Emperor of Japan

by Donald Keene

  The letter is of special interest because it is so unlike anything Kōmei or any earlier emperor would have written. The main point seems to be the emperor’s desire for closer contact between himself and his people. He blames the military for having created an aura of awe about the throne that made it impossible both for the people to know the emperor and for the emperor to be aware of his people’s feelings. He intends now, he says, to leave behind the passive role of the emperor and take positive action on behalf of his country. It is a call for cooperation in the great changes that are about to occur, although it would not have occurred to Meiji’s predecessors that the cooperation of the people was essential.

  On April 8, the day after the swearing of the Charter Oath, signboards listing five prohibitory decrees were erected, replacing those of the shogunate. The first three proscriptions were similar to those long favored by the shogunate, and the remaining two were expedients designed to meet the present crisis.

  The first injunction was traditional: “The five moral rules of human conduct are to be properly followed. Widows, widowers, orphans, childless old people, the maimed, and the disabled are to be pitied. There must be no murders, arson, theft, or other evil deeds.”

  The second injunction perpetuated the shogunate’s prohibition on conspiracies, appeals by irregular processes, mass desertions of villages, and various other acts of insubordination. The third signboard strictly forbade Christianity and, promising a reward, urged people to report to the authorities anyone suspected of practicing Christianity.

  These first three injunctions can hardly have surprised anyone, but the remaining two were more to the point. The fourth was apparently intended to discourage those who still harbored feelings of jōi from attempting by intimidation or bloodshed to rid the country of foreigners:

  The policy of the Imperial Government has been completely changed: that is to say, the court, for good reasons, has opened relations with foreign countries and concluded treaties with them in accordance with international law. Accordingly, foreigners must not be harmed; anyone who violates this is contravening the court’s command. Such action will not only create danger for the nation but will be a breach of international faith that impairs the prestige of the empire. It will be punished appropriately.

  The fifth injunction was probably intended to discourage those who, dissatisfied with conditions at home, planned to take advantage of the greater ease of travel since the fall of the shogunate to move to more congenial places: “Samurai and commoners are strictly prohibited from absconding from their native provinces. Anyone who has complaints to make about his province or his master is permitted to present them to the cabinet [dajōkan].”

  These signboards, erected all over the country, were much better known to the mass of the population than the Charter Oath pronounced before nobles and daimyos.12 The fourth injunction was of particular importance, spelling the end of the jōi part of the slogan of sonnō jōi.

  Just at this time, negotiations were under way in Edo between Saigō Takamori and Katsu Kaishū (1823–1899), a councillor of Yoshinobu, for the surrender of Edo Castle. The opinions of a foreigner, the British minister Sir Harry Parkes, were sought. According to Sir Ernest Satow,

  [Katsu] said he was ready to fight in defense of Keiki’s [Yoshinobu’s] life, and expressed his confidence in Saigō’s ability to prevent a demand being made which might not only be a disgrace to the Mikado, but prolong the civil war. He begged that Sir Harry Parkes would use his influence with the Mikado’s government to obviate such a disaster. This the chief did repeatedly, and in particular when Saigō called on him on April 28, he urged on him that severity toward Keiki or his supporters, especially in the way of personal punishment, would injure the reputation of the new government in the opinion of European Powers. Saigō said the life of the ex-Shōgun would not be demanded, and he hoped that similar leniency would be extended to those who had instigated him to march against Kiōto.13

  The success of the negotiations that resulted in the bloodless surrender of Edo Castle owed much to this advice from a foreigner. On April 26 sixty men, led by Hashimoto Saneyana (a Kyōto noble) and Saigō Takamori, were admitted to Edo Castle. They were met at the front gate by the new lord of the castle, Tokugawa Yoshiyori, who showed them the greatest deference. It was agreed that the castle would be turned over to the imperial army one week later, on May 4. On that day the stronghold of the shogunate was in fact delivered into the hands of the emperor’s army.14

  In the meantime, an event of equally great significance to Emperor Meiji took place. On April 14 he left the Gosho on his way to Ōsaka as commander in chief of the imperial forces. He rode in the informal imperial palanquin and carried with him the sacred mirror. A brocade pennant fluttered above. Twenty-nine nobles headed by Prince Hirotsune, Sanjō Sanetomi, and Nakayama Tadayasu rode beside him. Prince Taruhito led the advance party. The emperor was seen off by the empress dowager and nobles and officials, all dressed in formal robes. As the imperial palanquin passed along Sakai Street and Sanjō Avenue, crowds knelt in reverence along the way. At eight that evening the procession reached the Hachiman Shrine at Iwashimizu, where the emperor spent the night. Traveling in slow stages, the emperor did not reach the Higashi Honganji Betsuin in Ōsaka, which would be his residence, until the afternoon of April 16.15

  Perhaps the single most exciting moment for the emperor on this momentous journey outside the capital was his first glimpse of the Inland Sea on April 19 when he reviewed the vessels of his fleet off Mount Tempō. He boarded a light skiff on the banks of the Aji River and sailed down the river, protected by guards lining both banks. At noon he reached Tempō. The Denryū maru, a ship belonging to the Saga domain, fired a salute, followed by a salute from a French warship at anchor and then by a response from the Denryū maru. After lunch the emperor observed the spectacle of the fleet maneuvering. Surely this was one of the happiest days of the emperor’s life. Not only had he left the walled-in world of the Gosho, but he had seen a large body of water and had been acclaimed by the roar of naval guns.

