Emperor of Japan

by Donald Keene

The real magistrate of Uraga, Ido Hiromichi (d. 1855), reported to the shogun on the presence of the American fleet at Uraga and warned that the defenses were inadequate. In the meantime, boats were sent from the American fleet to sound Edo Bay, to the annoyance of the shogunate officials who were powerless to prevent it. When word reached Edo that the American fleet was in internal Japanese waters, there was great consternation. The receipt of documents from foreign countries was prohibited by law, but if the Americans were refused, this would surely bring on some disaster. The best thing, the officials decided, was to put up with the affront for the time being, accept the letter, and, after the American fleet had left, to consult fully before determining the national policy.

  On July 9 two high-ranking Japanese officials went to Kurihama, southwest of Uraga, where they met Perry and accepted the letter from President Millard Fillmore. They informed him that the shogun was gravely ill and could not make any immediate decision on major policies11 but promised that an answer would be forthcoming the next year. Perry accepted this and said he would return.

  As yet, no word of these developments had reached Kyōto. The Gion Festival was celebrated as usual, and a week later Kōmei’s birthday was the occasion for eating red rice and exchanging auspicious gifts such as dried cuttlefish.

  The letter from President Fillmore did not reach the shogunate until July 14. It caused great worry and was the source of rumors that shook the whole society. The elder statesman (rōjū) Abe Masahiro (1819–1857) summoned a meeting of his colleagues, but opinions were so divided that no decision could be made. Two senior figures, Tsutsui Masanori (1778–1859) and Kawaji Toshiakira (1801–1868), argued that the American request to open the country should be accepted; they contended that after more than 200 years of peace, military preparations had become lax, and people no longer possessed their old resoluteness. Abe Masahiro sent for Tokugawa Nariaki (1800–1860), the daimyo of Mito and the political figure most respected by the shogunate officials because of his seniority and his special interest in national defense. Nariaki knew in his heart what difficulties would be involved if the American request were rejected and fighting ensued, but he did not wish to accept the foreigners’ demands. When asked his opinion, he advocated taking a firm stand against the Americans. Many others agreed with him, but the shogunate was divided between those who advocated opening the country and those who insisted that it be kept closed.

  On July 15 the shogunate directed the Kyōto shoshidai, Wakisaka Yasuori (1809–1874), to inform the court of the visit of the American ships. The court had long worried about the possibility of such a calamity and so was greatly alarmed when it received the report. The perturbed emperor directed the seven shrines and seven temples to pray for seventeen days for peace within the four seas, for the longevity of the imperial throne, and for the tranquillity of the people.

  On August 5 the shogunate sent to the various daimyos copies of the translation of the American president’s letter. The shogunate had previously made all decisions by itself, but now that the order established more than 200 years ago seemed to be crumbling, it had no choice but to give the daimyos a voice in national policy.

  Perhaps the most outspoken was Kuroda Nagahiro (1811–1887), the daimyo of Fukuoka, who contended that in view of world circumstances, it was not feasible for Japan alone to remain permanently secluded from all other countries. He was in favor of granting the American request for trade but restricting it to Nagasaki and limiting the agreement to five or six years. He also was willing to allow the Americans to use some deserted island as a coaling station but argued against Japan’s providing the coal on the grounds that any privilege given to the Americans would then be demanded by the Russians, the British, and the French.

  In any case, trading privileges, he continued, should be restricted to the Americans and the Russians, the latter because as far back as 1804 they had requested it. Other countries should be firmly refused. If the other countries objected, what harm could there be in using the might of the Americans and Russians to hold them off? If it was considered inadvisable to allow trading privileges to two countries, the Americans would be preferable. Good relations with them would earn their gratitude, and they could be used against the countries of Europe. This would be an instance of the strategy of using barbarians to control barbarians. But if the Americans were flatly refused, war would certainly be unavoidable, and once that happened, Japanese ships would be attacked everywhere, and the sea-lanes would be closed. Not only would Edo be unable to survive a single day, but the conflict would leave permanent damage. In view of the lack of defense preparations and the improbability of Japan’s winning a war, peace must be made the main objective lest the Russians attack and capture Japan’s northern territory.

