by Donald Keene
The emperor’s remarkable memory was mentioned by many who knew him. Vice Admiral Ariji Shinanojō (1843–1919) recalled:
There was not one palace ritual or ceremony or any other historical fact with which he was unfamiliar. He never forgot the name of anyone to whom he had ever granted an audience, however humble the person’s station might be. He attended the graduation ceremonies at the army and navy academies and at the university, and he never failed to remember the names of graduates who received a prize for scholarly excellence or who delivered a lecture in his presence…. When he invited someone to dine with him, he would describe what had happened when he last met that person and everything that had been discussed on the occasion, all as vividly as if he could see before his eyes long-ago memories.28
Even allowing for a certain amount of exaggeration in Ariji’s praise as he recalled the recently deceased emperor, it is clear that Meiji had a retentive memory. He was not an intellectual; the accounts of those who knew him recall words of the Analects: “The firm, the enduring, the simple and the modest are near to virtue.”
The “firm” aspect of Meiji’s personality was conspicuously displayed in his active participation in military maneuvers; he even led the troops on horseback with drawn sword. During his first maneuvers, there was violent wind and rain, but the emperor remained completely unperturbed, an inspiration to the troops. This sangfroid would be typical of his behavior throughout the rest of his reign. No matter how uncomfortable or even tragic the circumstances, he was never known to complain or feel sorry for himself.
At this stage of his reign, Meiji was an inexperienced youth who had no choice but to depend on the brilliant men around him. Although these men were deferential and unquestionably revered him as their sovereign, they may also have rather intimidated him by their knowledge of not only politics and warfare but also literature and philosophy. Perhaps the emperor’s apparent lack of enthusiasm for his studies, about which Kido complained, was occasioned by feelings that he could never attain their level of accomplishment.
As yet Meiji had few occasions to demonstrate his mettle. If he had died young or had lived no more than the thirty-six years of his father, he might be remembered only vaguely as the emperor who reigned at the time of the Restoration. A combination of longevity and dedication to duty, however, eventually made this youth the most celebrated of the long line of emperors.
Chapter 20
The most important event of 1869, at least as far as Emperor Meiji was concerned, was his second visit to Tōkyō. The earlier visit had been an enormous success, but the people of Kyōto felt rather neglected when they learned that the emperor had bestowed saké and other gifts on the people of Tōkyō. After his return to Kyōto early in the new year, he accordingly bestowed equally vast quantities of saké on the people of Kyōto,1 perhaps hoping in this way to allay their fear that the old capital might soon be displaced by the new pital in the east.
Despite such gestures, apprehension that the capital would be moved to Tōkyō continued. On March 5 Iwakura Tomomi drew up a statement in which he specifically addressed this fear. Iwakura mentioned how upset many people in Kyōto and Ōsaka were by rumors that the capital was about to be moved to Tōkyō. It was true that in the previous year Edo had been renamed “Eastern Capital” (Tōkyō), but, Iwakura insisted, this was definitely not a sign that the emperor contemplated changing the seat of his authority. Rather, the decision was inspired by his desire to treat east and west alike, on the basis of his conviction that all parts of Japan “within the four seas” were equally dear to him. Kyōto had been the capital for more than a thousand years, ever since the time of Emperor Kammu, and was the site of the tombs of the successive emperors. Iwakura was certain that the capital would not be moved from Kyōto to Tōkyō, not even a thousand years hence, that there was absolutely no danger that Kyōto would be abandoned. The emperor, desiring to spread the light of imperial rule far and wide, even to Ezo and the farthest island of the Kuriles, now felt it necessary to make a second journey to the east in order to extend the benefits of the new government to parts of the country that had yet to be blessed by his benevolent influence. Iwakura conceded that some men in council advocated changing the capital, but he personally was unconditionally opposed. If the emperor should in his wisdom command that that the capital be moved, it would be unavoidable, but in his capacity as a subject, Iwakura would not praise such a decision.2
Plans gradually took shape for the second imperial journey to the east, regardless of whether or not it was intended as a harbinger of a forthcoming move of the capital. On March 20 it was announced that the imperial palanquin would make a detour on the way to Edo in order that the emperor might worship at Ise. This decision changed the character of the journey; that is, it would not simply be political, extending imperial influence to distant parts of the country, but religious as well, affirming the close relationship between the emperor and Shintō that would be emphasized in years to come. Another announcement ten days later disclosed the date of the emperor’s departure (April 18) and declared that the keynote of the reception along the way was to be simplicity. Overeager officials were not to bother people going about their business along the roads or to interfere with agricultural labor. This insistence on simplicity may have been intended to establish a contrast with the traditional ostentation of a daimyo’s procession. The stress on agriculture suggests another important purpose of Meiji’s travels—to bring the emperor closer to his people at their place of work.
On April 2 the emperor sent a special message to the people of the northern region where the rebellion against imperial authority continued. He declared that just as every part of the country was the emperor’s land (ōdo), so every person living on this land was like his child, and he would be deeply upset if he thought that even one person had failed to find a place in society.3 The phraseology was Confucian, but it also radically differed from what earlier emperors would have said; it is hard to imagine Emperor Kōmei being distressed to learn that one of his subjects had not found a place in society. The young emperor not only felt close to his subjects—every Japanese, regardless of his status or in what part of the country he lived—but worried about their happiness and was loath to do anything that might interfere with their daily employment.
