by Donald Keene
Prince Asahiko also mentioned the nightmares in his diary entry for February 9:
Something strange has been happening of late. I gather that persons close to the late emperor are gossiping to the effect that a figure, looking like Shōki in popular depictions, has been making appearances. He has a sword that he wears at his side. The following morning [the new emperor] has a fever.2
On February 15 Prince Asahiko wrote in his diary:
Myōsen’in has returned to the capital and I have heard many stories from him. According to one of his accounts, the new emperor is not well. In the past few days his cold has become worse. Ever since his accession to the throne the former emperor has appeared in the antechamber before the new emperor—and only him—day and night alike.3
If, recalling Hamlet, we accept the possibility of Kōmei’s ghost coming back to this world to inform his only son that he has been murdered and to command the son to avenge him, we can only conclude that this ghost was far less persuasive than the ghost of Hamlet’s father. The ghost kept the boy emperor from sleeping, but it did not rouse him to avenge his father’s unnatural death, nor (judging from his subsequent actions) did he even become distrustful of persons at the court who might have administered the fatal dose of poison.
The ghost may have been the young emperor’s chief cause of distress as the new reign began, but other members of the court were too busy disposing of the previous reign’s unfinished business to worry about the ghost. One urgent problem was rectifying the unfortunate situation in the women’s quarters of the palace. Nakayama Tadayasu sent a letter at this time to the minister of the interior, Konoe Tadafusa, emphasizing the need to enforce strict discipline in the women’s quarters. He deplored the laxness that had come to prevail as the result of inadequate supervision of the palace ladies during the final years of Kōmei’s reign.
If we can believe Tadayasu’s comments, the atmosphere in the women’s part of the palace resembled that of the licensed quarter.4 Tadayasu believed, however, that the tender years of the emperor, who was not yet interested in a harem, provided a unique opportunity for removing offenders and restoring palace traditions. The senior palace lady (Tadayasu’s grandmother, Nakayama Isako) was so extremely debilitated that she had to be replaced immediately. Other ladies who had served the late emperor were to be given generous gifts of money (depending on the length of their service) and asked to retire. Female attendants who were still young—in their early twenties or younger—were to be encouraged to marry into suitable families. Women of twenty-four or twenty-five and older would be permitted either to remain in their present posts or to shave their heads. Tadayasu’s daughter, Nakayama Yoshiko, at first expressed the intention of entering Buddhist orders so that she might consecrate her remaining years to prayers for the repose of Emperor Kōmei; but she was persuaded to “remain in this world” because so many court ladies who had served Kōmei entered Buddhist orders after his death that it was feared there would not be enough ladies left at court who were familiar with the ceremonies. Yoshiko reluctantly agreed and subsequently devoted herself mainly to the education of her son, the new emperor.5
On February 19 an amnesty was proclaimed as part of the mourning for the late emperor and the celebration of the accession of the new emperor. Seven nobles who had been disgraced for their roles in incidents of 1863 and 1864 were pardoned and permitted to attend court again. Ten days later the amnesty was extended to cover four nobles of the jōi faction who were then living under house arrest, including Prince Taruhito.
On February 23 the court issued a directive to the shogunate commanding it to disband the expeditionary army that had been sent to punish Chōshū. The failure of an army composed of troops from many domains to defeat a single domain had plainly revealed the shogunate’s weakness. Morale was low, and the death of the shogun Iemochi further contributed to the lack of enthusiasm for the shogunate’s cause. The shogunate, at last abandoning all hope of successful prosecution of the war, ordered its troops to return to their original commands, saving face by giving as the reason the death of the late emperor.6
Emperor Kōmei was buried on March 5 at the imperial burial ground at the Sennyū-ji in Kyōto. In keeping with the provisions of his will, the traditional funeral rites after the death of an emperor—the proclamation of days of national mourning, the wearing of mourning dress, the employment of professional keeners to bewail the death, and so on—were not observed, but precautions against disturbances in the cities were taken. For a period of one year, festivities and the wearing of expensive clothes were forbidden.7 The new emperor could not leave the palace to accompany the late emperor’s coffin to the grave, but he saw off the funeral cortege from the Gekka Gate.
At the beginning of March, the first changes in the new emperor’s daily life were made. He moved on March 7 to the Hall of Mourning (iroden), a temporary building of simple construction where, dressed in coarse clothes and surrounded by only the humblest articles, he prayed for the repose of his late father. He remained there for two weeks when, after putting aside his clothes of mourning and undergoing rites of purification, he returned to the main palace building. On the following day, various state officers came to pay their respects to the new emperor and to offer presents. The new reign had begun.
