Bringing green tea to the tables of the West

Born in 1828 into a Nagasaki family whose rapeseed oil business stretched back to the 17th century, Oura Kei entered a world where women rarely ventured from traditional roles. Yet, throughout her storied life, she moved among Japanese and foreign traders and dignitaries, experiencing both grand successes and heartbreaking losses. Today, she is remembered as one of Nagasaki’s Three Heroic Women for her pioneering role in the tea export trade.

Kei grew up in a lively household filled with the comings and goings of men involved in her father’s trade. While she was still a child, her father adopted the second son of a fellow merchant and betrothed him to Kei, intending for him to take over the family business. Sadly, the young man died when Kei was just nine years old. Not long after, Kei’s mother also died, and then the family’s fortunes declined. As if that wasn’t enough, in 1843, a fire swept through their neighborhood, destroying their home and plunging them deeper into hardship.

The following year, her father tried again to secure an heir through marriage to Kei. He adopted another promising lad, this one a student of rangaku, Dutch learning, who had come to Nagasaki to study Western sciences. He arranged a second engagement for Kei. But the day after their wedding, a disappointed Kei turned the young man out of the house. She remained single for the rest of her life.

By her early thirties, Oura Kei had taken over the family business. Years earlier, she collaborated with the interpreter Shinagawa Fujijuro to arrange her first tea export deal with Carl Julius Textor, a German merchant at Dejima. Together, they arranged for Ureshino tea to be shipped to Britain, America, and Arabia. This was a bold venture at a time when Japan’s trade with the outside world was limited and heavily regulated, and it laid the foundation for what would become a profitable chapter in her trading career.

In 1859, just as Japan began opening to foreign commerce, a 19-year-old British merchant named William John Alt arrived in Dejima. After inspecting samples of Ureshino tea, he placed a massive order with Kei and Fujijuro for 6,000 kilograms (13,227 pounds). Ureshino alone could not supply such a volume, so Kei traveled across Kyushu, visiting tea farms and buying as much as she could from each. Through her determination and perseverance, she succeeded in gathering the full six tons. The huge shipment was a success. With the profits, Kei rebuilt her family home in Nagasaki’s trading district and expanded her operations. 

The momentum of this prosperity came to an abrupt halt in 1861 with the outbreak of the American Civil War, which froze trans-Pacific trade. When peace returned in 1865, exports resumed, and by the following year, Nagasaki’s tea trade reached its peak, as did Kei’s career.

This boom, however, was short-lived. Yokohama was fast overtaking Nagasaki’s position in overseas trade, and with competition from the rich tea fields of Shizuoka, both the port’s importance and Kei’s tea trade dwindled.

Betrayal

In June 1871, a Kumamoto samurai named Toyama approached Oura Kei with a proposal to supply 90 tons of tobacco to Alt & Company, with her serving as guarantor. He presented documents that seemed official, complete with a seal and a co-signer, but were in fact clever forgeries. Kei’s former partner, interpreter Shinagawa Fujijuro, urged her to accept the deal. Kei signed the contract.

Alt & Company advanced Toyama 3,000 ryo (about USD 2.5 million today), but the tobacco never arrived. Toyama had absconded after using the funds to settle personal debts. Kei and Alt’s Nagasaki representative spent months searching for him. She was relentless, petitioning Kumamoto officials and even appealing to the head of Toyama’s clan, actions that drew criticism from one samurai for being “well outside appropriate boundaries.” Such boldness was hardly in line with the expectations for women of that era.

In January 1872, Alt & Company filed a lawsuit against Kei, Fujijuro, and Toyama. Kei brought her own case against Toyama. Ten months before the court issued its final verdict, the English Consul Marcus Flowers wrote, “I understand Miss Oura Kei has sufficient means, and as it was solely and entirely upon her guarantee that the money was advanced upon this contract, I must beg you will kindly press her for immediate payment.”

Although the court acknowledged Kei’s lack of direct wrongdoing, in keeping with Consul Flowers’s comment, it held her responsible for the 3,000 ryo advance, along with costs and damages. Toyama was sentenced to ten years in prison, while Fujijuro, shielded by his samurai status, repaid only a portion. Kei’s reputation was shattered. The Oura family business collapsed, and debt collectors seized her possessions.

Working till the end

Although her fortune was lost, Oura Kei retained her dignity. In June 1879, when former US President Ulysses S. Grant visited Nagasaki during his world tour, Kei boarded his ship as an official guest of state. Among the assembled dignitaries, which included prefectural governors, she was the only woman.

In January of the following year, Kei partnered with another Nagasaki merchant, Sano, to purchase the decommissioned navy warship Takao-maru. After being refitted for commercial use, it became their private trading ship, allowing Kei to expand her business. At that time, Nagasaki’s export market had become dominated by Frederick Ringer’s Holme, Ringer & Co., whose company exported not just tea, but coal, munitions, wax, and seafood. Kei faced formidable competition.

Nevertheless, the Takao-maru allowed her to maintain a presence in the export trade, and through unflagging perseverance and savvy negotiations, she succeeded in repaying all her debts. But this victory came at a price. By 1884, her health had begun to fail.

Meanwhile, Nagasaki Prefectural Governor Ishida Eikichi, a former member of the Kaientai, petitioned the Meiji government to honor Kei for her contributions. Ishida had belonged to the same reformist circle as Sakamoto Ryoma, who had founded the Kaientai in 1865 as a trading company and private naval militia. Kei had been personally acquainted with both of these influential men. On April 5, the governor received a telegram announcing that the award had been granted. A messenger brought the news to the Oura household the following day.

In recognition of her pioneering role in Japan’s tea export trade, the Meiji government awarded Oura Kei an official commendation for meritorious service and a monetary prize of 20 yen (USD 350). She passed away just days later at the age of 56.

We cannot help but admire Kei, who in her short life broke barriers, overcame terrible setbacks, and left her mark on history as a trailblazer for women in Japanese commerce.

The post Oura Kei—Unstoppable Pioneering Tea Merchant first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Kagoshima’s Unique Cat Shrine

Decades before Europeans started using pocket watches, Shimadzu Yoshihiro relied on a different, more cuddly timepiece. This valorous samurai was the 17th head of the Shimadzu family, feudal lords of all of southern Kyushu since 1185.

By Yoshihiro’s time in the late 16th century, Toyotomi Hideyoshi had succeeded in unifying Japan, but his ambitions did not stop there. Flushed with success, he set his sights on China and, in 1592, sent Japanese armies across the sea to Korea to clear the way.

At the behest of Hideyoshi, Shimadzu Yoshihiro set off to battle in Korea, bringing along his treasured katana, tanegashima machlock gun, kemari ball—and seven cats to help him keep track of the time, and one would suppose, to keep him company.

Fighting on the Korean peninsula was fierce. Japanese forces faced off against the armies of the Joseon Kingdom, reinforced by the vast and seemingly inexhaustible troops of Ming China. The samurai fought valiantly, and none moreso than Yoshihiro, who distinguished himself to such a degree that Ming soldiers nicknamed him “The Demon Shimadzu.”

Nevertheless, Hideyoshi’s dream of becoming emperor of China ended in tremendous losses. After his death at his lavish Kyoto residence, the weary samurai finally retreated, bringing with them slaves, apothecaries, master potters—and, in Yoshihiro’s case, his two surviving cats, Yachi and Take.

On his return to Kagoshima, Yoshihiro had a shrine built on the grounds of Kagoshima Castle next to the toki no kane, the bell used to mark the hours for the town. There, his loyal cats were enshrined as Shinto deities and christened the Kami (Shinto god) of Time.

After the Meiji Restoration in 1868 ended the feudal system in Japan, the Shimadzu family left the castle grounds and moved to their seaside villa, Senganen, bringing the Cat Shrine with them. Today, it remains on a quiet hill behind the Shimadzu estate, one of the very few cat shrines in Japan—and the only one dedicated to the keeping of time.

Memorial Services

Each year on “Cat Day,” February 22, the shrine holds the Aibyō Chōju Kigan-sai, a ceremony to pray for the health and longevity of beloved cats.

Another ceremony is held on the little-known Toki no Hi, or “Time Day,” which commemorates the day in 671 AD when Emperor Tenji installed Japan’s first water clock in his capital at Otsu, in what is now Shiga Prefecture. Because Yoshihiro’s cats were instrumental in timekeeping—so much so that Yachi and Take came to be revered as Kami of Time—the shrine holds a Memorial Service for Cats, Aibyo Kuyo-sai, on that day. Clockmakers and cat-lovers alike flock to the shrine to honor Yoshihiro’s trusted “time cats” and the military precision he achieved during the Korean campaigns, thanks to their help.

The shrine’s ema depict Yoshihiro’s two cats. Visitors write their prayers and wishes on these wooden votive tablets and hang them at the shrine. Some ask for the return of a missing cat, others for healing, but most simply pray for long, healthy lives for their furry friends.

How to tell time with a cat

In the mid-17th century, the scholar Tanigawa Shisei penned this catchy poem to explain how to tell time by observing a cat’s eyes. As is typical of Japanese, the subject is understood.

Translated from the Edo-era time terminology, the poem reads:

At sunrise and sunset, they are round.

At 8 am and 4 pm, they are egg-shaped.

At 10 am and 2 pm, they are melon-seed shaped*

At noon, like a needle.

*Melon-seed was a common descriptive shape back in the day, probably more familiar to us as the shape of a persimmon seed.

Anyone who has spent time around cats will have noticed this. Their pupils widen into dark circles at night and narrow to thin slits in bright daylight. By learning these changes and keeping a cooperative cat handy, it’s possible to make a rough, but practical, estimate of the time.

If you ever find yourself in Kagoshima, consider visiting Senganen and seeking out the Cat Shrine dedicated to the Kami of Time—the only one of its kind in Japan.

I don’t think I’ll ever look at a cat the same way again.

The post Cats—From Battlefield Timekeepers to Unexpected Shinto Deities first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

The Maeda Clan’s Legacy, Kenrokuen Garden, and Translucent Gold Leaf

Kanazawa is the capital of Ishikawa Prefecture, about midway up the western coast of Honshu. The name Kanazawa, meaning “marsh of gold,” is said to have come from a story of a man who washed gold dust from freshly dug potatoes into a well. Today, the Kinjo Reitaku well, where those gold-dusted potatoes were rinsed, is located on the grounds of Kenrokuen Garden and stands as a reminder of the city’s golden legacy.

Kanazawa’s history dates back approximately 500 years to the Kaga Ikkō-ikki, a 15th-century conflict between the ruling samurai class and the Ikkō, militant followers of Jōdo Shinshū (True Pure Land Buddhism). This diverse group, which included monks, priests, townspeople, and farmers, emerged victorious and established Kanazawa as “The Peasants’ Kingdom.” Free from samurai rule, the government of Japan’s sole Buddhist fiefdom was based at Kanazawa Mido, a temple complex built in the mid-16th century on what is now the grounds of Kanazawa Castle.

