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BY THE SAME AUTHOR

A DICTIONARY OF CHINESE-JAPANESE WORDS IN THE JAPANESE LANGUAGE. (3 Vols.)

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Prince Iwakura.
Descended from an ancient family of Court Nobles; he was a leading figure in the Restoration Movement, and in the Government subsequently formed.

THE MAKING OF MODERN JAPAN
AN ACCOUNT OF THE PROGRESS OF JAPAN FROM PRE-FEUDAL DAYS TO CONSTITUTIONAL GOVERNMENT & THE POSITION OF A GREAT POWER, WITH CHAPTERS ON RELIGION, THE COMPLEX FAMILY SYSTEM, EDUCATION, &c.

BY

J. H. GUBBINS, C.M.G., HON. M.A.(Oxon.)

LATE FIRST SECRETARY & JAPANESE SECRETARY OF BRITISH EMBASSY, TOKIO, AUTHOR OF “A DICTIONARY OF CHINESE-JAPANESE WORDS IN THE JAPANESE LANGUAGE,” “THE PROGRESS OF JAPAN,” “THE CIVIL CODE OF JAPAN,” &c., &c., &c.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

LONDON

SEELEY, SERVICE & CO. LIMITED

38 Great Russell Street

1922

TO

THE MEMORY

OF

MY WIFE

PREFACE

The Author’s thanks are due to His Excellency Baron G. Hayashi, H.I.J.M.’s Ambassador in London, for most kindly referring to a competent authority in Japan, for confirmation, a doubtful point in feudal land tenure; to Prince Iwakura, Marquis Ōkubo, and Marquis Kido for photographs of three of the eminent statesmen whose portraits appear; to the Right Honorable Sir Ernest Satow for the trouble he took in reading the MS. of the book; to Sir E. F. Crowe, C.M.G., Commercial Counsellor of the British Embassy in Tōkiō, for very useful help given in various ways; and to Miss Maud Oxenden for valuable assistance in proof-correcting.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

The Making of Modern Japan

CHAPTER I
Early History—The Great Reform—Adoption of Chinese Culture.

There is much speculation, but no certainty, regarding the origin of the Japanese people. It is, however, generally held that the Japanese race is made up of two main elements—one Mongolian, which came to Japan from Northern Asia by way of Korea, and the other Malayan; a third strain being possibly supplied to some small extent by the Ainu aborigines, whom the invaders found in occupation of the country. The prevailing type of feature is Mongolian, though scientific research claims to have discovered traces of the physical characteristics of other Asiatic races.

If the earliest Japanese records provide little trustworthy material for the historian, they show how the legendary heroes of oral tradition became in the hands of successive chroniclers the deified ancestors of the reigning dynasty, and indicate the process of transition by which the feelings of respect and admiration they inspired developed into a popular belief in the quasi-divinity of Japanese Sovereigns. It is in this no-man’s-land, where no clear boundaries divide fable from history, that we are from the first confronted with the primitive native religion, and realize its weakness as a civilizing influence. From these same records, nevertheless, as well as from scanty Chinese sources, we glean certain general facts bearing on the early development of Japan. Chinese culture is seen trickling in at a very early date; we hear of the adoption at some time in the fifth century of Chinese ideographs, the Japanese following in this respect the example of their Korean neighbours, who, like themselves, had originally no written language of their own; and we learn of the introduction of Buddhism a century later. The advent of Buddhism was a notable factor in Japan’s progress. Its missionaries assisted the spread of the Chinese written language, and thus paved the way for the introduction in A.D. 645 of what is known as the Great Reform.

The Great Reform gave its name to the first year-period of Japanese chronology, and to Japanese history its first certain date. It was the outcome of a movement having for its object the repair of the authority of the Throne, which had been weakened by the separatist tendencies of the Sōga family. The new form of government then established, in imitation of changes made under the T’ang dynasty in China, was a centralized bureaucracy. The supreme control of affairs was vested in the Council of State. In this Council the Prime Minister presided, and with him were associated the two assistant Ministers of State and the President of the Privy Council. Of the eight Boards, or Departments of State, five dealt mainly, but by no means exclusively, with matters relating to Ceremonial, Religion, the Army, Finance and Taxation respectively; the other three having the direction of business connected more immediately with the Imperial Court. There seems, however, to have been no very clear-cut division of business, Court interests being apparently mixed up with the affairs of every department. This change in the form of government was only one of many results caused by the inrush of Chinese ideas at this time. The influence of the wave of Chinese culture which swept over the country permeated every part of the national fabric, remodelling the social system, and laying the foundations of Japanese law, education, industries and art.

Later on provision was made for the establishment of a regency during the minority of a reigning Sovereign, the regent (Sesshō) by virtue of his office ranking at the head of the official hierarchy. When the regency expired, the ex-regent assumed the title of Kwambaku (or Sesshō-Kwambaku), retaining his official precedence. The two posts were subsequently separated, and, like all other Court offices, became, as the authority of the Court declined, mere honorary titles. Both posts and honorary titles were hereditary in certain branches of the Fujiwara family, the only exception to this rule occurring in the sixteenth century.

It was not till the eighth century that the Japanese elaborated a written language of their own. The Koreans had done so already, but the two written languages thus superadded to what was borrowed from China have nothing in common. That of the Japanese consists of two different scripts, each adapted from Chinese characters. The Korean script bears no resemblance to Chinese. Both countries have good reason to regard as a very doubtful blessing the possession of two spoken and two written languages.

At this early stage in Japanese history three things stand out prominently: the welcome given to foreign ideas; the duality of religion and language; and the curious atmosphere of divinity surrounding the Throne, which by an easy process of transition came to be regarded by the people as a natural attribute of their country and of themselves. It is not surprising, therefore, to find in the development of Japan two opposite tendencies constantly at work—the assimilation of new ideas from abroad, and reaction in favour of native institutions. Together with the readiness to adopt foreign ideas, to which the seventh century bears such striking witness, there existed an intense national pride—a belief in the superiority of Japan, “the country of the Gods,” to all other lands. The existence of these two contrary currents of popular feeling, in which religion, politics and language all play their part, may be traced through the whole course of Japanese history.

The strengthening of the Throne’s authority, which was effected by the Great Reform, lasted but a short time, the ruling power soon passing again into the hands of another powerful family, the House of Fujiwara. But the centralized bureaucratic form of government borrowed from China survived, and with it the fiction of direct Imperial rule.

During the long ascendancy, covering more than three centuries, of the House of Fujiwara the Sovereigns, despite their assumption of the recognized titles of Chinese Emperors, sank into the position of mere puppets, removable at the will of the patrician rulers. It is important to note, however, that neither the nominal authority of the occupant of the Throne nor the power of the de facto Government during this period, and for many years after, extended much beyond the centre of Japan. The loyalty of district governors in the south and west was regulated by their distance from the seat of administration. To the north and east, again, the country was in the possession of the Ainu aborigines, with whom a desultory warfare was carried on until their eventual expulsion to the northern island of Yezo.

Early in the twelfth century the Fujiwara régime came to an end. The succeeding administrators were members of the Taira family, which had gradually risen to importance, and wielded the predominant influence in the country. Fifty years later their position was successfully challenged by the rival House of Minamoto, which, like its two predecessors, could claim royal descent. The long struggle between these two houses ended in the final overthrow of the Taira family in the sea battle of Dan-no-Ura (A.D. 1155) and the establishment of the feudal system, in other words, of a military government.

Yoritomo, the Minamoto leader, who then rose to power, received from the Court the title of Shōgun (or General), a contraction of the fuller appellation Sei-i-Tai-Shōgun. This may be rendered Barbarian-quelling Generalissimo, and was the term originally applied to generals employed in fighting the Ainu aborigines in the North-Eastern marches. With the assumption of this title the term itself developed a new meaning, for it was not as the general of an army that he thenceforth figured, but as the virtual ruler of Japan. His advent to power marks a new phase in Japanese history, the inception of a dual system of government based on feudalism, which lasted, except for a short period in the sixteenth century, until modern times.

With the establishment of a military government the classification of society was changed. Thenceforth there were three recognized divisions of the people—the Kugé, or Court aristocracy, constituting the former official hierarchy, which, becoming more and more impoverished as the connection of its members with the land ceased, gradually sank into the position of a negligible factor in the nation; the Buké, or military class, which included both daimiōs and their retainers, and out of which the new official hierarchy was formed; and the Minké, or general public, which comprised farmers, artizans and tradesmen, or merchants, ranking in the order named.

Feudalism was no sudden apparition. It was no mushroom growth of a night. The importance of the military class had been growing steadily during the prolonged civil strife from which the Minamoto family had emerged victorious. This and the increasing weakness of the Government had brought about a change in provincial administration. Civil governors, dependent on the Capital, had gradually given place to military officials, with hereditary rights, who looked elsewhere for orders; manorial estates were expanding into territories with castles to protect them; and local revenues no longer flowed with regularity into State coffers. Thus in more than one manner the way had been prepared for feudalism.

The same may be said of the dual system of administration, though here the question is less simple. From all that history tells us, and from its even more eloquent silence, there is good reason to question the existence at any time of direct Imperial rule. We hear of no Mikado ever leading an army in the field, making laws or dispensing justice, or fulfilling, in fact, any of the various functions associated with sovereignty, save those connected with public worship. This absence of personal rule, this tendency to act by proxy, is in keeping with the atmosphere of impersonality which pervades everything Japanese, and is reflected in the language of the people. Everything tends to confirm the impression that the prestige of sovereignty in Japan thus lay rather in the institution itself than in the personality of the rulers. The casual manner in which succession was regulated; the appearance on the Throne of Empresses in a country where little deference was paid to women; the preference repeatedly shown for the reign of minors; the laisser-aller methods of adoption and abdication; the easy philosophy which saw nothing unusual in the association of three abdicated, or cloistered, monarchs with a reigning sovereign; and the general indifference of the public to the misfortunes which from time to time befel the occupant of the Throne, all point in the same direction—the withdrawal of the Sovereign at an early date from all active participation in the work of government. In so far, therefore, as the personal rule of the Sovereign was concerned it seems not unreasonable to regard the dual system of government established at this time as the formal recognition of what already existed. Its association with feudalism, however, brought about an entirely new departure. Kiōto, indeed, continued to be the national capital. There the former Ministers of State remained with all the empty paraphernalia of an officialdom which had ceased to govern. But a new seat of administration was set up at Kamakura, to which all men of ability were gradually attracted. Thenceforth the country was administered by a military government directed by the Shōgun at Kamakura, while the Sovereign lived in seclusion in the Capital, surrounded by a phantom Court, and an idle official hierarchy.

In this question of government there is still something further to be explained. It should be understood that the Shōgun did not personally rule any more than the Mikado. What for want of a better name may be termed the figure-head system of government is noticeable throughout the whole course of Japanese history. Real and nominal power are rarely seen combined either socially or politically. The family, which is the unit of society, is nominally controlled by the individual who is its head. But practically the latter is in most cases a figure-head, the real power being vested in the group of relatives who form the family council. The same principle applied to the administration of feudal territories. These were not administered by the feudal proprietors themselves. The control was entrusted to a special class of hereditary retainers. Here again, however, the authority was more nominal than real, the direction of affairs being left, as a rule, to the more active intelligence of retainers of inferior rank. Similarly the Shōgun was usually a mere puppet in the hands of his Council, the members of which were in turn controlled by subordinate office-holders. This predilection for rule by proxy was encouraged by the customs of adoption and abdication, the effects of which, as regards Mikado and Shōgun alike, were seen in shortness of reign, or administration, and the frequency of the rule of minors.

The highly artificial and, indeed, contradictory character which distinguished all Japanese administration had certain advantages. Abdication was found to be not incompatible in practice with an active, though unacknowledged, supervision of affairs. It also provided a convenient method of getting rid of persons whose presence in office was for any reason inconvenient. In a society, too, where adoption was the rule rather than the exception the failure of a direct heir to the Throne, or Shōgunate, presented little difficulty. It was a thing to be arranged by the Council of State, just as in less exalted spheres such matters were referred to the family council. Questions of succession were thus greatly simplified. In this contradiction, moreover, between appearance and reality, in the retention of the shadow without the substance of power, lay the strength of both monarchy and Shōgunate. It was, in fact, the secret of their stability, and explains the unbroken continuity of the dynasty on which the nation prides itself. Under such a system the weakness or incompetence of nominal rulers produced no violent convulsions in the body politic. The machinery of government worked smoothly on, unaffected by the personality of those theoretically responsible for its control; and as time went by the tendency of office to divorce itself from the discharge of the duties nominally associated with it increased everywhere, with the result that in the last days of the Shōgunate administrative policy was largely inspired at the seat of government by subordinate officials, and in the clans by retainers of inferior standing.

The question of dual government, which has led to this long digression, was more or less of a puzzle to foreigners from the time when Jesuit missionaries first mistook Shōguns for Mikados; and it was not until after the negotiation of the first treaties with Western Powers that it was discovered that the title of Tycoon given to the Japanese ruler in these documents had been adopted for the occasion, in accordance with a precedent created many years before, in order to conceal the fact that the Shōgun, though ruler, was not the Sovereign.

CHAPTER II
Establishment of Feudalism and Duarchy—The Shōgunate and the Throne—Early Foreign Relations—Christian Persecution and Closure of Country.

The fortunes of the first line of Kamakura Shōguns, so called from the seat of government being at that place, gave no indication of the permanence of duarchy, though it may have encouraged belief in the truth of the Japanese proverb that great men have no heirs. Neither of Yoritomo’s sons who succeeded him as Shōgun showing any capacity for government, the direction of affairs fell into the hands of members of the Hōjō family, who, by a further extension of the principle of ruling by proxy, were content to allow others to figure as Shōguns, while they held the real power with the title of regents (Shikken). Some of these puppet Shōguns were chosen from the Fujiwara family, which had governed the country for more than three centuries. Others were scions of the Imperial House. This connection of the Shōgunate with the Imperial dynasty, though only temporary, is a point to be noted, since under other circumstances it would suggest a devolution rather than a usurpation of sovereign rights.

It was in the thirteenth century, during the rule of the Hōjō regent Tokimuné, that the Mongol invasions took place. The reigning Mikado was a youth of nineteen; the Shōgun an infant of four. The six centuries which had elapsed since the Great Reform had witnessed notable changes in the countries which were Japan’s nearest neighbours. In China the Mongol dynasty was established. In Korea the four states into which the peninsula had originally been divided had disappeared one after the other. In their place was a new kingdom, then called for the first time by its modern name. The new kingdom did not retain its independence long. It was attacked and overthrown by the armies of Kublai Khan, the third Mongol Emperor. By the middle of the thirteenth century the King of Korea had acknowledged the suzerainty of China. Kublai Khan then turned his attention to Japan.

It was customary in those times for congratulatory missions to be sent by one country to another when a new dynasty was established or a new reign began, the presents exchanged on these occasions being usually termed gifts by the country offering them, and tribute by that which received them. The relations between Japan and the new Kingdom of Korea had been on the whole friendly, though disturbed from time to time by the piratical forays which seem to have been of frequent occurrence. But after Korea had lost her independence she was obliged to throw in her lot with China. When, therefore, in 1268, Kublai Khan sent an envoy to Japan to ask why since the beginning of his reign no congratulatory mission had reached Peking from the Japanese Court, the messenger naturally went by way of Korea, and was escorted by a suite of Koreans. The ports in the province of Chikuzen, on the north of Kiūshiū, the southernmost of the Japanese islands, were the places through which communications between Japan and the mainland were then carried on; and it was at Dazaifu in that province, the centre of local administration, that the envoy delivered his letter. This was in effect a demand for tribute, and the Regent’s refusal even to answer the communication was met by the despatch in the summer of 1275 of a Mongol force, accompanied by a Korean contingent. Having first occupied the islands of Tsushima and Iki, which form convenient stepping-stones between Korea and Japan, the invaders landed in Kiūshiū in the north-west of the province already mentioned. After a few days’ fighting they were forced to re-embark. In their retreat they encountered a violent storm, and only the shattered remnants of the Armada returned to tell the tale. A second invasion, six years later, planned on a far larger scale, and supported, as before, by Korean auxiliaries, met with a similar fate. On this occasion severer fighting occurred. The positions captured at the place of landing in the province of Hizen were held by the invaders for some weeks. Thence, however, they could make no headway. When they at length withdrew in disorder a violent storm again came to the aid of the defenders and overwhelmed the hostile fleets. The preparations begun by Kublai Khan for a third invasion were abandoned at his death a few years later. From that time Japan was left undisturbed.

The circumstances attending the fall of the Hōjō regents in 1333, and their replacement by the Ashikaga line of Shōguns, are noteworthy for the light they throw on the state of the country, and the unstable and, indeed, ludicrous conditions under which the government was carried on. It seemed for a moment as if the authority of the Court was about to be revived. But with the overthrow of the regents the movement in this direction stopped. The military class was naturally reluctant to surrender the power which had come into its hands; the position of the Mikado was also weakened by a dispute regarding his rights to the Throne. He had just returned from banishment, and had been at once reinstated as Emperor. But during his absence another Emperor had been placed on the Throne, and there were those who thought the latter had a right to remain. In the previous century it had been arranged, in accordance with the will of a deceased Emperor, that the Throne should be occupied alternately by descendants of the senior and junior branches of the Imperial House. This rule had been followed in filling the vacancy caused by the banishment of the previous Mikado, and the branch of the Imperial House which suffered by his reinstatement refused to accept the decision. Each claimant to the Throne found partizans amongst the feudal chieftains. Thus were formed two rival Courts, the Northern and the Southern, which disputed the Crown for nearly sixty years. The contest ended in the triumph in 1393 of the Northern Court. Having the support of the powerful Ashikaga family, it had early in the course of the struggle asserted its superiority, the Ashikaga leader becoming Shōgun in 1338.

The rule of the Ashikaga Shōguns lasted until the middle of the sixteenth century, though for several years before it ended the control of affairs was exercised by others in their name. During this period, which was favourable to the growth of art and literature, the seat of government kept changing from Kamakura to the Capital and back again. The former city shared the fate of the dynasty, and after its destruction was never rebuilt.

A break then occurred in the sequence of Shōguns. The chief power passed into the hands of two military leaders, Nobunaga and Hidéyoshi, neither of whom founded a dynasty or bore the title of Shōgun. By their efforts the country was gradually freed from the anarchy which had ensued during the last years of Ashikaga administration. Though here and there throughout the country there remained districts whose feudal lords insisted on settling their quarrels themselves, a more stable condition of things was introduced, and the work of the founder of the next and last line of Shōguns was greatly facilitated.

Europe had long before heard of Japan through the writings of the Venetian traveller, Marco Polo, who had visited the Court of Kublai Khan and there learned the failure of the Mongol invasions. It was not, however, till the middle of the sixteenth century, during the ascendancy of the first of the two military leaders above mentioned, that intercourse with European countries was established. The Portuguese were the first to come, and for this reason. Portugal was then at the height of her greatness as a maritime power; and by the Bulls of Pope Alexander VI, which divided the new lands discovered in Asia and America between her and Spain, those in Asia had fallen to her share. Some uncertainty exists as to the exact date at which the new Western intercourse began, and as to the identity of the first arrivals. Most authorities, however, agree in thinking that the first European discoverers of Japan were three Portuguese adventurers who, in the course of a voyage from Siam to China in the summer or autumn of 1542, were driven by a storm on the coast of Tanégashima, a small island lying midway between the southern point of the province of Satsuma and Loochoo. The adventurers who landed were successful in disposing of the cargo of their vessel, destined originally for Chinese ports. Their knowledge of firearms made a favourable impression, and the beginnings were thus laid of a trade with the Portuguese possessions and settlements in the East and with the mother country in Europe. Of greater interest and importance, however, than this early trade is the fact that to Portuguese enterprise Christianity owed its first introduction into Japan.

Seven years after the arrival of these involuntary traders, who had spread the news of the strange country they had discovered, one of the numerous Portuguese trading vessels which were thus attracted to Japan landed at Kagoshima, the capital of the Satsuma province, three missionaries—Xavier, Torres and Fernandez. Thenceforth, until the closing of the country to all but the Chinese and Dutch, it was the propagation of the Christian faith, not the progress of trade, which was the important factor in Japan’s foreign relations.

The coming of the first missionaries took place at a time when the widespread disorder which marked the closing years of the Ashikaga administration was at its height. Though Nobunaga was rapidly acquiring for himself a commanding position, the nation had not yet felt the full weight of the hand which twenty years later was to take the first steps towards the pacification of the country. The confusion of affairs assisted the spread of the new religion, the opposition offered by some of the leading daimiōs, such as the princes of Satsuma and Chōshiū, being counterbalanced by the eagerness of others to profit by the foreign trade which came with the missionaries; while Buddhist hostility lost much of its sting after the power of the militant priesthood had been crippled by Nobunaga.

The latter’s successor, Hidéyoshi, whom the Japanese regard as their greatest military genius, shared neither his sympathy with Christianity nor his dislike of Buddhism. To matters of religion he seemed to be indifferent, his one aim being apparently to make himself master of Japan. In a series of campaigns conducted in different parts of the country he overcame the resistance of one feudal chief after another, the last to submit to his authority being the Daimiō of Satsuma. His ascendancy deprived Christianity of the advantage it had previously derived from the unsettled condition of the country. His aim accomplished, Hidéyoshi changed his attitude suddenly, and in 1587 issued an edict against Christianity. As a result of this edict the missionaries were expelled from the Capital and the Christian church there was pulled down. Though the Christian persecution dates from that time, it was not prosecuted at first with much energy. Doubtless Hidéyoshi was aware of the connection between Christianity and foreign trade, and in his desire to profit by the latter was content not to push matters to extremities. There may also be some truth in the suggestion of the joint authors of A History of Japan (1542–61) that he was unwilling to incur the resentment of the numerous daimiōs in the south of Japan who had welcomed the new religion. Be this as it may, the initial stages of the persecution did not apparently affect missionary activity very seriously. We do not hear of any falling off in the number of converts, which is said to have attained about this time a total little short of a million.

For nearly half a century the Jesuits had the field of missionary enterprise in Japan to themselves. To this fact was largely due the spread of the new religion. In 1591, however, the state of things was altered by the arrival of members of other religious orders, who came in the train of a Spanish ambassador from the Philippines. This intrusion—which later on received the formal sanction of the Pope—was resented by the Jesuits; and the position of the Christian Church, already weakened by persecution, was not improved by the quarrels which soon broke out between them and the new-comers. What would have been the outcome of this change in the situation, if Hidéyoshi’s attention had not been directed elsewhere, it is impossible to say. At this moment, however, his ambition found a new outlet. Supreme now at home, he conceived the idea of gaining fresh glory by conquests abroad. With this object, he embarked on an invasion of Korea, intending ultimately to extend his operations to China. His pretext, it is said, for invading the neighbouring peninsula, like that of Kublai Khan in the case of Japan, was that Korea had refused or neglected to send the usual periodical missions. According to another, and perhaps more correct account, he demanded that Korea should assist him in the invasion of China in the same way as she had two centuries before aided the Mongols in their invasion of Japan, a request which, it is said, was scornfully refused.

