by Donald Keene
Two days later, on July 29, the military liaison officer Hino Sukemune went as the emperor’s envoy to the house of Ichijō Saneyoshi to inform him that his sister had been chosen as the emperor’s bride. Word quickly spread, and there were numerous visitors to the Ichijō household. The shogunate donated 15,000 ryō for wedding and other expenses and announced that it would henceforth provide an annual stipend of 500 sacks of rice for her expenses. However, as the result of the political changes that occurred in the following year, the shogunate could not devote much attention to the marriage, and only a small portion of the promised money was ever delivered. Gifts came from other sources, but the total available for the wedding was sufficient for only a simple ceremony.
Even after Meiji’s future consort had been definitively chosen, the wedding could not take place immediately. He would be in mourning for his father for a full year after Kōmei’s death. Moreover, he had not yet had his gembuku (initiation into manhood), which was essential before his marriage, but this ceremony could take place only after the period of mourning was over.
Serious problems of quite another nature arose before the wedding could be celebrated. Unsettled conditions in the city of Kyōto caused concern about Ichijō Haruko’s safety. She was assigned a bodyguard of ten samurai in July, and plans were drawn up for evacuating her to one or another temple in the event of a disturbance. In case of a serious emergency, she was to take refuge in the palace of the empress dowager. This in fact happened at the beginning of 1868, when the proclamation of the shogun’s return of government to the emperor gave rise to disorder within the city. During the fighting between troops loyal to the emperor and those of the shogun, the sound of gunfire could be heard even within the Gosho. Plans for the marriage were temporarily left in abeyance.
The death of Haruko’s brother, Ichijō Saneyoshi, in May of that year posed yet another problem—if special care had not been taken to ensure that Haruko ate separately from the rest of her family, her brother’s death would have polluted her and caused still further delay in the wedding. All the same, by the end of 1868 the situation had stabilized sufficiently for the marriage to be celebrated on January 11, 1869.26
Early that morning Haruko’s chamber was decorated in preparation for the ceremony. A yin-yang diviner was summoned to determine the precise time for her to put on her marriage robes. The diviner recommended eight in the morning, at which time Konoe Tadahiro, in charge of the ceremony, tied the robes. At two in the afternoon a palm-woven carriage was brought to the southern stairs of Haruko’s chamber. Two nobles bore the shafts. A waiting woman placed inside the carriage an incense burner and a sword bestowed by the emperor earlier that morning. Haruko boarded the carriage, accompanied by two ladies-in-waiting. Nobles pulled the carriage as far as the Middle Gate, where oxen were attached. Once the escort was ready, the carriage moved out of the Double Gate. When it reached the northernmost gate of the palace, the oxen were unhitched, and the carriage shafts rested on a stand. An official reported the arrival of the carriage to the guards, whereupon court officials pulled the carriage inside the gate. They passed through the Genki Gate (inner northern gate) and reached the northeast gate of the Higyōsha, a palace building. Here, members of the escort surrounded the carriage with curtains and screens to prevent outsiders from observing Haruko as she descended from the carriage. The ladies of her escort followed her, bearing the sword and the incense burner. They moved through various passageways into the prince’s palace, where Haruko seated herself, the sword and the incense burner at her side. Nobles who had arrived by a more direct route came forward to offer congratulations.27
After a short rest Haruko reappeared wearing five layers of robes and with her hair rearranged. She went to the Higyōsha where she was offered refreshments. Soon afterward she was informed of her appointment as nyōgo. Normally the announcement of appointment as nyōgo was made the day after a palace lady had entered the emperor’s service, but because Haruko was also to be named empress, the appointment as nyōgo took place on this day. The title of empress was a signal mark of favor: Kōmei’s consort had never received it.28
Haruko’s appointments as nyōgo and empress were proclaimed by officials whose precisely executed movements as they performed the ceremonies probably suggested an elaborate ballet. When these formalities were at last completed, Haruko was ready to go to the Seiryōden (residential palace) where she would enter the presence of her future husband. She was accompanied by Konoe Tadahiro and Nakayama Tadayasu. One court lady held Haruko’s train while two others carried the sword and incense burner. Next the Night Palace Ceremony took place. At eight the emperor went to the Chamber of Purification where he put on straw slippers. He entered the curtained enclosure from the western door, and Konoe Tadahiro removed the slippers. Next the empress entered the curtains. Nakayama Tadayasu, as both a relative of the emperor on the maternal side and an aged man whose wife was still living, covered them with the royal quilts. Next he offered rice cakes that would be eaten by the newlyweds on the third night of the marriage. These cakes were customarily prepared and offered by a married couple of advanced years.29
When this ceremony had ended, a court lady took the cakes to the Higyōsha where they would be kept for three days in a lucky direction. Next a maid of honor (myōbu) took an oil lamp with a cloth wick and lit it with flame from a hanging lantern in the northeastern corner of the Night Pavilion and took it to the Willow Pavilion where she transferred the flame to the lacquered lantern. At this point Tadahiro and Tadayasu withdrew. For three days the flame would be kept burning in the lantern. That night, palace ladies by turns would hold aloft the imperial sword.
