by Donald Keene
About this time, another politician began to figure prominently in the highest circles, Kuroda Kiyotaka. He had resigned in February 1883 his position as major general38 and requested permission to make a tour of China, mainly in order to promote the sale in China of Hokkaidō products. Inoue Kaoru turned down the request, saying that in view of the tense relations between Japan and China, it was not an ideal time for a senior member of the government to be visiting China.39 In February 1885 Kuroda again proposed going to China, this time in order to observe the war between China and France. He had an audience with the emperor, who agreed to send him because China, Japan’s nearest neighbor, was a country of prime importance. The emperor asked Kuroda to submit reports on the Sino-French War.40 Although this was to be an unofficial journey, the emperor gave Kuroda 4,000 yen for his expenses.
Kuroda traveled first to Hong Kong, arriving on the same day that Itō reached Tientsin, and from there he went to Singapore. He would have liked to travel farther south, but learning on April 16 of the treaty signed in Tientsin between China and Japan, he decided instead to go north to Peking, where he was soon drinking merrily with the Japanese minister, Enomoto Takeaki.41 Kuroda returned to Japan on September 5.
At this stage Sanjō considered appointing Kuroda as minister of the right to fill the position left empty by Iwakura’s death. He asked Itō’s opinion. Itō replied that no one was better qualified than Kuroda and promised to do what he could to assist him. This inclined Kuroda to accept, but when Sanjō reported to the emperor, he received an unexpected reaction: the emperor said that the post of minister of the right entailed heavy responsibilities and that the occupant must therefore be a man of sterling reputation, which could hardly be said of Kuroda. He added astutely that if Kuroda were to take this office, he would soon discover that real power was in the hands of Itō and that he was likely to become resentful.42
Sanjō then proposed that Itō become minister of the right, but Itō, aware that if he accepted, he would be strengthening the dajōkan—the antiquated system of government—and would thereby lose the chance to abolish it, refused, insisting that Kuroda be appointed. Once again this was reported to the emperor, who asked if all the councillors had agreed on Kuroda. One councillor, Sasaki Takayuki, a man the emperor respected, had in fact not taken part in the decision. Sasaki privately expressed disapproval of Kuroda, citing his disorderly behavior, the adverse gossip about him, and especially his drunkenness.43 Sanjō at length persuaded Sasaki not to voice his objections, probably by threatening to dismiss him from the post of minister of works.
Presumably it was because of his meritorious service in Hokkaidō that Kuroda was proposed as minister of the right, but it is baffling to a modern reader that a man seriously implicated in the Colonization Office scandal of 1881 should have been considered for the third-highest post in the government. His personal life was certainly not beyond reproach. He was known as the heaviest drinker in political circles of the Meiji era and was sometimes was too drunk to deal with difficult decisions. His drunkenness often induced him to display his fierce temper. Finally, his wife had died in 1878 under mysterious circumstances.44
When Sanjō informed Kuroda that he was unanimously supported by the councillors, he was once again surprised: Kuroda now refused the position, saying that he was unworthy to occupy a post that neither Saigō Takamori nor L kubo Toshimichi had attained. He also mentioned his reluctance to be Itō’s superior. Whether or not these were his real feelings, it seems likely he had heard of the opposition to his appointment expressed by the emperor and Sasaki and was also aware of the motivation behind Sanjō’s and Itō’s support. Kuroda withdrew from public life for the time being. He was much gratified when despite persistent rumors that he had killed his wife, the emperor visited his house on November 11.45
When Sanjō Sanetomi proposed that the emperor appoint Kuroda Kiyotaka as minister of the right, it was in order to maintain a balance in the government between Chōshō (represented by Itō) and Satsuma (Kuroda’s domain). He also wanted to shore up the dajōkan, suspecting that Itō was planning a reorganization of the government that would create a cabinet with himself as prime minister. Itō, realizing for the first time how reluctant Sanjō would be to give up his post, decided to humor him and go along with his recommendation of Kuroda.46
In the meantime, Itō’s plans to change the form of government had gradually matured.47 Abolishing the dajōkan in favor of a cabinet headed by a prime minister would not be simply an administrative change; it would mark the end of nominal rule by the nobility, replaced at the top by members of the samurai class.
