Emperor of Japan

by Donald Keene

On January 28 the emperor bestowed on Yoshiaki, the prince of the Ninnaji, a brocade pennant and the settō42 as a sign that he had been appointed as “great general, conqueror of the east.”43 Those opposing Prince Yoshiaki’s forces were condemned not merely as enemies but specifically as “enemies of the court” (chōteki). Although Tokugawa Yoshinobu had been at pains to insist that he was fighting not the court but Satsuma, the brocade pennant gave the Satsuma troops the status of authorized defenders of the emperor. The brocade pennant was a powerful factor in the defeat of the ex-shogun’s army, for it not only bolstered the morale of the Satsuma forces but also made the shogunate army hesitate over the propriety of attacking the emperor’s forces.44

  Prince Yoshiaki was a strange choice as the commanding general.45 Apart from his lineage as a member of the imperial family, he had no qualifications for the post. He entered the Ninna-ji in 1858 as a boy of twelve, and neither while at the temple nor afterward did he receive military training. His position of commanding general was undoubtedly symbolic, real command being left to men like Saigō Takamori, an eager participant in battle.46 Perhaps it did not make much difference who was in command—warfare in Japan still retained many of the medieval traditions of individual combat.

  Regardless of who deserves credit for the victory at Toba, it was decisive. The shogunate army fled the field. They sought to regroup at Yodo Castle, the stronghold of a member of the Council of Elders, only to be refused admission, to their intense surprise and consternation. This betrayal by forces presumed to be loyal to the shogun was only the first. The second came two days later when the Tsu domain, assigned to guard the Yamazaki area, the gateway to Ōsaka, turned its guns on the shogunate forces. On the previous day a messenger from the court (with the help of the brocade pennant) had persuaded the domain to desert the shogun and offer its allegiance to the court.47

  On the evening after this disaster Yoshinobu gathered advisers and military leaders in Ōsaka Castle to plan strategy. Voices were raised asking Yoshinobu to raise morale by assuming personal command of the shogunate forces. He agreed, much to the delight of all present. That night he slipped out of Ōsaka Castle, planning to board the shogunate warship Kaiyō maru. The ship had not arrived, and while waiting, he went aboard the American warship Iroquois.48 He sailed for Edo the next morning on the Kaiyō maru, taking with him only a few high officials. When the remnants of the shogunate army learned the next morning that Yoshinobu had escaped, they abandoned Ōsaka Castle and fled. Yoshinobu later said that he had never intended to take arms against the court, that once the brocade pennant appeared, he lost all desire to fight.49

  The war had not ended, but the victory of the imperial forces at Toba meant that they now controlled all of western and southern Japan. Although they still had to gain control of Edo and the northern regions, the emperor’s regime had scored a major success.

  Chapter 15

  On February 9, 1868, just a week after the capture of Ōsaka Castle, Emperor Meiji finally had his gembuku ceremony. In honor of this event, an amnesty was proclaimed, and nineteen nobles who for various offenses had been forbidden to attend court were pardoned. It was on this occasion that the imperial message was delivered to the ministers of six countries, informing them that the emperor would henceforward exercise supreme authority in both the internal and external affairs of the country.

  Behind the stiff, formal language and the insistence on the emperor’s new authority, the message contained the implication that although his father had bitterly opposed the treaties that the shogun signed with the foreign powers, the present emperor recognized their validity. It was an indirect admission by the court that relations with foreign countries were inevitable and a recognition that it was desirable for them to be friendly.1

  After the emperor’s envoy, Higashikuze Michitomi, had shown to all the ministers the translation of the emperor’s message, “a fire of questions was directed against the envoy, who answered them well.”2 The atmosphere was surprisingly like that of a modern press conference. The questions from Léon Roches, the French minister, revealed that he was still committed to supporting the shogun, but the other ministers merely promised to report the message to their governments.

