BOOKS Gunboats off Titipu

PAT BARR

British diplomats of the nineteenth century were a tough, self-confident, vigorous breed.

Nevertheless, much of the verve and colour that marked their careers has been dilig- ently filtered from their own memoirs: men who spent their professional lives being dis- creet about the machinations of their job and the personalities of their colleagues sel- dom spilled the beans even in retirement— which is a pity.

In some respects, A Diplomat in Japan (out. 90s), in which Sir Ernest Satow des- cribes his early career between 1862 and 1869 when he was student-interpreter and then Secretary at the recently-established British Legation in Japan, is an exception. Certainly, a great deal of the young man's enthusiasm for the life and work is retained, as are a number of surprisingly candid and ungilded portraits of Satow's diplomatic colleagues. The book also gives a pleasant, informal impression of the rather haphaz- ard, bustling, rudimentary quality of lega- tion affairs during that crucial period in Japan's history. It describes, for instance, the sudden dashing off in a gunboat with an over-night bag and a supply of cheroots to chastise the xenophobic Choshiu clan, the desperate improvisations of western- style food and accommodation to meet the needs of the European representatives, and the comings and goings of many other busy men on the spot—consuls, naval officers, interpreters and numerous Japanese samurai and politicians with whom Satow held long and searching discussions on the country's uncertain future.

Satow recapitulates many of these valu- able, extra-oflicial discussions in consider- able detail, for these memoirs are, first and foremost, a personal account of the part that he himself played in the development of Anglo-Japanese relations during the last years of the Tokugawa Shogunate. His in- volvement in these complex diplomatic activities, though whole-hearted and influ- ential, was limited by his position as a junior member of the legation staff (he was only in his early twenties at the time), and some of his judgments are hasty and occa- sionally unfair—typical of an ambitious, brilliant, opinionated young man who was allowed no voice in the formation of policy. This is particularly true when he estimates the degree of support given by his Chief (Sir Harry Parkes) to the Imperialists of the Emperor's party.

Of particular interest are Satow's des- criptions of many politically active, for- ward-looking Japanese who were later to wield considerable influence in the coun- try's affairs. When Satow first met these eager young men they wore their hair tied in the traditional queue, they shimmered in baggy silks and brocades, they swaggered with two swords apiece stuck in their belts.

Within about a decade some of them would be sporting top hats and kid gloves, eating fashionable beefsteaks with knives and forks, cropping their hair like Europeans.

It was one of the most rapid social changes in Far Eastern history and even Parkes and Satow, perceptive though they both were, did not foresee that Japan would so readily adopt so many western ways.

For, to the outside observer, the Japan of

the 1860s still seemed a predominantly con- servative, semi-feudal, thoroughly oriental society; an additional merit of these memoirs is that they contain glimpses of this society before it finally crumbled away. In January 1868, for example, when the Shogunate fell, Satow was at just the right place to witness the dramatic withdrawal of the last Shogun (Keiki) to his feudal castle in Osaka as the victory of the Royalists be- came certain.

'We had just got to the end of the street that ran by the castle moat,' Satow re- corded, 'when the bugles sounded to arms, and we saw a long train of drilled troops advancing. We stood on one side opposite to a man wearing a gorgeous red surcoat, till the troops should pass. Onthe went fol- lowed by a herd of men in fantastic cos- tumes . . . some wearing helmets with long wigs of black or white hair reaching half- way down their backs, others in ordinary helmets, basin-shaped war-hats, flat hats, armed, some with long spears, short spears, Spencer rifles, Swiss rifles, muskets, or the plain two swords. Then a silence came over the scene. Every Japanese knelt down as a group of horsemen approached. It was Keiki and his train. We took off our hats to fallen greatness. He was muffled in a black hood and wore an ordinary war-hat. What could be seen of his countenance looked worn and sad . .

Less than three months later, again at Osaka, Satow accompanied Sir Harry to an audience of the Mikado, the young sovereign who had had the responsibilities of power so suddenly thrust upon him. The Mikado was seated on a throne, Satow re- ports, 'under a canopy supported by black- lacquered poles, and with the blinds rolled up as high as was possible . . . His com- plexion was white, perhaps artificially so rendered ... His eyebrows were shaven off and painted in an inch higher up. His cos- tume consisted of a long black loose cape hanging backwards, a white upper garment or mantle and voluminous purple trousers.' To the many westerners who were later presented to the Emperor Meiji in his smart morning suits or western-style naval uni- forms, it seemed almost incredible that he once had his eyebrows shaved off and wore purple trousers.

In his capacity as the legation's most able interpreter, Satow was present on several momentous occasions such as this and he describes them with painstaking care —though not, it must be admitted, with much flair. The narrative quickens when, released from the stresses of negotiation and ceremony, he was dispatched on uncom- fortable but fascinating journeys of politi- cal reconnaissance. For in those days the

only way to assess the very different poli- tical moods in various regions of the coun- try was to go about and meet the people concerned. So Satow travelled for many a mile astride a bony mare, or curled uncomfortably in a norimon (palanquin) or poled along a river on a slow houseboat. He and his colleagues were star attractions wherever they went and were assumed to be of exalted rank. 'In many towns the people knelt down by the side of the street as we passed along,' he noted, 'being invited to assume that posture by the municipal officers who preceded us beadle-fashion, crying out Shitaniro, shitaniro ("down, down").'

Though level-headed enough to find such extravagant attention a trifle embarrassing, Satow conducted himself with grave dignity as if it was his due. This was advisable in the circumstances, but, in any case, Satow accepted the tacit assumption made by most of his colleagues at that time—that they, as Europeans, were morally, economically and culturally superior to the Japanese. It followed therefore that the western powers felt quite justified in imposing their forms of political and commercial agreement upon the government, and even in backing up their demands with the ever-present threat of the gunboat, some of which were gen- erally cruising near Japan's shores to 'help' its ministers reach the desired decision.

In retrospect, for instance, it is instructive to note Satow's cheery and triumphant account of a legation dinner held to cele- brate the signing of the treaty at Osaka which eventually forced the Japanese to open more of their ports to foreign trade.

Following the meal, the Admiral in com- mand of the European ships which had been handily available in the harbour while

negotiations were in progress 'made a speech, proposing Sir Harry's health and giving to him the whole credit of the success achieved. He replied by disclaiming any merit, and attributing a far greater share of the achievement to M Roches (the French minister); "but after all," he added, "it was you who did it, Admiral, for without you and your magnificent ship, we should not have made the slightest impression".' Appar- ently, in that particular instance, the Japan- ese took their own form of evasive action by wording the treaty in an ambiguous way that caused misunderstandings later. Satow was most indignant, for he felt that the Japanese were not playing the game at all by indulging in such subterfuges. Occi- dentals made the rules; orientals who didn't stick to them were branded as shockingly 'wily customers'.

However, one cannot be too critical of the young Satow for failing to see what few of his elders and betters saw either at that time. As Gordon Daniels points out in his helpful introduction, this disdainful approach to 'orientals' was considerably modified between the 1860s and 1921, when Satow finally edited these memoirs for pub- lication. In the interim, Sir Ernest had gained a considerable reputation as a Japanologist and had returned to Tokyo during the late 1890s as British Minister— the Chief at last. Thus, the youthful ex- periences of people and politics on record here formed, for Satow, the springboard for his later distinguished diplomatic career. For us, looking back on that career, the memoirs give additional interest and dimen- sion to Satow—as one of the only English- men to play an important role in Japan's political history during both the 1860s and the 1890s.