by Donald Keene
The manner of treatment of the visiting English prince was of the highest importance to Parkes, the English minister, who insisted that “the Mikado will be receiving a scion of royalty as his equal in point of blood.” He also noted that “if at the last moment I see anything derogatory in their [the Japanese] arrangements, I can decline the reception.” The Chinese government had already refused to give the duke of Edinburgh “a proper reception,” and he was therefore to visit China incognito. Iwakura Tomomi told Parkes that the
reception of the prince had caused the Government much anxious consideration; for when the subject was first mooted, opinion was by no means uniform as the course to be pursued. An intelligent majority, however, had seen that the occasion was one that should be profited by to mark their friendly feelings toward foreign Powers, and their readiness to promote more intimate relations with them, although at a sacrifice of old ideas and usages. In order, therefore, to receive the prince in a manner that would be acceptable to England, the Mikado would have to adopt a new etiquette.20
The duke’s reception by Emperor Meiji at the castle in Tōkyō was without precedent. Black commented, “Since that day other princes and distinguished men have been even more familiarly received; but that was after the Court and the country had become so used to these innovations that they ceased to discuss them.”21
The audience took place on September 4. Every step was carefully planned, beginning with prayers to Kan-jin for his safe arrival.22 A salute of twenty-one guns would be offered to the duke on his landing in Yokohama. Before his departure from Yokohama, the roads would be cleaned and repaired, and prayers for his safe journey offered to the god of roads. The security arrangements for the duke when he traveled by road from Yokohama to Tōkyō would be similar to those observed when the emperor traveled. According to A. B. Mitford, “The shutters of the upstairs rooms in the houses by the wayside were hermetically sealed with bits of paper stuck across them so that no Peeping Tom should look down upon the august person.”23 Prayers would also be offered at his destination: “On the day on which His Royal Highness may be expected to arrive in Yedo, religious ceremonies will take place at Shinagawa, to exorcise all evil spirits. On His Royal Highness’ arrival, a Prince of the Blood will visit him, to inquire after his health.”24
The eighth of the nine points in the program of the reception that was planned for the duke of Edinburgh was “When His Royal Highness is about to enter the gate of the castle, the ceremony called ‘Nusa’ will take place.” Mitford in his memoirs explained that “nusa is a sweeping away of evil influences with a sort of flapper with a hempen tassel.”25 None of the British objected to this ceremony, but the acting American minister, A. L. C. Portman, prepared a report for the president of the United States entitled “The Purification of the Duke of Edinburgh.” According to Fukuzawa Yukichi’s autobiography, the report declared:
Japan is a small secluded country, very self-respecting and very self-important. It is customary, therefore, for its inhabitants to regard foreigners as belonging to the lower order of animals. Actually, when the English prince arrived to be received by the emperor, they held a ceremony of purification over the person of the prince at the entrance to the castle…. Such being the ancient rite in the land, they employed this method on the person of the Duke of Edinburgh, because in the eyes of the Japanese, all foreigners, whether of noble lineage or common, are alike impure as animals.26
Probably Portman intended these provocative statements as no more than a means of catching the president’s eye, but he may have been close to the truth. In the second month of 1868, when the matter of the propriety of the emperor’s giving audiences to the ministers of foreign countries was debated, it was finally decided that to allow the foreigners into the palace grounds, but to safeguard the holy precincts, rites of exorcism would be performed at the palace gates in the four directions. The rites performed on the duke of Edinburgh before he was admitted to the palace had the same purpose: the nusa ceremony was performed not to shield him from baleful influences but to protect the palace from being polluted by a foreigner.27 When informed by an interpreter at the American legation of the details, Fukuzawa did not laugh. He wrote instead, “I felt like crying over this revelation of our national shame.”
