by Donald Keene
It was clear that Tsuda’s attack on the czarevitch had been premeditated. Almost everyone assumed that he would be speedily executed; the only question was under which provision of the criminal code this would be. The Genrō and the cabinet ministers argued that unless Tsuda was executed, Russia would not be satisfied and that there was no telling what might happen. They were sure that Tsuda should be executed in order to satisfy the czar and the Russian people. Article 116 of the criminal code provided that anyone who attempted to kill the emperor, the empress, or the crown prince should be punished by death. The only question was whether this provision applied to foreign royalty.
On May 12 Prime Minister Matsukata and Minister of Agriculture and Commerce Mutsu Munemitsu summoned Kojima Korekata, the chief justice of the supreme court, and warned him of the danger of harming Russian feelings. Kojima replied that there was no reason to assume article 116 applied to a foreign prince, and he insisted on the authority of the law. But Matsukata said that only when a nation existed could there be laws, that it was folly to insist on the importance of the law and to forget the survival of the state. Mutsu pointed out that article 116 said only tennō (emperor), not the tennō of Japan, and therefore it applied to any monarch, regardless of country; but Kojima replied that when the Genrō-in revised the penal code in 1880, they had deliberately not specified “emperor of Japan” because tennō referred only to the Japanese sovereign. Kojima refused to budge.
On the following day Kojima met with the other judges of the supreme court. All agreed that tennō referred exclusively to the emperor of Japan. The minister of justice threatened to impose martial law, which would take precedence over the penal code. On the same day the judge of the court in Ōtsu that was to try Tsuda reported that his crime should be dealt with in accordance with articles 292 and 112 of the penal code—the attempted murder of an ordinary person. The most severe penalty was life imprisonment.
This did not end the matter, and Kojima had to fight valiantly for the integrity of Japanese justice, answering every threat. He pointed out that under Russian law, an attempt on the life of the sovereign of another country was dealt with far more leniently than with an attempt on the czar and that under the German penal code, the penalty was merely one to ten years in prison. Committing Tsuda to prison for life would actually be a more severe punishment than in other countries.54 He insisted that if the law was bent to suit particular occasions, it would destroy the constitution. In response to warnings about what terrible vengeance the Russians would exact if Tsuda were not executed, he replied that Russia was not a barbarian country and that there was not the slightest indication that any act of vengeance was contemplated. Foreigners were constantly complaining about the inadequacies of the Japanese law and judges; now was the time to demonstrate Japanese respect for the law.
On May 20 Kojima and other judges of the supreme court visited the Gosho and received a rescript from the emperor: “The present incident relating to the Russian crown prince is of great importance to the nation. Using care, dispose of the matter promptly.” The interpretations of this oracular pronouncement differed conspicuously: some took “using care” as a warning not to provoke the Russians, whereas others thought the emperor meant that they must not tamper with the new constitution.55 Kojima interpreted the emperor’s command as meaning that he must oppose the cabinet’s efforts to bend article 116 to include foreign royalty.
Immense pressure was exerted on the seven judges who were to pass on the constitutionality of applying article 116 to Tsuda Sanzō. Members of the cabinet approached judges from the same domain as themselves and seemed to have success in persuading them to vote to use article 116, but in the end the judges’ judicial conscience won out. Five of the seven judges were against using article 116. On May 24, the day before Tsuda’s trial was to begin, Kojima informed Yamada Akiyoshi, the minister of justice, that there was no possibility of applying article 116.
Yamada was greatly surprised, but Minister of the Interior Saigō Tsugumichi was enraged. He demanded a detailed explanation from Kojima of the reasons for this decision. Kojima replied that the judges had simply respected the command from the emperor. Applying article 116 would break a statute of the penal code, violate the constitution, and leave a stain on the history of Japan that not a thousand years could expunge, a profanation of the imperial virtues. It would also leave the judges with a reputation for iniquity and insincerity.
Saigō said, “I don’t know anything about legal arguments, but if we adopt the measures you propose, it will not only violate the emperor’s words but the Russian fleet will be swarming off Shinagawa, and with one shot, our empire will be blasted to smithereens. In such a case the law would be not a means of preserving the peace of the nation but a means of destroying the nation.” He added that the emperor was much grieved by this development, which was why he and the others had come, by command of the emperor. He asked Kojima if judges intended to refuse to obey even an imperial order. But Kojima still did not yield.56
When Yamada, Saigō, and the others realized that there was no changing Kojima’s mind, they approached the other judges, but all managed to evade them. On May 25, as scheduled, the trial of Tsuda Sanzō began. There was no difficulty in reaching a decision: Tsuda Sanzō was sentenced to life imprisonment. When news of the verdict reached Russia, the authorities did not send a Russian fleet to bombard Shinagawa; in fact, the Russian minister informed the minister of foreign affairs that if the sentence had been death, the czar would have asked the emperor to exercise mercy.57 Tsuda was incarcerated in a Hokkaidō prison where he died of pneumonia on September 30, 1891.58
The Ōtsu incident did not lead to war, as many in the government had feared. It is possible that as the result of the attempted assassination, Nicholas formed anti-Japanese prejudices that contributed to the Russo-Japanese War thirteen years later, but this has been disputed. The most important result of the incident was undoubtedly the strengthening of the Japanese judiciary, thanks to the courage of Kojima Korekata. He himself did not suffer because of his opposition to the politicians: in 1894 he was made a member of the House of Peers. His diary describing the Ōtsu incident, was banned in his day and was not published until 1931.59 Kojima is surely one of the heroes of modern Japanese history.
