Part 11

The Shogun had lost no time in making known to his imperial master at Kioto his desire to submit unreservedly to the sovereign’s will, for a courier was despatched from Yedo shortly after the arrival of the _Kaiyo Maru_ at Shinagawa anchorage. But it turned out that after the Shogun’s departure from Osaka an imperial messenger in the person of the baron Higashi Kuze was sent to Kobé to assure Sir Harry Parkes and the other foreign representatives that the engagements which had been entered into by Japan with their respective governments would be observed to the letter, and the imperial despatch contained an announcement of the Shogun’s resignation. The memorable document was dated the 3rd of February,—the day before the Shogun reached Yedo. Not only was the imperial rescript of the most welcome,—because reassuring,—character, but it bore for the first time in the history of Japan the sign-manual of the Emperor in the form of his personal name of Mutsuhito. Never before in the lifetime of the monarch had the personal name been appended to a state paper, it being customary to attach the great seal alone, but on this occasion both the great seal and that bearing the ruler’s own name were affixed to the document of which Higashi Kuze (now Count) was the bearer. The text thereof was as follows:—

The Emperor of Japan announces to the Sovereigns of all foreign nations and to their subjects that permission has been granted to the Shogun Yoshinobu to return the governing power in accordance with his own request. Henceforward we shall exercise supreme authority both in the internal and external affairs of the country. Consequently the title of Emperor should be substituted for that of Tycoon which has been hitherto employed in the Treaties. Officers are being appointed by us to conduct foreign affairs. It is desirable that the representatives of all the treaty powers should recognise this announcement.

MUTSUHITO.

(With the Seal of Dai Nihon,—Great Japan.)

_February 3, 1868._

The Emperor’s relative Ninnaja-no-Miya, afterwards Prince Higashi Fushimi, then became Minister for Foreign Affairs, and he wrote to all the foreign ministers notifying to them the fact of his appointment, and stating that it was the Emperor’s express mandate to him that all existing agreements made by the Bakufu with foreign countries should be respected.

For a while the Shogun retired to the temple of Uyeno, but on the decision of the Emperor being made known to him he went first to Mito, and not long afterwards to Shidzuoka, the chief town of Suruga province, at that time also known by its ancient name of Sumpu. He directed his followers without exception to adopt a similar course and submit themselves to the imperial will, yielding the Ten-shi implicit obedience from that time forward. In the vast majority of cases, however, this excellent counsel fell on deaf ears, for the adherents of the Tokugawa house were for the most part resolved by this time to carry on the struggle to an end.

On the retirement of Tokugawa Keiki the third son of Prince Tayasu, of the Mito branch of the family, by name Kamenosuké, at that time only five years of age, became the lineal head of the house. He is now Prince Iyesato, the President of the Tokio House of Peers, and bears the title of Kō-shaku, _lit._: Duke, though by courtesy styled Prince, there being in Japan a distinction between those who bear the simple title of Prince and the Imperial Princes of the Blood Royal.

More recently the Emperor, in the abundance of that magnanimity which has ever distinguished him, called the former Shogun, who is to-day in his sixty-ninth year, to the Imperial Palace at Tokio, and conferred upon him likewise the rank of Kō-shaku, a title similar to that borne by Prince Tokugawa Iyesato, who, as explained, represents the older (Tayasu) branch of the Tokugawa family, so that there are now two noblemen who hold this rank in what in pre-Restoration days was the viceregal line of Tokugawa Shoguns who claimed descent from Iyeyasu the Law-giver.

Prince Tokugawa Keiki, during his retirement at Shidzuoka, was often visited by those who had shared the fortunes of the Shogunate, but he entirely refrained from all interference with politics, and lived the life of a country gentleman, finding his recreation mainly in fishing, and showing his sympathy with the hard-working agricultural population in a way that won for him the respect and regard of all classes. When the Emperor sent for him to visit Tokio, a few years ago, he set out amid demonstrations of esteem on the part of the populace in Suruga which must have convinced him by their spontaneity that if in the course of events he had been compelled to relinquish the semi-regal state in which he had dwelt at the capital, he had retained in the hearts of his fellow-subjects of the Ten-shi a place of highest honour, and that the affection for his person evinced at every stage of the journey by those who were in former days his henchmen had flourished unabated throughout the lapse of close upon four decades. A writer once described the Shogunal entourage in terms which, after all the changes that Japan has undergone during the last quarter of a century, read somewhat strangely, but they serve to convey most vividly to the mind that magnificence by which, in the pre-Restoration period, the Court of Yedo was distinguished. There was a direct contrast between it and the almost severe simplicity of the Kioto Dai-ri, which housed the real monarch, in his complete seclusion, while his vicegerent performed most of the duties of sovereignty in a city 400 miles distant. The quotation is from an account given by one of his Highness’s own pages, and affords an interesting sketch of the daily routine in the Shogunal palace, or Nijo, at the Western Capital.