“The Peasants’ Kingdom” came to a sudden end in 1580 when Oda Nobunaga’s forces, led by Shibata Katsuie and Sakuma Morimasa, stormed into the city. Following the conquest, Nobunaga gave Morimasa control of Kaga Province.

However, after Nobunaga’s death in 1582, Toyotomi Hideyoshi reassigned the province to Maeda Toshiie, a wise and accomplished samurai general. Toshiie’s ceremonial entry into Kanazawa on June 14, 1583, marked the start of the modern development of Kanazawa. The Maeda clan built Kanazawa Castle on the former site of the Mido temple, and they transformed the surrounding temple town into a new castle town.

For 285 years, the Maeda clan governed Kaga Province, present-day Ishikawa and Toyama Prefectures. One of the largest domains of the Edo period, Kaga had a rice yield of approximately 1.2 million koku—enough to support an army of 1.2 million men, as one koku (150 kilograms/331 pounds) was considered the amount needed to feed one man for a year. This vast yield made the Maedas the wealthiest feudal lords of the Edo period after the Tokugawa shoguns. Under the Maeda clan’s benevolent rule, Kanazawa flourished as their political, economic, and cultural center, and became one of Japan’s leading castle towns.

The third lord of Kaga, Maeda Toshie’s son Toshitsune, was the first to transport his rice taxes, 100 koku, by ship southwest around Honshu and up to Osaka, laying the foundation for what was to become the Kitamaebune trade route. He also led the largest contingent to support Tokugawa Ieyasu during the siege of Osaka in 1615. Following their victory over the Hideyoshi clan, Ieyasu offered Toshitsune the island of Shikoku in exchange for his Kaga domain. Toshitsune declined, and we can be glad he did.

The city developed around Kanazawa Castle, which shaped the layout of its streets, neighborhoods, gardens, and sophisticated water systems. Many Buddhist temples were relocated to the city’s outskirts to act as defensive perimeters, while Ikkō temples—historically linked to rebellious activities—were moved within the town for closer supervision. To mitigate the risk of uprisings, non-Ikkō temples were strategically placed to oversee the Ikkō sect temples.

The Maeda lords prioritized culture and education over military strength. They invited scholars and master artisans from across Japan, fostering the development of Kutani ware ceramics, lacquerware, metal casting, tea ceremony, Noh theater, and the geisha arts. This cultural patronage extended beyond the samurai elite, touching the lives of townspeople and granting them access to a level of sophistication rarely available in other regions.

By the late 19th century, Kanazawa had become Japan’s fourth-largest city, following Tokyo, Osaka, and Kyoto. However, the Meiji Restoration of 1868 shifted the political landscape, stripping the Maeda clan of power and centralizing authority in Tokyo. As Japan modernized, attention and resources were increasingly focused on the growing metropolises of Tokyo, Osaka, and Nagoya. As Kanazawa was left behind, its economy declined, threatening the continuation of its once-flourishing traditional crafts and cultural practices. Yet, its craftsmen and artisans carried on.

During the 20th century, Kanazawa was spared the devastation of World War II largely due to its limited industrial and military importance and its somewhat isolated position on Japan’s west coast. This fortunate outcome, combined with the city’s peaceful history under the Maeda clan during the Edo Period and its relative lack of natural disasters, has allowed entire districts of Edo-era architecture to survive intact.

In the post-war era, as Japan underwent rapid economic growth and globalization, Kanazawa drew on its rich cultural and intellectual heritage to merge its traditional crafts with contemporary art, nurturing a new creative cultural industry. This dedication to preserving and evolving its artistic legacy earned Kanazawa recognition as a UNESCO City of Crafts and Folk Art in 2009. The relocation of the National Crafts Museum from Tokyo to Kanazawa in 2020 further underscored this status. 

The legacy of the Maedas’ investment in the arts remains evident today. Kanazawa is well-known for its traditional crafts, including gold and silver leaf work, lacquerware, ceramics, and silk production, as well as its performing arts, such as Noh theater and geisha.

Kenrokuen, One of Japan’s Three Great Gardens

Japan has a well-known affection for “Three Greats,” a cultural quirk I’ve written about before. Tracing back to at least 1899, a beautiful example is the Three Great Gardens—Kairakuen in Mito, Kōrakuen in Okayama, and Kenrokuen in Kanazawa.

Each of these Three Greats is a strolling garden created by feudal lords near their castles in the early Edo era. One theory as to why those gardens were chosen is linked to the classic imagery of “snow, moon, and flowers” (雪月花). Kairakuen (偕楽園), famed for its 3,000 plum trees, evokes flowers (花). The stillness of the pond in Kōrakuen (後楽園) mirrors the moon (月). And Kenrokuen (兼六園) dazzles with the snow-draped beauty of its trees supported by yukitsuri (雪).

Kenrokuen, the jewel of Kanazawa, covers 114,436 square meters and has been open to the public since 1874. Its story began in 1676 when Maeda Tsunanori, the 5th lord of the Kaga Domain, laid the foundations with a landscape garden called Renchitei. A fire destroyed it in 1759, but the family restored it by 1774. In 1822, its name was changed to Kenrokuen, meaning “Garden of Six Elements,” a nod to a classical Chinese poem that elucidates the six contrasting qualities of an ideal garden: vast space, quiet seclusion, human artistry, timeless elegance, flowing water, and sweeping vistas. The poem suggests that uniting all six is nearly impossible—yet a walk through Kenrokuen proves otherwise.

As you wander its paths, these elements unfold naturally. The garden’s oldest fountain, Japan’s first powered by natural water pressure, marries human ingenuity with the rush of flowing water, its height rising and falling with the level of the nearby pond from which its stream flows. The terrain shifts subtly from secluded resting spots to sudden, expansive views, like the Kasumigaike pond that reflects the surrounding greenery and sky.

When the haiku poet Matsuo Basho visited Kanazawa in 1689 he left the following, now inscribed in stone:

あかあかと、日はつれなくも、秋の風

bright red burning
bitter sun…
but autumn in the wind

A small war memorial in the park, the Meiji Memorial, was erected in 1880 to honor 400 soldiers from Ishikawa Prefecture who lost their lives quelling a rebellion in southern Kyushu. The statue is cast in the form of the mythical hero Yamato Takeru, who, according to ancient legend, also suppressed a rebellion in Kyushu.

Gold Leaf

Gold leaf production in Kanazawa began in the late 16th century under the rule of the Maeda clan. While the Maeda actively promoted this art, their ambitions were curtailed by the Shogunate, which confined gold leaf production to designated regions like Edo and Kyoto. It wasn’t until these restrictions were lifted following the Meiji Restoration in the late 19th century that Kanazawa’s gold leaf industry blossomed into a public art form.

The process of creating gold leaf is both intricate and labor-intensive. It begins with a gold alloy—blended with traces of silver and copper—rolled into thin sheets by a mill. These sheets are then placed between layers of hakuuchi-gami, a handmade washi paper essential to the process. To make this paper, white washi is soaked in a brew of straw-ash lye, hot water, egg white, and persimmon tannin, then dried and pounded for three months until it becomes a smooth, durable, brownish sheet. The paper’s quality determines how thinly and uniformly the gold can be stretched.

The gold alloy is sandwiched between sheets of bound hakuuchi-gami, and machine-pounded for three days until it reaches an astonishing thinness of 0.0001 millimeters—so thin the gold leaf becomes translucent. Kanazawa produces 99% of Japan’s gold leaf and all of its silver and platinum leaf. Known collectively as Kanazawa haku, these delicate sheets are a shining example of the city’s traditional handicrafts.

I could go on about the wonders of Kanazawa—three geisha districts where working geiko bring history to life; the breathtaking garden behind Oyama Shrine and another in the Nomura Samurai House; the world-class museums; the Noh theater; and the bustling Omicho Market running over with fresh seafood and energetic merchants. It’s no wonder that Kanazawa is one of my favorite cities. The lingering influence of the Maeda clan radiates through its prosperity, timeless traditions, and continually evolving arts. I hope you will one day have the chance to experience this beautiful city.

The post Kanazawa’s Impressive Golden Culture first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

“The beauty of flowers is to know when to fall”

Many are familiar with James Clavell’s novel, Shogun. This fantastic work of historical fiction is based on the story of William Adams, an English pilot whose crippled Dutch vessel washed ashore in Kyushu in 1600. Like the novel’s hero, Anjin-san, Adams was made a hatamoto by Tokugawa Ieyasu, Japan’s future shogun, the fictional Toranaga Yoshii. Many other characters are based on historical people: Ishido on Ishida Mitsunari, Lady Ochiba on Yodo-dono, and even the tea house madam who requested the setting aside of land for Edo’s pleasure quarters.

But of all Shogun’s characters, none evoke more sympathy than Mariko-sama, the tragic Lady Maria. She, too, has her roots in history, modeled after a Christian samurai named Hosokawa Gracia.

Background

Throughout the 15th and 16th centuries in Japan, ambitious warlords vied for power amidst constant conflict. The Ashikaga shogunate, based in the Muromachi district of Kyoto, was powerless to stop the chaos. In 1543, Portuguese sailors landed on a southern island and introduced firearms to the country. The powerful warlord, Oda Nobunaga, used these formidable weapons in his quest to unify the nation. Known as Japan’s first great unifier, Nobunaga was supported by three generals: Toyotomi Hideyoshi, Tokugawa Ieyasu, and Akechi Mitsuhide. By 1580, Nobunaga stood on the verge of realizing his ambition to unite the fractured land.

Hosokawa Gracia

Hosokawa Gracia, born Akechi Tama in 1563, was the daughter of Akechi Mitsuhide, a samurai who rose to become one of Oda Nobunaga’s trusted generals. When Tama was 16, Nobunaga arranged her marriage to Hosokawa Tadaoki, the 16-year-old son of Fujitaka, a prominent retainer of the last Ashikaga shogun. Though young, Tadaoki was already a respected warrior.

The young couple settled at Tango Hachimanyama Castle in what is now northern Kyoto Prefecture. When Tadaoki was awarded the wealthy province of Tango, they moved to Miyazu Castle. There, Tama and Tadaoki had two children and enjoyed a quiet domestic life.

Akechi Mitsuhide, the Traitor

In 1582, Tama’s father, Akechi Mitsuhide, defied an order from his lord, Oda Nobunaga, who had instructed him to join Toyotomi Hideyoshi in southwestern Honshu to subjugate the Mōri clan. Instead, Mitsuhide turned his troops toward Kyoto, where Nobunaga was staying.

Before dawn on June 21, 1582, Mitsuhide and his army of 13,000 samurai surrounded Honnōji temple. Inside, Nobunaga and his loyal servants were taken by surprise. Despite overwhelming odds, the defenders put up a fierce resistance. As the battle raged, Mitsuhide ordered the temple to be set ablaze. Amid the confusion and flames, Nobunaga ensured the safe escape of the women under his care. The he retreated to an inner chamber where he instructed his trusted aide, “Don’t let them take my head.” Nobunaga knelt, drew his dagger, and committed seppuku, the samurai’s honorable suicide. Fire consumed the temple. Nobunaga’s remains were never recovered.

Upon hearing of Mitsuhide’s betrayal and Nobunaga’s death, Toyotomi Hideyoshi swiftly negotiated peace with the Mōri and set out to avenge his lord. Meanwhile, Mitsuhide had looted Nobunaga’s luxurious Azuchi Castle on the east coast of Lake Biwa, hoping to maintain his soldiers’ loyalty with the spoils. He expected strong support from his daughter’s father-in-law, the influential Hosokawa Fujitaka, but Fujitaka severed ties with the traitor.

Hideyoshi’s 20,000-strong army caught up with Mitsuhide’s dwindling forces after only four days, catching them off guard. Many of Mitsuhide’s soldiers had deserted, leaving him with just 10,000 men. The battle was brief, and Mitsuhide’s forces were quickly routed. Mitsuhide himself met an inglorious end at the hands of a bandit leader who cut him down as he fled. His retainers recovered his head, which is interred in Kyoto on a quiet back street not far from Chion-in temple.

Repercussions

Tama’s father’s betrayal of Oda Nobunaga had profound consequences. Overnight, she became the daughter of a traitor, and with that label came the sentence of death. Mitsuhide’s entire family faced extermination. To save her, Tadaoki hid his pregnant wife deep in the mountains, in the hamlet of Midono at the foot of the sacred mountain, Kongodojiyama, in the center of the Tango Peninsula.

In this remote village, Tama lived anonymously, far enough from the capital that the locals were unaware of her father’s treachery. Protected and supported by her husband, who regularly sent provisions, she endured separation from him and their two young children. In Midono, under the influence of her lady’s maid Kiyohara Maria, Tama found solace in Christianity.

Despite the precariousness of her situation, Tama trusted in her husband’s care. Living in what locals now call the Female Castle, guarded by samurai from the Male Castle across the valley, she immersed herself in village life, teaching the local children to read and write and making charms to ward off epidemics.

While at the hamlet of Midono, Tama gave birth to her third child. Although her days were busy, she was plagued by loneliness, finding comfort in her dreams. Of this, she penned the following poem:

I thought it was real, yet

No scent of Tadaoki lingered on my sleeve.

Alas, it was just a dream.

As the months drifted by, Tama spent days contemplating the meaning of life and the inevitability of death. Aware that discovery would mean certain execution, she sought to prepare herself for the imminent end.

From Tama to Gracia

After two years in Midono, Tadaoki deemed it safe for Tama to be moved to his family’s Osaka residence where he could look after her. However, he was soon called to join his lord, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, in the conquest of Kyushu. Tama seized the opportunity of her husband’s absence to secretly visit a church with her maid, Maria. There, she engaged a Japanese priest in deep discussions on matters of faith. She desired to be baptized, but the priest was hesitant. Tama’s noble bearing and appearance had given him pause, and, not knowing her true identity, he postponed her baptism.

At home, Tadaoki’s vassals grew concerned about Tama’s late-night outings, so one evening, they went to the church to bring her home in a palanquin. The priest assigned a young man to follow her, and through him, he discovered she was the wife of Hosokawa Tadaoki. No longer allowed to visit the church, Tama remained unbaptized. She communicated with the priest through Maria and diligently studied the books he sent her. During this period, she arranged for her attendants to visit the church and be baptized.

Things changed drastically for the Catholics in 1587, when Toyotomi Hideyoshi issued the “Bateren Edict,” banning Jesuit missionaries from Japan. Disturbed by this news, and guided by her maid and confidante, Maria, Tama was baptized at her home. She took the Christian name, Gracia.

When Tadaoki returned from his campaign with Hideyoshi’s army in Kyushu, he was furious to learn of his wife’s baptism, especially in light of Hideyoshi’s edict against Christianity. He demanded she renounce her faith, but Gracia remained steadfast. 

Eventually, Tadaoki acquiesced, though he treated his wife with disdain, wounding her by threatening to take on concubines. Troubled by her husband’s behavior, Gracia confided in her priest, expressing a desire to leave him. The priest told her that divorce was not permitted in the Catholic Church and encouraged her to withstand the trials, exhorting her that “virtue is only refined in the fires of temptation.”

Meanwhile, tensions were mounting between the eastern and western factions of the country, as each strove for control. In 1598, Toyotomi Hideyoshi died, leaving his five-year-old son as heir. Hideyoshi had arranged for a council of five regents to rule until his son came of age, but they were soon splintered. Ishida Mitsunari, Hideyoshi’s senior advisor and administrator—utterly lacking in battlefield experience—rose to lead the Western faction loyal to the young heir. Tokugawa Ieyasu, an experienced general who had proven his worth in numerous battles and campaigns, commanded the Eastern faction.

In 1600, Tokugawa Ieyasu ordered his general Hosokawa Tadaoki to subdue a powerful northern warlord. Before departing, Tadaoki issued a solemn command to his retainers, “If, while I am away, my wife’s honor is threatened, kill her and then yourselves, as is our samurai custom.”

Taking advantage of Tadaoki’s absence, Tokugawa’s enemy, Ishida Mitsunari, ordered Gracia to be taken hostage in an attempt to coerce Tadaoki’s loyalty. But Gracia refused to be taken. The following day, Mitsunari’s forces surrounded her mansion. When Tadaoki’s vassals told Gracia they were surrounded, she prayed, then gathered the ladies of her house and declared, “Let me be the only one to die,” and she sent her tearful maids out. 

Knowing that suicide was forbidden by her Christian faith, Gracia engaged the help of Tadaoki’s chief retainer, who fulfilled her wish by beheading her. He then ignited an explosion that engulfed her house in flames before taking his own life through seppuku.

Hosokawa Gracia left the following death poem:

The beauty of flowers is to know when to fall.
Would that we could have such grace.

In these lines, Gracia touches on the Japanese concept of mono no aware, the deep, often melancholic appreciation of the fleeting beauty of the world, an awareness of the impermanence of things, and the bittersweet beauty found in that transience. 

Hours after Gracia’s tragic death, the Jesuit priest Gnecchi-Soldo Organtino visited the charred remains of the Hosokawa residence. There, he carefully collected Gracia’s bones and buried them in the Christian cemetery in Sakai. When Tadaoki learned of his wife’s passing, he was devastated. He sought out Father Organtino and requested a church funeral for Gracia, which he attended. He later had her remains reburied closer to his Osaka residence, at Sozenji temple.

Two months later, Ishida Mitsunari, the effective catalyst for Gracia’s death, was defeated at the Battle of Sekigahara by Tokugawa Ieyasu. After execution in Kyoto, his severed head was publicly displayed, marking an ignominious end to his life. Tokugawa and his descendants went on to rule over a peaceful Japan for 265 years until the Meiji Restoration of 1867.

For more on the difficult history of Christianity in Japan, see “26 Tragic Christian Martyrs—and Mending Relations with an Elephant.“

The post Hosokawa Gracia—The Noblewoman Who Inspired Shogun’s ‘Maria’ first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

The rise and fall of the Northern Fujiwara family

Three generations of glory

Vanished

In the space of a dream

So wrote Japan’s most famous Haiku poet, Matsuo Basho, upon visiting Hiraizumi in 1689.

Located in Iwate Prefecture, Hiraizumi is a place you may never have heard of. But it was once the capital of northern Japan, rivaling Kyoto for size, splendor, and wealth. 

The famed explorer Marco Polo described what he heard about it while in China:

They have gold in the greatest abundance, its sources being inexhaustible… The entire roof [of the sovereign’s palace] is covered with a plating of gold… The ceilings of the halls are of the same precious metal; many of the apartments have small tables of pure gold, of considerable thickness; and the windows also have golden ornaments. So vast, indeed, are the riches of the palace, that it is impossible to convey an idea of them. — The travels of Marco Polo, written 1300

This marvelous city of gold was founded by a member of the powerful Fujiwara clan, whose daughters married emperors and influenced the government in Kyoto for generations. The branch of the family that ruled in Hiraizumi is known as the Northern Fujiwara.

In order to appreciate the magnitude of what Hiraizumi once was, we need a little history.

Setting the stage

During the Heian Era (794–1185), the emperor in Kyoto ruled the area from southern Kyushu to the southern border of what now is Fukushima Prefecture. (Shown in green on the map.) 

Northern Honshu was referred to as Michinoku, “beyond the road.” It was considered wild country, the home of Emishi “barbarians.” 

Understood to have migrated from northeastern Asia, the Emishi were ethnically different from the main population of Japan. Historians theorize the name is a collective term for the various northern tribes who resisted the rule of the Japanese state. Some of the Emishi are likely the ancestors of the Ainu people, today considered the indigenous people of Hokkaido.

During the 12th century, the Emishi of northeastern Honshu were ruled over by a powerful and wealthy family, the Abe. 

Like the Kumaso and Hayato, “barbarian” people of southern Kyushu before them, the Emishi were expected to pay tribute to the court. And just like their southern counterparts, this task became so onerous that they stopped.

Because of this failure to pay tribute, Minamoto no Yoriyoshi, as Chinjufu-shōgun, “Defender of the North,” was tasked with subjugating the Emishi Abe clan. He received reinforcements from Kiyohara no Takehira, the leader of nearby Dewa Province. 

A relative of the Kyoto Fujiwara family, Fujiwara no Tsunekiyo, who had married an Emishi and moved to the hinterland, joined the Abe clan in their defense of Michinoku. 

After fighting that spanned 12 long years, the powerful Minamoto and Kiyohara allies defeated the Abe clan and Fujiwara no Tsunekiyo, who, because of his Kyoto roots, was considered a despicable traitor to the emperor.

Minamoto no Yoriyoshi, the Chinjufu-shōgun, personally exacted revenge on Tsunekiyo by publicly decapitating him — using a blunt and rusty sword to prolong the agony.

Fujiwara no Tsunekiyo left behind his Emishi wife and their son, and it is to this son that we now look.

Fujiwara no Kiyohira — the first of the Northern Fujiwara

Fujiwara no Kiyohira’s Emishi mother was taken as a concubine by one of the victors in the war, Kiyohara no Takehira, who had been named the new Chinjufu-shōgun. 

Kiyohira’s grandfather, father, and uncle had all been killed in the war. His mother’s Emishi brothers were banished to Kyushu. He was raised in a strange land in the house of his father’s enemy.

When he was 28, he found himself embroiled in another war, a vicious power struggle among his adopted family as to who would be the next to rule. Kiyohira emerged victorious, although he lost his wife and son who were viciously killed in their home by his younger half-brother.

With a heavy heart at such a tragic loss, this son of a Fujiwara and an Emishi became the next Chinjufu-shōgun, Defender of the North, ruler of the vast northern Michinoku frontiers — a land rich in gold, silver, and fine horses.

Kiyohira, whose entire life had been beset by violence, resolved to use his power to bring peace to Michinoku by turning it into a Buddhist realm.

