by Donald Keene
First of all, Yoshinobu summoned the shogunate officials to Ōsaka Castle to hear their opinions. None of them had any suggestions to make other than to yield to the foreigners’ demands, as agreed at the previous meeting. Only Matsudaira Nobutoshi looked dissatisfied. This encouraged Yoshinobu to ask Nobutoshi privately to get Inoue Yoshiaya, the Ōsaka magistrate, to inform the foreigners when next they conferred that although the shogunate had privately decided to open the port of Hyōgo, as requested, “to tell the truth, in our country there is an emperor who is higher than the shogun. There is a rule that in important matters even the shogun must obtain the emperor’s permission before putting them into effect. In other words, because the port of Hyōgo is an important matter, he must of course request the consent of the emperor. It will take at least ten days to obtain this consent.”11
This was a startling admission by the shogunate. Until this time the foreigners had assumed that the “tycoon” was the supreme ruler of Japan and that the mikado was no more than a “spiritual sovereign.” The shogunate officials encouraged them in this belief. Townsend Harris recorded in his journal, “They spoke almost contemptuously of the Mikado, and roared with laughter when I quoted some remarks concerning the veneration in which he is held by the Japanese. They say he has neither money, political power, nor anything else that is valued in Japan. He is a mere cipher.”12
The persistence of the belief that the shogunate was the legitimate government of Japan and that the shogun was therefore the highest power in the country was reflected also in the message sent to the shogun Iemochi on this occasion by the newly arrived British representative, Sir Harry Parkes. He addressed the shogun as “Your Majesty.” It is true that one of Parkes’s demands was for “the sanction of the Treaties by the Mikado,”13 but the tone of the letter implies that the shogun had it in his power to obtain this “sanction” from a figurehead.
Now, however, a high-ranking officer of the shogunate had openly admitted that the emperor ranked above the shogun and that the port of Hyōgo could be opened only if the emperor gave his permission. Faced with this new revelation of Japan’s power structure, the foreigners had to reconsider their previous assumptions.14 Before long, the British would openly back the emperor and the French the shogun, extending to Japan their rivalry in Europe; but on this occasion, the four allies agreed with surprisingly little resistance to a delay of ten days while the emperor’s authorization was sought. They still did not trust the shogunate officials’ assurances and declared that they wanted proof that the emperor’s permission would definitely be forthcoming. Inoue Yoshiaya replied that he could not produce any proof. In Japan, he added, it was the custom when promising some important matter to seal it in blood. He declared, “I will therefore, before your eyes, cut my finger and give you my seal in blood.” He drew his dirk and was about to cut his finger when the startled foreigners stopped him, saying that they believed his promise.15
Yoshinobu’s decision, notably supported by Inoue Yoshiaya, gave the shogunate ten days’ leeway during which to obtain Emperor Kōmei’s consent to the treaties. This in itself would be difficult enough, but a new problem had arisen. Iemochi felt so resentful of what he considered to be the court’s usurpation of the shogunate’s powers, displayed in dismissing two shogunate officials, that on November 21 he addressed a message to the throne stating that because of his youth and incapability, he was unable either to calm the mind of the emperor or to reassure the people, and he wished therefore to yield his post to Tokugawa Yoshinobu. He also begged the emperor, in view of the perilous international situation, to give his consent to the treaties. On the same day that he presented this memorial, Iemochi left Ōsaka for Edo. When he reached Fushimi, south of Kyōto, he received word from Chancellor Nijō Nariyuki stating that his request to resign could not be granted immediately and that it would be a mark of disrespect toward the court if he returned to Edo without obtaining permission. Iemochi was directed to attend court the following day to present in person his reasons for wishing to resign.16
The reprimand issued by the court to Iemochi could hardly have been more blunt. There was now no question as to who was stronger, the emperor or the shogun. Iemochi, changing his plan, went to Nijō Castle in Kyōto. He ordered Tokugawa Yoshinobu, Matsudaira Katamori, and other important shogunate officials in the capital to go to the palace and explain the need for speedy imperial consent.
