Emperor of Japan

by Donald Keene

  The “daimyo” branch of the government was the legislature. It would consist of two houses, the upper house composed of daimyos and the lower house, of samurai, one from each domain. The legislature was authorized to debate important matters such as the laws, the budget, foreign policy, and issues of war and peace. The tycoon would be the presiding officer of the upper house. In cases when the upper and lower houses failed to reach agreement on some item of legislation, the tycoon was entitled to cast three votes, as opposed to one each for the upper and lower houses, thus ensuring him always of the decisive vote. The tycoon also had the right to dissolve the lower house.

  The third branch of the government—the court—was of only nominal significance. The emperor was expected to affix his seal of approval to laws passed by the legislature, but he did not possess the power of the veto.13

  If this bill had been approved by the Assembly of Daimyos, it would have given Yoshinobu far greater power than he had ever possessed. His authority would have been further enhanced by impoverishing the daimyos, for they would be required to give two-thirds of their income for national defense and much of the rest for education, exploitation of mines, a telegraph system, and railway lines. Nishi Amane wrote at the time, “Just as in Turkey people call [the ruler] the sultan, and in Russia they call him the czar, there is no reason why in our country we should not call him the tycoon.”14 Yoshinobu probably expected to be supported by a majority of the daimyos, enabling him to rule as an absolute monarch. Even Fukuzawa Yukichi, the apostle of Japanese enlightenment, wrote favorably of “the tycoon monarchy.”15 It is not clear what Yoshinobu himself desired. Some scholars believe that he was aiming at an absolute dictatorship; others, that he sought to establish a government based on a league of the different domains in which he would have the principal role.16

  On January 4, 1868, the restoration of imperial rule was formally proclaimed. Early that morning, the chamberlain Chigusa Aritō was sent to inform Iwakura Tomomi that he had been released from house arrest. He was commanded to attend court immediately in full regalia. Iwakura must have presented a rather strange appearance, wearing his court cap perched on a head that had been completely shaven (in the manner prescribed for a person doing penance under house arrest). He arrived at the court bearing a box containing the proclamation of the Restoration and other documents. Ushered into the presence of the emperor, Iwakura offered him the proclamation that, he declared, was based on the emperor’s own views. Iwakura then withdrew. Presently the young emperor moved to his study, where princes of the blood and high dignitaries had assembled, and (probably behind a screen that kept the assemblage from seeing him) read aloud the proclamation announcing the restoration of imperial rule, the abolition of the office of chancellor or regent and that of the shogunate, and the establishment of a new form of government consisting of a sōsai (Prince Arisugawa Taruhito), ten gijō, and twenty san’yo.17

  That night an important meeting was held in the presence of the emperor. Nakayama Tadayasu, the presiding officer, explained that the session was being held to place the imperial government on a firm footing by effecting thoroughgoing reforms. No sooner was it announced that the session was open to discussion than Yamauchi Yōdō got up to propose that Yoshinobu be allowed to participate in the deliberations. Ōhara Shigetomi disagreed, whereupon Yōdō launched into the praises of the peace and prosperity the Tokugawa family had brought to Japan for more than 200 years. He expressed admiration for Yoshinobu’s willingness to relinquish powers inherited from the long line of his ancestors solely in order to bring about a better, lasting government; and he criticized the sinister activities of a handful of nobles who, in the name of the emperor, a mere child, were attempting to obliterate Yoshinobu’s achievements.18

  Iwakura was not one to take criticism calmly. He demanded to know how Yōdō had the effrontery, at a meeting held in the presence of the emperor, to make such accusations. He asserted that the glorious success of the Restoration was due to the emperor’s extraordinary ability and that every single action of that day originated in the emperor’s judgments. He declared that Yōdō had been guilty of grave disrespect in suggesting that persons were taking advantage of the youth of the emperor to steal power.19

