The sound of one hand waving: April 2010

Bakumatsu arc #4: Restaurants, red-light districts and revolution

10th April 2010

PG-rated because the other instalments were and I don't want this one to feel left out.

...

Taking part in politics in the last years of the Tokugawa shogunate was not conducive to reaching a ripe old age.

Intimidated by the American warships that steamed up to Japan in 1853, the military government caved in to trade demands from the West. This sparked off a wave of anger in the country that eventually brought down the shogunate and led to the establishment of an emperor-centric government in 1868.

But the years leading up to this were dangerous ones for both those who supported the shogunate and those who opposed it. Apart from the battlefield deaths, there were also numerous fatalities from assassinations and forced suicides.

Pro-emperor activist Nakaoka Shintaro had his way of fortifying himself for a dangerous mission: he would go to a brothel. And according to his diary, he would run into the other members there, which meant that the rest of the evening was divided between talking about politics and making use of the facilities.

Much of the revolution seems to have been planned in red-light districts and restaurants. The reason usually given is that, in those times, these were the only two places where men could gather without drawing too much attention from the authorities. There were other meeting places. But the men do not seem to have tried too hard to use them.

In a quiet neighbourhood in the south-west of Kyoto city, a restaurant that served the activists still stands. Sumiya’s rooms – decorated with cloisonné and mother-of-pearl – stun even now but none of this can be seen from the front of the building, a severe stretch of dark wooden lattices.

This discretion matched the clandestine nature of the rebels’ work. Among those who gathered at the Sumiya were Sakamoto Ryoma and Saigo Takamori – key players in the anti-shogunate movement. Revolution could be an expensive business and they invited wealthy merchants to the restaurant in a bid to get them to donate to their cause.

Adding to the intrigue of those days, the Sumiya entertained customers from both sides. Members of the Shinsengumi special police force, who would have promptly arrested Ryoma had they seen him there, also favoured the restaurant, which was about 20 minutes’ walk away from their headquarters.

Banquets and dinner parties would be thrown at the Sumiya and geisha would be summoned – the restaurant was located in the Shimabara pleasure quarters – to sing and dance for the customers.

A party held one rainy evening in September 1863 is still remembered. Not long after its founding, the Shinsengumi split into two factions. One was headed by corps commander Serizawa Kamo. Prone to violent outbursts, he became even more unstable after his right-hand man died. His subordinate had been cornered in a brothel by the other faction earlier that month. Accused of extortion and neglecting his duties, he was pressured into commiting suicide there and then. The alternative was beheading, considered a dishonourable death.

Yet when the leader of the rival faction, Kondo Isami, invited Serizawa to a party at the Sumiya a number of days later, the commander attended with two of his men. Perhaps Kondo knew that the hard-drinking Serizawa would not turn down a chance to carouse.

Kondo made sure that the sake flowed and that there were women on hand to keep his guests’ cups filled.

By the time Serizawa and his men left, he had drunk so much that a palanquin had to be called to take him back to his quarters. His mistress joined him in his room and along with his subordinates and two women from the pleasure quarters, the revelry continued. It was only when they were too drunk to sit up that they went to sleep.

Outside, the rain kept falling. Undeterred by the storm, Kondo’s men went through the garden and into the house: they had come for the last of the Serizawa faction.

Serizawa tried to run but it did not take the assassins long to finish him off. The women of the pleasure district and one of his supporters fled in the uproar. Less lucky were the other subordinate and his mistress; they lay dead in the room where they had slept, their heads cut off.

The samurai’s fondness for red-light areas and restaurants meant that the women who worked there, whether as courtesans or maids, were in constant danger of being caught up in the violence of raids and assassinations.

But there were those who risked themselves willingly, entertaining clients from the other side in order to spy on them. The women may have done this because they believed in the cause they were supporting or because, like Ikumatsu the geisha, they had more personal reasons.

Ikumatsu was a geisha of the Sanbongi pleasure quarter, located near the Kamogawa with a view of the eastern hills beyond the river. She was a skilled dancer and musician but these may not have been the qualities that drew the attention of activist Katsura Kogoro. The samurai from the pro-emperor fief of Choshu was used to the attention of women. The photos of him in his youth – and the glib tongue he was said to have – explain his popularity.

Still, something about Ikumatsu prompted him to put up the huge sum needed to pay off her debts to her okiya, or geisha house, and buy her out. As a rebel leader, Katsura was forced at times to lie low until the attention of the shogunate forces shifted elsewhere. When Ikumatsu visited him in his hiding place, she would cause a stir because of her eye-catching kimono. Reckless this might have been but this side of her apparently captivated Katsura.

Meanwhile, radicals in Choshu were agitating for action. The fief was out of favour with the imperial court and they were convinced that this was because rival domains had usurped its position. On August 20, 1864, the Choshu troops that had gathered outside Kyoto advanced on the palace to eject the ‘interlopers’.

Hours later, the radicals were forced into retreat and the fires that broke out in the conflict destroyed thousands of homes. The furious court instructed the shogunate to punish Choshu and Katsura once again came into its sights, even though he had opposed the coup and did not take part in the fighting.

He went into hiding under a bridge on the Kamogawa, spending five days among the crowds of homeless who lived on the riverbanks. The story goes that Ikumatsu went to take him food and even when interrogated by the authorities, did not give him away.

Katsura managed to escape from Kyoto and about one and a half years later, represented Choshu in negotiations with Satsuma fief for an alliance that sealed the fate of the shogunate. He went on to become a prominent figure in the new imperial government. With him was Ikumatsu, whom he married.

About 150 years after the two of them met, lovers still pass under the bridges of the Kamogawa. But they live in a different Japan and as they wander beside the river, they do not have to risk their lives – though the same cannot be said of their hearts.