Next the private ritual of drinking saké took place in the Ordinary Residence. The empress sat to the north. At the third cup, she herself poured the saké and offered it to the emperor, and then she received a cup from his hand. Afterward they partook of a simple meal and then withdrew to the empress’s palace. At last the newlyweds were alone.
Needless to say, every act performed during this series of ceremonies was prescribed by tradition. This was an event of dynastic significance, and it was believed that the couple’s happiness, fertility, and longevity would be reflected in the country’s prosperity. The union of Meiji and his bride would not, as it happened, be blessed with children, but Haruko would be a far more prominent public figure than any consort for many hundreds of years.
Chapter 13
The main issues facing the shogunate at the beginning of 1867 were the opening of the port of Hyōgo and the disposition of the rebellious Chōshū domain. For some months the court kept up its bitter opposition to opening Hyōgo to foreign ships, but on June 26 high-ranking nobles were summoned to the palace to hear discussion of the matter. The acting major counselor Daigo Tadaoki expressed the opinion that even though Emperor Kōmei had forbidden opening the port, under present conditions it could not be avoided. He pointed out that Kōmei had in fact authorized the opening of three ports (though not Hyōgo because of its proximity to Kyōto) and that there really was no major change. His eloquence swayed the other nobles, and in the end imperial authorization for opening the port was granted. It was also decided to treat Chōshū leniently.1
Now that the long-debated issue of the port of Hyōgo had at last been settled, on July 7 the shogunate further decided to permit foreigners to conduct business in Edo and Ōsaka. With this, full compliance with the provisions of the treaties signed with the foreign nations had been achieved. This did not signify that all the shogunate’s problems had been solved: major and minor problems constantly arose, and increasingly the young emperor was obliged to take part in decisions.
One minor problem arose as a direct consequence of the foreign settlements. On July 14 the Nagasaki magistrate arrested and imprisoned sixty-eight Christians. Christianity had been prohibited in Japan for about 250 years, but “hidden Christians” in the region of Nagasaki had preserved the religion without guidance from ordained priests or even from Christi
an books. Over the years the beliefs of these Christians had steadily drifted from orthodox teachings, and by now the hymns they sang, originally in Latin, had become gibberish, memorized by believers who had no idea of the meanings. Most of the Christians were poor fishermen and peasants. If suppressing such a cult had been a purely religious matter—if, say, it involved a heterodox Buddhist sect—it could have been achieved without difficulty, but the suppression of a Christian sect immediately involved the foreign powers, which were highly sensitive to attacks on their religion.
