An audience with the Shogun (a continuation of last week's post on memoirs from A.B Mitford)

Mitford states that the political situation in Japan underwent a profound change at the beginning of 1867. It was clear that some form of activity was going on in the background as factions competed for influence. The death of Shogun Tokugawa Iemochi on the 29th of August brought things to a head, and the seventh son of the Lord of Mito, Tokugawa Yoshinobu, was appointed to that position through the plotting of ministers from than province. Yoshinobu wasted no time in calling for the combined representatives of foreign lands to an audience with him in Osaka. Mitford states that Osaka at the time was a fairly non-descript town with a myriad of rivers and canals, and had previously been an important focal point of trade. He said that it was referred to as “The Venice of the East”, although in reality there was little to lend credence to that title apart from the abundance of water channels around the town. Mitford wrote that he and Satow were dispatched to Osaka by warship in the first week of February in order to make preparations for the reception ceremony and learn what protocols would be used.Mitford and Satow were accompanied on their journey to the West by a Captain Cardway from the 9th Regiment and a Danish Lieutenant by the name of Zalbitser (an approximation of the surname).  They landed at Hyogo, and then made their way to Osaka by horse.  In addition to a large number of guards provided for their security, a number of troops were placed at various points along the route. Every time they passed through a check point, these troops would follow behind them, so that by the time they reached their destination they had around 2 or 3 thousand followers.  Mitford said that this was ‘good evidence’ of how seriously the government took their safety. When they reached Osaka, they learned that the Emperor Kōmei had passed away on the 3rd of February from smallpox.  He had actually died on the 30th of January, yet for some inexplicable reason the date of death had been postponed by four days. Kōmei’s successor, the famous Emperor Mutsuhito (Meiji), was but a youth of fifteen at the time.

Those who knew the young Emperor had deep trust in his abilities, and predicted that an appropriate education and training would result in a person of extraordinary ability, and in that they were absolutely correct. Mitford was convinced that if the Emperor Kōmei had lived, given he was avidly opposed to any interaction with foreigners, the events of the next couple of months would have been completely different.

When they arrived in Osaka, they lodged at a small but comfortable temple located on the Teramachi way.  There they were welcomed and were treated with deference, which made their task easier as their every want and need was met. They also became something of a curiosity, and so the roads around their lodgings were packed with spectators, to the extent that they had trouble passing along the streets. Most of the major merchants in Osaka set up stalls in the roads around the temple and proceeded to sell fruit, confectionary, and cheap knickknacks, and Mitford noted that travelers in the early 20th century found this hard to believe.

Mitford admitted that the principal reason for the visit to Osaka was ostensibly to participate in an audience with the Shogun together with other foreign representatives, however Ambassador Parkes also believed it was a fantastic opportunity to gather information about the political situation in Kyoto.  He says that this trip was where he first met many of those leaders of various provinces who in the future would play such a large role in the formation of the modern Japanese state. 

Mitford mentioned that most Bakufu supporters in Kyoto were from Mito province, and were prepared to sacrifice themselves on behalf of the Shōgun. Their opponents were messengers from Satsuma, Chōshū, Tosa, and Uwajima, all of whom were resolved to bring about the removal of the shōgunate.  Mitford says that the English delegation was kept well informed of plot activity in Kyoto, although most of those who passed information to them had, by the time the memoirs were written, died.  While in Osaka, he met almost daily with Komatsu Tatewaki from Satsuma, Lord Ito from Chōshū, and the most impressive of the bunch, Goto Shōjiro from Tosa province. Each one of these men and others would play pivotal roles in the formation of the Meiji state. Mitford also says that he and others in the delegation had to take every precaution when they went to meet with these men. They would be accompanied by troops who were there ‘for their protection’. However the delegates managed to slip their guards and meet with province representatives on their own (this occurred at least twice).

Mitford said that one of the consequences of these meetings would have a profound effect on what would later occur in Japan’s history.  He said that the goal of the Lord of Satsuma, along with other daimyo, was not to overthrow the shōgunate but to prevent the misuse of its authority.  Satsuma wanted to restore the imperial household to its former glory, as it would contribute to stabilizing the nation. As such, Satsuma’s purpose was not to incite a revolution against the Shogun but to act for the benefit of the nation. The Lord of Satsuma had suggested that should the British ambassador come to Osaka and propose a new treaty directly with the Emperor, all of the daimyo would support the proposal. In order to realise this plan, it would be necessary for everyone to gather in Kyoto. Hence if the ambassador lent the daimyo just a fraction of his authority, the daimyo would take responsibility for everything that happened thereafter.  It was an audacious plan, and if it had occurred just a few months later, it would have been subject to ridicule. 

Mitford writes that while he was in Osaka he and others in the delegation took the opportunity to go shopping, and that he planned to purchase some famous goods and return with them to Yokohama. He mentions that lacquerware was popular, along with pipes of various shapes and sizes, fans, and textiles, all of which were difficult to resist purchasing. He says that wherever he and the other delegates walked, they would be followed by a large crowd. They were accompanied by a minor official with a wakizashi (short sword), who would make a noise like a bird (probably a crow) in order to clear a path for the delegates.  However the curiosity of the crowd was too great and they would continue to follow the delegates and wouldn’t be dispersed so easily.

