BLACKWOOD’SEDINBURGH MAGAZINE.No. DLXX.APRIL 1863.Vol. XCIII.
BLACKWOOD’SEDINBURGH MAGAZINE.No. DLXX.APRIL 1863.Vol. XCIII.
BLACKWOOD’SEDINBURGH MAGAZINE.No. DLXX.APRIL 1863.Vol. XCIII.
BLACKWOOD’S
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
No. DLXX.APRIL 1863.Vol. XCIII.
SENSATION DIPLOMACY IN JAPAN.[1]
1. ‘The Capital of the Tycoon.’ By Sir Rutherford Alcock, K.C.B. London: Longmans.
1. ‘The Capital of the Tycoon.’ By Sir Rutherford Alcock, K.C.B. London: Longmans.
It is one of the most singular features of our institutions that, when our diplomatic relations with remote and semi-barbarous countries become so involved that even the Government is at a loss to know what course to pursue, the public take up the question in a confident off-hand way; and though, by the force of circumstances, deprived of the information possessed by the Foreign Office, they do not hesitate either to denounce or to approve the policy recommended by those who have studied the subject on the spot, and who alone can be competent to form an opinion on the matter. It is true that papers are occasionally laid before Parliament, but what proportion of those who hold such decided views have read them? In the case of the Arrow, when people voted for peace or war with China, how many members of Parliament had informed themselves on the merits of the question? and what did their constituents know about it? Yet so it is; the ultimate decision upon all important and complicated questions of foreign policy necessarily rests with the most ill-informed class. If they generally decide wrong, we must console ourselves by the consideration that even free institutions have their drawbacks, but in compensation have made us so rich and powerful, that we can always scramble out of any scrape they may get us into. In countries despotically governed, the merits of a secret diplomacy are inestimable; but where the Government is responsible, though it would be difficult to substitute an open system, secret diplomacy is attended with grave inconveniences, for it becomes impossible to furnish that public who sit, as it were, in appeal, with the whole facts of the case upon which they are called to decide. It is then clearly the interest of the Foreign Office to encourage the dissemination of accurate political information in a popular form, when the publication of it does not involve a breach of confidence; and inasmuch as Blue-Books are not generally considered light or agreeable reading, and are somewhat inaccessible, the diplomatist who has a political story to tell, and can do it without betraying State secrets, is a public benefactor. In these days of official responsibility, it is not only due to the public but to himself that he should have an opportunity of stating his case. It may happen that his conduct will be brought publicly in question and decided upon before he has an opportunity of laying before the world all the facts. Great injustice is frequently done to officials serving in distant parts of the world, who even at last are unable to remove the erroneous impressions formed upon incorrect or insufficient information. This has been specially the case in China and the East: a policy based upon an acquaintance with the local conditions as intimate as it was possible for a foreigner to obtain, has been upset by a majority of ignorant legislators, who too often receive their impressions from superficial travellers, or residents with special interests at stake. It is clear that the opinion of a merchant is not so likely to be right in diplomatic questions as that of a trained official, who has passed half his life in studying the language, institutions, and people of the country to which he has been accredited; yet when it comes to be a question between the mercantile community and the minister, the latter is in danger of going to the wall.
While, on the one hand, the traditions of the Foreign Office are opposed to what may be termed diplomatic literature—and they dole out their own information with a somewhat niggard hand—the British community resident in the East, hampered by no such restraints, and aided by a scurrilous press, may prejudice the public mind at home to such an extent that no subsequent defence is of much avail. We cannot wonder then, if, after five-and-twenty years’ experience of China and Japan, Sir Rutherford Alcock should take the opportunity of giving a full, true, and particular statement of the political difficulties by which he is surrounded, in anticipation of a crisis which he sees impending, which no diplomacy will be able to avert, but in which he will on his return probably find himself involved.
“By whatever measures,†he remarks, “of a coercive nature, we might seek to attain this object†(the execution of the Treaty in all its stipulations), “it should be clearly seen that there is war in the background, more or less near, but tolerably certain sooner or later to come. During the last two years, whatever a conciliatory spirit could suggest, with temper, patience, and forbearance in all things, had been tried. Diplomacy had wellnigh exhausted its resources to induce the Japanese Government to take a different view of its interests, and to act in accordance with the spirit of the treaties entered into. Little more remained to be tried in this direction, nor could much hope be entertained that better success would follow a longer persistence in the same course.â€
The nature of our political relations with Japan is such, that a history of three years’ diplomacy in that country is not attended with the inconveniences which would be incidental to a similar narrative from a European court. Our relations with other friendly nations are in no way involved, and there can be no objection to such a work as that now before us, even in a red-tape point of view. Still, we are not aware of a work of this kind, from the pen of a minister actually at his post, ever having appeared; and although our author gives us a most detailed and graphic account of the moral and social state of Japan, it is the record of his diplomatic relations with the Government of the Tycoon that we regard as being at once the most novel and interesting feature of his book.
