Samurai William: The Englishman Who Opened Japan (2 page)
Read Samurai William: The Englishman Who Opened Japan Online
Authors: Giles Milton
AT THE COURT OF BUNGO
N
O ONE HAD EVER seen such strange-looking men. They had big noses, giant mustaches, and wore puffed and padded pantaloons. They also seemed to have little understanding of Japanese etiquette and manners. To the little crowd of onlookers gathered on Funai’s quayside, these three seafarers appeared to have come from another world.
O ONE HAD EVER seen such strange-looking men. They had big noses, giant mustaches, and wore puffed and padded pantaloons. They also seemed to have little understanding of Japanese etiquette and manners. To the little crowd of onlookers gathered on Funai’s quayside, these three seafarers appeared to have come from another world.
Their ship had been blown to Japan by the “great and impetuous tempest” that was playing out its last dance on the waters offshore. It was rare for junks to cross the East China Sea, and the arrival of this sea-battered vessel quickly attracted the attention of Funai’s governor. He made his way to the port where the strangers—speaking through Chinese interpreters—explained that they “came from another land, named Portugal, which was at the further end of the world.”
The governor was unsure how to react, and sent a message to the local ruler, the lord of Bungo, with news of their arrival. His
lordship ordered that the men should be summarily executed, and he sent instructions for their possessions to be stolen and their vessel confiscated, fearing that they would cause no end of trouble if he kept them alive. This news caused something of a stir in the palace chambers, especially when it reached the ears of the lord’s eldest son. He told his father that such an action would blacken the name of Bungo throughout Japan and added that he refused to tolerate such a murder.
lordship ordered that the men should be summarily executed, and he sent instructions for their possessions to be stolen and their vessel confiscated, fearing that they would cause no end of trouble if he kept them alive. This news caused something of a stir in the palace chambers, especially when it reached the ears of the lord’s eldest son. He told his father that such an action would blacken the name of Bungo throughout Japan and added that he refused to tolerate such a murder.
The lord of Bungo reluctantly changed his mind, but congratulated himself later when he learned more about these men from “another land.” He was told that they were well dressed and that they spoke with considerable delicacy. In the ordered and strictly hierarchical society of Japan, this was of the greatest importance, and his lordship was particularly pleased to learn that they were “clothed in silk, and usually wear swords by their sides, not like merchants.” He composed a missive to the governor of the port, ordering that one or all of the men be brought to him immediately. “I have heard for a truth,” he wrote, “that these same men have entertained you at large with all matters of the whole universe, and have assured unto you, on their faith, that there is another world greater than ours.”
The lord of Bungo’s sudden interest in the men was, it transpired, little more than idle curiosity. He was a lethargic individual who suffered from a variety of real and imagined illnesses and had long been taxed by ennui. “You know my long indisposition,” he wrote in his letter, “accompanied with so much pain and grief, hath great need of some diversion.” He promised that whoever visited his little court would be treated with the greatest honor and respect.
There was never any doubt as to which of the three Portuguese men would go to meet the lord of Bungo. Fernão Mendes Pinto, a garrulous adventurer, was immediately selected by the port’s governor, who chose him because Pinto was “of a more lively humour, wherewith those of Japan are infinitely
delighted, and may thereby cheer up the sick man.” His lively humor would, he explained,”entertain his melancholy, instead of diverging it.”
delighted, and may thereby cheer up the sick man.” His lively humor would, he explained,”entertain his melancholy, instead of diverging it.”
from De Ries van Mahu en de Cordes, Lindschoten Society, 1923; details from early-seventeenth-century Namban byobu by Kano Nizen, Kobe
.
.
The Japanese were fascinated but repulsed by Portuguese sea captains. These swaggering adventurers wore fabulous costumes, yet they rarely washed
and showed scant regard for Japanese etiquette and manners.
and showed scant regard for Japanese etiquette and manners.
Indeed it would. Pinto was an adventurer extraordinaire—an outlandish
fidalgo
. or nobleman—whose flamboyant costumes
hinted at the colorful persona beneath. He was a perennial romantic, a collector of yarns, who had left Portugal more than six years earlier in search of the bizarre and the absurd. When, many years later, he came to write up his travels, he gave his book an irresistible puff on the title page: “[I] five times suffered shipwrack, was sixteen times sold, and thirteen times made a slave.”
fidalgo
. or nobleman—whose flamboyant costumes
hinted at the colorful persona beneath. He was a perennial romantic, a collector of yarns, who had left Portugal more than six years earlier in search of the bizarre and the absurd. When, many years later, he came to write up his travels, he gave his book an irresistible puff on the title page: “[I] five times suffered shipwrack, was sixteen times sold, and thirteen times made a slave.”
