Translation: Katsura Kogoro: Chapter 1, Part 5

Hagi Stories: Katsura Kogoro. By: Issaki, Taro. This book was given to me by Osaki Yoko, a kind lady at Hagi Museum.

Chapter 1: From Hagi to Kyoto

Page 13-14

The Joi Policy

In June 1858, the Shogunate approved the main part of the Japan-America Treaty of Amity and Commerce (The Harris Treaty), which dealt with the issue of free trade. This was done, again, without receiving Imperial permission, and Emperor Komei, a fierce hater of foreigners and a die-hard believer in the principal of Joi (“Expel the Barbarians!”), was indignant. A deep fissure appeared between the warriors of the Shogunate and the nobles of the Imperial Court.

Wishing to mediate between the Shogunate and the Court, Choshu samurai Nagai Uta put forward his “Policy of Expansion Across the Seas” in March 1861, backed by the support of Choshu Domain. Although it recognized “open country” as an established fact, nevertheless, Nagai’s policy was favorably received by both the Shogunate and the Court.

The students of the Shoka Sonjuku School, however, in following their teacher Shoin’s beliefs, thought that Choshu should instead unite around a policy of Sonno Joi (“Revere the Emperor!” “Expel the Barabarians!”). This soon developed into a violent political movement. The believers in Sonno Joi insisted upon a Japan centered around the Emperor, which resisted foreign pressure and took action to push back foreign intrusion.



The Imperial Court rallied; they disdained the proposed mediation they had initially agreed to. Choshu retracted its proposal, and Nagai, who had so incurred the Emperor’s wrath, was forced to commit suicide.

On July 6, 1862, in order to decide which policy Choshu should adopt hereafter, Lord Mori invited lower-ranked samurai to his Kyoto mansion in the Kawahara District and held a strategy meeting. Kogoro, who was by now a diplomat to the Court and to other domains, attended this meeting, as did Sufu Masanosuke and Nakamura Kuro. As a result, Choshu decided to completely rescind upon Nagai’s policy and instead dedicate themselves to obeying the Emperor’s will and doing all in their power to expel the barbarians.

Translation: Katsura Kogoro: Chapter 1, Part 4

Hagi Stories: Katsura Kogoro. By: Issaki, Taro. This book was given to me by Osaki Yoko, a kind lady at Hagi Museum.

Chapter 1: From Hagi to Kyoto

Page 11-12

Studying the West

Kogoro, having experienced the disturbance caused by the black ships, was in shock. The feeling of crisis pierced him through and through. Although he regarded and hated the West as an enemy, Kogoro decided against vainly trumpeting the exclusion of foriegners. First, he went in search of a teacher.

Egawa Taro of Nirayama was the top-ranked official in Western gunnery. Kogoro became his disciple, and at one point, the two went to inspect the defenses along the coasts of Musashi, Izu, and Sagami—all near Edo. In addition, Kogoro studied ship-building under Nakashima Saburonosuke, an officer of the old Uraga police station. In both thought and action, Kogoro was rapidly becoming a man of the times.

Another man who studied the West all the while he resented their tyrannical attitude was Kogoro’s old friend, Yoshida Shoin.



Shoin confided his secret plans to board a Russian warship at Nagasaki to Kogoro and gained his approval. Eventually, Shoin would attempt to board an American warship at Izu Shimoda in March 1854—and failed. He was shipped back to Hagi and imprisoned for trying to break the law against foreign travel. Although still under house arrest, Shoin built and presided over the famed Shoka Sonjuku School, where he guided the ideas of many young men in the neighborhood.

But due to his loud criticism of the Shoguate’s “open country” policy, Shoin became a victim of the Ansei Purge* He was kept in Tenmacho Prison, and on October 27, 1859 he was executed. He was 30 years old.

Kogoro, along with another one of Shoin’s disciples, Ito Shunsuke (later to become Ito Hirobumi, Japan’s first prime minister), brought back Shoin’s remains and buried him at Senju Kotsuka Field.