Sanjō was understandably dismayed by the imminent loss of his position, but when the order came from the emperor to study how the government should be reorganized, he could not voice his opposition. On December 22 Sanjō had an audience with the emperor at which he advocated reform of the government and asked to be relieved of his post.48 The emperor consented, and on the same day, the offices of prime minister, minister of the left, minister of the right, councillors, and the heads of the various ministries were abolished and replaced with a parliamentary cabinet consisting of a prime minister and ministers who headed each of the nine branches of the government.49 Itō Hirobumi was appointed as prime minister, Inoue Kaoru as foreign minister, and Yamagata Aritomo as interior minister.
The selection of cabinet members was in accordance with Itō’s recommendations. The emperor objected at first to the appointment of Mori Arinori as minister of education because he was a controversial figure with Christian leanings, but Itō did not yield. He guaranteed the emperor that while he was prime minister, nothing would occur that might disturb his tranquillity. The emperor, having already delegated the formation of the cabinet to Itō, decided to allow him to have his way for the time being and to watch what happened.50 Itō had now attained the position of highest authority, second only to the emperor. The spirit of the Rokumeikan had triumphed.
Chapter 39
The nineteenth year of Meiji’s reign, 1886, was unusual in that it did not begin with his performance of the traditional New Year observances. The official chronicle states, without further explanation, that he was prevented by illness from worshiping the four directions and that Nabeshima Naohiro performed various ceremonies in his place. However, the emperor participated as usual in other rites, suggesting that he was not totally incapacitated by illness. Again and again during the course of this year, the emperor’s health was cited to explain why he had failed to attend a ceremony, but the nature of the illness was usually not disclosed.1 We also know that he rode horseback twice as often in 1886 as the preceding year,2 an indication that boredom with official ceremonies, rather than illness, was the cause of his repeated absences.
In February, Viscount Hijikata Hisamoto sent Sanjō Sanetomi a letter from Berlin describing the celebrations in honor of Wilhelm I’s ninetieth birthday. He urged that Aoki Shōzō, a Foreign Office expert on Germany who was well acquainted with the particulars, make a report to the emperor. Hijikata hoped that this might stimulate him to travel abroad—to observe conditions and meet the rulers of Western countries.
Saionji Kinmochi, then minister extraordinary and plenipotentiary to Austria, had earlier made a similar suggestion in a letter to Itō Hirobumi, adding that this was a particularly good time for the emperor to travel to the West.3 If the emperor had in fact attended the festivities in Berlin, the stimulation provided by unfamiliar sights would probably have shaken him from his apathy. It is not known, however, whether the matter was broached, and there is no indication he ever considered traveling abroad.
One result of the emperor’s repeated illnesses and his failure to appear on important occasions was the increased prominence of the empress, who again and again took his place. Until this time her public role had been modest, but now she began to appear even at gatherings that were normally attended only by men of the nobility and high-ranking government officials. For example, when it was reported that the
emperor was not well enough to attend the scheduled Friday dinner on March 26, the empress appeared in his place, and to keep her company, court ladies and wives of officials were also invited.
The emperor planned to visit the Yokosuka shipyard on March 30 for the launching of the warship Musashi, but he was indisposed that day and the empress went instead, traveling to Yokosuka aboard the warship Fusō. Even when the emperor managed to attend a ceremony, the empress often accompanied him. On April 13 they traveled to Akabane Village to observe the maneuvers of the Household Guards. The mock warfare staged between the “north” and “south” armies may have puzzled the empress, who had not been trained in the art of warfare, but, we are told, she observed the charge of the southern army from a horse carriage and then went to the south bank of the Arakawa to observe the blowing up of a bridge.4
On July 30 the empress wore Western dress for the first time in public when she visited the Peeresses’ School (Kazoku jogakkō) to observe graduation exercises and the award of diplomas. On August 2, when she called on the empress dowager at the Aoyama Palace, she again wore Western attire, and from this time on not only the empress but most of the women of her entourage gradually adopted Western dress. On August 10, at a concert of Western music held in the palace by the emperor and empress, she received foreign guests for the first time in Western clothes. She probably dressed in this manner not in imitation of the West (in the manner of the Rokumeikan) but as a quiet assertion of her newfound role.