Mitford then says that after returning to Edo from Osaka, a tragedy unfolded at the mission while they were away.  He says that many of their acquaintances (presumably among the foreign community) were never able to rid themselves of the fear that they would be attacked by some ‘rogues’ as they wandered along the streets of Edo. Many rogues had become more audacious in their provocations at foreigners, and would often make a display of unsheathing their swords and waiving them around, indicating that they could cut someone in half from their shoulder to their waist. The foreign population in Edo knew of this, and so were taught to shoot to kill anyone who approached them with a sword drawn even an inch out of its scabbard. Mitford writes that the interpreting students (presumably from England) at the mission were also frightened both day and night at the thought of meeting an unfortunate end. They would not venture out from the mission, and even though they were protected in the mission by members of the 9th Regiment and a great many other guards, pleaded with the ambassador to have an Armstrong cannon brought out from Britain and placed at the gate of the mission for its protection.  

One evening, one of these youths could no longer handle the strain. After having dinner with some of his friends, he returned to his room, from which two shots were heard. The first shot had apparently failed to hit its mark because the man was shaking so much, and the bullet from that shot was later found in the ceiling of his room.  The second shot, however, proved fatal. Mitford writes that suicide is certainly not a contagious disease, yet in the same week another two such incidents took place in Yokohama. Mitford says that it is difficult for people to understand the type of life he and others had to live during the early days of interaction with Japan, but notes that for four years he kept a loaded pistol on the desk that he used to write at. He also says that he would always have a Spencer revolver in one hand and a bayonet in the other when he returned to his bedroom at night and which would lie close by as he slept. He says the fact that anybody can now walk the streets of Kyoto and Edo (Tokyo) while twirling a cane just like they were walking along Regent Street or Piccadilly is a blessing that owes a debt of gratitude to the law that banned the wearing of swords.

Mitford writes that in May of 1867, Ambassador Parkes and he travelled to Osaka for their first audience with the Shogun. Osaka Castle was, as much as it was in Mitford’s day, and as long as you were looking at it from the outside, a large museum to the feudal age and the crowning glory of the last days of Toyotomi Hideyoshi.  Mitford then goes into a bit of historical detail regarding Hideyoshi, and expresses admiration for the way in which its stone walls had been constructed using massive stones piled on top of one another but without using any sort of adhesive.  He writes that the castle was surrounded by a moat, and protected on two sides by Yodogawa and Kashiwara-gawa. He noted that the stone walls were over 30 feet long and 20 feet high and were beautiful in their simplicity. He said the castle had been attacked by bow and arrow and firearms, but had withstood them all. He then goes into how Hideyori succeeded Hideyoshi, only to be eventually overthrown by Tokugawa Ieyasu.

Mitford writes that the audience with the Shogun took place within Osaka Castle.  It was an event that is likely never to be seen again. The position of Shogun was thereafter abolished and became another part of Japan’s distant past. When Mitford wrote his memoirs, the last Shogun, Yoshinobu, had died some months earlier, and the castle was no longer its former self.  He wrote that the outer walls were the same, but the interior palaces had been burned down by Bakufu forces in the aftermath of the battles of Toba and Fushimi. These underlings had returned to the castle after fighting for the Bakufu only to find that their leader had fled to Edo, and so harboured a deep resentment towards the Shogun thereafter. 

Mitford writes that this must have caused great angst among the retainers and allies of the Tokugawa household. However Mitford then reminds the reader that history does not follow set patterns, and that relying his own memory meant that he was writing things down as he recalled them, zigging and zagging backwards and forwards in time. He writes that the defeated Shogun returned to Edo safely to the castle of his ancestors. One of his younger retainers, Hori Kuranokami, in order to erase the dishonor to the Shogun’s name, suggested that Yoshinobu commit ritual suicide. In order to prove his sincerity, Hori announced that he would commit ritual suicide first.  Yoshinobu’s reaction was unexpected, however. He burst out laughing, saying that such a barbaric practice was outdated. Hori then reluctantly bowed and withdrew to an adjoining room. There he bared his chest down to his abdomen, and proceeded to die ‘like a warrior’ by cutting open his abdomen. Mitford says that Yoshinobu’s error was to assume that the ‘barbaric’ practice of ‘belly cutting’ was outdated. He says that even in the early 20th century, it was used as a way to retain one’s honour.

Mitford says that Saigo Takamori, whom he had known for a long time and was one of the leading figures from Satsuma, had died in such a manner during the rebellion of 1877.  He said another hero of the treaty ports area, his long-time friend Nogi Maresuke, had committed suicide two years earlier in 1913. Nogi was deeply affected by the death of his beloved lord Emperor Mutsuhito, and so together with his loyal wife, chose to follow the Emperor into eternity.  