The Korean campaign, in the course of which a Christian daimiō—Konishi, the owner of an extensive fief in the province of Higo—greatly distinguished himself, began in the spring of 1592, the last land engagement being fought in the autumn of 1598. The war thus lasted nearly seven years. The preparations made by Hidéyoshi were on an extensive scale. The army of invasion numbered, if the statistics of that time can be trusted, nearly 200,000 fighting men. As reinforcements were sent from time to time from Japan, the number of troops employed from first to last in the course of the war must have reached a very high total. Hidéyoshi did not lead his army in person, but directed the general plan of operations from Japan. The Japanese were at first successful on land everywhere, though at sea they met with some serious reverses. The Koreans were driven out of their capital, and the invaders overran more than half of the country. Then, however, the Emperor of China intervened in the struggle. Chinese armies entered Korea, and the tide of victory turned against Japan. The retreat of the invaders towards the coast was followed by overtures of peace, which resulted in the suspension of hostilities in 1594. But the negotiations, in which China took a leading part, broke down, and three years later a second Japanese army landed in Korea. On this occasion the Japanese forces met with more stubborn resistance. Chinese armies again came to the help of Korea, and when Hidéyoshi died in 1598 the Japanese Government was only too willing to make peace. The results of the war for Korea were disastrous. The complete devastation wrought wherever the Japanese armies had penetrated left traces which have never been entirely effaced. Nor did Japan come out of the struggle with any profit. When the final accounts were balanced all she had to show for her lavish expenditure in lives and money was the establishment in Japan of a colony of Korean potters, who were the first to make the well-known Satsuma faience, and the doubtful privilege of keeping a small trading post at the southern end of the Korean peninsula.

For some years after the Korean war had been brought to an end by the death of Hidéyoshi the position of the Christian Church showed little change. It was not until 1614, by which time a new line of Shōguns was ruling the country, that rigorous measures were adopted against the new religion. The edict which then appeared ordered the immediate expulsion of all missionaries, and its issue was followed by a fierce outbreak of persecution in all parts of Japan where converts or missionaries were to be found.

Evidence of the contradictory state of things then existing is furnished by the fact that in that very year an Embassy to the Pope and to the King of Spain was sent by the Japanese Daimiō of Sendai, whose fief was in the north-east of Japan.

Meanwhile, in 1609, Dutch traders had established themselves in the island of Hirado, where they were joined four years later by English traders representing the East India Company. The latter had not the resources necessary for so distant an undertaking, nor was the English navy strong enough to support the Company’s enterprise against the Dutch, who were then wresting from the Portuguese the supremacy in Eastern waters. At the end of ten years, therefore, the trading station was abandoned.

The Christian persecution continued with varying intensity for more than twenty years, culminating in the insurrection of Shimabara in 1638. With the bloody suppression of that rising, due as much to local misgovernment as to religious causes, the curtain falls on the early history of Christianity in Japan. Two years earlier, in 1636, an edict issued by the third Shōgun, Iyémitsu, forbade all Japanese to go abroad, reduced the tonnage of native vessels so as to render them unfit for ocean voyages, and closed the country to all foreigners except the Chinese and Dutch. The Portuguese were chiefly affected by this measure, for the English had abandoned their trading enterprise in Hirado in 1623, and in the following year the rupture of relations with Spain had put an end to the residence of Spanish subjects, thus justifying Xavier’s warning that the King of Spain should be careful how he interfered with Japan, in case he burnt his fingers. The Dutch owed their escape from expulsion to the fact that the Japanese did not regard them as being Christians at all, because of their openly expressed hostility to the form of Christianity professed by the missionaries. In neither case was the lot of the two favoured nationalities at all enviable. In 1641 the Dutch were removed from Hirado and interned in Déshima, an artificial island quarter of the town of Nagasaki; and some fifty years later the Chinese, who had traded at that port in comparative liberty from a date which is uncertain, were confined in an enclosure close to the Dutch settlement. Here, paying dearly as State prisoners for the commercial privileges they enjoyed, these traders carried on a precarious and gradually dwindling commerce until Japan was opened for the second time to foreign intercourse in the middle of the nineteenth century.

CHAPTER III
The Tokugawa Shōguns—Consolidation of Duarchy.

The rule of Hidéyoshi was followed by that of a new line of Shōguns. The circumstances under which it was established are well known. At the death of Hidéyoshi in 1598 the government of the country was, during the minority of his son Hidéyori, entrusted to five feudal nobles who acted as regents. Of these, the most prominent was Tokugawa Iyéyasu, who had married Hidéyoshi’s daughter, and whose feudal territories consisted of the eight provinces in the east of the main island known as the Kwantō. Disputes soon arose between the regents, and an appeal to arms resulted in the decisive victory of Iyéyasu at Séki-ga-hara, near Lake Biwa. This was in October, 1600. In 1603 he was appointed Shōgun, and twelve years later the death, in what is known as the Ōsaka summer campaign, of Hidéyori, the only personage who could challenge his supremacy, left him without any dangerous rival. Now for the first time in Japanese history the authority of the Shōgunate extended throughout the whole of Japan. The prestige of the previous ruler had been as great, and his reputation in the field higher, but he was not, like his successor, of Minamoto stock, nor could he trace his descent from an Emperor; there were remote districts in the country where his influence had not penetrated, out-of-the-way places where his writ had never run. In founding a fresh line of Shōguns the new ruler had other circumstances in his favour. The country was tired of civil war and exhausted; the fighting power and resources of turbulent chiefs had been weakened by long-continued hostilities; and much of the work of pacification had been already done.

Although the Tokugawa Shōgunate was, in its main outlines, the repetition of a government which had existed before, it differed in some important respects from previous administrations.

The third Shōgun, the ruler responsible for the closing of the country, put the finishing touches to the new system of government; but it owed more to the genius of his grandfather, the founder of the line, who framed it, supervised its operation and left posthumous instructions, known as “The Hundred Articles,” to ensure its observance by his successors. Japanese writers agree in stating that “The Hundred Articles” give a general idea of the system of government established by Iyéyasu. But it is a very general idea, a mere outline of things, that we are thus enabled to glean. To fill in the details of the picture it is necessary to draw on other sources of information.

The difference between the rule of Iyéyasu and that of previous Shōguns lay in the more complete subjection of the Imperial Court, in the wider range of his authority, which surpassed that of his two immediate predecessors, and in the highly organized and stable character of the administration he established. The changes he effected in the government of the country may be conveniently considered under the following heads, it being borne in mind that they were the work of several years, and that many were made after his early abdication in 1605, when he was governing the country, in the name of his son, the second Shōgun:—

1. Redistribution of feudal territories. 2. Position of feudal nobility. 3. Reorganization of central administration. 4. Relations between the Court and Shōgunate, and between the Court and Court nobles and the feudal nobility.

1. The new Shōgun in establishing his rule followed the example of his predecessors. Maps which give the distribution of feudal territories before and after the year 1600, and again after the fall of Ōsaka in 1615, show the sweeping character of the changes he carried out on both occasions. As a result of these changes, the most extensive fiefs at the outset of Tokugawa rule were those held by the three Tokugawa Houses in the provinces of Kii, Owari and Hitachi (Mito), to which may be added those in the possession of the Daimiōs of Satsuma, Hizen, Chōshiū, Aki, Tosa, Kaga, Échizen, Sendai and Mutsu.

2. Before the establishment of the Tokugawa Shōgunate the feudal nobles were divided into three classes—lords of provinces, lords of territories and lords of castles. In the organization of the feudal nobility, as remodelled by Iyéyasu, this old division was retained, but he created the three princely Houses of Owari, Kii and Mito (Hitachi), called collectively the Gosanké, and placed them at the head of the new order of precedence. It was from the two first-mentioned Houses, together with the Gosankiō, a family group of later institution, that, failing a direct heir, subsequent Shōguns were chosen. To the representative of the third House—that of Mito—the position of Adviser to the Shōgunate was assigned, and he was supposed to have a determining voice in the selection of a new Shōgun when this became necessary. Another important change was the separation of the feudal nobility into two broad classes—the Fudai daimiōs, or hereditary vassals, who had submitted to the new ruler before the fall of Ōsaka, and the Tozama daimiōs, who had acknowledged his supremacy later. The former class alone had the privilege of being employed in the Councils of State and the higher administrative posts. Two new feudal groups also made their appearance—the Hatamoto, or Bannermen, who filled the less important administrative posts, besides supplying the personnel of the various departments of State, and whose fiefs in some cases rivalled in extent those of the smaller daimiōs; and the Gokénin, a kind of landed gentry.

Full use, too, was made by the new ruler of the custom of retaining hostages from the feudatories as a guarantee of loyalty, a practice expanded under the second and third Shōguns into the system known as San-kin Kō-tai. This provided for the residence of daimiōs in alternate years at Yedo and in their fiefs, some members of their families being permanently detained in the Tokugawa capital, which owed its selection as the seat of government to its favourable location for the commerce of that day at the head of the bay of the same name. The system of State services (Kokuyéki), moreover, to which all daimiōs were liable, was a rich source of revenue to the Shōgunate, while at the same time it strengthened the authority of the Yedo Government. By these expedients, and by the encouragement of ostentation in every form, the feudal nobles were kept in strict subjection, the steady drain on their finances making it difficult for them to escape from a condition of impecuniosity. The expense of their annual journeys to and from the Capital alone constituted a severe tax on their resources, and was the main cause of the financial distress which existed at a later date in many of the daimiates. Further and quite independent proof of the unquestioned supremacy of the new Shōgun is supplied by the bestowal of his early family name of Matsudaira not only on all the heads of feudal families connected with his own, but on many of the leading lords of provinces. Amongst other recipients of this questionable privilege—which set the seal on the submission of the feudal nobility—were the daimiōs of Satsuma, Chōshiū, Hizen, Tosa and Awa, whose retainers took a prominent part in the Restoration of 1868–69. In these latter cases, however, the old surnames were used alternately with the new designations.

3. The main features of Tokugawa administration, as established by its founder and modified by his immediate successors, remained practically unchanged for two and a half centuries. Its form was a centralized bureaucracy based on feudalism. The general direction of affairs was in the hands of an upper and a lower Council of State, the members of which were chosen from Fudai daimiōs of varying distinction. There was usually an inner circle of statesmen, with whom both initiative and decision rested, while the lesser ranks of officials were recruited chiefly from the Hatamoto. Decisions on grave matters of State in times of emergency were referred, when necessary, to the Gosanké and other leading daimiōs, whose participation in these deliberations was, however, often more nominal than real. A leading part in administration was also played by the Jisha-bugiō, or Superintendents of Buddhist and Shintō temples. In spite of the religious sound of their titles, these executive officers had an important voice in State business of all kinds. There was also the Hiō-jō-sho. This was an institution resembling that originally created by the Kamakura Shōguns. Established at a time when no clear distinction existed between executive and judicial matters, it seems to have combined the functions of a Supreme Administrative Board and a Superior Court of Justice. It took cognizance of all sorts of questions, both executive and judicial, and, under the latter head, of both civil and criminal cases, which were decided by a special office known as the Ketsudan-sho, or Court of Decisions. The matters which came before this Board ranged from disputes regarding land, agriculture and taxation to questions concerning the boundaries of fiefs and provinces; from complaints of the conduct of the feudal nobility and Shōgunate officials to appeals from the decisions of local authorities. The members of the Council of State had the right to attend the sittings of the Board, being encouraged to make surprise visits in order to ensure the rendering of impartial justice; and for the same reason, apparently, in the earlier days of the Shōgunate, the attendance of the Shōgun himself was not unusual. A similar Board at Ōsaka dealt with questions referred to it from the provinces west of Kiōto, and with appeals from the decisions of local authorities in the districts in question.

Provincial administration varied according to the locality concerned. What were known as the Shōgun’s domains—amounting in extent to nearly one-third of the total area of the country—were administered by Governors (Daikwan) appointed by the Shōgunate, this system prevailing also in many of the Fudai daimiates and in certain coast towns. The feudal territories in the rest of the country, with the exception named, were governed by the clan rulers. A general supervision of affairs throughout the country was also exercised by a special class of officials called Métsuké. Their varied functions comprised those of travelling inspectors and circuit judges; they were appointed to enquire into the administration of feudal territories; and they were frequently employed as deputies or assistants to governors, delegates and commissioners, when their duty was to watch and report on the conduct of their superiors. Hence the description of them as spies by foreign writers on Japan—a description which was often correct. The system of local government was based on groups of five households, or families, each under the direction of a headman, and was the development of an earlier form of tribal, or patriarchal, government introduced from China at the time of the Great Reform. The headman of each group was subject, in towns, to the control of the senior alderman of the ward, and, in villages, to that of the mayor. The duties of these local officials, whose posts were often hereditary, were to make known the orders of the Central Government, or feudal authorities, as the case might be, to administer justice and to collect taxes.

A noticeable feature of Tokugawa administration was the duplication of offices. In this a resemblance may be traced to similar customs in other Oriental countries such as Thibet, Siam and Nepal, the tendency which inspired the practice being possibly one of the causes of the partiality of the nation for dual government. The employment of Métsuké in many cases as supplementary officials has already been mentioned. The custom was widespread, extending through all grades of the official class, and survived in Loochoo until the annexation of that principality in 1879. A curious proof of its prevalence was furnished at the time of the negotiation by Great Britain of the Treaty of 1858. Struck by the double title of the British negotiator, Lord Elgin and Kincardine, and arguing from their own methods of procedure, the Japanese officials concluded that two envoys had been sent, and when, in the course of the negotiations, no second envoy appeared, they took occasion to enquire after the missing Kincardine.

4. In his dealings with the Imperial Court at Kiōto the new Shōgun was content, so far as outward formalities were concerned, to follow the example of previous administrations, introducing, nevertheless, under cover of conformity with ancient usage, many important changes. The empty dignities of the Court were maintained with some increase of ceremonial etiquette, though without the lavish display which had reconciled the Throne to the rule of his predecessor. He was at the same time careful to curtail whatever vestiges of Imperial authority still remained. The measures taken for this purpose included the appointment of a Resident (Shoshidai) in Kiōto, and a Governor (Jōdai) in Ōsaka; the confinement of the reigning Emperor and cloistered ex-monarch (or ex-monarchs, for there were not infrequently several abdicated sovereigns at the same time) to their palaces; and the cessation of Imperial “progresses”—the name given to Imperial visits to shrines; the isolation of the Court by the interdict placed on the visits of feudal nobles to the Capital, even sight-seeing being only permitted to them within certain specified limits, and on condition of applying for permission for this purpose; the isolation of the Kugé, or Court nobility, by the prohibition of marriages and all monetary transactions between them and feudal families; and the reorganization of the official establishment of the Court, so as to bring it more completely under the control of the Shōgunate. Iyéyasu also arranged the betrothal of his granddaughter to the heir-apparent, an alliance not without precedent in the past, and he enforced a stricter supervision over the Imperial Household, the movements of Court ladies, and the daily routine of the palace.

Some idea of the condition of subservience to which the Throne was reduced, and of the arrogant position assumed by the new ruler, may be gathered from a perusal of the “Law of the Court and Shōgunate,” which, taken in conjunction with the “Law of the Imperial Court” and the “Hundred Articles,” throws some light on the new order of things. One of the provisions of the law in question transferred from the Court to the Shōgunate the protection of the Throne against evil spirits by abolishing the long-established Riōbu Shintō processions in the Capital, and by formally recognizing the Shintō deity, from whom this protection was supposed to emanate, as the tutelary deity of the Tokugawa family. The Shōgun was thus made responsible for the spiritual guardianship of the Throne, the material protection over which he already exercised in his capacity of supreme military ruler.

Though nothing of the substance of power was left to the Crown, the mere fact that authority was exercised in its name led to much friction in the relations between Kiōto and Yedo, and created an atmosphere of make-believe in which everything moved. The Crown still retained the nominal privilege of conferring the much-coveted Court titles. Its nominal approval was also necessary to the investiture of a new Shōgun, as well as to other important measures of State. It claimed the right, moreover, to be consulted in regard to ceremonial observances of all kinds, to questions of marriage, adoption, abdication and succession. Naturally, therefore, the large number of questions calling for discussion between the Court of the Mikado in the Capital and the Yedo Government gave rise to a voluminous correspondence, the official importance of which, however, was diminished by the presence of the Shōgun’s Resident at Kiōto. In the singular official relations recorded in this correspondence there is evidence of a settled policy on the part of the Shōgunate to divert the attention of the Throne from serious affairs and keep it occupied with the details of complicated ceremonial, and, on the other hand, of constant, though fruitless, attempts on the part of the Court to encroach on what had become the prerogatives of the Shōgun.

One or two instances, taken at random from the history of the Tokugawa period, will illustrate how the dual system of government worked in practice; what little latitude was left to the Throne even in matters which might be regarded as lying within its direct control; and how, whenever friction arose, the Shōgunate invariably had its own way.

The first trial of strength between Kiōto and Yedo occurred soon after Iyéyasu’s death, when his son Hidétada was Shōgun. The trouble arose out of some irregularities which had occurred in the Imperial Household. The Tokugawa administration was still in its infancy, and the Court nobles showed a disposition to dispute its authority, some of them being indiscreet enough to speak of the Yedo authorities as being Eastern barbarians. The Shōgun adopted a high-handed attitude. He threatened to break off the match between his daughter and the Emperor, which had already received the Imperial sanction, and he went so far as to intimate that the Emperor might be required to abdicate. His attitude had the desired effect. The Court hastened to admit itself in the wrong, and the affair ended in the banishment of three of the Court nobles.

Another and more serious quarrel occurred not long afterwards in the reign of the same Emperor and during the rule of the third Shōgun, to whom many of the later interpolations in the early Tokugawa laws are generally ascribed. The cause of the dispute was a trivial matter—the promotion by the Emperor, irregularly as the Shōgunate claimed, of certain members of the Buddhist clergy connected with the Court. This time it had a serious ending. The Emperor, mortified by what he regarded as vexatious interference with his authority, resigned the Imperial dignity, being succeeded on the Throne by his daughter, the child of the Tokugawa princess already mentioned.

A third instance, convenient for our purpose, is typical of the complications caused both in the matter of succession to the Throne, and in appointments to the office of Shōgun, by the difficulty of reconciling the custom of adoption with the dictates of filial piety, as laid down in Confucian doctrine. The time was the end of the eighteenth century. There were then a boy-Emperor eight years of age and a boy-Shōgun a few years older. Each had been adopted by his predecessor, who in each case had died shortly afterwards, the young Emperor’s succession to the Throne antedating the appointment of the young Shōgun by some six years. It was necessary to appoint a guardian for the young Shōgun, and some members of the Yedo ministry wished to appoint to this post the father, who belonged to the Hitotsubashi branch of the Tokugawa family. This course received the support of the boy-Shōgun, who, to show his filial respect, desired to instal his father with the title of ex-Shōgun (Taigiōsho) in the palace at Yedo set apart for the Shōgun’s heir. The proposal was resisted by the other Ministers on the ground that it was against precedent and would disturb public morals, in which ceremonial propriety played, as we know, so important a part. In the event of the adoptive parent dying in the lifetime of the real father—which in this case actually happened—the latter might, it was said, claim to be received in the former’s place into the adoptive family, a contingency which would lead to inconvenience and confusion. While the dispute was going on matters were complicated by the receipt of a similar request from the boy-Emperor in Kiōto, who desired that his father might be honoured by being given the title of ex-Emperor. There were precedents for the favour requested in the latter instance, and it would probably have been granted had the Government not felt that the concession would weaken their position in regard to the young Shōgun. Both requests were consequently refused; whereupon stormy scenes, we are told, occurred at the Yedo palace, in the course of which the Shōgun drew his sword on one of the offending Councillors, and an angry correspondence continued for two or three years between Kiōto and Yedo. In the end neither request was granted, and the Ministers whose counsel prevailed had at least the satisfaction of feeling that the apprehended danger to public morals had been averted.

Before closing this chapter it may be convenient to dwell for a moment on two points—the terms used to designate the Sovereign in Japan and the titles of daimiōs.

That the impersonality shrouding everything Japanese, to which reference has already been made, should show itself in the terms used to designate the Sovereign is not surprising. Nor is it in any way strange that these should include such expressions as “The Palace,” “The Palace Interior” and “The Household,” for sovereigns are commonly spoken of in this way, the habit having its origin in respect. What is curious is that in the case of a sovereign venerated from the first as a God, and so closely associated with the native faith, the terms by which he is known to his subjects should, with one exception, be borrowed from China, and that this one exception, the name “Mikado,” which means “Honourable Gate,” should be the term least used.

The titles borne by the feudal nobility were of two kinds—territorial titles, and the official titles conferred by the Court. The territorial title of a daimiō consisted originally of the word Kami joined to the name of the province in which his territories lay. The title of a daimiō, therefore, in early days had direct reference to the province in which his fief was situated. In the course of time, however, though this territorial title remained in general use, it by no means followed that there was any connection between the particular province mentioned and the territory actually possessed by a daimiō. This change in the significance of the title was due to several causes: to the partition amongst several daimiōs of lands originally held by a single individual, to the removal of a daimiō to another fief, to which he often carried his old title, and to the formation of cadet houses, which sometimes retained the title of the senior branch. The multiplication of similar titles led to much confusion, and in the later days of the Shōgunate, by way of remedying this inconvenience, a daimiō on appointment to the Council of State was obliged to change his title, if it were one already borne by an older member.

The history of the other, or official, titles is this. When the government of the country passed out of the hands of the Kugé or Court nobles, into those of the military class, the official posts previously held by the former were filled by members of the feudal nobility, who accordingly assumed the official titles attached to those posts. In the course of time, as successive changes in the details of administration occurred, the duties of these posts became merely nominal, until at last the titles, some of which had become hereditary, came to be merely honourable distinctions, having no connection with the discharge of official duties. There were in Iyéyasu’s time about sixty of these official titles, which were, nominally, in the gift of the Crown. Until the end of the Shōgunate there was much competition for these titles, which were the cause of constant intrigue between the Imperial Court and the Yedo Government.

CHAPTER IV
Political Conditions—Reopening of Japan to Foreign Intercourse—Conclusion of Treaties—Decay of Shōgunate.

Much space has been given in the preceding chapter to the Tokugawa period of administration. For this no apology is due to the reader. The period in question, held in grateful remembrance by the nation as the Era of Great Peace, is the most important in Japanese history. This importance it owes to its long duration; to the singular character of its government—a centralized and autocratic bureaucracy flavoured with feudalism; to the progress which took place in literature, art and industry; to its being the immediate predecessor of what is known as the Meiji Era—the reign of the late Emperor, which began in 1868; and, consequently, to the fact that the Japanese people, as we see them to-day, are the product of that period more than of any other. Before leaving the subject, therefore, it may perhaps be convenient to explain very briefly what kind of feudal system it was which formed, as it were, the basis of Tokugawa government, for one feature of it still survives.

In his History of the Civilization of Europe, Guizot puts forward on behalf of feudalism the claim that it constitutes an essential stage in the evolution of nations. It certainly played a very noticeable part in the development of Japan, lasting as it did from the close of the twelfth century down to the middle of the nineteenth, a period of more than seven hundred years. The French author and statesman in question, however, might have been surprised had he known that one feature of Japanese feudalism would survive its abolition, and that feature one not known on the continent of Europe.

