Thursday, Sept 11.
By the way, I’m warning you ahead of time, that even though I spent about a week in Kagoshima, I’m probably only going to post about the first few days, since those were the most packed with exploration and such. The last few days certainly had their adventures (going all the way to Kagoshima University only to find out the library is closed on the weekends during summer break, clothes shopping, finding myself in an entire shopping mall with only washiki toilets, spending nearly $100 at the Junkudô /after/ just barely managing to fit everything in my suitcases), but it’s not quite the same, and I don’t really have a whole narrative to tell.
But, for day two, we do, more or less in the normal “travel blogger” fashion. It was Thursday now, and I figured what better time to head out to the Shôkoshûseikan. I was still bitter about the Reimeikan being sold out of pretty much anything they had ever published, and so I was really hoping to have better luck at the obnoxiously named Shôkoshûseikan (try saying that three times fast). In addition to seeing the museum, the neighboring gardens, and all of that, I was also really hoping that they might, just might, even have for sale in their bookstore some of the Reimeikan books that the Reimeikan themselves didn’t have. It’s been known to happen – I went a few weeks ago to the Currency Museum (located right across the street from the Bank of Japan), and was bummed to find out that their main museum catalog – which explains within it all the different kinds of Edo period coinage, their equivalent values, etc. – was totally sold out. A day or two later, I was at Rekihaku, whose museum shop sells catalogs from museums all across the country, and bam, they had like fifteen copies, regular cover price, nothing rare about it. Of course, they had nothing from the Reimeikan at Rekihaku (REIMEI~KHAAAN!!!).
Incidentally, while at Nakano Broadway later in my Tokyo trip, I managed to obtain a good number of pieces of Edo period currency (some replica, but some authentic, all quite cheap), which are not only fun collectibles or whatever, but will also (somehow? I guess?) make for good things to pass around and show to my students.
Anyway, so I took the shiden (streetcars, *ding ding*) out as far as they go, to Kagoshima Station. I knew that Kagoshima Chûô (“Central”) Station, in the center of town, was a much more major center of activity (yes, I’ve used “central” or “center” three times in the same sentence now. sue me.), with an attached shopping mall and all of that, but, boy, wow, Kagoshima Station, off on the north/east end of the city, is easily the smallest, saddest, most rundown-looking Shinkansen (bullet train) station I have ever seen. I asked there about a train to the Shôkoshûseikan, and they looked at me like I was crazy. No such thing. Suggested I take a taxi. Now, I knew that the touristy “City View” buses went up there, but I had been trying to avoid the touristy stuff. All-day packages can be expensive, and, I don’t know, whatever. As it turns out, you can actually just pay 190 yen (about US$2.00) each ride, and ride it like a public bus, no reservations, affiliations, or package deals required. But for that day, I figured it was already too late in the day to bother going all the way back to Chûô Station, to find out how this worked, and to pick up the City View bus. So I decided to walk around that part of town, and hit whatever sites I could within walking distance of Kagoshima Station. And I’m rather glad I did – got to some sites that looked quite far off the beaten trail, but were well worth it, and by the end of the day, I had hit pretty much every major site in that part of town. A good, solid job of it.
The adventure began with two public parks relatively near the water. Gionnosu / Ishibashi (“stone bridge”) Memorial Park features a number of neat-looking old stone bridges. Why we care, I remain unclear. Haven’t really gone back to read the plaques and signs I took pictures of. But, that park was also the site of some of the coastal batteries which were used to fight back against the British Royal Navy, which bombarded Kagoshima in 1863, after a British merchant was killed in Yokohama the previous year by retainers of the lord of Satsuma. The park also features a “grave of the unknown soldier” style memorial monument to those killed in the Satsuma Rebellion, especially on the Imperial (anti-Satsuma) side. I mentioned this rebellion in my previous post; there are several memorials in the city to the 6,000 or so killed on the Satsuma side, and I would visit a cemetery dedicated to them later this same day (later in this post), but of the 6,000 or so Imperial Japanese Army soldiers who died fighting them, roughly 1,270 were buried here, with the cenotaph / memorial sculpture being erected in 1977, on the hundredth anniversary of their deaths.
I snapped some pictures of Sakurajima, and made my way down to the beach, where a pretty elaborate monument stands to St. Francis Xavier, the first Christian missionary to come to Japan. He came to Kagoshima in 1549 and remained for about a year before moving on to Hirado. The Shimazu lords never converted to Christianity, and in fact their domain was one of the earliest and strictest in enforcing bans on the religion, but Xavier and those who came after him converted quite a few of the other Kyushu daimyô, and by 1614, according to some sources there were as many as 300,000 Christians in Japan (the vast majority of them Japanese). The monument features a bronze statue of Xavier, floating above the ground, arms up in a sort of missionizing gesture, next to a length of wall with a relief sculpture tableau of samurai men, Japanese women, the Shimazu clan crest, and Western-style sailing ships. There is another monument to Xavier in Kagoshima, closer to the center of town, but I did not get around to seeing it.