Yoshinobu was later summoned to the palace, where he discussed with the chancellor and other court officials the advisability of imperial sanction for the treaties. Kōmei listened to the discussion from behind bamboo blinds. The meeting began at six in the evening and went on through the night without the participants’ reaching a decision. On the following day, at Yoshinobu’s suggestion, some thirty senior officials of the domains stationed in Kyōto were asked to express their opinions. Men from Aizu and Kōchi, the first to speak, strongly urged the opening of the country and denounced its closure. Men from the other domains, almost without exception, favored imperial approval of the treaties, and the court finally decided to give its approval, even though it was a bitter defeat for Kōmei. He was moved especially by the plea to accept the treaties voiced by Prince Nakagawa, who warned that if the foreigners were refused, the whole region stretching from Hyōgo to the capital would go up in flames, the safety of the throne itself would be endangered, and the Great Shrine of Ise would be reduced to ashes. The prince said he could all but see these disasters before his eyes.17
Even now, when the emperor enjoyed greater power than in 500 years, he was unable to ignore the wishes of the majority of the domains. It was infuriating to be obliged to give his consent to treaties that he hated, but he had no choice, and he preserved a modicum of independence by refusing to consider opening the port of Hyōgo.18 Although many men continued to profess their willingness to lay down their lives in the imperial cause, it was clear even to the emperor that badly equipped Japanese soldiers would be no match in a war with the foreigners.
Despite his announced intention of returning to Edo, Iemochi lingered in the Kansai region until December 20. A week earlier, he and other high shogunate officials were received in audience by the emperor. Iemochi apologized profoundly for his inadequacy, especially in the recent controversy; but the emperor assured him that they would work together as in the past and, by strengthening national defenses, prevent humiliation by foreign countries.19
The rest of 1865 was uneventful, and Prince Mutsuhito’s name seldom appears in the chronicle for 1866. In August he completed the sodoku reading of Mencius. It had taken a little more than a year, a considerable improvement in speed over his reading of the Analects, which had taken more than four years. The emperor praised the prince for his diligence and encouraged him to keep up the good work.
All the same, evidence suggests that the emperor’s chief worry at this time may have been the prince’s education. He feared that the prince had been overly influenced by the palace ladies responsible for his upbringing, particularly that they might have indoctrinated him with their sonnō jōi beliefs. Kōmei wrote to Kayanomiya (the new title of Prince Nakagawa), “As the result of the education he has received at the hands of these women, Sachinomiya has become unpleasant toward me and is more than I can cope with. He believes that people who obey the commands of the emperor are bad and that there are no troublemakers. He’s only a child, but one can’t be too careful.” He accused the court ladies of being at the root of the trouble and threatened once again to abdicate.20
About this time Iwakura Tomomi, living in retreat north of the capital, wrote a statement of his views that included an admonition to the emperor urging him to give up his life of “pools of saké and forests of flesh” and to think seriously of politics.21
These bits of evidence seem to indicate that the placid life at the court recorded in the chronicles may mask less agreeable realities—the prince mouthing sonnō jōi slogans even to his father, the emperor trying to forget his frustration by div
erting himself with liquor and women.
We would like to know more also about the activities of Kayanomiya, who is generally described as “crafty.”22 After the successful palace coup in September 1863, largely managed by this prince, the emperor bestowed on him the name of Prince Asahiko and named him danjō no in, a high position open only to princes of the blood that carried with it the privilege of remonstrating with the emperor.23 However, there was a strange rumor that Kayanomiya had placed a curse on the emperor. According to this rumor, in the summer of 1863 the prince sent an arrow and a large sum of money to a priest of the Iwashimizu Hachimangū named Ninkai with whom he was friendly. Ninkai bought a pheasant and then used the arrow to shoot it to death. He offered the pheasant on the altar, at the same time placing a curse on the emperor and praying that Kayanomiya would take the emperor’s place on the throne. Ninkai’s machinations were detected by a samurai of the Tottori clan who killed Ninkai and removed the pheasant from the altar.