  The most urgent need, Kuroda declared, was sea defense. The law against building big ships should be contravened. Models should be adapted from the West. Instructors and workmen skilled in shipbuilding and the manufacture of arms should be invited to Japan, and the Japanese should be allowed the freedom to travel abroad. As the result of the long years of peace, he concluded, people high and low alike had come to crave comfort. Their spirits had fallen into a decline. The time had come for a revival of military preparedness.

  Kuroda’s recommendations did not go all the way to advocate opening the country, but it is astonishing that so soon after the American fleet first appeared off Uraga, an influential daimyo was proposing—with no other provocation than a letter from an American president asking for coaling rights—the dismantling of a system that had successfully lasted for more than 200 years. Naturally he did not propose abolishing the rule of the shogun, nor did he mention (as some men would before long) the importance of the emperor in a new Japan; but he was clearly in favor of ending the country’s seclusion, a basic condition of the Tokugawa state.

  Kuroda was surprisingly frank in his appraisal of Japan’s military capacity. The regime was founded on rule by the military class, and martial training had never been neglected, but Kuroda could see little chance of Japan’s winning a war with a foreign power. His appraisal of his country’s military strength may have been excessively pessimistic: the intense warfare that immediately preceded the establishment of the Meiji government belied his warning of a decline in the fighting spirit of the samurai class.

  Not all the daimyos shared Kuroda’s fear of defeat in a war with a foreign power. Shimazu Nariakira (1809–1858), the daimyo of Satsuma, sent a letter to the shogunate declaring that accepting the Americans’ demands would harm the prestige of the shogunate and invite contempt abroad. He admitted that if war were to break out immediately between the Japanese and the Americans, it would be “difficult to count on certain victory.” He therefore proposed that if the Americans came again, the Japanese should enter into protracted diplomatic negotiations aimed at delaying a firm answer for three years. During this time military preparations should be completed, national strength restored, and then, with one blow, the foreign barbarians could be exterminated.12 His opinion was shared by most of the other daimyos, and from this time on, the word jōi—expulsion of the barbarians—became the battle cry of the advocates of national defense.

  The court in Kyōto did not receive a translation of the American letter until August 16, and it was nine days later before the members of the court met to discuss the contents. The tempo of life at the court was still ponderously slow. On this occasion the chancellor (Takatsukasa Masamichi) the two court spokesmen (Hirohata Mototoyo and Karasumaru Mitsumasa), and the two military liaison officers (Sanjō Sanetsumu and Bōjō Toshiakira) met in the emperor’s study. Previously, foreign affairs had always been left to the disposition of the shogunate, but now it was also necessary to win the consent of the Court Council.

  The courtiers might have been expected to reject unanimously any action that might result in opening the country to foreign barbarians, but Takatsukasa, surprisingly, was in favor of granting the Americans’ request. He pointed out that although in princ
iple the country was closed to all foreigners, in fact the Japanese had traded with China and Holland for many years. Thus agreeing to trade with the Americans would merely increase the number of trading partners from two to three. He stipulated, however, that they must confine their commercial activities to Nagasaki and that if they violated this rule, they must be driven off by force. The unfortunate fact, he said, was that the Japanese military had lost its old fortitude and vigor and had become cowardly, lazy, and effeminate. It had no conception of how to fight foreigners. The best solution, therefore, was to permit trade and accept the profits.

  Most of the others disagreed with Takatsukasa, but on the following day he sent a message to the shogunate asking it to inform the court in advance of whatever measures it proposed taking in the event the Americans returned. This unprecedented request was honored by the shogunate, and for the first time in at least 250 years, it solicited the court’s opinion before making any decisions.

  President Fillmore’s request that provisions be supplied to ships operating in that part of the Pacific undoubtedly seemed quite reasonable to the Americans in terms of practices prevailing throughout the rest of the world. War was not openly threatened, but the implications were clear, and the Japanese were aware that they had to respond or face reprisals. At such a time—especially when the shogun was debilitated—the shogun’s government needed the support of the daimyos, not only those who were in league with the Tokugawa family (the fudai daimyos), but also those who pursued a more independent course (the tozama daimyos). Even that array of force might not be enough in this new emergency. Help was needed also from the emperor, even though he did not have a single soldier or gun at his command.