In 1105 he moved to Hiraizumi and rebuilt Chūson-ji, 中尊寺, a temple that had been established by a Tendai Buddhist monk in 850. He wished for a Buddhist sanctuary where all people could be welcome, and he had Chūson-ji rebuilt as a place for the repose of the spirits of all those lost in the recent wars, regardless of loyalties or status.

He built Daichojuin, 大長寿院, a 15-meter-high temple that housed a 9-meter golden statue of Amida Nyōrai, the Buddha of the Pure Land. Some years later, when Japan’s first shogun, Minamoto no Yoritomo, saw Daichojuin, he was so impressed with its grandeur that he modeled Yofuku-ji temple in his capital of Kamakura after it.

Among the over 40 Buddhist temples and pagodas that Kiyohira had built, only one remains today.

It is the Konjikidō, 金色堂, Golden Hall, which was built to house a gold statue of Amida Nyōrai. Not only are the statue and altar decorations made of gold, but both the temple’s interior and exterior walls are covered with gold leaf. The pillars, altars, and beams are inlaid with jewels and mother-of-pearl, have engraved gold fittings, and are covered with makie — black lacquer sprinkled with powdered gold.

The entire temple is a glorious work of late Heian-era artistry. Today, it is housed within a protective concrete building. No photos are allowed to be taken within its walls.

When Kiyohira died in 1128, he was succeeded by his son Motohira.

Fujiwara no Motohira — the second Northern Fujiwara

As well as continuing his father’s work of expanding the Chūson-ji temple complex, Motohira also built the nearby Mōtsū-ji, 毛越寺, temple and its gardens, said to have even surpassed Chūson-ji for size and splendor.

The main hall was constructed of precious wood overlaid with gold and silver and inlaid with jewels and mother-of-pearl. It held an enormous statue of Yakushi Nyōrai, the Healing Buddha, surrounded by the Twelve Heavenly Generals, protective deities — all realistically carved with crystal eyes, the latest innovation. These statues were created by the master sculptor, Unkei. 

Amid the temples of Mōtsū-ji was a Pure Land Garden — the only part of the once-breathtaking temple complex that remains to this day.

The garden is centered on a pond and was created in the classic Heian style. It includes a magatama jewel-shaped island, peninsulas, rocky coastlines, bridges, mountain-like boulders, and a feeder stream. All these elements are in accord with Japan’s oldest garden manual, the Sakuteiki, 作庭記, “Records of Garden Making,” dating from the 11th century. Its beauty remains unchanged.

Motohira died in 1157 and was succeeded by his son, Fujiwara no Hidehira.

Fujiwara no Hidehira — the third Northern Fujiwara

Hidehira constructed the elaborate Muryōkō-in, 無量光院, modeled after the Phoenix Hall of the Byōdō-in, 平等院, just south of Kyoto. His temple in Hiraizumi, though, was said to be larger and far more grand.

Although things were peaceful in Hiraizumi, it was not the case in Kyoto. The power of the emperor was waning, the Taira and Minamoto samurai clans were growing strong and feuding, and there was great unrest in the capital.

After the first major skirmish, the victorious Taira killed the Minamoto leader and banished his sons. Young Minamoto no Yoshitsune, at age 10, ended up in a temple on Mount Hiei, where he studied Buddhism, swordsmanship, and strategy. His older half-brother, Yoritomo, was exiled to Izu (in Shizuoka). A third brother disappeared from the historical record until many years later.

In 1174, Minamoto no Yoshitsune, age 15, left the temple and traveled to Hiraizumi where he came under the protection of the Chinjufu-shōgun, Fujiwara no Hidehira. 

This seemingly small act of sheltering Yoshitsune turned out to be the spark that would lead to the downfall of the Northern Fujiwara and the eventual destruction of the architectural and artistic treasures of Hiraizumi.

The Genpei War and its aftermath

In 1180, word came that Prince Mochihito, fearing the power of the Taira clan, had asked the Minamoto clan to gather forces against them. Yoshitsune left at once for Kyoto where he joined his older half-brother, Minamoto no Yoritomo, in what came to be called the Genpei War.

This five-year epic war of the Minamoto against the Taira is filled with dramatic tales of tragedy and heroism and has become the subject of countless ballads and kabuki plays. Far too long a story to tell here.

Yoshitsune had become an expert swordsman during his years on Mount Hiei and then excelled in horsemanship in the land of the Northern Fujiwara. With his skills and cunning, Yoshitsune emerged from the Genpei War a victorious general, well-known and loved for his legendary heroics. 

Although Yoshitsune was rewarded with lands and honors by retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa, his jealous and suspicious older half-brother Yoritomo revoked them and instead tried to kill Yoshitsune.

Again, Yoshitsune sought refuge in Hiraizumi, along with his pregnant wife and his valiant friend and protector, the warrior monk, Benkei. 

Two years later, in 1187, Fujiwara no Hidehira died. Before his death, he entrusted Yoshitsune’s protection to his son, Fujiwara no Yasuhira.

Fujiwara no Yasuhira — the final Northern Fujiwara

After his victory in the Genpei War, Yoshitsune’s older half-brother, Minamoto no Yoritomo, became Japan’s first shogun. He established his capital in the natural fortress of Kamakura, just south of present-day Tokyo. 

Although firmly entrenched in power, Yoritomo was still suspicious of his younger brother. He sent word to Fujiwara no Yasuhira to have him killed.

At first, Yasuhira resisted, but his fear of Yoritomo prevailed. His soldiers surrounded Yoshitsune’s estate, his archers killed the noble Benkei, and Yoshitsune, along with his wife and child, chose suicide rather than be captured.

Yoshitsune’s head was sent to Yoritomo, yet his death and that of his household were not enough to appease the shogun. 

For the “crime” of sheltering his younger half-brother, the shogun Minamoto no Yoritomo sent forces after Yasuhira who pursued him all the way to Hokkaido. The shogun’s samurai beheaded Yasuhira, packed his head in sake, and sent it to Kamakura.

Yoritomo had Yasuhira’s head displayed publicly, like that of the worst criminals. Afterward, it was packed in a bucket and returned to Hiraizumi.

Today, Yasuhira’s head, along with the mummies of Kiyohira, Motohira, and Hidehira, are preserved within the golden Konjikidō of the Chūson-ji temple.

Lotus seeds found in the bucket in which Yasuhira’s head was sent have been planted and now bloom each year behind Chūson-ji, a fitting reminder of the glories of the peaceful Buddhist land that Kiyohira had tried to create.

The remains of the magnificent structures built by the Northern Fujiwara, as well as Chūson-ji temple, are included in the UNESCO heritage site, “Hiraizumi — Temples, Gardens and Archaeological Sites Representing the Buddhist Pure Land.”

Although Hiraizumi is off the beaten track, it is well worth a visit to have a glimpse of the fantastic glories of its bygone years.

Sources:

https://www.motsuji.or.jp/, https://hiraizumi.or.jp/index.html, 前九年の役, 前九年・後三年の役, 藤原泰衡, UNESCO website.

The post Hiraizumi — Once a Fabulous City of Gold, Now a Quiet Home of Mummies first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Mentor to Japan’s Meiji Restoration leaders

Hagi

The quietness of the fishing town of Hagi, in southwest Honshu, belies its illustrious past. Hagi is the birthplace of many of the men who laid the foundations for modern Japan and the location of the school that formed their ideas. Their teacher was Yoshida Shōin, and his brief but impactful life is inextricably tied to Hagi and his school, Shōka Sonjuku, The School Under the Pines. Among Yoshida’s students were greats of the Meiji government, including the military reformer Takasugi Shinsaku and Itō Hirobumi, Japan’s first prime minister.

Built on a delta opening to the Sea of Japan, Hagi’s locale has made it an ideal home for fishermen for millennia. Records dating from the Muromachi period (1336–1573) tell of the Yoshimi, retainers of the Ōuchi clan, building the first small fort in Hagi. Despite its early origins, the town remained quiet and secluded until the start of the Edo era (1603-1867).

Today, Hagi has been left behind in much of the modernization of Japan. An hour from the nearest airport or Shinkansen station, Hagi is a town of 42,000 residents, with a steady population decline of 1,000 annually for the past 15 years. Walking its quiet streets, one sees fishermen plying their nets and shops grilling freshly caught squid, occupations that have changed little since the days Yoshida Shōin walked these same streets.

Historical Overview

The 15th and 16th centuries, known as the Warring States Period, were marked by unprecedented internal strife. Daimyō, feudal lords, fiercely fought for power and territory, plunging the nation into anarchy. In 1543, Portuguese sailors stepped foot on a southern Japanese island, introducing guns to the country for the first time. Soon thereafter, the great warlord, Oda Nobunaga, using Portuguese matchlock shotguns, subdued one domain after another. Over 20 years, he succeeded in uniting much of the country—until he was betrayed by one of his own and driven to commit seppuku, the samurai’s ritual suicide.

One of Nobunaga’s generals, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, consolidated power and continued the work of unification by force. Before he succumbed to illness in 1598, he set up a Council of Five Elders to govern Japan until his five-year-old son was fit to rule. One of those elders was Tokugawa Ieyasu, a shrewd and intelligent warlord, to whom Hideyoshi had granted the backwater castle town of Edo (now Tokyo). 

Hideyoshi’s death led to a power struggle among the Council members, culminating in the decisive Battle of Sekigahara in 1600. Western daimyō, led by Ishida Mitsunari, clashed with eastern daimyō, led by Ieyasu. After a brief but bloody battle, Ieyasu emerged victorious. In 1603, Emperor Go-Yozei appointed Ieyasu as shogun, inaugurating the Tokugawa shogunate and the Edo era.

The Mori clan and the Edo era (1603-1867)

During the late 16th century, daimyō Mōri Terumoto commanded Japan’s finest navy and ruled over a domain encompassing all of western Honshu and part of northern Kyushu. Although not personally involved in the Battle of Sekigahara, he was aligned with the losing side. As a consequence, when Tokugawa Ieyasu became shogun, he ordered Terumoto’s territory to be reduced by two-thirds, leaving him with only the Chōshū domain. Ieyasu banished Terumoto to isolated Hagi, far from the Sanyodo highway that roughly followed the shore of southeastern Honshu and provided access to Kyoto and Edo. 

Mōri Terumoto made Hagi his capital, choosing Mount Shigetsu, a tied island connected to the mainland by a sandbank, as the site for his castle. Perched atop the 150-meter (492-foot) hill, the five-story castle commanded a magnificent view of the town and the surrounding sea. The sea acted as a natural moat on three sides, one of just a handful of Japanese castles to use this defensive feature. The Mōri clan ruled the Chōshū domain from luxurious residences in their castle compound for over 250 years during the Edo era. 

During those years, Japan was all but closed to outside influence. From 1636, Japanese were prohibited from leaving the country. If they dared break that law, the penalty upon return was death. The Dutch were the only Westerners permitted to engage in tightly controlled trade, and they were confined to the tiny man-made island of Dejima in Nagasaki on the southern island of Kyushu. During this period of seclusion, the Tokugawa shoguns’ stringent rule enabled the country to flourish. Rice production increased, the literacy rate rose, and culture blossomed. Woodblock prints, kabuki, tea ceremony, and martial arts developed and became more refined. 

