Nevertheless, the exhibits were hugely admired and they did much to enhance Japan’s image both as a fascinating and exotic culture and as a center of manufacturing excellence and rapid modernization. The shogunal exhibit was housed in three specially built structures: models of Japanese merchant and artisan houses and a miniature reconstruction of a daimyo’s palace. The houses were furnished to show the living conditions of their inhabitants, thus creating an ethnographic space where Japanese lives were placed on display. But the exhibit also highlighted the excellence of Japan’s artistic and manufacturing traditions, its rich natural resources, and its rapid adoption of modern techniques. The collection included a large map of the city of Edo, examples of books and other printed media, an exhibition of paper work, extensive displays of Japanese silk production and manufacture, displays of raw materials such as iron, quartz, and bronze, and a wide variety of artworks: paintings on silk by famous Edo artists, watercolor portraits of young Japanese, miniature sculptures used for personal ornamentation, bronze vases decorated with birds and flowers, fine porcelains, and lacquered furniture. A notable feature of the exhibit was a display of four life-size models of Japanese samurai warriors, armed and mounted on horseback. While the models emphasized the warriors’ medieval glamour, at the base of the display were two boxes of modern rifles, manufactured by Japanese craftsmen. Commenting on the modern weapons, the steamship-equipped navy and Western-trained army that the shogunate was creating, and the large number of Japanese coming to France and quickly adopting European lifestyles, the Revue des deux mondes concluded that “Japan seems, in a word, to have decided to put itself on an equal footing with the modern nations.”118 While it catered to the foreign desire for the exotic, the exhibition also helped spread an understanding of Japan as highly cultured, technically adept, and committed to rapid modernization. The exhibits of Japanese arts triggered a wave of interest among French painters and designers, helping launch the fad for japonisme that was to remain a deep influence in European art for the rest of the century.
Yet another route through which “Japan” was put on display was the highly visible tours of troupes of Japanese performing artists, particularly acrobats. Altogether at least three troupes set off in 1866, six in 1867, and many more in the following years.119 Indeed, theater historian Mihara Aya sees the treaty ports of Yokohama and Nagasaki as having been quickly integrated into a “theatrical network of the Pacific Rim,”120 a network that included Japanese artists performing overseas, foreign artists in Japan, and Japanese and foreign impresarios. Indeed, in the theatrical world, then as today, nationality was less important legally or culturally than as a construct employed in the service of a brand. The troupes emphasized their “Japaneseness,” and they played up to the strong demand for exotic display. At the same time, they gained a reputation for extraordinary physical prowess and became the objects of admiration and even adulation among the theater-going public.
The Hamaikari troupe was one of the first to embark on an overseas tour—a tour that would take it across America and Europe and last more than two years. The troupe was sponsored and managed by the American impresario and entrepreneur Richard Risley. The budget for this ambitious venture was a hundred thousand dollars, an enormous sum that Risley raised together with three partners from the Yokohama foreign community.
