Emperor of Japan: Meiji and His World, 1852’1912 (20 page)

Even after the Ch
ō
sh
ū
rebels had been defeated and the capital once again took on a semblance of calm and order, there were still disturbing occurrences. One night a group of men broke into the palace and attempted to steal the imperial palanquin. When word of this reached Tokugawa Yoshinobu, the commander of palace defense, he rushed to the palace and found some 300 men in the inner courtyard of the emperor’s “residential palace.” Yoshinobu ordered them to disperse and sent word to the chancellor and Prince Nakagawa who came rushing to the scene. They asked the emperor to move to a safer place. Later, at Yoshinobu’s request, the emperor moved to the Hall of State Ceremonies. Prince Mutsuhito and the empress accompanied him. Some of the court ladies, terrified and not knowing what was going on, were weeping and wailing. The prince was so startled that he fainted and was revived by an attendant.
²³

A corrupted form of this account has become an established part of postwar writings about Prince Mutsuhito. For example, one (unfriendly) biographer wrote, “When the Ch
ō
sh
ū
clan fired shells at the Hamaguri Gate in the seventh month of 1864, [Meiji], frightened by the roar of the explosions, fainted. From this act, one can surmise that he had a weak-spirited, cowardly nature.”
²⁴
Probably what made the prince faint was not the roar of cannon at the Hamaguri Gate (the attack at this gate had taken place a day earlier) but being wakened in the middle of the night and suddenly carried off to the Hall of State Ceremonies amid shrieking women. The shrieks were occasioned by a freak accident: the maidservant of a certain lady, accompanying her mistress from one building to another, accidentally dropped a jar containing liquid used in blackening teeth. The sound of the jar breaking against the board floor was mistaken for gunfire, and the smell of the liquid that spilled out was so strong that it caused panic.
²⁵

The incident in itself was of no intrinsic importance, but it is startling to find in the sober pages of the chronicle of Meiji’s life an anecdote that might more appropriately appear in a medieval romance. Who were the mysterious figures in the courtyard? Why did they want to steal the emperor’s palanquin? Why was no trace ever found of even one of the 300? Why was the maid carrying a jar of teeth-blackener at this critical moment? Why should the sound of one jar breaking against the floor have thrown so many people into a state of panic?

On the day after this mysterious incident, the prince sent for his grandfather Nakayama Tadayasu. Taking out some picture books, he asked the old man to explain them. It is reassuring that even in this dangerous period, the worst to have faced the imperial family in centuries, the twelve-year-old prince remained a boy for whom real adventure did not take the place of adventure stories.

Chapter 10

The year 1864 was filled with disasters. Only two weeks after the violence in the Gosho, a fleet of warships from England, France, America, and Holland bombarded Shimonoseki in retaliation for Ch
ō
sh
ū
’s attack on foreign ships. The action by the allied fleet had taken place at the suggestion of the British minister, Sir Rutherford Alcock, who had grown impatient with the shogunate’s procrastination and believed that the use of force was necessary.

Earlier that year a Japanese mission had been sent to France under the minister of foreign affairs, Ikeda Nagaoki (1837–1879), to negotiate closing the port of Yokohama to foreign ships. Although the shogunate was not in favor of this, it felt obliged to honor the promise it had made to the court. Ikeda soon learned that the French were totally unwilling to discuss the matter. Instead, they demanded reparations for the attack on French ships and guarantees that in the future they would be able to pass unharmed through the Shimonoseki Straits. Ikeda, convinced that the shogunate must change its fundamental policies, signed a treaty on June 20, 1864,
¹
accepting the French demands, even though he had not been authorized by his government to do so.
²
He decided, also in disregard of orders, not to visit England or other countries, feeling sure that they would be equally unwilling to consent to closing Yokohama to foreign ships.

When representatives in Edo of the four nations learned of the treaty after Ikeda’s unexpectedly early return, they asked the shogunate to implement its provisions, but it replied that it was not bound by the treaty because Ikeda had violated the terms of his commission. (He and his colleagues were subsequently removed from their posts and punished.) The four nations, exasperated by what seemed to be another example of the shogunate’s dilatory tactics, took matters into their own hands. An allied fleet set sail for Shimonoseki despite the shogunate’s attempts to forestall this action and Ch
ō
sh
ū
’s desire to negotiate a peaceful settlement. On September 5 the fleet opened fire on the Ch
ō
sh
ū
batteries, and after three days of fighting, the foreigners landed and demolished the fortifications. M
ō
ri Yoshichika, the daimyo of Ch
ō
sh
ū
, was forced to sue for peace and to accept the conditions laid down by the allies: that foreign ships passing through the Shimonoseki Straits would be accorded friendly treatment; that the gun batteries would be neither replaced nor repaired; that firewood, water, food, and coal would be supplied; and that an indemnity of 3 million dollars would be paid.