Though in its general character Japanese feudalism resembled the feudal systems prevailing at various times in the continental countries of Europe, in one respect—the position of the population inhabiting the fiefs—it came closer to the clan type of Scottish feudalism; with this important distinction, however, that, whereas the Scottish clan was a family, or tribal, organization, the basis of the Japanese clan was purely territorial, the clansmen being held together by no family link. The Japanese word Han (borrowed from China), the usual English rendering of which is “clan,” does not, in its feudal sense, refer to the territory included in a fief, but to the people inhabiting it. In unsettled times, which were the rule and not the exception before the middle of the sixteenth century, the map of feudal Japan was constantly changing. The area of a fief expanded, or contracted, according to the military fortunes of the daimiō concerned; and at times both fief and feudal owner disappeared altogether. Nor in the alterations thus occurring from time to time in the feudal map was any consideration paid to natural boundaries. A daimiō’s fief, or, in other words, the territories of a clan, might consist of the whole or only part of a province, of portions of two or three provinces, or even of several whole provinces, as in the case of the founder of the Tokugawa line of Shōguns, and, at one time, of Mōri, “the lord of ten provinces.” In earlier days the word “clan” (Han) was not much used, the personality of the daimiō of the fief being the chief consideration. As conditions became more settled, however, under the peaceful sway of the Tokugawa Shōguns, the boundaries of fiefs became more fixed and permanent. As a result, too, of these unwarlike conditions, and of the spread to feudal circles of the corrupt and effeminate atmosphere of the Imperial Court, the personality of a daimiō counted for less, while the term “clan” gradually came to be more commonly employed to express the idea of a distinct feudal community, united solely by territorial associations. These acted as provincial ties do everywhere, but where feudal and provincial boundaries were the same, the tie uniting the population of a fief was naturally stronger than elsewhere. Some idea of what the clan really was in Japan is necessary in order to understand how it was that clan spirit should have survived when feudalism died, and how it is that Japan to-day, more than half a century after its abolition, should be ruled by what the Japanese themselves speak of as a clan government (Hambatsu Séifu).

We now come to a new chapter in the history of Japan—the reopening of the country to foreign intercourse. At the close of the drama which ended in the expulsion, or death, of all missionaries and their converts the Dutch and Chinese were, as we have seen, the only foreigners allowed to trade with Japan, the reason being that neither, so far as the Japanese could judge, had any connection with Christianity, or missionaries. This was about the middle of the seventeenth century. Things remained in this state until the beginning of the nineteenth, by which time the commerce carried on by the traders of the two favoured nationalities had dwindled to very small proportions. During the last fifty years of this trade changes full of meaning for Japan, for the continent of Asia and for the world at large were taking place. Russia was extending her sphere of activity in Siberia, and threatening to become an intrusive neighbour in Saghalin and the Kuriles. American whalers had discovered a profitable field of enterprise in the Sea of Okhotsk, while, further south, landing parties from these vessels were making use of the Bonin islands to obtain water and fresh provisions. The development of America’s seaboard on the Pacific had led to the opening of a new trade route with the mainland of Asia, for which the Japanese islands offered convenient ports of call. And, finally, the governments of Great Britain and France were busily engaged in demolishing the barriers of conservative prejudice behind which China had for so long entrenched herself. These changes, due partly to the introduction of steam navigation, caused a sudden and rapidly growing increase in the visits of foreign vessels to Japan. The trend of affairs was perceived by the Dutch, who warned the Japanese authorities that the moment was approaching when the policy of isolation could no longer be pursued without danger to the country. It needed little to arouse Japanese apprehensions. A system of coast defence was at once organized. The Bay of Yedo, and its vicinity, the inland sea, and the harbours in Kiūshiū, including the immediate neighbourhood of Nagasaki, were places to which special attention was given. It is clear from the experience of foreign ships which accident or enterprise carried into Japanese waters, from the detailed instructions issued periodically from Yedo, and from the reports of movements of foreign vessels received by the authorities, that there was no lack of vigilance in the working of the system. Yet it was singularly ineffective; a result, under the circumstances, not surprising, since the policy of the Yedo Government varied according to the degree of apprehension existing at the moment in official circles, and there was a general desire to evade responsibility.

Three reasons inspired these visits of foreign vessels: the need of provisions, looking for shipwrecked crews, or repatriating shipwrecked Japanese, and a desire to engage in trade, or to establish friendly relations which would lead to that result. In no case was the reception accorded encouraging, though a clear discrimination was exercised between merchant vessels and warships. To the former scant mercy was shown; but warships were treated with more respect. They were towed into and out of harbour free of charge, and were supplied with provisions for which no money was accepted.

America was the country most interested at that time in the opening of Japan to foreign intercourse on account of the operations of her whalers in the Pacific and her trade route to China. The United States Government, therefore, decided to take the initiative in endeavouring to put an end to the Japanese policy of isolation. Accordingly, in the year 1845, Commodore Biddle arrived in Yedo with two men-of-war for the purpose of establishing trade relations between the two countries. He failed, however, to induce the Japanese Government to enter into any negotiations on the subject. Seven years later the matter was again taken up by the Government at Washington, Commodore Perry receiving orders to proceed to Japan on a mission to arrange for the more humane treatment of American sailors shipwrecked on the coasts of Japan; to obtain the opening of one or more harbours as ports of call for American vessels and the establishment of a coal depôt; and to secure permission for trade at such ports as might be opened. No secrecy surrounded the intentions of the United States. They were known in Europe as well as in America, as Macfarlane, writing in 1852, mentions, and the Dutch promptly told the Japanese.

On July 8th, 1853, Perry arrived in the harbour of Uraga, a small cove in the Bay of Yedo, some thirty miles from the present capital. His instructions were to obtain the facilities desired by persuasion, if possible, but, if necessary, by force. He succeeded after some difficulty in prevailing upon the Japanese authorities to receive the President’s letter at a formal interview on shore. At the same time he presented a letter from himself demanding more humane treatment for shipwrecked sailors, and pointed out the folly of persistence in the policy of seclusion. He would return next spring, he added, with more ships to receive the answer to the President’s letter.

With Perry’s arrival the Shōgun figures under a new title, that of Tycoon (Taikun), or Great Lord, a term first used in correspondence with Korea in order to conceal the fact that the Shōgun was not the sovereign of Japan. This was the word chosen to designate the Shōgun in the earlier treaties concluded with foreign Powers, and is the name by which he was commonly known to foreigners until the Restoration put an end to the government he represented.

On Perry’s return in the following year, 1854, he insisted on anchoring further up the Bay of Yedo, off what was then the post town and afterwards the open port of Kanagawa. It was at a village close to this spot, now known as the town of Yokohama, that on the 31st March he signed the Treaty opening the ports of Shimoda (in Cape Idzu) and Hakodaté (in Yezo) to American vessels—the former at once, the latter at the end of a year. This Treaty, which was ratified in the following year, was the first step in the reopening of Japan to foreign intercourse.

Perry’s Treaty was succeeded by similar arrangements with other Powers—with the British in October of the same year (1854), and in the year following with the Russians and Dutch.

The Dutch benefited greatly by the new direction given to foreign relations. By the provisional arrangement made in 1855 most of the humiliating restrictions accompanying the privilege of trade were removed; and two years later they were allowed “to practise their own or the Christian religion,” a provision which seems to suggest that the Japanese idea as to their not being Christians was inspired by the Dutch. The orders, moreover, with regard to trampling on Christian emblems were also at the same time rescinded. There was still some difference between their position and that of other foreigners. This, however, only lasted a year or two. With the operation of the later more elaborate treaties the nation which had prided itself on its exclusive trading privileges with Japan was glad to come in on the same footing as other Western Powers.

None of the arrangements above described were regular commercial treaties. The first, concluded with America, was simply an agreement for the granting of certain limited facilities for navigation and trade, the latter being a secondary consideration. The object of the British Treaty, made by Admiral Stirling during the Crimean war, was to assist operations against Russia in Siberian waters. The Russians, for their part, merely wished for political reasons to gain a footing in Japan; while the Dutch were chiefly anxious to escape from the undignified position they occupied.

It was not until 1858 that regular commercial treaties were concluded. Perry’s Treaty had stipulated for the appointment of an American Consul-General to reside at Shimoda. Mr. Townsend Harris was selected for the post. His arrival was unwelcome to the Japanese, who had not expected the enforcement of the stipulation. They accordingly boycotted him. He could get no trustworthy information. If he asked for anything, it was withheld as being “contrary to the honourable country’s law”; and his letters were not answered because “it was not customary to reply to the letters of foreigners.” Harris, nevertheless, persevered in spite of Japanese obstruction with his task of developing American relations with Japan. In June, 1857, he was able to report the signature of a convention which extended considerably the facilities conceded to Perry; in the autumn of the same year he was received in audience by the Shōgun as the first duly accredited representative of a Western Power; by the following February negotiations for the new Treaty were practically completed; and in July of that year (1858) the Treaty was signed in Yedo Bay on board an American man-of-war.

The delay of five months was caused by the Shōgunate’s decision to refer the Treaty before signature to Kiōto for the approval of the Throne. This reference was not necessary. The right of the Shōgun to act independently in such matters had been recorded in the “Hundred Articles,” and long custom had confirmed the rule thus recorded. But in the embarrassment and trepidation caused by Perry’s unexpected visit, and still less expected demands, the Shōgunate had departed from this rule, and revived the obsolete formality of Imperial sanction, extending at the same time its application. The Court refused its consent to the proposed Treaty, but in spite of this refusal the Japanese negotiators signed it; the Shōgun’s ministers being influenced by the news of the termination of the war in China, and the impending arrival of British and French ambassadors, as well as by the representations of the American negotiator.

Treaties with Great Britain, with Holland, with Russia, and with France followed in rapid succession, the first three being signed in August, the last-named in October. All four reproduced more or less closely the substance of the American convention. The choice of open ports in Perry’s Treaty—due to solicitude for American whalers, and considerations connected with America’s new trade route to China—had in the interests of general commerce been unfortunate. This defect was remedied in the new treaties by provisions for the opening of additional ports. A tariff and a system of tonnage dues were also established. In other respects the new treaties merely confirmed, or amplified, the provisions of earlier arrangements. They were useful, however, as the forerunners of a whole series of practically uniform agreements, which simplified Japan’s position, while enlarging the scope of foreign relations. One of the last to be concluded was the Austro-Hungarian Treaty of 1869, the English version of which was made the “original,” or authoritative, text. By virtue of the most-favoured-nation clause, which figured in all these conventions, it was this instrument which governed the relations of Japan with Treaty Powers, until the new revised treaties came into force in 1899. When the Japanese people became aware that the character of these treaties was different from those made by Western governments with each other, an early opportunity was taken to protest against the provisions conceding ex-territoriality and fixing a low customs tariff, and against the obstacle to revision presented by the absence in the agreements of any fixed period of duration. The irritation thus caused led later on to an agitation for treaty revision, which did much to embitter Japanese feeling towards foreigners. The complaint was not unnatural, but in making it there was a tendency to overlook the fact that the position of foreigners in Japan under these treaties was also very different from their position under other treaties elsewhere. The residential and commercial rights of the foreigner in Japan applied only to the “open ports,” while his right of travel, except by special permission, not readily granted, did not extend beyond a narrow area at the same ports known as “treaty limits.” The rest of the country remained closed. This limitation of facilities for commercial intercourse was, moreover, accentuated by the fact that the choice of “open” or “treaty ports” was not, as has been pointed out, the best that could have been made. Compelled against their will to consent to foreign intercourse, it was only to be expected that the Japanese should seek to render the concession worthless by selecting harbours neither suitable nor safe for shipping, and places far from markets, and that a similar spirit should dictate the choice of sites for foreign settlements. That the early negotiators who represented Japan were handicapped by ignorance of the principles regulating international relations is undeniable. But the injustice, as they considered it, of the conditions against which protest was made was really a blessing in disguise; for, on the admission of the Japanese themselves, it served as a powerful stimulus to progress on the lines of Western civilization.

In the course of five years from the date of Perry’s Treaty no less than thirteen elaborate agreements, besides other arrangements of a less formal character, had been concluded by Japan. So rapid an extension of foreign intercourse might seem to point to a subsidence of anti-foreign feeling, and a decrease of opposition to the establishment of friendly relations with foreign countries. Such, however, was not the case. The negotiations of these various covenants were carried on in the face of growing anti-foreign clamour, and in the midst of political confusion and agitation,—the precursors of a movement which was to end in the collapse of Tokugawa government.

In order that the subsequent course of events may be understood, some reference, however brief, to the political situation which existed at this time is necessary. It will be seen what complications—quite apart from the embarrassments arising out of the reopening of foreign intercourse—were caused by the inconsequence and ambition of the Court, the weakness of the Shōgunate, and the jealousies of rival statesmen. Some idea may also thus be formed of the ignorance of foreign matters which then prevailed, except in a few official quarters, and of the clumsy timidity of a policy which consisted chiefly of shutting the eyes to facts patent to everyone.

Ever since the establishment of Tokugawa rule there had been a party at the Kiōto Court, consisting of Court nobles, which championed the pretensions of the Throne, mourned over its lost glories, conducted its intrigues, and felt a common resentment against what in its eyes was an administration of usurpers. The fatal mistake of the Shōgunate in referring to Kiōto Perry’s demands for the reopening of foreign intercourse on new and strange conditions—a matter which, in accordance with established precedent, was within its own competency—gave an opportunity to this party to revive the long obsolete pretensions of the Court. The opportunity was at once seized. The party had at this time powerful adherents. Amongst them the chief figure was the ex-Prince of Mito. Early in the previous century his grandfather, the second of his line, had founded a school of literature and politics, which espoused the Imperial cause, and encouraged the native religion and language in opposition to what was borrowed from China,—a profession of principles which sat curiously on a leading member of the Tokugawa House. Holding the same views himself, the ex-Prince had been forced to abdicate some years before in favour of his eldest son for having destroyed the Buddhist temples in his fief, and made their bells into cannon, for the alleged purpose of repelling a foreign invasion. With the ex-Prince were ranged the Tokugawa Prince of Owari and the influential daimiōs of Chōshiū, Échizen, Tosa and Uwajima, whilst a large measure of sympathy with Imperial aims existed among the prominent clans of the south and west. The anti-Shōgunate movement also derived help from the turbulent class of clanless samurai, known as rōnin, which at this time was rapidly increasing in numbers owing to economic distress in feudal territories, and the growing weakness of the Shōgunate. The latter’s supporters, on the other hand, were mostly to be found in the centre, the north and the east, all of which were old Tokugawa strongholds. Its chief strength, however, lay in its being beatus possidens,—having, that is to say, the command of State resources, and being in a position to speak for the Throne; and in the fact that Tokugawa government, by its long duration and the completeness of its bureaucratic organization, had taken so firm a hold of the country, that whatever sympathy might possibly be evoked on behalf of revived Imperial pretensions might not unreasonably be expected to fall short of material support.

One other advantage the Shōgunate possessed was the presence in the Government of a minister of distinguished ancestry, and of great ability and courage, combined with, what was rare in those days, independence of character. This was the famous Ïi Kamon no Kami, generally known as the Tairō, or Regent, whose castle-town, Hikoné, near Kiōto, overlooked Lake Biwa. The early associations of his family made him a staunch upholder of Tokugawa rule. He quickly became the leading spirit of the Ministry, and the liberal views he apparently held on the subject of treaty-making and foreign intercourse brought him at once into collision with the boldest and most uncompromising member of the Court party—the ex-Prince of Mito. The disagreement between them first showed itself in the advice called for by the Throne from the Council of State and the leading feudal nobles on the question of the signature of the American Treaty of 1858. In the controversy which arose on this point they figured as the chief protagonists. The policy of the Court in 1853 had been non-committal. In 1855 it had formally approved of the treaties, the Shōgun’s resident at Kiōto reporting that “the Imperial mind was now at ease.” Nevertheless, in spite of this approval, and notwithstanding the signature of fresh treaties, the crusade of the Court party against foreign intercourse went on unabated. On the present occasion the ex-Prince of Mito argued strongly against the Treaty, while the Council of State, adopting the views of Ïi Kamon no Kami, who was not yet Regent, recommended the signature of the Treaty as being the proper course to follow. But the question which provoked the keenest rivalry and the bitterest antagonism between the two statesmen concerned the succession to the Shōgunate.

The Shōgun Iyésada, appointed in 1853, was childless, and, in accordance with custom in such cases, it was incumbent on him to choose and adopt a successor. The ex-Prince of Mito wished the choice to fall on one of his younger sons, Kéiki, then fifteen years of age, who having been adopted into the Hitotsubashi family, was eligible for the appointment. But the new Shōgun was only twenty-nine, and in no hurry to choose a successor from another family. His relations, moreover, with the ex-Prince of Mito were not cordial; and there were other objections. If he were constrained to adopt a successor, his own choice would, it was known, fall on a nearer kinsman, the young Prince of Kishiū, a boy of ten. The heir preferred by the Shōgun was also the choice of Ïi. The parties supporting the rival candidates were not unequally matched. Though the weight of clan influence was on the side of Kéiki, fated a few years later to be the last of the Tokugawa Shōguns, a section of the Court nobles joined with the Council of State in favouring the candidature of the young Kishiū prince, behind whom stood also the Shōgun.

The two questions in dispute were thus quite distinct, the one being a matter of foreign, the other of domestic policy. But the two protagonists in each being the same, it looked as if the side that was successful in one issue would gain the day in both. And this in fact is what happened. In June, 1858, in the interval between the second and third missions to Kiōto in connection with the signature of the American Treaty, Ïi became Regent—an appointment tenable in times of emergency as well as during a Shōgun’s minority. The end of the conflict, which had lasted nearly five years, was then in sight. In July, as already stated, the American Treaty was signed. Before another week had elapsed the young Kishiū prince was proclaimed heir to the Shōgunate. Ten days later the Shōgun Iyésada died.

CHAPTER V
Anti-Foreign Feeling—Chōshiū Rebellion—Mikado’s Ratification of Treaties—Prince Kéiki—Restoration Movement—Civil War—Fall of Shōgunate.

The signature of the Treaty was loudly condemned by the Court party, the ex-Prince of Mito being conspicuous amongst those who protested. He addressed a violently worded remonstrance to the Council of State, impugning the action of the Government, which was accused of disrespect to the Throne, and disobedience to the Imperial commands. The Regent retorted by striking at once at his enemies with all the force of his newly acquired position, and the prestige of his success in the matter of the succession. The ex-Prince of Mito and the Prince of Owari were confined to their yashikis (a term applied to the feudal residences occupied by daimiōs during their period of service in Yedo); while the latter, together with the daimiōs of Échizen, Tosa and Uwajima, was forced to abdicate. And when the Court, growing uneasy at this sudden reassertion of authority on the part of the Shōgunate, summoned the Regent, or one of the Gosanké, to Kiōto to report on the situation, a reply was sent to the effect that the Regent was detained by State affairs, and that the ex-Prince of Mito and the Prince of Owari were confined to their clan yashikis. A mission, however—the third in succession—proceeded to Kiōto from Yedo. This submitted a report on the subject of the Treaty, which explained the reasons for its signature in advance of Imperial sanction as being the arrival of more Russian and American ships; the defeat of China by the English and French; the news that these two countries were sending to Japan special envoys instructed to carry matters with a high hand; and the advice to sign at once given by the American minister. The Court’s eventual pronouncement in favour of the Treaty displayed in a striking manner the perverseness and inconsequence which characterized Japanese official procedure at that time. The decree conveying the Imperial approval expressed the satisfaction with which the Throne had received the assurance that the Shōgun, the Regent and the Council of State, were all in favour of keeping foreigners at a distance; and urged on the attention of the Shōgun “the Throne’s deep concern in regard to the sea in the neighbourhood of the Imperial shrines and Kiōto, as well as the safety of the Imperial insignia,” which, put into plainer language, meant that no port should be opened near Isé, or the capital. Two suggestions have been made on good authority regarding this decree: (1) that the Shōgun’s agents in Kiōto were directed to accept anything which established the fact of an understanding with the Court having been effected; and (2) that the agents in question succeeded in persuading the Court that, though the signature of this particular Treaty was unavoidable, the Yedo Government was not really in favour of foreign intercourse. Both suggestions are probably correct. In any case the Court’s action in ignoring the Throne’s previous approval of earlier treaties was calculated to stiffen opposition to the Shōgun’s diplomacy, and was thus doubtless responsible for some of the subsequent difficulties attending foreign intercourse, notably in connection with the opening of the port of Hiogo, which, with the consent of the Treaty Powers, was postponed until January, 1868.

As showing how meaningless the Imperial approval, in reality, was it may be well to note that the English text of the Treaty in question provided for the exchange of ratifications at Washington on or before the 4th July, 1859, failing which, however, the Treaty was, nevertheless, to come into force on the date in question. The Treaty went into operation on the date fixed, but the exchange of ratifications did not take place until 1860. The ratification on the part of Japan is described as the verification of “the name and seal of His Majesty the Tycoon.”

Hostility to foreigners at this time, however, was a feeling common to most Japanese, even Shōgunate officials being no exception to the rule. Writers on Japan mention as one cause which served to increase this feeling the drain of gold from Japan, which began as early as the operations of the first Portuguese traders. Another—adduced by the Japanese Government itself—was the great rise in prices which followed upon the opening of Treaty ports. Sir Rutherford Alcock, in the Capital of the Tycoon, adds a third—the memory of the troubles connected with the Christian persecution in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and of the serious alarm then entertained by the Japanese authorities at the undisguised pretensions of the Pope. The understanding regarding the Treaty question arrived at by the Regent with the Court did little to check the growth of anti-foreign feeling, for the Court continued its intrigues as before, and the Regent’s death, in the spring of 1860 at the hands of assassins instigated by the ex-Prince of Mito, provided a further opportunity. The effects of the fierce anti-foreign crusade upon which it then embarked were seen in the murder of the Secretary of the American Legation, in the successive attacks made on the British Legation, and in other violent acts by which foreigners were not the only sufferers. Yielding to the pressure of public opinion, the Government itself became almost openly hostile. Placed in this difficult position, the representatives of the Treaty Powers found both dignity and safety compromised. What, they might well ask, was to be gained by protests to the Japanese authorities in regard to acts with which the latter’s sympathy was barely concealed, of which they not infrequently gave warning themselves, but against which they were unable, or unwilling, to afford protection? Under these circumstances it is not surprising that the representatives of Great Britain, France, Germany and Holland should in 1862 have retired temporarily from the capital to Yokohama—an example not followed by the American representative; nor that the British Legation on its return, at the Japanese Government’s request, four weeks later, should have been immediately attacked in spite of a formal guarantee of protection. In respect of this attack, in the course of which two sentries were murdered, an indemnity was afterwards paid. Matters were further aggravated by the murder in September of the same year (1862) of Mr. Richardson, a British subject, on the high road near Yokohama by the bodyguard of a Satsuma noble, Shimadzu Saburō, who was on his way back to Kiōto from the Shōgun’s Court in Yedo. A formal apology for this outrage was demanded by the British, together with the payment of an indemnity.

The growing power of the Court and the anti-foreign party, for the two were one, showed itself also in its behaviour to the Shōgunate after the Regent’s death.

The adherents of the ex-Prince of Mito—who survived his adversary by only a few months—held up their heads again, while the late Regent’s friends were, in their turn, dismissed from office, fined, imprisoned or banished. Nor did the Shōgun’s marriage to the Mikado’s sister in the spring of 1862 materially improve the relations between Kiōto and Yedo, or moderate the high-handed attitude of the Court. In the summer of the same year the Shōgun was peremptorily summoned to Kiōto, which had not seen a Shōgun for two hundred and fifty years, to confer with the Court regarding the expulsion of foreigners; Prince Kéiki, the unsuccessful candidate for the office of Shōgun in 1858, was made Regent, and appointed guardian to his rival on that occasion, the young Shōgun Iyémochi, in the place of a nearer and older relative; while the ex-Prince of Échizen, one of the late Regent’s enemies, was made President of the Council of State. That nothing should be wanting to indicate its displeasure at the position taken up by the Shōgunate in regard to foreign affairs, the Court went so far as to order the Shōgun’s consort, who in accordance with custom had, on her marriage, assumed the title usual in those circumstances, to revert to her previous designation of princess. Other signs of the times, showing not only the anti-foreign spirit of the Court, but its determination to strike at the root of Tokugawa authority, could be noted in such incidents as the relaxation of the conditions of the residence of feudal nobles in Yedo, and the release of the hostages formerly exacted for their good conduct whilst in their fiefs; the solemn fixing at a Council of princes, attended by the Shōgun and his guardians, of a date for the cessation of all foreign intercourse; the revival of the State processions of the Mikado to shrines, which had been discontinued at the beginning of the Tokugawa rule; and the residence for long periods at Kiōto of feudal nobles, in defiance of the Tokugawa regulation which forbade them even to visit the Capital without permission—a step which showed that they were not afraid of its being known that they sided openly with the Court against the Shōgunate. The same spirit accounted for the attempt to associate the Shōgun and his Regent-guardian with the taking of a religious oath to expel foreigners, and, finally, for the fact that while so much that was incompatible with friendly relations with Treaty Powers was taking place, a mission sent to those very powers was engaged in persuading them to consent to the postponement for five years of the dates fixed for the opening of certain ports and places to foreign trade and residence. This consent was given, and was recorded, in so far as Great Britain was concerned, in the London Protocol of June 6th, 1862.