* Ansei Purge: So named for the year of Ansei (ironically, “peaceful government”), this purge involved the imprisoning, execution, or censure of those who spoke against the Shogunate. It was a policy of Ii Naosuke and came to an end abruptly with his assassination, thereby setting a rather troubling precedent of dealing with contraversal politicians. Victims of the purge also included Saigo Takamori and oddly enough, Tokugawa Yoshinobu, who would go on to be the last Shogun.

Translation: Katsura Kogoro: Chapter 1, Part 3

Hagi Stories: Katsura Kogoro. By: Issaki, Taro. This book was given to me by Osaki Yoko, a kind lady at Hagi Museum.


Chapter 1: From Hagi to Kyoto

Page 8-10

The Arrival of Perry’s Ships

As a young boy, Kogoro appeared sickly, despite having a good physical build.

Kogoro studied at the “Merinkan” school under Yoshida Shoin, who was three years his senior. In later years, Kogoro and Shoin would build a relationship beyond student and master and become good friends and kindred spirits.

In September 1852, Saito Shintaro, the eldest son of famed Edo fencing instructor Saito Yakuro, visited Hagi, the castle city of Choshu, where Kogoro lived. An opportunity arose for five students to visit Edo and study martial arts there. Although Kogoro was not one of the selected five, he did receive permission to “study abroad” in Edo on his own expense.

And so, tagging along, Kogoro reached #3 Koji-Machi, Edo, address of Saito Yakuro’s dojo and military training hall, and he crawled underneath the gate. Upon entering the dojo, it wasn’t long before Kogoro displayed such talent that he quickly climbed ranks to the top of the class.



While in Edo Kogoro also conversed with young people from different feudal domains all over the country. This would have an important influence on Kogoro’s activities later in life.

In June 1853, a fleet of “black ships,” under the command of Commodore Matthew Perry, could be seen off the coast of Uragawa. Perry had come to urge the Shogun to open Japan to trade, and his method was to use his warships to exert high pressure.

Kogoro, 21 at the time, was still in Edo, and he got to witness this unprecedented crisis unfold in real time.

On June 4, 1853, he wrote in his diary: “Now I hear rumors of a black ship called Tallamesh*.” The next day he wrote: “Gradually, the rumors have become widespread. It was my wish to go to Uraga by the hour of the dog (7:00-9:00 PM) and witness this appearance for myself, but some other business suddenly came up, and I was unable to go.” On June 9th, Kogoro was added to the line of soldiers under Lord of Choshu Mori Yoshichika (later Mori Takachika), charged with guarding the Omori Coast. Kogoro faithfully discharged his duty.



On June 13, Perry left Japan, having obtained the Shogun’s promise to respond to America’s demands in a year’s time. One year later, Perry did indeed return. The Shogunate, folding under pressure, signed the Japan-America Treaty of Amity and Friendship (also known as the Yokohama Treaty) in March of 1854.

*The spelling of this word, as well as the spelling of many foreign names written in Japanese, should be taken with a grain of salt.

Translation: Katsura Kogoro: Chapter 1, Part 2

Hagi Stories: Katsura Kogoro. By: Issaki, Taro. This book was given to me by Osaki Yoko, a kind lady at Hagi Museum.

Chapter 1: From Hagi to Kyoto

Page 6-7

Born in Edoya Quarters

Today, Kido Takayoshi is famed as one of the “Three Great Men” of the Meiji Restoration, along with Saigo Takamori and Okubo Toshimichi, both of Satsuma. His family home in the Kokkaku block of the Edoya Quarters still exists. A stone monument stands before the gate, announcing “Place of Kido Takayoshi’s Birth.”

On June 26, 1833, Kido Takayoshi (not yet his name) was born to a physician in the samurai class named Wada Masakage and his second wife Seiko. They named their child Kogoro. Although Kogoro’s father received a stipend of only 20 koku, he also practiced medicine on private citizens and owned and rented real estate, so it seems the family was quite prosperous.

Wada Masakage was already 52 years old when Kogoro was born. He already had a daughter, Suteko, from his first wife, and Suteko’s husband had already been adopted as the family heir. So, Kogoro was instead adopted into the Katsura family when he was eight.



The Katsura family was a member of the “Calvary” Unit (also known as the Yakugumi or Ogumi). In reality, it was this class that took charge of most of the practical affairs of government, and many became of them close associates of the Lord of Choshu.