Only those of the samurai class were permitted to carry weapons. These regal samurai were easily distinguished by their chonmage topknots and two swords—one short, one long. Young samurai attended schools where they studied strict Confucian principles of duty and filial piety, martial arts, and poetry composition. 

Yet, as the decades of this self-imposed isolation passed, a desire and curiosity about the world beyond their border began to grow. In 1720, the 8th shogun, Tokugawa Yoshimune, eased the prohibition on the import and translation of foreign books. This led to the emergence of rangaku, or Dutch studies, where small pockets of scholars immersed themselves in these newly imported Dutch books. Guided by the slogan, “Eastern ethics with Western science,” these men absorbed knowledge of Western medicine, mathematics, and military science.

When Yoshida Shōin was born in 1830, Japan had been closed for 200 years. Rangaku intellectuals had influenced the scholarly samurai, who were coming to understand that more than their martial spirits and Confucian ethics were necessary for Japan to walk on equal footing with Western nations.

Yoshida Shoin

Yoshida Shōin, born Sugi Toranosuke, came from a low-ranking samurai family in Hagi. At the age of four, he was adopted by the Yoshida clan, renowned for providing military instructors to the daimyō. Shōin was educated in military arts at the Meirinkan domain school in Hagi and later in Edo.

During the Tokugawa era, strict regulations governed travel, requiring individuals to obtain permission and official permits to journey beyond their clan’s territories. Violation of these rules could result in death. Nevertheless, when Yoshida Shōin returned to Hagi after his studies in Edo, he felt compelled to explore northeastern Japan. At the end of 1851, Shōin took the daring step of leaving the Chōshū domain without permission to travel throughout the country. This act of rebellion against his lord branded him a rōnin, or masterless samurai. 

Upon his return to Hagi, Yoshida Shōin was spared from execution, as Chōshū was perhaps the most lenient domain towards rōnin. However, Shōin was stripped of his samurai status and financial stipend and put under the guardianship of his father. Then, in a curious twist, he was granted the freedom to travel and study wherever he pleased for a decade. The following year, he again journeyed to Edo, arriving just in time to witness US Navy Commodore Matthew Perry’s menacing black ships enter Edo harbor.

Yoshida Shōin saw firsthand the impending crisis confronting Japan. No longer could the country cling to its feudal ways when faced with the formidable military prowess of foreign powers at its gates. Japan’s desperate need for Western technology was crystal clear. The weak and ineffectual shogunate must be overthrown to pave the way for change. It was time for Yoshida Shōin to take a second daring step. He wanted—needed—to see the West.

Approaching Commodore Perry

While two of Commodore Perry’s officers were ashore one evening, they noticed a couple of well-dressed Japanese men following them. These men were Yoshida Shoin and his companion, Kaneko Shigenosuke.

Commodore Perry describes this event in his book, Narrative of the Expedition of an American Squadron to the China Seas and Japan, 1857.

Perry wrote,

The Japanese were observed to be men of some position and rank, as each wore the two swords characteristic of distinction, and were dressed in wide but short trousers of rich silk brocade. Their manners showed the usual courtly refinement of the better classes, but … they cast their eyes stealthily about, as if to assure themselves that none of their countrymen were at hand to observe their proceedings, and then, approaching one of the officers and pretending to admire his watch-chain, slipped within the breast of his coat a folded paper. They now significantly, with the finger upon the lips, entreated secrecy and rapidly made off.

The folded paper turned out to be a letter, written with the utmost respect and politeness. It read, in part:

Two scholars from Yedo, in Japan, present this letter for the inspection of the high officers and those who manage affairs. Our attainments are few and trifling, as we ourselves are small and unimportant, so that we are abashed in coming before you… We have, however, read in books, and learned a little by hearsay, what are the customs and education in Europe and America, and we have been for many years desirous of going over the five great continents, but the laws of our country in all maritime points are very strict…

We now secretly send you this private request, that you will take us onboard your ships as they go out to sea; we can thus visit around in the five great continents, even if we do, in this, slight the prohibitions of our own country… If this matter should become known, we should uselessly see ourselves pursued and brought back for immediate execution without fail.

That night, Yoshida Shoin and his companion got into a small boat and made their way to Perry’s ship. Perry’s description of the event continues,

Having reached [our ship] with some difficulty… They frankly confessed that their object was to be taken to the United States… They were educated men and wrote Mandarin Chinese with fluency and apparent elegance, and their manners were courteous and highly refined. The Commodore, on learning the purpose of their visit, sent word that he regretted that he was unable to receive them, as he would like very much to take some Japanese to America with him. He, however, was compelled to refuse them until they received permission from their government, for seeking which they would have ample opportunity, as the squadron would remain in the harbor of Shimoda for some time longer.

They were greatly disturbed by this answer of the Commodore and, declaring that if they returned to the land, they would lose their heads, earnestly implored to be allowed to remain. The prayer was firmly but kindly refused. A long discussion ensued, in the course of which they urged every possible argument in their favor and continued to appeal to the humanity of the Americans. A boat was now lowered, and after some mild resistance on their part to being sent off, they descended the gangway piteously deploring their fate.

Perry well knew that the men would be considered criminals under Japanese law. However, since this incident occurred immediately after Japan had been coerced into signing the treaty that opened the country, Perry was cautious about jeopardizing diplomatic relations by knowingly violating local laws.

When Shōin and Shigenosuke reached shore, they were promptly arrested and jailed. Ever the scholar, Shōin engaged with his fellow prisoners, identifying each man’s talents and enlisting them as instructors. One man taught Chinese philosophy, and another taught poetry. The respect shown to these prisoners by Shōin not only restored their pride but transformed the atmosphere in the prison. Before long, Shōin was able to arrange the release of many of the detainees. 

Shoka Sonjuku—“The School Under the Pines”

When Yoshida Shōin was released from jail, he took over his uncle’s small school in Hagi, the Shōka Sonjuku. He welcomed anyone who wanted to learn, regardless of status or class. After his imprisonment, Shōin was no longer free to travel, so he sent his students around the country to be his eyes and ears, while he put brush to paper and wrote extensive essays.

During these years, samurai and rōnin united in opposition to Commodore Perry’s gunboat diplomacy that forced Japan to open its doors. Their call to arms spread through the country, Sonnō-jōi, “Revere the emperor, expel the barbarians!” Yoshida’s Shōka Sonjuku became the heart and soul of this movement.

In addition to their scholarly studies, Shōin’s students and local farmers trained in close-order drills, using sticks as makeshift rifles. Under his influence, most of the 80 students he taught in his less than three years at that school later threw themselves into loyalist activities.

Ii Naosuke becomes Tairo

In 1858, Ii (pronounced EE) Naosuke, the daimyō of Hikone, was made Tairō, honorary chief councilor, making him the most powerful man in the country after the shogun. Meanwhile, in Shimoda, 134 kilometers (83 miles) south of Edo, the American diplomat Townsend Harris was pressuring the shogunate to ratify the Treaty of Amity and Commerce. Despite lacking the emperor’s authorization, Naosuke ordered this to be signed. Commonly referred to as the Harris Treaty, it imposed unfavorable exchange rates, deprived Japan of autonomy in setting tariffs, permitted the unrestricted free export of Japanese gold and silver, and granted foreigners exemption from Japanese law. 

Soon, Naosuke negotiated similar unequal treaties with the Dutch, the Russians, the British, and the French. Many sonnō-jōi activists fiercely opposed the autocratic reign of Ii Naosuke as Tairō and saw these treaties as a severe compromise of Japan’s sovereignty. Rōnin and samurai across the country voiced their criticism and resorted to attacking shogunate officials and Westerners in protest.

In response, Naosuke fought back with the full force of his power against those who did not support his authority and foreign trade policies in what came to be called the Ansei Purge. Those who dared oppose him were subjected to imprisonment, torture, exile, or execution.

The first person Naosuke arrested was Umeda Unpin, a leader of the sonno-joi movement from Obama in present-day Fukui Prefecture. Unpin was taken from his home in Kyoto, caged, and carried to Edo. In Hagi, Yoshida Shōin’s plans and ideas to overthrow the shogunate had been deemed dangerous by the Chōshū government, which led to his imprisonment. Unpin’s interrogators in Edo learned he had spent time in Hagi meeting with Shōin, and because of this, Shōin soon found himself confined in a cage and brought to Edo.

Leaving his beloved Hagi and passing along the portion of the Hagi Okan known as the Namida-Matsu, Pines of Tears, he composed a poem.

Certain, as I am, there shall be no return from this journey,
All the more do my tears wet this teary pine.

In prison in Edo, Yoshida Shōin was questioned about his discussions with Unpin. Seeing this as a good opportunity to voice his opinions on the shogunate, Shōin openly admitted his plan to assassinate Manabe Akikatsu, Ii Naosuke’s right-hand man. This confession sealed his fate. On November 21, 1859, at the age of 29, after politely thanking the prison attendant, Yoshida Shōin met his end with quiet dignity as the executioner’s blade fell.

Naosuke’s Ansei Purge killed not only Yoshida Shōin but over 100 other influential figures. In its aftermath, elements seeking revenge, particularly radicals from Chōshū and sympathizers of the victims, launched widespread acts of terrorism. In 1860, as he passed through the Sakurada-mon gate of Edo Castle, Naosuke was assassinated by a band of samurai and rōnin from the Mito domain.

Movement to Overthrow the Shogunate

In the following years, radical reformist activists emerged who pledged allegiance to the emperor. These shishi, or loyalists, sought to resist external pressure from foreign powers and to overturn the existing political system. Their sonnō jōi cause, although still “revering the emperor,” adopted a new goal—tōbaku, “overthrow the shogunate.” This idea again united samurai and rōnin, and Yoshida Shōin was adopted as their spiritual leader and martyr for their cause.

Within a decade of Shōin’s untimely death, many of his students became key figures in the tōbaku movement. One disciple, Takasugi Shinsaku, created an entirely new army. For centuries, Japan’s military class had been composed exclusively of samurai. Shinsaku turned this on its head by forming an army that included farmers, tradesmen, merchants, priests, and even sumo wrestlers. 

Using surplus weapons from the American Civil War purchased through the Scottish merchant, Thomas Blake Glover in Nagasaki, Shinsaku’s Chōshū troops marched shoulder to shoulder with the samurai of Satsuma (Kagoshima) in a united front against the shogun. After several years, their combined forces successfully toppled the Tokugawa shogunate and restored power to the emperor in the Meiji Restoration of 1867.

Civilization and Enlightenment—the Meiji government

Just months after the last shogun returned power to Emperor Meiji, the Boshin Civil War erupted between samurai loyal to the Tokugawa shogunate and the New Government’s Imperial forces. In June 1869, the government emerged victorious, and the process of nation-building began. 