The usual form of address, we are told, was Go Zen (Your Highness), and there were in the palace no fewer than fifty pages, whose duties were to attend on the Shogun at all times, to wait at table, dress his hair in the fashion peculiar to that time, and, when invited to do so, take

## part in equestrian and other exercises. The Shogun habitually rose at

eight o’clock, and made his toilet for the day. He never wore any garment twice, the whole of his raiment being renewed each day. At breakfast seven or eight dishes were placed before him, but he ate sparingly at all meals, and at ten o’clock he saw his ministers in council (the Go-ro-ju, or assembled honoured elders). Having devoted the forenoon to affairs of state he usually, at midday, went to the “male quarters” of the palace to ride, shoot, or play polo,—in Japanese “da-kiu”—being skilled in archery, and a sure shot with the pistol. On the lake he had a boat in which he rowed himself, and he was expert in fishing with a casting-net. At four o’clock he usually returned to the ladies’ palace, and listened to their playing on the _koto_ or _Biwa_ (the _samisen_ was always too vulgar an instrument to have entry to the palace) and at 6 P.M. the evening repast of choice viands was served in great variety. His highness dined alone, having many ladies to wait on him, as well as pages, and the banquet often lasted until 11 P.M., with music and classic dances at intervals during the evening. He had no companions, for the reason, no doubt, that his rank prevented his associating on terms of equality with even the feudal lords, who were obliged by an inflexible etiquette to bow their heads to the floor when in his august presence, and to remain in that attitude throughout an interview. It is recorded that in 1866 a photograph of the Shogun was taken in his palace of Nijo at Kioto by an officer of an English man-of-war then in Japanese waters, his Highness wearing at the time his robes of ceremony, and it would be interesting to learn that the portrait still exists. The Nijo was built by the first Shogun of the Tokugawa line, the “Law-giver” Iyeyasu, and it was designed to be as much a fortress as a palace. The gorgeous gateways, resplendent in lacquer and gilding, leading to the inner apartments, remind one in their wealth of embellishment of those wonderful temple gates and halls at Nikko, constructed not long afterwards by Iyeyasu’s grandson, the magnificent Iyemitsu, and in the splendid audience chamber, where the Shogun sat on a dais to receive the homage of the feudal barons, the visitor catches a glimpse, as it were, of the pomp and circumstance which to the end of the Bakufu’s existence as a power in Japan surrounded the person of the “Last of the Shoguns.”

For fifteen years prior to its extinction the foreign policy of the Tokugawa Shogunate had been that which was found acceptable to the Emperor Mutsuhito on his accession, thus the necessity for the “Tycoon’s” intervention to secure imperial recognition for the treaties was no longer apparent, and it was inevitable that the position he held should eventually become untenable, apart from all other considerations of political exigency. The predominance of the Bakufu as a military despotism attained its zenith, to judge by the available history of the period, in the days of Iyemitsu, and in proportion as the individual strength and influence of the numerous feudal barons who owed it allegiance were found to increase, the real power of the Tokugawa house steadily diminished. While it lasted, however, the Bakufu did much to render Japan a prosperous country, studiously fostering the arts of civilisation in general, and diligently seeking to promote secular education. It established academies as far back as 1857 for the study of foreign languages and science, supplemented by a school of medicine in 1858.