Next was Tagayama Park, the site of the medieval (pre-Edo period) castle of Tôfukuji-jô, of certain famous medieval/Sengoku battles, and, of a massive bronze statue of Tôgô Heihachirô, admiral of the Imperial Japanese Navy and hero of the Russo-Japanese War. Though Tôgô is buried in Tama Cemetery in Tokyo, he has a second grave here, and his statue, as seems appropriate, watches out over the water.
Returning down into town, I followed my tourist map, kindly provided at the tourist info center at Kagoshima Chûô Station, and kindly featuring many historical sites clearly labeled, and found my way to a monument marking the birthplace of Mori Arinori, the first Minister of Education in “modern” Meiji Japan. Right nearby the monument stands a small, beautifully bright red (likely recently repainted) Shinto shrine, a branch of Kasuga Taisha. But what was not on my map, and which I count as a wonderful little discovery, is a marker at the shrine and associated sign explaining that though this spot is no longer so near the water today, four hundred years ago, there was a dock or harbor right near this spot, from which the Satsuma fleet departed in 1609 for its fateful invasion of the Ryûkyû Kingdom. As with the Ryûkyû-kan site I mentioned in my last post, there’s nothing much to see here today that really constitutes learning or understanding or appreciating anything new about that event, but, still, there’s something pretty cool about just being on that spot, and reading about it. The invasion force consisted of roughly 3000 samurai and around 5000 soldiers and workers on around one hundred ships, led by Kabayama Hisataka and Hirata Masamune. They gathered here at Kagoshima, then moved down to the port of Yamakawa, departing Yamakawa on the fourth day of the third month on the lunar calendar, in the 14th year of Keichô (1609 on the Western calendar), and after a number of skirmishes, facing and defeating resistance on various islands, the samurai took the Ryukyuan royal palace merely one month later, with the king surrendering on the fifth day of the fourth month. I could go into the details of what happened after that, and all the repercussions, but you can read about that elsewhere. For now, let’s move on. This is sure to be a long post anyway.
My main goal for the day, once I looked at the map and assessed the sites labeled thereon, was the Shimazu clan cemetery at Fukushô-ji. It’s a bit out of the way – a bit of a hike through residential neighborhoods and such a good 10-15 blocks away from where you would be otherwise. But I think it was totally worth it. Before that, though, on the way there, I passed by a few other sites. The former sites of the mansions of the Shigetomi and Imaizumi Shimazu branch families (the latter being the birthplace of the famous/popular Atsuhime) lie right along the main street which leads up to the Nanshû Cemetery; unfortunately, though, both of these sites remain private property today, and so there is nothing for the tourist / historical adventurer like myself to see but the impressive outer stone walls. I wonder how one gets to live on such a site – I’m sure that in many cases it’s simply passed down directly, through the generations, to the present day, and in other cases, it’s simply a matter of being very wealthy and able to afford to purchase such a large area of land (does historical significance actually factor into the price? I’d imagine it must, right?). But, still, I cannot help but wonder who it is that lives in such places today…
The Nanshû Cemetery. I’m not sure I have a photo that really shows this properly, but unlike most cemeteries, which wind around, all the stones here are arranged in neat lines, all facing the same direction. The gravestones thus combine to form a single, large, monument & memorial to a single event, and to those who died fighting.
Passing by those sites, I did eventually find myself at the stairs to the Nanshû Cemetery. This is the graveyard, and associated Shinto shrine, where Saigô Takamori and many of his fellows are buried. It’s surely a lower-case-m mecca for Saigô fanatics, and I intentionally had not even put it on my list. These pro- and then later anti-Imperial rebels, and their rebellion – their samurai code, their honor and bravery in battle, their exciting and dashing individual exploits – are so romanticized by armchair historians / enthusiasts it makes me want to gag. But, so long as I was already there anyway, I did hike up the stairs, and check it out. And, I have to say, it’s pretty neat. They have nice, clear, bilingual signs pointing out the graves of particularly significant individuals, and explaining a bit of why they’re of significance. To my surprise, only a very few of these already have articles about them on the Samurai Wiki. I guess maybe Satsuma Rebellion figures aren’t quite as mythologized as I’d thought, at least not as much as the Bakumatsu-era sonnô jôi rebels (sorry, Imperial loyalists) who came before them.