His book,
Peregrinaçam,
or
Peregrination,
is packed with incident and high adventure, mostly involving the intrepid author. He wrote it for his family and friends, but it was soon printed and became a best-seller. It should have come with a cautionary note: Pinto was a plagiarist who thought nothing of passing off other men’s exploits as his own. He claimed to have been the first European to reach Japan, yet it is now known—as he himself knew—that a few shipwrecked mariners had been washed up there in the previous year. Pinto altered dates, borrowed stories, and exaggerated his own bravado in order to make his tales more entertaining. Yet there is much that is true in his account of Japan. He certainly did sail to Bungo with his countryman Jorge de Faria, and his information on the Japanese coastline is largely correct. So, too, are the incidents that occurred during his time in the fiefdom, for they can be verified from other sources. The feudal lord’s son, Otomo Yoshishige, later recounted a strikingly similar tale to a Japanese chronicler, who recorded it. The English translator of Pinto’s book was not altogether wrong when he wrote that “no man before him … hath spoken so much and so truly of those oriental parts of the world.”
Peregrinaçam,
or
Peregrination,
is packed with incident and high adventure, mostly involving the intrepid author. He wrote it for his family and friends, but it was soon printed and became a best-seller. It should have come with a cautionary note: Pinto was a plagiarist who thought nothing of passing off other men’s exploits as his own. He claimed to have been the first European to reach Japan, yet it is now known—as he himself knew—that a few shipwrecked mariners had been washed up there in the previous year. Pinto altered dates, borrowed stories, and exaggerated his own bravado in order to make his tales more entertaining. Yet there is much that is true in his account of Japan. He certainly did sail to Bungo with his countryman Jorge de Faria, and his information on the Japanese coastline is largely correct. So, too, are the incidents that occurred during his time in the fiefdom, for they can be verified from other sources. The feudal lord’s son, Otomo Yoshishige, later recounted a strikingly similar tale to a Japanese chronicler, who recorded it. The English translator of Pinto’s book was not altogether wrong when he wrote that “no man before him … hath spoken so much and so truly of those oriental parts of the world.”
Pinto was escorted to meet the lord of Bungo by a stately retinue of courtly retainers and ushers, who wore rich gowns and carried maces, their insignia of office. He was immediately struck by their sumptuous costumes, which were decorated with delicately embroidered petals and chased with golden filigree. Later visitors were rather more taken by the peculiar faces of the Japanese. They had “tiny eyes and noses,” wrote the Jesuit padre Luis Frois, and they eschewed the fabulous mustaches so favored by the
Portuguese. Instead, they “plucked out [their] facial hair” with tweezers, leaving their skin smooth and shiny. Their hairstyles, too, were a cause of mirth. They shaved most of their heads, but left a ponytail “on the back part … long and bound together.” Even the way in which the Japanese picked their noses was a cause for comment. “We pick our noses with our thumb or index fingers,” wrote one, “ … [while] the Japanese use their little finger because their nostrils are small.”
Portuguese. Instead, they “plucked out [their] facial hair” with tweezers, leaving their skin smooth and shiny. Their hairstyles, too, were a cause of mirth. They shaved most of their heads, but left a ponytail “on the back part … long and bound together.” Even the way in which the Japanese picked their noses was a cause for comment. “We pick our noses with our thumb or index fingers,” wrote one, “ … [while] the Japanese use their little finger because their nostrils are small.”
Pinto was whisked into the great palace of Funai and taken straight to the private chambers where his lordship was languishing in bed. But as soon as the lord of Bungo set eyes on Pinto, he pulled himself up and gave a rare smile. “Thy arrival in this my country,” he said, “is no less pleasing to me than the rain which falls from heaven is profitable to our fields that are sowed with rice.” Pinto was quite taken aback by such an extraordinary greeting and recorded in his book that he was “somewhat perplexed with the novelty of these terms and this manner of salutation.” But he soon recovered his composure and apologized for his momentary silence, explaining that it “proceeded from the consideration that I was now before the feet of so great a king, which was sufficient to make me mute an hundred thousand years.” He added that he was “but a silly ant in comparison of his greatness.”
Pinto may well have believed that the lord of Bungo was indeed the king of Japan, for it was some years before the Portuguese learned that Otomo Yoshiaki—for that was his name—was actually a feudal lord, one of sixty-six. His little fiefdom covered a small area of land on Kyushu, one of the four principal islands that made up the Japanese realm.