The posthumous name Kōmei, derived from a passage in the Classic of Filial Piety, was bestowed on the late emperor on March 21,8 but the nengō was not changed with the new reign. Following the precedent of Kōmei’s reign, when the nengō Kōka was retained for about a year after Kōmei succeeded to the throne, the nengō was not changed until October 23, 1868, almost two years after Kōmei’s death. At this time it was decided that in the future each emperor’s reign would have only one nengō.9
The beginning of a new reign was, of course, a matter of the utmost concern to the various foreign powers. The French government consistently supported the shogunate in what it anticipated would be a struggle for power. On March 29 the shogun Tokugawa Yoshinobu gave an audience to the French minister plenipotentiary Léon Roches in Ōsaka Castle and asked his opinion concerning reform of the shogunate. Roches warned that the shogunate must not seek to scrap any of the treaties it had concluded. He noted that various domains, alleging that the shogunate did not really wish to open the country, had entered into independent negotiations with the British to open ports they controlled. The French, with the interests of the shogunate in mind, believed that it was necessary to open the ports of Shimonoseki and Kagoshima in place of Hyōgo and Niigata (which had long been the subject of dispute). Opening these ports would demonstrate the shogunate’s sincerity and at the same time would seize the initiative from the Kagoshima and Chōshū domains. Roches also urged the shogun to educate and guide the young emperor and to display firmness in dealing with the many daimyos. He promised that France would stand by the shogunate; this assurance should permit the shogunate to carry out decisively and fearlessly its announced policy of opening the country. Yoshinobu was impressed by Roches’s advice and from this time often summoned him for consultation.10
On April 11 the shogun asked nine major domains their opinions on the desirability of opening the port of Hyōgo. Urging their support for this action, he said he was well aware that the late emperor had strictly forbidden opening the port; but, he added, it would by no means be easy to alter treaties already signed with the foreigners that promised to open Hyōgo. Even before he received responses from the nine domains, he requested imperial authorization, pointing out the many changes in the situation since Kōmei had refused permission. Not only had there been the war with Chōshū and the death of the shogun Iemochi, but the foreigners had become far more vocal in demanding that Japan carry out the provisions of the treaties. The country had no choice but to comply. Rather than passively acquiescing, the Japanese should look with fresh eyes at the world situation. In the spirit of the old dictum “Within the four seas all men are brothers; all men should be treated with equal benevolence,” a renewal of t
he country should be initiated at the outset of the new reign. In this way the evil practices that had lingered from the past would be purged, and within a few years the nation would prosper. The glory of the imperial country would redound to the four seas, and the imperial mind would be set at ease.11
The different domains were divided in their opinions, and it was by no means certain that the shogunate could win over its feudatories to the policy of opening the country. Most important, the court was not persuaded by Yoshinobu’s arguments. The reply received from the court stated that in view of the previous emperor’s opposition, opening the port of Hyōgo would not be feasible; the new emperor was reluctant to show disrespect for his father’s wishes. The shogun was asked to reconsider.12
Yoshinobu, however, was unwilling to abandon his plan. On April 29 he sent a memorial once more asking for imperial authorization. He apologized for insisting, even after having received a refusal, and he was fully aware that subjects should bow before the wisdom of the former emperor; but he could not remain silent in view of the urgency of the situation, which affected the destiny of the country. Although he was aware that by advocating the observance of the treaties, he risked incurring the displeasure of the court, he asked, in the interests of national safety and prestige, that the court reconsider its opposition to opening the port of Hyōgo. The court’s reply to this letter was a reiteration of its refusal. The shogunate was further directed to inform the court of its obedience to this command.13
Even the court could not ignore indefinitely the menace of foreign intervention. On July 24 the regent, Nijō Nariyuki, sent a message to Yoshinobu stating that in view of the opinions expressed by the shogun and other important figures, the court had no choice but to give imperial sanction to opening Hyōgo.14
Presumably the young emperor had little or nothing to do with these decisions by the court. Indeed, it is not clear if any attempt was made to acquaint him with policy decisions. One of the rare references to his education at this time is the mention by Nakayama Tadayasu in his diary of delivering lectures to the emperor on Kimpishō, a thirteenth-century study of court practices and usages, and Tzūzoku sangokushi, a seventeenth-century Japanese translation of a Chinese account of warfare at the end of the Han dynasty.15 These two works formed part of the traditional education of a ruler but hardly provided the kind of knowledge the emperor needed at this moment. Apparently Tadayasu did not consider that the emperor’s increased political importance necessitated a different kind of education. Perhaps he hoped that Meiji, unlike his father, would confine his interests (like the emperors who reigned earlier in the Tokugawa period) to poetry, matters of protocol, and the literature of the distant past.
Although the supporters of sonnō had declared their reverence for the emperor, their allegiance to his cause was usually expressed in terms of opposition to the shogun rather than in terms of the benefits they expected to accrue after the overthrow of the shogunate. Little thought was given to the role the emperor would play once the throne had been restored to power. Surely no one assumed that he would become an absolute dictator, imposing his will on the population. Probably Tadayasu and the others around the young emperor hoped that the place of the shogunate in governing the country would be taken by the nobility, under the vaguely defined aegis of the emperor.
Although Roches had recommended that special attention be given to the young emperor’s education, his words seem not to have been heeded. Meiji’s mother, Nakayama Yoshiko, continued to supervise his calligraphy and his composition of tanka, and he also had instruction in these subjects from Prince Takahito and Prince Taruhito.16 But not for another year or more, when Kido Takayoshi first concerned himself with the emperor’s education, was any thought given to the kind of scholarly preparation appropriate to a modern monarch.