“I should probably have hesitated,†says Sir Rutherford in his preface, “had it not seemed important to furnish materials for a right judgment in matters of national concern connected with Japan, and our relations there, while it might yet be time to avert, by the intelligent appreciation of our true situation, grievous disappointment, as well as increased complications and calamities. A free expression of opinion in matters of public interest is not to be lightly adventured upon, however, and in many cases those holding office are altogether precluded from such action. At the same time, much mischief is often done by undue reticence in matters which must, in a country like ours, be the subject of public discussion. It so happened that I was relieved from any difficulty on this head by the publicationin extensoof the greater number of my despatches, which were printed and laid before Parliament. And not only was the necessity for silence obviated by such publication in this country, but a similar course was followed at Washington in respect of the despatches of my colleague, the American Minister, during the same period. As in each of these series there is a very unreserved expression of opinion as to the political situation of the country, the action of the Japanese authorities, the views entertained by colleagues, and the conduct of the foreign communities, the decision of the respective Governments of both countries to make the despatches public, and this so freely as to leave little of a confidential character unprinted, effectually removed all the impediments which might otherwise have existed.â€
The general reader must not suppose, however, that because politics engage a large share of the work before us, he will, on that account, find it dull. Japan is probably the only country in the world in which diplomacy becomes a pursuit of thrilling excitement. Sometimes it leads to some curious discovery, and reveals to us some part of the political machinery in the government of the country heretofore unsuspected and unknown. Sometimes it furnishes amusing illustrations of the Japanese mode of diplomatic fencing; at others, it involves a frightful tragedy or a quaint official ceremony. Without these details to illustrate each phase through which our political relations have passed, we should never have been able to realise the difficulties with which our officials in those remote regions have to contend, or the nature of the opposition persistently offered by the Japanese Government.
The task of permanently installing for the first time a legation in a city of upwards of two millions of people having been safely accomplished, Mr Alcock entered upon his first diplomatic struggle, the point of which was merely to fix a day for the purpose of exchanging the ratifications of Lord Elgin’s Treaty. The discussion preliminary to this formality occupied no less than seven days. At last the details are arranged, and it is decided that the Treaty is to be carried in procession through the city, under a canopy ornamented with flags and evergreens, surrounded by a guard of marines, and followed by fifty blue-jackets; Captain Hand, with a large number of his officers in uniform and on horseback, following immediately after the four petty officers carrying the Treaty. We can well imagine the effect which so novel a procession was likely to produce upon the inhabitants of Yedo. When the formalities were accomplished, “signals, arranged by the Japanese in advance (by fans from street to street) conveyed the news to the Sampson with telegraphic speed in a minute and a half, a distance of six miles.†So our Minister hoists his flag, and settles himself down in solitary grandeur, to pass his life of exile in solving the difficult problem of reconciling the civilisation he represents with that which surrounds him, but which the jealousy of the Government will not permit him to investigate. This does not, however, prevent our author from entering upon lengthy and interesting philosophical disquisitions upon the many moral, social, and political questions which must, under such circumstances, present themselves to a thoughtful mind. He has not been six weeks so employed when he is suddenly roused from his speculations by a tragical event which occurs at Yokuhama. As this is the first of a series of exciting incidents, we will give our readers an epitome of those which occurred during three years, and the particulars of which are detailed at length in various parts of the book:—
“A Russian officer, with a sailor and a steward, were suddenly set upon in the principal street by some armed Japanese, and hewn down with the most ghastly wounds that could be inflicted. The sailor was cleft through his skull to the nostrils—half the scalp sliced down, and one arm nearly severed from the shoulder through the joint. The officer was equally mangled, his lungs protruding from a sabre-gash across the body; the thighs and legs deeply gashed.â€
In the succeeding tragedies the wounds are invariably of the above savage nature, but we will not always inflict upon our readers a full description of the horrible details.
Two months after this the servant of the French Consul is cut to pieces in the street—cause unknown. By way of varying the excitement, the Tycoon’s palace is burnt down about the same time, and the Japanese Ministers propose to stop all business in consequence. This is of course not considered a legitimate way of evading disagreeable questions. Diplomatic difficulties continue to be discussed, and the greater part of the settlement of Yokuhama is burnt down:—
“While yet occupied by these events, we were startled by another of more immediate and personal import. It was near midnight; Mr Eusden, the Japanese secretary, was standing by my side, when the longest and most violent shock of an earthquake yet experienced since our arrival brought every one to his feet with a sudden impulse to fly from under the shaking roof. It began at first very gently, but rapidly increased in the violence of the vibrations until the earth seemed to rock under our feet, and to be heaved up by some mighty explosive powder in the caldrons beneath.â€
The nerves of our author scarcely recover from the shock of the earthquake when they receive another of a different description. A hasty step is heard outside his room, and “Captain Marten, of H.M.S. Roebuck, threw back the sliding-panel. ‘Come quickly; your linguist is being carried in badly wounded.’ My heart misgave me that his death-knell had struck.†Of course it had; they seldom miss their stroke in Japan. “The point†(of the sword) “had entered at his back and came out above the right breast; and, thus buried in his body, the assassin left it, and disappeared as stealthily as he came.†While discussing this matter, in dashes the whole French Legation—the French Consul-General at the head: “‘Nous voici! nous venons vous demander de l’hospitalité—l’incendie nous a atteint.’ Then follows Monsieur l’Abbé in a dressing-gown—a glass thermometer in one hand, and a breviary in the other; then the Chancellor in slippers, with a revolver and abonnet de nuit.†What with an assassination in one Legation and a fire in another on the same night, our diplomatists have their hands full. Our author, however, seems to have passed a few nights in comparative tranquillity after this, before he is again roused at four o’clock in the morning by the arrival of an express from Kanagawa with the news that about eight o’clock in the evening two Dutch captains had been slain in the main street of Yokuhama—“a repetition, in all its leading circumstances and unprovoked barbarity, of the assassination perpetrated on the Russians.†After this, beyond a few bad earthquakes, nothing happens for a month or so, “when, on my return from a visit to Kanagawa, the first news that greeted me as I entered the Legation was of so startling and incredible a character that I hesitated to believe what was told me. The Gotairo or Regent was said to have been assassinated in broad daylight on his way to the palace, and this, too, in the very midst of a large retinue of his retainers!†The account, which our author gives at length, of this occurrence, and of the causes which led to it, is most characteristic: we have only space for the result:—
“Eight of the assailants were unaccounted for when all was over, and many of the retinue were stretched on the ground, wounded and dying, by the side of those who had made the murderous onslaught. The remnant of the Regent’s people, released from their deadly struggle, turned to the norimon to see how it had fared with their master in the brief interval, to find only a headless trunk: the bleeding trophy carried away was supposed to have been the head of the Gotairo himself, hacked off on the spot. But, strangest of all these startling incidents, it is further related thattwoheads were found missing, and that which was in the fugitive’s hand was only a lure to the pursuing party, while the true trophy had been secreted on the person of another, and was thus successfully carried off, though the decoy paid the penalty of his life.â€
The head of the Regent is said to have been got safely out of Yedo, and presented to the Prince, who was his enemy, and who spat upon it with maledictions. It was reported afterwards to have been exposed in the public execution-ground of the spiritual capital, with a placard over it, on which was the following inscription: “This is the head of a traitor, who has violated the most sacred laws of Japan—those which forbid the admission of foreigners into the country.†After this, with the exception of a “murderous onslaught made by a drunken Yaconin on an English merchant at Hakodadi,†there is another lull, varied only by putting the Legations in a state of defence. They “were filled with Japanese troops, field-pieces were placed in the courtyards of the several Legations, and the ministers were urgently requested to abstain from going outside!†A month passes, and life is absolutely becoming monotonous, from the absence of the usual stimulant in the shape either of a fire, a murder, or a good earthquake, when there suddenly appeared, “as we were sitting down to dinner one evening, the Abbé Gérard, pale and agitated, bringing with him, in a norimon, M. de Bellecourt’s Italian servant, who had been attacked, while quietly standing at the gate of the French Legation, by two Samourai (daimios’ retainers) passing at the moment, and by one of whom he had been severely wounded.â€
A strong digestion must be essential to the comfort of the diplomatist in Japan, for “next month, a few minutes before the dinner-hour, there was a rushing and scuffling of many feet along the passages, the noise of which reached me in my dressing-room, at the extremity of the building, and presently, high above all, came the ominous cry of ‘Cadjee!’ (fire).†The Legation was nearly burnt to the ground, but the Japanese servants behaved well, and ultimately succeeded in extinguishing the flames. We will not recount, in our list of excitements, all the escapes from murderous Yaconins and disagreeable rencontres which are recorded, though they would satisfy any moderate craving for “sensations;†and passing rapidly by, as not worthy of notice, the case of an Englishman who shot a Japanese (and for having punished whom Mr Alcock was afterwards fined at Hong-Kong), come at once to the night of the 14th of January, “when, about ten o’clock, I received a brief note from Mr Harris, asking me to send surgical aid to Mr Heuskin, who had been brought in wounded.â€
Mr Heuskin was the secretary of the American Legation—a man universally liked, and a most able public servant. He had received a frightful gash across the abdomen, which proved fatal, besides other thrusts and cuts of less moment. His funeral was attended by all the members of the different Legations, at the risk, however, of their lives. About this time, says our author, “an event occurred calculated to give greater significance to the numerous sinister rumours afloat. Hori Oribeno Kami, the most intelligent, experienced, and respected of the governors of foreign affairs—the one best versed in European business, and the most reasonable and conciliatory of his class—disappeared from the scene.†In other words, he had ripped himself up. The writer of this article, who had formerly been well acquainted with this minister, happening to arrive in Japan shortly after his death, received from the Dutch Consul the following account of the event:—That gentleman had called on Hori Oribeno Kami one day, had found him in rather low spirits, and, on inquiring the cause, was informed by the fated minister that he was about to put an end to himself on the following day; that he had already issued his invitation-cards for the banquet at which the ceremony was to take place; and, further, expressed his regret that the custom of the country limited the invitation to his relations and most intimate friends, and that he was thus deprived of the pleasure of requesting the company of his visitor to partake of the meal which was destined to terminate in so tragic a manner.