  On the same day a public proclamation was issued notifying the people that conditions had changed so greatly that friendly relations with foreign countries, the cause of so much grief to the previous emperor, had now been approved. The people were enjoined to do their best to accord with the emperor’s wishes, a warning that incidents of violence against foreigners would not be tolerated. In addition, in order to increase respect for Japan abroad, military preparations would be speeded up, and inequalities in the treaties would be revised in accordance with international law.3

  During the pause before the war against the shogunate army was resumed, this time east of the barrier of Hakone, Princess Chikako, the former Kazunomiya, sent a messenger to the commander of the eastern sea circuit, Hashimoto Saneyana (a relative on her mother’s side), asking that the Tokugawa family be spared the stigma of being called “enemies of the court” (chōteki). She pointed out that the outbreak of war had been completely unforeseen by Yoshinobu and that he had returned to Edo once he had been branded as a chōteki. In view of his mistakes, probably nothing could be done for him, but she begged that out of pity for her the Tokugawa family be spared the label of enemies of the court. If the imperial army crushed the Tokugawa family, she doubtless would kill herself. Her life meant nothing to her, but the thought of dying together with chōteki was too painful to bear. She implored the court to grant her plea.4 She now had come to identify herself with the Tokugawa family.

  A request from Princess Chikako could not be totally ignored, but it had little effect in Kyōto. Various daimyos asked that Yoshinobu be forgiven, providing he made a formal apology. This course was favored by Iwakura, who sent an envoy to Edo urging Yoshinobu to agree. But the answer, which struck Iwakura as lacking in sincerity, set him on a course of uncompromising opposition to the former shogun. By this time tens of thousands of Satsuma and Chōshū soldiers were pressing on Edo Castle from land and sea.

  Yoshinobu himself vacillated between submission to the imperial army and a policy of resistance to the end. On February 9 he sent a letter to Sir Harry Parkes, the British minister, announcing that the Tokugawa regime was still in control of foreign relations. He declared that Parkes would be violating the treaties if he met with a representative of the imperial government. Two days after asserting his authority in this manner, Yoshinobu dismissed Oguri Tadamasa, the most uncompromising advocate of resistance among his advisers, suggesting that he was ready to seek peace. On February 11 Yoshinobu sent a letter to Matsudaira Yoshinaga and Yamauchi Yōdō, the two members of the imperial government most disposed to show him leniency, insisting that the fighting at Toba and Fushimi had occurred without his permission. He expressed bewilderment as to why he was being pursued and asked them to intercede on his behalf.5

  On February 13 Yoshinobu had the first of three meetings in Edo Castle with Roches. The French minister still supported the Tokugawa government and believed that despite the setback at Toba and Fushimi, it would eventually be victorious. Yoshinobu informed Roches that he would do everything in his power to keep the Tokugawa family’s ancestral lands. He asserted that the emperor was now a prisoner, unable to do anything of his own volition, that the so-called imperial government was actually in the hands of Satsuma and Chōshū.

  At their second meeting Yoshinobu declared his intention of retiring from active life and of yielding his position to Tokugawa Mochitsugu, the daimyo of Kishū. On February 15 Yoshinobu again wrote to Yoshinaga and Yōdō, this time informing them (as he had informed Roches) that he intended to retire, both because he had been stigmatized as a chōteki and because he was in poor health. He asked the two daimyos to clear his name of the charge of being an enemy of the court.

  On February 23 Yoshinobu had his final meeting with Roches. He gave Roches a statemen
t of his position, defending his actions since returning power to the emperor. He insisted that he had intended not only to observe the treaties with the various governments but also to “improve” them, suggesting that when revised, the treaties would be even more advantageous to foreign countries. Perhaps he planned to authorize the introduction of Christianity.6 However, Yoshinobu added, there was a limit to what he could endure, and he appealed to the foreign countries for their understanding. This may have been an indirect way of saying that although he would compromise on many issues, he would not tolerate intrusion into his domains. Yoshinobu’s statement could not have surprised Roches, as he had prepared the rough draft.

  Roches, alone among the foreign diplomats, clung to the judgment that a stable government under the tycoon offered the best possibility for trade with the West. Parkes, much quicker to realize that the imperial regime in Kyōto would eventually become the government of the whole country, wrote off Yoshinobu as a failure who was now no more than the ruler of a single domain.7 On March 4 Yoshinobu left Edo Castle to enter a life of seclusion at the Daijiin, a subtemple of the Kan’ei-ji in Ueno. He stated that he would henceforth give himself exclusively to submission and penance. He took full responsibility for having incurred the emperor’s wrath and said he was prepared to accept divine punishment. His only request was that the priest Prince Kōgen come to Edo and pray for his salvation.8 Kōgen, until this time an obscure priest whose only distinction was that he was a member of the imperial family, would before long emerge as a rival for the throne of Emperor Meiji.