A lull followed until November when Tokugawa Iemochi assumed command of an expeditionary force sent to chastise Ch
ō
sh
ū
for the unruly behavior of its soldiers in the capital. In an effort to reassert the shogunate’s authority, he ordered various domains to provide troops. Some refused, making excuses; they were obviously reluctant to assist the shogunate. Although Ch
ō
sh
ū
had been branded as traitorous, its courageous stance was widely admired, and when word was received of the bombardment of Shimonoseki by the allied fleet, sympathy for Ch
ō
sh
ū
spread throughout the country. Aware of these feelings, the shogunate asked Ch
ō
sh
ū
only to apologize and to issue a statement of submission. M
ō
ri Takachika agreed to these conditions and, as a sign of compliance, offered up the heads of three of his major advisers. He also promised to obey the shogunate’s wishes with respect to the disposition of Sanj
ō
Sanetomi and the other nobles who had taken refuge in Ch
ō
sh
ū
³

This victory by the shogunate was not impressive, but at least it provided a breathing space in its domestic and foreign troubles. Although life at the court had, at least on the surface, resumed its normal calm, vague apprehensions continued. Nakayama Tadayasu felt so upset over a recurrent dream of Prince Mutsuhito that he sent a retainer to the Kitano Shrine to pray for the prince’s safety. His wife, sharing his anxiety, sent messages asking about the prince’s health.
⁴

Even after the new year, 1865, began, the disposition of Sanj
ō
Sanetomi and the other nobles who had taken refuge in Ch
ō
sh
ū
was still being debated. One of those who advocated exiling the men to Ky
ū
sh
ū
was Saig
ō
Takamori (1828–1877), his first appearance in the
Record of the Emperor Meiji
.
⁵
On February 7 the
neng
ō
Genji was changed to Kei
ō
, as the previous
neng
ō
was blamed for the violence that had threatened the sanctity of the palace in the previous autumn.

The new
neng
ō
did not greatly improve the situation. On July 14 Tokugawa Iemochi arrived in Ky
ō
to. The arrival of the shogun in the capital, an event that a few years earlier would have been of extraordinary importance, had now become almost routine. Iemochi reported to the emperor that despite M
ō
ri Takachika’s professed repentance for his crimes,
j
ō
i
agitators in his domain were again making ominous noises. Moreover, Takachika had sent underlings to foreign countries to purchase large supplies of weapons. Iemochi claimed to have positive proof that Takachika was secretly trading with foreigners, and he had decided to march against him.

Iemochi was stating his intentions to the emperor before he actually moved against Ch
ō
sh
ū
. This in itself would have been inconceivable even ten years earlier; it would not have occurred to the shogun to inform the emperor of political or military plans. Iemochi probably intended his communication mainly as a report of the situation, but K
ō
mei interpreted the report as a request for his permission to attack Ch
ō
sh
ū
. His first reaction was to invite Iemochi to the residential palace where he personally poured saké for the shogun in a gesture of friendship and as a sign of approval of Iemochi’s plans. After the emperor had retired to his private apartments, the court spokesmen, the military liaison officers, and other palace officials took Iemochi aside to inform him that the emperor had been so pleased by Iemochi’s repair of the imperial tombs, completed earlier that year, that he was considering bestowing “god names” on his ancestors Hidetada and Iemitsu. Iemochi firmly declined this honor, only to be informed that this was a most unusual gesture on His Majesty’s part and that the shogun must accept it without hesitation.
⁶
Iemochi yielded to what in effect was an imperial command, another instance of the change in relations between the emperor and the shogunate.

On November 16, 1865, nine warships of England, France, the United States, and Holland appeared off the coast of Settsu Province. A message was sent ashore demanding in the names of these countries that the shogunate open the port of Hy
ō
go and that it secure the emperor’s approval
⁷
for the treaties. In return for these favors, the allies were willing to forgo two-thirds of the 3 million–dollar indemnity for the Shimonoseki incident. However, if the shogunate would not grant these two demands immediately, the foreigners would go to Ky
ō
to and make the same demand of the court. And if the court likewise refused to accept the demands, they would meet again amid “gun-smoke and a rain of bullets.”
⁸
The Japanese were given seven days to make a reply.

The members of the Council of Elders stationed in Hy
ō
go, Abe Masato and Matsumae Takahiro, favored granting the foreigners’ demands. They argued that there was no time to consult the court, and if they were to insist on doing so anyway, this would surely lead to warfare in which many lives would be lost and incalculable damage inflicted by the foreign powers. When the emperor learned of their attitude, he was extremely upset. He ordered that the two men be stripped of their official rank and commanded the shogunate to have the men confined to their residences, there to await further orders.
⁹
The shogunate obeyed, although it was unprecedented for the court to issue such orders concerning shogunate personnel. No explanation for this action was provided in the wording of the imperial command, but we know from other sources the desperate steps that Tokugawa Yoshinobu took to keep the foreigners from opening hostilities.
¹⁰

First of all, Yoshinobu summoned the shogunate officials to
Ō
saka 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
Ō
saka magistrate, to inform the foreigners when next they conferred that although the shogunate had privately decided to open the port of Hy
ō
go, 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 Hy
ō
go 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