by Donald Keene
Roches’s reply was considerably longer, concluding with the prayer which he made on behalf of Napoleon III for the prosperity of Japan and for divine protection of the emperor himself. When this ended, the French minister left and the Dutch minister was led before the emperor, who vouchsafed virtually the same words he had pronounced to Roches. Afterward the two envoys were offered tea and cakes. The English minister was to have had an audience immediately afterward. He had already left the Chion-in, the temple where he and his party were staying, and was proceeding on horseback toward the palace, escorted by both English and Japanese, the latter including Nakai Hiroshi (1838–1894) and Gotō Shōjirō. When the procession reached the corner of Shinmonzen and Nawate, two men
sprang out from opposite sides of the street, drew their swords, and attacked the men and horses, running down the line and hacking wildly. Nakai observing what was passing jumped down from his pony and engaged the fellow on his right, with whom he had a pretty tough fight. In the struggle his feet got entangled in his long loose trousers, and he fell on his back. His enemy tried to cut off his head, but Nakai parried the blow, receiving only a scalp wounds, and pierced the man’s breast at the same time. This sickened him, and as he was turning his back on Nakai he received a blow on the shoulder from Gotō’s sword, which prostrated him to the ground, and Nakai jumping up hacked off his head.23
The other assailant, after slashing many other Englishmen, charged at Satow, wounding his horse. After this narrow escape, Satow moved up to the head of the procession to protect the minister. He saw “Sir Harry Parkes, in his brilliant uniform of an Envoy and minister calmly sitting on his horse in the middle of the cross-roads.” The second assailant was soon captured. “Assisted by a retainer of Sanjō’s we examined him. He expressed great penitence, and asked that his head might be cut off and exposed publicly to inform the Japanese nation of his crime.”24 He insisted that they had no accomplices (although three men were later exiled as such). Many in the capital sympathized with the attackers, sharing their belief that if foreigners were admitted into the palace, it would fatally weaken the Land of the Gods and that if foreigners were allowed to see the emperor’s face, it would be a desecration of the imperial majesty.25
When the emperor learned of the attack on Parkes, he expressed profound regret, and members of his government rushed to Parkes’s side. He responded to their expressions of sympathy, saying that “a graver outrage had been committed upon the Mikado than upon himself, and he felt assured that the government would know how to vindicate the honour of their sovereign.”26 So many of Parkes’s escort had been severely wounded in the attack that it was not possible to appear before the emperor that day. The Chion-in
was turned into a hospital. Our wounded men, bleeding as if their life must ebb out, lay patiently in the verandah, waiting their turn for the assistance of the surgeons, who, stripped to their shirts, seemed almost to multiply themselves, so swift and skilful were they. Shirts and sheets were being torn up into bandages, buckets of bloody water were being emptied and filled again. Everything one touched was sickening, wet, and red. It was a nightmare. Presently the head of the man whom Nakai had killed was brought in—a terrible sight.27
The delayed audience of Parkes and A. B. Mitford, the junior interpreter,28 with the emperor took place on April 14. Mitford wrote, “Our own retinue was sadly reduced. Our mounted escort could only muster two men, who with drawn swords rode on either side of Sir Harry.” When the Englishmen reached the Gosho, they were surprised that it was not even fortified and that it was surrounded by plain whitewashed walls, but Mitford commented, “Still, in spite of its studied plainness, the Gosho was not without a certain grandeur of its own.”29
When Parkes and Mitford were ushered into the Presence Chamber, they saw Emperor Meiji, probably the first foreigners ever to glimpse a Japanese emperor:
In the centre was a canopy supported by four slender pillars of black lacquer draped with white silk, into which was woven a pattern in red and black…. Under the canopy was the young Mikado, seated in, or rather, leaning against, a high chair. Behind him knelt two Princes of the blood, ready to prompt him….