The communication to the foreign representatives of the decision to close the country duly took place on the 24th June, as arranged. But nothing came of it. The foreign governments refused to take the matter seriously, merely intimating that steps would be taken to protect foreign interests, and five months later the Shōgunate asked for the return of the Note.

Sir Rutherford Alcock in the course of a lengthy review of the situation, in which he seems to have foreseen clearly that the reopening of the country would eventually lead to civil war, came, though unwillingly, to the conclusion that foreign governments, if they wished to ensure the observance of the treaties, must be prepared to use force, and make reprisals; in fact, that opposition to foreign intercourse would not cease until the nation should, by drastic measures, have been persuaded of the ability of foreign Powers to make their Treaty rights respected. The effect of the reprisals made by the British Government in the Richardson case, in the course of which the town of Kagoshima was bombarded, and partly destroyed, besides the exaction of an indemnity, went some way to prove the correctness of this view. Its truth was further demonstrated when a second and graver incident occurred. This was the firing upon foreign vessels in the Straits of Shimonoséki by Chōshiū forts on June 24th, 1863. The date on which the outrage occurred was that fixed at the Council of feudal nobles, attended by the Shōgun and the Regent, his guardian, in Kiōto for the opening of negotiations with the foreign representatives for the closing of the country. It was also that on which, in accordance with the decision then taken, a communication had been made to them by the Council of State. The coincidence of dates gave a more serious aspect to the affair, though the complicity of the Shōgunate was never whole-hearted. In this case, also, it became necessary to take the drastic measures which to the British Minister in question had seemed to be inevitable sooner or later. Neither the first reprisals, however, instituted at once by the French and American naval authorities, nor the lengthy negotiations with the Japanese Government which followed, were of any effect in obtaining redress. For more than a year the straits remained closed to navigation. Eventually joint operations against the hostile forts conducted in August, 1864, by a combined squadron of the four Powers immediately concerned, accomplished the desired result. The forts were attacked and destroyed, an undertaking that they should be left in a dismantled condition was extorted, and an indemnity of $3,000,000 exacted. The lessons thus administered lost none of their force from the fact that the clans punished were the two most powerful, and those in which hostility to foreigners was perhaps most openly displayed. Both this and the Kagoshima indemnity were paid by the Yedo Government, and not by the offending clans. Were further proof needed of the strange condition of affairs at this time in Japan it is supplied by the fact that in both cases the drastic measures taken resulted in the establishment of quite amicable relations with the clans in question. This unlooked-for result points to the existence, both in the nation at large, and in individual clans, of a small minority which did not share the prevailing hostility to foreigners.

Towards the end of 1863 the British and French Governments came to the conclusion that the unsettled state of things in Japan, and the anti-foreign feeling, which showed no signs of decreasing, made it advisable to station troops in Yokohama for the protection of foreign interests. Accordingly contingents of British and French troops were landed, and established in quarters on shore, by arrangement with the Japanese authorities. Their presence served admirably the purpose intended; no collision or friction occurred between these garrisons and the Japanese, and in 1875, when their presence was no longer needed, they were withdrawn.

The Shōgun had been very reluctant to comply with the Imperial summons to Kiōto. His ministers had endeavoured to arrange for the visit to be limited to ten days. Once there, however, he was detained on various pretexts until June in the following year, by which time the Court had already embarked on its anti-foreign policy, and the Shimonoséki incident had occurred. His return to Yedo was the signal for the outbreak of further bickering between the Court and the Shōgunate, which revealed the same disposition on both sides to shut the eyes to facts, and change position with startling inconsistency. Ignoring its recent co-operation with the Imperial Court and feudal nobles in the anti-foreign policy initiated at the Capital, the fixing of a date for the expulsion of the foreigner, and the communication of its decision to the foreign representatives, the Shōgunate presented a memorial to the Throne pointing out how unfavourable was the present moment for pushing matters to extremity in the matter of foreign intercourse. The Court, for its part, while testifying its pleasure at the revival of the ancient practice of visits to the Capital, rebuked the Shōgun for not keeping the Throne more fully informed of his movements, for having gone back to Yedo in a steamer, and for his unsatisfactory behaviour in regard to foreign relations. Further indications of the general confusion of ideas and vacillation of purpose which characterized the proceedings of persons in authority appear in the expulsion of Chōshiū clansmen from Kiōto as a mark of the Court’s strong disapproval of the action of the Chōshiū clan in the Shimonoséki affair, as well as in the startling pronouncement made by the Échizen clan—whose chief’s enforced abdication has already been mentioned—in favour of foreign intercourse, and of the “new Christian religion,” and condemning alike both the policy pursued by the Court, and that of the Shōgunate.

That a definite rupture of foreign relations did not take place at this juncture was due to the promptness of the Shōgunate to repudiate its own acts and to the patience and good-humour of foreign governments; possibly also to the division of opinion in the country itself, where the centre of authority was beginning to shift, though the process was still incomplete. In its place there occurred the first threatenings, the beginnings, in fact, of the civil war which an attentive observer had prophesied. Conscious of the Government’s weakness, while piqued by the Court’s inconsistency, the Chōshiū clan brought matters to an issue in the summer of 1864 by making a sudden raid on Kiōto with the object of abducting the Mikado and raising the Imperial standard. The attempt was defeated; nor did the clan fare better in its efforts to repel the invasion of its territory by the Government forces. The resistance offered was soon overcome. Early in the following year (1865) the rebellion was suppressed, the severity of the terms imposed on the clan exciting widespread dissatisfaction. When, shortly afterwards, the same clan again rebelled, owing, it is said, to the excessive character of the punishment imposed, it was perceived that the success of the Tokugawa troops on the previous occasion was due, not to the Shōgunate’s military strength, but to the co-operation of other clans—notably that of Satsuma—in the punitive measures directed against the rebels. On this latter occasion the support of the other clans was withheld, with the result that the second campaign, though conducted under the eye of the Shōgun, who made Kiōto his headquarters for the purpose, was a complete failure. By the end of the year 1866 a compromise, designed to save the faces of both parties, had been effected. Hostilities then ceased. In the course of the negotiations by which this conclusion was reached the weakness of the Shōgunate was still further exposed. The prominent part taken by rōnin, both in the raid on the Capital and in the subsequent proceedings of the clan, as well as the incapacity of the feudal prince and his son, came also to light, together with the fact that the affairs of the fief were controlled by clan retainers, who were divided into two mutually hostile factions, each of which in turn gained the ascendancy.

The ignominy of defeat at the hands of a rebellious clan, added to a bankrupt exchequer, not to speak of the acceptance of a compromise which in itself was a confession of impotence, hastened the crumbling away of what was left of Tokugawa prestige. Fresh energy, at the same time, was instilled into the Court party. The situation became increasingly troubled and confused. While the Imperialists, as they now came to be called, clamoured more loudly than ever for the expulsion of foreigners, the ministers of the young Shōgun—soon to be succeeded very unwillingly by his cousin and guardian, the regent Prince Kéiki—busied themselves with explanations to the Court on the subject of the treaties, and to the foreign representatives on the political situation and the bearing of the Court.

In the meantime, in the summer of 1865, while the Chōshiū imbroglio was at its height, Sir Harry Parkes had arrived in Japan as British Minister. Soon after his arrival his attention had been drawn to the anomalous position of the Shōgun (or Tycoon), who was not the Sovereign of Japan, as described in the treaties, to the difficult situation created by the revival of Imperial pretensions, and to the encouragement afforded to the anti-foreign party by the fact that the Mikado had not yet given his formal sanction to the treaties of 1858, though they had been ratified by the Shōgun’s Government. The foreign representatives, who had already received instructions from their Governments to ask for a modification of the tariff of import and export duties annexed to the treaties of 1858, decided to press both questions together and, at the same time, to communicate to the Shōgunate, on behalf of their Governments, an offer to remit two-thirds of the Shimonoséki indemnity in return for (1) the immediate opening of the port of Hiogo and the city of Ōsaka, and (2) the revision of the Customs tariff on a basis of 5 per cent ad valorem. Accordingly, in November, 1865, a combined squadron visited Ōsaka for that purpose.

Reference has already been made to the constant anxiety of the Court to keep foreigners away from the neighbourhood of the Capital. The sensation created, therefore, by the appearance of foreign ships of war in the Bay of Ōsaka can readily be imagined. It was a repetition of what had occurred when Perry came. The action taken by the Court was the same. The demands of the foreign representatives were referred, as in Perry’s case, to a council of feudal nobles. These having concurred in the view already put forward by the Shōgun, and strengthened by his offer to resign, should this be desired, the Court intimated its intention to accept the advice. When, however, the necessary decree was issued, it was found to contain a clause making the sanction dependent on the alteration of certain points in the treaties which did not harmonize with the Imperial views, and insisting on the abandonment of the stipulation for the opening of Hiogo. The decree was duly communicated to the foreign representatives. But the Shōgunate in doing so, baffled it may be by the task of endeavouring to reconcile Imperial instructions with the fulfilment of Treaty obligations, or using, perhaps unconsciously, the disingenuous methods of the time, concealed the clause which robbed the sanction of much of its force. The treaties were sanctioned, it explained, but the question of the port of Hiogo could not be discussed for the moment. As for the tariff, instructions would be sent to Yedo to negotiate the amendment desired. This omission on the part of the Shōgunate to represent things as they really were misled foreign governments, and caused serious misunderstanding in the sequel.

The promise regarding the tariff was duly kept. It was fulfilled in the following year (1866) by the signature in Yedo of the Tariff Convention. A point to be noted in this instrument is the declaration regarding the right of individual Japanese merchants, and of daimiōs and persons in their employ, to trade at the Treaty Ports and go abroad, and trade there, without being subject to any hindrances, or undue fiscal restrictions, on the part of the Japanese Government or its officials. Its insertion was due to the determination of foreign governments to put an end to official interference with trade—a relic of the past, when all foreign commerce was controlled by the Shōgunate—and to their wish, in view of the reactionary measures threatened by the Court, to place on record their resolve to maintain the new order of things established by the treaties. Owing to the Shōgunate’s monopoly of foreign trade, which was what its control had virtually amounted to, the profits of commerce had swelled the coffers of the Government to the detriment of clan exchequers—a feudal grievance which was not the least of the causes responsible for hostility to the Yedo Government, and, indirectly, for anti-foreign feeling.

The course of affairs during the fifteen years which followed the conclusion of Perry’s Treaty has been described with some minuteness. This has been necessary owing to the complex character of the political situation, both foreign and domestic, during this time, and also because an acquaintance with certain details is essential to the comprehension of subsequent events. One of the features of the struggle between the Court and Shōgunate, to which attention has been called, was the gradual movement of several of the leading clans to the side of the Court. The stay of the chiefs of these clans in Kiōto, in defiance of Tokugawa regulations, led to the gradual loosening of the ties which bound the territorial nobility to Yedo, and to the shifting of the centre of action to the Capital, where the final scene of the drama was to be enacted.

At the end of the year 1866 both the Shōgun and his guardian, Prince Kéiki, were in Kiōto. There the Emperor Kōmei died early in the ensuing spring, his death being followed within a few days by that of the young Shōgun. The Emperor Mutsuhito, who was only fifteen years of age, succeeded to the Throne, and Prince Kéiki became Shōgun much against his will. Far from inheriting the forceful character of his father, the ex-Prince of Mito, the new Shōgun was of a retiring disposition. Though possessed of great intelligence and no small literary ability, he had a distaste for public affairs. Well aware of the difficulties of the time, and of the trend of tendencies unfavourable to the continuance of dual government, he was reluctant to undertake the responsibilities of the high office to which he was appointed. Not improbably, too, he may have inherited some portion at least of his father’s political doctrines. When, therefore, in October of that year (1867) the ex-daimiō of Tosa (whose abdication had been enforced eight years before by the Regent Ïi) presented a memorial to the Government, advising “the restoration of the ancient form of direct Imperial government,” the Shōgun took the advice tendered, and resigned. His decision was communicated in writing by the Council of State to the foreign representatives. In this document, which explains briefly the origin of feudal duarchy and of Tokugawa rule, the Shōgun dwells on the inconvenience attending the conduct of foreign relations under a system of dual government involving the existence of what were virtually two Courts, and announces his decision to restore the direct rule of the Mikado; adding, however, the assurance that the change will not disturb the harmonious relations of Japan with foreign countries. The statement also, it should be noted, contains an explicit declaration of the liberal views of the retiring ruler, who does not hesitate to express his conviction that the moment has come to make a new departure in national policy, and introduce constitutional changes of a progressive character.

Very possibly the retirement of the Shōgun might have been arranged in a peaceable manner, for his views were no secret to his supporters, though few shared them. Unfortunately, the Court, acting under the influence of leading clans hostile to the Yedo Government, and bent on a rupture, suddenly issued a decree abolishing the office of Shōgun, and making a change in the guardianship of the palace, which was transferred from Tokugawa hands to those of the opposition. This decree was followed by others proclaiming the restoration of direct Imperial rule; establishing a provisional government of Court nobles, daimiōs and the latter’s retainers; remitting the punishment imposed on the Chōshiū clan; and revoking the order expelling it from the Capital. The action of the Court made compromise impossible. The Shōgun withdrew to Ōsaka, whence, after a half-hearted effort to reassert his authority by force of arms, he returned to Yedo. The civil war that ensued was of short duration. The Tokugawa forces were no match for the Imperial troops, who were superior both in numbers and discipline. Although a small remnant of the ex-Shōgun’s adherents held out for some months in certain northern districts of the main island, and still longer in the island of Yezo, by the spring of 1869 peace was everywhere restored.

It has been said by a leading authority on Japan, as one reason for the fall of the Shōgunate, that dual government was an anachronism. This in itself presented no insuperable obstacle to its continuance; for the figure-head system of government, which flourished in an atmosphere of make-believe, was one which had grown up with the nation and was regarded as the normal condition of things. To its inconvenience, however, in the conduct of foreign relations the use of the title of Taikun (Tycoon) in the eighteenth century, and a resort to the same device in the nineteenth, bear witness. And it is reasonable to suppose that a system of administration so cumbrous would have failed to satisfy for long the practical exigencies of modern international intercourse. In no case, however, could the Tokugawa Government have lasted much longer. It carried within itself the seeds of its dissolution. It was almost moribund when Perry came. The reopening of the country simply hastened the end. It fell, as other governments have done, because it had ceased to govern.

Before its rule ceased the Tokugawa House had abandoned its dynasty. The three main branches—Mito, Owari and Kishiū—each in turn deserted the Tokugawa cause; their example being followed by leading feudal families, such as the Échizen clan, which were connected with the ruling House.

When the long line of Tokugawa rulers came to an end, it had been in power for more than two and a half centuries. Of the fifteen Shōguns of the line, only the founder and his grandson, the third Shōgun, showed any real capacity. The former was brilliant, both as soldier and statesman; the latter had administrative talent. None of the others was in any way distinguished. Nor was this surprising. The enervating Court life of Kiōto had been copied in Yedo. Brought up in Eastern fashion from childhood in the corrupt atmosphere of the women’s apartments, Mikado and Shōgun alike grew up without volition of their own or knowledge of the outside world, ready for the rôle of puppets assigned to them. The last of the Shōguns was no exception to the rule. Had it been otherwise, there might have been another and quite different story to tell.

On the short but decisive struggle which ended in the Restoration nothing in the nature of foreign official influence was brought to bear. The foreign Powers concerned preserved an attitude of strict neutrality, which was reflected in the action of their representatives. The task of maintaining neutrality was rendered easier by the fact that the interests of all the Powers, with one exception, were commercial rather than political. The two leading Powers in the Far East at that time were Great Britain and France, the former’s commercial interests far outweighing those of her neighbour on the Asiatic continent. Germany had not yet attained the position of an empire which she was to reach as the result of the war of 1870, the responsibilities connected with her slowly growing trade being undertaken by the North German Confederation, which was then being formed under the hegemony of Prussia. America, inclined from the first to regard Japan as her protégé, had not yet fully recovered from the effects of the Civil War; and though she had opened up a new avenue of trade with the Far East, the development of her Pacific seaboard was in its infancy. She prided herself on having no foreign policy to hamper her independence, nor had she any organized diplomatic and consular service. The interests of Russia, the exception referred to, were merely political, and of small importance; for neither the Amur Railway nor the Chinese Eastern Railway had been even projected, and the development of Eastern Siberia had hardly begun. The interests of other Treaty Powers were negligible. While, however, under these circumstances the conflict between the Tokugawa Government and the Imperialists lay beyond the sphere of foreign official influence, there were certain unavoidable tendencies which manifested themselves before the Civil War broke out. The presence of French military instructors engaged by the Shōgun’s Government was regarded as possibly attracting a certain extent of French sympathy with the Tokugawa cause—an idea which was strengthened by the attitude of the French representative and the conduct of one or two of these officers, who accompanied the Tokugawa naval expedition to Yezo, where a last stand was made. There was, moreover, quite apart from their official action, a natural bias on the part of most of the foreign representatives in favour of the Shōgunate as being the de facto government, a position it had occupied for two and a half centuries. On the other hand, the formal sanction given in 1865 by the Mikado at the demand of the foreign representatives to the treaties of 1858 had undoubtedly encouraged the Imperialist party in proportion as it had impaired the prestige of the Tokugawa Government. This demand had arisen out of the gradual realization of the fact that the Shōgun was not, as represented in the treaties in question, the real sovereign of Japan. But there was a further reason. From the moment that the Tokugawa Government had at the time of Commodore Perry’s arrival referred the question of reopening the country to the Throne, instead of using the full power of dealing with foreign affairs vested in the Shōgun, there had grown up two centres of authority, one in Kiōto, which was steadily increasing in influence, the other in Yedo. As was pointed out in the letters addressed by the foreign representatives in the autumn of 1864 to the Tycoon (the title given to the Shōgun in the official correspondence of the time), the existence of these two different centres of authority had been at the bottom of most of the complications which had arisen in respect of foreign relations. The representatives were, therefore, it was said, obliged to insist upon the Mikado’s recognition of the treaties, “in order that future difficulties might be avoided, and that relations with foreigners might be placed upon a more satisfactory and durable basis.” In other words, the recognition of the treaties by the Mikado was sought in order to put a stop to the anti-foreign agitation which was paralyzing the Shōgunate’s conduct of affairs and creating a highly dangerous situation. The reluctance of the Shōgunate to comply with this demand did not tend to improve its position with the foreign representatives, while this position was further weakened by its persistence in adhering to the false status given to the Shōgun. The continued use of the term “His Majesty” in official correspondence between the Shōgun’s Ministers and the diplomatic body long after doubts had arisen as to its correctness was productive of mistrust; and their confidence in the Government’s sincerity was shaken by its strenuous efforts for various reasons to isolate foreigners as much as possible, and by proof of its complicity in the matter of the Court’s order for the expulsion of foreigners, as well as in the Shimonoséki affair.

Under these circumstances—and as a result, also, of the friendly communications established with the two leading clans after the carrying out of reprisals—it is not surprising that some time before an appeal to arms took place a tendency to sympathize with the cause of the Sovereign de jure should have shown itself in certain diplomatic quarters. The busy intrigues carried on by both contending parties, which were by no means confined to domestic circles, may have led, and probably did lead, those whose acquaintance with Japanese history, though imperfect, far exceeded that of others, to attach undue weight to the doctrine of active and unimpaired Imperial supremacy sedulously inculcated by the Court party, and thus to arrive at the not illogical conclusion that the Tokugawa Shōguns were the wrongful usurpers they were described as being by Imperialist historians. That this pronounced sympathy, before hostilities began, in favour of what proved to be the winning side was a material factor in the issue of the struggle there is some reason to believe.

Another point claims passing attention. When the Shōgunate ceased to rule, the wide territory known as the Shōgun’s domains came under the control of the new Government. The classification of lands throughout the country for administrative purposes thus fell temporarily into four divisions—the small area known under the Shōgunate as the Imperial domains, the feudal revenue of which had been quite inadequate for the maintenance of the Court; the former Shōgun’s domains, the final disposition of which was in abeyance; the territories of the clans, as modified by the measures taken in respect of those which, having espoused the Tokugawa cause, had held out to the last against the Imperialist forces; and the large cities of Yedo, Kiōto and Ōsaka, which formed a group by themselves.

CHAPTER VI
Japanese Chronology—Satsuma and Chōshiū Clans—The “Charter Oath.”

In the movement which swept away the Tokugawa Shōguns two cries were raised by the Imperialists: “Honour the Sovereign” and “Expel the foreigner.” They constituted the programme of the party. No sooner had the revolution been crowned with success than the second part of the programme was abandoned. The bulk of the military class had been led to believe that the downfall of the Shōgunate would carry with it the withdrawal of foreigners and the closure of the country. But the wiser heads among the revolutionary leaders recognized that this plan was unrealizable. They had at one time, regardless of consequences, encouraged the cry in order to stir up popular feeling against the Shōgunate. But with the disappearance of the Yedo Government the situation had changed. Moreover, in the course of the fifteen years which had elapsed since Perry’s Treaty the first bitterness of anti-foreign feeling had begun to wear off. Earlier ignorance of the outside world had given way to better knowledge. Closer association with foreigners had revealed the prospect of certain benefits to be derived from foreign trade, while the fighting at Kagoshima and Shimonoséki had been an object-lesson to many, whose reading of history had given them inflated ideas of the strength of their country. There were, also, among the leaders men who were aware not only of the military weakness of Japan, as compared with foreign nations with whom treaties had been concluded, but of the importance of introducing changes on the lines of Western civilization in many branches of administration. So the foreigner remained, and the foreign policy of the Shōgunate was continued. The other cry of “Honour the Sovereign” permitted much latitude of interpretation. The talk about establishing direct Imperial rule, in which Imperialists so freely indulged, was scarcely intended to be taken literally, any more than the vague phrases in the manifestos of the time regarding the abolition of dual government, for the personal rule of the Sovereign was in historical times unknown. It simply expressed indirectly the main object in view—the cessation of Tokugawa rule. This aim was achieved, and more easily than had been anticipated; but the dual system of administration, and the figure-head method of government, were too deeply rooted to be removed all at once, even had there been a desire to do so. The Shōgunate was, therefore, replaced by a government of the clans which had taken a leading part in the Restoration, while the figure-head method of rule worked on as before.

The Restoration ushered in what is known as the “Meiji Era,” or “Era of Enlightened Government,” this being the name given to the new year-period then created. The point is one of no little significance. This year-period marked the beginning of a reign more fruitful in rapid and far-reaching changes than any which had preceded it; it synchronized with the rise of Japan from the position of an obscure Asiatic, country to that of a Great Power; and it was chosen with undeniable fitness as the posthumous name of the monarch with whose death it ended. In dwelling on it, it will be necessary to go somewhat fully into the rather complicated question of Japanese chronology, which calls for explanation.