  Once a precedent of consulting with the emperor had been established, it proved difficult for the shoguns in future years to ignore his wishes.

  Chapter 3

  The court had not yet recovered from the shock of Perry’s unexpected visit when it was informed by the shogunate on September 19 that a Russian fleet of four ships, under the command of Vice Admiral E. V. Putiatin (1803–1884), had entered Nagasaki Harbor.1 On his arrival, Putiatin announced to the officials in Nagasaki that he had brought from his government a letter concerning trade between the two countries. His orders had initially called for him to proceed to Edo and conduct negotiations there, but the Russian government later decided it would be better to show respect for Japanese law by proceeding to Nagasaki, the port designated for intercourse with foreign countries, in this way establishing a contrast with the Americans, who had brazenly sailed into Edo Bay.2

  Soon after the arrival of the Russian ships, various Japanese dignitaries came aboard along with a Dutch interpreter. They were informed by the captain of the Pallada that Vice Admiral Putiatin had brought a letter from his government to the Japanese government. There was also a note for the Nagasaki magistrate that, it was said, should be delivered immediately. After some hesitation, the officials accepted the note. It contained a declaration in extremely polite language of the profound respect for Japanese law that had impelled the Russian fleet to call at Nagasaki rather than Edo. This was a mark of the czar’s ardent desire for harmonious relations between the two countries.

  The officials at once sent word to Edo reporting the arrival of the Russians and asking whether or not to accept the letter from the Russian government. After waiting some time for an reply, Putiatin sailed to Shanghai to pick up supplies and perhaps to find additional orders from his government.3 When there was still no answer even after he got back from Shanghai, he announced that he had no choice under the circumstances but to go to Edo. The alarmed Nagasaki officials sent word by fast messenger to Edo, mentioning how much more accommodating the Russians were than the Americans and suggesting that the Russians might be used to blunt the edge of American demands. They added that if the Russian overtures were met with the usual suspiciousness, Japan risked incurring the enmity of a country that was twice as big as the United States.

  Shortly before the messages from Nagasaki reached Edo, the shogun Tokugawa Ieyoshi died, and the senior officers of the shogunate, in mourning and faced with organizing a new regime, did not get around immediately to responding to the problem of how to answer the Russians. After considerable debate, they decided to accept the letter from the Russian court, falling back on the precedent established by accepting the American president’s letter.

  The letter (in Russian but with translations into Chinese and Dutch) from Count Karl Robert Nesselrode, the minister of foreign affairs, expressed his hopes for establishing peace and good relations between the two countries, for settling the disputed border between Japan and Russia on the island of Sakhalin, and for opening ports to trade.4 Most senior members of the shogunate favored accepting the Russian requests, but Tokugawa Nariaki, the shogunate’s adviser on maritime affairs, was strongly opposed, and the discussions dragged on. The shogunate finally agreed that the best course was to delay.

  Putiatin grew increasingly impatient over the failure of the shogunate officials to return with an answer from Edo, as promised by the Nagasaki officials, and threatened again to sail to Edo if they did not appear within five days. Four days later, the tardy officials, headed by Tsutsui Masanori and Kawaji Toshiakira, arrived with the shogunate’s reply to Nesselrode’s letter. First, it said, the establishment of the border was a difficult matter that would require considerable time to determine. Maps would have to be drawn, consultations made with affected parties, and so on. Second, the laws of their ancestors strictly prohibited opening the ports. However, in view of world developments, the government did recognize the necessity of opening the country, but a new shogun had just taken office and the situation was still too confused to give an immediate answer. Reports would have to be submitted to Kyōto and to the various daimyos. After due consideration of the issues, they expected to be able to come up with a proposal in three to five years.5

  It is apparent from the message’s wording how desperately the shogunate wanted to stall off a decision; but even more important was the admission that despite the long tradition of isolation, the Japanese now had no choice but to open the country. This awareness of the change in world conditions was not communicated to the court, however, because of the anticipated outraged resistance by Emperor Kōmei.