Even if foreigners living in Japan at the time showed sympathy for the wounded prince, they were still highly suspicious of the Russians. Dr. Baelz wrote that the Japanese were foolish to have ceded Sakhalin to Russia in 1875 and, as a sign of likely Russian aggression in the future, cited the building of an enormous Orthodox church at Surugadai, adding, “What makes this seem particularly absurd is that, apart from the legation staff, there are no Russians in Tōkyō.”60
Perhaps the most sympathetic appraisal of the attempted assassination came from Lafcadio Hearn in a letter dated August 26, 1893, to his friend Nishida Sentarō:
By the way, I think Tsuda Sanzo will be more kindly judged by a future generation. His crime was only “loyalty run mad.” He was insane for the moment with an insanity which would have been of the highest value in a good cause and time. He saw before him the living representative of the awful Power which makes even England tremble;—the power against which Western Europe has mustered an army of more than 1,500,000 of men. He saw, or thought he saw—(perhaps he really did see: time alone can show)—the Enemy of Japan. Then he struck—out of his heart, without consulting his head.61
Chapter 43
The remainder of 1891, once the excitement of the Ōtsu incident had died down, was relatively tranquil. The most important political change occurred while the czarevitch Nicholas was still in Kyūshū: Yamagata Aritomo announced his intention of resigning his post as prime minister. He had caught influenza during the epidemic in March, and although he had since recovered, he still did not feel himself. He recommended as his successor the president of the House of Peers, Itō Hirobumi. The emperor, having ascertained that it would not be possible to induce Yamagata to remain as prime m
inister, joined in the effort to persuade Itō to accept the post. Itō, who had submitted his resignation as president of the House of Peers, was traveling in the Kansai region when emissaries caught up with him and asked him to return to Tōkyō.
On April 27 Itō had an audience with the emperor during which the emperor stated his intention of appointing him as prime minister. Itō refused the appointment. He recalled that when Ōkuma Shigenobu had proposed convening a parliament in 1881, he had opposed Ōkuma, believing that preparations were incomplete and the Japanese people were not yet sufficiently mature. He had proposed delaying the opening of a parliament until he had investigated the constitutions and political institutions of various foreign countries and was later authorized to make such a journey. After his return, the constitution was promulgated, followed by the convening of the first Diet; but the intellectual level of the people remained low, and it was truly difficult to carry out constitutional government. Itō was sure that no matter who might become prime minister, he would not long remain in office. If he himself was obliged to serve in that position, he might well be assassinated. He would have no special regrets about losing his unimportant life, but if he were killed, who would assist the imperial household and preserve the government?1
Itō suggested that either Interior Minister Saigō Tsugumichi or Finance Minister Matsukata Masayoshi (1835–1924) would be suitable. On being informed of Saigō’s unwillingness to accept the post, the emperor then chose Matsukata, who at first declined. The emperor refused to listen to his disclaimers, and Matsukata was sworn in as prime minister on May 6. The six months or so that he served in this capacity were marked by constant bickering in the Diet, leading in December to its dissolution and an election in the following year.
In July, Commodore Ting Ju-ch’ang, in command of the Chinese Northern Seas Fleet, had an audience with the emperor. The audience was marked by the customary exchange of “oriental” courtesies, but the six warships of the Chinese fleet (more powerful than any in the Japanese navy) inspired fear among some Japanese.
The visit of the Chinese fleet served as an occasion for those Japanese who had received a traditional education to demonstrate how much they knew about Chinese culture. Some referred deferentially to the Chinese as their “elder brothers.”2 Commodore Ting and the other high-ranking Chinese officers were feted wherever they went, and they fitted into the Japanese scene in a way impossible for Europeans. The pleasure that Japanese literary men and scholars experienced in exchanging poems in Chinese with these visiting dignitaries was possible because the writing of characters transcended national boundaries and the ideal of the “gentleman scholar” was shared by China and Japan. Probably none of those who participated in the various manifestations of friendship dreamed that in little more than two years’ time Japan and China would be fighting a bitter war.
Perhaps the most welcome news for the emperor in the summer of 1891 was the birth on August 7 of his eighth daughter, Nobuko, to Sono Sachiko. He now had three children—the crown prince, Princess Masako, and Princess Nobuko. After having lost so many children in infancy, he could anticipate with pleasure the growth to maturity of his children.