In any case, finishing up with that, I was finally ready to turn for the Shimazu clan cemetery. I was stopped by a kind old man who runs a sort of souvenir shop / rest area just outside the Nanshû Cemetery, who invited me in for tea. We spoke for a bit, and he tried to get me sold on the whole Saigô Takamori thing. I tried to explain that I think Saigô & Friends overshadow the earlier history of Satsuma, and that people like Shimazu Shigehide (lord of Satsuma, 1755-1787) kind of get the shaft, but he wasn’t really interested. The tea was quite good, as were of course the black sugar candies he gave me, though there was something else he offered, I can’t quite remember what it was, which started out dry and crunchy-seeming, but which quickly grew chewy, very chewy, and just could not seem to be broken up or swallowed. I chewed and chewed and chewed… after all of this, of course I felt bad to not buy anything, but, and I even feel bad to say it, his merchandise was all rather lackluster. There was really nothing there I was interested in… so I bought a bottle of Aquarius (kind of like Gatorade) and moved on.
The grave of Shimazu Iehisa, first Edo period lord of Satsuma.
After a bit of a walk, a few wrong turns, etc., I found the Shimazu clan cemetery. It’s an interesting place, in that the temple the cemetery used to be associated with – the Shimazu clan “family temple,” or bodaiji 菩提寺 – was abolished in the Meiji period, and a high school built in its place. So all that survives today is a rather extensive cemetery, but no Buddhist temple associated with it. I was a little confused at first, as I saw a small construction crew working inside the grounds, and just one gate slightly open, with all the more major-looking gates closed. Was I allowed to go inside? Would that one gate only allow me into some small portion of the cemetery? I never want to push my way in somewhere I’m not supposed to go, without first doing my best to understand both written signs and unwritten indications; I don’t like to Gaijin Smash. But, fortunately, in the end, no one gave me any kind of trouble, including groundskeepers and the construction workers, so I guess it was okay that I was there.
And, boy, wow, just about everyone is there! Atsuhime, daughter of Shimazu Tadatake, and perhaps the most famous/popular Shimazu, in large part due to a recent extremely popular TV show, is not buried here – she’s buried at Kan’ei-ji with her husband, Shogun Tokugawa Iesada. But, just about every Shimazu lord from the 14th century onwards is buried here, from Shimazu Motohisa (b. 1363, d. 1411) to Shimazu Nariakira (1809-1858). The interwebs tell me that the last lord of Satsuma, Shimazu Tadayoshi, along with his successors as family head, are buried nearby, just over at 常安峯 (Tsuneyasu-mine? Jôanbô?) in Dairyû-chô 大竜町, but I sadly did not have that information at the time, and therefore did not go and seek it out.
It didn’t quite occur to me at the time, but there’s a reason there are able to be so many Shimazu graves all in one place, and why this is the first/only time I’ve seen such a thing. It’s because the Shimazu are one of the few samurai clans to actually be based in the same territory throughout so many centuries. Many clans also did not come into existence, did not coalesce into that family name, until later in history, too. This helps explain why the Shimazu clan cemetery can include roughly five centuries worth of Shimazus (from someone born in 1363 to someone who died in 1858), while the Hotta clan cemetery at Jindai-ji in Sakura only houses a few Edo period generations of family heads.
All the gravestones at the Shimazu clan cemetery take a peculiar form – a form I’ve previously seen chiefly only in Kamakura (or at least, I thought so. Now that I look back at my Kamakura photos, I’m not so sure…). I hesitate to leap to any conclusions or over-generalizing statements about the connections between Shimazu / Satsuma culture and Kamakura culture, though there was one panel in the exhibits at the Shôkoshûseikan which explained that right up until the Edo period, the Shimazu maintained more strongly the Kamakura period modes and customs of samurai banquets, receptions, and the like, and were quite proud of their upholding these ancient traditions. They did incorporate some Muromachi influences, but, from the Kyoto or Edo point of view, this wasn’t something to be proud of, so much as a matter of being terribly behind, terribly out of fashion – they saw it as a mark of being provincial hicks, essentially. So, finally, at some point very late in the Sengoku, or early in the Edo period, the Shimazu found that they could no longer keep up the old ways, that their guests much preferred a different mode of reception, and that in order to be good hosts they needed to adopt more contemporary customs. Whether this fully accounts for what I think I’m noticing in terms of the style of gravestones, I don’t know. There may well be also an aspect of the Shimazu emulating Kamakura-era gravestones in order to emphasize their connection to the Minamoto clan, the first shogunate family, from whom the Tokugawa also claimed descent. The founder of the Shimazu name, Shimazu Tadahisa, is buried next to the first shogun, Minamoto no Yoritomo, in Kamakura, and, as I found out on this trip, it is the Shimazu family who have since the 18th century been funding the maintenance, and occasionally the replacement, of Yoritomo’s gravestone in Kamakura. A replica of that gravesite, produced as part of the testing phase prior to creating an actual replacement, stands today at Tsurugane Shrine at the Shôkoshûseikan.
So, after taking some time to poke around nearly the entire graveyard – one section of the Shimazu clan cemetery is only accessible by a different gate, which was most definitively barred – taking photos of all the nearly identical looking gravesites in order to be able to put them up on the Samurai Wiki, I made my way back into town, and back to the hotel. The next day, I would try again to get to the Shôkoshûseikan, and that time, I succeeded.