Emperor of Japan: Meiji and His World, 1852’1912 (5 page)

Meanwhile, Nakayama Tadayasu and his son Tadanaru (1832–1882) had reported to the military liaison officers that they had been polluted by the birth. Tadayasu reported this also to his colleagues at the palace offices where he worked. This, too, was for form’s sake. Far from being distressed by the pollution he had suffered, Tadayasu was ecstatic, as we can gather from his poem:

The poem, though devoid of literary merit, perfectly expressed Tadayasu’s sentiments.

Every conscious act performed during the following days followed the prescriptions of a yin-yang diviner, but these were not the sole considerations. On the seventh day after the infant’s birth, Tadayasu had a yin-yang diviner purify the chamber in which the birth had taken place. The official seventh-night service was about to be conducted when someone realized that it was exactly 100 nights since Princess Yoriko, the infant’s elder sister, had died, so the ceremony was postponed to the following night.

The burial of the placenta was the next major consideration. This ritual generally took place within a day or two after the birth. Even before the baby was born, Nakayama Tadayasu had dug two holes in his property, but Tsuchimikado decided that neither was auspicious. His interpretation of geomantic signs led him to prefer the Yoshida Shrine, but in any case, the burial could not be carried out immediately. The three days after the birth belonged to the
doy
ō
period when digging in the earth was avoided for fear of a curse. The day after
doy
ō
ended, there was a change of season, also an unpropitious time for digging.
Muikadare
, the sixth day after the birth, when the infant’s downy hair was shaved and a name was bestowed, was also avoided, and the following day was the anniversary of Princess Yoriko’s death. Each of these events precluded the possibility of digging a hole in the ground, even though a team of men had already scouted the precincts of the shrine and decided on the proper spot. The burial of the placenta finally took place ten days after Meiji was born.

As yet K
ō
mei had not laid eyes on his newly born son. We can imagine how eagerly he was awaiting the moment, but tradition was more important than the claims of paternal affection. Not until thirty days after the prince’s birth was he taken to the palace to see his father. Before he set out, a white line was drawn across the hairline of his forehead, then dotted with mascara. Under it was written in rouge the character for
dog
, an example of protective magic. Nakayama Yoshiko, the infant’s mother, carrying him in her arms, made the journey (a few hundred yards) in a palanquin. She took with her the special gifts she had received when first she put on a maternity belt and, later, when she had given birth.

The palanquin set out for the palace about eleven in the morning. Two men cleared the way, and another ten attendants also preceded the palanquin which was borne by eight men. Four officers in formal attire walked beside the palanquin. Two court physicians and a majordomo, dressed in court costumes, followed. Other men, all wearing linen jackets, drew up the rear, and various dignitaries walked separately from the procession. If these people had been in the least desirous of arriving promptly at the palace, the journey from Nakayama’s house should not have taken more than ten minutes, but the procession followed the incredibly roundabout route prescribed by a yin-yang diviner. When they finally arrived, the emperor was waiting in his private apartments with his consort. They both gave dolls to the baby. The baby responded by presenting 100 pieces of gold and a box of fresh fish for the palace sanctuary (
naishidokoro
) and gifts of ten quires of fine paper, seaweed, dried bream, and a barrel of saké for the emperor. Other gifts followed. Then the infant declared that he wished to take up residence in his mother’s apartments. His great-grandmother, Tadayasu’s mother, moved there to serve him day and night.
⁸

At the end of the year, Tadayasu followed the Ky
ō
to custom of a baby’s maternal grandfather giving him as his first New Year presents a
buriburi
and a
gitch
ō
. A
buriburi
, made of wood and shaped like a melon, was covered with auspicious drawings of cranes and tortoises and the like. Those with wheels were pulled with a string. The
gitch
ō
, also of wood, was about two feet long and shaped like a mallet. Two wooden balls went with the
gitch
ō
. These two items invariably were presented together as typical New Year gifts. Although they were originally toys, children were no longer allowed to play with them, perhaps because they had become too costly.

The presents given to the baby prince, who by this time had acquired the name Sachinomiya (Prince Sachi), and those given in return were more or less the same kind of gifts that were exchanged in moderately affluent households in Ky
ō
to at that time. Money was also given, but compared with the presents with which contemporary royal families in Europe feted the birth of their offspring, the celebration was austere.

Sachinomiya also received dolls and toys, gifts more appropriate for a baby. From this time on, every milestone in Sachinomiya’s development was carefully recorded—his first use of chopsticks, his first sitting with crossed legs, his first experience of mosquito netting. The peaceful atmosphere in the palace did not last long, however. Six months later, in July 1853, an American fleet commanded by Commodore Matthew Calbraith Perry arrived in Japanese waters with the demand that documents brought from Washington be delivered to the Japanese government, the initial step in the process of opening the country after the long era of seclusion.

Perry’s fleet first appeared in Japanese waters at dusk on May 26, 1853, when his ships entered the port of Naha in the Ry
ū
ky
ū
Islands. The political status of the Ry
ū
ky
ū
s was difficult for the Americans to understand. The islands were tributary to both the Japanese (more specifically, to the Satsuma domain) and the Chinese but had a king of their own. British, French, and American ships had been calling at the islands since the early years of the century, although they were forbidden to enter ports in the main islands of Japan. Up to now the foreign ships had generally appeared one at a time, but Perry’s fleet boasted five. Perry went ashore and proceeded to the Okinawan capital, Shuri, where he rented a house. Satisfied with his negotiations, he presented the islanders with agricultural tools and vegetable seeds and, in return, was given firewood, water, and food. The island had been all but opened to foreign ships.