  The war had not ended. Fighting continued in the north, and Enomoto Takeaki had sailed the shogun’s fleet off to Hokkaidō. Within the city of Edo there was the menace of the Shōgitai, a military unit that continued to support the deposed shogun even after the castle had been surrendered. Subduing these rebellious elements would take time, but (at least in retrospect) it seems clear that the imperial forces were no longer in serious danger.16

  In the meantime, the young emperor was enjoying his stay in Ōsaka. On May 22 he granted an audience to the English minister plenipotentiary, Sir Harry Parkes, who brought with him his credentials from Queen Victoria. Parkes was accompanied by Admiral A. B. Keppel, Mitford, Satow, and various members of the legation and naval staffs. The audience took place in the Nishi Honganji. In view of the violence that had been directed against Parkes and his escort at the time of his previous audience, this time security was extremely strict. Satow’s description of the audience is well known:

  On a dais at the extreme end sat the Mikado, under a canopy supported by black-lacquered poles, and with the blinds rolled up as high as was possible. We advanced up the middle of the room in double column, the one on the right headed by the Admiral and composed of naval officers, the other headed by the minister, and consisting of the legation staff. Everyone made three bows, first on advancing into the middle of the room, the second at the foot of the dais, the third on mounting the dais, which was large enough to afford place for us all. The Mikado rose and stood under the canopy from the moment that we began to bow. The principal minister for Foreign Affairs and one other great personage knelt, one on each side of the throne.

  In front of the throne, on each side, stood a small wooden image of a lion; these are of great antiquity and are much revered by the Japanese people. Behind the throne a crowd of courtiers were ranged in a double row, wearing little black paper caps and gorgeous brocade robes of various hues. As the Mikado stood
up, the upper part of his face, including the eyes, became hidden from view, but I saw the whole of it whenever he moved. His complexion was white, perhaps artificially so rendered, his mouth badly formed, what a doctor would call prognathous, but the general contour was good. His eyebrows were shaved off, and painted in an inch higher up. His costume consisted of a long black loose cape hanging backward, a white upper garment or mantle and voluminous purple trousers….

  Sir Harry stepping forward put the Queen’s letter into the hand of the Mikado, who evidently felt bashful or timid, and had to be assisted by Yamashina no Miya;17 his part was to receive it from the Mikado. Then His Majesty forgot his speech, but catching a word from the personage on his left managed to get out the first sentence, whereupon Itō [Hirobumi] read out the translation of the whole that had been prepared beforehand. Sir Harry then introduced each of us in turn, and next the Admiral, who presented his officers. The Mikado expressed the hope that all was well with the squadron under his command, and we retired backward out of the presence into the ante-chamber, bowing as we went, and congratulating ourselves that everything had passed off without a hitch.18

  Japanese descriptions of audiences granted by the emperor at this time are relatively rare, no doubt out of deference. Ōkubo Toshimichi, who was summoned by the emperor on May 1 to his temporary residence at the Higashi Honganji, mentioned in his diary the tears of joy and gratitude he shed at the thought that he, a mere samurai, should have been accorded the extraordinary favor of an audience. He was so overcome that he spent the rest of the day drinking.19 On May 9 Kido Takayoshi and Gotō Shōjirō were also summoned to the Higashi Honganji for an audience with the emperor. Kido wrote in his diary,

  His Majesty inquired of us about the current situation in the country and of the general state of things in the nations overseas….

  For several hundred years there has been no instance of a common subject without a court rank being granted an audience by the emperor. I am moved to tears by his favor. I only regret that the great enterprise of the Restoration has not yet been carried out completely. In the afternoon the emperor viewed the sumo matches from behind his bamboo screen.20

  There is also an account, contained in a letter written by Yokoi Shōnan (1809–1869) to his family, of his impressions of the emperor during an audience on July 13:

  His face is long, and his coloring is rather dark. His voice is loud. He is of slender build. As for his looks, I suppose one might say they are about average. But he makes a most imposing figure, and I am overjoyed that I should have seen so extraordinary a person.21

  Meiji’s life while in Ōsaka was much less formal than in the Gosho. He probably enjoyed the relative freedom, although even here his studies continued. On May 4 he witnessed from behind bamboo blinds an exhibition of Japanese fencing. This was followed by lectures on the Great Learning, Sun Tzu, and San Lüeh;22 the latter two are studies of the art of warfare. On May 9 the emperor heard a lecture on Sun Tzu, and from then on there were daily lectures (which senior nobles might also attend) on Japanese and Chinese classics. The emperor’s education remained one of the principal concerns of those closest to him.