No one in the British party seems to have been disturbed by the implications of the rite, and the meeting of the duke with the emperor took place without incident. On alighting from his carriage within the palace, the duke was received by high-ranking officers who escorted him to a waiting room. After a short interval the duke was conducted to the Audience Chamber, where the emperor stood on a raised dais. After a few words of welcome, to which his guest returned a suitable reply, the emperor invited the duke to meet him more privately in the garden. Mitford recalled,
After a short delay, during which the princes and dignitaries of the Court came to pay their respects, the Duke was shown to the delicious little Maple Tea-house in the Castle gardens, where tea and all manner of delicacies were served. Then came a summons to the Waterfall Pavilion, where the emperor was waiting; only Sir Harry, the Admiral, and myself went in with the Duke.28
Parkes had been apprehensive about the duke’s interview with the emperor. He wrote, “I believe the poor young Mikado suffers much from severe shyness and his ministers fear the prince will find him very uninteresting. The Prince himself is rather shy.”29 The reported conversation between Meiji and the English prince, though scarcely sparkling, was normal for such an occasion. The emperor said that it gave him the greatest pleasure to receive a prince who had come from so distant a country, and he begged the prince to remain long enough to repay himself for the fatigue of the journey. In reply the prince expressed his gratitude for the cordial reception he had received and was sure that it would please Her Majesty, the queen. The emperor assured the prince that he was happy to think that this auspicious visit would help cement the friendly relations between the two countries. He begged the duke to express any wish that might occur to him, so that he might have the pleasure of gratifying it. The prince said that so far from being dissatisfied with his reception, it had exceeded his expectations. It had long been his desire to visit a country of which he had heard so much, and he had not been disappointed. And so on. It is not difficult to imagine a similar exchange of remarks today.
From the beginning Alfred, the duke of Edinburgh, had been resigned to the likelihood that the occasion would be a bore, and in his memoirs, not concealing his boredom, Mitford confessed his inability “to become artistically enthusiastic over the presentation of diamond snuff-boxes.” The snuff-box in question, presented by the prince to the emperor as a memento of himself just before taking leave, was described by Sir Henry Keppel as “a beautiful gold box, on the lid of which a miniature of himself [the duke] was set in diamonds.”30 The emperor’s gifts to his English guests were considerably more artistic.31 The prince also requested a poem in the emperor’s handwriting, which he intended to present to Queen Victoria after his return to England. He received this tanka, which has suitably political overtones:
yo wo osame If one governs the land
hito wo megumaba And benefits the people
amatsuchi no Heaven and the earth
tomo ni hisashiku Will surely last together
arubekarikeri For all eternity.32
Nothing has been recorded concerning the two young men’s reactions on meeting. For Alfred, Meiji was probably the ruler of an obscure, though not barbaric, country and, as such, not of much interest; but he probably appreciated the entertainment provided during his stay.33 Meiji may have been too tense during this first encounter with European royalty to form an opinion of the English prince, but he was aware that he must be ingratiating lest Japan’s relations with England, the most powerful foreign country, be impaired. Regardless of the interview’s content, the gesture of receiving a foreign prince on terms of equality set a precedent of the highest importance.
A month after the duke of Ed
inburgh’s departure, an Austro-Hungarian mission headed by Baron Antony von Petz arrived in Japan to begin negotiations for a treaty. The baron also brought gifts: a piano for the empress and a life-size statue of the emperor of Austria for the mikado.34 At the conclusion of the Japanese treaty with the Austro-Hungarian Empire (which was accomplished with unprecedented rapidity), Meiji is said to have written “an autograph letter to his ‘brother,’ the emperor of Austria.”35 Black, who described these events, commented that “never before until now had any sovereign but the Emperor of China been similarly addressed by the Mikado.” In the Europeans’ eyes, Meiji had acquired a new set of relatives—all the reigning monarchs of the world.