  Putiatin was disappointed by the reply. He moved now to the offensive, informing the shogunate’s representatives that with the exception of the southern part of the island of Sakhalin, all the islands north of Etorofu (Iturup) were Russian territory. Tsutsui replied that Japan had possessed Kamchatka as well as (it went without saying) the Kuriles and Sakhalin. He proposed that shogunate officials be dispatched to Sakhalin the following spring to ascertain the situation. In the meantime, the Russians would be free to obtain firewood and water at any place on the Japanese coast except for the vicinity of Edo. He promised also that if Japan made trade concessions to another country, they would apply to Russia as well.

  Putiatin was still not satisfied, but he left Nagasaki early in the first month of 1854, saying he would return in the spring. The most influential men in the country were by now aware that the policy of isolation could not last much longer. As early as the seventh month of 1853, as we have seen, Kuroda Nagahiro, the daimyo of Fukuoka, had formally proposed lifting the ban on constructing large ships. In the eighth month, Shimazu Nariakira, the daimyo of Kagoshima, sent a letter urging the shogunate to purchase ships and weapons from Holland. Abe Masahiro (1819–1857), the chief senior councillor (rōjū shuseki) of the shogunate, who had long advocated building ships that (unlike the small fishing boats that operated off the Japanese coast) were capable of making ocean voyages, decided on October 21 to lift a prohibition that had been in effect for more than 220 years. The shogunate ordered several steam warships from the Dutch, and soon several domains started building large ships, intended for the shogunate. In August 1854 the shogunate decided on the flag to be flown on the new ships: a red sun on a white ground.6

 
; The reactions of the court in Kyōto to the Russian intrusion and later developments are not recorded in the official chronicle. It is not clear whether or not the emperor and his advisers, even after being informed of the arrival of the Americans and the Russians, were aware of how greatly the situation had already changed with respect to opening the country. In any case, other matters that were closer at hand seem to have monopolized the attention of those in the old capital. A terrible heat wave in the eighth month had dried up most of the wells, including the one on Nakayama Tadayasu’s property, and he feared that this might have a bad effect on the infant prince. He decided to drill a new well at the spot recommended by a yin-yang master. When the water from the new well was tasted, it was found to be exceptionally pure, and the delighted Tadayasu declared that henceforth this water would be used to meet the prince’s needs. Word of this reached the emperor, who was highly pleased and gave the well the name Sachi no i (Sachi’s Well) because of its special connection with Sachinomiya and because sachi meant good fortune.

  In November the prince celebrated his first birthday. We might have expected that he would receive elaborate gifts from members of the court, delighted that an imperial offspring had attained this milestone in his life, but most of the presents were in fact bestowed by the prince—on the emperor, the imperial princesses, the consort, the ladies of the court, and members of Tadayasu’s household. He also invited to his birthday party the various doctors, wet nurses, and others who had served him. The little prince obviously had no part in choosing the ritual gifts, such as boxes of fresh bream, buns filled with bean paste, and saké; but he was probably glad to receive the dolls and toys presented to him by the emperor and members of the court, including his mother, Nakayama Yoshiko.

  During the following week, however, the prince was afflicted with a severe illness marked by vomiting and fever. Doctors of every sort were summoned, and they prescribed traditional Chinese medicines with such exotic names as shisetsu (purple snow). When these failed to have any effect, messengers were sent by members of the court to various shrines to pray for the prince’s recovery. At times he seemed better, only for a relapse to set in. The court was plunged in gloom, as people remembered how many children of the imperial family had died in infancy. Numerous gifts—most of them totally unsuited to an infant—were offered in the hopes of comforting the prince, and his mother maintained a constant vigil over his sickbed. Ryōjo, the former chief abbot of the Kakushō-in, was summoned to perform incantations. The prince’s great-grandmother, Nakayama Tsunako, distraught at the possibility that they might lose him, composed this poem: