Before the commencement of the present century these studies produced practical results, and the country was peppered with furnaces and windmills built after Dutch models. It led, also, to the introduction of several novel industries, which were evidently inspired by some occult European influence. However feeble these beginnings may have been, both European and modern Japanese writers attach a great importance to this early initiation of a certain number of able and learned men to at least one of the languages, and to some of the sciences of the West. It prepared the way for many ardent advocates of European civilization to influence the Japanese to accept European ideas. This was the impression conveyed to me at Tokio by that very able gentleman Mr. Fukuzawa, the editor of the most important newspaper published in Tokio, the Jiji Shimpo, or ‘Times,’ who is also founder and director of one of the largest free schools in Japan. He himself had studied Dutch between 1840 and 1850, when quite a young man, and showed me a book translated from the Dutch and published in Tokio in 1770. ‘The days,’ said he, ‘of the old régime in Japan were counted when in 1854 the Americans forced my country to open her ports, and the Shogunate, which had become exceedingly unpopular, undermined on all sides, crumbled to the dust.’
The situation of Japan in the middle of the nineteenth century was therefore not unlike that of France on the eve of the Revolution; but, fortunately, above the honeycombed Government, doomed to fall at the first serious outbreak of popular displeasure, Japan possessed the Imperial dynasty, a power universally respected, all the more so because it was so completely exempt from interference in public affairs; towards it every heart turned in the hour of trouble, and the remarkable reforms were accepted in its name as proceeding from a Sovereign who ruled by Divine right. In 1853 an event occurred which more than any other tended to the overthrow of the Shogunate. An American squadron, consisting of four men-of-war, under the command of Commodore Perry, appeared in the Bay of Yedo with the object of presenting a letter from the President of the United States to the Shogun demanding the conclusion of a treaty of commerce and the opening of the ports. It was in vain that the Bakufu (the Government of Yedo) tried to induce the Commodore to proceed to Nagasaki and to employ the mediation of the Dutch and Chinese. Perry replied that he would only accord a few months for the delivery of the answer he demanded, and promised to return and fetch it in the following year. The Government of Yedo was taken by surprise, and feeling that it was impossible to resist the importunate and imperative strangers, and alarmed at the grave consequences which might result from the opening out of the country, addressed a circular to the daimios detailing the facts and asking their advice. Some of them suggested the opening of only one or two ports for a limited time, say three or four years, as an experiment, but the greater number—Prince Mito, chief of the house of Tokugawa, at their head—were of a contrary opinion, and counselled that no concession should be granted, and that the country should forthwith arm itself and prepare for resistance. Nevertheless, when Perry returned some time afterwards, a treaty was signed permitting the opening of the two ports of Shimoda and Hakodate, and, moreover, granting permission for the establishment of an American consulate (1854). This official took up his residence in 1857, just as France, England, and Russia had frightened the Shogun by a naval display into granting them like privileges, which were still further augmented by a new convention promulgated in 1858.
The prolonged isolation in which the feudal lords of Japan had hitherto lived had filled them with a horror of all things foreign, so that the concessions made by the Shogun very naturally produced an extraordinary fermentation among the military classes, who considered all these privileges bestowed upon the barbarians as so many outrages to the national dignity. The Imperial Court was not less scandalized. When the Mikado first heard of the arrival of so many Westerners on the sacred soil of Japan, he ordered public prayers to be said at Ise, the most holy temple in Japan, and presently a secret understanding was arrived at between the Court of Kioto and the clans in the south-west, who, although they were perfectly sincere in their detestation of the strangers, nevertheless thought this incident afforded an excellent chance for satisfying their hereditary rancour against the Tokugawa and a possibility of annihilating their power. When confronted by these dangers, the Shogun endeavoured to shirk his responsibility, and turned to the Mikado, asking him to confirm the treaties which he had himself concluded. A statesman of great energy and of progressive tendencies, Ii-Kammon-no-Kami, now determined to intimidate the Mikado and obtain from him at any cost the desired signature, which under such circumstances at another period would have been a mere formality. But this able man was assassinated in 1860 by the ronin, who, in accordance with Japanese usage, presently published a patriotic declaration justifying their crime. Needless to say, the Shogun, in his vain attempt to reconcile both parties, fell to the ground, like the man in the proverb who sought to seat himself between two stools. The audacity of his adversaries increased, and the Imperial Court and the daimios began to interfere without the slightest hesitation in the affairs of State. In 1862, against all precedent, the Prince of Satsuma, in going to Yedo, passed by Kioto, and undertook to escort thither a kuge, who was carrying Imperial despatches to the Shogun, and invited him to appear before the Emperor. The Bakufu now found itself so absolutely powerless that it was obliged to submit to all demands, including destitutions and reintegrations of dignitaries, together with the permission for the daimios to leave Yedo with their families; and thus was the first step taken towards the ultimate ruin of the time-honoured Shogunate.
For the first time in two hundred and thirty years a Shogun—a minor—went up to Kioto in March, 1863, preceded by the Regent. The Mikado left his palace, and, contrary to secular etiquette, went in solemn state to the temple of the God of War, where he bestowed the sword of honour upon the Shogun as the ensign of supreme command with which he was to expel the barbarians. The Shogun’s second visit to Kioto in 1864, on the other hand, witnessed his complete abasement; for the Court no longer accepted his decrees, and refused him any further control over their finances. In a word, from being master he had now become servant. Amongst those who immediately surrounded the Emperor, there were still many who revolted at the idea of his being allowed to occupy himself with the government of the Empire, and their so doing gave the rebel clans in the south-west time to reorganize themselves. After a short attempt at revolt, they soon came to the conclusion that further dissensions would only play into the hands of their enemies, and from 1865 the majority of the samourai had joined a general conspiracy which it was hoped would result in the ruin of the already crumbling Shogunate. Still, the cry of ‘Death to the barbarians!’ was not so easily suppressed, and hatred of the foreigner remained for some time yet extremely fierce among the masses. The governing classes, however, who had been brought into contact with Europe, began to see that it was useless resisting its power, especially after Kagoshima, the capital of Satsuma, was bombarded in 1863 by a British squadron as a punishment for the murder of Mr. Richardson by the Prince’s escort. The daimios and their councils no longer closed their eyes to the existing condition of affairs, and recognising the uselessness of resisting Powers which were armed with such formidable engines of war, they changed their policy as by magic, loaded the foreigners with honours, opened their ports to them, and even made preparations to place the Japanese army under the same régime as that of civilized nations. This conduct was not wholly disinterested, for they were shrewd enough to perceive the commercial advantages which might ultimately accrue to them as a reward for their liberality. The Court followed their example, and two years after having issued an order to ‘sweep the strangers from the soil of Japan’ as if they were so much dust, the Emperor ratified the treaties of 1865 at the demand of the Shogun, who had come to Kioto with 70,000 men to suppress the open revolt of the Prince of Choshiu.
This struggle between the Tokugawa and a subordinate vassal was their last and supreme effort to regain power. Unfortunately for them, they were crushed in the attempt, and their military prestige was for ever destroyed. The Regent Hitotsubashi, who succeeded the young Shogun, who died on September 19, entertained no illusions as to the gravity of his position. He was by this time firmly convinced that it was absolutely necessary radically to modify the constitution of the country, and feeling certain that it would be useless any longer to resist so powerful and popular a wave of progress, he determined to associate himself with the new ideas, in the hope thereby of preserving some measure of his family’s former influence. He therefore entreated the Emperor to summon a council of the principal daimios, who accordingly assembled at Kioto in 1868, with the result that they one and all advised the Emperor to allow the centralization of the Government to take place at once, as being absolutely necessary to the welfare of the country. The Prince of Tosa, one of the chiefs of the south, addressed a letter to the Shogun, in which he informed him of the results of the meeting, and that they had acknowledged the supremacy of the Emperor. Hitotsubashi, seeing that resistance was of no further avail, sent in his resignation, which was accepted, with the condition, however, that he should continue to direct public affairs until after the general assembly of all the daimios. The southern clans, fearing that the Tokugawa might still be able to recover their power, made a bold move, and attempted to seize the person of the Mikado. On January 3, 1868, the Imperial seal was stolen, and a decree issued handing over the guardianship of the palace to the samourai of Satsuma, Hizen and Tosa. On the following day the Shogunate was formally abolished. Hitotsubashi retired to Osaka with his army, where, trembling lest he might fall into some trap skilfully prepared by his enemies, and refusing to listen to any overtures, even the offer of a high position in the new Government, he marched with his men on Kioto; but the unfortunate Shogun was now treated as a mere rebel, and when he beheld the troops of the hostile clans carrying the embroidered standard of the Mikado, he realized that he was betrayed by his own people, and fled by sea to Yedo, where he surrendered unconditionally to Prince Arisugawa, commander of the ‘Army of Punishment,’ The princes of his family were the first to rally round the Emperor; others of his partisans struggled for a brief time with an adverse fate, but were finally overcome, and thus a revolution which began with the cry of ‘Down with the foreigners!’ and was provoked by the daimios and the samourai, the representatives of feudalism, against the authority of the Shogun, ended in the destruction of feudalism, and in the definite introduction into Japan of Western civilization.