  Taken aback by the accusation, Yōdō apologized profusely for his impropriety of speech,20 but his slip did not immediately cause others to support Iwakura. Matsudaira Yoshinaga (1828–1880), the daimyo of Echizen (who had just been named a gijō of the new government), also spoke on behalf of Yoshinobu, invoking the centuries of Tokugawa achievements. Iwakura interrupted Yoshinaga to declare that if Yoshinobu had any sense of responsibility, he would at once resign his rank21 and return to the government his land and people; this was how he could assist the great achievement of the Restoration and entitle himself to a place in the assembly. When Yoshinobu returned his powers to the government, Iwakura continued, he surrendered no more than an empty name; but there was no indication he would yield his title and land, his real power. Iwakura concluded by asking rhetorically how a man like Yoshinobu could be forgiven and allowed to participate in the deliberations.22

  Ōkubo Toshimichi was the first to support Iwakura. He urged the court to order Yoshinobu to return his land and people and that if he did not, he should be subjugated. Ōkubo was known for his gravity and taciturnity, but the outrage he felt on hearing the sympathy displayed toward the Restoration’s archenemy seems to have inspired fiery eloquence.23

  Gotō Shōjirō spoke next. He prudently supported Yōdō and Matsudaira Yoshinaga, calling for a fair and just Restoration, which apparently meant lenient treatment of Yoshinobu. Gotō was followed by other speakers: Tokugawa Yoshikatsu, the daimyo of Owari, and Asano Mochikoto, the heir of the daimyo of Aki, both agreed with Yōdō and Yoshinaga, but Shimazu Tadayoshi, the daimyo of Satsuma, supported Ōkubo. At this point Iwakura, noticing that Nakayama Tadayasu had taken aside several nobles and was conferring with them, demanded how they could be whispering in a corner by themselves when they should be devoting every energy to debating the rights and wrongs of the issue before the emperor. The emperor commanded a recess in the session, as the discussion seemed unlikely to end soon.24

  During the recess Saigō Takamori, who was outside the room, remarked that it would take only one short sword to settle the discussion. His words reached Iwakura’s ears25 and inspired new resolve. He addressed himself to Asano Mochikoto, who, although he had supported Yōdō, seemed to be wavering. Iwakura said that he was ready to deal with Yōdō, even if this meant shedding blood in the presence of the emperor. After promising to support Iwakura, the startled Asano sent a retainer to inform Gotō of Saigō’s remark and Iwakura’s determination. Gotō, quick to size up the situation, recommended to Yōdō that he yield lest there really be bloodshed, a suggestion that Yōdō had no choice but to follow. Gotō also persuaded Matsudaira Yoshinaga to reconsider. It may be that Gotō’s change of heart was inspired by his hopes of obtaining a post in the new government.26 In any case, when the emperor returned to the hall and the meeting was resumed, everyone was in agreement with Iwakura. Not a single voice was raised against his proposal that Tokugawa Yoshinobu be asked to surrender his rank and his land. The meeting ended at midnight.

  Iwakura’s success in winning over even those who had spoken most strongly in favor of Tokugawa Yoshinobu bespeaks remarkable diplomatic skill at playing off one man against another. Perhaps the most effective weapon he used against the opposition was his assertion that the emperor had approved of every step Iwakura had taken, including the demand that Yoshinobu relinquish his rank and land. But had Emperor Meiji in fact approved? Or was the claim an invention of Iwakura’s, intended to overcome the supporters of Yoshinobu by citing an authority they could not oppose? Surviving documents do not tell us one way or the other. Meiji was certainly young—fifteen years old by Western count—but not so young that he could not have formed political opinions. Kōmei’s exasperation with his son may well have been caused by Mutsuhito’s a
nti-shogunate sentiments, instilled in him by his mother’s family or by the ladies of the rear palace (ōoku). This is only conjecture. The most important fact is that Meiji was present throughout the discussions, and they could not have failed to produce a strong impression.

  On January 5, 1868, the day after the momentous meeting, Tokugawa Yoshikatsu and Matsudaira Yoshinaga, both gijō of the new regime, went to Nijō Castle to inform Yoshinobu that his request to resign as shogun had been granted by the emperor and that a private injunction (naiyu) had been issued ordering him to surrender his rank and return his land. When their palanquins entered the castle grounds, soldiers loyal to the shogunate surrounded them and screamed insults, calling them lackeys of “Satsuma bandits” and traitors to the cause of Yoshinobu. The two daimyos, paying no attention to the clamor, proceeded directly to Yoshinobu’s room and, pushing aside the abusive guards, delivered the message.

  Yoshinobu listened in deferential silence and then gave his response in measured terms. He expressed gratitude for the emperor’s kindness in granting his request to return the government to the court. He stated also that he personally had no objection to resigning his rank and giving up his land. But if this were announced without preparation, it would cause great consternation among his direct retainers and might well lead to an unfortunate situation. He asked for a delay in responding to the throne. Yoshikatsu and Yoshinaga agreed.27

  As Yoshinobu predicted, when the soldiers of the shogunate and allied domains in Nijō Castle learned of the latest imperial command, they were enraged and blamed it entirely on Satsuma. An armed conflict seemed likely at any minute. In the hopes of defusing the situation, Yoshinobu left for Ōsaka Castle, taking with him the daimyos of the three domains that backed him most strongly—Aizu, Kuwana, and Bitchū.

  At this juncture, when the battle lines between the supporters of the emperor and those of the shogunate had been tightly drawn, a minor incident provided a kind of comic relief. The first anniversary of the death of Emperor Kōmei was approaching, and suitable observances were necessary. However, the finance magistrate reported, the court had insufficient funds for the purpose. Iwakura thereupon suggested that the best plan was to ask Minister of the Interior (naidaijin) Tokugawa Yoshinobu to supply the money. The magistrate accordingly went to Ōsaka Castle and, explaining the situation to Yoshinobu, requested a gift of a couple of million ryō.

  He could not have come at a worse moment. Yoshinobu was reluctant to give money (which he could ill afford) at a time when people inside the castle were seething with fury against the advocates of rule by the emperor; but the magistrate pleaded so eloquently that in the end Yoshinobu directed the finance magistrate to give 1,000 ryō and promised that the local governor in Kyōto would supply additional funds. The memorial ceremonies took place on January 27, 1868, four days before warfare broke out between shogun and court, with money from an enemy of the court.

  On January 14, when Yoshinobu granted an audience in Ōsaka Castle to the ministers of England, France, Italy, America, Prussia, and Holland, he informed them of the changes in the government but insisted that he was still in charge of all dealings with foreign countries because the new government was not yet ready to handle such matters.28 Three days later, Yoshinobu announced that he would not be bound by the proclamation of the Restoration and called for the court to rescind it. In a message sent to the sōsai Prince Taruhito, Yoshinobu stated his objections. He had asked to return the political powers he had received from his ancestors, deferring to public opinion, because he hoped to establish a government in accord with the principles of peace and justice, but to his astonishment, armed men from a few domains had suddenly intruded into the imperial palace and, with the collaboration of nobles who had been disgraced during the previous reign,29 were attempting to carry out unprecedented changes that threatened to corrupt usages of the court dating back thousands of years. He continued, “Even supposing these changes originate with the emperor, is it not our duty as loyal subjects to remonstrate with him? It must be said, moreover, that the signs of disorder in the country have their origins in the youth of the present emperor. This is especially the case in foreign relations: if they twist the wishes of the emperor and deal with foreign countries on the basis of temporary expedients, they will lose the trust of other countries and do great harm to the imperial land.”30

  Up to this point Tokugawa Yoshinobu had behaved like a dutiful subject, accepting without question edicts from the emperor, but now he seemed to be anticipating the outbreak of warfare between his forces and those professing loyalty to imperial rule. He justified his refusal to comply with the proclamation of the Restoration in terms of the traditional Confucian duty of a subject to remonstrate with his lord when he believed the lord had been led astray by evil or ambitious advisers. This would be his stance during the ensuing Boshin war.31