The foreign Legations after this come to the conclusion that life at Yedo is attended by too many anxieties, and retire to Yokuhama till the Government should promise to make things safer and more comfortable. This they ultimately pledge themselves to do. Our author has occasion shortly after to make a long overland journey through the country, and on the night of his return to Yedo the Legation is attacked by a band of assassins, who severely wound Messrs Oliphant and Morrison, and very nearly murder everybody. Some idea of the nature of that midnight struggle may be formed from the following list of persons killed and wounded in the passages and garden of the Legation:—
With reference to the fate of these assailants, the following extract from a letter from Mr Alcock to Earl Russell appears in the papers just laid before Parliament:—
“The Ministers have since informed me that three more of the assailants on the night of the 5th July have been arrested in Prince Mito’s territories, and will be proceeded against; also that the only survivor in the recent attack on the Foreign Minister has confessed that some of the party were men engaged in the attack on the Legation. If so—and only fourteen were actually engaged (which has always seemed to me doubtful)—they will have pretty well accounted for the whole number: Three having been killed on the spot; three taken prisoners and since executed; two committed suicide; three more lately arrested; three supposed to have been killed in the recent attack on the Foreign Minister. Total, fourteen.â€
The following paper found on the body of one of the assailants gives the reasons of the band for making the attempt:—
“I, though I am a person of low standing, have not patience to stand by and see the sacred empire defiled by the foreigner. This time I have determined in my heart to undertake to follow out my master’s will. Though, being altogether humble myself, I cannot make the might of the country to shine in foreign nations, yet with a little faith, and a little warrior’s power, I wish in my heart separately (by myself), though I am a person of low degree, to bestow upon my country one out of a great many benefits. If this thing from time to time may cause the foreigner to retire, and partly tranquillise both the minds of the Mikado and the Tycoon (or the manes of departed Mikados and Tycoons), I shall take to myself the highest praise. Regardless of my own life, I am determined to set out.â€
[Here follow the fourteen signatures.]
It must be admitted that the Lonins, as the bravos are called, choose their victims with great impartiality as to rank and nationality; they murder servants and ministers, both Japanese and foreign, as the fancy seizes them. A few days after the massacre at the Legation, two of the Japanese Ministers were attacked, but their retinue beat off their assailants: after this nothing particular happened for some time, except that the Governor of Yedo had to rip himself up “for having offended by intruding his opinion at a grand council of the daimios (he not being a daimio).†Meantime the Government offer to build a fortified Legation, and Sir Rutherford moves his habitation temporarily down to Yokuhama: the hostile class seem more determined than ever to carry their point, as we may gather from the following letter left by four of his retainers at the house of their master, the Prince of Mito, whose service they leave to become outlaws:—
“We become lonins now, since the foreigner gains more and more influence in the country, unable to see the ancient law of Gongen Sama violated. We become all four lonins, with the intention of compelling the foreigners to depart.â€
[Here follow the four signatures.]
Shortly after this, Sir Rutherford, who has been dining down at Yokuhama with M. de Bellecourt, receives the news at ten o’clock at night, that Ando Tsusimano Kami, the second Minister of Foreign Affairs, and the one supposed to be most favourable to the maintenance of foreign relations, had been attacked as he was on his way to the palace.
“Ando, it appears, instantly divined that he was to be attacked, and, throwing himself out of the norimon, drew his sword to defend himself. It was well he lost no time, for already his people were being cut down by the desperate band of assassins. The next instant he received a sabre-cut across the face and a spear-thrust in the side that had wellnigh proved fatal. As in the previous case of the Regent, the life-and-death struggle was brief as it was bloody. In a few seconds seven of the assailants lay stretched, wounded or dead, on the ground, and only one (the eighth) escaped.â€
The Minister himself, after lingering for some time between life and death, finally recovered. While our author is listening to these details there is an alarm of fire, and he spends the rest of the night in putting it out.