On January 17, 1887, the empress issued a memorandum on the subject of women’s clothes. She contended that the clothes worn by contemporary Japanese women were a relic of the period following the warfare of the fourteenth century. Not only were they poorly adapted to modern conditions of life, but they were quite unlike the costumes worn by Japanese women of earlier periods. She believed that Western clothes were in fact closer to the dress of women in ancient Japan than the kimonos currently worn and urged that they be adopted as the standard clothes of the reign. In addition to the encouragement she gave Japanese women to dress in Western clothes, she hoped this would promote the sale of Japanese cloth.
The empress’s advocacy of clothing reform was part of her new, active role in the government. On November 26, 1886, she and the emperor traveled to Nagaura to inspect the recently completed cruisers Naniwa and Takachiho and to observe naval maneuvers, including the firing of torpedoes. The empress composed several tanka on this occasion, including one entitled “Torpedo Fire”:
koto shi araba If a crisis should come
mi-kuni no tame ni This is how, for our country’s sake
adanami no We shall destroy
yosekuru fune mo Any ship that dares approach
kaku ya kudakan Over the boisterous waves.
Needless to say, the subject matter of this poem was unconventional. It may be that the empress took to wearing Western clothes and composing poetry on such subjects as torpedoes because she too had become bored with life at court. Chamberlains who wrote memoirs of their years in the palace agreed that the emperor was always solicitous of the empress and never behaved like a despot. But she knew from early in the marriage that she could never have children, and because she was unable to fill the most important role of an emperor’s consort—bearing his heirs—she was left with a mainly ornamental role at the court. This may have been frustrating to a woman of marked intelligence. It may also be true that even though she never expressed resentment of the various gon no tenji who served the emperor’s bed, she envied them. At this time such feelings would have been exacerbated: the emperor (who had had children by four different women and divided his attentions among more) seems to have become devoted mainly to one gon no tenji, Sono Sachiko.5 Those who have ventured to write about this aspect of the emperor’s life are discreet, but it is a fact that Sono was the mother of his last eight children, born between 1886 and 1899. Four of them, all daughters, survived him.
Sachiko was the eldest daughter of Count Sono Motosachi,6 who (although he lived until 1905) was most prominent during the 1860s. Sachiko’s photographs do not reveal unusual beauty, and no anecdotes explain what quality of hers attracted the emperor, but, for whatever reason, she was his preferred bed companion during his later years.
Toward the end of 1885, when it became apparent that Sachiko was pregnant, there was a debate as to the kind of medical treatment she should receive.7 The deaths in infancy of six of the emperor’s previous seven children had made people wonder whether a physician of traditional medicine should again be relied on or whether it might not be better to choose a Western-trained physician. Nakayama Tadayasu’s opinion was sought. Nakayama was committed to traditional ways, in medicine as in everything else, but after the deaths of the two baby princesses in September 1883 he began to waver in his stated conviction that children up until the age of ten should be treated by doctors of traditional medicine. He was now willing to admit that it was not necessarily superior to Western medicine. In addition, there seems not to have been a single traditional doctor of repute in Tōkyō, and Nakayama feared that the art might be dying out. He finally replied that he was incapable of choosing between the two kinds of medicine. Meiji, who still favored traditional medicine, commanded Nakayama and the chief chamberlain to search Tōkyō until they found a master of the art.8
The emperor’s fifth daughter, Princess Shizuko, was born to Sono Sachiko on February 10, 1886. The emperor gave her her name, and that night there was a celebration in the palace attended by princes of the blood and other dignitaries, including Count Sono, the baby’s grandfather.9 The emperor had his first glimpse of the princess on March 12, when she was taken to the palace for his inspection. Like all the other children born to the concubines of the emperor, she would be officially considered to be a child of the empress, and her biological mother would have little part in raising her.