As far back as 1857, as the result of negotiations between Townsend Harris and the senior councillor Hotta Masayoshi, it had been agreed that foreigners should be able to practice their religions without hindrance, and the Americans obtained permission to erect a Protestant church in the foreign settlement. At the same time French priests were active in promulgating Catholicism, especially in the area of Nagasaki. The hidden Christians, overjoyed by the arrival of coreligionists, openly visited the church erected by the French and appealed to the French minister for support. Some, rejoicing that their hour had at last come, flaunted their new importance, leading to conflicts even within families.2 Buddhists, angered by the government’s slowness in punishing the Christians, even though the religion was still prohibited, threatened to take matters into their own hands and kill the Christians. The latter responded by arming themselves with bamboo spears. After the arrests on July 14 the French and Portuguese consuls in Nagasaki demanded the release of the Christians and, when this was refused, reported the matter to their legations, urging them to negotiate with the shogunate for release of the prisoners.
On August 24 Tokugawa Yoshinobu granted the French minister Léon Roches an audience in Ōsaka Castle. Roches had previously asked the shogunate to free the Christians, only to be informed that they had violated a national law and so their arrest was unavoidable. The meeting between Yoshinobu and Roches was arranged at Roches’s request, ostensibly to discuss trade. The shogunate had become increasingly dependent on France as a source of weapons, and the French were in a strong position to make demands with respect to the Christian prisoners. In the hopes of making an even more powerful impression on Yoshinobu, the French invited him aboard a French warship to observe blank firing and the maneuvering of the ship. The next day he began negotiations for the release of the prisoners.
On September 3 the councillor Itakura Katsukiyo (1823–1889) met with Roches to discuss the issue. Two days later Yoshinobu sent a letter to Napoleon III explaining that Christianity had long since been prohibited in Japan and that the arrest of the Christians had been obligatory. He asked that French priests cease proselytizing among Japanese subjects. Finally he agreed to free the imprisoned Christians. They would be placed in the custody of village officials and encouraged to move to other localities.3
This action did not end the repressive measures directed against the hidden Christians. In April 1868 when the signboards erected by the shogunate listing five prohibitions imposed on the populace were replaced by injunctions of the new imperial government, the prohibition on Christianity remained unaltered. The third injunction stated: “The Christian heretical sect is strictly prohibited. Anyone arousing suspicion should be reported to the village office. A reward will be bestowed.”4
Even Emperor Meiji became involved in the discussions of how the Christians were to be brought under control. On May 9 princes of the blood, nobles of high and low ranks, and various daimyos were summoned into the imperial presence and commanded to express their opinions concerning the disposition of the Christian believers in Nagasaki. They were informed that despite the prohibition newly issued in the previous month, the number of Christian believers had continued to grow and that there were now more than 3,000. If no punitive action were taken, this might well have serious consequences. For this reason the chief justice of the Nagasaki courts had been given permission to dispose of the Christians as he saw fit.
Earlier Councillor Inoue Kaoru (1835–1915) had gone to Nagasaki to observe the situation with respect to the Christian believers and had been greatly upset. After his return to Kyōto, he had discussed the situation with Kido Takayoshi, who subsequently conferred with the vice president (fukusōsai), Sanjō Sanetomi. They concluded that the best course would be to explain patiently their errors to the leaders of the believers. Those who responded to the command to abandon the forbidden faith would be required to discard their pictures of Jesus and swear an oath before the Japanese gods. Those who refused to yield to persuasion would be put to death. This opinion, reported to the throne, was the occasion for the gathering in the emperor’s presence.5 On the following day those who had attended the meeting submitted their recommendation: the majority favored death for all Christian believers.
The British minister Sir Harry Parkes was enraged when he learned that even on the new signboards, Christianity was prohibited. Parkes was famous for his terrible temper, and it is not difficult to imagine his fulminations when on May 4 he called on Sanjō Sanetomi to protest against the wording of the signboards and the disposition of the Christian believers in Nagasaki. Iwakura Tomomi, Prince Akira, and the councilor Ōkuma Shigenobu were also present; Ōkuma was eventually able to calm Parkes.