Chapter 21
When Emperor Meiji left Kyōto in 1869 for his second visit to Tōkyō, the people of Kyōto interpreted this as an omen that the capital would be shifted from their city to the east. They were reassured by Iwakura Tomomi’s insistence that the location of the capital would not be changed, but their fears flared up again when it became known that the empress also was planning to go to Tōkyō. Many people in Kyōto were now convinced there was a real danger that the capital would be moved despite official denials, and they gathered at shrines to pray for divine intercession to keep the empress from leaving the city. So great was the consternation aroused by the prospect of the emperor and empress no longer residing in Kyōto that local officials feared conspirators might organize mass protests. If that happened, there was no telling what untoward events might stem from the people’s turbulent emotions.1 Only by exerting all their powers of persuasion were local officials able to calm the residents of the capital.
Whether or not the citizens of Kyōto were justified in interpreting the empress’s departure for Tōkyō as a sign that a change of capital was imminent, on November 8, 1869, the empress’s palanquin left the Gosho, protected by guards drawn from four domains and headed for Tōkyō. She arrived nineteen days later after a pleasant journey. Apparently quite at home in her new surroundings, she soon afterward gave a party at the Fukiage Garden for senior officers of the government.2
Earlier in 1869 when Emperor Meiji was about to leave for his second visit to Tōkyō, the people of Kyōto had been informed that he would return to their city in April or May of the following year and would celebrate his Daijō-e3 there in the winter of that year. This announcement had quieted their anxiety, only for them to be informed in the spring of 1870 that the emperor’s return to Kyōto had been unavoidably delayed because of unsettled conditions in parts of the country and the pressure of state business. A year later, on May 15, 1871, it was announced that the Daijō-e would be performed in Tōkyō instead. On May 24 Major Counselor Tokudaiji Sanetsune was sent as a special envoy to Kyōto to report to the tomb of Emperor Kōmei that conditions in the world and an increased burden of state duties had compelled the emperor to postpone his return to Kyōto. Tokudaiji also visited the empress dowager and informed her that the emperor’s return to Kyōto would be delayed for several years.4
The emperor did not in fact return to Kyōto (except for brief visits) until 1877. At no point was it officially announced that the capital was now Tōkyō and not Kyōto. All the same, when Meiji at last returned to Kyōto, his journey was characterized as gyōkō, a going away from his residence, rather than as kankō, a return to his residence, the term used when he returned to Kyōto from Tōkyō in 1868.5 By 1877 Tōkyō was functionally the capital of Japan, not only because it was the seat of the emperor and all organs of the government, but also because the foreign legations were situated there. However, the government hesitated to make this official, perhaps fearing the reactions of the people of Kyōto. Meiji would be buried in Kyōto, and the coronation of his son, Emperor Taishō, would also take place there in 1915, suggesting the persistence of the belief that in certain respects anyway, Kyōto was still the capital. It might even be argued, in the absence of a proclamation to the contrary, that Kyōto remains to this day the capital of Japan.
The official explanation of why Meiji could not return to Kyōto stressed the urgency of the state business. This was not necessarily untrue, but it is difficult to discover what precisely the emperor’s role was in the many changes occurring. The entries in the chronology of his reign that specifically refer to the emperor most often describe the number of times he mounted a horse or the progress of his studies in the Chinese classics.
Riding had become a passion with him. At one time he was spending every other day mainly on a horse. Even those who recognized the desirability of physical fitness felt that the young emperor was devoting too much time to horses. When the gijō Nakamikado Tsuneyuki (in Kyōto at the time) learned how frequently the emperor was riding, he sent a letter to Iwakura Tomomi suggesting that he be restricted to six days a month.6 Although the recommendation seems to have had some effect, the emperor’s enthusiasm for riding continued unabated.
Meiji’s studies at his time were concentrated on the orthodox books of Confucianism, but he also had instruction in the Records of Japan from Hirata Nobutane, the grandson of Hirata Atsutane, the Shintō apologist.7 His chief tutor, Motoda Nagazane, first appeared before Emperor Meiji on July 17, 1871.