The Katsura family’s stipend was originally 150 koku, but due to the late nature of Kogoro’s adoption (which took place as Katsura Koroheiei was on his deathbed), it was cut to 90 koku*.

Thus, Katsura Kogoro was born.

The year following his adoption, Kogoro’s adopted mother also passed away, and so Kogoro, now head of the Katsura family, went back to his old home where he was brought up by the Wadas.

* Adoption: It was fairly common practice to adopt sons from other families as heirs, but apparently adopting one right before dying was not a good thing. In the old days this was forbidden, but later they simply added a fine.

Translation: Katsura Kogoro: Chapter 1, Part 1

Hagi Stories: Katsura Kogoro. By: Issaki, Taro. This book was given to me by Osaki Yoko, a kind lady at Hagi Museum.


Chapter 1: From Hagi to Kyoto

Page 4-5

Hagi’s Lower Castle District

During the Edo era, the military base of the 369,000 koku* Choshu Domain was constructed above the delta in an area known as Joka, or the Lower Castle District. In this northeastern region, the figure of the Shizuki Mountain thrusts out of the Sea of Japan, like an overturned rice bowl. At the foot of the mountain, the 5-tiered castle once towered over the land below, but at the start of the Meiji era, the castle was torn down, along with the residence of the Mori family, lords of Choshu. Today, only the stone walls remain.



From the castle, separated by the moat, the Horiuchi (also known as Sannomaru) Quarters stretch out. At one time, the shining eaves of the Mori family mansions and the mansions of all its most important ministers stood together in a line, a boundary. With the clay walls and stone bases still intact, the atmosphere remains even today, a designated important historical district.

But if you cross the moat at the east, you come to the Lower Castle District with its checkerboard streets, the district where Choshu’s rich merchants and samurai once lived.

Onari Street, the road used by the Mori Lords, runs east to west. Across this street, three parallel roads stretch out. Their respective quarters are named for the powerful merchant houses that lived there: Kikuya Quarters, Iseya Quarters, and Edoya Quarters. Looking at old maps from the Bakumatsu era, you’ll find these three streets, like sinews, connect to the backbone of society: about 30 houses of Choshu’s samurai families, their eaves lined together in a neat row.

*Koku: Literally stone, it is a unit for measuring rice and an indication of wealth

Translation: Katsura Kogoro: Preface

Hagi Stories: Katsura Kogoro. By: Issaki, Taro. This book was given to me by Osaki Yoko, a kind lady at Hagi Museum.

Page 3

Preface

During the Bakumatsu, when Choshu Domain was facing a crisis, Katsura Kogoro lied about his identity and for 10 months remained hidden deep in the mountains of Tajima (in the north of present-day Hyogo Prefecture). The people of Tajima, with their long history of rescuing the defeated, took Kogoro in with great generosity. Before long, Kogoro’s name, changed now to Kido Takayoshi, would become known all over Japan as one of the prominent Genkun* of the Meiji Restoration. The people of Tajima who had helped Kogoro would take pride in their role in history. Even today, the stone memorials to Kogoro scattered throughout the Tajima region are proof of this affection.

Particularily notable are the words “Place of Resurrection,” carved into a stone monument which stands on the ruins of the store Kogoro ran in the lower castle district of Izushi. These words are not so unusual. Kogoro unabashedly fled from an impending crisis and was ridiculed as “Runaway Kogoro.” Yet he would return to accomplish many great things. In this way, he was indeed “resurrected.”

I think that it’s necessary for today’s politicians to have, in the same vein as Kogoro, this “shrewdness” coupled with good intentions. For example, in the case of “No wars” or “Don’t get involved in wars.” The Genkun exhibited their shrewness by crawling under the pandemonium that engulfed Japan. If, during the times they faced defeat, they had listened to impressive-sounding words, Japan would have run amok and ended up in ruin. Listening to speeches of current politicians, it seems that either shrewdness is combined with bad intentions or only a very small impression is made, and this is a terrible thing.