  The outbreak of fighting between the forces of the shogunate and those of the emperor was precipitated by a series of incidents of arson and looting in and around Edo, committed by rōnin acting under direction from Saigō Takamori.32 It is assumed that the Satsuma leaders—Saigō and Ōkubo—were deliberately trying to provoke the shogunate into committing some act that would give them an excuse for opening hostilities against the shogunate. But although these incidents aroused anger, the crucial provocation occurred quite by chance: on January 18 the outworks of Edo Castle burned, and the shogunate blamed this on Satsuma rōnin.33 On the same day, Satsuma rōnin opened fire on the office of the Shōnai domain, which was entrusted with policing the city. Two days later, shogunate troops surrounded the Satsuma residence in Edo and demanded that the rōnin responsible for various unruly incidents be turned over. When this was refused, shogunate troops opened fire, and in the ensuing exchange of gunfire, men on both sides were killed. Finally the shogunate troops set fire to the residence and burned it to the ground.

  Word of this action took three days to reach Kyōto. In the meantime, on December 28, 1867, the emperor reviewed a military drill by some 2,000 soldiers of the Satsuma, Chōshū, Aki, and Tosa domains. The purpose of the review may have been to rouse the troops’ fighting spirit by the emperor’s proximity or, conversely, it may have been to inculcate the young emperor with a martial spirit. (He rode a horse for the first time this year.) Satsuma troops dominated not only in numbers (making up 1,500 of the 2,000 soldiers) but also in their equipment, notably their British uniforms and caps.34 When the review was over, the emperor offered gifts to the unit commanders and saké to the ordinary soldiers.

  Word of the clash in Edo reached Ōsaka Castle on the following day, just after Tokugawa Yoshinobu had finished writing a letter accepting the demands that he return his position and land to the emperor’s government.35 Soldiers in the castle were enraged by the news, and Yoshinobu, carried away by their anger, changed his mind and decided to send shogunate troops against Kyōto on the first day of the lunar new year (January 25).

  The shogunate army outnumbered by three times the 5,000 men of the Satsuma, Chōshū, and allied domains. It is true that some of the shogunate troops were mercenaries, but others had been drilled by French instructors and were equipped with modern weapons. When Saigō learned about a clash between the shogunate and the imperial armies at Toba (between Ōsaka and Kyōto), he is reported to have exclaimed, “One burst of gunfire at Toba makes me happier than getting a million allies.”36 He must nevertheless have felt considerable apprehension over the outcome of the battle. Even before the fighting started, he composed a memorandum concerning the safety of the emperor in the event that Kyōto was immediately threatened.37 The emperor, disguised as a court lady and accompanied in a court lady’s palanquin by the dowager empress, was to be escorted by Satsuma and Chōshū soldiers to a safe place in either Aki or Bingo.38 It is hard to imagine that even a wig and a heavy application of cosmetics would have made the resolutely masculine face of Emperor Meiji resemble a woman’s, but escaping in feminine disguise was a tradition.39

  The figh
ting began on January 27, 1868. Forces of the Aizu and Kuwana domains advancing on Kyōto by way of Toba and Fushimi were met there by imperial troops, mainly from Satsuma. The leader of the shogunate army’s advance party declared that by command of the former shogun, he and his men were on their way to Kyōto. If any attempt were made to stop them, they would respond with force. The Satsuma troops’ reply was a burst of cannon and rifle fire. According to some accounts, one Satsuma shell hit a gun carriage near where the shogunate army commander, Takigawa Tomotaka, was mounted on a horse. The startled horse bolted, threw Takigawa, and ran wild along the Toba highway. A column of shogunate troops strung out along the highway was thrown into a state of panic by the sudden burst of fire and the wild horse, a bad beginning for their offensive.40

  The bolting of the horse was an accident, but the imperial forces were also helped by a secret weapon, the brocade pennant carried by imperial forces when doing battle with traitors. On October 10, 1867, Ōkubo Toshimichi and Shinagawa Yajirō (1843–1900, a Chōshū leader) visited Iwakura Tomomi at his place of exile to discuss the stratagem of restoring imperial rule. Iwakura showed the others the design of a pennant conceived of by his “brain” Tamamatsu Misao, and asked them to have some made. In Kyōto, Ōkubo bought red and white damask, which Shinagawa took to Yamaguchi to be made into pennants. Half the pennants were kept in Yamaguchi; the other half, at the Satsuma residence in Kyōto.41