One in a Dozen
When you grow up in the UK, castles are exciting for the first 10 years of your life. Until then you can run around fantasising about King Arthur, Merlin and chums, fending off hoards of villains from the ramparts. Then your adolescence approaches, the joy goes out of you, and you start to resent days spent trudging around these dull old buildings. Finally, more time passes, then one day you wake up a fully-formed adult, keen to learn things voluntarily and you realise: those old castles, they’re actually pretty interesting.
I’m not sure if it’s the same for Japanese people, but I wouldn’t be surprised: the most common groups of visitors we’ve come across at the dozens of historic sites around the country have been enthralled school kids, and oohing and aahing pensioners. Whatever their age, they’ve seemed pleased by what they’ve seen. That’s pretty admirable as, with a virtual certainty, what they are looking at is a reconstruction.
Between natural disasters (of which there have been many), fires (of which there have been more) and the merciless Allied bombing campaign at the end of the year (which claimed more than everything else combined) nearly all of Japan’s old castles have been razed to the ground.
So while there are still loads dotted around the country, following the original designs many of them are less than 100 years old (in fact most are barely 50). Of the truly original structures, only 12 survive today.
From the outside, picking Japanese castles apart can be quite a tricky business. For anyone who knows their subject, the differences are probably obvious, but to us they follow a uniform design, like ancient oriental Ikea packs for feudal lords.
However, even though the designs might be similar around the country, there are surely few more spectacular examples than Kochi castle, one of the dozen originals that survive.
First occupied in 1603 by Yamanouchi Kazutoyo, it was a symbol of the authority and ultimate stability that was brought about by the Edo Period. Actually it’s not strictly true to say that the structure today is 100% original: much of it was destroyed by fire, but given that it was repaired by 1753, we’re willing to let them off.
Today the building still looks intimidating; it’s not surprising that 300 years ago it put potential enemies off attacking completely. No battle was ever fought here, but if it had been the palace was well-prepared. As well as the usual high walls and moat that even westerners would expect, there are a number of tight chicanes on the path into the grounds. This is a standard characteristic in Japanese castles, designed to trap enemy soldiers and horses charging in uninvited. Once bottle-necked, arrows (and later bullets) would rain down on the assailants. Near the huge Oteman Gate, another larger shutter would open. “Ah,” I say to our guide Miko Sakamoto, “In the UK, they used to pour boiling oil on enemy soldiers trying to break down the gates. Did they do that here?”
“No – they used something nastier.”
“Miso soup?”
“Rocks… And faeces.”
If the skunk attack wasn’t enough to put the enemy off, when they stormed the castle, they were likely to run into more trouble. What looks like it absolutely, positively must be the entry to the inner sanctum is actually a dummy. If the assailants pushed through here, again they’d have found themselves trapped with missiles raining down from three sides.
So a force of numbers wouldn’t have been any use. What about sending an assassin?
On the rare occasions the residing lord would grant an audience to a visitor, a small squad of his deadliest samurai would be hiding in a concealed room, listening intently in case the conversation went ill. This place was virtually perfect, and deemed as good as indestructible by enemies. In the end, it was political upheaval that brought an end to the castle as a fortress. Ironically, another Kochi man, Sakamoto Ryoma, would have an important part to play in the drama of the Mejii Restoration, but a decade after the collapse of the Tokugawa shogunate, the castle was open to tourists.
And that, more or less, is how it’s stayed for the past 140 years, dodging earthquakes, typhoons and fire bombs along the way. For our part, we’re glad it’s been so fleet-footed.
イギリスでは、城は子供達の夢であり、10歳ぐらいまでは王様や騎士に憧れ興奮するものだ。だが10代になるとその興味はすっかり失せ、輝いてい見えた城はただの古い建物にしか見えなくなってしまう。そして大人になると、その城の持つ歴史に新たな興味を持ち、城の面白さに気付くのだ。
日本でもこれと同じような現象が見られるのかどうかは分からないが、でも歴史的建造物を観光しているそのほとんどが修学旅行生か年配の方のツアーだという事から、ここでも同じなのではないかと思う。その場所を訪れる人はみな、それらが本当は“再建”されたものにも関わらず、強い思い入れを持っているようだ。
そう、多くの天災と火災、そして戦争の影響で、日本にあるほとんどのお城は壊されてしまっているのだ。そのため現在日本中で訪れる事ができるお城のほとんどは100年ぐらいの歴史のもので、中には50年ぐらいというものもあるらしい。完全に現存しているのはなんと12城のみだ。
お城は外から見ると全く同じに見えるのだが、その歴史や状況を知っている人から見ると、それぞれの違いは顕著なのだろう。私達には、みんなまるでプラモデル・セットを買って組み立てているようにしか見えないのだけれど・・・。とは言え・・・現存している12城のうちの一つ、高知城にはやはり他とは違う“威厳”と“魅力”があった。
高知城は1600年に山内一豊によって着工され、江戸時代の権力と豊かさの上に成る安定を誇示するものとなった。実を言うと現在の高知城は100%“現存”ではない。一度大火に見舞われているのだが、復元は1753年に行われているので、ここではあえて“オリジナル”と言わせてもらう事にした。
高知城は今見てもその威厳ある姿に圧倒されてしまう程なので、300年前なら十分に敵を威嚇する事ができただろう。実際ここでは戦いが行われる事はなかったのだが、それでも十分な備えが施されていた。そして多くの日本のお城に見られるように、高い塀とお堀が、馬に乗った敵が攻めてくるのを防ぎ、また矢や銃弾から城を守っているのだ。
巨大な大手門の近くに大きな扉があり、そこは開くようになっていた。
“あー、イギリスではお城のここの部分から敵に沸騰した油をかけて守るんだ”と。そしてガイドの坂本文子さんに聞いた。
“ここでも同じような事をするの?”
すると“いいえ、ここではもっと別のものをつかうのよ”と坂本さん。
“えっ? 味噌汁でもかけるの?”と私。
“答えは石。それから糞もね・・・”
もし石や糞での攻撃で不十分なら、更なる攻撃に出るのだ。だがそこには多くの罠が仕掛けられており、先陣を切った部隊はみなその罠に引っ掛かってしまうのだ。
城主が接見する時は、その部屋に隣接された控室に侍が待機し、全ての会話を聞いて、何か起こった時にはすぐに行動に移せるようにする。そこは敵に見つかることなどない完璧な場所だった。
その後明治維新により要塞としての城の役目は終わる事になる。そして城は観光場所に姿を変えたのだ。
それから140年が経った今、地震や台風、そして戦争を乗り越えて、未だに威厳ある姿を保っている高知城。
うーん、素晴らしい!
1 Comment
Heidi King
November 17, 2011Gorgeous pics! I really like that your blog is both interesting and helpful – good luck visiting all of Japan.