Now, of all times, I think Japan’s politicians should study and learn from Kogoro’s shrewdness, and with this in mind, I wrote this small booklet. Although the main feature of this book is Chapter 3: “Hiding in Tajima,” it is not possible to understand Kogoro’s career with this alone, so I have also included events before and after. I have also undertaken a critical biography about Kogoro/ Kido Takayoshi separate from this with plans to publish it some time next year. If you read both together, you will have a better understanding of the person.

I would like to offer my most humble thanks to Ms.Horikawa Taeko of Izushi Construction Public Corporation and Mr. Toritani Ryujiro of Kiosaki Onsen Tsutaya, both of whom were particularly helpful to me at the time I was collecting data.

* Genkun: a dignified, revered person who lived a (relatively) long time and gained some amount of power; an elder statesman.

Translation: Rozando (literally Dew Mountain Palace)

(From a signpost in Yamaguchi City)



In April of the 3rd year of Bunkyu (1863), the feudal lord of Hagi, Mori Takachika, moved the han office from Hagi to Yamaguchi City in order to deal with the political situation of the Bakumatsu. He built the government palace on the same spot as today’s prefectural office. At the same time, he set up a tea ceremony house near the government palace, on the foot of Ichirozan Mountain, and, omitting the character ichi, the building became known as Rozando, literally “Dew Mountain Palace.” On the pretext of tea ceremony, Takachika brought many people, regardless of social standing, to this one room, where they secretly discussed overthrowing the Shogunate, restoring Imperial rule, and other great deeds. After the abolition of hans, he was forced to move elsewhere. The building changed hands many times and began to fall into disrepair.

Shinagawa Yajiro, a close associate of Takachika who worked tirelessly to overthrow the Shogunate, knew about the state of this building and thought it was a shame to let a place with so much history fall into ruin. As a volunteer, he made plans, raised funds, and purchased this building, which was moved to its present location in April, in the 24th year of Meiji (1891). At this time, a park was also built in the area around the tea ceremony house. Afterwards, in the 38th and 48th year of Showa (1963 and 1973), construction was done to extend the area, giving the house its current look.

Translation: Chinryu-tei (Literally, Pillow-Flowing House)

(From a signpost in Yamaguchi City)



This building, located in front of Yamaguchi City Dojo Gate, was a detached Japanese-style house belonging to the prestigious Abe family. Because it was near the Sakagawa River, it was called “Chinryu-tei,” or “Pillow-Flowing House.”

During the Bakumatsu period, Choshu han and Satsuma han, which had opposed each other in events such as the Incident at the Forbidden Gate (also called the Battle of Hagomori-go-mon), were brought together in an alliance, mediated by Sakamoto Ryoma, in the 2nd year of Keio (1866). The purpose of this “Satcho” Alliance was “Tobaku,” the overthrowal of the Tokugawa Shogunate.

Saigo Takamori, Okubo Toshimichi, and Komatsu Tatewaki were among the Satsuma samurai who visited Yamaguchi City in 1867 for the purpose of discussing the deployment of Satcho union troops. They held secret meetings in Chinryu-tei with Choshu samurai Kido Takayoshi, Hirosawa Sanneomi, Shinagawa Yajiro, and Ito Hirobumi, among others.

This building is thought to have been constructed towards the end of the Edo period. Since then, it was moved twice and was transferred to its present location in the 35th year of Showa (1960). As there are few buildings from the Meiji Restoration in all of Japan, Chinryu-tei is a valuable historical site.

As a note, Chinryu-tei was originally attached to a much larger building structure, but during the repeated moving process, it was scaled down to its current size.

Yamaguchi #9: A Dull City

April 2009

I had lunch at a crowded restaurant near Kozan Park, in Yamaguchi city, on Friday. Because all the private tables were taken, I got placed at a long table in a tatami-mat room, shared by an older woman who was elegantly dressed. By and by, the woman and I began to talk. There are days when grammar and vocabulary come together in my head, and Japanese rolls off my tongue almost eloquently. This was not one of those days. But I tried to speak to this woman. I tried so hard.

The lady let me ramble on for about 20 minutes before revealing, at last, that she spoke perfect English. Well. Didn’t I feel foolish, then?