Perry’s fleet also visited the Ogasawara (or Bonin) Islands, whose only inhabitants were some thirty people of mixed ancestry—English, American, Portuguese, and Hawaiian. Perry purchased a tract of land on the main island from the American settlers, intending to build an office, a pier, and a coaling station. This accomplished, he returned to Naha preparatory to sailing to his main objective, Japan.

None of these events was known in Ky
ō
to, where life in the palace continued unruffled. On the fifth day of the fifth month, the little prince celebrated his first Boys’ Day. The traditional streamers were flown in his honor, and he was presented with martial toys—a helmet and a spear. He was now living in his grandfather’s house, and K
ō
mei, not having seen the prince in some time, was eager for another visit. The doctors he consulted were cautious, estimating that the best time for a visit would not be until after the boy’s birthday in the ninth month. However, if the emperor desired to see his son sooner, this was also permissible, providing he avoided the extreme heat of the sixth and seventh months.
⁹
When Nakayama Tadayasu’s opinion was asked, he replied that Sachinomiya was exceptionally healthy. He was seen regularly by doctors, and they rarely found anything wrong with him. There was no reason why a meeting could not take place immediately. Accordingly, the boy was sent to the palace that day and was given playthings by the emperor and his consort.

Three days later, on July 8, 1853, Perry’s fleet of four vessels entered the fortified harbor of Uraga, not far from Edo. An officer of the Uraga magistracy, Nakajima Sabur
ō
suke, and the interpreter Hori Tatsunosuke
¹⁰
proceeded to the
Susquehanna
, Perry’s flagship. At first the Americans would not let the Japanese aboard, but after Hori had negotiated (in English) with the officers, they were permitted to board the ship, where they displayed the order that all foreign ships calling at Japanese ports must be expelled. Perry (who did not meet the Japanese) sent word through his second in command that he had brought a letter from the president of the United States requesting a trade treaty but that he could show this document only to a high-ranking Japanese official.

The following day Kayama Eizaemon, another officer of the magistracy pretending to be the magistrate himself, visited the American ship. He did not see Perry but instead the captain of the ship, Buchanan, and two other officers and informed them that Uraga was not a place where foreigners could be received, that state documents could not be accepted, and that the ships should proceed to Nagasaki. Buchanan replied that unless the Japanese government appointed a suitable official to receive the document, Perry would land, by force if necessary, and present the document to the shogun himself. Kayama promised to report this to the shogunate and to give a reply in three days.

The real magistrate of Uraga, Ido Hiromichi (d. 1855), reported to the shogun on the presence of the American fleet at Uraga and warned that the defenses were inadequate. In the meantime, boats were sent from the American fleet to sound Edo Bay, to the annoyance of the shogunate officials who were powerless to prevent it. When word reached Edo that the American fleet was in internal Japanese waters, there was great consternation. The receipt of documents from foreign countries was prohibited by law, but if the Americans were refused, this would surely bring on some disaster. The best thing, the officials decided, was to put up with the affront for the time being, accept the letter, and, after the American fleet had left, to consult fully before determining the national policy.

On July 9 two high-ranking Japanese officials went to Kurihama, southwest of Uraga, where they met Perry and accepted the letter from President Millard Fillmore. They informed him that the shogun was gravely ill and could not make any immediate decision on major policies
¹¹
but promised that an answer would be forthcoming the next year. Perry accepted this and said he would return.

As yet, no word of these developments had reached Ky
ō
to. The Gion Festival was celebrated as usual, and a week later K
ō
mei’s birthday was the occasion for eating red rice and exchanging auspicious gifts such as dried cuttlefish.

The letter from President Fillmore did not reach the shogunate until July 14. It caused great worry and was the source of rumors that shook the whole society. The elder statesman (
r
ō
j
ū
) Abe Masahiro (1819–1857) summoned a meeting of his colleagues, but opinions were so divided that no decision could be made. Two senior figures, Tsutsui Masanori (1778–1859) and Kawaji Toshiakira (1801–1868), argued that the American request to open the country should be accepted; they contended that after more than 200 years of peace, military preparations had become lax, and people no longer possessed their old resoluteness. Abe Masahiro sent for Tokugawa Nariaki (1800–1860), the daimyo of Mito and the political figure most respected by the shogunate officials because of his seniority and his special interest in national defense. Nariaki knew in his heart what difficulties would be involved if the American request were rejected and fighting ensued, but he did not wish to accept the foreigners’ demands. When asked his opinion, he advocated taking a firm stand against the Americans. Many others agreed with him, but the shogunate was divided between those who advocated opening the country and those who insisted that it be kept closed.

On July 15 the shogunate directed the Ky
ō
to
shoshidai
, Wakisaka Yasuori (1809–1874), to inform the court of the visit of the American ships. The court had long worried about the possibility of such a calamity and so was greatly alarmed when it received the report. The perturbed emperor directed the seven shrines and seven temples to pray for seventeen days for peace within the four seas, for the longevity of the imperial throne, and for the tranquillity of the people.

On August 5 the shogunate sent to the various daimyos copies of the translation of the American president’s letter. The shogunate had previously made all decisions by itself, but now that the order established more than 200 years ago seemed to be crumbling, it had no choice but to give the daimyos a voice in national policy.

Perhaps the most outspoken was Kuroda Nagahiro (1811–1887), the daimyo of Fukuoka, who contended that in view of world circumstances, it was not feasible for Japan alone to remain permanently secluded from all other countries. He was in favor of granting the American request for trade but restricting it to Nagasaki and limiting the agreement to five or six years. He also was willing to allow the Americans to use some deserted island as a coaling station but argued against Japan’s providing the coal on the grounds that any privilege given to the Americans would then be demanded by the Russians, the British, and the French.