During the early Meiji era (1868-1912), a wave of modernization swept the country. Japan made significant advancements by enlisting Western advisers to aid in every aspect of its development. This period saw the introduction of compulsory education, the establishment of railroads and telegraphs, the development of textile mills, and the acquisition of mining equipment. A Western system of civil and criminal laws and a Western-style constitution transformed Japan into a constitutional monarchy.

Feudalism became a relic of the past. Castles were dismantled. Samurai cut off their topknots and gave up their swords. The class structure that kept the samurai at the top was done away with. In their fervor for “civilization and enlightenment,” the Japanese set their sights on industrialization and colonization, achieving unprecedented results in a few short decades.

Many of the surviving students of Yoshida’s Sonjuku school went on to hold prominent positions within the new government.

• Ito Hirobumi became the country’s first prime minister in 1885. He helped author the Meiji Constitution, was Home Minister, the first Resident-General of the Japanese Protectorate of Korea, and the prime minister on three more occasions.
• Kido Takayoshi was responsible for educating young Emperor Meiji, helped draft the Five Charter Oath, and was an advocate for the new constitution.
• Inoue Kaoru held many positions in the Meiji government—Vice Minister of Finance, Japan’s first Minister of Foreign Affairs, Minister of Agriculture and Commerce, Home Minister, and more.
• Yamagata Aritomo shaped Japan’s modern conscription army, held top positions in the military, was Japan’s third prime minister, and was twice President of the Privy Council.

Emperor Meiji described the philosophy of this new era,

May our country,

Taking what is good,

And rejecting what is bad,

Be not inferior to any other.

By the time Emperor Meiji reached his sixth decade, Japan had established itself on the world stage. In 1905, British-educated Admiral Tōgō Heihachirō led his country to victory in the Russo-Japanese War, showing Japan to “be not inferior to any other.”

Although Yoshida Shōin did not live to see the remarkable changes in his country, his legacy lived on through his illustrious students and the forward-thinking government they created. 

In 1975, twenty-one years after the first Shinkansen plied the rails between Tokyo and Osaka, the San’yo Shinkansen tracks were built through Yamaguchi Prefecture, far to the east of the fishing town of Hagi, the quiet home of Yoshida Shōin’s grave. His former school, the Shōka Sonjuku, is now a museum to his memory.

The post Yoshida Shoin—19th Century Hero from the Tiny Town of Hagi first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Revolutionizing Japan and Embracing the Modern Age

As I stroll through the streets of my hometown, Kagoshima, in southern Kyushu, and trek across the volcanic mountains of Kirishima to the north, I find myself retracing the footsteps of the legendary Sakamoto Ryōma. This influential samurai, who arrived by ship to Kagoshima in the mid-19th century with his new bride, hiked the rugged mountains, soaked in healing hot springs, and even is said to have removed the upended sword from the top of Mount Takachiho placed there by Ninigi no Mikoto, the ancestor of Japanese emperors.

A much-loved and romanticized figure in Japan’s history, Sakamoto Ryōma defied his low-ranking samurai origins to wield immense political influence. He is widely celebrated for his pivotal role in toppling the 265-year rule of the Tokugawa shogunate, ending feudalism, and ushering in Japan’s modern era. In his short but storied life, Ryōma risked death by leaving his clan, reconciled former foes, and authored articles crucial to the formation of the Meiji government.

Challenged by frail health from a young age, Ryōma faced early adversity when his mother died when he was just ten. His older sister assumed the responsibility of raising him, engendering a close and affectionate relationship that lasted until Ryōma’s untimely death. Much of what we know of Ryōma’s character and perspective on life emerged from the numerous letters he wrote to his devoted sister.

“Revere the emperor, expel the barbarians!”

At age 14, Ryōma’s sister arranged for him to study swordsmanship in their hometown of Tosa, now Kochi City. She hoped it would help him cultivate both physical strength and confidence, aspects that had been lacking due to years of weakness and bullying. The plan proved successful. Three years later, in 1853, Ryōma’s clan granted permission for him to journey to Edo, now Tokyo, to refine his skills, where he ascended to become a master instructor. While practicing swordsmanship in Edo, one can imagine Ryōma had no idea of the impending dramatic changes that would soon unfold in his country, changes in which he would play an intimate and significant role.

In 1853, the American Commodore Perry and his menacing black ships sailed into Edo harbor sending shockwaves throughout the country. His four ships wielded more firepower than the entire shogunate, prompting Ryōma to be summoned to defend the Shinagawa coast. There, he lent his voice to the swelling chorus advocating for Sonnō-jōi, “Revere the emperor, expel the barbarians!”

Returning to Tosa in 1858, he met with Kawada Shōryō, an artist well versed in Western ways due to his close friendship with John Manjirō, a castaway who spent 11 years in the United States. Through many conversations with Shōryō, Ryōma’s eyes were opened to the vast technological capabilities of the Western world. Feudal Japan had no other choice but to embrace Western knowledge. “Expelling barbarians” was no longer part of his objective.

When his relative, Takechi Zuizan, formed the Tosa Imperial Loyalist Party, Ryōma was the first to join. The following year, he traveled to Chōshū, now Yamaguchi Prefecture, entrusted with a confidential letter from Zuizan to Genzui Kusaka, a key figure in the Sonnō-jōi movement. During their meeting, Kusaka expressed that under the prevailing circumstances, feudal lords and aristocrats would be unreliable guardians of Japan’s future. Instead, it was time for grassroots individuals, particularly ambitious young men from rural regions like Ryōma, to stand at the forefront of change. 

Dappan — Leaving the Tosa Clan

During the Edo period (1603-1867), traveling outside one’s clan necessitated the domain lord’s permission and an official travel permit to be presented at checkpoint barriers. Dappan, leaving one’s clan without permission, was akin to someone today crossing international borders without a passport—but the penalty was death. In the spring of his 28th year, Ryōma took this daring step, leaving the Tosa domain to embrace the life of a rōnin, a masterless samurai. 

He first journeyed to areas unlikely to punish rōnin, starting with Chōshū, a hotbed of radical anti-shogunate fervor. From there, he traveled further southwest to the more moderate Satsuma, now Kagoshima Prefecture, where the leaders harbored aspirations of national unity, envisioning an alliance between the shogunate and the dominant feudal lords.

After absorbing these disparate ideologies, Ryōma set his course for Edo. There, he met with Katsu Kaishū, the shogunate’s chief magistrate for warships, who had previously captained the ship sent as the second official Japanese embassy to the United States. Some historians question Ryōma’s intentions, suggesting an assassination plot against Kaishū. Yet Ryōma emerged from the encounter persuaded of the necessity of a plan to increase Japan’s military strength. The rōnin Ryōma became Kaishū’s protégé.

When Kaishū was assigned to patrol the sea around Osaka, Ryōma accompanied him. In the small fishing village of Kobe, Kaishū established the Kobe Naval Training Center to train officers, construct a modern port, and build Western-style warships. There, Ryōma and other rōnin received invaluable training.

On June 5, 1864, growing hostilities between the shogunate and the opposition erupted in Kyoto. Sonnō-jōi shishi (rōnin activists) staying at the Ikedaya Inn were violently set upon by the shogunate’s Shinsengumi police forces. The following day, Ryōma’s house was attacked. The Shinsengumi became ever more bold, indiscriminately arresting anyone from Chōshū.

Chōshū forces rallied with the support of young men from Katsu Kaishū’s Naval Training Center. Tensions flared between Sonnō-jōi shishi and the shogunate forces. Violence escalated. Chōshū forces attacked the Imperial Palace hoping to forcibly restore the emperor to political power only to be defeated by samurai from Satsuma and Aizu, now Fukushima Prefecture. Fires broke out in Kyoto.

Kaishū was summoned back to Edo and dismissed from his position. He spent two years in quiet reading at his estate.

Meanwhile, Ryōma sought refuge at the Satsuma clan’s residence in Osaka. The following year, under the patronage of the Satsuma clan, Ryōma, along with fellow rōnin from the Kobe Naval Training Center, established the Kameyama Shachu, a trading company and naval force based in Nagasaki. Through this venture, they imported Western arms, goods, and ships for the southwestern clans. Ryōma’s ultimate goal was clear—to overthrow the shogunate.

The Satcho alliance — Satsuma and Choshu join forces

Later in 1864, the shogun issued a decree demanding all domains unite for an all-out assault on Chōshū. Satsuma defied this order. The Satsuma leaders Saigo Takamori and Okubo Toshimichi had been shifting away from their previous moderate stance. Disillusioned with Shogun Tokugawa’s increasingly authoritarian approach, they became convinced that toppling the shogunate and establishing a new government under the emperor’s leadership was the only path forward.

On January 21, 1866, Ryōma orchestrated a meeting in Kyoto that brought together Saigo Takamori of Satsuma and Kido Takayoshi of Chōshū. These former foes forged an alliance that overcame the enmity of the past. United by a shared vision of a new Japan, they became a formidable opposition force against the shogunate.

For Ryōma, the price of this mediation was steep. The shogun branded him an enemy of the state, and retribution was swift.

In search of a haven, Ryōma went to stay at the quiet Teradaya Inn in Fushimi, near Kyoto. However, his peace was shattered when shogunate officials raided the inn. Quick thinking by Oryō, a courageous woman who worked at Teradaya, coupled with the aid of a samurai from the Chofu Domain, enabled Ryōma to slip through the fingers of his would-be assassins. Despite sustaining severe hand injuries, he managed to escape to the safety of the Satsuma Clan’s Kyoto residence.

Japan’s first honeymoon

Within the safety of the Satsuma Clan residence, Ryōma was tended to by the gentle Oryō. As the days passed, a deep bond blossomed between them, and they were soon married. At Saigo Takamori’s suggestion, the couple went on a honeymoon to Kirishima in Satsuma—the first honeymoon recorded in Japanese history—where they soaked in the healing hot springs of the mountains, and Ryōma recovered from his wounds.

In the summer of 1866, the shogunate unleashed a second onslaught to punish Chōshū. Ryōma fought for Chōshū aboard his British-built vessel, the Union, sailing under the banner of Kameyama Shachu. The disciplined might of the Chōshū army overwhelmed the shogunate’s forces, dealing a fateful blow to the authority that had long held Japan in its grip.

Formation of the Kaientai

As the echoes of the Chōshū victory reverberated, Ryōma found himself in Nagasaki in January 1867, where he crossed paths with Gotō Shōjirō, the power behind the Tosa domain. Certain that Japan’s progress hinged on dismantling the shogunate, Ryōma recognized the advantage of incorporating Tosa into the Satchō alliance.

Accompanying Gotō to Tosa, Ryōma was forgiven for his crime of dappan, desertion from the domain. He merged his Kameyama Shachu with the Tosa Clan, birthing the Kaientai, “Maritime Support Force,” with Ryōma at its helm. Intended to be a navy for the Tosa domain, it was an unusual organization also engaged in commercial trade and training. Its diverse composition included rōnin, doctors, officials, and even a baker. Many were people with a desire to explore overseas—although leaving the country without permission meant facing the death penalty upon return.