There were formerly four ways in Japan of reckoning time. These were: (1) By the reigns of Mikados; (2) by year-periods (Nengō), which constantly overlapped, one ending and the other beginning in the same year of our chronology, so that the last year of the former was the first year of the latter, the year in question, which never began on the first day of the first month, having, therefore, two designations; (3) by the Chinese sexagenary cycle; and (4) by computation from the first year of the reign of Jimmu Tennō, the mythical founder of Japan. The first was used at an early date in historical compilations. It ceased to be employed long ago, and the records based on it are unreliable. The second was borrowed from China at the time of the “Great Reform” in the seventh century, which gave its name to the first Japanese year-period. This and the third, the sexagenary cycle, were used both alone and in conjunction with each other. The fourth system (based on the imaginary reign of the mythical founder of Japan about the year 660 B.C.) is of comparatively recent origin, its adoption being due to the same somewhat far-fetched patriotism which encourages belief in the divinity of Japanese sovereigns.

The year-period, or Nengō, copied from China, had in that country a special raison d’être, for it changed with the accession of a new Emperor, its duration being consequently that of the reign with which it began. In Japan, owing probably to the seclusion of the Sovereign and the absence of personal rule, the year-period had no direct connection with the reign of a Mikado or the rule of a Shōgun, the correspondence, when it occurred, being, with few exceptions, merely fortuitous. As a rule, some unusual or startling event was made the reason for a change, but in Japan, as in China, great care was bestowed on the choice of propitious names for new year-periods. Since the Restoration, however, it has been decided to follow the old Chinese practice, and create a fresh year-period on the accession of a new sovereign. This decision was put into force for the first time on the death of the late Emperor in 1912. The Meiji year-period then came to an end, and a new year-period, Taishō, or “Great Righteousness,” began. Owing to the overlapping of year-periods, to which attention has been called, the new year-period dates from the same year as that in which the preceding Meiji period ceased.

The sexagenary cycle was formed by combining the twelve Chinese signs of the Zodiac, taken in their fixed order, namely, “Rat,” “Bull,” “Tiger,” “Hare,” etc., with what are known as the “ten celestial stems.” These ten stems, again, were formed by arranging the five primitive elements—earth, water, fire, metal and wood—into two sections, or classes, called respectively “elder” and “younger brother.” This arrangement fitted in exactly with a cycle of sixty years, a number divisible by ten and twelve, the numbers of its two component factors. When the year-period and the sexagenary cycle were used in conjunction with each other, it was customary to mention first of all the name of the year-period, then the number of the year in question in that period, and then, again, the position of the year in the sexagenary cycle.

Formerly, too, the month in Japan was a lunar month. Of these there were twelve. Every third year an intercalary month was added in order to supply the correction necessary for the exact computation of time. There was no division of time corresponding to our week. This, however, came gradually into use after the Restoration, the days being called after the sun and moon and the five primitive elements. The weekly holiday is now a Japanese institution. There are also in each year twenty-four periods of nominally fifteen days each, regulated according to climate and the season of the year, which are closely connected with agricultural operations, and bear distinctive names, such as “Great Cold,” “Lesser Cold,” “Rainy Season,” etc. Each month, too, is divided into three periods of ten days each, called respectively Jōjun, Chiūjun and Géjun, or first, middle and last periods.

With the adoption of the Gregorian Calendar, which came into force on January 1st, 1873, the sexagenary cycle and lunar month disappeared, and with them, of course, the quaint Zodiacal appellations of the years. The other distinctive features of Japanese chronology have survived. There are now three recognized ways of computing time annually—by year-periods, by the Christian Calendar and by the National Calendar, dating from the year 660 B.C. The year 1921 may therefore be spoken of either as we do, or as the tenth year of Taishō;, or as the year 2581 of the National Calendar.

The adoption of the Gregorian Calendar caused some grumbling, as it did when introduced in England in the eighteenth century, where it was received with the cry: “Give us back our eleven days.” In Japan there was more reason for complaint, for the year 1872 was shortened by no less than twenty-nine days, what would, under the old calendar, have been the third day of the twelfth month of the fifth year of Meiji being altered so as to become the first day of the first month of the sixth year of Meiji (January 1st, 1873). Much inconvenience and even hardship were occasioned by the change, since the end of the year, the time chosen, is the time fixed for the settling of all accounts between debtors and creditors.

The Restoration was the work of four clans—Satsuma, Chōshiū, Hizen and Tosa—whose territories lay in each case in the south-west of the country, though they had no common frontiers. The formation by feudal chiefs of alliances of short duration for definite objects had been the distinguishing characteristic of the unsettled times which preceded the establishment of Tokugawa rule. This was put an end to by the Tokugawa Shōguns, who by various measures, already described, kept the feudal aristocracy in complete subjection. As soon, however, as the power of the Shōgunate began to decline, the independent spirit of the clans reasserted itself. This tendency was encouraged by the attitude of the leading Tokugawa families. On Perry’s arrival the House of Mito had supported the Court against the Shōgunate on the Treaty question; while the House of Owari a few years later sided with Chōshiū in its second and successful struggle against the Yedo Government, thus definitely abandoning the Tokugawa cause. The alliances formed in this regrouping of the clans were of the same artificial kind as those which had taken place in earlier feudal days. Apart from the common object which brought them together, the overthrow of Tokugawa rule, there was no real sympathy between any of the four clans which took the chief part in the Restoration. It would have been strange if there had been, for it was no part of the policy of any clan, whose frontiers were jealously guarded to prevent the entry of strangers, to cultivate friendly relations with another. In the case of two of the allied clans, Satsuma and Chōshiū, special difficulties stood in the way of an understanding. They had long been rivals for the confidence of the Court, while the constant changes in the relations between Kiōto and Yedo gave opportunities for further friction and jealousy. More recently, too, the sinking of a Satsuma steamer by Chōshiū forts, the Chōshiū raid on the Imperial palace and the subsequent invasion of Chōshiū territory by the Shōgunate, on both of which occasions Chōshiū clansmen found themselves fighting against those of Satsuma, had created a feeling of active hostility. The author of “Ishin Shi,” or “History of the Restoration,” explains how these difficulties were eventually removed by the exertions of men in the Satsuma clan, whom the critical position of affairs brought to the front, by the mediation of men of influence in the Tosa, Hizen and other clans, whose political sympathies lay in the same direction, and by the co-operation of certain Court nobles, whose knowledge of domestic affairs gained in the conduct of relations between the Court and Shōgunate, and whose position at the Court were of great value to the Imperialist party. Some of these Court nobles had been placed in the custody of the daimiō of Chikuzen after the suppression of the first Chōshiū rising, and through their efforts, and those of the other mediators already mentioned, a friendly understanding was at length established between Satsuma and Chōshiū clansmen. This obstacle having been removed, a plan of campaign was discussed and settled by the four clans. The military strength of the alliance thus formed was soon proved in the short struggle which ended in the fall of the Shōgunate.

Ōkubo Ichizō.
A leading figure in the Restoration Movement and, until his early death, a member of the Government subsequently formed. His death occurred before the creation of the new peerage, but his son, the present Marquis, was ennobled in recognition of his father’s services.

There remained other problems of a political kind. These were solved by degrees in the sequence of events. Not the least of these was the form of the Government which should replace that which had fallen. On this point there had before the Restoration been much divergence of opinion. According to the author of The Awakening of Japan the Satsuma “Federalists,” as he calls them, wished to reorganize the feudal system much on the lines existing in the half century that preceded the Tokugawa domination. The Chōshiū leaders, we are told, sought their ideal further back. They advocated the restoration of the Imperial bureaucracy of pre-feudal days. This view, supported by the Court nobles, who perhaps hoped by increasing Imperial prestige to strengthen their own position, was the one which ultimately prevailed. There were two powerful arguments in favour of its adoption. One was the inadvisability of attempting to retain the constitution of the previous Government, even had it been possible to do so. Another lay in the necessity of taking full advantage of the current of popular feeling in favour of the Restoration, and at the same time, while as yet the influence of the rising men was small, to work as far as possible through the class of Court nobles who had administered this system in early days.

The form chosen for the new administration was that of the bureaucratic system of pre-feudal days, modified to some extent by innovations copied from abroad. The chief feature in this administration was its division into eight departments. Two of these, the Department of Supreme Administration and the Department of Shintō (which dealt only with matters concerning the native faith, Shintō), ranked together, and before the other six, one of which dealt with legislation, while the remaining five corresponded in a general way to similar Departments in Western countries. As between the two senior Departments, however, though authority was nominally equal, the greater prestige lay with the Department of Shintō.

It will be seen that the new Government, formed in the spring of 1868 before the final surrender of the Tokugawa forces, was at best a patchwork attempt at administrative reconstruction. Its pre-feudal form had little in common with the feudalism that still survived, nor was it possible to harmonize innovations borrowed from the West with an ancient system in which the highest place was reserved for the department which controlled all matters connected with the primitive Shintō cult. In the autumn of the same year, and at various times in the course of succeeding years, many administrative changes were introduced. Into the details of these it is unnecessary to enter at length. They will be referred to, when essential, subsequently in the course of this narrative. It will suffice for the present to note that a Council of State, the constitution and functions of which were modified from time to time so frequently as to puzzle the administrators themselves, was substituted in place of the Department of Supreme Administration, thus reducing the number of departments to seven; and that the Department of the Shintō cult underwent many vicissitudes, being eventually reduced to the comparatively humble status of a bureau in the Home Department, a position which it occupies to-day. As might have been expected in the case of a Government which came in on the cry of the restoration of Imperial power, at a time when an atmosphere of semi-divinity still surrounded the Court, the new Ministry included several Imperial princes and Court nobles. Prince Arisugawa became President of the new Government, while the two Court nobles, Sanjō and Iwakura, who had been largely instrumental from the first in promoting the clan alliance which overthrew the Shōgunate, were appointed Vice-Presidents. Two other Imperial princes and five Court nobles were placed at the head of the remaining seven departments, the second position in three of these being given to the daimiōs of Échizen, Aki and Higo. Among those who held offices in minor capacities were Ōkubo and Terashima of Satsuma, Kido of Chōshiū, Gotō of Tosa, Itō and Inouyé, the two young Chōshiū clansmen, who, on their return from England in 1864, had tried without success to prevent the Shimonoséki hostilities, Ōkuma of Hizen and others whose names are household words in Japan.

In the group of princes and other notabilities above mentioned the only outstanding personality was Iwakura, who at once took a leading place in the direction of affairs. The rest took no active part in the administration. They were simply convenient figure-heads, lending stability and prestige to the new order of things, their presence also carrying with it the assurance that the main object of the Restoration had been accomplished.

In spite of the Western innovations embodied in its constitution the form assumed by the new Government gave little indication of the radical reforms which were destined to be accomplished in the course of the new reign. In the very year of its birth the murderous attack on the British Minister and his suite when on the way to an audience of the Emperor in Kiōto furnished incontestable proof of the existence still of much anti-foreign feeling. In view, however, of the fact that the cry of “Expel the foreigner” had continued until the eve of the downfall of the Shōgunate, and that up to the last moment the bulk of the military class in many districts was led to believe that the Restoration would be accompanied by the closure of the country, it was not surprising that the survival of anti-foreign feeling should show itself in fanatical outbursts of this nature. On the other hand, the employment in subordinate posts under the new Ministry of men of the military class who were known to be convinced reformers furnished good evidence that the policy of the new Government would, if their views prevailed, be progressive and not reactionary. And further proof of the new and radical departure contemplated by those active spirits in the Government was supplied by what is spoken of as the “Charter Oath” taken by the young Mikado on the 6th April, 1868, after the new Government had been formed.

In this Oath he announced his intentions in unmistakable language which undoubtedly reflected the ideas and aspirations of the reformers. The first of the five clauses of the Oath furnished the keynote of the whole, pointing, as it did, to the creation of parliamentary institutions. “Deliberative Assemblies”—so it ran—“shall be established on an extensive scale, and all measures of government shall be decided by public opinion.” And the last clause reinforced the resolution expressed by stating that “knowledge shall be sought for throughout the world,” a phrase which indicated indirectly the intention to draw on the resources of Western civilization. The other passages in the manifesto simply expounded the time-worn and vague principles of Chinese statecraft, which had long ago been adopted by Japanese administrators.

The general correspondence of the Imperial intentions, as set forth in the Oath, with the views of the last of the Shōguns, as expressed in the statement announcing his resignation which was communicated to the foreign representatives in the autumn of the previous year, is noteworthy. It shows that the liberal policy enunciated was no monopoly of the party of progress in the new ministry, but that a feeling in favour of reform was very widely entertained. There was, of course, no idea at that time of giving the masses a voice in the government of the country, for the feudal system was still in existence, and the bulk of the population had no interest in public affairs. It was, nevertheless, clear that representative institutions of some kind, however imperfect the popular conception of these might be, were the goal towards which men’s thoughts were turning.

CHAPTER VII
New Government—Clan Feeling in Satsuma—Administrative Changes—Reformers and Reactionaries.

In the spring of the following year (1869), when order was finally restored and the young Mikado had held his first audience of foreign representatives, an attempt was made to give practical effect to the Imperial intentions by establishing a deliberative assembly, to which the name of Kōgisho, or parliament, was given. It consisted of 276 members, one for each clan. Here, again, we are struck by the wide range of progressive opinion in the country, irrespective of party feeling and anti-foreign prejudice, for in a manifesto issued by the ex-Shōgun two months before his resignation he had stated his desire “to listen to the voice of the majority and establish a deliberative assembly, or parliament”—the very word Kōgisho being used.

As might have been foreseen, this first experiment, made in an atmosphere of feudalism, was a failure; but Sir Harry Parkes, then British Minister, describing a debate on the subject of foreign trade which took place, said that the result of the discussion, and its general tone, were creditable to the discernment of this embryo parliament.

The treatment accorded to the adherents of the Tokugawa cause when hostilities finally ceased in the spring of 1869, was marked by a generosity as wise as it was unlooked for. In Japan up to that time little consideration had been shown to the defeated party in civil wars. The defeated side, moreover, in opposing the Imperialists had earned the unfortunate title of rebels (Chōteki), reserved for those who took up arms against the Crown. In this instance moderate counsels prevailed. The territories of the daimiō of Aidzu, the backbone of Tokugawa resistance, and those of another northern chieftain, were confiscated; eighteen other daimiōs were transferred to distant fiefs with smaller revenues; while in a few cases the head of a clan was forced to abdicate in favour of some near relative. Retribution went no further. Later on, when the feudal system was abolished, the same liberality was displayed in the matter of feudal pensions, being especially noticeable in the case of two large sections of the military class, the Hatamoto and the Gokénin, who formed the hereditary personal following of the Tokugawa Shōguns.

The generosity shown by the Government led to much discontent in the military class in many clans. This was notably the case in Satsuma, where there were other grounds for dissatisfaction. The position of the Satsuma clan had always been somewhat different from that of other clans. Its situation at the south-western extremity of the kingdom, far from the seat of authority, had favoured the growth of an independent spirit, and the clan had long been noted for warlike qualities. Though subdued by the military ruler who preceded the Tokugawa Shōguns, and professing fealty to the Tokugawa House, the clan had preserved an appreciable measure of importance and prestige, if not independence, which the Shōguns in question had been careful to respect. The previous head of the clan had before his death in 1859 adopted as his heir his brother’s son, then a child of five years. The affairs of the clan had been to a large extent controlled ever since by this brother, Shimadzu Saburō, a name familiar to foreigners in connection with the outrage which led to the bombardment of Kagoshima; but he was in poor health, and at the time when the new Government was formed the control of clan matters had largely passed into the hands of the elder Saigō, a man of commanding personality, whose daring defiance of the Tokugawa authorities in the stormy days preceding the Restoration had made him a popular hero, and of other influential clansmen. Both Shimadzu and the elder Saigō were thorough conservatives, opposed to all foreign innovations. But there was a strong progressive group in the clan led by such men as Ōkubo and the younger Saigō, who were far from sharing the reactionary tendencies of the older leaders. This division of feeling in the clan was one of the causes of the dissensions in the ministry which arose in 1870, and it had important consequences, which were seen a few years later in the tragic episode of the Satsuma Rebellion.

The first note of discord came from Satsuma. One of the first acts of the new Government had been to transfer the Capital from Kiōto to Yedo, which was renamed Tōkiō, or “Eastern Capital.” The Satsuma troops which had been stationed in Tōkiō as a guard for the Government suddenly petitioned to be released from this service. The ground put forward was that the finances of the clan, which had suffered from the heavy outlay incurred during the civil war, did not permit of this expensive garrison duty. But the real reasons undoubtedly were a feeling of disappointment on the part of a majority of the clansmen at what was regarded as the small share allotted to Satsuma in the new administration, and some jealousy felt by the two leaders who presented the petition towards their younger and more active colleagues, combined with distrust of their enthusiasm for reform.

The garrison was allowed to go home, and the elder Saigō also returned to his province. The moment was critical. The Government could not afford to lose the support of the two most prominent Satsuma leaders, nor, at this early stage in the work of reconstruction which lay before it, to acquiesce in the defection of so powerful an ally. In the following year (1871), therefore, a conciliatory mission, in which Iwakura and Ōkubo were the leading figures, was sent to the offended clan to present in the Mikado’s name a sword of honour at the tomb of Shimadzu’s brother, the late daimiō of Satsuma. The mission was also entrusted with a written message from the Throne to Shimadzu urging him to come forward in support of the Mikado’s Government. By this step clan feeling was appeased for the moment, and Saigō returned to the Capital, and became a member of the Government.

How unstable was the condition of things at that time was illustrated by the changes in the personnel of the Ministry which took place in September of the same year, and the administrative revision which followed within a few months. The effect of the first was to strengthen the progressive element in the administration at the expense of the old feudal aristocracy. The Cabinet, as reorganized, consisted of Sanjō as Prime Minister and Iwakura as Minister for Foreign Affairs; four Councillors of State, Saigō, Kido, Itagaki and Ōkuma, represented the four clans of Satsuma, Chōshiū, Tosa and Hizen, while another Satsuma man, Ōkubo, became Minister of Finance. The effect of the revision of the constitution was to divide the Dajōkwan, or Central Executive, established in the previous year, into three branches, the Sei-in, a sort of Council of State presided over by the Prime Minister; the Sa-in, a Chamber exercising deliberative functions, which before long took the place of the Kōgisho; and the U-in, a subordinate offshoot of the Council of State, which was shortly afterwards merged in that body. These administrative changes had little real significance. Their chief interest lies in the fact that they show how obsessed some enthusiastic reformers were with the idea of deliberative institutions, of parliamentary methods of some kind, being embodied in the framework of the new constitution; and in the further fact that the new chief Ministers of State, under this reorganization, the Daijō Daijin, Sadaijin, and Udajin, borrowed their official titles from the Chambers over which they presided. Sir Francis Adams, describing these changes in his History of Japan mentions that the deliberative Chamber was regarded at the time as “a refuge for political visionaries, who had thus an opportunity of ventilating their theories without doing any harm,” and that “the members of the subordinate executive Chamber (the U-in), who were supposed to meet once a week for the execution of business, never met at all.” He added that he had never been able to learn what the functions of this Chamber were supposed to be, or what its members ever did. The real work of administration was carried on by the small but active group of reformers of the four clans, who were gradually concentrating all authority in their own hands.

The high ministerial offices thus created were filled by Sanjō, Shimadzu and Iwakura. The last-named, the junior in rank of the three, shared with Kido and Ōkubo the main direction of affairs. The other two were mere figure-heads, though their positions at Court and in Satsuma, respectively, gave strength to the Government.

Kido Junichirō.
In recognition of the services rendered to the state before the creation of the new peerage his son was ennobled after his father’s death. His death occurred before the creation of the new peerage, but his son, the present Marquis, was ennobled in recognition of his father’s services.

Shimadzu’s appointment was a further step in the conciliation of Satsuma, a development of the policy of timely concessions which had averted a rupture with that clan. The conclusion of the alliance between the four clans, which made the Restoration possible, had, as we have seen, been a difficult matter. A still harder task confronted the new Government. This was to maintain the alliance for future purposes,—to ensure the further co-operation of the same clans in the work of reconstruction. The first step in the new direction, the formation of a Government to fill the place of the Shōgunate, had been taken. Even if this Government had the defects of its purely artificial character, even if it were nothing better than a jejune attempt to combine things so incompatible as Eastern and Western institutions, feudal and pre-feudal systems, it had at least the merit of being the outcome of a genuine compromise brought about by the pressure of political need. Of the grave difficulties attending the work of reconstruction both the conservative and anti-foreign, as well as the progressive elements in the Ministry—the two parties to the compromise—must have been more or less conscious. The discontent in Satsuma was only one of many symptoms of grave unrest which showed themselves throughout the country. A sinister indication of the gradual decay of Tokugawa authority had been furnished by the discontinuance in 1862 of the enforced residence of feudal nobles at Yedo, with all its attendant results. This decay had carried with it the weakening of feudal ties. Laxity of clan administration, its natural consequence, had given opportunities for mischief to the dangerous class of clanless samurai, or rōnin. Of these they were not slow to avail themselves, as was shown by the frequency of murderous attacks on Japanese and foreigners alike; and the fear of combined action on the part of these ruffians which might at any moment threaten the safety of the whole foreign community had led to the stationing of foreign troops in Yokohama, The action, moreover, of the Imperialists in encouraging anti-foreign feeling for their own immediate purposes had brought its own nemesis by giving rein to the turbulent impulses in the national character. Clan jealousies, too, which the alliance of four clans had stifled for a time, began to reassert themselves.

With the downfall of the Tokugawa Government these disturbing influences came into full play, while the resources of the new rulers for coping with them were very inadequate. From the wreckage of the complicated system of Tokugawa administration little indeed which was of material value to the builders of the new framework of state survived. The hand-to-mouth methods of Tokugawa finance, largely dependent on irregular feudal contributions, had resulted in a depleted Exchequer, more debts than assets being left for the Shōguns’ successors. Nor were the finances of the clans in a better condition. The currency of the country was in a state of hopeless confusion due to the great variety of note and metallic issues in circulation throughout the country, the Shōgunate and most of the clans having their own paper money, which were at a premium, or discount, according to circumstances. Trade and industry were also hampered in their development by the rigid rules which closed the frontiers of clans and provinces to strangers, and by the numerous impediments in the shape of barriers and tolls which obstructed intercourse and the exchange of commodities between different parts of the country. To crown matters, the navy consisted of only a few ships, all of obsolete type with the exception of a monitor bought by the Tokugawa Government from America, and there was no regular army at the service of the State.

The military forces at the disposal of the Shōgunate in former days constituted on paper at least a respectable army for those times, sufficient, coupled with the policy of divide et impera systematically followed by Tokugawa Shōguns, to overawe the feudal nobility whose allegiance was doubtful. The total number of these troops may be reckoned roughly at about 400,000. They consisted of levies from the clans. By a law passed in the middle of the seventeenth century the clans were bound to furnish to the Government fixed quotas of troops, when occasion demanded, the number of men to be supplied being regulated by the revenue of a clan—this revenue, again, being the value of the assessed annual produce of its territories. But the efficiency of these troops had naturally deteriorated during the long period of peace coincident with Tokugawa rule, nor in later Tokugawa days could much dependence be placed on their loyalty to Yedo. The military weakness of the Shōgunate had been exposed in the course of the operations against the Chōshiū clan, nor had sufficient time elapsed for the services of the few foreign instructors employed by the Tokugawa Government to reorganize the army to have any good effect. During the civil war the Imperialists had recourse to the formation of small bodies of irregular troops called shimpei, or “New Soldiers,” recruited mainly from the class of rōnin already mentioned, some of whom were armed with rifles; but these hastily raised troops were untrained, and their lack of discipline was shown when they acted as a voluntary escort to the Mikado on his first visit to the new Capital. From their conduct on that occasion it was obvious that they might easily become a danger to the authorities employing them.

