit of a shogun to the capital. At that time the Tokugawa family was at the height of its power and the shogun was accorded higher rank than the chancellor.11 This time the meeting was dominated by the presence of the emperor.
During his audience, Kōmei made his usual request—that Iemochi carry out the announced policy of jōi. After the audience ended, Iemochi visited Prince Mutsuhito’s residence, where he left rich gifts, including a fine broadsword, 500 pieces of silver, twenty pieces of gold, two hanging scrolls, a flower vase, and bolts of brocaded silk. On the following day, the emperor sent an envoy to Nijō Castle with return gifts from himself and the prince.
Once the formalities of the occasion were over, the emperor was again tormented by anxiety and indignation over the continued presence of foreigners in the country. On April 28 he voluntarily left the Gosho for the first time in his life12 in order to offer prayers at the two Kamo Shrines for the realization of jōi.13 He was accompanied by the kampaku, the minister of the right, and various lesser nobles. The shogun was also in attendance, together with Tokugawa Yoshinobu, various daimyos, as well as experts in protocol. It rained that day, but when the imperial palanquin passed before Iemochi and the others, they all leaped off their horses, discarded their umbrellas, and knelt along the road.14 Vast numbers of Kyōto’s inhabitants turned out for a rare glimpse of the emperor, or at least of his palanquin.15 It has often been recounted that Takasugi Shinsaku (1839–1867), a extremist jōi proponent from Chōshū, called out sarcastically as the shogun passed, “Seii taishōgun!” alluding to the shogun’s inability to live up to his title of “conqueror of barbarians.”
Iemochi’s visit proved to be a great success for Emperor Kōmei. Savoring his triumph, he was reluctant to allow his guest to leave. However, on April 7 Iemochi, having spent far longer in the capital than the originally planned ten days, announced that he was returning to Edo. Members of the court were disappointed. At the time the courtiers were divided into two main factions: those who sought to promote kōbu gattai and those who believed Iemochi’s presence in the capital provided an opportunity to discomfit him and perhaps eventually to overthrow the shogunate. Their reasons differed, but both factions hoped Iemochi’s stay would be prolonged, enabling them to realize their goals; but the shogunate was frantically eager for him to return to Edo to deal with the repercussions of an incident that had occurred in the autumn of the previous year.
An Englishman, Charles Richardson, along with three companions, had ridden past the procession of the daimyo of Satsuma, Shimazu Hisamitsu, allegedly without showing proper respect. Richardson was killed at a place called Namamugi, and the British demanded reparations from both the shogunate and the Satsuma clan. The shogunate eventually complied with the British demands, but at the time of Iemochi’s visit to Kyōto, the matter had not yet been settled, and he was urgently needed in Edo for the negotiations.
When Iemochi informed Kōmei of his forthcoming departure, the emperor said that he would be unable to control his feelings of desolation if Iemochi returned to Edo. He begged Iemochi to reassure him by remaining a while longer. Iemochi, deeply moved, acceded to the emperor’s wishes. The grateful emperor showered Iemochi with gifts, and Prince Mutsuhito, accompanying his father, appeared for the first time before the shogun.
On May 28 Kōmei traveled to the Iwashimizu Hachiman Shrine to pray for deliverance from the foreign menace. Originally the journey had been planned for a week earlier, and the emperor had commanded the shogun to accompany him. These plans were upset when Nakayama Tadamitsu (1845–1864), the seventh son of Nakayama Tadayasu, suddenly resigned his office and, alleging illness, fled the capital.16 Reports had it that Tadamitsu, along with some rōnin from Chōshū, was planning to intercept the procession on its way to Iwashimizu and to kill the shogun. On May 17 the emperor, getting word of the plot, ordered a postponement of the pilgrimage. Tokugawa Yoshinobu advised that the visit be dropped altogether, and the emperor himself manifested increasing reluctance to go, but he was forced by extremists to make the journey as planned.
Kōmei described the circumstances in a letter he sent to Prince Nakagawa on May 29. He had decided on a further postponement because he was suffering from vertigo, his chronic complaint, and was apprehensive about the long journey. The chancellor, Takatsukasa Sukehiro, replied to the emperor that although a postponement was reasonable under the circumstances, it would be difficult to change plans; so he advised the emperor to resign himself to going. Soon afterward, Sanjō Sanetomi requested an audience with the emperor. He said that he had come to see whether the emperor was really ill or only pretending. He refused to hear of a postponement but insisted that the emperor make the journey, regardless of whether he was ill. Afterward, other officials joined the discussion, some saying that the emperor was pretending to be ill because he was unwilling to make the journey and others declaring that if the emperor withdrew to his private quarters, they would drag him out and put him bodily into the imperial palanquin. The emperor, all fear and trembling, had no choice but to yield. The chancellor was deeply upset by what had happened, but he, too, was powerless to alter the situation. Neither the emperor nor the chancellor was a match for the “hot-blooded nobles” (kekki no dōjō). Kōmei urged Prince Nakagawa to ask Shimazu Hisamitsu to help persuade the irresponsible nobles to open their eyes, for if they continued to have their own way, it would surely lead to disaster.17
Other sources relate that places where the emperor might rest had been provided on the way in case he was stricken with illness on the
journey. He certainly was unwell. When he went to pray in the main shrine building at Iwashimizu, he stumbled and had to be lifted to his feet; and persons in his retinue supported him throughout as he made the round of fifteen lesser shrines.
It is ironic that Kōmei’s adversaries, members of the sonnō jōi faction, were pledged to revere the emperor; yet they blatantly disregarded his wishes and even threatened him with physical violence if he refused to visit Iwashimizu. They were willing to die for him, but on their own terms.
The nobles had arranged for Iemochi to accompany the emperor to Iwashimizu and for the emperor to present him there with a settō, an ornamental sword worn as a sign that the wearer was a surrogate of the emperor. Acceptance of the sword would have put the shogun in a difficult position by compelling him to carry out the emperor’s policy of expelling the barbarians, a step the shogunate was reluctant to take. Iemochi seems to have learned what was in store for him. He declined, on grounds of illness, to take part in the pilgrimage, sending Tokugawa Yoshinobu in his stead; but when Yoshinobu was summoned to the shrine to receive the sword, he pleaded sudden illness and refused to leave his lodgings.18 We can imagine how upset Kōmei must have been by this double rebuff. Perhaps his own illness was psychosomatic. It was understandable in terms of natural apprehensions not only over what was for him a distant journey but also over the possibility of abduction or even murder on the way.
The men who threatened the emperor were not assassins or even uncouth samurai but members of the upper ranks of the nobility, men belonging to a class that is usually depicted as corrupt and effete rather than as hot-blooded. Kōmei looked for succor not to members of his court or to the shogun but to someone who might be described as a hothead, Shimazu Hisamitsu, the de facto ruler of Satsuma, who in the previous year had sent troops to Kyōto to suppress radical loyalists in the Terada-ya incident. While at the Iwashimizu Shrine, the emperor prayed for jōi, but he may also have prayed for deliverance from those who most vociferously supported him, the sonjō faction, as the sonnō jōi adherents came to be called.