Soon afterwards, when the Imperial Court began to better understand foreign manners and customs, the kuges, the more intelligent among them, from being antagonistic became their staunchest friends and supporters. Presently the mass of the people, following the lead of their superiors, enthusiastically accepted the new idea that Japan could no longer live isolated. Their rulers had the distinct merit of understanding that in order to become the equal of the Western nations, if only from the simple point of view of material progress, it would not suffice for Japan to borrow their cannons and their guns, or even their military training, an experiment which had signally failed with other Oriental Powers; but that if Western civilization was to be of the least good to Japan, it was absolutely necessary to accept it in all its branches, civil, industrial and commercial, as well as military. The promoters of the movement, the ministers and agents of the great lords, had no more interest in maintaining feudalism than had, after the Revolution, the inferior clergy and squires in the Government of France before 1789. The first step in the suppression of feudalism was the abolition of the privileges of the samourai, who might, had they been allowed to retain them, have become troublesome.
In 1876 the carrying of the two swords, their erstwhile distinguishing insignia, was prohibited. The stipends which they had previously received from their lords, and of which the State had possessed itself, were capitalized, and the territorial revenues of the daimios, which were at first compensated by annual pensions, were transformed in the same manner. These changes, which were undoubtedly beneficial to the bulk of the population, nevertheless brought about a great deal of misery, by throwing a number of people who had hitherto enjoyed all the privileges of fortune into humble circumstances. The peasantry benefited most by the new form of Government, and became, without having to pay anything, in a very short time owners of the land which they had hitherto only held as tenants, and, moreover, no longer obliged to pay a tribute to their feudal lords, but only a small tax to the Central Government. Needless to say, there was considerable resistance on the part of the two millions of people whom these new laws deprived of privileges which they had enjoyed for centuries, but these were easily and speedily suppressed. From 1869, in order further to mark the rupture between the old and the new order of things, the residence of the Emperor was transferred from Kioto to Yedo, now known as Tokio. In 1872 the first Japanese railway was opened between the new capital and Yokohama. The old-fashioned samourai were at first dreadfully scandalized when they saw the Emperor, against all precedent, driving about among the lower classes in an open carriage. But the invading wave was too strong for resistance, and presently a number of samourai of their own accord, especially in the capital, gave up the custom of wearing the two swords. Yet another flicker of the old spirit, however, reappeared in 1877, when the clan of Satsuma rose and endeavoured to oppose the introduction of so many innovations. This rebellion was suppressed by Marshal Saigo, who lost his life in the affair, leaving, however, behind him a name still universally venerated in Japan. In 1889 Viscount Mori, a Japanese statesman of very advanced opinions, was stabbed by a fanatic on the day of the proclamation of the new Constitution. At present no one in Japan, be he statesman or simple citizen, unless, indeed, he chance to be some fanatic or other under the influence of the Buddhist priests in some out-of-the-way district, dreams of disturbing the pleasant relations which exist between the native population and foreigners. After the repression of the rebellion in Satsuma the new Government was definitively consolidated, and the country fully launched on the road to complete Europeanization. In 1889 the Parliamentary system was introduced, and we shall presently see with what success. It is therefore not saying too much to assert, before we proceed further, that the wonderful revolution which has taken place in our day in Japan is not ephemeral, and that it has now gone too far to be in any danger of reaction. It is, moreover, quite in accord with the antecedents and the intellectual spirit of this remarkable people, and therefore likely not only to become permanent, but even progressive.
CHAPTER III
MODERN JAPAN
Japan the country of contrasts—The port and town of Nagasaki—The navigation of the Inland Sea—Junks and steamboats—Yokohama—Its population and commerce—Tokio—The telephones and electric lights—The houses and the streets—The people and their costumes—Means of transport at Tokio—Jinrikishas and tramways.
The moment the traveller enters the harbour of Nagasaki he finds himself surrounded by the most extraordinary contrasts. In the first place, the scenery is quite charming: the mountains are a delightful green and are thickly draped with foliage, from which peep out a number of pretty little wooden houses, whose windows are replaced by sliding paper-panels. The sea is dotted with rocky islands covered with those picturesque Japanese fir-trees whose outline is as varied as it is graceful. Here and there rise from the water curious little fishing-sheds, the delight of the amateur photographer, which add considerably to a landscape which looks for all the world like an animated picture off a Japanese screen. One can scarcely believe that it is all real, and certainly not that it was at one time the scene of a terrible tragedy: yet such it was, for from one of the neighbouring islands in 1638—yclept Pappenberg—several hundred Christians were cast into the sea. Presently we see rising in the background a tall chimney with its streaming cloud of smoke, and the noise of machinery in motion grating upon our ears reminds us somewhat unpleasantly that modern civilization has at length penetrated into Japan, and the better to emphasize this fact, our steamer is presently surrounded by a fleet of ugly coal-barges, and a sudden turn brings us face to face with the ships and flags of all nations—British, French, German, Russian, and American.