III

FUJITA TOKO

Outside the Japanese Empire the name of Fujita Toko is but little known, yet he undoubtedly exercised an influence which tended greatly towards the making of Modern Japan, if only by reason of his pronounced hostility to the Regency of the Bakufu and his steadfast, unwearying inculcation of the doctrines of loyalty to the real sovereign and constant preparation for national defence. That he was in advance of his age is clear, for he lived in an era when Japan was secluded from the outer world, and was mainly dependent on such information regarding it as filtered through from Holland by way of the Dutch settlement at Nagasaki. Fujita was a renowned Chinese scholar and teacher of the classics, born in the third year of the Bunkwa period (1806), at Mito, in eastern Hondo, the seat of one branch of the Tokugawa family which for 250 years virtually ruled the country from Yedo. Mito is distant from the capital some fifty-five miles by railway, and is now the chief town of the Ibaraki prefecture, with a population of about 35,000, but in the time of Fujita it was accessible only by road through Tsuchiura, a town at the extremity of the large inlet or lagoon named Kasumi-ga-ura which penetrates from the Pacific a long way inland just to the north of Cape Inuboye. Mito itself is about twelve miles from the coast and is a flourishing agricultural centre, famed for its output of barley, beans, millet, and buckwheat. Tobacco is also extensively cultivated in this region, which is at the present day in the enjoyment of exceptional facilities of communication, for sea-going steamers call at Choshi, an anchorage at the mouth of the river Toné, close to Cape Inuboye, and smaller craft ply between Choshi and the towns situated along the Toné or on the shores of Kasumi-ga-ura, in addition to the branch railway from Oyama on the main line to the north of Japan and a separate line in connection with the capital through Tsuchiura.

[Illustration: FUJITA

SAKUMA

YOSHIDA]

Fujita Toko was not merely a celebrated professor of Chinese literature in an age when classical learning was highly prized, but he was the friend and counsellor of the famous Rekko, senior prince of Mito, whose seventh son, born in 1837, was destined to play so conspicuous a part in the affairs of the nation, and who happily still occupies a leading position as Prince Tokugawa Keiki, better known in pre-Restoration days as the Shogun Hitotsubashi, and whose share in the revival of imperial rule is elsewhere referred to in these pages. The head of the Mito house, Prince Tokugawa Nariaki, strenuously opposed the Bakufu form of government and its policy towards foreign powers, but there is no direct evidence that he was personally antagonistic to the people of the Occident. Dark deeds were attributed to his followers, but the perpetrators were at all events in theory “ro-nins” or outlaws, who had voluntarily severed their connection with the clan beforehand, and for whose crimes the house of Mito was not to be held responsible. This was

## particularly the case in regard to the assassination of the Regent or

Tairo, Ii Kamon-no-Kami, in 1860, at the Sakurada Gate in Yedo. Though the murderers had once, it turned out, been followers of the “old prince of Mito”—as he was termed—they had cut themselves adrift from the clan, and were acting independently of it when they perpetrated the crime that so profoundly stirred the community.

Fujita had long before this taken up his abode in Yedo, and dwelt in that part of the capital known as Koishikawa, down to the date of the terrible earthquake of 1855, in which he, in common with many thousands of his fellow-citizens, was engulfed. He spent practically the whole of his life, however, in Mito, and thither came in 1842 the future Commander-in-chief of the Imperial Forces in the War of the Restoration, and at a later period Minister for War in the Government of Revived Imperial Rule, Saigo Takamori. Saigo became Fujita’s pupil, and there is no doubt that the professor instilled into Saigo’s mind a hostility to the Shogunate as deep and enduring as his own, to bear fruit in after years when the possibility as well as the desirability of effecting a complete revolution in the administration came to be a matter no longer of secret consultation but of free and open discussion. If in the affectionate remembrance of his countrymen Saigo Takamori was the “sword and spear” of the Revolution of 1868, as Kido was its “brain” (employing a phrase once much in vogue), the thoughts of people in Japan must often turn to the long since dead Mito scholar who implanted in his pupil the conviction of the pressing need that there was for a return to the old order of things, and the personal rule of the real emperor.