Mitford then writes that he and Ambassador Parkes had three audiences with the Shogun. The first meeting was private, and as expected, proved to be the most interesting of the meetings. This was not only because it was a new experience, it was also because it allowed for a free exchange of opinions that would not have otherwise happened in a public ceremony. The Bakufu had a number of high officials who had been dispatched for the occasion, while the British delegation had 17 mounted troopers in splendid uniforms from the London Metropolitan Police Force, along with a squad of troops from the 9th Regiment for protection.  They were also protected by a number of Japanese guards. The entire retinue headed by horseback towards the castle. Mitford notes that every Japanese citizen they met along the way, whether of high or low status, got off their horses in deference to the delegation.

The delegation itself did not dismount from their horses until they reached the gates in front of a broad square attached to the inner palace. This building was the same as the outer walls and moats albeit smaller, and had its own moat. They were met by a number of high officials and then taken to a waiting room where they enjoyed tea and light refreshments. Mitford then quotes from a letter he wrote on the 6th of May 1867 which described the audience with the Shogun.  

The interior of the castle was much more gorgeous than any Japanese building he had seen up until that point. The walls were covered in gold-leaf, and featured depictions of trees, flowers, and birds all painted in exquisite detail by a painter of the Kanō school.  Mats weaved from rush reeds were affixed to right-angled hooks plated in gold, and on these large weavings were laid out decorated in orange, red and black silk, similar to a gypsy’s ribbon. The upper section of the room was decorated in the height of Japanese wood carving technology, of a type comparable to Grinling Gibbons (a 17th century British wood sculptor originally from the Netherlands and considered one of the greatest wood sculptors of his age), generously decorated in gold flake, and set within a deeply carved board. Each of these boards had been carved by a different master, and no two boards were alike.  The theme of each of these pictures varied, but were made to emphasize beauty, such as a strutting phoenix, cranes, a softly coloured but gorgeous collection of rhododendrons, bamboo whose leaves were being gently blown by a breeze, and an aged black pine tree. The pillars and sidings in the room were made of unfinished Japanese zelkova, fastened into place using gold plated pegs. The ceiling was divided into square shaped sections, each with its own carvings, and each of these was coloured in a deep gold lacquer. The sections between each square were also lacquered in gold or black. 

Mitford says that while the effect was certainly gorgeous, it wasn’t without its faults. That was because after 200 years the sharpness of the pictures had dulled somewhat.

While waiting in the first room, Mitford and the ambassador spent time with high officials doing what most people do to pass the time – talking about the weather.  After that they were escorted to the meeting room. This room had been laid out in a Western fashion, with 8 seats arranged around a table. At one end of the table was the chair for the Shogun, an impressive lacquered piece of furniture. They were met in that room by senior and junior retainers of the Shogun, where they received word that he would soon come to meet them. Some high sliding doors that divided up the Japanese room they were in silently slid left and right, and an atmosphere of excited tension filled the room, much like an audience waiting for a piano recital to begin. For one or two seconds the Shogun stood like a statue in the space between the sliding doors, presenting a figure of stiff formality. All of the Japanese in the room knelt in a deep bow, except for the senior and junior retainers who remained standing. They probably did this so as not to create any discrimination between themselves and the delegates and so were excused from the usual formalities. 

When the Shogun entered the room, he bowed, and then, to borrow a phrase from Tacitus “in the manner of the barbarians”, shook hands with Ambassador Parkes.  All of the delegates, namely Parkes, Lowcock, Satow, and Mitford himself, then sat on one side of the table while the other featured the Shogun and four of his retainers. The Shogun then majestically stood up and enquired about the health of Queen Victoria.  Ambassador Parkes himself then stood up and asked about the well-being of the Emperor and then proceeded to discuss a range of practical issues. While speaking with the Shogun in private, Yoshinobu revealed that he knew all about recent events that had occurred following the signing of the Elgin Treaty. He spoke plainly in relation to the ‘disturbances’ that the English delegates had recently experienced, and said that he was aggrieved by the many issues preventing the fulfilment of friendly relations between the people of his nation and the delegates. He also revealed his resolve to improve the existing system of government. Mitford writes that the Shogun possessed a personality that was well-suited to drawing people to him.  People would expect, on first meeting him, for him to be overly stiff and somewhat pensive, and given the amount of problems he was dealing with at the time that was to be expected. Yet he was also able, amongst all the formality, to speak and act freely.

Mitford writes that Tokugawa Yoshinobu was an individual who possessed many excellent traits. He was of short stature in comparison to Westerners, but around average for the Japanese of his day.  When he wore more traditional clothes, that difference was not really all that obvious. Mitford wrote that among all of the Japanese that he met during his time in Japan, Yoshinobu’s figure was the one that was the most impressive to Western eyes. He says that he had a bright, healthy olive complexion, with sparkling eyes. While his mouth was stiffly pensive, he had a kind expression when he smiled. He had a strong body, which was very masculine in appearance.  He also practiced horse riding regularly, and in all weather like a famous English huntsman. Forty years after their first meeting, Mitford said that the passage of time had hardly aged Yoshinobu.  His attractive gait had not diminished any, and while he might have had more wrinkles on his face, his character had not changed at all. One of the peculiarities of being born into a famous household is that everything is done according to tradition. Yet Yoshinobu, as an aristocrat, was exceptional. Mitford regretted the fact that Yoshinobu’s position in society was anachronistic, however.     