After lunch I had soft serve ice cream at the park. The advertisement read, “Teutsu Soba Soft Cream,” and I had to do a double take just to make sure I was reading it right. Yes, it actually said “Handmade Buckwheat Noodle (Flavored) Soft Serve.” I ordered it mixed with Hokkaido cream (the most delicious cream in Japan), and the person put some kind of crunchy, vaguely nutty topping on the soba side. Actually, it was pretty good. Not as sweet as most ice creams and a little more earthy.



Kozan Park was known for its five-storied pagoda, Ruriko-ji. Since it was spring vacation and beautiful weather, everyone was out doing hanami near the temple, that is, having a picnic and enjoying the cherry blossoms. I ate my ice cream. There were two white women (a grandma and a mother) and two Asian-looking kids in front of me, and the mother was speaking to the kids in English. At one point, in the temple, she explained how people in Japan would ring the bell and clap. I thought this was interesting, because later I saw a Japanese mother take her two kids up to Xavier Memorial Chapel and I could just imagine her trying to explain to them how Christian religion worked.



The other two things I came to see in the park had to do with history, of course. Chinryu-tei and Rozando. Unfortunately, I didn’t know much about them, because my guidebook ignored Chinryu-tei entirely and only said of Rozando that the Mori lord held secret meetings to overthrow the Shogun. The signs at the sight weren’t helpful either. No English for Chinryu-tei (but inside were portraits of revolutionaries I knew), and maybe one English sentence for Rozando, saying basically the same thing my guide had.

Oh, well, that’s how it goes. I was in Japan after all. There was nothing to do but take pictures of the Japanese signs, print them out after the trip, and painstakingly translate them for myself. Which is exactly what I did.

All in all, though, Yamaguchi City was rather dull.

Yamaguchi #8: At the Edge of the World

April 2009

(Technically in Shimane Prefecture)



The weather didn’t improve much the next day. It was still cloudy and cold. There was only one redeeming attribute. The fog. Not that fog was exactly pleasant to ride a rented bicycle through first thing in the morning—but it was beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful. “The fog creeps in on little cat feet…” But in Japan it glided around the dark round mountains like a dragon. And in the valley below, the red tiles of the houses glistened.



Originally, I intended to go to the castle ruins, but I changed my mind. Fog is perfect weather to visit an Inari shrine. And Tsuwano had one of the larger Inari shrines in all of Japan.



Any proper Inari shrine has several red torii, or shrine gates, forming a kind of tunnel into the main shrine. In the case of Takodani, the Tsuwano Inari Shrine, it had torii going up the whole side of the hill, painting it red. I ascended and came to the main building, which was bright orange and white, with a huge straw rope handing in the front of it.



I heard flutes and drums. At first, I thought it was a recording, but it seemed too pure, too alive. I followed it to the main shrine. The building’s walls were open, so I could see inside. Musicians were playing, a priest was swinging a branch, and a few dedicated people were sitting inside watching. Then, the music stopped and the priest began talking in a normal voice. I thought I heard something about a meeting. I swear he must have been doing announcements. I felt a little embarrassed at gawking at them, as though I had busted into Sunday service at church.

Tsuwano is a small town, and although it has many attractions, you could probably see all of them in a day. I visited a few notable places, like Japanese Meiji-era author Mori Ogai’s house (which interested me only because I had read his book, “The Wild Geese,” previously) and a chapel dedicated to the Nagasaki martyrs, who stopped at Tsuwano, before being crucified. There were also a few non-notable places. The biggest disappointment was the Tonomachi District. The guidebook had promised me beautiful ditches and ten thousand carp. But the ditches only went on for a few blocks, and I saw more fish at a noodle restaurant in Ibusuki.


I circled around the town and came back to the mountains. My last attraction for the day was the ruins of Hagi castle. There was a lift mentioned in my guidebook and I had imagined a “ropeway,” one of those glass boxes suspended from steel cable which pulls you up the mountain. Well, the lift was sort of like that. But without the glass box.



Instead there were green chairs with a single armrest on the right side and not even a seatbelt to keep you from tumbling out of it. When I saw it, I thought it was scary, and told the man so. In fact, it was fun. The ground was only a couple of feet down and on it was soft-looking green grass. I was fairly certain that if I did fall I wouldn’t die. The rope pulled me slowly, and I was suspended in the air, my feet dangling just above the ground, feeling happy as a clam.