As we entered the room the Son of Heaven rose and acknowledged our bows. He was at that time a tall youth with a bright eye and clear complexion; his demeanour was very dignified, well becoming the heir of a dynasty many centuries older than any other sovereignty on the face of the globe. He was dressed in a white coat with long padded trousers of crimson silk trailing like a lady’s court-train. His head-dress was the same as that of his courtiers, though as a rule it was surmounted by a long, stiff, flat plume of black gauze. I call it a plume for want of a better word, but there was nothing feathery about it. His eyebrows were shaved off and painted in high up on the forehead; his cheeks were rouged and his lips painted with red and gold. His teeth were blackened. It was no small feat to look dignified under such a travesty of nature; but the sangre Azul30 would not be denied. It was not long, I may add, before the young sovereign cast adrift all these worn-out fashions and trammels of past ages, together with much else that was out of date.31
The emperor’s greeting to the English was more or less the same as that to the French and Dutch ministers, but he added his regret that an “unfortunate affair” had occurred while they were on their way to the palace three days earlier. Parkes gallantly replied that the emperor’s gracious words had caused him to forget the unfortunate incident completely.32 Mitford later wrote that the emperor, “because of his extreme youth and the novelty of the situation to one who had only recently left the women’s apartments,” showed symptoms of shyness. “He hardly spoke above a whisper, so the words were repeated aloud by the Prince of the Blood on his right side and translated by Itō Shunsuke.”33
Three days after Parkes and Mitford were presented to the emperor, the first clash occurred between the imperial forces advancing on Edo and the Shinsengumi, a band of some 200 men under the command of Kondō Isami (1834–1868). The imperial forces under Itagaki Taisuke were victorious.34 Perhaps the most memorable thing about the march of the imperial troops to Edo was the song they sang, “Tokoton’yare,” composed by Shinagawa Yajirō (1843–1900) during the battles at Toba and Fushimi.35 This song spread not only throughout Japan but also to England, where the music and part of the Japanese words were incorporated into the operetta The Mikado, composed in 1885: Miyasama, miyasama, ouma no mae no, pira pira suru no wa nan jai na, tokoton’yare ton’yarena. Arya chōteki seibatsu seyo to no nishiki no mihata ja shiranka, tokoton’yare ton’yare na.36
Chapter 16
The young emperor’s first act of major historical significance was undoubtedly the promulgation of the Charter Oath in Five Articles on April 7, 1868. The swearing of this oath before the gods of heaven and earth, in the presence of “the hundred officials” including nobles and daimyos, was preceded a day earlier by an edict that announced the renewal of various ceremonies of Shintō worship after the extremely long hiatus imposed by the military regime. The stated purpose of the edict was to revive the union of rites and rule that had existed in ancient times.1
A central element in the plan of restoration was the reestablishment of the Jingikan, the Ministry of Shintō. It had originally been established at the beginning of the eighth century, but for centuries had possessed little more than vestigial significance. Now, however, Shintō priests and the performance of Shintō ceremonies at the court and at shrines were to be placed under its supervision, and the priests were to resume functions that had long been left to surrogates. The renewed importance of the Shintō priesthood and the insistence on separating Shintō from Buddhism were made more explicit four days later when Shintō priests who served concomitantly as Buddhist priests were ordered to yield their Buddhist ranks and positions, give up their Buddhist robes, and let their hair grow out.2
For more than a thousand years, most Japanese had believed simultaneously in both Shintō and Buddhism despite the inherent contradictions be
tween the two religions. For example, according to Shintō belief, the present world is lovely and a source of joy, but yomi, the world after death, is a place of foulness and corruption. According to Buddhist texts, on the contrary, this world (shaba) is a place of trial and suffering, but one’s actions in this life can enable one to enjoy after death the joys of paradise. These and other fundamental differences were generally minimized by those who discussed religious matters. Instead, the doctrine of honji suijaku, which explained the Shintō divinities as avatars in Japan of the eternal Buddhist divinities, was widely accepted.3 In keeping with the projected return to the system of religion and government that had prevailed in the time of Jimmu, the first emperor, Buddhism, a foreign religion, was now rejected and even persecuted.4
Even during the long period when Buddhism played a far more prominent role in the state and emperors regularly entered Buddhist orders and were known posthumously by their “temple names” (in), Shintō was never neglected by the imperial family. The most important rites performed by the emperor were those of Shintō, beginning each year with shihōhai, the ceremony of worship of the four directions, carried out at four o’clock on the morning of New Year’s Day. The emperor prayed to the star under which he was born, to the gods of heaven and earth of the four directions, and to the tombs of his father and mother for abundant crops, a long reign, and peace in the realm—all benefits in this world, in keeping with Shintō’s this-worldly outlook. Mention of the star under which the emperor was born was an indication that the Shintō rituals had been greatly influenced by Taoism. The court was dependent on on’yōji, priests of yin and yang, for predictions by divination of good or bad fortune. No action of consequence was undertaken in the palace without consulting an on’yōji.