  The emperor’s visit to Ōsaka served the purpose of turning him into a visible presence at least to his advisers and to select foreigners. But once Tokugawa Yoshinobu submitted to punishment, it was felt that the emperor’s duties as commander in chief of the army had ended, and plans were made for his return to Kyōto. This did not please Ōkubo Toshimichi, who wanted the capital moved to Ōsaka and who was afraid that back in Kyōto the emperor would be as remote from his people as in the past.23

  The emperor left Ōsaka on May 28 and, traveling more quickly than on the way out, reached Kyōto the following day. When his palanquin entered the palace gates, gagaku musicians and dancers performed Genjōraku, a work conveying joy over an emperor’s return.

  That day the weather was brilliantly clear, and the common people swarmed to get a glimpse of the emperor’s return. The brocade pennants that had flown above the palace gates, signifying the emperor’s personal command of the army, were removed. The emperor could enjoy his first triumphal return.

  Chapter 17

  Shortly after the emperor’s return to Kyōto from Ōsaka, a proclamation was issued announcing his personal assumption of all state affairs:1

  In keeping with his tender years, His Majesty has hitherto lived in the rear palace,2 but pursuant to his recent oath, and it being also his wish, he will henceforth live in the front part of the palace. He will proceed to his study every morning about eight,3 preside there over all state affairs, and direct the hoshō4 to submit reports. At times, when it seems appropriate, he may also visit the Hall of Eight Views.5 In his leisure time he will study the literary and martial arts. He will retire to his private quarters about four in the afternoon. Such is the daily schedule of arrangements he has graciously proclaimed.

  Yokoi Shōnan, a councillor (san’yo) of the new government, expressed in the letter (already quoted) his profound admiration for the emperor’s dedication to duty. He described how Meiji at his levee, seated on a “throne” (gyokuza)—two tatami high placed in the middle of an eight-mat room—gave himself completely to state business. A tobacco tray by his side was the only article of furniture.6 Two or three kinjū7 waited on him, about six feet away, and ministers were seated in attendance on the other side of the threshold. Gijō and san’yo came forward to make reports, either singly or together. Yokoi commented that nothing so impressive had been seen for more than a thousand years.8

  A reorganization was announced at this time, establishing three branches of the government—executive, legislative, and judicial. Obviously those who planned this new system of government had been influenced by American or European examples,9 but the stated goal of the reorganization was not the imitation of foreign practices but the implementation of the Charter Oath in Five Articles. Although surely no one expected (or desired) that in the near future a democracy would be created with equal opportunities for all to rise in the government (only princes of the blood, nobles, and daimyo were eligible to become first-rank officials), the way was opened for samurai and even commoners of ability to rise to positions of the second rank.10 Officials were to be elected by ballot to serve a term of four years before rotation,11 and the reelection of officials would be permitted. All persons, regardless of rank—whether daimyos or mere farmers or merchants—would be expected to contribute to the costs of the new government and enable it to maintain an army and internal security; persons of rank were expected to pay one-thirtieth of their income in taxes.

  Many other regulations were promulgated at this time, some very specific on minor points, others in the nature of general admonitions, and all conceived in the expressed hope of building a modern state that would not be inferior to the advanced countries of the West.

  The fighting had by no means ended, especially in the northeast and north of the country. High-ranking nobles were dispatched as commanding generals to areas of unrest, even if nothing in their training (or future careers) suggested competence in military matters. For example, Saionji Kinmochi (1849–1940), a man known for his liberal thought but not for his knowledge of warfare, was appointed as commanding officer of the northern provinces on June 15 and left for his post in Echigo the next day. Probably (like other generals chosen from the nobility) he was only a figurehead, but the appointment of such men indicated that it was still believed that martial ability went hand in hand with the traditional education in the Confucian classics.12

  The most enigmatic figure among the nobles who became involved in the fighting at this time was Prince Yoshihisa. He was born in 1847, the ninth son of Fushiminomiya Kuniie. In 1858 at the age of eleven, he was ordained as a priest at the Rinnō-ji, a imperial temple of the Tendai sect at Ueno in Edo, where he was given the Buddhist name of Kōgen.13 In 1867 he was appointed as the abbot of the temple, an exalted position for someone of his years. Under other circumstances he might have spent
the rest of his life in prayer and meditation, but Tokugawa Yoshinobu, who had left Edo Castle to live at the Kan’ei-ji in Ueno after announcing his submission to the wishes of the court, asked Kōgen to go to Kyōto and intercede on his behalf with the emperor.14

  Rinnōjinomiya, as Kōgen was known, was first approached on March 3, 1868, by an emissary who suggested that he plead with Prince Taruhito on Yoshinobu’s behalf, but he refused. He gave his reasons: having become a priest as a mere child, he was unacquainted with worldly matters and was incapable, at a time of national crisis, of interceding for Yoshinobu. Moreover, although he was accustomed to praising the Buddha and reading the sutras, he had no experience in dealing with people and trying to persuade them. He concluded by saying that if it was necessary that someone go, it should not be himself but a substitute.15