A short walk later, I was tramping through dried grass and staring up at enormous walls. I can’t quite convey what it was like. I was at the very top of a deserted mountain, with a wood in the back and a flat expanse of grass where I imagine the actual castle used to be. And the walls, the very stone foundations of the mountain. They were massive. And it made no sense to me, that such a small town like Tsuwano would ever need such a huge castle? One wall was embedded into the grass and when I walked to it, I found myself looking down the mountain at the valley of small houses below me. It was like I was standing at the edge of the world….

Yamaguchi #7: Under the Weather

April 2009

Wednesday began with a spectacular flash of lightning and a growl of thunder. It woke me up at some God-awful hour. The rain was pouring while I got dressed and flipped through my guidebook, but it receded to a drizzle by the time I actually stepped outside.



I saw the remains of Hagi castle that morning. The castle had been dismantled in the Meiji era and made into a park; now only the walls remained. I liked it better that way. There’s something more imaginative about just seeing the old stone walls of a castle. Something more mysterious. I climbed a hill of moss covered steps, through branches of falling sakura blossoms, to stare over into the rich blue moat.



In addition to the walls and the cherry blossoms, there was also a nice shrine in the park. It had a quaint, arch-shaped stone bridge and an old house next to it that still retained its screen paintings. But the best part was when I followed an obscure trail to the back of the park and found the last of the castle walls, opening, like a gate, to the rocky beach and the ocean. I think I’ve said it before, but there’s nothing like walking around in a park first thing in the morning.



Amendment: there’s nothing like it when the weather is nice. The weather was not nice. The rain had let up, but it was still overcast. Moreover, it was cold. People in Kanoya warned me it would be and told me to pack accordingly. But did I? Not really. It was the problem of baggage I mentioned before. So, here I was, wandering in the dank park for an hour or so and later spending another hour walking back to the station. After a while, the cold started to bother me.

And it wasn’t just the cold, either. Since Shimonoseki, my shoulders had been knotted up and painful. I was a little tired and stressed. I had been to three cities in three days, was immersed in Japanese, and was dealing with a change of climate that was colder than I was used to. I began to feel a little “stress sick.” Not really sick, but a kind of feeling like you’re on the edge of a cold and if you don’t take it easy, you might actually end up sick. To put it succinctly, I was feeling under the weather.

And it was going to get worse.

I took a bus to Tsuwano at around noon, and, I swear, on the way there I saw a brief flurry of snowflakes. I hadn’t even brought gloves. When I actually got to Tsuwano, it was merely raining. And windy. And cold. It was so cold, I really wanted my gloves and my scarf and maybe a nice hat, too.

When it came time to check into my ryokan, I didn’t want to leave. I had two good hours of sightseeing left and little within my room to keep me amused, but you could not have dragged me out of there. The room had a heater and, more importantly, a kotatsu.

A kotatsu is basically a table with quilts trailing from the edges like a tablecloth and a heater underneath. You stick your legs underneath and it warms your lower body right up. Well, this kotatsu was hot. It was like submerging yourself into a piping hot bath. I didn’t so much sit underneath as stretch out on my stomach like a cat, so only my head, shoulder, and feet were sticking out. The weather got worse and worse, but I just lay in my room, reading out of my two-ring binder, until dinner. Which was in the ryokan, just downstairs.

Wednesday began with a storm and it ended with one. I remember this because this was the night I had to do my laundry. I looked out the window and shuddered at the thought of going out into that rain and wind in a strange city, finding a Laundromat, and somehow having to haul my clean clothes back. But fortunately, it all worked out. When I asked the lady who ran the ryokan where a coin laundry was, she simply took my clothes and did my laundry for me. This is why I love Japan!

Yamaguchi #6: My Treat

April 2009

“There’s no English signs in the Hagi Museum,” the lady at the information desk told me apologetically (in Japanese).

“It’s all right,” I told her.

To be honest, I hadn’t really expected any. I had learned not to expect any. That’s why I had brought with my two-ring binder with Wikipedia articles on anything I could find about the era and the people in it, and also the diaries of Kido Takayoshi. I was prepared. I could make my way around the museum by myself.