Another way in which the emperor brought himself closer to his people was by opening to the public his private gardens. On April 5 the Fukiage Garden inside Tōkyō Castle was opened for three days, an unprecedented event. The citizens were overjoyed and flocked to the castle in such numbers that eight people died in the press, and many others were injured. The emperor donated 300 ryō in gold to the families of the victims.4
Meiji left on his journey as planned. He was accompanied by members of the high nobility, including Sanjō Sanetomi, and his grandfather, Nakayama Tadayasu. He was also accompanied by an unwanted bodyguard of shinpei—soldiers who had volunteered to serve as his bodyguard in Kyōto. An English resident, John Black (1827–1880), described them:
Their idea was that they were especially imbued with the “ancient spirit of Japan”; and their creed—“devotion to the Mikado and death to the foreign barbarians.” These men, then, threw themselves in his path, imploring him not to leave the sacred city, nor pollute himself by intercourse with foreigners; and, when His Majesty was deaf to their entreaties they said there was nothing left for them but to accompany him, and protect his person. As they were some 2,000 strong, ready enough with their trenchant blades, they were allowed to have their way; and so they came trooping to the capital.5
The early part of the emperor’s journey was along the Tōkaidō, as on his previous journey, but after stopping at Seki the procession took the Ise Road to Matsuzaka, where the emperor spent the night. On the following day the procession reached the building of the Outer Shrine at Ise where he spent the night. The next morning the emperor, attired in the golden costume worn on state occasions, left his quarters in the imperial palanquin and proceed
ed to the shrine itself where an elaborate ceremony of worship was performed. After lunch the emperor set out again, this time to worship at the even more important Inner Shrine. He was accompanied by civil and military officers, all in formal attire. After a brief rest the emperor bathed. At two in the afternoon he worshiped at the shrine.
Because this was the first time in history that an emperor had worshiped at the most important of Shintō shrines, a new set of rituals for the occasion had been drawn up by the Ministry of Shintō at the emperor’s command. The priests compared Meiji with two ancient emperors, Jimmu and Keikō,6 and praised his wisdom and virtue in the most extreme superlatives.7
When Meiji was about to leave, Tōdō Takakiyo, the heir of the Tsu domain, paid a visit and offered the emperor a telescope and some cakes.8 The telescope, like the globe that had occupied a prominent place at his coronation, seems to have been intended to enlarge the horizons of the young emperor, who now was making his acquaintance with the heartland of his country.
After Ise he visited the Atsuta Shrine. The procession rejoined the Tōkaidō at Okazaki and from there went on to Tōkyō. Although the journey itself was unmarred by any unpleasantness, apprehension was felt over reports received of continuing warfare in the north. Three of Enomoto Takeaki’s warships had raided government ships anchored in Miyako Bay, and Fukuyama Castle fell to the rebels. It was feared that they might extend their attacks deeper into Honshū. From this time on until June 16, when Enomoto surrendered and the gates of the Five Point Fortress were opened to the imperial forces, the slow progress of the campaign against the rebels was a constant source of worry.9 Enomoto was urged to surrender, politely and sometimes even with gifts. Some of his men, a few hundred at a time, surrendered, exhausted by the long struggle and by the lack of provisions, but Enomoto held out until the bitter end, refusing to abandon his old allegiance.
Once he was settled in Tōkyō, Meiji’s life soon resumed the familiar routine of lessons in the Chinese and Japanese classics, along with riding practice. But although his personal life was unruffled, and there is no indication he took part in the decisions made by the government at this time, many proclamations were issued in his name. For example, on May 14 it was announced that a history office was being established by imperial command to prepare a revised history of Japan. The emperor declared,
A national history is an everlasting, immortal canon; the compilation was a great enterprise of our ancestors. However, there has been no continuation since the Sandai jitsuroku.10 Is this not a grave deficiency? Now that the abuses of the military regime, which had prevailed since the Kamakura period, have been ended, and government has been revived, I wish to found a history office which will continue the achievement of our ancestors and will promote education and culture throughout the country.11
He appointed Sanjō Sanetomi as chief editor.
Many problems faced the government. The subjugation of the rebels in the north was both discouragingly slow and costly. The paper currency issued by the government to help pay the costs of the warfare was not readily accepted by the public. At first the government attempted to redress the perceived inequality between paper money and gold by setting the value of 120 ryō in paper as the equivalent of 100 ryō in specie. This had the result of encouraging speculators to manipulate the currency. The government then declared that paper and specie had the same value, whereupon (a perfect example of the workings of Gresham’s law) bad money drove the good money from circulation.12 The measures and countermeasures adopted by the government were signs of both its inexperience and the continuing crisis.