Risley and the “Imperial Japanese Troupe” arrived in San Francisco in January 1866 and went on to Philadelphia, Washington, New York, London, Paris, Amsterdam, Lisbon, and Madrid. The tour was an extraordinary success, making international stars out of some of its young performers. Its performances were sold out for months on end, even when the troupe performed in some of the largest performance spaces in the world, including the massive Cirque Napoléon in Paris. A large part of its members’ acclaim was owing to their skill in such unusual acts as top spinning and the butterfly trick, as well as their extraordinary acrobatic performances. But a part also came from their exoticism—their unusual clothing and grooming, their unfamiliar language, and their props and stage sets. As one reviewer put it, “The mere sight of these yellow men—with their shaven temples, slanted eyes, flat noses between two protruding cheekbones, and blue-black hair rolled in a top-knot on top of the skull—transports us into a world as eccentric as that of another planet.”121
The most celebrated member of the troupe was the twelve-year-old Hamaikari Umekichi, who became a household name throughout America and Europe as “Little All Right.” He acquired this name because, after completing his extraordinary feats of acrobatic skill and courage, he would throw his arms up in the air and shout, “All right!” This may at first have been the only English he knew, but his willingness to engage with the audience in their own language shows the child’s cultural and linguistic flexibility. Umekichi was truly a child of Japan’s international era, even as he was seen as a representation of all that was traditional and exotic in Japanese culture. In many ways he was a symbol of “Japan” as a cultural export—commercial, enterprising, and looking both forward and back as Japan sought its place in the international “comity of nations.”122
A DARKENING WORLD
In Japan, the middle years of the 1860s brought increased political instability, widespread economic disruption, and unprecedented peasant protest as the Tokugawa political and social order began to fall apart. Rumors of attacks on Yokohama were a regular event through the last months of 1863 and into 1864, with the warriors of Mito usually held up as the most likely perpetrators. Mito was radically antiforeign and remained opposed to the policy of opening Japan to foreign trade. But it was also deeply divided, between those who remained loyal to the shogun and those who felt that the shogunate was as much to blame as the foreigners for Japan’s troubles. By 1863, the domain was virtually in a state of civil war, as the more extreme antiforeign factions resorted to assassination and terror in order to overcome the resistance of the domain’s supporters of the shogunate.
The political destabilization of Mito was accompanied by a general breakdown in law and order throughout the Kantō region. One village headman, Kojima Tamemasa, reported in his diary on ten murders in the surrounding area. In response, Kojima and other village heads raised militias, arming them with guns purchased in Edo, swords, spears, and, when nothing else was available, bamboo staves.123 Although military affairs had traditionally been the domain of the samurai class, local administrators began surveying villagers to identify manpower and guns available in the event of an emergency. In Kōshū, every man between the ages of seventeen and fifty was considered eligible for militia service. In a country where farmers were prohibited from owning weapons, a surprising number were identified. In one district of 132 villages, 280 guns were registered as well as 1,236 able-bodied men.
In April 1864, around two hundred Mito samurai dedicated to the expulsion of foreigners and the closing of the ports gathered at Mount Tsukuba, just to the northeast of the Kantō Plain. Their stated goal was to march on Yokohama and implement the order to expel the foreigners. As their numbers grew, they began terrorizing the local communities, which they forced to supply their needs. In June, they burned the provincial town of Tochigi. One group launched a bold raid on Sendagaya, on the outskirts of Edo, where they raided a shogunal ammunition store.
Chūemon was in Edo to witness the aftermath of this raid.
I checked to see if the heads of the rōnin were exposed in Nihonbashi as you reported, but they were not. Perhaps they are at Ryōgoku Bridge. They are saying that the rōnin of Edo are now on their way to attack Yokohama … A force of two hundred guards with guns left Edo yesterday at the fifth hour and arrived here today at the fifth hour. In addition, the lords of Sakai and Aoyama have sent many men, who are gradually arriving. So we are in a very disturbed condition … It is said that the commanding general of the lord of Mito has asked why any dealing with foreigners is necessary. On the thirteenth at around the seventh hour, the lord of Mito and his household passed through Kanagawa. If they encountere
d any foreigners, his men were instructed to cut them down and expel all the foreigners … Some senior officials of the house of Mito have demanded that the foreigners should be expelled.
Chūemon took care to add that “here in the port everyone is behaving as normal, and trade is carrying on.”124
In early July 1864, the shogunal government sent a force of almost four thousand men to Mount Tsukuba to crush the insurgents. During the second half of 1864, battles raged across the Mito domain, with the rebels even besieging their own daimyo’s castle at one point. At the beginning of November the shogunal army, now numbering more than ten thousand, defeated the rebels at the battle of Nakaminato. But more than a thousand rebels escaped and began advancing on the Kantō. By the end of 1864, an army of eleven hundred well-armed men was advancing through the mountains, its numbers swelling along the way, and nobody knew if and when it would emerge at the gates of Yokohama.