The rumor was brought to the attention of the emperor, but because he had absolute faith in Kayanomiya, he dismissed the matter as mere gossip and declared that he and the prince were a true example of branches from different trees that had grown together.24 As a sign of his confidence, the emperor increased the prince’s stipend and built him a splendid new palace.25
The incident seems hardly credible, but some at the court believed it. If nothing else, it suggests that the atmosphere surrounding the court was such that even stories of black magic could be accepted as truth. It also suggests why, toward the end of the year, the deaths of both the emperor and the shogun quickly gave rise to rumors of poison and conspiracy.26
For the shogunate, 1866 was a year of unmitigated disasters. This time, the disasters did not originate with the foreigners, who were content with negotiating tariff reductions and other unexplosive issues. Rather, the shogunate had announced in the spring of the previous year that it was preparing for a second expedition against Chōshū, to be commanded personally by the shogun. This announcement prompted Chōshū to acquire modern weapons and to organize its troops on Western lines. More important, it led to an alliance between Chōshū and Satsuma, hitherto bitter enemies. The first phase of this alliance was exemplified by Satsuma’s serving as the channel for purchasing armaments for Chōshū from European merchants in Nagasaki. Early in 1866 Saigō Takamori sent Kuroda Kiyotaka (1840–1900) to Shimonoseki to sound out leading men of Chōshū about cooperation between the two domains.27 In February 1866, Sakamoto Ryōma (1835–1867) and Nakaoka Shintarō (1838–1867) of Tosa, who had already served an important role in bringing the two domains together, met with Saigō to plan active cooperation between Satsuma and Chōshū.28 No longer would the rallying cry be jōi; instead, the overthrow of the shogunate and the restoration of imperial rule would unite the two domains. An agreement between Chōshū and Satsuma was reached by Kido Takayoshi (1833–1877) and Saigō in March with the help of Sakamoto Ryōma.29
The shogunate army marched against Chōshū in July 1866. Morale was extremely low. Some domains that had been counted on to strengthen the shogunate forces refused to send soldiers, and others sent only small detachments. The Chōshū forces, however, were well trained and supplied, although their numbers were modest. The opening engagements were forerunners of the many shogunate defeats that characterized the war. The most notable fact about this warfare was that it was fought with guns, not with swords or bows and arrows. It was Japan’s first modern war.
During the midst of this losing war, Tokugawa Iemochi, who had been unwell for some time, fell seriously ill in Ōsaka.30 Almost immediately, the question of the childless Iemochi’s successor was raised. His own choice was Kamenosuke, the three-year-old son of Tokugawa Yoshiyori. It is baffling why he should have favored a small child as his successor at a time of national crisis. No one else, not even Iemochi’s wife, Princess Chikako,31 agreed with his choice, and he was finally induced to submit to the emperor a memorial asking that if he should die, Tokugawa Yoshinobu be appointed as shogun and commander of the army sent to conquer Chōshū.32 Tokugawa Iemochi died in Ōsaka on August 29, 1866, at the age of twenty.
On September 19 the emperor summoned a council of senior nobles to discuss the recommendation he had received from the daimyo of Kagoshima that hostilities with Chōshū be terminated in view of the national emergency and that all efforts be devoted instead to strengthening the country’s defenses.33 The court spokesman Ōgimachisanjō Sanenaru strongly supported this. None of the other nobles uttered a word, but the emperor, speaking from behind blinds, declared that the attack on Chōshū must not yet be aborted. Sanenaru bowed before the emperor’s voice but persisted in his arguments with ever greater intensity and in the end could not refrain from “shedding tears of blood and howling in lamentation.” It is extraordinary that Sanenaru had the courage to insist on his beliefs, even when he knew that the emperor opposed them. It is also difficult to imagine any other despotic regime, whether in Asia or Europe, where this would have been possible, although perhaps Sanenaru’s strong connections with the powerful Satsuma domain gave him courage.34 On September 12, at another session of the council, Kōmei finally rejected the Satsuma proposal.35
Although the shogunate at first kept Iemochi’s death a secret, someone had to take command of the expeditionary force. On September 8 Tokugawa Yoshinobu was chosen. Just before he was to set out for the front, Yoshinobu received word that Kokura, a stronghold of the shogunate in northern Kyūshū, had fallen. This news made him decide to suspend hostilities in the war with Chōshū. He sent word of this decision to the chancellor, who relayed it to the emperor. As might be expected, Kōmei was extremely displeased and insisted that Yoshinobu carry out his mission. On September 24 Yoshinobu went before the emperor to explain the futility of the situation. Only then did the emperor accept the decision to cease hostilities.