Mitford then writes that after engaging in friendly conversation for around an hour, Yoshinobu mentioned that he would like to see the guard that the delegation had brought with them, and which had been waiting in the central grounds of the castle. Yoshinobu appeared to be quite impressed by the sword and lance drill conducted by the mounted troops. Yet what impressed him most was the size of the horses they had brought with them, which were a type of Arabian breed they had imported to Japan from India and were quite grand.  Yoshinobu loved horses, and so spread the word that these foreign horses were, when compared to Japan’s own domestically bred horses, so much better in many ways. Japan’s own horses were, it must be said, of an ordinary type that can be found anywhere.

The Shogun then treated the delegation to a splendid dinner. He writes that at the time his diary was completed (in 1915), it was fairly standard to be treated to French cuisine at the residences of Japan’s elite. But the opportunity to dine with the Shogun and his retainers was, for the four delegates from Britain, like something out of a dream.  Yoshinobu functioned as the host, while his retainers made every effort to accommodate the delegates. Mitford also mentions that Yoshinobu, at some stage during proceedings, rose up from his seat in order to propose a toast to the health of Her Majesty the Queen of England. The diplomatic practice of making toasts was not something commonly known in Japan at the time, and it appeared to be an attempt by Yoshinobu to please his guests.  Parkes then returned the gesture by proposing a toast to the health of the Shogun.  After the dinner, the Shogun accompanied his guests to an interior room where they were given pipes and silk tobacco purses woven by the Shogun’s wives.

Mitford also writes that as the delegates were preparing to leave, they ventured down one of the hallways in the residence which was decorated with fabulous prints depicting many famous poets. When Yoshinobu saw how much the delegates appreciated the paintings, he ordered one of them to be removed from the wall and presented to Ambassador Parkes to take back with him to the British mission. Ambassador Parkes was initially reluctant to accept the picture, however Yoshinobu told him that “every time I will look at that spot, I will know that the picture that hung there now decorates the residence of the Ambassador of Britain, and that will bring me great joy”.  Mitford then exclaims “Can you conceive of any greater form of farewell than this?” 

Mitford wrote that the delegates remained in the castle until after 9pm. He said that the delegates were incredibly pleased at the way the meeting had gone, and that the retainers of the Shogun were also happy to have been granted the opportunity to meet with representatives from Britain for the first time.  Mitford later wrote that because of the Shogun’s natural curiosity and affability, there was a strong expectation that the opening of the port of Osaka, which was scheduled to take place in January the following year. He states that he was scheduled to be transferred out of Japan around that time, something that vexed him greatly. He believed that he would be missing out on the last politically important event in Japanese history. However fortunes changed and he ended up staying longer, and would have many other opportunities to experience ‘historically significant’ events.

Memoirs of AB Mitford, Principal Observations – taken from 英国外交官の見た幕末維新:リーズデイル卿回想録、A.Bミットフォード、長岡祥三訳、講談社、2017年9月11日発行

The above memoir concerns the personal experiences of the British diplomat Algernon Bertram Freeman-Mitford (1st Baron Redesdale), who in the Autumn of 1866 (Keiō 2) arrived in the port city of Yokohama to take up a position as a second secretary within the British legation. It was during that first encounter with Japan by Mitford that he came into contact with Ernest Satow, himself a British diplomat, and the two of them would remain life-long friends.  Mitford himself was born in February of 1837 (Tenpō 8), and was six years older that Satow (he was around 28 when he arrived in Japan).  

Mitford himself admitted that his reason for writing a memoir of his experiences in Japan stemmed from the fact that for many years he had not spoken to anyone about what he saw and heard during his residency in Japan, and that after the passage of 50 years many of those whom he knew in Japan, and who had played such a pivotal role in the opening of Japan to foreign influence and in the establishment of Japan as a modern state, were already starting to pass away.  So he endeavoured to write down, in as much detail as he could, his reminiscences of Japan.

Mitford held Ernest Satow in very high regard, and praised Satow as the principal reason why he was able to experience so much of the historical events that punctuated the early years of foreign diplomatic activity in Meiji Japan. 

Mitford arrived in Yokohama by ship in October of 1866, and spent four years at the forefront of Japan’s emergence into the modern world.  His arrival in early October coincided with a cold front over much of north-east Asia, so when his ship set out from Shanghai it met with some rough seas and both crew and passengers were very relieved when they finally dropped anchor just outside the port of Yokohama. At the time of his arrival the port city was being battered by heavy rain and strong winds, and at the customs house on the wharf water ran through the building as though it had been built on a river.  The customs officials themselves wore fairly non-descript clothing (kimono) with two swords at their hip, with lacquered caps and grass mantles.

For the first two to three days, until lodgings were prepared, Mitford stayed at the official residence of Minister (re: Ambassador) Harry Parkes. The residence itself was located near the coast, and was a one-storey building. Mitford wrote that on his first night at the residence, possibly as a reflection of the bad weather that accompanied his arrival, discussions at the dinner table were somewhat gloomy, focusing on the death of ‘Richardson’ (in the Namamugi Incident), the assassinations of Baldwin and Bird (by shishi in the streets of Yokohama), and the attack that occurred against the British legation during the residence of Ambassador Rutherford Alcock and Captain Neale by ‘rōnin’. Mitford wrote that his first nights in Japan were spent listening to the wind howling through the ambassadorial residence, rattling windows and doors, which made him grab a nearby pistol in fear that the residence was under attack. Apparently he wasn’t the only one to think this, and that the hallway of the residence was filled with diplomats bearing arms in anticipation of an assault by ‘rōnin’.