Eventually it became clear that the goal of the rebels was not Yokohama but Kyoto, where they planned to plead their cause directly to the emperor. This was a relief for the residents of Yokohama, but it was alarming for the people of Kōshū, who now faced the possibility of the rebel army marching through their province. The shogunal authorities ordered domains and territories along all the possible routes to mobilize. The Kōshū authorities summoned the militias, sending some of the men to neighboring Shinshū to protect the crucial Nakasendō highway, with its direct line to Kyoto. Others were set to patrol regional highways. The Kōshū villagers who stayed home were on a state of high alert, with frequent false alarms. In Utada village, a farmer’s maid accidentally pulled down the woodpile behind the house and screamed, prompting alarm bells to be rung throughout the region.125
At the beginning of January 1865, Chūemon commented on the unrest: “I understand that there are many reports of rōnin in Kōshū. We hear that all the officials have been mobilized. It sounds as though it is very turbulent. Certainly these are eventful times. I hope that there will be no interference with trade, but please consult with me at any time.”126
In fact, the Mito warriors never entered Kōshū. Instead, they forged on through the mountains and descended on the Nakasendō in Shinshū. There, they were surrounded and defeated by a large shogunal army. More than two thousand rebel soldiers were imprisoned—virtually the entire force. Of those, almost five hundred were executed or died in prison. But even as the threat of the Mito rebels receded, the security situation in Kōshū remained turbulent. Unrest, poverty, and stretched resources combined to raise concerns about crime in a generally stable society. In October 1865, one of Chūemon’s close business associates reported having his shop burgled and one hundred fifty egg cards stolen (the thief was later caught trying to sell the cards in Yokohama).127 Some time later, Chūemon’s own home in Higashi-Aburakawa was burgled, though the losses were minor. Chūemon, who had been frequently reminding his son to lock the doors at night, now exhorted him to “get a workman to strengthen the doors.”128
On July 28, 1866, Chūemon reported yet another threat to the security of the Kantō region:
They are saying that large numbers of rōnin have assembled … near Hachiōji in Bushū, no one knows how many, and that they are pressing forward. They say that yesterday there was great destruction in Tokorozawa, and that they are steadily making their way to Yokohama. They say there are as many as three thousand of them. Information is coming in steadily. Here, the security is very strict. All the villagers nearby have armed themselves with bamboo spears as well as guns in order to defend themselves. What times we live in!129
As it turned out, Chūemon was mistaken. He corrected himself a few days later:
Regarding the reports of rōnin assembling in Hachiōji, it turns out that they are not warriors at all but peasants. Driven by distress, about eight hundred of them rioted in Hinonohara. Egawa Taroemon dispatched an army of villagers. They fired at the rioters, and three of them were killed. The rest all fled. About thirty of them were arrested. The matter has now been settled, and all the villages are under strict supervision. A force of guards is said to have left yesterday from Edo to Yokohama, with a hundred and fifty regular soldiers and many others. These are just rumors.130
The Hachiōji protest was a reflection of the enormous distress inflicted on many villagers by the turmoil of the 1860s. From the mid-1860s to the turn of the 1870s, almost three hundred and fifty peasant protests erupted throughout Japan—about five times the average rate of the preceding three centuries. The disturbances of this time were varied in cause and outcome. They ranged from relatively minor complaints about local abuses of power or wealth to organized, domain-wide insurgencies. Although the authorities generally dealt with peasant protesters firmly, often executing their ringleaders, there was also a great deal of sympathy for the plight of the protesting villagers and townsmen. They were, in many ways, the most helpless victims of the changes roiling the Japanese economy and politics, and they were for many the symbol of the damage caused by the opening of Japan.
The opening of Yokohama undoubtedly had far-reaching effects on the rural hinterland, though by no means were all of them negative. It is not easy, however, to separate the economic effects of the opening of Japan to foreign trade from the turbulence and disruption caused by accompanying political upheavals. In the Kōshū region, as in many other parts of Japan, merchants, farmers, and townsmen experienced both new economic opportunities and major challenges during the 1860s.