Encouraged by the success which had attended its efforts in Satsuma the mission of conciliation sent to that clan proceeded under instructions to Chōshiū, where a message from the Mikado of import similar to that addressed to the Satsuma noble, Shimadzu, was delivered. Here it was joined by another leading member of the Government, Kido. The mission, thus reinforced, visited in succession, Tosa, Owari and other clans. Besides its general purpose of conciliation, elsewhere, as well as in Satsuma, for the attainment of which it was necessary to enquire into the state of clan feeling, and take what steps might be advisable to allay the prevailing discontent, the chief object of the mission was to enlist the support of the clans concerned for the Government, and organize a provisional force to uphold central authority. The result of its efforts, so far as the chief object was concerned, was the formation of a force of some eight or nine thousand troops, which was obtained from various clans. A favourable augury for the future lay in the fact that it included not only clansmen who had taken part in the Restoration movement, but others who had supported the Tokugawa cause. By this means was formed the first nucleus of what was to develop by slow degrees into a national army.

In view of the slender financial resources at the disposal of the new Government it was decided to exact a forced contribution for the purpose of meeting the immediate needs of the Exchequer. This contribution, to which the term of “tribute” was given, was levied on all classes of the people, officials being called upon to pay a tax amounting to one-thirtieth of their salaries.

The important points to be noted in the foregoing imperfect sketch of the situation which confronted the new rulers at this time is that the revolution was planned and carried out by the military class of certain clans, with the aid of the Court, the rest of the nation taking no part in it; and that the leading men in that class who came to the front and assumed control of affairs were divided into two groups, whose views on future policy were in the main different. On one side were those who clung to the old traditional methods of administration, amongst whom were to be found, nevertheless, men of moderate views. In numbers and influence they were as superior to their opponents as they were inferior in vigour, ability and insight. The other group consisted of a few men of more enlightened and progressive views, who were convinced that the time had come for the nation to break with its past, and that in the establishment of a new order of things, visible as yet only in the vaguest outline, lay the best hope for the future. The conservative, or reactionary, party, as it may now be called, had long obstinately opposed foreign intercourse in any form save that which had kept Dutch traders in the position, virtually, of prisoners of State. Driven by the force of circumstances from that position, they fell back on a second line of entrenchments—resistance to changes of any kind when those changes meant the adoption of foreign customs. There was a fatal flaw of inconsistency in their attitude of which, perhaps, they were not unconscious themselves. They made an exception in favour of foreign innovations which appealed to the nation at large, such as steamships and material of war. Time, too, was on the side of their opponents, not on theirs. The doctrines they upheld were part of an order of things which the nation had outgrown, and was preparing to discard. New ideas were taking hold of men’s minds, and deserters from their ranks were one by one joining the standard raised by the party of reform. Never, even in pre-Tokugawa days, had the nation lacked enterprise. Intercourse with the Dutch had quickened appreciation of what was known as “Western Learning,” and provoked secret rebellion against the Tokugawa edicts of seclusion. Now the spirit of progress was in the air. The tide of reform, which later on was to sweep the less moderate reformers off their feet, had set in.

Fortunately for the country at this juncture there was one point on which both parties were in agreement. Between the leading men on each side there was a general understanding that the abolition of feudalism, repugnant as it was to many, could not well be avoided. The Tokugawa administration had, as we have seen, been established on a feudal basis. The survival of this feudal foundation may well have appeared compatible neither with the removal of the rest of the administrative structure, nor with the avowed principles of the Restoration, however broadly the latter might be interpreted. The Shōgunate, moreover, had filled two rôles, so to speak. Itself part of the feudal system, it was also the central government. The extensive territories, situated in different parts of the kingdom, known as the Shōgun’s domains, the feudal revenues of which amounted to one-third of the total revenue of the country, had, under the Tokugawa régime, been administered by the central government. There were also, as has already been explained, other feudal territories which, for various reasons, had also been subject, either from time to time or permanently, to the same central administration. How to deal with the large area represented by these domains and territories if the feudal system were to continue, would have been a difficult problem. The Shōgun’s domains themselves had for the time being passed into the hands of the new Government which was responsible for their administration, but there were obvious objections to giving to them the permanent character of Imperial domains. Apart from the difficulty of disposing of so wide an area in this way, the adoption of this course would have perpetuated an undesirable arrangement, the dual capacity of ruler and feudal lord having been one of the weak points in the Tokugawa system of administration. It would also have lowered the dignity of the Throne, which in principle at least had been upheld through all vicissitudes, by placing it on the same feudal plane as the defunct Shōgunate, not to speak of the reproach of treading in the footsteps of their predecessors which the new rulers would have incurred. To have made them Crown Lands would have entailed still more awkward consequences. On the other hand, a redistribution of this wide extent of territory amongst new or old feudatories would have occupied much time, and time was of importance in the work of reconstruction in hand. Any step, moreover, in this direction, however carefully designed to reconcile conflicting claims, would have opened the door to grave dissension at a moment when clan rivalry was reasserting itself. These and other considerations, in which questions of national finance—and perhaps also the idea, borrowed from abroad, that feudalism implied a backward state of civilization—may have played a part, doubtless contributed to the unanimity of the decision to cut the Gordian knot by abolishing the feudal system.

That this solution was one which had already found acceptance in many quarters there is clear evidence. It is true that no direct reference to the measure appears in the Charter Oath of April, 1868. But the manifesto announcing the Shōgun’s resignation, issued in the autumn of the previous year, contained the suggestion that the old order of things should be changed, and that administrative authority should be restored to the Imperial Court. The language of the Tosa memorial which inspired this resignation was still plainer. It spoke of the danger to which the country was exposed by the discord existing between the Court, the Shōgun and the feudal nobility, and advocated “the discontinuance of the dual system of administration” and “a return to the ancient form of government.” Making due allowance for the vagueness of the phrases used, if “the discontinuance of the dual system of administration” meant, as it clearly did, the cessation of Tokugawa rule, “the restoration of the ancient” (namely pre-feudal) “form of government” pointed no less plainly to the abolition of feudalism. The same sequence of ideas appears in the letter addressed by the Shōgun at the time of his resignation to the hatamoto, the special class of feudal vassals created by the founder of Tokugawa rule, and in the communication on this subject presented by his Ministers to the foreign representatives on the same occasion.

CHAPTER VIII
Abolition of Feudal System—Reconstitution of Classes—Effects of Abolition of Feudalism.

The abolition of the feudal system formed one of the subjects of discussion in the embryo parliament, the Kōgisho, soon after its creation in 1869. The way had been prepared for this discussion by the presentation of memorials on the subject at the time of the Shōgun’s resignation eighteen months before from several clans representing both of the parties which were so soon to be engaged in active hostilities. Memorials of this kind to the Throne and Shōgunate, and Edicts and Notifications issued in response to them, were common methods in those days of arriving at decisions in grave matters of State. Borrowed originally, like so many other things, from China, they were part of the machinery of central government. The recommendations offered in these Memorials revealed a considerable divergence of opinion. But they also showed, what has already been pointed out, namely, the recognition of the close connection between feudalism and the Shōgunate; and the existence of a very general feeling that, in spite of the serious disturbance of the whole administrative structure which so sweeping a change must necessarily involve, nothing short of the surrender of feudal fiefs to the Crown would be a satisfactory solution of the problem presented by the fall of the Shōgunate. This conviction had taken root in the minds of men like Kido, Iwakura and Ōkubo, whose mission to the clans, mentioned in a previous chapter, was a proof of their leading position in the new Government.

The method adopted for giving effect to the decision arrived at was the voluntary surrender of feudal fiefs to the Throne, the lead in this matter being taken by the same four clans which had planned and carried out the Restoration. In March, 1869—a memorable date for the nation—a Memorial in this sense, the authorship of which is generally ascribed to Kido, was presented to the Throne by the daimiōs of Satsuma, Chōshiū, Tosa and Hizen. The chief point emphasized in the Memorial was the necessity of a complete change of administration in order that “one central body of government and one universal authority” might be established; and, in accordance with the intentions of the Memorialists, the Sovereign was asked to dispose as he might think fit of the land and the people of the territories surrendered. The circumstances under which dual government had grown up were explained, stress being laid on the defect of that system, “the separation of the name from the reality of power,” and the Tokugawa Shōguns were denounced as usurpers. In this denunciation of the last line of Japanese rulers, due to political reasons, the fact that the system of dual government had grown up long before the Tokugawa family appeared upon the scene was conveniently ignored. As to “the separation of the name from the reality of power,” the expression is a reference to an old Chinese phrase, “the name without the substance,” a metaphor applied, amongst other things, to figure-head government. This is a stock phrase with Chinese and Japanese writers, who constantly appeal to a rule of conduct more honoured in the breach than in the observance.

The example set by the four clans was followed by others. By the end of the year out of 276 feudatories there were only seventeen abstainers from the movement, these being daimiōs of eastern territories who had taken the Shōgun’s side in the civil war. One of the earliest and most enthusiastic Memorialists was the daimiō of Kishiū, the Tokugawa prince who had succeeded to that fief by the promotion of his relative, Prince Kéiki, to be Shōgun. Only three years before he had been an advocate of the continuance of the Shōgunate. This change of attitude on the part of a prince who ranked with the daimiōs of Owari and Mito at the head of the feudal nobility may be interpreted as showing how natural was the association of feudalism with the Shōgunate in men’s minds, and how difficult for him, as for others, was the conception of a feudal system without a Shōgun.

The reply of the Throne to the Memorialists was of a non-committal nature. They were told that the question would be submitted to a Council of feudal nobles shortly to be held in the new Capital. There is no reason to suppose that the caution displayed in this answer implied any hesitation on the part of the Government to carry out the measure contemplated. The drastic character of the proposal justified caution in dealing with it, and the variety of the interests involved called for careful consideration. The proposal having been submitted to the assembly of daimiōs for their formal approval, a Decree was issued in August of the same year announcing its acceptance by the Throne, which felt, it was said, “that this course would consolidate the authority of the Government.” As a preliminary step, the administration of clan territories was remodelled so as to correspond with the new order of things; the daimiōs called together to pronounce on their own destinies returned in the altered rôle of governors (Chihanji) to the territories over which they had hitherto ruled; and the Government settled down to consider and determine in detail the various arrangements rendered necessary by the new conditions about to be created.

Two years later, on the 29th August, 1871, the Imperial Decree abolishing the feudal system appeared. “The clans,” so it ran, “are abolished, and prefectures are established in their place.” The brevity of the Decree, singular even for such documents, the length of which often ranged from one extreme to another, may in this instance be accounted for by the fact that an Imperial message was at the same time addressed to the new clan governors. In this reference was made to the sanction already accorded by the Throne to the proposal for the surrender of feudal fiefs, and it was pointed out that the sanction then expressed was not to be regarded as another instance of the common defect of “the name without the substance,” but that the Decree now issued must be understood in its literal sense, namely, the abolition of the clans and their conversion into prefectures. The message was followed by an order directing the ex-daimiōs to reside in future, with their families, in Yedo, their territories being entrusted temporarily to the care of former clan officers. This measure, while undoubtedly strengthening the hands of the Government, must have forcibly reminded the nobles concerned of the precautionary methods of Tokugawa days.

A further step in the same direction was taken by the amalgamation of the Court and feudal nobility into one class, to which the new name of kwazoku (nobles) was given. The abolition of feudalism, moreover, entailed the disappearance of the samurai, the fighting men of the clans, and the rearrangement of existing classes. Under the feudal system there had been, outside of the nobility, four classes—the two-sworded men, or samurai, the farmers, the artizans and the merchants, or tradesmen. The new arrangement now introduced comprised only two classes—the gentry (shizoku), who replaced the samurai, and the common people (heimin). What also had formed a pariah class by itself, consisting of social outcasts known as éta and hinin, was abolished, its members being merged into the class of heimin. A further innovation was introduced in the shape of a proclamation permitting members of the former military class to discontinue the practice of wearing their swords, which had been a strict feudal rule.

The Decree abolishing the clans was anticipated in one or two feudal territories, the authorities concerned acting on the previous announcement of the Imperial sanction having been given to the proposal of the Memorialists, and amalgamating, of their own accord, the samurai with the rest of the population. The example was not generally followed, but ever since the issue of that announcement memorials and petitions had been flowing in from the military class in many districts asking for early effect to be given to the measure in contemplation, and for permission to lay aside their swords and take up agricultural occupations. Nor was there wanting the stimulus in the same direction supplied by inspired writers in the Press that was just coming into existence under official auspices. One of these observed that what the nation needed was an Imperial army and uniformity in land tenure, taxation, currency, education and penal laws—aspirations all destined to be fulfilled in the near future. The general feeling thus shown doubtless influenced the Government in taking the final step.

Shortly before the issue of the Decree there occurred a reconstruction of the Ministry, strengthening the position of the leaders of the party of reform, and that of the clans they represented, while the influence of the aristocratic element in the Government was diminished. In the reconstituted Cabinet, as we may now call it, Prince Sanjō remained Prime Minister, Prince Iwakura became Minister for Foreign Affairs, replacing a Court noble, while four prominent clansmen whom the Restoration had, as we have seen, brought to the front, took office as Councillors of State. These four were Saigō, Kido, Itagaki and Ōkuma.

To this date also belongs a troublesome incident which called for the intervention of the foreign representatives. The Japanese authorities, fearing a recurrence of the disturbances connected with the Christian propaganda of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, had always regarded with misgiving the treaty clause permitting the erection of Christian places of worship at the open ports. This apprehension was increased by the renewal of missionary effort when the country was reopened to foreign trade and intercourse. As a precautionary measure, the old official notices denouncing Christianity as a pernicious doctrine had continued to be displayed in all parts of the country, and at Nagasaki, which had at one time been a Christian centre, the population had been forced annually to trample upon emblems of the proscribed faith. On the erection in 1865 of a Roman Catholic Church at that place, which had in the meantime become an open port, people from the neighbourhood attended it in such numbers as to attract the attention of the authorities. It was then discovered that Christian doctrines had not been completely stamped out there, as had been the case elsewhere. The offending individuals were consequently ordered to be banished to remote districts, the foreign representatives being with difficulty successful in obtaining a temporary suspension of the orders. After the Restoration the official notices proscribing the Christian religion were, with the substitution of the Mikado’s authority for that of the Shōgun, deliberately renewed, and in 1870 the orders for the banishment of the offenders were carried out in spite of repeated remonstrances on the part of the foreign representatives. Otherwise, however, judged by the standard of those days, the treatment to which the exiles were subjected appears on the whole to have been free from excessive cruelty. It was not till the year 1873 that the practice of Christianity ceased to be forbidden. The notices proscribing the Christian religion were then withdrawn, and the banished persons were restored to their homes. In curious contrast to this recrudescence of persecution was the suggestion, made in a pamphlet about the same time, that Christianity should be officially recognized, a suggestion which is said to have been carried still further some years later, when the attraction for Western civilization was at its height, by a prominent member of the Ministry.

To return to the subject of feudalism, from which this digression in the interests of chronological order has led us away, its abolition was the first, as it was also the most radical, of the reforms on which the new Government embarked. It struck at the root of old-established things and cleared the way for all future progress. It is a pity that Marquis Ōkuma in his Fifty Years of New Japan has dismissed the subject in a few lines. Himself one of the chief actors in the scene, no one was better qualified to deal with it. Foreign writers less well equipped for the task have given it more attention. Some of these have taken the superficial view, founded on the signatures appended to the Memorials, that the voluntary surrender of fiefs was due to the initiative of the feudal nobles themselves, and have praised their action for what they regarded as its exalted patriotism and unique self-sacrifice. This view is quite erroneous. Occasion has already been taken to point out how the surroundings in which the daimiōs of those days were brought up had the effect of depriving them of all character and initiative, and how they, like the Mikado and Shōgun, were mere puppets in the hands of others, unfitted for responsibility of any kind, unaccustomed to the direction of affairs. Lest it be thought that the picture has been overdrawn, it may be well to quote the words of a Japanese writer of the time. They occur in an anonymous pamphlet published in 1869, extracts from which are given by Sir Francis Adams in his History of Japan.

“The great majority of feudal lords,” the writer says, “are generally persons who have been born and nurtured in the seclusion of the women’s apartments: ... who even when they have grown up to man’s estate still exhibit all the traits of childhood. Leading a life of leisure, they succeed to the inheritance of their ancestors.... And in the same category are those who, though designated vassals, are born of good family on the great estates.”

Of the truth of this statement there is abundant evidence. There were, indeed, a few instances of feudal chiefs who had some share of power and influence. But they were exceptions to the general rule, and the authority they exercised was brought to bear rather on the affairs of the State than on the administration of their own territories. Long before the Restoration the government of feudal fiefs had passed out of the hands of the nominal rulers, and their hereditary chief retainers, into those of clansmen of inferior status. These were the real authors of the measure of reform which swept away the feudal system. They were the same men who carried out the Restoration. Throughout all the negotiations for the surrender of their fiefs the feudal nobility counted for nothing, and, as a class, were only dimly conscious, if aware at all, of what was going on before their eyes.

In return for the voluntary surrender of their fiefs the dispossessed daimiōs received pensions amounting to one-tenth of their former revenues, the payment of the small hereditary incomes of the samurai, in their altered status of gentry, being continued for the present by the Government. From this arrangement, however, the samurai of one or two clans who had offered a prolonged resistance to the Imperialist forces were excluded, a distinction which caused much suffering and hardship.

The surrender of the clan territories involved, of course, the rendition of the lands, varying greatly in extent, that were held by the two large sections of the military class already mentioned, the hatamoto and gokénin. Their pensions were regulated on a scale similar to that adopted for the feudal nobility.

The amount of the revenues acquired by the Government in consequence of the surrender of all feudal territories, including the Shōgun’s domains, the administration of which had previously been taken over, is not easy to determine. A very rough estimate is all that is possible. The extent of the latter has already been noticed. Still more remarkable was its wide distribution. Out of the sixty-eight provinces into which Japan at the time of the Restoration was divided no less than forty-seven, by reasons of lands owned therein by the Shōgunate, contributed towards the Tokugawa exchequer. In the Tokugawa law known as “The Hundred Articles” the total assessed yield of the country is given as 28,000,000 koku of rice, the yield of all land, whatever the nature of its produce, being stated in terms of that cereal. Of this, 20,000,000 koku represented the produce of the lands of the feudal nobility and gentry, and the balance the yield of the Shōgun’s estates. This statement was made in the seventeenth century, and it is natural to suppose that by the time the Restoration took place the revenues in question may have increased with the general progress of the nation. In the absence of exact data we shall probably not be far wrong if we estimate the gross revenue which came into the possession of the Government by the abolition of the Shōgunate and the feudal system, of which it formed a part, as not much under 35,000,000 koku of rice, equivalent, at the average price of rice at that time, to about £35,000,000. From this had to be deducted the share of the cultivators, which varied according to the locality. Out of the residue, again, the pensions due to the feudal nobility, and other members of the military class, had to be paid, so that the net balance accruing to the national exchequer in the first years of the new administration could not have been large.

The effects on the various classes of the nation caused by the abolition of feudalism were very different, the benefit derived from it by some contrasting sharply with the hardship inflicted upon others. These effects, however, were for the most part gradual in their operation. They were not realized in their full extent until some years later, when the multifarious details connected with the carrying out of this great undertaking had been laboriously worked out.

With the exception of the fudai daimiōs and the feudal groups of hatamoto and gokénin—which constituted the hereditary personal following of the Tokugawa Shōguns, standing between the higher feudal aristocracy and the bulk of the military class—there is no reason to think that the territorial nobility suffered very greatly by the change, save, at once, in loss of dignity, and, later on, in the compulsory commutation of their pensions. Denied by custom all share in the management of clan affairs, they had little call to object to a measure the true import of which was imperfectly appreciated, or do anything else but silently acquiesce in the decisions of the masterful retainers by whose counsels they and their ancestors were accustomed to be guided. As a matter of State policy the change was as much beyond their control as it was above their powers of comprehension, which rarely strayed outside the orbit of trivial pursuits and pleasures in which they were content to move. Some, indeed, may have welcomed the change as a release from irksome conditions of existence, and as offering a prospect of wider fields of action. The case of the fudai daimiōs, and others in the same category, was different. To them the abolition of the feudal system was a severe blow, for it meant the loss of official emoluments which, under the Shōgunate, they had enjoyed as a special privilege for generations.

To the two classes of artizans and merchants the immediate effect may very naturally have been unwelcome in so far as it entailed disturbance of existing conditions of livelihood, of old-established usages of industry and trade. Under feudalism not only had a close system of clan guilds grown up, but, as in Europe during the Middle Ages, artizans and tradesmen engaged in the same handicraft or business were restricted to separate quarters of a town. The former may also have had reason to regret the liberal patronage of feudal customers, which allowed leisure and scope for the exercise of individual skill, and to view with concern the pressure of open competition in the industrial market. But as the new conditions became stabilized, and the benefits of uniformity of administration became apparent, neither class had any reason to be dissatisfied with the alteration in their circumstances. Certainly not the merchants and tradesmen. The disappearance of the barriers between provinces and between clans was all to their advantage, while the opening up of new channels of commercial activity must have more than compensated for any drawbacks attending the new order of things.

One class—the most important at that time—the samurai, suffered greatly by the change. Accustomed for centuries to high rank in the social order, to a position of superiority over the rest of the people, from whom they were distinguished by privileges and customs of long standing, as well as by a traditional code of chivalry in which they took a legitimate pride, the samurai found themselves suddenly relegated to a status little differing from that of their former inferiors. It is true that the military class, as a whole, had long been in an impoverished condition owing to the embarrassment of clan finances, which had led in several cases to the reduction of feudal establishments, and to the rigid rule which kept the members of this class from engaging in any of the profitable occupations open to the rest of the nation; and that the unrest and discontent which resulted from this state of things may have induced them to regard with favour any change which held out the prospect of a possible amelioration in their circumstances. There is some truth also in the view that the eager enthusiasm of the party of reform, inspired with a belief in the fulfilment of their cherished aspirations, may have found an echo in the minds of the military class and stirred the patriotic impulses so conspicuous in the nation; while, at the same time, the sentiment of feudal loyalty may have dictated implicit obedience to the decision of clan authorities. Making allowance for the influence of considerations of this nature, there can, nevertheless, be little doubt that the sudden change in the fortunes of the military class aroused a bitter feeling, which showed itself later in the outbreak of grave disturbances.

The unpopularity of the measure was increased by the commutation of pensions, which bore very hardly on the military class. In introducing in 1873 a scheme for this purpose the Government was influenced mainly by the pressing needs of the national exchequer. Under this scheme Government bonds bearing 8 per cent interest were issued. Samurai with hereditary incomes of less than 100 koku of rice were enabled to commute their pensions, if they chose to do so, on the basis of six years’ purchase, receiving half of the sum to which they were entitled in cash, and the remainder in bonds; while the basis for those in receipt of annuities was fixed at four and a half years’ purchase, the low rates of purchase in both cases being accounted for by the high rates of interest then prevailing.

Three years later the voluntary character of commutation was made compulsory, and extended to all members of the military class irrespective of the amount of income involved. The current rate of interest having by that time fallen, the basis of commutation was increased to ten years’ purchase for all alike, a slight reduction being made in the rate of interest payable on the bonds, which varied according to the amount of the income commuted. Indirectly this commutation resulted in further misfortune for the military class. Unversed in business methods, without experience in trading operations, many samurai were tempted to employ the little capital they had received in unremunerative enterprises, the failure of which brought them to extreme poverty.

CHAPTER IX
Effects of Abolition of Feudalism on Agricultural Class—Changes in Land Tenure—Land-Tax Revision.