  While Yoshinobu was vacillating over the proper course of action, dissension of another kind arose within the government in Kyōto concerning the future site of the capital. Ōkubo Toshimichi proposed that the capital be moved to Ōsaka. Moving the capital would be a sign that the ways of the old regime, associated with the Kyōto nobility, had been rejected in favor of a new and enlightened government. Ōsaka was well suited to commerce with foreign countries, and this would promote a “rich country and strong army” (fukoku kyōhei). Most important, moving the emperor from the Gosho would end the isolation from his people. He would, like monarchs abroad, mingle with the common people in the new capital, accompanied by a mere one or two attendants.9

  When Ōkubo’s plan was brought before the Court Council on February 17, it was vociferously attacked by the nobles, including the gijō Nakayama Tadayasu, the grandfather of the emperor, as a plot by the Satsuma and Chōshū domains to reap private benefits. A more important reason for the nobles’ opposition was doubtless their attachment to Kyōto, the focal point of their whole lives.10

  Although Ōkubo’s plan for moving the capital was not immediately approved, his earnest plea, made at the same time, that the emperor leave the enclosure of the Gosho and take personal command of the punitive force to be sent to the east did not go unheeded. On February 25 the emperor left the Gosho for the first time since he was a small child. He visited Nijō Castle, formerly the symbol of shogunate power in the capital, traveling in the sōkaren (the informal palanquin used by the emperor) and carrying with him the sword and jewel of his office. On his arrival he was met by the president (sōsai) Prince Taruhito. He then went to the Hall of Audiences in the keep of the castle where he took his place on the upper level (dan) behind bamboo blinds. The sōsai, gijō, and senior counselors (san’yo) sat on the middle level, and the junior counselors and others below. A discussion ensued on the advisability of the emperor’s taking personal command of the campaign against the rebels and on the establishment of the position of a supreme commander. When the discussion had ended, the sōsai was called behind the blinds, and the emperor spoke this command: “Yoshinobu and his rebel underlings have now fled to Edo Castle, where they are abandoning themselves to greater and greater outrages. His Majesty cannot endure a situation in which the seas to the four directions boil over and the people are about to fall into misery. He has decided in his wisdom to assume personal command of the expedition. You should be aware in this connection that he intends to choose a suitable person to serve as supreme commander. All military forces of the great and small domains in the home provinces and the seven circuits should accordingly make preparations. Within a few days His Majesty will take council on the war and issue his commands. When the various units receive orders, they are to assemble at once. He commands the various units to join forces and strive to achieve victory in loyal battle.”11

  Prince Taruhito was appointed as supreme commander on March 1 and received a brocade pennant, to be guarded by two platoons of soldiers from Tsuwano. He was a relative by marriage of Tokugawa Yoshinobu and, for this reason, had especially asked to be placed in command of the punitive expedition. He took formal leave of the emperor on March 7.

  Detailed instructions concerning the conduct of the army were issued by Prince Taruhito. They include such provisions as an insistence that all in the army receive the same treatment, regardless of rank or birth and that damaging shrines and temples, setting fire to civilian houses, stealing property, and selling coercively were strictly prohibited. When foreigners were caught committing acts of disorder or disrespect, they were to be arrested and their guilt established before being turned over to the ministers of their country for examination; they must not be shot or slashed to death, nor should their houses be entered without good reason. The intent of these provisions was obviously to convince the world that the imperial army was operating in accordance with internationally recognized codes of warfare and was by no means a band of ruffians killing and looting as they moved across the country.