“It lasted several hours, and a large block of houses was destroyed. The danger of its spreading over the whole settlement was at one time very great; and that which made the event more serious was the fact of some men dressed like the Japanese police having been discovered by Lieutenant Aplin at the commencement actively engaged in spreading the fire to an adjoining house.â€
This is about the last of our author’s list of sensations; but in order to complete the thrilling category we will take a leaf or two out of the Blue-Book of his successor, Colonel Neale, who is appointed to the charge of the Legation during Sir Rutherford’s absence. No sooner does he arrive there than he proceeds to test the charms of a residence at Yedo. A few days after his arrival he writes as follows to his French colleague, whose three years’ experience has taught him not to move out of Yokuhama unnecessarily:—
“Sir,—It is with deep regret I have to acquaint you that this Legation has passed through the ordeal of another murderous assault on the part of Japanese assassins. About midnight last night, the sentry at my bedroom door was suddenly attacked and desperately wounded, his life being despaired of. The corporal going his rounds at the same moment was murderously assailed a short distance off; but he managed to reach my door, and there he fell and died. His body was conveyed into the room in which we were assembled, and was found to have received no less than sixteen desperate sword and lance wounds. The wounded sentry was also on the floor of the room, dying fast from nine wounds. This man, by name Charles Sweet, died the following morning.â€
After this, Colonel Neale thinks Yedo disagreeable as a permanent residence, and retires to Yokuhama; but, to judge by a letter he writes to Lord Russell a month afterwards, he does not seem to have improved his position:—
“My Lord,—It becomes my painful duty once more to lay before your Lordship the details of the barbarous murder of another British subject, Mr C. L. Richardson, a merchant residing at Yokuhama, and the desperate wounding of two other merchants, Mr W. Marshall and Mr W. C. Clarke, both of Yokuhama; the latter gentleman is likely to lose his arm. Mr Richardson, nearly cut to pieces, fell from his horse; and while lying in a dying state, one of the high officials of the cortege, borne in a chair, is stated to have told his followers to cut the throat of the unfortunate gentleman. The lady (Mrs Borradaile), though cut at herself, miraculously escaped unwounded; never drawing rein, and in an exhausted and fainting state, she reached Yokuhama. The body of Mr Richardson was afterwards found, and brought here for interment.â€
And so for the present ends the bloody story: we have condensed it as much as possible, both for the reader’s sake and our own; but, considering the important interests we have at stake in Japan, we have felt it our duty to do all in our power to induce people to read the work before us. After they have gratified that morbid craving for excitement which seems to be the literary taste of the day, they may perhaps be induced seriously to think what is to be done under the circumstances. We have not recounted the efforts which our diplomatic agents in Japan have made to obtain redress, nor the success which has attended those efforts. They are to be found detailed at some length in the work before us. If the reader will take the trouble carefully to read Sir Rutherford’s account of the administrative system of Japan, and more especially of the feudal nobility, of the influence they exercise, and the material forces they control, he will perhaps be able to form some idea for himself of the best course to be pursued. If he makes up his mind—as he probably has done—on what he has read in this article, he will come to a totally wrong conclusion. We did not give him a list of horrors in order that he might get up and say dogmatically, “Oh, it’s clear the Japanese don’t want us, and we ought never to have gone there; and the best thing we can do now is to take ourselves off.†We have only recited these horrors to lure the superficial politician into the perusal of a work, the dry parts of which are the most important. He will learn in it under what circumstances we went to Japan in the first instance—how it happened that a treaty was as much forced upon us by circumstances as upon the Japanese—how we never compelled them to make one, as is generally supposed. He will also find how popular the foreigner is among the lower and middle classes of the Japanese, how great is the aptitude of the mass of the population for trade, how readily they enter into commercial pursuits, and how quickly they adopt the appliances and inventions of a more advanced and enlightened civilisation than their own—how anxious they are to improve both their intellectual and material condition. Then, if he looks at the chapter on trade, with the statistics it contains, he will observe how steady is its development, in spite of the obstructive policy of the Government, and how much room there still is for expansion, what vast resources still undeveloped the country possesses, what room for progress in every branch of art and industry. He will find nowhere that the Government deny our right to be in Japan, or even profess anything but the most anxious desire to see the Treaty carried out in all its fulness, whatever they may secretly feel on the subject. They constantly allude to the difficulties they have to contend with from that one dangerous class who are opposed to the foreigner, and who, though not numerous, are so powerful as to be dangerous opponents. Every restriction placed on trade by the Government, it is professed, arises only from a desire to gain time for the conciliation of this class; and we have so far given the ministers of the Tycoon credit for good faith, that we have consented to postpone the opening of some of the ports as stipulated by treaty. Inasmuch, then, as the Japanese Government voluntarily entered into treaty-relations with this country; inasmuch as they profess themselves anxious to see it carried out, and conscious of the benefit it is likely to confer upon the empire; inasmuch as the great mass of the population is decidedly in favour of an extended commercial intercourse with foreigners; inasmuch as the present value of the annual trade with Japan is upwards of a million sterling, and certain to increase; inasmuch as a wealthy British community, consisting of upwards of three hundred persons, have already established themselves in the country, and possess a great deal of valuable property, in the shape of buildings, warehouses, and all the appliances of trade, besides having large sums of money at stake, which they have invested on the faith of a Treaty signed by their own sovereign, and the abandonment of which would be a breach of faith, and entitle them to compensation; inasmuch, moreover, as the whole of our commercial interests in China would be imperilled by a blow so fatal to our prestige throughout the East as withdrawal from Japan;—for all these reasons, we say, the conclusion so rapidly arrived at by our “dear reader†may be, after all, erroneous; and there may be serious objections to the course he would propose, even granting that theoretically he is right in his premises, and that it would have been better had we never found ourselves driven by the Americans into making a Japanese treaty. It is possible, nay probable, however, that we have failed to convince him, and that, gifted with a prophetic eye, he replies to us—“Very well, you will see you will have a row.†We confess that in this instance he is right. We do not see how that is to be avoided. We think it will turn out a good investment of money, and not be immoral, but we admit the fact.