There is a little story still current in Japan relative to the time of Saigo’s departure from Mito, after a stay of some years’ duration there under Fujita’s tuition. The master had bidden a number of his friends to a supper in Saigo’s honour, and in accord with ancient custom Fujita offered his _sakazuki_ (wine-cup) to his pupil in token of friendship, but Saigo, to Fujita’s surprise, at first begged to be excused. When rallied on his excessive caution Saigo explained that he went in fear lest under the influence of wine he might be guilty of acting imprudently, but Fujita would not accept the plea. “A man who aims at distinction as a samurai must never refuse his master’s invitation to take wine with him,” declared Fujita,—meaning, apparently, that a soldier must place himself unreservedly in the hands of his chief,—and Saigo thereupon took the risk, as he deemed it, on that occasion, and drank several cupfuls of _Sake_. Fujita was pleased with his pupil’s spirit, and often said of him afterwards that whatever Saigo might undertake he would assuredly succeed in, as he could accommodate himself to circumstances.

Fujita had many other students of classical literature staying with him at Mito at various times, it being a period when not only was there the highest appreciation of Chinese literary composition, but things Chinese in general had a vogue in Japan which approximated to that which in later years was developed in respect of things European. There was, moreover, a growing disposition among the samurai to apply themselves to the study of such arts and sciences as were revealed to them through translations of foreign works introduced by the Dutch at Nagasaki. To thinking men of the type of those who went to Fujita for instruction the Dutch books formed the only media whereby the desired information concerning the Western world could be obtained, and considering the difficulties under which those who sought knowledge in those days must have laboured the perseverance shown in its pursuit reflects vast credit on professors and pupils alike. Long prior to Commodore Perry’s first visit in 1853 the Japanese people were cognisant to some extent of the existence of railways, and steam engines,—even of the electric telegraph, it is said, which was at that time quite new to Europe and America,—and blast furnaces, mills, and workshops of different kinds had been set up on plans obtained from Nagasaki, with no inconsiderable share of success. Other industrial inventions had been introduced, which, if they did not precisely originate in the Occident, had at least been brought to some degree of perfection there, such as the art of printing from movable types, which is said to have belonged in the first place to Korea, and so with human effort in other directions it was at last discovered that all unknown to the Western world the leaven had been working in the various strata of society in Japan with results as astounding to the onlooker as they were beneficial in their effects on the nation. The disposition towards independence of political thought that arose from the perusal of foreign writings which found their way to the country in its period of seclusion was productive, when once the upheaval commenced, of a mental activity that manifested itself in a thousand ways in the last half-century, and there is little likelihood, despite her eagerness for progress, that Japan will ever forget those who aided in the past to bring about her emancipation from a feudal system which sapped her energies and blighted her prospects of advancement. Fujita Toko lives in the hearts of his countrymen.

IV

SAKUMA SHURI (OTHERWISE SHOZAN)

In the eighth year of the Bun-kwa era, corresponding to A.D. 1811, during the reign of the Emperor Kokaku, was born in the little town of Matsu-shiro (Pine citadel) in Shinano province, a man who was destined to leave his mark on the annals of his country for all time. Little has ever been heard of him, so far, outside his own land, but in Japan he is regarded as one of the forerunners of a new regime,—a patriot to whom the Japanese people of the present day are indebted in no small degree for the privileges which they now enjoy. His family name was Sakuma, and his common or as we might say, his baptismal name was Shuri, but to the student of history he is best known, perhaps, by his _nom de plume_ of Shozan. His poetical works fill many volumes, and I venture to quote one of the numerous “thirty-one syllabled” poems which he penned, as an example of his endeavours to stimulate his fellow-countrymen to throw off the yoke of feudalism:—

Kokoro-mi ni izaya sakeban Yama-biko no Kotaye tataseba koye wa oshimaji.

(When once to our loud shouts Echo vouchsafes an answer The vocal effort made to gain her favour counts for naught.)

It is recorded of him that even as a child he evinced an unusual gravity of demeanour, so much so that his behaviour was that of an adult rather than a boy of seven, and the neighbours were apt to shake their heads in doubt as to what manner of man he would grow up to be. He cared nothing for the ordinary sports of Japanese children of his years, who, as we have often been assured, dwell in a perfect paradise as far as their play is concerned, but was at all times distinguished by a taciturnity wholly unbefitting one so young. His cleverness was the subject of general remark, and he was a source of intense pride and satisfaction to his parents. In Japan, as in the West, children who betray extraordinary ability are objects of the most marked admiration.