ALTHOUGH THE DUTCH were permitted to run a “factory” (trading station) near Nagasaki, they lived like prisoners. They were confined to Deshima, a tiny fan-shaped island in Nagasaki harbor. It measured 200 yards long and 80 yards wide. The mainland was only a few yards away, but a high wall blocked their view of it. A stone bridge outside the wall connected Deshima with Nagasaki. This was guarded by soldiers who allowed only those with special permits to pass.
No more than twelve or thirteen Hollanders lived on Deshima at a time. Wives and children were not allowed to stay or even visit with them.
The Dutch were allowed to hire Japanese servants and workers. But in order to be employed on Deshima, these people had to use their own blood to sign an oath pledging not to become friendly with the Dutch. They were not to reveal any information about their country, no matter how trivial. They were not to converse with Hollanders, but were to speak only when words were necessary to do their jobs. By law they returned to Nagasaki before sunset. The bridge gate was locked from dusk to dawn.
The only other occupants on the island were police-spies, and a few Japanese interpreters. Japanese scholars visited the tiny island occasionally in order to learn news of the outside world. On Deshima they could obtain books about the arts, customs, and scientific advances in Europe. They were particularly interested in medicine and astronomy.
Picture of a Dutchman
courtesy of the Kobe City Museum of Namban Art
The Dutch could not leave their island prison without special permission, which had to be obtained at least twenty-four hours in advance. If someone wished to take a walk in the streets of Nagasaki, he had to be accompanied by numerous interpreters and officials, who, in turn, invited friends to join the group. A stroll on the mainland often entailed being escorted by thirty Japanese. If two Dutchmen obtained permission to visit Nagasaki, the number accompanying them doubled. And they were expected to buy everyone an expensive dinner! It was hardly worth it. Only boredom brought them to take an excursion to Nagasaki.
Once a year, in the spring, the factory director and a few of his staff journeyed to Edo to pay homage to the Shogun. The trip took three months: one month going, one month at Edo, and a month returning. Spies assigned to accompany the Dutch saw to it that they did not detour or mingle with natives. Even while traveling they were quarantined.
More than a hundred servants were needed to transport their clothing and furniture. Chairs, tables, china, silverware, and European wines and foods were brought along so they could enjoy one of their few pleasures: dining in Dutch style wherever they lodged. The pilgrimage was a financial drain, because in addition to their travel expenses, they were obliged to bring expensive gifts to the Shogun.
When they arrived in Edo, the Dutchmen were confined to their rooms and guarded by spies. They waited, sometimes for weeks, until notified that the Shogun wished to see them at his castle.
After sending gifts of cloth, liquor, maps, and books, plus a written report about world affairs, they humbled themselves before the Great Lord of the Land. As soon as they entered the palace’s Hall of One Hundred Mats, they crawled across the floor on their hands and knees, bowed at the Shogun’s feet, then retreated by backing out on all fours. No one dared to look around the room, fearing that such curiosity would seem disrespectful.
The entire procedure took a few minutes. It was demeaning, but not as humiliating as performances some Dutchmen were forced to put on in the past. To amuse the Shogun, they had been ordered to jump, dance, sing, act drunk, clown, and kiss each other. If they wanted to continue trading, they had to do whatever stunts the Shogun wished. Exporting copper, iron, gold, silks, and lacquerware and importing European goods such as firearms, fabrics, tobacco, and spectacles were sufficiently profitable for them to submit to the Shogun’s degrading games. Playing the fool was worthwhile, even though the Dutch were restricted to the arrival and departure of one ship a year.
Commodore Perry knew about the Dutch at Deshima through a book called Manners and Customs of the Japanese. It was written by a German physician, Philip von Siebold, who was employed by the Dutch at Deshima in the 1820s. Von Siebold had accompanied the Dutch to the Shogun’s court. He was eventually expelled by the Japanese, possibly because he learned too much about the Forbidden Land.1