His lordship did nothing to correct Pinto’s mistaken impression, nor did he show any interest in learning about the land from which Pinto had come. Instead, he spoke about his favorite subject—himself—using Pinto’s Chinese intermediaries to inform his Portuguese guest of his illness. “Thou shalt oblige me to let me know whether in thy country, which is at the further end of the
world, thou hast not learn’d any remedy for this disease wherewith I am tormented.” Gout was not his lordship’s only problem. His stomach went into revolt every time he was presented with seafood and shellfish, and he told Pinto that his “lack of appetite … hath continued with me now almost these two moneths.”
world, thou hast not learn’d any remedy for this disease wherewith I am tormented.” Gout was not his lordship’s only problem. His stomach went into revolt every time he was presented with seafood and shellfish, and he told Pinto that his “lack of appetite … hath continued with me now almost these two moneths.”
Pinto was alarmed to find himself being asked to administer medicine and he stalled for time, informing Yoshiaki that he “made no profession of physick.” But, fearing that he would disappoint his lordship, he suddenly changed his tune and said that he had on board “a certain wood” that, when infused in water, “healed far greater sickness than that whereof he complained.” This wood was brought to the palace, Pinto made a brew, and Yoshiaki, “having used of it thirty days together … perfectly recovered of his disease.”
Although the lord of Bungo quickly struck up a friendship with Pinto and seemed genuinely grateful for his medicinal potion, his fellow countrymen found little to praise in the early Europeans in Japan. “These men are traders of south-west Barbary,” sniffed the author of the Japanese chronicle
Yaita-hi.
“They understand to a certain degree the distinction between Superior and Inferior, but I do not know whether they have a proper system of ceremonial etiquette.” Others were horrified to discover that these foreigners thought nothing of shouting at and cursing each other. “[They] show their feelings without any self-control,” wrote one contemptuous scribe, “[and] cannot understand the meaning of written characters.” Worse still, their clothing was filthy and stank of stale sweat, while their unshaven appearance was a cause for concern.
Yaita-hi.
“They understand to a certain degree the distinction between Superior and Inferior, but I do not know whether they have a proper system of ceremonial etiquette.” Others were horrified to discover that these foreigners thought nothing of shouting at and cursing each other. “[They] show their feelings without any self-control,” wrote one contemptuous scribe, “[and] cannot understand the meaning of written characters.” Worse still, their clothing was filthy and stank of stale sweat, while their unshaven appearance was a cause for concern.
The Japanese probably would have dismissed the Portuguese without further ado, were it not for one important item that was stowed in the holds of their ships. This was a supply of weapons—muskets and arquebuses—and the destruction that they wrought was a cause of wonder to the Japanese. “They had never seen any gun in that country,” wrote Pinto, “[and] they could not comprehend
what it might be, so that for want of understanding the secret of the powder, they concluded that of necessity it must be some sorcery.”
what it might be, so that for want of understanding the secret of the powder, they concluded that of necessity it must be some sorcery.”
The lord of Bungo quizzed Pinto about the number of gunmen serving under the king of Portugal, thereby inviting his guest to tell his tallest story so far. Pinto claimed that the Portuguese king had approximately two million gunners at his disposal. “The king was much abashed,” wrote Pinto, adding with considerable self-satisfaction that it was “a marvelous answer.”
The lord of Bungo’s son, Yoshishige, was quick to grasp the value of such a powerful weapon in a land where wars were still fought with swords and crossbows. Wishing to test the arquebus for himself and fearful that Pinto would refuse his request, he crept into his guest’s chamber at night and stole it. It was a foolish act. Young Yoshishige had little idea of how to load the gun, nor was he sure how to fire it. He packed the barrel with a huge quantity of powder, rammed in the shot, and applied the match. There was a blinding flash and a huge explosion. “It was his ill-hap that the arquebus broke in three pieces and gave two hurts, by one of the which his right-hand thumb was, in a manner, lost.” The young prince looked at his shattered thumb, fainted, and “fell down as one dead.”
This was the worst possible news for Pinto. The prince’s accident instantly caused turmoil and fury in the palace, and the object of this wrath was their uninvited guest. “They all concluded that I had killed him,” wrote Pinto, “so that two of the company drawing out their scimitars, would have slain me.” But the lord of Bungo stopped them, for first he wished to question Pinto more closely. He ordered his guest to squat on his knees and his arms were bound. Pinto was then quizzed by an interpreter while a judge stood over him, clutching a dagger “dipped in the bloud of the young prince.” He was also given a swift lesson in the manner of Japanese justice. In normal circumstances, convicted criminals were mutilated in public, then flogged to death or beheaded. The corpses were then left to rot as a grim warning to others. Pinto’s punishment was to be no less gruesome. “If thou doest not answer to the questions I ask thee,” said his inquisitor, “ … thou shalt be dismembred into air, like the feathers of dead fowl, which the wind carries from one place to another, separated from the body with which they were joined whilst they lived.”
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