Indeed, the Japanese themselves seem preparing for it, as the following anecdote, narrated by Sir Rutherford, will show:—
“When I paid a visit to Hakodadi some months after my arrival, where there are extensive lead-mines, I asked the Governor why his Government did not allow some of the produce to be exported, suggesting that it might be a source of national wealth and revenue; and the reply was characteristic in many ways. ‘We have none to spare.’ ‘None to spare!’ I rejoined, in surprise; ‘what can you use it for? You neither employ it in building nor utensils.’ ‘We want it all forball-practice.’ They did not choose to export, for reasons not very easily explained; but they were not sorry, perhaps, to point to such a use forhome consumption.â€
We cannot flatter ourselves that the feudal class will submit tamely to the inconveniences which the extension of commercial relations with foreign countries may entail upon them. The monopolies they now enjoy are threatened, their power and influence will be diminished in proportion as the mass of the population is enriched, and their prestige damaged by the independent bearing of the foreigner. Are the interests of the country at large to be sacrificed to the prejudices of this class, and are a people desirous of trade, and anxious to advance in the arts of civilisation, to be abandoned because an aristocracy shrinks from contact with the stranger? So long as the Government, whether sincerely or not, profess their intention of carrying out the Treaty, and ostensibly manifest a desire for our presence in the country, the hostility of a single class can be no sufficient reason for the relinquishment of our treaty-rights. The question is how best to meet a hostility which places the lives of our countrymen in danger, and against which, as it threatens the members of the Japanese Government as well as ourselves, they cannot guarantee us. Hitherto one great difficulty in chalking out a policy has been our ignorance of the complex machinery of Japanese government. We have never had an accurate idea of the relations in which the Temporal and Spiritual Emperors, the daimios, and the great Councils of State stand towards each other. The work before us throws more light on this most interesting point than we have yet received, but still we are groping for a policy. The excessive reticence of the Japanese in all matters connected with their system of internal administration, and the secrecy they so religiously observe in all their communications with foreigners, combined with their habitual mendacity, make it impossible for us to do more than guess at the best way of meeting the difficulties as they arise. The longer the diplomatist resides in the country, and the more he studies its institutions and the character of the people with whom he has to deal, the more is he puzzled in deciding upon the best course to adopt. The only persons who feel no difficulty on this score are the merchants’ clerks who have just arrived, and who love to propound their views in the local newspapers. There are those even in this country who profess to understand how to deal with “Orientals,†and because, perhaps, they may have been at Bombay, consider themselves qualified to lay down the law upon any question of policy which may arise between Cairo and the Sandwich Islands; but it is only the superficial observer who classes all Orientals in the same category; they require as many different modes of treatment as “Westerns,†and there is no more resemblance between a Japanese and a Tamul than there is between a Wallachian and a New-Englander. There is a great danger of such persons applying some general principle, which is right in the main, to all cases, and failing to discover when the rule demands an exception. For instance, it is pretty generally admitted that any concession to an Oriental government is considered as a sign of weakness; therefore, although you may have burnt down the Summer Palace of the Emperor of China, and had Pekin at the mercy of your armies, bully the Government of that country into conceding our exorbitant demands, or they will think you weak. Such is the logic of a recent memorial signed by the mercantile community of China. Again, in Japan, when the Tycoon signed a treaty with this country, his ministers, foreseeing the difficulties with which they would have to contend from the opposition of the aristocracy, stipulated that the ports should be opened by degrees, and the commencement of trade thus assumed the form of a political experiment. We have given a list of the bloody results: the Japanese Government points to it, and prays that a postponement for five years may be allowed in the opening of the other ports, to avoid the multiplication of tragedies by the number of ports. The sum appears a simple one: if you have twelve murders a year with three ports open, how many will you have with six? The mercantile community demand that the other three be opened according to Treaty; any concession will be considered a sign of weakness. They may be right in this instance; and as our diplomatic relations with Japan are certain not to run smoothly, it will be always open to them to say there would have been no difficulty had we refused the concession. However that may be, our Government have given the Japanese credit for a certain amount of good faith in the efforts they have made for our protection, and are willing to try the effect of time in softening the asperities of the hostile class.