The abolition of feudalism came as a boon to the peasantry. If it inflicted much hardship on the samurai, who formed the bulk of the military class, while the verdict as to its results in other cases depended on the conclusion to be reached after balancing the gain and loss attending its operation, to the farmers it was a veritable blessing. Its full significance was, however, not felt until after the lapse of several years.

Under the feudal system the position of the farmer varied to some extent according to locality. In Satsuma, for instance, besides the ordinary farming class, there were samurai farmers. Again, in certain parts of the province of Mito, and elsewhere, there was a special class of yeoman farmers who enjoyed some of the privileges of the samurai. But throughout the country generally the bulk of the agricultural class consisted of peasant farmers, who, while cultivating their land on conditions similar to what is known in Europe as the métayage system, were in many respects little better than serfs. The peasant farmer could not leave his holding, and go elsewhere, as he pleased; nor could he dispose of his interest in it, though by means of mortgages it was possible to evade the law in this respect. To the frequent call for forced labour he was obliged to respond. He was subject to restrictions in regard to the crops to be cultivated, and their rotation, while in the disposal of his produce he was hampered by the interference of clan guilds. The farmer had also to bear the expense and risk of conveying the tax-produce of his land to the receiving stations, besides being obliged to deliver on each occasion an extra amount to cover the loss supposed to occur in its transportation. On the other hand, though under the feudal form of land tenure he was tied to the soil and transferable with it when it changed hands, he was practically free from disturbance in his holding so long as he paid his rent, which took the form of a share of the produce of the land, and other imposts exacted from time to time by feudal bailiffs. Fixity of tenure, therefore, he certainly enjoyed; and, looking at the peculiar nature of his association with the feudal landlord, it seems questionable whether his rights in the land he cultivated may not be regarded as having much of the character of ownership. Holdings, it may be added, descended from father to son, or, failing direct heirs, in the same family, the right of adoption being, of course, recognized.

The interests of the peasantry were affected in many ways by the abolition of the feudal system. The abrupt change in the position of the cultivator caused by the disappearance of his feudal landlord opened up the whole question of land tenure and land taxation, not only as it affected the peasant cultivator, but in its bearing on the occupiers of all agricultural land throughout the country, as well as other land not included in this category. To enable the Government to cope with a task of this magnitude, and at the same time to carry out their declared aims in the direction of uniformity of administration, far-reaching legislation was necessary.

In view of the singular character of the feudal tenure we have described, under which landlord and tenant were associated in a kind of joint ownership, it might have been supposed that advantage would be taken of the opportunity offered by the surrender of fiefs to place the question of land tenure on a clear footing by defining accurately the position of the people, and more especially the cultivators, with regard to the land. This, however, was not done. No Decree affecting the broad issue raised by the abolition of the feudal system was promulgated. It was only by degrees that the intentions of the Government became apparent. Step by step the policy in view was manifested by the removal of the various restrictions which had curtailed the tenants’ rights, until at length it became clear that, while retaining the theory that the ownership of all land was vested as of right in the Crown, the intention was that each occupier of land should become virtually the proprietor of his holding.

One of the first acts of the Government at the end of the civil war had been to place all land as far as possible on a common footing, the earliest step in this direction being taken in the spring of 1869. It was then enacted that all land held in grant from previous governments should be liable to taxation. This measure affected all grantees of land, the yashikis, or feudal residences of the territorial nobility in Yedo, coming under the new rule. The ground covered by these yashikis, some of which were extensive, forming separate parks in the neighbourhood of the castle and in other quarters of the city, had originally, like other grants of land, been handed over in free gift, neither rent nor land-tax being paid.

An essential point in the uniformity of administration contemplated by the new Government was the reform of all taxation, precedence being given to the revision of the land-tax. No hesitation was shown in taking up this task. Finance was the weak point in the administrative situation, as it had been that of the previous Government; and land having since early days been the main source of revenue, it was natural that the question of the land-tax should be the first to receive attention. Before the abolition of feudalism, and while the clans still retained their own provincial administration, it was not possible to take practical steps towards fiscal changes that should apply to all parts of the country. But the movement in favour of the surrender of feudal fiefs had begun almost as soon as the triumph of the Imperialist forces was assured, and by the time the feudal system was abolished by the Decree of August, 1871, the subject had been examined by the new Government in all its bearings, and the shape which the revision of the land-tax should take had been determined. It was, therefore, possible for a complete scheme of revision to be brought forward by the Finance Department before the end of the same year, that is to say, within four months after the disappearance of the clans.

Before dwelling on the main features of this proposal, for which Marquis Ōkuma and Marquis Inouyé, then Minister and Vice-Minister of Finance respectively, and Baron Kanda, an authority on all questions of administration, were mainly responsible, it may be well to glance for a moment at the previous system of land taxation in order that a clear idea of the changes introduced may be formed.

Put shortly, the position of holders of land in regard to taxation in the last days of Tokugawa rule was this. Only land under cultivation was taxed. The land-tax was payable everywhere in rice, whatever the crop cultivated might be, and was based on the assessed yield of the land. But the methods of estimating this yield varied greatly. In one place this would be done by taking the measurement of the land bearing the crop; in another the appearance and condition of the crop would be the decisive factors; while in a third there would be “assessment by sample,” as it was called, specimens of the growing crop being selected for the purpose. The land measures, too, were not everywhere the same. Moreover, the principle which governed the distribution of the produce of the land between the cultivator and the landlord—the latter’s share being, in effect, the former’s land-tax—varied in different provinces, and in different districts of the same province. In some places seven-tenths of the yield of land went to the landlord, and three-tenths to the cultivator; in others these proportions were reversed; there were districts, such as the Shōgun’s domains, where the cultivator received three-fifths, and other, again, where the proportions were equal. There was a general resemblance, dating back to the time of the Great Reform, between the taxation systems in force throughout the country. The old classification, under which there were three main heads of taxation, the land-tax, the industrial-tax and forced labour—all payable by the cultivator—was retained everywhere in a modified form. But each clan went its own way in other respects, having its own methods of assessment and collection, as well as its own rules of exemption from, and remission of, taxation. Except in the Shōgun’s domains, where matters, generally, were regulated on a somewhat better basis than elsewhere, there was no very definite distinction between central and local taxation; and, whether it was a clan or the Shōgunate itself to which taxes were due, there was a constant liability to irregular exactions imposed at the pleasure of the authorities.

The main features of the new scheme show the importance of the changes proposed.

A new official survey of land throughout the country was to be carried out. Title-deeds were to be issued for all land, whether cultivated or not. Land everywhere was to be valued, and the value stated in the title-deed. In the case of cultivated land the land-tax was to be made payable in money, instead of in rice, as before, and was to be based on the selling value of the land, as declared in the title-deed, and not, as before, on the assessed yield of the holding. The proprietor—for this, in effect, the farmer became when the revision was accomplished—was to be free to cultivate his land in all respects as he pleased, and could sell or otherwise dispose of it as he chose.

The Sei-in—that curious body in the reorganized Government of 1869 which represented an attempt to combine in one branch of authority legislative, deliberative and executive powers—signified its approval of the scheme, and arrangements were made to give effect to some of its provisions. In January, 1872, as a tentative measure, title-deed regulations were issued. These were made operative at first only in the Tōkiō prefecture, but their operation was gradually extended to other places. Shortly afterwards further regulations providing for the annual payment of land-tax at the rate of 2 per cent on the value of land, as entered in the title-deed, were published. And in March of the same year the restrictions on the alienation of land, which had previously prevented all transfers of land between the military class and other classes of the people, as well as between members of the latter, were removed.

Before, however, this scheme for the revision of the land-tax assumed its final legislative shape it underwent various modifications. It was submitted early in 1873 to a conference of the chief administrative officials in the provinces which took place in the Capital. The necessity of reform on the lines suggested was admitted by all concerned. The main point on which opinions differed was whether the revision of the land-tax should be carried out as soon as possible, or gradually. The advocates of prompt action urged that the question should be dealt with quickly and decisively, arguing that whatever disadvantages might attend this course would be more than counterbalanced by the benefits resulting from a uniform system of taxation. The other side held that it would be unwise to do away suddenly with old customs and usages, and that it would be better to carry out the contemplated changes very gradually, taking care not to offend local prejudice. In the end the views of the advocates of prompt action prevailed, and a draft law was prepared. This, having received the sanction of the Throne, was notified to the country by Imperial Decree in July of the same year. No direct reference was made in the Decree either to the change of government, or to the abolition of feudalism, which were the real causes that had inspired the measure. It may have been thought inadvisable to refer to a past so full of dangerous memories, and so recent as to invite inconvenient comparisons.

The Decree itself merely stated the object of the measure, which was “to remedy the existing harsh and unequal incidence of taxation,” and the fact that local authorities, besides other officials, had been consulted in its preparation. In the notification accompanying it further information was given. It was explained that the old system of paying taxes on cultivated land in rice was abolished; that as soon as fresh title-deeds had been prepared land-tax would be paid at the rate of 3 per cent on the value of the land; and that the same course would be followed in the case of local land taxation, with the proviso that the local land rate should not exceed one-third of the Imperial land-tax.

By a looseness of wording, which may have escaped notice at the time, both the Decree and the Notification spoke of the land-tax as having been revised. It needed more than a stroke of the pen to do this. Neither those who in the conference objected to hasty measures, nor those who were in favour of prompt action, had foreseen the length of time that would be occupied in the execution of the reform. It was left to the practical exigencies of the situation to effect a compromise between the two parties which the conference had failed to bring about. The original estimate of the time needed to carry out the measure was found to be quite inadequate. Though the task was set about at once, several years elapsed before it was completed; and eventually it was decided to allow the new scheme to come into operation in each district, as soon as the requisite arrangements had been made, without waiting for its adoption in other places.

Voluminous regulations were appended to the Notification. In one of these a promise was given that the rate of land-tax would be reduced to 1 per cent whenever the total annual revenue from other sources should have reached the sum of Yen 2,000,000 (£400,000). This promise was never fulfilled. By the time the revenue from other sources had reached the amount stated the needs of the new Government had so outgrown its resources that reduction to the extent contemplated was not possible. A reduction from 3 to 2½ per cent was, however, made a few years later, while the work of revision was still proceeding.

Some other points may be noted in passing which throw light on the principles underlying the measure.

All holders of land were required to remeasure it, and furnish a statement of its value. These estimates were then to be checked by comparison with similar estimates made by official experts. In the case of a holder of land refusing to agree to the value fixed by the assessors, the land was to be sold.

The land-tax of 3 per cent was to be levied only on cultivated land, this category including both rice land and other arable land. The tax on house land was higher, while that on other classes of land, such as land covered by forests, pasture or moorland, was almost nominal.

The plan adopted, wherever possible, in fixing the value of land in a district was to take a certain village as a specimen, and, having fixed the value of the land in it, to make that value the basis for determining the value of all other land in the district, the guiding principle being to ascertain the actual profit it yielded to the cultivator. With this principle in view, the method employed for determining the value of cultivated land was as follows: Land was first of all divided into two classes, rice land, and land on which other crops were grown. The official assessors having, with the assistance of the cultivator, estimated the annual yield of the holding, this yield was, in the case of rice, wheat and beans, converted into money by taking the average market price per koku (about five bushels) of each of these articles of produce for the five years 1870–4 inclusive. In fixing this average market price it would have been impossible to have taken one price for the whole country, since the prices of all staple articles varied in many districts. The difficulty was, therefore, met by fixing several market values, to be used as the separate bases of valuation wherever local conditions and circumstances required special consideration. Thus in some cases one market price for rice, or for wheat, was made the basis for valuing land in a whole province; whereas in other cases separate market prices had to be determined for particular districts, or even villages. In the case of land on which other produce, such as tea, silk, hemp and indigo, etc., was grown, the method adopted was to estimate what crops of wheat, or beans, land of the same kind in the same place yielded. This yield was then taken as that of the land in question, and converted into money in the usual way. Up to this point the method followed was the same for all land, whether a man cultivated his own holding, or held it on lease from the proprietor. In the former case the next step in the process of fixing land values was to deduct from the total value of the yield of the land 15 per cent, as cost of seed and manure. From the sum that remained the land-tax and local taxes were again deducted, as well as the cost of wages, if these were paid, for labour employed. The balance remaining over was taken to represent the net value of the yield of the land. And, as the Government decided to regard 6 per cent as the average rate of profit accruing to a cultivator, the value of a holding was determined by a simple calculation. This value, so determined, became the assessed or taxable value of the land, and on this the land-tax was levied. The process by which the value was arrived at in the case of a cultivator who held his land on lease was a little more complicated. Stated in other words, the taxable value of cultivated land, as determined by the revision, was in all cases the net value of its yield to the cultivator, whether the latter was owner, or only tenant.

To the question of the periods of payment of the land-tax much attention was given. The three instalments in which it was at first made payable were afterwards reduced to two, the dates of payment varying according to the nature of the crop cultivated. It should be noted, also, that in making the revised land-tax uniform throughout the country an exception was introduced in favour of Yezo, or the Hokkaidō, to give it its administrative name. There, in order to encourage the development of what was then the northernmost island, the rate of tax was fixed at 1 per cent.

Four years after the work of revision had begun the land-tax was, as already stated, reduced to 2½ per cent. In the Decree announcing this reduction allusion was made to the growing needs of the country, which had not yet been able, it was said, to adjust itself to the changed conditions brought about by the Restoration, and to the distress still prevailing amongst the agricultural classes. The apparent slowness with which the work of revision proceeded was brought to the notice of the local authorities by the Government, and the year 1876 was fixed as the date by which the revision must be concluded. Neither that year, however, nor the next saw the end of the undertaking. It lasted five years longer, being eventually completed in 1881.

Marquis Inouyé.
Took an active part in the Government formed after the Restoration, and was an outstanding figure in Foreign as well as Financial affairs.

Marquis Ōkuma.
Was prominent in the formation of the new Government subsequent to the Restoration; was for some time in Opposition, returning to the Ministry later. Conspicuous as an advocate of constitutional government, as an author, and as an educationalist, he was the most versatile of all the statesmen of his day.

By a very rough computation, which is all that the unreliability of statistics in those days will permit, the extent of taxable land occupied, or owned, by the people previous to the revision may be estimated at about ten million acres. As the result of the revision this area was more than quadrupled. On the other hand, the revenue derived from the land showed a falling off of 5 per cent. This result is explained by the fact that some of the land had before been over-taxed, while a large portion of the new taxable area consisted of uncultivated land paying only a nominal tax, and, therefore, contributing little to the revenue.

The total cost of the revision of the land-tax, according to official estimates, was about £7,500,000. Of this sum about £6,000,000 were repaid by the people, the balance being defrayed by the provincial authorities, with the exception of an item of some £100,000 which was charged to the central government. Heavy as this expense was, the gain to Japan would have justified a greater cost. For the first time in her history there was one uniform system of land taxation for the whole country, and, with the exception above mentioned, one uniform rate.

Since the completion of the task of revision the system of land taxation has in its main features remained unchanged. But the heavy expenditure entailed by the Russo-Japanese war in 1904–5 made it necessary for the Government to increase taxation of all kinds. Special war taxes were then imposed. Amongst these was an additional land-tax. When the war came to an end this additional tax was retained, as was the case with our own income-tax, and the Chinese transit tax on commodities (lekin), both of which were also originally war taxes.

A feature to be noted in connection with this land reform is the change that was made in the title to land. Hitherto the registration of land in the local land register, in accordance with the practice of centuries, as well as entries regarding the transfer of land recorded in the same land register, had constituted the holder’s title. Henceforth the title to land was determined by the possession of a title-deed. The new system, however, did not come to stay. After a trial of over fifteen years it was abandoned in March, 1889, in favour of the old method of registration in the land books of a district which, with certain later modifications in matters of detail, is now in force.

The reclassification of land—one of the results of the land reform—was set forth in an elaborate schedule, into the details of which it is unnecessary to enter. A reference to the various classes into which land was divided establishes two facts:

1. All cultivated land, with a few exceptions, belongs to the people. 2. All waste land, with a few exceptions, belongs to the Government.

To these we may add a third, that all land in Japan is subject to land-tax, with three exceptions:

(a) Government land. (b) Land held for religious purposes. (c) Land used for purposes of irrigation, drainage, and roads.

CHAPTER X
Missions to Foreign Governments—Hindrances to Reform—Language Difficulties—Attitude of Foreign Powers.

The numerous measures called for by the abolition of feudalism did not prevent the new Government from turning their attention to foreign affairs. In the same year (1871) which saw the issue of the Decree giving practical effect to the surrender of feudal fiefs a mission composed of Iwakura, Minister for Foreign Affairs, and two Councillors of State, Kido and Ōkubo, was despatched to Europe and the United States. The suite of the mission, which numbered more than fifty persons, included Mr. (afterwards Prince) Itō.

This was the third mission sent from Japan to the Courts of Treaty Powers, and by far the most important. The first of these, despatched by the Tokugawa Government early in 1862, when the conditions surrounding foreign intercourse were rendered precarious by the open hostility of the Court party, had achieved some measure of success in obtaining a postponement for five years of the dates fixed for the opening of the ports of Hiogo and Niigata, and the towns of Yedo and Ōsaka; the reasons by which the request was supported, as well as the conditions on which consent was given, being recorded so far as Great Britain was concerned, in the London Protocol of June, 1862. The reasons were: “the difficulties experienced by the Tycoon and his Ministers in giving effect to their engagements with foreign Powers having treaties with Japan in consequence of the opposition offered by a party in Japan which was hostile to all intercourse with foreigners.” The conditions, shortly stated, were: the strict observance of all other Treaty stipulations; the revocation of the old law outlawing foreigners; and the cessation in future of official interference of any kind with trade and intercourse.

The second was sent by the same Government in February, 1864. Its ostensible object was to apologize to the French Government for the murder of the French officer, Lieutenant Camus, which had taken place in October of the previous year. Its real objects, however, were to endeavour to obtain the consent of Treaty Powers to the closing of the port of Yokohama, a matter in regard to which the Shōgun’s Ministers had already appealed in vain to the foreign representatives; and, incidentally, to take an opportunity if it offered, of purchasing war material. The mission, which never went beyond Paris, returned to Japan in the following August at the moment when arrangements were being completed for the forcing of the Straits of Shimonoséki by a combined foreign squadron. It brought for the approval of the Shōgun’s Government a convention concluded by the members of the mission with the French Government. This somewhat singular instrument, which bore the signature of Monsieur Drouyn de Lhuys, then Minister for Foreign Affairs, provided that it was—after its acceptance by the Shōgun’s Government—to come into force at once, and was to be regarded as forming an integral part of the existing Treaty between France and Japan. It contained, amongst other things, a stipulation for the reopening of the Straits within three months after the return of the mission to Japan, and also provided for the co-operation, if necessary, of the French naval squadron in Japanese waters with the Shōgun’s forces in the attainment of this object. The Shōgun’s repudiation of the agreement prevented the occurrence of what might have been troublesome complications, the only result of the incident being a delay of a few days in the departure for Shimonoséki of the allied squadron.

The ostensible object of this third mission, like that of the first, related to Treaty stipulations. By a clause of the treaties of 1858—the texts of which were more or less identical, while their interpretation was governed by the stipulation regarding “most-favoured-nation” treatment—provision was made for revision by mutual consent in 1872. This consent it was the purpose of the mission to obtain. The number of Treaty Powers had by this time increased to fifteen, but the interests of most of them being very small, it was recognized that if the consent of the chief Powers could be obtained, no difficulties would be raised by others.

The working of the treaties had been on the whole satisfactory, as satisfactory, that is to say, as it was reasonable to expect from the exceptional circumstances attending their negotiation; and there seemed to be no special points in regard to which revision was in any way urgent. This, however, was not the view taken by the Japanese Government. Very soon after the coming into operation of the treaties of 1858 the Japanese authorities and people seem to have taken umbrage at the extra-territorial privileges enjoyed by foreigners in Japan under Treaty stipulations. It is more than probable that this feeling with regard to extra-territoriality may not have been altogether spontaneous, but may have been inspired at this time by foreigners actuated by mixed motives, and inclined to draw hasty conclusions. In any case, the Japanese early became aware that the enjoyment of extra-territoriality was regarded generally as a privilege conceded under pressure to the subjects of countries possessing, or claiming to possess, a civilization more advanced in some respects than that of the country from which the concession was obtained. The pride of the nation rebelled against the discrimination thus exercised, and not unnaturally it was eager to seize the first opportunity that presented itself to get rid of the obnoxious extra-territorial clauses that stood in the way of the exercise of Japanese jurisdiction over foreigners in Japan. This was the main motive underlying the desire for revision of the treaties.

There were, however, additional objects in view in sending the mission. To the foreign representatives the Government explained their anxiety to communicate to the Governments of Treaty Powers details of the internal history of their country during the years preceding the revolution of 1868, and their wish to inform them of the actual state of affairs, and the future policy it was intended to pursue. They also considered it important, it was added, to study the institutions of other countries and to gain a precise knowledge of their laws, of the measures in force regarding commerce and education, as well as of their naval and military systems.

So far as these minor objects were concerned, the proceedings of the mission were attended with success. This was shown not only by the period of its absence abroad, which extended over two years, far longer than had been intended, but also by the rapid progress of the work of reform after its return. The information gained by its members, amongst whom were some of the most talented men of the day, was later on of much service to their country; while the insight they gained into foreign affairs, and the disposition of foreign Governments towards Japan, was of the greatest value. In the matter of the ostensible purpose of the mission, however, nothing was accomplished. The efforts of the ambassadors in this direction met with no encouragement. The foreign Governments concerned were indisposed to overlook the constant obstructions to the fulfilment of Treaty stipulations caused by indifference and ill-will on the part of Japanese officials. Nor, in view of the short interval that had elapsed since Japan had emerged from feudalism, were they in any haste to gratify the aspirations expressed in the Letter of Credence presented by the head of the mission to the President of the United States—the first country visited—which spoke of an “intention to reform and improve the treaties, so that Japan might stand on an equality with the most enlightened nations.” They accordingly declined to enter into any discussion on the subject on the ground that the moment had not arrived when the discussion could be useful.

The rebuff thus administered caused disappointment and ill-feeling, and led before long to the beginning of an agitation for Treaty revision, which did much mischief to foreign relations; was frequently used as a convenient cry by politicians in the course of attacks directed against the Government of the day; and lasted until the first of the new revised treaties was signed by Great Britain in the summer of 1894. Its chief effect, however, so far as foreigners were concerned, was to strengthen the Japanese Government in its determination to resist all efforts on the part of foreign Powers to obtain further access to the interior of the country, and to restrict in every way possible the granting of any additional facilities for foreign trade and intercourse under existing treaties.

Much space has been devoted in previous chapters to the abolition of feudalism as being the starting-point of Japan’s modern progress. The immediate effect of that step, as well as the various measures relating to land tenure and land taxation, which were its natural sequel, have also been explained in some detail. There is, however, no intention to trace with the same minuteness, or in strict chronological order, the successive stages of the work of reform. Our purpose being to give a general idea of the process which brought about the gradual transformation of an Oriental country into a progressive modern Empire, we shall pass lightly over many matters, dwelling mainly on such conspicuous and outstanding features as will illustrate most clearly the character and course of Japan’s modern development.