Similarly the policy for the punishment of crimes swung from extreme severity to relative liberality. On May 26 the military decreed that for violating the edict against factions, the head of the faction would be put to death and the other members placed under confinement. Soldiers who deserted while in the possession of weapons and uniforms would be executed, but those who returned their weapons and uniforms before deserting would, if a first offense, be imprisoned for fifty days; second offenders would be exiled. Persons who without cause demanded money or coercively touted would, depending on the degree of their crime, be executed or sent to distant banishment.13 It was later decreed that the leaders of the opposition to the government forces in the recent warfare in the northeast would be beheaded. Those who were already dead would be subject to a mock execution and their family line exterminated. The severity of these measures in no way accorded with the promise of generous treatment extended to Enomoto.
On June 2 the kōgisho kaigi voted to abolish the death penalty for believers in Christianity, substituting whipping. But the spirit of the old regime was by no means dead: on June 7 the kaigi voted not to prohibit seppuku,14 and a few weeks later the same body unanimously voted not to prohibit the wearing of swords. In August, though, various forms of cruel punishments were abolished, including exposure, public parading of the guilty, and sawing off the head.
The lightening of the sentence against Christians probably was a gesture in the direction of the foreign powers, which continued to protest against the prohibition against Christianity. The Ainu had also attracted the sympathy of the foreigners. The government was aware that local officials in the north had at times cruelly mistreated the Ainu and that some Ainu, responding to the kind treatment of foreigners, had come to prefer them to the Japanese. The government feared that foreigners might, under the name of relieving the distress of the Ainu, incite them to rise against the Japanese. In order to prevent this from happening, Japanese immigration to Hokkaidō was encouraged.
Acts of violence against foreigners continued. The British minister was enraged by these incidents and pressed for apprehension of the culprits. On May 14 the gijō Tokudaiji Sanetsune and Hachisuka Mochiaki called on the British minister with apologies, but he failed to understand what they meant. Accordingly, the hoshō Sanjō Sanetomi, the gijō Ōgimachi Sanenaru, and the san’yō Ōkuma Shigenobu called on the minister for further explanation, and on the following day the government issued a strict prohibition on any kind of violence against foreigners. Antiforeign feeling remained strong, however, and the attacks continued, enraging the foreign envoys, who were always ready to create an incident, to the consternation of the Japanese leaders, who had their hands full with domestic issues.15
During this period little is recorded concerning the emperor’s activities besides his frequent displays of horsemanship. His studies of the Chinese classics had progressed; he was now reading with his tutors the Book of Poetry and Mencius.16 On occasion he reviewed troops and observed cannon practice. When the long-sought victory over Enomoto at last came, he gave an audience to senior naval and army officers. It is not clear whether Meiji was kept informed of all developments, but he was definitely involved in the most significant event of this time, the return by the daimyos of their lands and people to the emperor.
On July 25 the emperor issued an edict accepting the request of various domains that they be permitted to return their registers (hanseki). Domains that had not made this request were now commanded to return them. Four major domains (including Satsuma and Chōshū) had announced their intention of returning their registers in the first month of the year, and their example had been followed by others. In the end 274 daimyos surrendered their lands and people to the central government and were rewarded by being appointed as governors of their domains.17 The titles of “nobles” (kuge) and “daimyos” (shokō) were abolished, both henceforth being known as “peers” (kazoku). The administrative unification of Japan had taken an immense step forward.
On August 15 the government was further reorganized with the establishment of additional ministries. Sanjō Sanetomi was appointed as minister of the right, and Iwakura Tomomi and Tokudaiji Sanetsune (1839–1919) as major counselors. The emperor’s maternal grandfather, Nakayama Tadayasu, was appointed as head of the Ministry of Shintō. Other men who had figured prominently in the restoration of imperial authority were granted posts of impo
rtance in the new government.
Meanwhile the ground was being prepared for another important development in the emperor’s activities. In the early summer of 1869, the British minister, Sir Harry Parkes, received word that the duke of Edinburgh, the second son of Queen Victoria, planned to visit Japan in command of the warship Galatea. In the previous year the duke had sailed around the world aboard this ship. Although most of his visits to various countries had been largely ceremonial, in Australia he had been wounded and nearly killed by an Irish patriot. His brief visit to Japan would hardly be worth remembering except for the fact that he was the first member of European royalty ever to visit Japan.
When word reached the court of the intended visit, a contemporary account records:
The “progressivists” desired that His Majesty should once and for all resolve to conform as far as possible to the usages of other sovereigns on such occasions; but a very strong “opposition” denounced, in strong terms, the Mikado’s lowering his dignity by making any advance which could be regarded as an admission of equal rank between a foreign Prince of the Blood Royal, and the Imperial and heaven-descended family of Japan.18
It took several months before the British minister received a reply from the court. It stated that the emperor was “delighted beyond measure” by the news of the forthcoming arrival of the English prince and added that “His Majesty would be intensely pleased if your Prince would consent to take up his abode in the gardens of O Hama-go-ten, the seaside palace of His Majesty.” John Black, whose Young Japan gives the most detailed account of the background of the visit, considered it particularly important that after the formal reception of the English prince in the palace, “His Majesty should receive the prince accompanied by the English minister, and a gentleman of the English legation who should act as interpreter, in one of the Garden houses in the Imperial domain and converse with him on equal terms.”19