The most remarkable result which has yet been produced by the introduction of the foreigner into Japan has been the abandonment of Yedo by the aristocracy. It is impossible as yet to foresee the consequences of this movement. The immediate effect of the exodus of more than 200,000 armed men will be to render the capital a safer place of residence for foreigners than it has been heretofore, although it is probable that disbanded retainers, or “lonins†as they are called, may still haunt the purlieus of the Legation with the view of carrying out the policy of their lords in exterminating the foreigner. The Japanese Government has built a fortified Legation on a very defensible position: this will be surrounded by a moat and wall, and garrisoned by a small body of European soldiers. Except when the members of the Mission ride out, they will be comparatively safe, and even then they will be in no danger of meeting those processions which were constantly parading the streets when the city was inhabited by the feudal class, and each of which was composed of hundreds of armed retainers bitterly hostile to the foreigner. The ultimate consequences of this movement it is impossible to foresee. It may be that the daimios have determined to withdraw from any active opposition, and have retired to sulk in their own territories; or they may have left Yedo for the purpose of organising themselves, with the view of bringing about a civil war, and expelling the foreigner by force of arms. The movement may have originated among themselves, and been carried out in defiance of the Government; or it may have been suggested by the Government as a means of relieving them from the danger and annoyance of further collisions with the foreigner. The residence of the daimios at Yedo was made compulsory upon them by the celebrated Taiko Sama, who, after he had reduced the rebellious aristocracy to submission, devised this method of keeping them under surveillance. Every noble was compelled to keep an establishment at the capital, partly as a recognition of the Tycoon as his feudal superior, partly because those members of his family who were obliged to reside there served as hostages for the good behaviour of the prince. It may easily be imagined that this bondage was irksome to so proud a class, and the present Government may have released them from it, on condition of their withdrawing their opposition to the fulfilment of the treaties with foreign powers. It will be seen from the notice we have already quoted, and which was signed by four lonins, that an old law exists, which has never been repealed, prohibiting the residence of the foreigner in Japan; this forms the groundwork of the opposition policy, and it is believed that the Spiritual Emperor has expressed his dissent from the act of its infringement by the Tycoon.
Practically, then, it would seem that political parties in the empire are divided into two classes—one consisting of the Mikado and a large section of the aristocracy, who do not consider themselves bound by treaty-stipulations with foreigners; the other, consisting of the Tycoon and his government, who do; and this latter party, we may conclude, has the sympathy and support of the mass of the population. As, however, the Temporal Government has proved itself too weak to cope with the opposition headed by the Mikado, the question is, how we can best guarantee the safety of our countrymen, and extort that redress which the Government is powerless to enforce in cases of violent outrage. Diplomacy is powerless, for it cannot reach the offenders; and we are thus driven into hostile action. Either we must insist upon the Mikado ratifying the Treaty, and be prepared to employ force in case of his refusing to do so; or we must take summary vengeance upon any individual daimio who offends. The objection to the first course is, that an application to the Mikado for a ratification of the Treaty would imply that it had not been made with the right person in the first instance, and therefore was not valid. We should thus place ourselves in a false position, for which there is no necessity, as the Tycoon’s Government maintain the validity of the Treaty, and deny that any ratification on the part of the Mikado is requisite. On the other hand, there can be no doubt that the recognition of the Treaty by the Mikado would at once put an end to the opposition of the nobles. In the event, moreover, of the Mikado declining to ratify, we should be compelled to use force. And although, as Miako, the residence of the Spiritual Court, is not above thirty miles from the sea, and may be approached for part of the way by a river navigable for gunboats, we could no doubt succeed in any operations we might undertake, we might possibly excite a feeling of hostility towards us, which would not be confined to the feudal class.
The chief objection to the second course—that of proceeding against the daimios separately—would be that, if it did not lead to a civil war, the effect of any such retaliation would be a partial and temporary measure. The first course we have suggested is not alluded to by Sir Rutherford, and as the exodus of the daimios had not taken place at the time of the publication of his work, we have not the advantage of knowing our author’s views upon the probable bearing of this important event upon the politics of Japan. After discussing the difficulties attending a policy of conciliation pushed beyond certain limits, and the objections to the alternative of withdrawal, our author goes on to say:—
“The conclusion would seem to be, that if there was to be any amelioration, foreign powers must change their tactics; and if these involved a struggle, and the nation were passive, the feudal classes alone being actively engaged in such a contest (and this is what might always be expected from all that is known of the country, always assuming that no revolutionary element came into play), the struggle could hardly be a long one. For, some of the most hostile princes struck down, the rest would probably see the necessity of coming to terms, and suing for peace with a better estimate of our power to make our treaty-rights respected, and compel observance, than has yet entered into the conception of Japanese rulers. So, possibly, we might purchase peace, and trade with freedom from all obstructive limitations, as well as with security to life and property. But by no other means that suggest themselves, after long and patient study of the people and their rulers, does this end seem attainable—if once we break with the daimios, and the Government which masks them—to enter upon a course of coercion.â€
Such being our author’s views, it is possible that the measures here indicated may be those ultimately adopted; but where the question is surrounded by so many difficulties, any policy must be more or less hazardous. It will be always easy to wait for the result, and then find fault with it; but we think that the considerations we have advanced are sufficiently complicated to disarm hostile criticism, and that we have no right to test the experiments which our political agents are forced to make in Japan by the traditions of diplomacy in other parts of the world.