On September 28, a month after Iemochi died, his death was officially announced, providing an excellent pretext for discontinuing the war with Chōshū on the following day.36 A war that had brought neither glory nor advantage to anyone had ended not with a bang but a whimper. But it had changed forever the Japanese conception of martial conflict.
Chapter 11
The death of Tokugawa Iemochi came as a blow to Emperor Kōmei. He had enjoyed the young man’s company and for a time believed that together they could realize the ideal of kōbu gattai. If the emperor had been able to forget this ideal and to accommodate himself to the newer ideal of restoration of imperial rule, he would surely have been more fortunate. He would have had the support of the great majority of not only the nobles but also the samurai class, but he refused to abandon his old convictions. To the exasperated men around him, he seemed maddeningly obstinate, but his extreme reluctance to change was an instance of conservatism in the strict sense; each concession caused him pain and chagrin. After the defeat of the shogunate armies in the war against Chōshū, the emperor was in the ironic position of using every means at his disposal to oppose those who sought to make him the undisputed ruler of Japan.
On October 8, 1866, soon after Tokugawa Yoshinobu announced the cessation of hostilities in the war with Chōshū, a group of twenty-two nobles presented a petition to the court requesting an audience with the emperor. They said it was to communicate to him their heartfelt convictions at a time of national emergency. The nobles were led by Nakamikado Tsuneyuki (1820–1891) and Ōhara Shigetomi (1801–1879), but it was Iwakura Tomomi who, behind the scenes, planned this collective appeal.
Iwakura had been living in enforced retreat outside Kyōto ever since being accused in 1862 of having plotted with the shogunate to send Kazunomiya to Edo; but he was a born machinator, and it did not take him long to reestablish old contacts. He had frequent visitors, notably those of the sonjō faction, who kept him informed of the latest developments.1 Impressed by the bold stand of Ōgimachisanjō Sanenaru during the discussion before the emperor on the advisability of continuing the Chōshū war, Iwakura
conceived the idea of having a group of nobles present their collective views to the emperor, in this way lending weight to their opposition to Kōmei’s unwavering allegiance to the shogunate.
Iwakura, who was strongly in favor of the proposal presented by Satsuma for ending the conflict with Chōshū, drew up a program for creating a court government that would be amenable to the proposal. The nobles would open by asking that the court administration exclude Chancellor Nijō Nariyuki and others whose attitudes they found objectionable, such as Prince Asahiko, Tokugawa Yoshinobu, and Matsudaira Katamori. Next they would ask that nobles at present living in enforced seclusion be allowed to return to the court. Finally they would ask that Konoe Tadahiro be reappointed as chancellor. The ultimate purpose of these (and other) remonstrances would be to restore imperial rule, profiting by the confusion that had been created in the shogunate by the shogun’s death.2
In response to the nobles’ petition for an audience, the emperor appeared along with the chancellor Nijō Nariyuki, Prince Asahiko, and other dignitaries. Ōhara Shigetomi, a senior member of the court, stepped forward to present the requests of the assembled nobles to the emperor. He asked, by way of preliminary, that the daimyos of the various domains be summoned in the near future by the court to hear the emperor’s commands, in this way bypassing the shogunate. The three requests he made were not exactly the same as Iwakura’s: that nobles who had been imprisoned or confined to their quarters because of their involvement in political incidents be set free, that the army formed to punish Chōshū be disbanded, and that the Court Council be reorganized.3