Mitford’s first night in Japan was also accompanied by an earthquake, which added to the fears of the diplomatic staff in the residence. However the danger soon passed, and the following days were blessed by good weather, so much so that he was able to see Mt Fuji capped in snow and in all of its glory. Mitford also spent the first few days in Japan walking around Yokohama, both in and outside the city, with Satow. As it was Autumn, the fields outside the city were brimming with ripened rice plants, along with the hills around the city being dotted with red and gold hues and deep green pine, cypress and bamboo forests at the foot of the hills.

Mitford points out that in 1866, with the political situation in Japan so uncertain, a rivalry broke out between Ambassador Parkes and the French Ambassador Leon Roche. He proceeds to describe the physical characteristics of Parkes, noting that he was a short man, with thinning hair, but of cheerful disposition. He notes he had a large head, with a broad face, so that his body and head “did not appear in proportion to one another”.  He also says Parkes was ‘fearless’ and never showed any sign of weariness, but was excitable and quick to anger. He then goes on to describe Parkes’ time in the East, noting he had been sent out to China at the age of 13 in 1841, had studied Chinese vociferously, and had performed the role of interpreter, embarking on dangerous journeys into the interior of China from time to time.  Parkes was appointed as ambassador to Japan when he was 38, and Mitford met him a year after he had assumed that position. Parkes apparently regretted the fact that his education had been abruptly interrupted in his youth, and so spent much of his life trying to make up for this by engaging in reading in his spare time (which was little, given Parkes was a very active character). Mitford believed that Parkes’ greatest short-coming as a diplomat was the fact that he could not speak French.

Mitford says that Parkes and Roche were deeply jealous of one another, noting that when war broke out between the Bakufu and regional daimyo, they were both backing “the wrong horse”. In Parkes’ case, he had the extraordinary fortune of having Ernest Satow in his employment. Satow had studied the traditions and folk history of Japan in detail, understood the position occupied by the Shogun, and knew that the Emperor was the original head of the nation. Not only this, he possessed fluency in Japanese, was intelligent and able to speak plainly, which enabled him to become an acquaintance to many of the most influential people in Japan. He was also young, which would be a great advantage to the ambassador in forging ties with the Japanese state.

One other person that Mitford praises for his deep knowledge of Japan was Thomas Glover (a merchant residing in Nagasaki, and who provided weaponry to the anti-Bakufu forces). Ambassador Parkes regarded Satow’s advice as exemplary, and his advocacy led weight to Satow’s suggestion that Britain back the daimyo forces absolutely. Roche, on the other hand, was firm in his support for the shogunate, and so continued to provide support to that institution despite the fact it was gradually growing ever weaker.  Parkes was particularly incensed when he found out that Roche had brought out from France army instructors to instruct the shogunal forces, and so resolved to bring British naval officers to Japan to educate the daimyo forces. Mitford therefore believed that the development of the Japanese army and navy came about because of the personal dislike between Parkes and Roche. 

Mitford says that Roche lent his hand to shipbuilding facilities, port facilities, and weapons manufacturing, which were all areas he expected France would have a monopoly. Yet the development of all of these elements depended on the shogunate remaining in power. Roche’s audacious plan led to fierce diplomatic debates, so much so that Ambassador Parkes regarded Roche with a lot of suspicion.   Mitford states that the Tokugawa were to be congratulated on being able to provide some 200 years of stability for Japan, but the rot within the institution of the shogunate started from the third Shogun Iemitsu onward. 

Mitford stated that after a week he was able to move into his own abode, made of plain wood and paper. He (with a great amount of sarcasm) stated that the house itself was ‘a little bigger than a doll’s house’, with a small garden with a number of small trees growing in it. Mitford lived in one of three connected residences, the others being occupied by Ernest Satow and Dr William Willis. The residence was in the foreigner’s quarter, somewhat separated from the city (or town) of Yokohama itself. Willis had some difficulties with his house, given that he was a large man, and his coming and going from such a small abode was a source of constant wonder to Mitford. As a house warming party, the three diplomats invited a number of members of the 9th Regiment and three or four ‘geisha’.  The food supplied was Japanese in origin, and the revelry lasted until midnight.

The Great Fire of Yokohama:

The time spent in the foreigner’s quarter was brief, as on the 26th of November Mitford said he was woken by a sharp gust of wind that blew through one of the doors of the residence. He jumped out of bed without time to dress (mainly because all of his furniture and luggage had only been brought into the residence the night before and remained unpacked). He had enough time to shave before a Chinese servant came in to tell him that a large fire had been spotted some 2/3rds of a mile away.  Mitford believed he had enough time to dress and then venture out to look at the fire, unaware of the sheer speed at which a fire could spread through a town built primarily of wood. 