By June of the same year, Satsuma and Chōshū had begun contemplating the use of military force to overthrow the shogunate. Seeking a diplomatic alternative, the Tosa Clan turned to Ryōma for guidance. Aboard a ship heading to Edo with Gotō Shōjirō, Ryōma penned the Senchu Hassaku, “The Eight Point Plan for Imperial Restoration and Governance.” Among its provisions were the critical demands for the restoration of imperial rule and the establishment of a national assembly.

Gotō used his influence to formulate a petition based on Ryōma’s plan that was delivered to the 15th shogun, Tokugawa Yoshinobu. After deliberation, Yoshinobu assented to their propositions, culminating in the historic act of returning power to the Imperial Court at Nijō-jō Castle in Kyoto on October 14, 1867, bringing an end to Japan’s centuries-long feudal age.

Sakamoto Ryoma’s death and legacy

Just a month later, on Ryōma’s 31st birthday, he was staying at the house of a soy sauce merchant in Kyoto. While relaxing after dinner, the stillness was broken by a late-night knock at the door. Ryōma’s loyal bodyguard, a former sumo wrestler, told the caller to wait while he checked if Ryōma would allow his visit at so late an hour.

When the guard turned to climb the stairs to Ryōma’s second-floor room, the visitor unsheathed his sword and attacked, slashing the guard in the back. He and his accomplices rushed past the fallen guard and stormed into Ryōma’s room where he was talking with his friend, Nakaoka Shintarō. During their chaotic attack, the assassins upended lamps, scattered documents, and tore the paper doors. Following the frantic scuffle, both Ryōma and Shintarō lay mortally wounded. Ryōma died later that night, and Shintarō succumbed two days later. The identity of the assailants remains a mystery.

Since his tragic demise, Sakamoto Ryōma’s popularity has grown, bolstered by the many detailed and illustrated letters he had written to his sister. His remarkable tale has been immortalized in movies, manga, and television series. Although he did not live to see the fruition of his efforts, Ryōma’s central role in mediating the alliance between the Satsuma and Chōshū domains and his drafting of the Eight Point Plan for Imperial Restoration are widely regarded as instrumental in bringing about the Meiji Restoration.

In recent years, the 21st-century tech giant Softbank paid homage to Ryōma’s legacy. They adopted his three-striped Kaientai flag as the inspiration for their logo, symbolizing their admiration for Kaientai’s fervor and alignment with their vision. Ryōma’s influence, it seems, has transcended the boundaries of time, finding resonance in the ethos of a modern era.

The post Sakamoto Ryoma—Maverick Samurai Visionary first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Banishing myths by looking at the greatest samurai battle in history

Samurai — many people imagine these romantic, stoic, and fierce armor-clad warriors to have been bound by a strict moral code of discipline, dedication, and loyalty to death.

Is this myth or reality — or a mix of both?

Samurai

Samurai made up the warrior class during Japan’s 700 year feudal period that started in 1185. During the 260 years of the Edo era (1603–1867), they held the highest social class and were granted the privilege of killing anyone who they felt had affronted them, kiri-sute gomen, 斬捨御免. 

Commoners stepped aside and bowed in deference when they were passed on the street by a samurai, who always carried the signs of his status — his long and short swords — tucked in his belt, threateningly visible to all.

Today, much of our idea of samurai can be traced to two books that set out to describe the code of these men, or bushido, 武士道, the way of the warrior. Both are anachronistic, written during eras in which samurai were not warring but rather quietly working as bureaucrats and administrators. 

Hagakure: The Secret Wisdom of the Samurai is a collection of nostalgic commentaries by a clerk, Yamamoto Tsunemoto, a former retainer of the daimyo of Hizen Province, now Saga Prefecture. According to Tsunemoto, samurai achieved a sense of freedom by accepting that death was the inevitable and supreme service to their lord. This irrational view of the samurai was revisited by the military in the buildup to WWII and laid the groundwork for the fanatical devotion that spurred Japanese soldiers to fight to the death.

…the way of the warrior is to die. 

Yamamoto Tsunemoto

Perhaps the most famous book about samurai is Bushido: The Soul of Japan, written in 1899 by American-educated Inatō Nitobe. By drawing parallels with Western chivalry, Nitobe set out to explain to Western audiences how Japan imparts moral education without religious instruction in schools. 

…the light of chivalry, which was a child of feudalism, still illuminates our moral path… 

Inatō Nitobe

People today may wonder what samurai were like, what was reality, and what are misconceptions. Let’s look at three common myths and throw some light on them by referring to the milestone Battle of Sekigahara that set the stage for the 260 years of the Tokugawa Shogunate.

Myth #1 — Samurai were selflessly loyal to the death

The 47 ronin who avenged their lord Asano Naganori’s honor are a perfect example of selfless loyalty to the death. But not all samurai were so loyal.

Reality

The relationship between a samurai and his lord was contractual and reflected the Confucian ethics that had been a bedrock of education for centuries, ever since Shotoku Taishi’s first constitution was issued in 604. In his constitution, Taishi elucidated the ideal philosophy by which rulers should paternally rule, and by which those ruled over should show respect, deference, and obedience to their superiors.

History shows us that samurai were loyal to their lords as long as it was beneficial, and they switched allegiances when it suited them.

Example

At the epic Battle of Sekigahara, over 160,000 samurai clashed in a conflict that would determine the future of the country. The Eastern army, led by Tokugawa Ieyasu, faced off against the Western army, led by Ishida Mitsunari. The victor would go on to rule over a newly united Japan. The stakes could not have been higher.

When the mist lifted above the battlefield at 8:00 on the morning of October 1, 1600, the fighting commenced. Horses thundered, rifles cracked, spears thrust, and blood spilled on the ground. 

Watching this carnage from the hillside was 18-year-old Kobayakawa Hideaki. This young warrior had already made a name for himself, and today’s battle would turn on his decisions.

In the weeks preceding, Hideaki had been approached by Ishida Mitsunari who promised him the title of Kanpaku, ruler of the country until Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s young son came of age.

Hideaki had also been approached by Tokugawa Ieyasu, who promised him lands and wealth if he were to come to his side.

As the sun rose higher in the sky and the battle raged below, Hideaki remained motionless on his horse, wrestling with the weighty decision before him. 

Just before noon, Ieyasu ordered his troops to fire on Hideaki. This forced his hand, prompting him to charge down the hillside and attack the Western troops. Other Western daimyos saw his defection and several followed, turning savagely on the armies loyal to Ishida Mitsunari.

The battle was decided.

By 3:00 that afternoon, a victorious Tokugawa Ieyasu was inspecting the severed and washed heads of his enemies. 

Myth #2 — Samurai live to die

…the way of the warrior is to die.

Yamamoto Tsunemoto

There were, without a doubt, many valourous samurai who epitomized this ideal of Bushidō, not the least of which was Kusunoki Masashige, who, when faced with death, yearned only to have seven lives to give for his country.

But others did not.

Reality

Many samurai, like other warriors around the world, would flee to save their life.

The man who runs away may fight again.

Demosthenes

Example

At the Battle of Sekigahara, many samurai who had joined the Western army fled in retreat when they saw their cause was lost. One such man was the mighty warrior, Shimadzu Yoshihiro, considered so valorous and fierce that he earned the nickname, “Demon Shimadzu,” in his battles against Ming Chinese armies in Korea during Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s invasions.

At Sekigahara, when he found his cause lost and himself surrounded by enemies, Yoshihiro realized that there was nothing left but to retreat. 

After an audacious escape through the center of Ieyasu’s forces, Yoshihiro and his samurai made the long and difficult journey back to his domain in southern Kyushu.

If you are interested in the story of his heroic escape, it is found here — Shimadzu Yoshihiro’s Valor Remembered in Kagoshima’s Myōenji Pilgrimage.

Myth #3 — A katana, able to cut through anything, was the weapon of choice for samurai

Reality

As a privilege of their rank, samurai wore two swords, a short wakizashi, 脇差, and a long katana, 刀. In many cases, katana were treasures handed down through generations. They were fearsome weapons that when handled expertly could sever a head or cleave a torso in half in one blow. But they were not necessarily the weapon of choice.

During the heyday of the samurai during the Warring States period (1333–1573) and the Momoyama period (1573–1603) that culminated in the Battle of Sekigahara, the main weapon of battle was the long spear, or yari, 槍. While some katana, and from the late 16th century matchlock rifles, were used, the spear, with its long reach and relatively light weight was preferred.

Example 

Again, we need to look no further than the Battle of Sekigahara, where the main weapon used in battle was, without question, the long spear.

Finally, katanas cannot cut through anything. Hard substances would damage their valuable blades, so they were saved for soft tissue and bone, not armor and helmets.

Samurai studied Confucianism and were, for the most part, practitioners of Zen Buddhism. Their world was one of self-restraint and where vassals submitted to the will of their lords.

But they were human.

References:

Bushidō: The Soul of Japan, Bushidō or Bull, Bushidō: An Ethical and Spiritual Foundation in Japan.

The post Samurai — Romantic Myth vs. Unvarnished Reality first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

But should he be?

Ashikaga Takauji, 足利尊氏, was the first shogun of the Muromachi Period (1336-1573), and along with the monk Dōkyō and Taira no Masakado, one of Japan’s Three Great Villains. I have written about Dōkyō as the First Great Villain, and Masakado in my series on Japan’s Three Great Vengeful Ghosts. Now, we’ll take a look at Takauji.

Great Villain #2 — Shogun Ashikaga Takauji

Takauji was instrumental in helping Emperor Go-Daigo overthrow the Kamakura Shogunate and restore power to the imperial house. Later, he — along with samurai throughout the country — became disillusioned by the emperor’s cronyism and extravagance. He forced Go-Daigo out of Kyoto, enthroned Emperor Kōmyō, and was named the first shogun of what came to be called the Muromachi Period.

But before I get ahead of myself, let’s go back in time a bit.

Background

In the late 13th century, Kublai Khan’s Mongol army invaded Japan. These incursions were thwarted not so much by the samurai who fought against the foreign barbarians, but by the “divine wind,” kamikaze, of two typhoons that destroyed the Mongol armada.

After battles, it had long been the custom for samurai to be rewarded with the wealth and lands of the conquered. As no lands had been conquered during the wars with the Mongols, none was given. The samurai who had risked their lives for their country were vexed.

Some years later, regent Hōjō Sadatoki, the ruler in Kamakura, issued an order forgiving the debts of those who had fought and returning confiscated lands to their original owners. This well-intentioned decree did not bring the hoped-for results. He ended up with dissatisfied samurai, a damaged economy, and serious disaffection with the Kamakura regime.

In 1331, Emperor Go-Daigo decided the time was ripe for a return to imperial rule. His armies attacked the shogunate forces in southern Kyoto. Hōjō Takatoki sent his trusted general, Ashikaga Takauji, to fight the imperial troops.