Even after its defeat in the war with Chōshū, the shogunate remained the only effective central government. The most the court could do was to refuse to consent to plans made by the shogunate, especially with regard to foreign relations; it did not initiate plans of its own. The shogunate was, of course, far more experienced than the court in dealing with foreigners, but it was now faced with problems it had not encountered as long as sakoku lasted.
A dispute with Russia over the future disposition of the island of Sakhalin made it necessary to send two shogunate officials to St. Petersburg to negotiate with the Russians. At the time both Japanese and Russian colonists were living on the island, giving rise to incessant clashes. The Japanese proposed that the island be divided at the fiftieth parallel; the Russians demanded the whole island but offered in exchange to yield Etorofu and three small islands to the Japanese. The negotiations dragged on, but finally, on March 18, 1867, a provisional treaty was signed that left the island open to people of both countries but urged that friendlier relations based on mutual sincerity prevail, a pious hope that could not have satisfied settlers from either country. The mission nevertheless marked an important step in the history of Japanese diplomacy: it was the first time that Japanese envoys traveled abroad to negotiate a treaty.17
Yoshinobu did his best to cultivate foreign diplomats living in Japan. His first contact was with the British minister plenipotentiary, Sir Harry Parkes, to whom he granted an audience at Ōsaka Castle. On this occasion he witnessed a display of horsemanship by British cavalry, followed by the formal dinner he offered by way of indicating friendship. During the following days he gave audiences to French, Dutch, and American representatives. He treated them all with the greatest courtesy, giving them personal assurances that the treaties would be carried out to the letter.18
When tension arose in Korea as the result of the slaying of a French missionary and several American sailors, some Japanese advocated forming an alliance with Korea to fight against the foreigners; but the shogunate instead sent envoys to Korea to persuade the Koreans that it would be to their disadvantage to become involved in warfare with the foreigners. The shogunate offered to serve as an intermediary in settling the dispute. Three of its officers sent a message to the American minister, asking the Americans to respond positively if the Koreans agreed to mend their ways and enter into negotiations.19
It is astonishing that the Japanese, cut off from contact with most foreign countries for two and a half centuries, felt able to give advice to another country on the conduct to be observed among nations. Probably the Japanese feared that if Korea were invaded by troops sent by Western powers, this would adversely affect Japan, Korea’s close neighbor. Japanese intercession was effective: toward the end of 1867, the Americans thanked the Japanese for help in averting a war.20
At this time the young emperor’s attention was probably preoccupied by quite a different matter, the arrival of his bride. On July 27 Haruko,21 the younger sister of Acting Major Counselor and General of the Left Guards Ichijō Saneyoshi, visited the palace and was received in audience by the emperor in his study. The purpose of this visit was to acquaint the emperor with her appearance and demeanor. If he disliked her, he was free to reject her as his bride, but he was probably predisposed in her favor because of her family and her accomplishments. Haruko’s father was the late Minister of the Left Ichijō Tadaka, and her mother was the daughter of Prince Fushiminomiya Kuniie. Her pedigree was impeccable, and her scholarly and artistic attainments were no less impressive. As a small child (between the ages of three and four) she had been able to read aloud the poetry in the anthology Kokinshū, and at five she had composed tanka of her own. At seven she had done sodoku reading of a text in classical Chinese under the guidance of the Confucian scholar Nukina Masanori, with whom she also studied calligraphy. At twelve she had begun koto lessons and later also studied the shō. She was fond of nō and enjoyed singing passages from the plays at breaks during her studies.22 She had studied the tea ceremony and flower arrangement with masters of the day. She had never suffered any major illness, perhaps because she had been vaccinated against smallpox when she was eight.23
These qualificat
ions (and others) made her seem to members of the court like an ideal bride for the young emperor. There was one slight problem. She was older than her prospective husband. This in itself was not an insuperable obstacle: the consorts of the emperors Reigen, Sakuramachi, and Ninkō had been older than their husbands. But Haruko was three years older, a difference in age that normally was avoided as inauspicious. The regent solved this problem by changing her birth date from 1849 to 1850.24 All was now ready for her appearance before the emperor.
On this occasion Haruko wore a white habutae silk kimono with embroidered patterns and trousers of a deep purple. She arrived in a wickerwork palanquin about one in the afternoon, accompanied by her ladies. In the emperor’s study she and the emperor exchanged greetings and partook of refreshments and saké. Haruko offered the emperor gifts, including a box of fresh fish. She withdrew at about seven and went to the palace of the dowager empress where she was again given refreshments. She changed costume before taking leave of the emperor. He presented her with various gifts, including a tobacco pipe, ornamental hairpins, and an incense box. Later the emperor highly praised her comportment. The acting major counselor Yanagihara Mitsunaru, pleased with this expression of approval, asked the highest-ranking members of the nobility if they had any objection to Haruko’s being named as nyōgo.25 Everyone was in favor, so all barriers to her being appointed as the emperor’s consort had been cleared.