Princess Shizuko’s life was brief. She died on April 4, 1887. On New Year’s Day of that year, she suffered a sudden fever and regurgitated milk. Her illness was diagnosed as teething fever, but there were ominous signs of incipient meningitis, the cause of the deaths of the emperor’s earlier children. The doctors—one trained by the Dutch, the other a practitioner of Chinese medicine—disagreed on the proper way of treating the illness, and finally the emperor’s opinion was sought. He decided in favor of the Western-trained doctor and asked Ikeda Kensai, the most respected Western-style physician, to join in the consultations. At first the new treatment seemed to be effective, but during a cold spell in the latter part of March the princess’s fever returned, and she died soon afterward.
The emperor’s only surviving child, Prince Yoshihito, had been afflicted by repeated illnesses, and the emperor, in the light of painful experiences of losing one after another of his children, probably was anxious about Yoshihito’s chances of surviving to maturity. This may be why he acceded to Prince Akihito’s request that he adopt his son Sadamaro. The young man, now a naval officer studying in England, was formally adopted on May 1, 1886, and (as a prince of the blood) was given the name Yorihito.10 As previously related, Sadamaro had so favorably impressed King Kalakaua that he hoped the Japanese prince would marry his niece. Perhaps Meiji also thought of Yorihito as a possible heir.
Regardless of the emperor’s fears about Yoshihito’s health, it was necessary to act as if there were no doubt that he would succeed to the throne. The prince’s education had for years been a matter of great concern to the emperor. In December 1885 the emperor placed Nishimura Shigeki in charge of the prince’s education. The choice of Nishimura, a specialist in Western learning, suggested that he felt the traditional palace education was unsuited to modern conditions.11 The emperor personally informed Nishimura of his wishes concerning the subjects the prince should study during the coming year and the hours of his classes. A month later, in January 1886, the emperor decided that Yoshihito should be permitted to visit the palace whenever he wished, although he had been allowed to see his parents only at prescribed
times. This step was taken in the belief that it would be a good way of inculcating respect and affection for his parents.
In April 1886 Kadenokōji Sukenari and two other elderly nobles were asked to take turns in teaching the prince, but their notions of education were old fashioned and they had no success in tutoring a difficult boy. Itō Hirobumi, who was eager for the prince to obtain a systematic education, conferred with the minister of education, Mori Arinori. They recommended that the prince’s education be in accord with modern principles, and Mori suggested as the prince’s tutor Yumoto Takehiko (1857–1925), an official of the Ministry of Education. Yumoto was appointed on April 12.
Yumoto was asked to teach reading, writing, and arithmetic. Instruction was not to exceed thirty minutes at a time, but even so, Yumoto soon discovered that the prince was completely undisciplined, and his attention easily wandered. Yumoto recalled:
My lessons were as I have already mentioned—the 50 kana symbols, 1, 2, 3 and that sort of thing—nothing difficult. But His Highness still had not the least conception of rules and had not made any progress in that direction. If he felt like it, he would study for 30 or 40 minutes, but when he did not feel like it, he would say, “Yumoto, that’s enough.” He would then get up and go out. His retainers and military escort, who had been waiting in the corridor, and his schoolmates, who were seated at their desks in the classroom, followed His Highness when he went out, leaving me dazed and alone in the classroom. When he was even more out of sorts, he would slam his desk down in front of him, and then go off somewhere. Once, when he was having a lesson in penmanship, he said, “Yumoto, that’s enough.” I answered, “No, you must study a bit longer,” whereupon he lost his temper completely, picked up a big writing brush soaked with red ink and threw it right at me. The brush landed on the breast of my best, brand-new frock-coat and dripped all over it.12