After shaving and dressing, which consisted of his trousers and a thick overcoat, he went outside, only to discover that a fierce wind had intensified the fire which had spread to the neighbourhood around his residence. Mitford had a pet dog which he attempted to bring outside with him, however spooked by the noise and chaos of people running about, the dog ran back into the building. Mitford discovered the bones of the dog the following day in the ashes of a Western chest of drawers.  In the space of an hour, the neighbourhood that Mitford was in disappeared, with a fierce wind continuing to blow, causing the fire to jump from roof to roof and devouring everything in front of it, leaping hundreds of yards in an instant.

One of the curious things that Mitford noticed about the fire was that unlike fires in London, which were accompanied by sounds of wood cracking, popping and collapsing house frames, this fire just burned everything up, much like the wick of a candle. Houses that had been standing just moments before were reduced to ash in a matter of minutes with nothing but the red glow of heated roof tiles left behind. Such was the ferocity of the fire that no buildings, whether wooden or brick, survived unscathed, and the entire town would have been swallowed up if the wind hadn’t abated around midday. Mitford observed that if a fire such as that in Yokohama started in Edo, it would have raced off in all directions and reduced the city to ruins.

Mitford described a great many lives being lost in the fire, noting that close to his residence bodies had been laid out in rows and which were mostly unidentifiable.  He noted that most of the victims of the fire lived in the area that it started, the Gankirō (岩亀楼) district, famous for its houses of prostitution.  Some of the bodies discovered half burned had been pulled from a well, where a number of women had thrown themselves in a desperate attempt to escape the fire. Mitford was left with only the clothes he had managed to throw on (including his shoes and socks), however those whose homes survived the blaze showed generosity to those left without accommodation. Admiral Sir George King sent Mitford six shirts along with a letter that Mitford treasured for the rest of his life.

Rebuilding and relocating

Mitford writes that a few days before the fire, serious consideration was given by Ambassador Parkes to relocating the British mission to Edo, to the site of the original mission headed by Alcock and Neale on Goden-yama which overlooked the ‘notorious’ Shinagawa village. The location apparently had fine views, but it had been abandoned after being attacked and destroyed by ‘rōnin’. Mitford relates that Itō Hirofumi (whom he calls ‘Lord Itō) was one of the young rōnin allied to those who attacked the mission, and that the British mission was aware of his activities before he became a minister of the state. Itō was a good friend of Britain by the mid-1860s, and so when he was teased about his former life by the British diplomats he didn’t deny it but merely laughed.

Parkes was of the view that since Japan was a nation well disposed towards Britain, and that since Parkes had been sent as the representative of the British government despite not being the actual leader of his nation, the British mission had in all respects abandoned its right to property within Edo, which was in fact the seat of government. The situation was thus an ‘anomaly’ to what should otherwise be the proper state of affairs for diplomatic missions. Mitford agreed, and so the two of them set out for Edo in order to find a building that could function as a permanent site for a mission. 

The site they settled on consisted of two long, single storey buildings (which by the early 20th century were almost falling down), with one of the buildings set aside for official duties and the other for personal use. The site itself was located a little removed from Sengakuji, site of the graves of the 47 retainers. There was a guard house next to the gate entrance, into which would be placed soldiers from the 9th Norfolk Regiment, dispatched from Yokohama.   Mitford wrote that most Japanese he spoke to were surprised to learn that English troops had once protected Yokohama from their camp at Yamate, but this was the reality at the time of the opening of the foreign ports.

The British mission was also protected by a large number of guards, known as the “Betsu-te gumi”, most of whom were drawn from the ranks of lower class samurai and charged with the protection of the mission. However their principle task (according to the British diplomats) appeared to be to spy on the mission. Mitford reasoned that, under the Bakufu rule, no country in the world engaged in spying as much as Japan, and spying was considered to be more of an art than an occupation.  Officials were never allowed to operate by themselves, and would always be shadowed by a “metsuke”, with the same thing going for foreign diplomats.

He also describes a number of small, single storey houses that were built just below Sengakuji, and which he says were poorly constructed. They each featured a number of iron stoves, which were virtually useless as they would glow bright red if fires were lit inside them and fill the room with the smell of burning iron.  As such, it was better to endure the cold from the wind blowing in threw gaps in the windows and doors and down the long corridors than to light any fires. So for the first few nights, Mitford said that he and others tried to endure the cold as best they could, and went to bed early in an effort to try and stay warm, but to no avail. On the first night, Mitford was awakened by the sound of a bugle, and just like his experience in Yokohama jumped up out of bed pistol in hand expecting to have to repel intruders. On making enquiries, Mitford was informed that it was merely the guard making revelry, and so returned to bed to attempt to stay warm. 

Both Mitford and Satow felt that the small housing they were forced to reside in, under the gaze of the Betsu-te-gumi, made it a little like being imprisoned. Hence both of them petitioned the ambassador to give them permission to move to a nearby temple.  The ambassador was all for it, however given their restricted movements, it would take an unusual approach to get the Japanese authorities to agree to the measure. Hence the first thing Mitford and Satow did was to rent a section of a nearly temple known as Monryō-in. It was a small temple located around 100 yards from the mission on top of a hill, and had spectacular views of Edo bay.  Mitford and Satow thus became the first foreigners to be permitted to live in an area outside of a designated zone.  When they went on afternoon walks, even when they went the nearby mission, they were not able to escape the gaze of the Betsu-te-gumi. If they had been allowed to wander freely, they would have been able to interact more with the Japanese townspeople. Every now and then they would hear drunken bugle playing from the barracks attached to the  mission, but it was always a long way off so they didn’t give it much thought.