If we have entered at some length into the political questions suggested by Sir Rutherford Alcock’s book, it is because we deem it important that people should not neglect this opportunity of making themselves acquainted with the state of our relations with Japan. We refrain, in mercy to our readers, from entering upon the great currency question, which has hitherto proved the chief stumbling-block to the successful working of the Treaty, and which involves an interesting financial problem. We will not follow our author into his dissertations upon consular jurisdiction in the East, though, were the subject more popular, there is much to be said upon it. There is room for an essay on the merits of the Japanese civilisation, and Sir Rutherford touches thoughtfully upon topics which would afford interesting matter of philosophical speculation to a metaphysical mind. It is in this sense, perhaps, that his book is so much more suggestive than any of its predecessors. Our author has lived long enough in Japan to study the anomalies presented by its social and political institutions; and although his knowledge of them is necessarily limited and imperfect, we are forced to admit that Western civilisation alone does not suffice to enable us to construct a system of political economy, or justify conclusions based upon the limited experience of European nations. A Chinese sinologue, with a German turn of mind, wrote a book on China and its rebellions a few years ago, in which he incorporated an Essay on Civilisation. We did not agree in the views it embodied, but we thought it appropriate to the subject of his work. Our author, during the pauses which intervened between earthquakes, fires, and assassinations, pondered over kindred matters, and discusses with us whether, as regards civilisation, “nations and individuals attain the highest state which their fundamental convictions will allow.†If there is a part of the world in which an exile would require all his philosophy, it is Japan; and Sir Rutherford probably amused himself by working out as a corollary to the above proposition, “whether the assassination of the British Minister might fairly be classed among ‘their fundamental convictions.’â€
Our author dwells at some length upon the varied nature of the obstacles he has had to encounter in the course of his diplomacy. The violence and hostility of the feudal class is by no means the greatest. The tactics which the Japanese employ in carrying their point consists chiefly in mendacity and evasion. Nor do they deny that they are habitually untruthful. Our author illustrates this by the following anecdote:—
“Upon one occasion, an official having been found in direct contradiction with himself, was asked, somewhat abruptly, perhaps, how he could reconcile it to his conscience to utter such palpable untruths? With perfect calmness and self-possession he replied, ‘I told you last month that such and such a thing had been done, and now I tell you that the thing has not been done at all. I am an officer whose business it is to carry out the instructions I receive, and to say what I am told to say. What have I to do with truth or falsehood?’â€
Again, it is sufficient that a proposition should emanate from the foreigner for it to excite objection. In spite of professions to the contrary, the Japanese raise difficulties on principle, even when they have no intention of ultimately refusing a demand. They are scrupulously courteous, quick, and subtle, but often childish in argument. Some notion of the trivial nature of their excuses may be formed from the reply to Colonel Neale’s despatch to the Japanese Minister narrating the attempt upon his life, and demanding the punishment, not only of the assassins, but of the daimio whose retainers they were, and who was specially charged with the defence of the Legation. This daimio must have been a party to the attack. It is thus that the Government endeavours to screen him, denying, at the same time, that there was more than one culprit:—
“In the mean time the officer, Ito Goombio, a retainer of Matsdairn Tamban-no-Kami, one of the princes intrusted with the protection of the Legation, committed suicide, consequently his corpse was examined; then one wound caused by the ball of a gun, and two sword-wounds with which he committed suicide, were discovered. Taking these facts into consideration, it is probable that the same officer managed to get in by stealth, and was the assailant. Therefore we have decided that, although the said officer has committed suicide, he cannot escape the customary punishment of this country; and furthermore, that the officers (retainers) who were placed there for protection should be punished, after having been duly examined, for having been wanting in their duty. As the said prince, the master of the criminal officer (retainer), was ordered by his Majesty the Tycoon to protect the foreign nations, he did not neglect to proclaim the order to his subordinate officers (retainers); but the design which the criminal officer (retainer), of his own free-will, and without fearing death, intended to carry out, was most likely owing to a temporary derangement of his mind, brought on by the present state of affairs being unchangeable, and being deceived by false reports, spread about by wanderers, &c. He therefore, very simply, hated foreign nations, and forgot the orders he had received from the Government and his own master. Your Government will naturally suppose, from all the facts of the case, that this proceeds from disaffection of our Government to your friendship, which causes us great shame and sorrow. His Majesty the Tycoon also regrets the attack on account of her Majesty the Queen of Great Britain. Therefore his Majesty has ordered us to write a letter to your Excellency, in order to explain all the circumstances of the case, and to beg pardon for all the unsuitable occurrences which have taken place until now, and to testify our friendly feeling.â€
How is it possible to deal with a Government who, when called to account for a series of massacres, apologise in this charmingly naïve way for what they call “unsuitable occurrences?†How did they propose to punish the man who had already committed suicide? And is “simple hatred†likely to produce mental derangement? The Government was evidently not responsible. The daimio was in no way to blame. The assassin was temporarily insane, and, though dead, would be punished. It is true, two English marines were hacked to pieces, with twenty-five wounds; but the real culprits were the “wanderers,†who spread a report. That is a specimen of Japanese logic.
In ordinary criminal offences, however, the Japanese are prompt to inflict summary punishment. Here is an original sentence, forwarded to the British Consul in an official letter:—