Japanese religious life at the commencement of the Meiji era included elements of Shintō, Buddhist, Taoist, and other beliefs as well as what might be called superstitions. The decision to accord special importance to Shintō, and especially to the Jingikan, was, of course, closely connected with the enhanced importance of the emperor, who, according to Shintō belief, stood at the apex of the world.
The ritual accompanying the emperor’s pronouncement of the Charter Oath was entirely Shintō. The ceremonies began that day in the Hall of State Ceremonies with the gathering of nobles, daimyos, and lesser officials, all dressed in court robes, making a dazzling sight in their different colors. The ceremonies proper opened with the sprinkling of salt water and scattering of rice, by way of purification. Next the head of the Office of Shintō Worship, Shirakawa Sukenori, sang kamiuta (god-songs) for the descending god. After the offering to the gods had been made, the emperor, attired in informal robes and accompanied by the two assistant presidents (Sanjō Sanetomi and Iwakura Tomomi), the two ministers of state (Nakayama Tadayasu and Ōgimachisanjō Sanenaru), and various other dignitaries, entered and took his place on the throne. It faced south,5 with the shinza (seat of the gods) diagonally to the right. Screens depicting the four seasons were placed around the throne.
Sanjō read aloud a Shintō prayer, beginning with an invocation to the gods of heaven and earth.6 After Sanjō had finished, the emperor advanced to the anise bush before the altar, bowed in prayer, and made an offering of white and red cloth on sprigs of sacred wood. Sanjō then read aloud the emperor’s Oath in Five Articles:
Deliberate assemblies shall be widely established and all matters decided by public discussion.
All classes, high and low, shall unite in vigorously carrying out the administration of affairs of state.
The common people, no less than the civil and military officials, shall each be allowed to pursue his own calling so that there may be no discontent.
Evil customs of the past shall be broken off and everything based on the just laws of nature.
Knowledge shall be sought throughout the world so as to strengthen the foundations of imperial rule.
It is well known that the text of this oath was not composed by Meiji himself, but by two samurai-scholars, Yuri Kimimasa (1829–1909) and Fukuoka Takachika (1835–1919), and then revised by Kido Takayoshi.7 Its significance has been discounted by some scholars who contend that the seemingly liberal ideals expressed in the articles masked the real intent of the oath, which was to win the country’s support before the attack on Edo Castle, scheduled for the following day.8
It would be a mistake to suppose that the five articles of the oath signified an intention by the leaders of the government to create a parliamentary democracy in the near future. But whether or not the oath was genuinely progressive, the language was unprecedented in Japan or, indeed, any other country in the orbit of Chinese civilization. Deciding “all matters by public discussion” was definitely not traditional, nor had the administration of affairs of state been considered to be a privilege shared by the lower classes—regardless of how one defines “lower classes.” The fourth article—“Evil customs of the past shall be broken off and everything based on the just laws of nature”—is admittedly vague and subject to conflicting interpretation; but the customs of the past were normally praised and contrasted with the degenerate ways of the present, not characterized as “evil.” The last article, stating that knowledge should be sought throughout the world, seemed even to contradict the basic concept of “restoration,” which looked back to Japan’s own past, rather than to the rest of the world, for guidance. In later times the principles enunciated in the five articles were qualified, watered down, and sometimes ignored, but they were never repudiated, and they survived as ideals for those who hoped to make Japan into an enlightened modern state.9
After the reading of the oath, the nobles, daimyos, and others present all signed their names to a document expressing profound admiration for the provisions of the Charter Oath. They swore to obey the emperor’s wishes even at the cost of their lives and begged the emperor to take comfort from their determination to do their utmost to implement the oath. Nobles and daimyos who were unable to be present on this occasion visited the court afterward to sign their names, a total of 767 persons.10
What impression did this ceremony have on the emperor himself? If he expressed his opinions to those around him, they have been lost. It is likely that owing to his youth, he was not consulted in the preparation of the text. Conceivably, he first learned the contents of the five articles when he heard them read aloud by Sanjō Sanetomi; but it is hard to imagine that the ceremony—the most impressive of his reign up to this point—and the reading of the Charter Oath failed to move him. The idealism embodied in the articles may well have affected him precisely because he was young and inexperienced. Certainly during the early part of his reign, he showed himself to be sympathetic to the tenor of the oath he had sworn to observe.