Years later Mitford paid a visit to the location of the temple, but found that nothing was left of the house that he and Satow lived in, and that the garden was overgrown with weeds and grass, which he said was “disappointing”. 

Mitford and Satow tried to live as frugally as possible, down to the smallest farthing. Instead of hiring an in-house cook and spending money on cooking ware and utensils, they had their meals brought to them from a nearby Japanese kitchen. These meals mostly consisted of rice and fish, occasionally supplemented with either chicken or duck meat.  On days when the weather wasn’t particularly good and fishermen weren’t able to fish, the kitchen owner would come around to apologise, bringing with him bamboo root and seaweed. Both Mitford and Satow would venture out together, although as Mitford was the senior, he was the one who had to write reports about their activities, but in actuality it was Satow who wrote the reports and offered advice. 

Japan, or more specifically western Japan, is currently recovering from the effects of an absolute deluge of water that mainly struck the prefectures of Hiroshima, Ehime, and Okayama over the weekend, with most of the damage to property and loss of life a result of flash flooding which led to river levees collapsing and innumerable landslides. To date, 158 people have been reported dead, with 72 missing and over 10,000 evacuated to temporary shelters. The SDF has been called out to help in recovery operations and to clear debris, along with emergency response organisations from the national and prefectural level.  To add to these woes, western Japan has just emerged from the ‘wet season’ (or tsuyu), meaning that average day temperatures in the disaster-affected zones are reaching in excess of 33 degrees Celsius. This, when combined with the high humidity that accompanies a typical Japanese summer, means that for both evacuees and rescuers alike, there is a risk of dehydration exacerbated by a lack of water supplies given that many water and gas lines have been ruptured (around 250,000 homes are without water in the most heavily affected prefectures). In towns and cities closer to the coastline this is less of a concern given that these areas are more populated, but for towns and villages further inland many of the roads leading into these areas have either been washed away or cut in two by rock and land slides, thus closing off the most convenient evacuation route and forcing residents to wait for helicopters to airlift them to safety. 

Relief efforts have been organised for the affected regions, with PM Abe announcing that he would forego a visit to Europe this week in order to deal with the after-effects of the disaster. Both the LDP and opposition parties have established relief funds for victims of the disaster, with NGOs engaging in fund raising activities and volunteers offering to assist in clean-up and recovery efforts.

While the situation itself is gradually improving, there are literal dark clouds on the horizon. With the most recent rainfall happening right in the middle of summer, further heavy rainfall can be expected to occur over the next few months, particularly when Japan enters its ‘typhoon season’ (usually August through to early October).  This could exacerbate problems as high winds coupled with heavy rains might increase the level of damage to property and lead to further loss of life.

It is in situations like this that Japan’s expertise in disaster response becomes obvious, given the speed at which evacuation centres have been established, rescue efforts coordinated, and temporary facilities installed to provide the essentials for everyday living. What Japan might require for the future, however, is more disaster oriented equipment, such as larger transport aircraft (say, either C-17s or even C-5s) or more All Terrain Vehicles (ATVs). Apparently Japan only possesses a single ExtremV ATV (dubbed the ‘Red Salamander’), which is used by the Aichi Prefecture Okazaki City Fire Brigade. Clearly in areas affected by flooding or landslides, such versatile vehicles could be very effective in transporting rescue crews or evacuating stranded residents, however it does not appear that any further purchases have been organised on a national scale. With predictions that similar disasters may become a regular feature of summer in Japan, it would seem far wiser to begin budgeting for these and other rescue-oriented pieces of equipment than, say, the purchase of further Osprey aircraft (about which many Japanese regional governments still retain serious doubts vis-à-vis safety).   

History, as an old axiom goes, it written by the victors. Through either good fortune, careful planning, meticulous execution (in all meanings of that word) or some other advantage, certain persons are destined to be remembered for their merits while others stand condemned for their sins. Yet the wheel of history sometimes turns in favour of the ‘wicked’, and on occasion reputations can be raised up from the mire of infamy and cast into the light of redemption. Japanese history is no exception to this trend, and recent scholarship has brought about a reinterpretation of the motives and methods used by certain historical individuals in pursuit of their interests. This blog has explored one of those figures, Akechi Mitsuhide, whose name was synonymous with ‘traitor’ for having rebelled against and ultimately caused the death of Oda Nobunaga (who himself might be regarded as a historical ‘villain’), yet many others come to mind – from Fujiwara no Kaneie, to Taira no Masakado, Taira no Kiyomori, Nichiren, Hōjō Masako, Hōjō Takatoki, Kō no Moronao, Ashikaga Takauji, Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, Ashikaga Yoshimasa (noticing a trend here?), Hino Tomiko, Saito Dōsan, Kennyo, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, the list goes on.