  The court’s desire for improved relations with foreigners is apparent also in its decision to permit foreign ministers to be presented to the emperor. There was strong opposition, particularly by the denizens of the imperial palace. Matsudaira Yoshinaga and Iwakura Tomomi appeared before the emperor to explain that it was a principle observed in all countries that the monarch give audiences to the ministers of foreign countries. On March 9 an announcement was made that the emperor would permit the ministers of foreign countries to come into his presence. It was further explained that the unusually prompt proclamation of the emperor’s decision was necessitated by his imminent departure to lead the expeditionary army.12 Meiji’s willingness to meet foreigners indicates that he had not been infected by the hatred of foreigners that had plagued his father.

  Following the emperor’s proclamation, a memorandum was prepared justifying the decision to grant audiences to foreign ministers by citing instances from ancient Japanese history of emperors who had accorded such audiences. These instances, though of shaky historical authenticity, were cited because of the great importance that the Japanese court always attached to precedents. The memorandum admitted that there was no precedent for the emperor’s meeting foreigners from countries other than China and Korea but blamed this on the slow development in Japan of the art of navigation. Now, however, the country was in contact with the whole world, and a failure to observe practices common to all countries would result in a loss of trust in Japan. Compromise was thus necessary in the interests of international relations.13

  As a first step in improving relations with the foreigners, they were allowed to visit the city of Kyōto. Sir Ernest Satow gave a cheerful account of sightseeing in the old capital and expressed the hope that the foreign ministers could henceforth reside in that city (despite its climate) rather than in Edo, “for it was naturally supposed that the government of the country would in future be conducted from Kiōto.”14

  Just at this juncture a grave incident of antiforeign character occurred in Sakai. Eleven French sailors, members of the crew of the Dupleix, were killed by Tosa men. According to Japanese accounts, they (and six companions) were wandering through the streets of Sakai in a disorderly manner when they were attacked by the Tosa samurai, who were fulfilling their duty of maintaining order. Satow’s account was quite different: “These Japanese massacred a boat’s crew of inoffensive and unarmed men, who were never al
leged to have given the slightest provocation.” The French minister, Léon Roches, at once sent a message demanding the heads of the Tosa samurai responsible for the incident; 150,000 dollars for the families of the dead sailors; the apology of Prince Ya-mashina, the foreign minister; the apology of Yamauchi Yōdō, the daimyo of Tosa; and the exclusion of armed Tosa samurai from the treaty ports.15 The Japanese agreed to all these conditions.

  Twenty Tosa men were found guilty of having killed the French sailors and were condemned to kill themselves. After eleven had committed seppuku, the French ship’s captain witnessing this display of samurai fortitude raised his hand to stop the proceedings, and Roches asked that the lives of the remaining nine men be spared. Satow regretted this action: “One could only regret that Captain du Petit Thouars judged it necessary to stop the execution when eleven had suffered, for the twenty were all equally guilty, and requiring a life for life of the eleven Frenchmen looked more like revenge than justice.”16

  Satow had previously witnessed the seppuku17 of a condemned officer of the Bizen domain18 and been impressed by the dignity of this form of punishment. He seems not to have found it horrible that eleven men had slit open their abdomens and then had their heads cut off, perhaps because at the time public executions not only were common in Europe but were performed in a carnival-like atmosphere. He wrote,

  As for being ashamed of having been present at a harakiri on the ground that it was a disgusting exhibition, I was proud to feel that I had not shrunk from witnessing a punishment which I did my best to bring about. It was no disgusting exhibition, but a most decent and decorous ceremony, and far more respectable than what our own countrymen were in the habit of producing for the entertainment of the public in the front of Newgate prison.19

  On March 23 the French minister, Roches, and the Dutch political agent, Dirk de Graeff van Polsbroek, were granted an audience by Emperor Meiji.20 About two in the afternoon, the emperor, dressed in an informal robe and carrying the imperial sword and jewel, appeared in the Hall of State Ceremonies and seated himself behind his screen of state. Assistant President Sanjō Sanetomi and Adviser to the Throne Nakayama Tadayasu stood beside him inside the screen; Foreign Minister Prince Akira21 and Assistant President Iwakura Tomomi stood outside the screen, with lesser officials to the right and left. The vice minister for foreign affairs, Higashikuze Michitomi, led the French minister into the imperial presence, where he bowed. The voice of the emperor could be heard: “We are pleased to learn that the emperor of your country is well. We hope that the relations between our two countries in the future will be ever more cordial, lasting and unchanging.”22