On the same day as the Charter Oath was promulgated, a letter written in the name of the emperor was made public. The letter described the great achievements of his ancestors, contained words of comfort for his people, and promised to exalt the nation’s prestige in the eyes of foreign countries:
Ever since, quite unexpectedly, We succeeded to the throne, young and weak though We are, We have been unable to control Our apprehension, day and night, over how We are to remain faithful to Our ancestors when dealing with foreign countries. It is Our belief that when the authority of the court declined in the middle ages and the military seized power, they maintained on the surface worshipful respect of the court, but in reality their respect intentionally isolated the court, making it impossible for the court, as the father and mother of the entire people, to know the people’s feelings. In the end, the emperor became the sovereign of the multitude in name only. That is how it happens that although awe of the court today is greater than ever before, the prestige of the court has diminished correspondingly, and the separation between those above and those below is as great as that between heaven and earth. Under these conditions, how are We to reign over the country? Now, at a time of renovation of rule of the country, if even one of the millions of people
in this country is unable to find his place in society, this will be entirely Our fault. Accordingly, We have personally exerted Our physical and spiritual powers to confront the crisis. It is only by stepping into the shoes Our ancestors wore in ancient times and throwing Ourself into governing the country that We fulfill Our Heaven-sent mission and do not violate Our duty as the ruler of the hundred millions.
In ancient times Our ancestors personally disposed of all state affairs. If anyone behaved in a manner inappropriate in a subject, they themselves would punish the guilty. The administration of the court was simple in every respect, and because the emperor was not held in awe, as he is today, emperor and subjects were close; those above and those below loved each other; the blessings of heaven pervaded the land; and the majesty of the country shone brightly abroad. In recent times the world has become much more civilized. At a time when every other country is progressing in all directions, only our country, being unfamiliar with the situation prevailing in the world, stubbornly maintains old customs and does not seek the fruits of change. It fills Us with dread to think that if We were idly to spend a peaceful existence in the palace, enjoying the tranquillity of each day and forgetful of the hundred years of griefs, Our country would in the end be subject to the contempt of all others, bringing shame to Our ancestors and hardship to the people. For this reason We have sworn, along with many officials and daimyos, to continue the glorious work of Our ancestors. Regardless of the pain and suffering it may entail, We intend personally to rule over the entire country, to comfort you, the numberless people, and in the end to open up the ten thousand leagues of ocean waves, to proclaim the glory of our country to the world and bring to the land the unshakable security of Mount Fuji. You of countless numbers have become accustomed to the evils inherited from the past and to think of the court only as a place to held in awe. Not knowing the acute danger threatening the Land of the Gods, you manifest extreme surprise when We bestir Us, and this has given rise to doubts of every kind. The people are confused, but if a time should come when they prevent Us from carrying out Our plans, this would mean not only that We had wandered from the Way of the ruler but that they had caused Us to lose Our ancestral patrimony. You of countless numbers give due consideration to Our aspirations and join with Us. Cast away private thoughts and choose the general good. Help Us in Our work and ensure the safety of the Land of the Gods. If We can comfort the spirits of my ancestors, this will be the greatest happiness of Our life.11