On May 27 Meiji summoned Kido and commanded him to go to Nagasaki to dispose of the matter. The signboards were changed: the word “heretical” in the phrase “heretical Christian sect” was deleted, but a separate item was added proscribing heresy.6 On June 14, 1868, 114 Christian leaders were turned over to the Hagi, Tsuwano, and Fukuyama domains for imprisonment. More than 2,400 believers were eventually imprisoned under extremely harsh conditions in seventeen different places. About 500 of them recanted under pressure from the authorities and were released, but the rest persistently refused to change their faith, displaying great strength in their convictions. Many of those who recanted subsequently reverted to their old beliefs. All prisoners were finally released and allowed to return to their homes in March 1873 after the government decided that further imprisonment would serve no useful purpose.7
The suppression of Christianity was not one of the major problems facing the shogunate during the closing months of its existence. It could not have been of great importance to members of the court either, preoccupied as they were with efforts to overthrow the shogunate. Nevertheless, they felt it advisable to have the debate over the disposition of the Christians take place in the presence of the emperor. He also participated in most of the future discussions of state policy, although the official records never indicate his reactions.
The most pressing problem facing the shogunate was, of course, its continued existence. Because the mounting opposition to the shogunate is a subject already treated by many historians, suffice it to say here that the alliance between Chōshū and Satsuma, formerly bitter enemies, was the key factor in galvanizing the opposition to the shogunate. The anti-shogunate domains, mainly in west Honshū, Kyūshū, and Shikoku, had become increasingly dissatisfied with the shogunate’s monopoly of the highly lucrative foreign trade. But when discussing their grievances, they normally did not mention this; instead, they spoke of the need to restore imperial rule. A contemporary historian has written, “It needs hardly be said that the internal disturbances at the time of the Restoration were definitely not caused by loyalist convictions. Fundamentally, they resulted from the aspirations of the major domains in the southwest, headed by Satsuma and Chōshū, to be independent of the shogunate.”8
Even if these were the real aspirations of Satsuma, Chōshū, and the other domains that ultimately overthrew the shogunate, they needed a rallying cry, and “Restore power to the emperor!” served this purpose. The shogunate under Tokugawa Yoshinobu, especially after its humiliating defeat in the war with Chōshū, took desperate measures to stave off collapse. With France’s help, it rapidly increased its store of modern weapons, and under Yoshinobu’s leadership, many reforms were launched. Senior shogunate statesmen, notably Oguri Tadamasa (1827–1868), attempt
ed to push through plans for making the shogunate into an absolutist regime, believing this was the only way it could ensure its authority over rebellious domains.9 As early as 1866 Oguri privately discussed the advisability of abolishing the domains and replacing them with prefectures, a measure that eventually was adopted by the Meiji government in 1871, but the shogunate lacked sufficient support to carry out so daring a plan.
The daimyos of the major domains, especially in the west and south, joined forces in alliances. But for all the reverence they professed for the court in Kyōto, their chief concern seems to have been preserving their own power. Initially at least, they seem not to have hoped to substitute the absolute authority of the emperor for the authority of the shogunate,10 as hardly any of the daimyos or their retainers rose above anxiety over the survival of their particular domains to consider what was desirable for the country as a whole.11
The shogunate’s authority was weakened also by populist uprisings calling for change, at their height during the summer of 1866 during the war with Chōshū.12 These uprisings, stemming from anger over the skyrocketing prices of food, especially rice, had the effect of creating opposition to the shogunate at a time when it desperately needed unity in its struggle with Chōshū.13
In the meantime, men from the major domains in Kyūshū, Shikoku, and western Honshū were consolidating plans for restoring power to the court. In March 1867 Gotō Shōjirō (1838–1897), a councillor (sansei) of the Tosa domain, met Sakamoto Ryōma (1835–1867), a renegade of the same domain, in Nagasaki. Gotō was duty bound to arrest Sakamoto, but instead he listened to the views of a man known for his advanced political ideas. The two men agreed that the only way out of the impasse in which the government found itself was for the shogun voluntarily to relinquish his powers to the court.14