But the lady at the desk didn’t know that and apparently she wasn’t satisfied with my assurance that I would be fine. I came back from the natural history room, to find an older woman (not the lady at the reception desk) waiting for me. She would be my exclusive guide for the remaining trip to the museum, and I was very happy to have her.

We were in the hall, we hadn’t even got into the main exhibits, when my guide drew my attention to a bench and table made of smooth pine wood. She asked me to sit down on it, and so I did. Then she told me (in Japanese of course) that Kido Takayoshi, Takasugi Shinsaku, and the rest had all sat here. Apparently it was part of Yoshida Shoin’s “Under the Pine Trees” school, the one that everyone who was anyone had been in. My immediate reaction was a silly-giddy feeling, as though I were somehow sitting next to the ghosts of the revolutionaries themselves.

My guide, who’s name I found out later was Osaki Yoko, showed me the culture room which featured, among other things, tiny dolls, no bigger than my finger, crafted with the most intricate and beautiful detail. Most dolls could be made assembly style, with one person making heads, one person making hands, and so forth, but these ones had to be made by the same person. It was a time-consuming process and so each small doll was extremely valuable.



I saw other cultural things as well, but I was antsy about getting to the history room. The main exhibition was, of course, Yoshida Shoin. I have to say, even though I saw his grave, Yoshida Shoin was not my favorite revolutionary. He really didn’t do anything—he was executed long before Choshu really became involved in national politics—and yet for some reason, the people of Hagi seem to be obsessed with him. He has a shrine and a wax museum.

I asked Yoko who her favorite person in the Bakumatsu era was, and she answered it was Shoin-sensei (which is how they address Yoshida Shoin in Hagi). Why? I wanted to know. And why, out of all the great men born in Hagi (including the first prime minister and one of the “three nobles of the restoration”) did the people adore this man so much? Yoko answered that it was true that there were many great men in Hagi, but they were all taught by Shoin-sensei. And without Shoin-sensei, they might not have become great.

I’m not sure how much I agreed with that statement. It wasn’t as if he had taught any of them for very long—he started the school at 25 and died by 29, so therefore the longest he could have taught was 4 years. But as she told me more about him, I did respect him a little more. She told me he had traveled all around Japan, from Kyushu to Northern Japan, seeking out all the great masters of the age. Naturally, I didn’t know any of them, but I was still impressed. The trip had taken 3 years and I’m pretty sure he made it as a teenager.

Naturally, my Japanese wasn’t perfect and I didn’t catch everything she was telling me, but since I had suitable background information, I caught quite a bit. I was able to practically finish her sentences. At one point I showed her my two-ring binder, and tried to explain that I had Kido Takayoshi’s diaries in English. That really impressed her.



I asked her if she liked Bakumatsu era history and she said that it wasn’t Bakumatsu history or the history of any one era that interested her, it was Hagi’s history. I could sense the fierce pride she had in her town. I couldn’t blame her either. This small city did more for Japan than many larger cities had.

We ended at the gift shop, and my guide followed me there. She wanted to buy me a book, she told me. At first I protested, no, no, no, but she insisted. She said that even though she was the guide, I had ended up teaching her about the history of the era. So did I want a book on Kido Takayoshi or Yoshida Shoin? I paused. Well, I’d prefer Kido Takayoshi. She bought me the little paperback book in Japanese and, although I couldn’t read it, I told her I’d study hard and try to translate it.

I also ended up buying a translucent file of the Choshu Five and some postcards. I had planned to have some of the museum’s “summer mikan” soft serve ice cream from the beginning, and when she found out, she bought me that too. I couldn’t do anything but thank her profusely. She told me she was 77, and I told her that was about the same age as my grandma. You know, come to think of it, my great-grandma came from Yamaguchi Prefecture, so there’s a chance, however remote, we may have been related.

Other Japanese people also gave me special tours of old houses, out of guilt perhaps that I couldn’t read the signs very easily, and I was grateful to them as well. But Yoko holds a special place in my heart. After all, it’s not everyday I get treated to a book and ice cream, two of my favorite things in the world.