Motoda was born in Kumamoto in 1818. His family was of middle-level samurai status, and he grew up in comfortable circumstances. At the age of fifteen, he determined to study the teachings of the sages and in this way serve his country. Before he reached twenty, he had become friendly with various scholars, including Yokoi Shōnan, and studied Neo-Confucian texts with them. As early as 1847 he expressed to his father his basic philosophical conviction:
It hardly needs repetition, but the Way of the subject resides in loyalty and filial piety. The way of loyalty and filial piety consists in making clear the principles. The only way to make the principles clear lies in practical learning [jitsugaku]. Everything apart from practical learning is empty language and corrupt Confucianism and, for this reason, is inadequate to make clear the principles. At present I am serving you, my father, with this practical learning. If I should aspire some day to serve his lordship, it would be with practical learning.8
The present-day meaning of jitsugaku is “practical learning” (such as engineering or medicine), as opposed to theoretical or philosophical knowledge, but this was not the meaning in Motoda’s day. The term goes back as far as Chu Hsi (1130–1200) and originally referred to Confucian studies which, unlike Buddhism or Taoism, stressed the importance of attaining the highest moral virtue not as a goal in itself but because it enabled a man to be of service to the state. In later times the meaning shifted somewhat but, however interpreted, always stressed the unity of thought and action.9 It can easily be seen that this kind of philosophy, rather than the more abstract considerations of some Confucianists, was well suited to the ruler of a modern state.
Fearing that Motoda’s association with a school of Confucianism frowned on by the daimyo of the domain might block his advancement, Motoda’s father asked him to give up jitsugaku. Motoda at first refused, but the various illnesses that afflicted him and other members of his family at this time caused him to drift away naturally from his teacher, and this led to a reconciliation with his father.10 In 1858 Motoda succeeded his late father as adviser to the daimyo of the Kumamoto domain, and when that daimyo died, he accompanied his successor to Edo in 1860. He became actively involved in politics. At first, under the influence of Yokoi Shōnan, he favored a policy of “respect the emperor and open the country,” a liberal position for someone who is generally thought of as a hidebound conservative.
At the time of the first Chōshū war, Motoda served with the troops of the Kumamoto domain, in keeping with his profession of kōbu gattai, but he opposed participation in the second Chōshū war. The Kumamoto domain, disregarding his advice, sent troops into combat. They suffered severe losses, which served to enhance Motoda’s reputation as a judge of the political situation. He steadily rose in position. In 1871 he was appointed as the tutor (jidoku) to the Kumamoto daimyo,
now known as the governor, and joined him in Tōkyō.11
Those who heard Motoda’s lectures at this time commented on the passion with which he delivered them. Unlike many Confucian scholars, he emphasized not individual phrases but broader themes that truly served to cultivate the mind. A disciple who first heard him lecture in 1871 recalled,
He would cite many vital examples from ancient and recent times, to such good effect that in the end we not only understood the texts but could not help but being moved to the depths of our hearts. Motoda’s every action seemed to be inspired by a desire to follow the Way of the sages. To us young people, everything about him—his speech and actions, his appearance and his attitude—seemed absolutely splendid. We thought of him as a perfect jewel without a flaw. But there was nothing the least unnatural or stiff about him: his imposing air was combined with an indescribable affection and warmth.12
About this time, Motoda composed a memorial concerning the court to be presented by the governor as his own views. Though brief, it was highly admired:
At the time of the Restoration the reason why evil men close to the throne boldly manifested rebellious intent was that the imperial authority had not yet been displayed. The reason why the imperial authority had not yet been displayed was that imperial rule had in fact yet to be carried out. From this time forward, I pray that His Majesty the emperor deign to attend the Hall of Audiences, where ministers will address and debate bills in his presence. If all state affairs are personally decided by the emperor, a just and honorable form of stable government will come into being, and people will for the first time revere it from their hearts. The failure of the provinces to submit to political guidance is to be attributed to the failure to obtain the proper kind of provincial officials. Men of talent should be appointed, and they should spread political education throughout the country. Governors who, like myself, have succeeded to their posts because of lineage should be eliminated. For this reason I respectfully request that I be relieved of my post.13