The figures outlined above are notable for the fact that in some way or another they fought against and on occasion prevailed against the perceived wisdom and authority of their day, whether it be the Imperial court, other warrior houses, influential religions, or social mores. In insisting on their rights and views, they collided with other prominent historical figures of their day, and their misfortune was to be on the losing side when the historical record came to be written (or lost).
Take, for example, the case of Hino Tomiko.  Here was a woman born into an aristocratic family tied to the Ashikaga shōgunate, who was married to the 8th Ashikaga Shōgun Yoshimasa at the age of 16. In the early 1460s Tomiko gave birth to a number of girls, but was unable to have any sons. This state of affairs was obviously a concern for the continuation of the Ashikaga household, so much so that Yoshimasa’s brother, originally known by his Buddhist name Gijin (as he had taken the tonsure and retired from public life), was brought back from the monastery, given the name Ashikaga Yoshimi, and was expected to succeed Yoshimasa in the position of shōgun.

However fate can sometimes conspire to play cruel tricks on mere mortals. In 1465 Tomiko gave birth to a son, Yoshihisa, which set off a series of events that would eventually lead to the Ōnin War. You see, Yoshimi had a powerful supporter in the form of Hosokawa Katsumoto, who believed that Yoshimi’s claim to the position of shōgun superseded that of Yoshihisa and so Yoshimi should become the 9th Ashikaga shōgun and was prepared to back him in that claim.

Tomiko had other ideas, however. Having tried for years to have a son, and with one finally available, Tomiko declared that Yoshihisa, as the son of Yoshimasa, had more claim to the shōgunate than Yoshimi. In order to support her claim, she appealed to Hosokawa rival Yamana Sōzen as well as her own Hino aristocratic family. This led to a direct standoff between the Hosokawa and Yamana clans, which in turn branched out to affect relations between other warrior and aristocratic families not only in the capital but also in the provinces, leading in turn to an outbreak of violence between supporters of the Hosokawa and Yamana in Kyoto in 1465.   

This conflict, known as the Ōnin War, would last for approximately 11 years, during which much of Kyoto burnt to the ground, Katsumoto and Sōzen both died, and the power of the central aristocratic and military families waned as regional warlords rose to take their place. Tomiko would survive all of this, and would see Yoshihisa succeed as the 9th shōgun, albeit to a much weakened government and an unstable realm.  Nonetheless, in her capacity as the wife of one shōgun and the mother to another, for which she was normally referred to as the ‘Midai-dokoro’ (御台所), she wielded considerable power for a woman in an age when women were not expected to play a prominent role in political and societal affairs (it certainly helped that she may, or may not, have also been secretly corresponding with Emperor Go-Tsuchimikado and carrying on a relationship with him, thus increasing her authority among the organs of state in the capital).

This in part explains why Tomiko’s reputation underwent such a hammering by later generations of historical scholars. Other causes are related to the fact that in the aftermath of the Ōnin War, Tomiko, as the real source of authority, ordered the installation of toll gates at the seven entrances to Kyoto in order to collect funds for the rebuilding of the Imperial palace – the ‘Dairi’ (内裏) – as well as to celebrate the end of hostilities and the return of peace to the capital. It does appear, however, that the collection of tolls was used to increase Tomiko’s personal fortune, a situation that created resentment and resulted in 1480 in the outbreak of a tokusei ikki (a form of protest which demanded the forgiving of debts and other financial burdens) during which the toll gates were destroyed. Not to be thwarted, Tomiko ordered the toll gates to be re-established at the city entrances, thereby making her a target of anger from not only commoners but also members of the aristocracy.
For a state still recovering from the effects of war and famine, and given the precarious state of the Ashikaga shōgunate at this period in time, it does seem foolish of Tomiko to have provoked popular anger by imposing financial hardship on the residents of the capital (Tomiko was also linked to the decision by Yoshimasa to embark on the construction of the ‘Hana no Gosho’ (Ginkakuji) during the great famine of Chōroku-Kanshō from 1459 to 1461, a move for which Yoshimasa was harshly criticized and admonished by Emperor Go-Hanazono).   On the other hand, the Imperial palace was restored, although it would be another 30 years before any festivals were held in the capital.

It does seem that historical memory has conspired to ensure that Hino Tomiko’s memory remains forever tied to villainy, for her selfishness, her greed, and her indifference to the suffering of the people. Yet for around 40 years she managed to thrive in a society in a state of chaos, at the focal point of political and military power, dominating the shōgunate in a manner never to be repeated by any of the male successors to that position. Her rapacious nature may have been one born of necessity, given that the relative power of the shōgunate was waning in the face of challenges from other military houses which forced her to be ruthless. Yet she was loyal to those who served her interests, and her fortune enabled the Ashikaga shōgunate to continue into the sixteenth century until its eventual demise in the 1570-80s.  As stated at the outset, history is written by the victors, and Tomiko’s misfortune was to be a powerful woman in an era where the instruments of state, overwhelmingly dominated by men, were falling apart. Her like would not be seen again until the emergence of Yodo-dono (also known as Cha-cha, concubine of Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and mother of Toyotomi Hideyori) in the late sixteenth century, whose reputation would be the subject of slander in the same manner as Tomiko.