Yamaguchi #5: Sakura and Graveyards

April 2009

There is no denying that sakura, or cherry blossoms, are beautiful. No matter how hard I try, no photograph can ever capture the impression they make. Each blossom is individually gorgeous, but when you see them together, thousands of tiny translucent petals bunched together on dozens of trees, it’s magical. I can’t quite describe what it’s like, riding near the river on a sunny day with rows and rows of sakura trees in full bloom, a soft white veil hanging over your head.



But there is also a deep sadness ingrained in sakura. As soon as the flowers reach the height of their beauty, the petals are already falling. But it’s not just that sakura dies quickly, for many other flowers do as well. No, what makes it sad for me is the human associations that come with it. I lost my grandpa around the time I first saw sakura bloom. The second time I saw sakura blooming in Japan, I came back to my school to find, to my surprise, that some of my teachers had left while I was on vacation. This year, more teachers left, and some of my favorite ones as well, making it all the more painful. No, happy as I am to see the lovely cherry blossoms, sakura will always be seared into my mind as a symbol of loss.

So it was fitting perhaps that on this day, I was hunting down the graves of the heroes and martyrs of the Bakumatsu.* I pushed my bicycle up a hill and found a small, obscure little graveyard. I knew the names on the headstones and I knew their stories. I also knew the age they passed away, and that’s what made the graves particularly tragic.



The headstone read Takasugi Shinsaku. He negotiated the treaty of Shimonoseki (I visited the place of the battle in the last email) and was nearly murdered by his own countrymen for it. A year later, he would lead those same people in a battle against the Shogun, which they would decisively win. He mixed peasants with samurai to create a fierce army and he trained them in the ways of modern warfare. He died of tuberculosis at the age of 28.



Another one read Yoshida Shoin. He was Takasugi’s teacher, and also the teacher of Ito Hirobumi, Kido Takayoshi, and anyone who would become anyone in Choshu at that era. He plotted to assassinate the Shogun, got caught, and stupidly confessed his scheme. He was executed and made a martyr by the Shogun just before Choshu really became involved in the effort to overthrow the Shogunate. He was 29.



I went to a temple called Toko-ji and, in the back, just before the more impressive display of stone lanterns, I found a small area with monuments to samurai who had died for the revolution. I didn’t know their names and couldn’t read the signs very well, but I did figure out their ages. It’s kind of sobering reading about people who were your age or just a little older than you when they died.



Kido Takayoshi (also called Katsura Kogoro) was one of the “three great nobles of the restoration,” and I had some of his diaries with me. In the first year of Meiji** 1868, at the culmination of all his years efforts to restore the Emperor to the throne, Kido wrote: “…the Restoration was fully realized only after many loyal and benevolent men had sacrificed their lives in the service of the Imperial family. Several dozens of my friends fell as martyrs to the cause of the Empire, but by chance I have survived to this day.” He did not survive much longer, though. Nine years later, he died too, at the ripe old age of 43.



They say that a samurai’s life should be like a cherry blossom: beautiful, but brief. I find this ideal morbid, but in this case the metaphor is apt. These men lived short, intense lives, and even now I mourn their death, people who died a hundred years before I was born in a country I didn’t know. Why did they have to die so young and so violently? It doesn’t seem fair.

It’s rarely mentioned, but even as the petals are falling, green leaves are shooting from the branches of the sakura tree. By the time the last cherry blossom is gone, the tree has a healthy crown of leaves that will last it all summer. I wonder if it’s the same thing with these samurai. Even as they died, new people were being born into an age that would be the beginning of a new Japan. Cherry blossoms can’t live forever, there must be leaves, there must be fruits. The beautiful sacrifice of the flower sustains the life and the health of the tree.



*Bakumatsu: The last years of the Shogunate. It dates from 1853, when Admiral Perry’s “black ships” entered Tokyo Bay, until 1867, when the Shogun abdicated and the Emperor was restored. The time is characterized by foreign pressure from outside Japan and revolutionary forces from within.

**Meiji: The era following the Bakumatsu, from 1868-1912. It’s characterized by the modernization of Japan, politically, economically, and militarily. During this time, Japan fought and won two foreign wars: the Sino (China)-Japanese War and the Russo (Russia) –Japanese War. The era began with the restoration of the Emperor Meiji and ended with his death. He was posthumously named after the era.