Overall, the Kōshū silk market increased as rapidly as expanding mulberry cultivation would allow. In response to the enormous foreign demand, shipments by the main Kōfu silk merchants increased 420 percent by volume between 1863 and 1868.131 Cotton production and prices also rose in response to the global supply shortage of 1863–1864. Rising prices and expanded production brought sorely needed cash income to poor farmers, and local merchants were able to take advantage of unprecedented opportunities. Even here, though, the benefits of the opening to trade could be double-edged. In her detailed study of the Ina valley to the west of Kōshū, Kären Wigen has shown how the opening of Japan to international trade produced radical inversions of the regional economy, with previously prosperous centers of production falling into decline, while new centers oriented toward the silk trade with Yokohama became newly prosperous.132 Similarly, in the Kōshū district, while some merchants became wealthy as a result of opportunities in the cotton and silk trades, others found themselves unable to keep up with the pace of change.
Chūemon is of course a Kōshū farmer-merchant who did well out of the new business opportunities. Other newly successful merchants included Wakao Ippei from Zaiketsuke village in the mountains west of Kōfu. In addition to profiting from the trade in silk thread and silkworm egg cards, Ippei also opened two silk-reeling factories in Kōfu, which together used as many as twenty-five silk-reeling machines (using a Japanese design originating in Maebashi), employing women to operate them. But other business owners were not so successful at adapting to the new opportunities and challenges of the international market. Of the established silk merchants in Kōfu at the turn of the 1860s, only one, Ōtaya Sahei, survived the decade. For the others, the speed of growth and the constant need for new sources of supply were too much to keep up with. Aggressive entrepreneurs were always ready to take their places. Cotton merchants, on the other hand, did well from the windfall of demand created by the American Civil War, and several of them used the capital they gained to expand into silk, further squeezing out the established players.133
Similarly, for the artisans and small-scale farmers of Kōshū the changing economic conditions brought opportunity for many, but also hardship. For those with access to mulberry and cotton, the flood of demand for silk thread and raw cotton brought cash income that could be used to pay taxes, improve land, or invest in agricultural expansion. The growth also brought wage income to farm laborers and factory girls. But the opening of Japan to foreign trade also brought a destabilizing inflation
that hit hardest at those on fixed incomes outside the silk and cotton industries—artisans, laborers, and tenant farmers. Those people saw steep increases in the prices of essential commodities, without benefiting from equivalent income gains.
In Edo, from 1859 through 1867 rice increased in price by 270 percent, oil by 300 percent, paper by 240 percent, and sugar by 220 percent. Meanwhile, the wages of a carpenter increased during the same period by only 70 percent, while tatami-mat makers saw their wages increase by only 10 percent. Overall, artisan wages and incomes increased by no more than 50 percent on average.134
Undoubtedly the price increases were closely linked to the opening of Japan to foreign trade. The links were both direct and indirect, and it is hard to assess which was the more important. In 1860 the government issued a new gold koban coin, reducing its bullion level by almost two-thirds compared with the coin it replaced but retaining its exchange rate to the silver ichibu coin at the same four-to-one ratio. This reflected the drastic adjustment of Japan to the world market rate for gold, and it undoubtedly contributed to the destabilization of prices. On top of that, the enormous demand from the foreign merchants for silk, cotton, tea, and other agricultural and marine commodities created a rapid inflation in the prices of those commodities. Silk went up in price so quickly that the government feared Japanese people would no longer be able to afford it for their own use (though as a luxury product, this hardly affected the artisan and laboring classes). Inevitably, the price rises in these export commodities had a knock-on effect on prices in other parts of the economy. And a third factor in the inflation of the 1860s was the shogunal government’s own insatiable money needs. The destabilization caused by the opening of Japan resulted in vastly increased military and security expenses for the shogunal government, which now found itself threatened from several sides, both domestically and internationally. The government responded by minting more and more money—particularly copper and iron coins—of a lower and lower quality. Since most artisans and laborers were paid in these same small-denomination coins, they found that their buying power was drastically reduced.135
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