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Authors: Giles Milton
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The justices were itching to start chopping him to pieces, but the lord of Bungo had an altogether more sensible proposal. He suggested that since his guest had been the cause of young Otomo’s accident, he should now be charged with bringing him back to life. He had provided a cure for the gout; it was possible, perhaps, that he could administer a different potion that would resurrect his son. For the second time since his arrival, Pinto found himself playing doctor—only this time his very own life was at stake.
Yoshishige looked as if he was beyond repair. He had collapsed on the floor, “weltering in his own blood, without stirring either hand or foot.” But a cursory examination convinced Pinto that the wounds were not as serious as the assembled courtiers believed. The gash on his forehead looked terrible, but was actually “of no great matter,” while the thumb, which was hanging from its tendons, could probably be saved. “Now, because the hurt of the right hand thumb was most dangerous,” wrote Pinto, “I began with that, and gave it seven stitches.” His handiwork was clumsy and the wound continued to ooze blood, so he applied a more traditional salve—“the whites of eggs … as I had seen others done in the Indies.” The cure worked. The blood clotted, and the prince regained consciousness and began to recover. Within twenty days, he was completely better, “without any other inconvenience remaining in him than a little weakness in his thumb.” The new technology—Pinto’s muskets and arquebuses—had proved their deadly effect, and their future in Japanese warfare was guaranteed. Within a few months of the accident, local armorers were busy making copies of the weapons.
Present-giving was a way of life in Japan and involved much ceremony. The shogun and his courtiers expected costly and exotic gifts from European merchants.
Pinto was astonished by the refined manners of the Japanese, while Yoshiaki’s retinue were appalled by the rough and uncouth table manners of the Portuguese. On Pinto’s second visit to Japan, in 1556, he was invited to a stately banquet at which he quickly found himself the object of derision. “We fell to eating after our own manner,” wrote Pinto, “of all that was set before us.” He said that watching him eat “gave more delight to the king and queen
[than] all the comedies that could have been presented before them.” The Japanese, it transpired, were “accustomed to feed with two little sticks … [and] hold it for a great incivilitie to touch the meat with one’s hands.” By the end of the meal, the good humor of the Japanese had turned to disdain, and the assembled courtiers “drove away the time at our cost, by jeering and gibing at us.” The banquet ended abruptly when a Japanese merchant entered the room carrying a small stash of fake wooden arms. To the uproarious mirth of the courtiers, he explained to Pinto and his men that since their hands “must of necessity smell always of flesh or fish … this merchandise would greatly accommodate us.”
[than] all the comedies that could have been presented before them.” The Japanese, it transpired, were “accustomed to feed with two little sticks … [and] hold it for a great incivilitie to touch the meat with one’s hands.” By the end of the meal, the good humor of the Japanese had turned to disdain, and the assembled courtiers “drove away the time at our cost, by jeering and gibing at us.” The banquet ended abruptly when a Japanese merchant entered the room carrying a small stash of fake wooden arms. To the uproarious mirth of the courtiers, he explained to Pinto and his men that since their hands “must of necessity smell always of flesh or fish … this merchandise would greatly accommodate us.”
Pinto’s first visit to Japan came to an end after a couple of months at Otomo’s court. He had been fascinated by the richness and splendor of Japan and, although his account often reads like a medieval fable, it gave the world its first eyewitness description of the country. It also provided a graphic illustration of the amazement that would soon be shared by those who followed in Pinto’s ’s footsteps. One newcomer would write home with the shocking news that the Japanese were a superior race in almost every respect: “You should not think that they are barbarians,” he said, “for apart from our religion, we are greatly inferior to them.”
Pinto survived his time in Japan by a mixture of bluff, bravado, and cheery good humor. Confined to the fiefdom of Bungo and never straying far from the coastline, he seemed unaware that sixteenth-century Japan was one of the most dangerous countries in the world. The Land of the Rising Sun was in the grip of the terrible
sengoku jidai
—the era of civil wars—in which power was determined by military prowess. “Men chastised and killed each other,” wrote one early European visitor, “banished people and confiscated their property as they saw fit, in such a fashion that treachery was rampant and nobody trusted his neighbour.”
sengoku jidai
—the era of civil wars—in which power was determined by military prowess. “Men chastised and killed each other,” wrote one early European visitor, “banished people and confiscated their property as they saw fit, in such a fashion that treachery was rampant and nobody trusted his neighbour.”
The land was nominally ruled by an emperor, the self-styled
Lord of Heaven, who lived in splendid isolation in the city of Kyoto. In the golden age of medieval Japan, he had presided over a vast hierarchy of courtly ladies and chamberlains who spent their waking hours indulging in aesthetic pursuits. Now, with the imperial coffers empty, many nobles had abandoned such ceremonial amusements and had withdrawn to the provinces, leaving the emperor to fend for himself. His palace was described by one Japanese chronicler as being indistinguishable from a peasant hovel; his remaining courtiers scratched a living by selling autographed verses and peddling antiques in Kyoto’s back streets. Abdication was impossible, for the court could not afford the expense of the necessary rites and rituals. When the emperor Go-Tsuchimikado died in 1500, his rotting corpse remained unburied for six weeks due to the parlous state of the royal finances. The emperor currently on the throne, Go-Nara-tenno, fared only slightly better. His coronation had to be delayed for nine years because of insufficient funds. Even when he was enthroned, he was a puppet without any power. “The true king,” wrote one, “but obeyed by no one.
Lord of Heaven, who lived in splendid isolation in the city of Kyoto. In the golden age of medieval Japan, he had presided over a vast hierarchy of courtly ladies and chamberlains who spent their waking hours indulging in aesthetic pursuits. Now, with the imperial coffers empty, many nobles had abandoned such ceremonial amusements and had withdrawn to the provinces, leaving the emperor to fend for himself. His palace was described by one Japanese chronicler as being indistinguishable from a peasant hovel; his remaining courtiers scratched a living by selling autographed verses and peddling antiques in Kyoto’s back streets. Abdication was impossible, for the court could not afford the expense of the necessary rites and rituals. When the emperor Go-Tsuchimikado died in 1500, his rotting corpse remained unburied for six weeks due to the parlous state of the royal finances. The emperor currently on the throne, Go-Nara-tenno, fared only slightly better. His coronation had to be delayed for nine years because of insufficient funds. Even when he was enthroned, he was a puppet without any power. “The true king,” wrote one, “but obeyed by no one.
The emperor’s protector was the shogun, or “barbarian-quelling generalissimo,” who was also the strongman of the feudal lords. But by the 1540s he, too, lacked any real authority, for the country had imploded into anarchy and was fought over by the hundreds of rival warlords, brigands, and mercenaries. The great
daimyo
, or feudal lords, like Otomo Yoshiaki, lord of Bungo, were engaged in constant internecine warfare, usurping each other’s domains and slaughtering their families and kinsmen.
daimyo
, or feudal lords, like Otomo Yoshiaki, lord of Bungo, were engaged in constant internecine warfare, usurping each other’s domains and slaughtering their families and kinsmen.
Effective power belonged to the most ruthless robber barons, banditti, and armed monks, who regularly laid waste the countryside. The success of these warlords depended to a great extent upon the strength of the
samurai
, or two-sworded warrior class, on their land. These warriors had, in the misty past, been utterly loyal to their overlord. “We will not die peacefully,” was their mantra, “but we will die by the side of our king.” But many could no
longer be trusted, and those living in borderland regions were only too ready to switch allegiance to a more prosperous, or more successful, feudal potentate.
samurai
, or two-sworded warrior class, on their land. These warriors had, in the misty past, been utterly loyal to their overlord. “We will not die peacefully,” was their mantra, “but we will die by the side of our king.” But many could no
longer be trusted, and those living in borderland regions were only too ready to switch allegiance to a more prosperous, or more successful, feudal potentate.
Armed monks presented another threat to the feudal lords and the shogun. Japanese chronicles recount numerous instances of monks laughing in scorn at threats to reduce their hilltop fortress-monasteries. Safely behind stout walls, these monks were in an impregnable position, and many had abandoned prayer in favor of a more raucous cycle of carousing, sodomy, and adultery. Yet not all was gloom in these turbulent times. A few of the greatest Zen Buddhist monasteries produced exquisite calligraphic scrolls. So, too, did the more educated feudal lords. Poetry, the Noh lyric dramas, and the courtly rituals of the tea ceremony also flourished in this troublesome period.
Despite the unrest and the power-jostling, the impoverished court continued to function with aloof grandeur and was held in enormous respect. “Though he [the emperor] lost his position and his services and his incomes four hundred years ago,” wrote the Jesuit Luis Frois, “and is nothing more than an idol, he is still held in great respect.” His shaven-headed
kuge,
or courtly nobles, were destitute of power, yet were accorded every possible dignity. In this strictly hierarchical society, their honorific titles were more than empty symbols; the most impoverished retainer, once ennobled by the imperial patent, would look down upon the mightiest robber baron with the utmost contempt. It was a peculiarly Japanese phenomenon; foreign arrivals could never quite understand how a powerful feudal lord, controlling two or three provinces, could be accorded so little respect simply because the emperor had not honored him with a position at court.
kuge,
or courtly nobles, were destitute of power, yet were accorded every possible dignity. In this strictly hierarchical society, their honorific titles were more than empty symbols; the most impoverished retainer, once ennobled by the imperial patent, would look down upon the mightiest robber baron with the utmost contempt. It was a peculiarly Japanese phenomenon; foreign arrivals could never quite understand how a powerful feudal lord, controlling two or three provinces, could be accorded so little respect simply because the emperor had not honored him with a position at court.
Pinto was soon followed by several other Portuguese adventurers. In the winter of 1547, Captain Jorge Alvarez visited the land and declared it to be far more impressive than coastal China or the islands of the East Indies. He wrote at length of the mountains and orchards, and concluded his report with a brief analysis of the
Japanese people. There was much to be celebrated. Captain Alvarez was pleased to note that “they are a white race” and “of good appearance,” and he expressed his admiration for their diet, which consisted largely of boiled, glutinous wheat. “They eat it cooked as a gruel,” he wrote, “and each time they eat very little.”
Japanese people. There was much to be celebrated. Captain Alvarez was pleased to note that “they are a white race” and “of good appearance,” and he expressed his admiration for their diet, which consisted largely of boiled, glutinous wheat. “They eat it cooked as a gruel,” he wrote, “and each time they eat very little.”
They were pious, too, and would spend the greater part of each morning “with their rosary in their hand to pray.” In old age, many retired to Buddhist monasteries to live the rest of their days in prayer and contemplation. It was a tantalizing vision to the churchmen of Portugal, and the only blemish came at the end of their prayer sessions when the monks would hitch up their kimonos “[and] engage in sodomy with boys whom they instruct.”
Alvarez’s report fascinated his countryman Francis Xavier, a young Jesuit who had spent more than eight years in India and the Malay archipelago. He saw a whole new world of missionary activity opening up and was even more excited when Captain Alvarez introduced him to an open-minded Japanese refugee called Anjiro. After converting to Christianity in 1548, Anjiro—along with his servant and a friend—accompanied Xavier to Japan.
The voyage was not without its difficulties. The junk carrying Xavier and his companions suffered a treacherous passage, dodging hurricanes and hidden reefs, pirates and shallows. When the captain’s daughter fell overboard and drowned, the “pagan” Chinese crew engaged in diabolical rituals, sacrificing seabirds and smearing blood over the images of their goddesses. Finally, after three wearisome weeks at sea, Xavier and his companions sighted the forested coast of Kagoshima in southern Japan. It was August 15, 1549: the twenty-second day of the seventh month of the eighteenth year of the period known as Tembun.
Kagoshima lay some 130 miles to the southwest of Funai and was much more impressive. It was the capital of the Satsuma fiefdom, and its wooded hills were bedecked with many-storied pagodas with their distinctive concave roofs. Xavier arrived when it was looking its most picturesque. Just a week earlier, the inhabitants
had celebrated the great Bon festival—the Buddhist All Souls’ Day—and the city’s graveyards had been sprinkled with fresh blossoms.
had celebrated the great Bon festival—the Buddhist All Souls’ Day—and the city’s graveyards had been sprinkled with fresh blossoms.
Xavier was delighted to discover that this island nation more than lived up to expectations. The Japanese, he wrote, were “of astonishing great sense of honour, who prize honour more than any other.” He was disappointed, however, to discover that the Buddhist monks were “inclined to sins abhorrent to nature,” but he felt convinced that Japan would prove fertile territory. “If we knew how to speak the language,” he wrote, “I have no doubt that many would become Christians.”
Kagoshima was situated in one of the most conservative provinces of Japan—a bastion of the ancient Shinto cult—and the city’s alleys were decked with ancient wooden shrines with their characteristic double-beamed gateways. There were Buddhist temples as well: dimly lit altars whose gilded statues glittered in the candlelight. The city was home to all the principal sects, including the exotically dressed followers of the fanatical Hokke and the gray-robed monks of the Ji-shu. These lived together with female nuns and were rumored to spend their nocturnal hours in a frenzy of copulation.
Xavier headed for the great Fukosho-ji monastery, which lay just a short walk from the harbor. It was an exquisite spot, shaded with camphor trees and scented with plum blossom. The place was adorned with stone lanterns and a lotus pool, a dragon-gate bridge, and giant stone figures with hideous grimaces. Xavier made contact with the venerable superior, an eighty-year-old Zen Buddhist abbot called Ninshitsu, and found him to be an amiable man. Ninshitsu had long been troubled by the issue of the immortality of the soul and was fascinated by Xavier’s preaching and simple piety. After a lengthy conversation, with Anjiro acting as interpreter, he led his guest into the meditation hall to watch the monks at prayer. When Xavier asked what they were doing, Ninshitsu gave a despondent shrug. “Some are counting up how
much they received during the past months from their faithful,“he said,”others are thinking about where they can obtain better clothes … In short, none of them is thinking about anything that has any meaning at all.”
much they received during the past months from their faithful,“he said,”others are thinking about where they can obtain better clothes … In short, none of them is thinking about anything that has any meaning at all.”
BOOK: Samurai William: The Englishman Who Opened Japan
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