Before touching on other measures of reform undertaken in the first years following the Restoration, it may be well to glance at the conditions under which the work of reform proceeded. The initial difficulty which hampered the reformers at the outset was the absence of any definite scheme of reconstruction. Beyond the surrender of feudal fiefs nothing in the nature of a detailed programme had been thought out. They had to feel their way. As one of the leading figures in the events of the Restoration said some years later, “They could not look far ahead; it was sufficient if they could agree on the next step to be taken.” Another difficulty with which they had to contend was the question of language. The spread of Christianity in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries had not been accompanied by the introduction, to any appreciable extent, of any of the languages of the three nationalities—Portuguese, Spanish and Italian—to which the early missionaries belonged. The use of Latin in the religious services, and the study of Japanese by the missionaries, had rendered this unnecessary. And when Christianity disappeared, what little Portuguese, or other Latin language, had come with it disappeared too. But with the advent of the Dutch things were changed. The Dutch language became the medium of commerce, and also the medium through which all Western learning, and indeed all knowledge of the West, was received. A class of Dutch-speaking interpreters, who found employment in foreign trade, grew up; and with the enterprise, unsubdued by constant official repression, and the curiosity for what is new, which have always distinguished the Japanese people, men took to learning Dutch in order to educate themselves.

So, when foreign relations were renewed on a wider basis in the middle of the nineteenth century, Dutch was the language to which Japanese and foreigners naturally turned as the medium for the conduct of the newly established intercourse. All communications were carried on in this language, and it became the authentic text of all the earlier treaties, including those of 1858. Harris, the first American representative in Japan, in his diary gives us some idea of the trouble and vexation involved on both sides in wrestling with the language problem. The Dutch the Japanese had learnt was, he tells us, a mercantile patois, the correct Dutch spoken by the Dutch interpreters attached to his mission being quite strange to them. When it came to drawing up written agreements in both languages, they insisted that every word in the Dutch version should stand in the same order as its equivalent in the Japanese version. This, he says, occasioned some difficulty, and we feel that he is not overstating the case.

The employment of Dutch as the medium of communication in the early days of renewed foreign intercourse, though inevitable, was unfortunate. And for this reason. During many years of the Dutch monopoly—so far as Western nations were concerned—of trade with Japan, Holland was at the zenith of her power. If not actually mistress of the seas, she occupied a position of pre-eminence as a maritime state. But by the time the first treaties with Japan were negotiated Holland had lost this high position. She was no longer a great Power, and consequently the knowledge of Dutch possessed by many Japanese ceased to be useful to Japan. It was necessary for some other language to take its place. Thanks to the growing commerce and power of Great Britain and the United States, English was the language which stepped naturally into the breach, and it became necessary for the Japanese to abandon Dutch, and turn their attention to the acquisition of the new language which had superseded it.

So far we have dwelt on the difficulty connected with the languages of the foreigners who had made their more or less unwelcome appearance on the scene, and from whom Japan was intent on borrowing the materials of the contemplated reforms. If we now turn to the other side of the question, the difficulty arising from the Japanese language itself, it will be seen how serious an obstacle to Japan’s modern progress her own language presented.

Until the seventh century of our era Japan had, as we have seen, her own language. This was spoken, not written. Then by one of those unaccountable impulses which affect the destinies of nations, she followed the example of Korea, which had also spoken dialects of her own, and adopted the written language of China. Later on, from the Chinese characters thus borrowed, she evolved syllabaries, filling the place for her of our alphabet for us, and so developed native scripts of her own. But this native written language never prospered in its competition with the Chinese characters from which it was derived. Though it was employed in poetry, and other native classical literature and served a useful purpose as a literary vehicle for women of the upper classes, in whose hands it displayed unexpected potentialities, and for the uneducated masses, it eventually found its most usual place in literature as a simple adjunct to the use of Chinese.

This incubus of two languages, disguised as one, was rendered still more irksome by the fact that the borrowed Chinese written language never became thoroughly assimilated and incorporated with the Japanese spoken language to which it was joined, but preserved a more or less separate identity. It would have simplified matters if the Japanese had given up their spoken language and adopted Chinese in its place. There would then have been a natural harmony and relation between the spoken and written tongues, such as exists in China to-day. Japanese would then have written as they spoke, and spoken as they wrote. But this they did not do. Their own spoken language was there, and had sufficient vitality to resent the intrusion of the alien tongue, though not enough to enable the nation to shake itself free of the incubus it had voluntarily imposed upon itself by this wholesale importation of Chinese characters. In these considerations lies the explanation of the constantly recurring agitation in favour of the adoption of the Roman alphabet in the place of Chinese.

In justice to Chinese characters it is well not to overlook the advantage which a knowledge of them gives to the Japanese people over foreign competitors in their intercourse and trade with China. It should also be borne in mind that the Chinese side, so to speak, of the Japanese language lends itself with peculiar facility to the formation of new words to express new ideas. In this respect it has served to encourage the introduction of Western civilization. These advantages are, nevertheless, counterbalanced to a large extent by the addition to the language of a countless host of dissyllabic words, only to be distinguished one from the other by the attendant hieroglyphs. The result is the creation of a cumbrous vocabulary, based on Chinese, which is growing so fast as to discourage scholarship, thus hampering the very progress it is employed to promote.

One other difficulty remains to be considered. In turning to the West for inspiration in the work of reconstruction Japan was borrowing not from one country, as before, but from several. Nor was there any natural affinity between her and them, as in the case of the first country, China, which she had laid under contribution. The new ideas, moreover, she was assimilating belonged not to the same, but to different periods of time. There was as great diversity of date, as there was of origin. But they all came together, and had to be harmonized, in some degree, with a foundation of things in its origin Chinese. Japan has been generally regarded as having deliberately embarked on a policy of eclecticism. No other course lay open to her. Out of the crowd of new things which presented themselves she had to make a choice. And the urgency of the moment left her little time in which to make it.

We have noticed some of the difficulties which lay in the path of Japan’s progress, and tended to complicate the work of reconstruction. Let us see what advantages she had to help her. There were not many, and some were moral and not material. The reforming statesmen were helped by the feeling of exaltation common to all political revolutions, as well as by the wave of enthusiasm for what was hailed as the restoration of the direct rule of the Sovereign, though what this would mean, when accomplished, beyond the disappearance of the Shōgunate, none of its advocates had any clear notion. The general feeling in favour of reform which, with exceptions in the case of the former military class, existed throughout the country was also in their favour. Japan, too, in these early years was conscious of the sympathy of Treaty Powers. It has been the fashion amongst a certain class of writers to decry the attitude of foreign Powers, who are represented as unsympathetic and as having held out no helping hand to the young Government then on its trial. This is an erroneous view. Even before the Restoration, at the time when the Court was openly hostile to foreign intercourse, and the Shōgunate, in its extremity, was facing both ways—announcing to the Throne its determination to expel the hated barbarian, while assuring the latter in the same breath of the friendliness of its feelings; conniving at obstruction it would have liked to direct more openly and then feigning indignation at its own misdeeds—the forbearance of foreign Governments, and the patience of their agents, are things of which the West may well be proud. And as soon as the sincerity of Japanese reforms was clearly understood, the sympathy of foreign Governments took a more active shape.

Perhaps, also, we shall be safe in assuming that the new Government was assisted to some extent in the introduction of reforms by the submissiveness of the people they were called upon to rule. Under the influence of Chinese ideas the dividing line separating rulers from ruled was very sharply drawn. Both in Confucian ethics, and in Buddhist teaching, the two foundations of Japanese morality, the greatest weight is given to the virtue of loyalty to superiors, which comprises—and this is an essential point—obedience to constituted authorities. Equal prominence in the same ethics and teaching is assigned to the corresponding duty of the ruler to govern wisely, or, as the phrase runs, “with benevolence.” The conception of the relationship between governors and governed, as it presented itself to the Japanese mind of those days, was that it was the business, the duty, of the Government to govern, the privilege, or right, of the subject to be ruled. The latter looked to those in authority for light and leading. So long as the government was in accordance with Confucian doctrine, conducted with “benevolence,” that is to say, without glaring injustice and tyranny, he was satisfied. The establishment later on of constitutional government and the practical working of a Diet and local assemblies have somewhat modified this habit of mind. But even in the most stormy and tumultuous sessions which have of recent years characterized the development of parliamentary institutions the influence of this old idea has been apparent; while in the earlier periods of which we are now speaking it was a dominant and salutary factor, lightening very materially the task of the administrator.

There was still another agency working in the same direction. This was the new field of activity opened by the changes accompanying the Restoration to the energies of the people, more especially those of the commercial and industrial classes. Their attention was engrossed in a large measure by their own concerns, which were rendered of increased and more varied interest by the upheaval caused by the revolution in national life. They had thus little time, even had the wish been there, to enquire closely into the direction of public affairs.

There was advantage, too, in the fact that Japan had borrowed before, and had, therefore, gained experience in the art of assimilating foreign ideas. She was not new to the work. She was only doing now on a less extensive scale what she had done on a previous occasion. And her task was rendered more simple because what she was now taking from the West lent itself to her immediate requirements, perhaps, in a more practical way than her borrowings of former days from a sister nation.

Finally, we must not overlook the immense advantage she had in the adoption of all reforms which were based on Western models. At no cost to herself, without expenditure of time, thought, labour or money, she took the fruit of generations of toil in Europe and America. She levied toll on all the Western world. Profiting, at once, by the discoveries and improvements made in the course of centuries in every field of human energy, she began in her career of constructive progress at the point which other countries had already reached.

CHAPTER XI
Changes and Reforms—Relations with China and Korea—Rupture in Ministry—Secession of Tosa and Hizen Leaders—Progress of Reforms—Annexation of Loochoo—Discontent of Former Military Class.

The changes introduced after the Restoration group themselves broadly into two kinds—those borrowed from abroad, and those due to the inspiration of the reformers themselves. The reforms affecting the land, which we have already considered, fall essentially into the latter category. Though some colouring of Western ideas may be apparent in the stress laid on uniformity of tenure and taxation, and in some other respects, the land reform, viewed as a whole, was the logical outcome of the abolition of feudalism. It was thus from the first a matter into which domestic considerations alone entered, one that was free, therefore, from any marked foreign influences.

Of a different kind, and bearing the manifest impress of importation from the West, were the introduction of conscription on European—mainly German—lines; the creation of a postal system, and the opening of a mint; the construction of the first railways, telegraphs and dockyards; the suppression of anti-Christian edicts, and the cessation of religious persecution; the adoption of the Gregorian Calendar; the formation of a Board for the development of Yezo; the establishment of treaty relations with China in accordance with Western usages; the creation of the Tōkiō University; and the removal of the prohibition regarding the use, in speech or writing, of the Mikado’s name. All these changes occurred in rapid succession in the short space of five years.

With regard to the change, or reform, last mentioned—the removal of the interdict regarding the use of the Emperor’s name—to foreigners the permission seems as strange as the prohibition. It sounds like an echo from remote ages. But it is difficult to exaggerate the gulf which had hitherto separated the Throne from the people. Only in an ironical sense could the phrase “the fierce light that beats upon a throne” have been applied to a Japanese monarch. Both the throne and its occupant were veiled in mysterious shadow, and to the respect due to royalty was added the veneration paid to a God. In the case of the Mikado, his name never appeared in writing until 1868, when the Message dated the 3rd February of that year, announcing to foreign Governments his assumption of “supreme authority,” in consequence of the Shōgun’s voluntary resignation of “the governing power,” was delivered to the foreign representatives. This Message bore the signature “Mutsuhito,” which purported to be the sign-manual of the Sovereign. The change introduced was, however, of no practical importance, for no one wished to make use of the permission vouchsafed. It is interesting only from the fact of its being a significant departure from traditional custom, and also because it illustrates the spirit in which all reform was conceived.

The establishment in 1871 of a new Board, or minor department, for the development of the then northernmost island of Yezo, thenceforth to be known as the Hokkaidō, or Northern Sea Circuit—one of the many geographical areas distinguished by this name into which Japan is divided—calls for notice chiefly from the fact that it was one of the few instances of reforms which were unsuccessful. For the enterprise in question the services of American experts were engaged. The project, on which in all some £10,000,000 are stated to have been spent, languished from the outset, though some benefit was ultimately derived from the horse-breeding industry which was then created; and ten years later the Board was dissolved. It was in connection with the abandonment of this undertaking, the direction of which was entrusted to General Kuroda, a leading Satsuma clansman, that Marquis (then Mr.) Ōkuma left the Ministry, which he did not rejoin until seven years later.

Various reasons were assigned for this failure, charges of official corruption being freely made. As to one contributory cause there can be little doubt—the distaste, or, it may be, the constitutional unfitness, of the Japanese people for what may be called the pioneer work of colonization. Those who differ from this view may point to the success achieved by Japan elsewhere, in Formosa, for instance, which she received as part of the fruits of her victory over China in the war of 1894–95. The conditions in that case, however, were exceptionally favourable. The secret of her success there lay in the great natural riches of the island, due to virtues of climate and soil, in a plentiful supply of cheap labour, and in the still, industry and organizing talent which distinguish the Japanese people. Formosa produces nearly the whole of the world’s supply of camphor, of which Japan has made a State monopoly. Among other notable products are cane sugar, now also a State monopoly, tea and rice. The development of these staple products is a tribute to the thoroughness of Japanese administrative methods. But the Japanese were never pioneers there; nor did they create the industries they developed. These owe their inception to the Chinese population, originally settlers from the mainland, which was disputing the hill country with the aborigines when the Japanese arrived. Ten years after the Japanese occupation of the island the Japanese inhabitants, including many officials, numbered only 40,000, as compared with some 100,000 aborigines, with whom an intermittent warfare is still being carried on, and about 3,000,000 Chinese. These figures speak for themselves.

The less favourable conditions of climate and soil under which similar operations have been conducted in the northernmost Japanese islands have led to very different results. Of recent years, owing to the exploitation of coal mines and the general growth of shipping and commerce, there has been a marked advance in the development of Yezo. As compared, however, with the great strides made by Japan in other directions, the record of what has been accomplished there in the half century which has elapsed since the Restoration is disappointing. Viewed in conjunction with other facts, it justifies the inference that while the industry and enterprise of the Japanese people ensure remarkable results in favourable conditions, where no pioneer work is demanded,—as in Formosa, Hawaii, and the Pacific coasts of Canada and America—neither by physique nor by temperament are they fitted to cope under adverse circumstances with the strenuous toil and severe hardships of pioneer colonization. And this conclusion is supported by what we know of the Japanese occupation of Manchurian territory. The point is of importance as bearing on the question of finding an outlet for the surplus population of Japan, a subject which is frequently discussed in the Japanese Press, and which will be referred to again in a later chapter.

If the importance of a subject in public affairs were measured merely by the amount of attention and labour bestowed upon it, religion would occupy an inconspicuous place in the list of reforms of the Meiji era. Only to a limited extent, and then only as identified in a general way with progressive ideas of Western origin, can the measures taken in regard to religion be regarded as coming under the head of reforms borrowed from abroad. Apart from slight changes in the details of ceremonial observances at religious festivals, adopted later on, and designed to bring such popular celebrations more into keeping with Western notions of propriety and decorum, religious reform had from the first a merely negative character. It did not extend beyond the withdrawal of the anti-Christian measures that were a survival of the Christian persecutions of the seventeenth century. It is generally admitted that the anti-Christian feeling which then arose, and the cruel penal laws it inspired, were due to political more than to religious causes. In the toleration extended to Christianity, which found expression in the withdrawal of anti-Christian edicts, we again see the operation of political rather than religious motives. Political expediency, not religious animosity, was thus associated with the beginning and end of the anti-Christian movement. This is in accordance with all that we know of the Japanese character. All accounts of Japan, whether written by Japanese or foreigners, testify to the absence of anything approaching to religious fanaticism.

As for the other measures affecting religion taken by the new Government, they were not even progressive in intention, for they were avowedly a return to what had existed centuries before. They were, however, in accordance with the principles professed by the Imperialists at the time of the Restoration; and this was the reason for their adoption. It will be more convenient to consider these changes under the head of Religion, which will be treated in subsequent chapters.

On the return of the Iwakura Mission from abroad in 1873 its members became aware of the serious crisis in domestic affairs which had occurred in their absence. A difference of opinion had arisen on the subject of Korea. Since the ultimate failure of the Japanese invasion of that country, towards the close of the sixteenth century, which was due to the intervention of China at a moment when Japan had exhausted herself in the long struggle, the relations between the two countries had been restricted to the conduct of a trifling trade, and to formal missions of courtesy sent to announce the accession of a new Sovereign, or to offer congratulations on the occasion. This trade was carried on by the Japanese at the port of Pusan, on the southern coast of Korea opposite the Japanese island of Tsushima. Here there was a small commercial establishment doing business with the Koreans much in the same way as the Dutch had previously traded with the Japanese through their factory at Déshima (Nagasaki). There was a further resemblance between the former Dutch position in Japan and that of the Japanese in Korea in the fact that through ill-will, or lack of enterprise on the part of the Koreans, the trading operations of the Japanese merchants had become gradually more and more restricted. At the time in question the attitude of the Koreans towards the residents in the tiny settlement was the reverse of friendly, and the Japanese authorities had withdrawn from Pusan all but subordinate officials. According to Japanese accounts, the Koreans appear to have continued to send periodical missions of courtesy during the whole period of Tokugawa rule. But when the Restoration took place they refused to send the customary envoy to Tōkiō, and also declined to receive the envoy despatched by the new Japanese Government. Their refusal to have any further intercourse with Japan was based on the ground that by adopting a new and progressive policy she had shown herself to be in league with Western barbarians, thus abandoning the traditions of the Far East to which China and Korea remained faithful. This affront to Japanese dignity caused great resentment throughout the country. It came at a moment when there was already a good deal of friction and smouldering ill-feeling amongst the leading members of the Government, and the Cabinet, if we may so regard the inner political group which controlled affairs, became at once divided into two parties. One of these, led by the elder Saigō, Soyéshima, Itō Shimpei, Itagaki and Gotō, urged the immediate despatch of a strong remonstrance. Of this Saigō was anxious to be the bearer, a course which, as everyone who knew the then temper of the nation, and the character of the suggested envoy, was aware, must, if followed, lead to war. The other party, consisting of Chōshiū and other clansmen centred round the Prime Minister, though little disposed to condone any deliberate discourtesy on the part of a neighbouring State which had played so prominent a part in Japanese history, felt that the moment was inopportune for war. They also probably distrusted—and not without reason—the motives which actuated the advocates of an aggressive policy.

The matter was referred to Iwakura and his colleagues in the mission. Their influence turned the scale in favour of a peaceful solution of the difficulty, with the result that the leaders of the war party resigned their positions in the Government, their example being followed by many subordinate office-holders. Saigō and one or two others retired to their native provinces, the rest remaining in the Capital. This took place in October, 1873.

The rupture in the Ministry—the first to occur since the formation of the new Government five years before—had ostensibly arisen over the Korean question. But in reality there were other issues at stake. This much is clear from the Memorial presented to the Government in January of the following year by four of the retiring statesmen, Soyéshima, Itō Shimpei, Itagaki and Gotō, together with five other officials of lesser note, whose names do not concern us. Neither in the Memorial itself, nor in the joint letter in which it was enclosed, is there a word about Korea. The Memorialists complain in their letter of the delay of the Government in taking steps for the establishment of representative institutions. One of the objects of the Iwakura Mission was, it is pointed out, to gain information for this purpose. Since its return, however, the promised measures had not been introduced. The continued withholding from the people of opportunities for public discussion had created a dangerous situation, calculated to lead to grave trouble in the country.

It will be seen from this letter that the grievance of the Ministers who resigned—with the exception of the elder Saigō—related to the question not of war with Korea, but of the establishment of some form of representative institutions, as foreshadowed in the Imperial Oath. Their quarrel with the Government was based on the view that the latter had broken its promise to take steps in the desired direction.

The Memorial was a repetition of this charge in very prolix form. It dwelt on the right of the people to a share in the direction of public affairs, and on the urgency of establishing representative institutions.

The absence of Saigō’s signature both from the letter and Memorial is not surprising. He had no sympathy with popular reforms of Western origin. His association in the act of resignation with men whose political views were so different from his own, and with whom he could have little in common except dissatisfaction with the conduct of public affairs, simply indicates the existence of a general spirit of unrest.

The answer of the Government to the memorialists was not unfavourable. They were told that the principle of an assembly to be chosen by the people was an excellent one. The question of the establishment of local assemblies must, however, take precedence, and this matter was already occupying the Government’s attention.

When discussing in a previous chapter the effects of the abolition of feudalism it was pointed out what great hardship this measure inflicted on the military class. That the ex-samurai, or shizoku, to give them their new name, should as a class be dissatisfied with the sudden change in their fortunes was not surprising. It would have been strange if they had not resented the loss of their many privileges: the superior social status they enjoyed, their permanent incomes hereditary in the family; a house and garden free of rent; exemption from all taxation; and the advantage, appreciated by so poor a class, of being able to travel at cheaper rates than other people. In the course of the inevitable reaction which followed on the accomplishment of the common object which had united the Western clans, and which, it should not be forgotten, was the work of the military class, there was ample occasion for the shizoku to realize all that they had lost by the disappearance of feudalism. The haste, too, with which the new Government had embarked in their course of reform, copied from abroad, gave umbrage to the conservatives in that class who still outnumbered those who were in favour of progress. Nor was the engagement of foreigners, whose services were indispensable in the execution of these reforms, less unwelcome. The foreign experts needed were drawn from various countries. The assistance of France was invoked for the army, and for legal reforms; that of Germany for the army and for medical science; that of Great Britain for the navy, for railway construction, telegraphs and lighthouses, as well as for technical instruction in engineering; Americans were called in to help in the matter of education and in agriculture; while experts from Italy and Holland acted as advisers on questions concerning silk culture and embankments.

Speaking of the craze for imitating the West which prevailed at this period, the History of Japan, compiled under official direction for the Chicago Exposition of 1893, says: “During the early years of the Meiji era any knowledge, however slight, of Western science was regarded as a qualification for official employment. Students who had shown themselves intelligent were sent to Europe and America to inspect and report on the conditions existing there, and, as each of these travellers found something new to endorse and import, the mania for Occidental innovations constantly increased. To preserve or revere old customs and fashions was regarded with contempt, and so far did the fancy run that some gravely entertained the project of abolishing the Japanese language, and substituting English for it.”

Captain Brinkley, a friendly critic, in his History of Japan confirms this statement. “In short,” he says, “the Japanese undertook in the most lighthearted manner possible to dress themselves in clothes such as they had never worn before, and which had been made to fit other people. The spectacle looked strange enough to justify the apprehensions of foreign critics who asked whether it was possible that so many novelties should be successfully assimilated, or that a nation should adapt itself to systems planned by a motley band of aliens who knew nothing of its characters or customs.”

Nevertheless, in many respects the inner life of the people remained unaffected by the Western innovations so eagerly adopted. The nation was not called upon to make such sweeping sacrifices as appearances suggested. But the dissatisfied conservative of the former military class who watched the rapid progress of reform in the hands of enthusiastic reformers was not likely to make any fine discriminations; nor was it surprising if the zeal he witnessed, and perhaps also the employment of unwelcome foreigners at what to him seemed extravagant salaries, served to increase his dissatisfaction with the new order of things.

In January, 1874, a few days after the presentation of the Memorial above mentioned, the smouldering discontent burst into flame. Itō Shimpei, one of the memorialists, who had retired to Saga, the chief town in his native province of Hizen, collected there a considerable body of disaffected shizoku and made a successful raid on the prefectural offices. The Government quickly despatched troops against the rebels. Driven out of the town, they fled to Satsuma, hoping to receive assistance from Saigō. No aid, however, was forthcoming from this quarter, and Itō and the other insurgent leaders were arrested and executed.

The Hizen insurrection, and the existence of much discontent throughout the country, which showed itself, among other incidents, in the attempted assassination of Iwakura, suggested the advisability of finding some outlet for the mischievous energies of the disbanded samurai, and of diverting their attention from home politics. At this moment there arose an unlooked-for difficulty in connection with Loochoo, which furnished the desired opportunity.