Although in mourning for his father who had just died, the loyal Takauji obeyed his lord and went to face the emperor’s army. He was victorious, although one can only imagine his resentment at abandoning his mourning to fight for the Hōjō.

As a result of this defeat, Go-Daigo was captured and banished to the Oki Islands, off the coast of what is now Shimane Prefecture.

In his absence, his son, Prince Morinaga, continued fighting, along with his storied general, Kusunoki Masashige, famed for holding his own against much larger armies and inflicting heavy casualties on the Hōjō forces.

In 1333, Go-Daigo escaped from Oki in the dark of night with the help of a fisherman. When word got out, many generals rallied to his cause. This encouraged Go-Daigo to issue an edict to overthrow the powerful Hōjō family. A full-out war ensued.

Again, Hōjō Takatoki sent Takauji to defeat the imperial forces in Kyoto. Upon reaching the city, Takauji, knowing the way the wind was blowing, switched sides. Instead of attacking Go-Daigo’s army, he attacked the Shogunate’s deputies stationed at Rokuhara Tandai, the Kamakura government’s policing agency in the capital.

The renowned warrior, Nitta Yoshisada, far to the north, then rallied his forces to join the battle. He led his army to Kamakura, the shogunate’s nearly impregnable stronghold, surrounded by mountains and the sea.

Avoiding the treacherous mountain passes, Nitta thrust his sword into the sea and prayed for the waters to withdraw so his army could pass through and reach Kamakura.

The sea withdrew, and Nitta conquered the shogunate’s stronghold. Hōjō Takatoki and over 700 of his vassals committed suicide at the Hōjō family temple, Tōshōji.

This marked the end of the Kamakura Shogunate.

The Kenmu Restoration (1333-1336)

With the Hōjō dynasty defeated, Go-Daigo reascended the throne.

Go-Daigo appointed his three generals, Ashikaga Takauji, Kusunoki Masashige, and Nitta Yoshisada, shugo, or military governors. He named his son and heir to the throne, Prince Morinaga, the shogun.

He bestowed upon Takauji a new name, Takeru, meaning valiant warrior. Yet that was not enough.

Samurai who fought for Go-Daigo expected to receive positions of power, rewards, and lands that had belonged to the wealthy Hōjō. Although they were rewarded to a degree, so were aristocrats who had done nothing and even some of the ladies of the court. This caused many samurai to return to their domains filled with dissatisfaction and resentment.

Adding insult to injury, Go-Daigo imposed heavy taxes so that he could build a new Imperial Palace.

The people were not pleased. A rebellion broke out in Kamakura among the remnants of the Hōjō, and the fires of rebellion spread. Takauji asked Go-Daigo if he would name him shogun and send him to quash the uprising. Go-Daigo refused. Takauji disregarded his words and led his army to put down the rebellion, then distributed the conquered lands to his samurai, gaining widespread support.

Go-Daigo sent Nitta Yoshisada to vanquish Takauji and his armies. Unexpectedly, the great general’s horse was felled by an arrow, trapping him beneath its heavy body and making him an easy target for archers. Legend tells us that the noble Nitta pulled out his short sword and severed his own head.

The fallen generals’ soldiers rallied to Takauji, who set off to conquer Kyoto with his reinforced troops.

Takauji took Kyoto, although he was soon forced out by Kusunoki Masashige and the imperial army, and he retired to Kyushu to regroup. There, he gained the support of local lords, also dissatisfied with Go-Daigo’s rule, and was soon marching back to Kyoto with ever-growing numbers.

At the Imperial Palace in Kyoto, Masashige counseled Go-Daigo to retreat to Mount Hiei and allow Takauji to take the capital.

I humbly hope that your majesty will retire from the city for a time and allow Takauji to freely enter Kyoto. I will go to Kawachi and intercept their provisions and stores. Their army will consequently dwindle while ours will increase. Afterward, we can attack the rebels from opposite sides, and we may fairly hope to defeat them.

Go-Daigo dismissed his words and ordered him to battle. Masashige realized that conquering Takauji’s vastly superior forces was impossible. He and his army were being sent to their deaths.

Indeed, at the Battle of Minatogawa, Masashige’s army suffered terrible losses, and his samurai were reduced to a rugged few. Seeing the hopelessness of his situation, Masashige and his brother retired to a peasant’s house. What followed is a conversation that has gone down in history, taught to generations of children.

Masashige asked his brother, “What do you desire after death?”

His brother answered, “Would that I had seven lives to give for my country!”

Masashige replied with eyes alight, “That is indeed best.”

Then the two brothers took their short swords and cut open their stomachs, freeing their spirits to be born again as warriors without suffering the disgrace of defeat.

The victorious Takauji reentered Kyoto. Go-Daigo again fled to Mount Hiei, but in a show of peace, he sent the Three Imperial Treasures to Takauji. With those, Takauji enthroned Emperor Kōmyō.

But, Go-Daigo was a sly one. The Imperial Treasures were fakes. He fled to Yoshino in the south with the real Treasures and set up his own Southern Court.

This marked the beginning of the Nanboku-chō Era, the Northern and Southern Courts period, that continued for nearly 60 years.

Soon thereafter, in 1339, Emperor Go-Daigo died. Takauji, out of respect for the emperor, had Tenryuji Temple in Kyoto constructed as a setting for Go-Daigo’s memorial service.

Hero or villain?

Why is Ashikaga Takauji one of Japan’s Three Great Villains?

It all comes down to who writes the history books.

In this case, 17th-century Neo-Confucian scholar and founder of the Mito school of philosophy, Tokugawa Mitsukuni, 徳川光圀. He began the work on The Great History of Japan, 大日本史, Dai Nihonshi, the writing of its 402 volumes not completed until generations later.

Mitsukuni’s philosophy emphasized extreme loyalty to superiors, and the superiors’ paternal care of their subjects. This type of Neo-Confucianism formed the basis for the strict class demarcations of the Edo period — samurai, farmers, craftsmen, merchants.

Mitsukuni wrote that since Takauji was disloyal to the legitimate emperor, Go-Daigo, by installing another emperor in his place, he was guilty of treason. This disloyalty was the antithesis of what he presented as Neo-Confucian, and as such, samurai, values.

The Mito school’s philosophy informed the Sonnō jōi movement (尊王攘夷, Revere the Emperor, Expel the Barbarians) of the mid-19th century, inspiring the forces that defeated the Tokugawa shoguns. In line with this philosophy, the Meiji government that replaced the Tokugawa Shogunate was based on direct imperial rule.

Emperors Meiji, Taisho, and Showa (known to most Westerners as Hirohito) were treated with god-like reverence by the people of Japan, who were considered subjects, not citizens. All were required to swear allegiance to the emperor.

In light of this philosophy of utmost loyalty, it is easy to see how Ashikaga Takauji was painted as villainous.

His opposite is embodied in the loyal Kusunoki Masashige, who did not hesitate to obey his emperor’s orders, knowing full well he was being sent to his death. He is immortalized in a bronze statue in front of the Imperial Palace in Tokyo and as a Shinto deity at Minatogawa Shrine in Kobe, near where he took his life.

References:

Einin no Tokuseirei, 日本史上最悪だった男～足利尊氏, The Kamakura Period, Japan: Its History, Traditions, and Religions, with the Narrative of a Visit in 1879, by Sir Edward J. Reed.

The post Ashikaga Takauji — One of Japan’s 3 Great Villains first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Critically endangered adorable little horses

After climbing over the Jizo Pass, my guests and I hike uphill, through swaying pampas grass and sasa bamboo, to the Kiso Uma no Sato, Kiso Horse Conservation Center, on the refreshingly cool Kaida Plateau of Nagano Prefecture.

The pleasant aroma of hay and horses reaches us as we near the stables. It is spring — the time of foaling.

Kiso horses are more like ponies, small, sturdy, and round-bellied. One of my guests asks, “Are all these horses pregnant?” Looking at them, I could understand the mistake. In truth, only three of the horses were pregnant.

Passing by the stables, we walk to the paddock behind the barns to pet the horses.

History of Kiso Horses

In the 4th century, several horse breeds were brought to Japan from the Asian continent. It is thought that what we now call Kiso horses originally came from Mongolia to Japan through China and Korea. They are the only “indigenous” horse breed on the main island of Honshu. 

These sweet, pony-like horses have been raised in the Kiso Valley for centuries, where they were used for farming and transportation. They are small horses, weighing 350-400 kilos (770-880 pounds), a mere 110 to 140 cm tall at the withers (3′ 7″- 4′ 7″).

These horses traditionally lived under the same roof as their owners on the sunny, southeast side of the farmhouse in one large recessed stall. The women who cared for them treated them like beloved children.

Although small, Kiso horses are strong and hardy, able to tolerate a sparse diet and the cold Nagano winters. Their hooves are so tough that there is no need for horseshoes, although in years past they wore straw sandals to help them gain purchase on slippery cobblestones and steep mountain trails.

In time, these horses came to be used on the battlefield, first during the Genpei War of 1180-1185, where they gained a reputation as a sturdy, reliable breed. During the feudal age that followed, many Kiso horses were used by samurai, yet they never lost their place as valuable workhorses on rural farms.

In the late 19th century, the Imperial Army of the Meiji government decided they needed to improve and enlarge the breed. They decreed that all males be castrated and that the females only breed with Western imported stallions. This did not bode well for the Kiso horses.

From the late 19th century through the 1920s, there were roughly 7,000 Kiso horses. Then, with the advent of mechanized farming, their numbers fell drastically.

After WWII, there was only one intact male Kiso horse in existence. He had escaped castration by being donated to a shrine. His one male offspring, with 98.4% pure blood, was born in 1951. This stallion, Daisan Haruyama, became the father of all future Kiso horses, siring over 700 in his long and productive life.

The Kiso horse population went up and down through the years, and in 1976, the year after Daisan Haruyama’s death, there were only 32. Thanks to the careful work of conservationists, today, there are about 140 of this gentle breed. Forty of these reside at the Kiso Uma no Sato.

The colors of these remaining horses have been dramatically affected by the genetic bottleneck. In the 19th century, there were gray, black, and palomino horses. Today, all Kiso horses are shades of bay, with a very few chestnut, sandy brown, or dun.

Bidding farewell

Having been charmed by these lovely little horses, it’s time for us to head to the bus stop. Buses only come once every couple of hours in such rural areas, so we want to be early.

We say our goodbyes to the horses, walk down the road past birch trees and a blueberry orchard, and reach the bus stop. The bus will take us to our inn where we will relax in an onsen bath before being treated to a beautiful kaiseki dinner.

It was another perfect day.

To visit these docile horses, seek out the Kiso Uma no Sato on the Kaida Plateau of Nagano Prefecture.

References:

Kiso Uma no Sato, The Tragedy of the Kiso Horse (Japanese).

Horses in the snow photo provided by Walk Japan.

The post Kiso Horses—Overcoming the Disastrous Consequences of Meiji Era “Improvements” first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.