Nothing much else happened that year, but in October the emperor sent the Russian crown prince a set of armor, a broadsword, a dirk, bows and arrows, and a photograph of himself, together with a personal letter.3 Probably the gifts were by way of further apology for the Ōtsu incident.
The first important event of 1892 was the election held on February 15. The emperor was worried about the future of the Diet. He told Matsukata he feared that if the same members kept getting reelected, this would lead again and again to the Diet’s dissolution. He suggested that leading regional officials encourage good people in their districts to run for office.
The cabinet minister who took these words most to heart was Interior Minister Shinagawa Yajirō (1843–1900). He sent directives to regional officials explaining governmental policy and urging the election of distinguished men who were fair, impartial, and not affiliated with parties; men deeply involved with political parties should be dismissed.4 Shinagawa directed the police to deal severely with acts of intimidation or bribery, implying that was the work of the political parties. But despite the high-flown sentiments of his directives, the election of 1892 was probably the most corrupt in Japanese history, and the worst offender was none other than Shinagawa himself.
Unlike the peaceable elections of the previous year, the election of 1892 was marked by violence and arson. Clashes between officials and ordinary citizens resulted in deaths and injuries in many parts of the country.5 Ruffians stole ballot boxes in Kōchi Prefecture, and made voting impossible in parts of Saga Prefecture. It was generally believed that these irregularities had been planned by Shinagawa, who had decided that political parties opposed to the government were disloyal and must be suppressed. Yet for all the scheming and brutality, the populist parties maintained their majority in the House of Representatives—163 seats against 137 for the progovernment forces.6
Soon after the election, the emperor, disturbed by reports of intimidation and violence, sent chamberlains to the four prefectures where violations had been most conspicuous: Ishikawa, Fukuoka, Saga, and Kōchi.7 The new House of Representatives was convened on May 6. On May 11 the House of Peers passed a resolution condemning the manner in which the election had been conducted:
It needs hardly be said that officials should not have used their authority to interfere in the election of members of the House of Representatives. There was consequently no reason for the government to issue orders or warnings concerning interference. Nevertheless, at the time when the elections of members were held in February of this year, officials interfered in the contests, and this precipitated reactions on the part of the people, leading finally to terrible scenes of bloodshed. These events have been the focus of public attention and the subject of universal protest. In every region, there is now indignation over the interference of officials in the elections and the officials are looked on as enemies. The government must now speedily deal with this situation and demonstrate to the public its fairness. If this is not done immediately, it will truly harm the security of the nation, and will in the end invite great and irremediable misfortune. This House consequently hopes that the government will reflect deeply on the matter, and by taking appropriate action at present, end future abuse.8
There were conflicting views in the cabinet concerning the election. Matsukata decided to visit Itō and ask his advice; but Itō, getting wind of his intention, sent a letter to Mutsu complaining that whenever a problem arose in the cabinet, Matsukata always asked him to settle it. He refused to become involved at this stage, suggesting that Matsukata and the members of his cabinet first reach an accord on future policies before asking his advice. Their conclusion when they conferred was that the only way to surmount the crisis was for Itō himself to form a cabinet. They begged him to accept, but he refused.9
The problem was complicated by Itō’s repeated attempts to resign as president of the House of Peers. As was usual in such cases, he alleged illness, but the emperor refused his request, fearing the consequences if he were deprived of the services of the man he trusted most in the government. On March 11 the emperor sent Tokudaiji Sanetsune, the senior chamberlain, to Itō’s house with this message: “I am aware of the extremely earnest nature of your request. However, I hope I shall always have you by my side and be able to depend on your frank advice. Reassure me by getting plenty of nourishment and rest. I am unable to release you from your post as my adviser.”10 Itō, moved to tears of gratitude, hastened to the palace to accept the emperor’s command.
Shinagawa Yajirō was not at all satisfied with the cabinet’s reactions to what he considered to be his loyal behavior during the election. Sure that he had acted appropriately and angry that his intentions had been misunderstood, he decided to resign.11 Matsukata, embarrassed by the need to make a cabinet change at the very outset of the new adm
inistration, asked Yamagata to dissuade him, but Shinagawa presented Yamagata instead with two tanka that obliquely conveyed his feelings. The second was
oroka naru What a shameful thing
mi wo mo wasurete To have offered promises
ametsuchi ni To Heaven and earth
chikaishi koto no Forgetting even how great
hazukashiki kana Was my own incompetence.12
Shinagawa’s request to resign for reasons of health was granted by the emperor the same day. Various men (naturally including Itō) were suggested as possible successors in the post of interior minister. The most likely candidate was Soejima Taneomi, but the emperor objected to Soejima, saying that he was too old for such a demanding position, and he feared that Soejima might resign midway. The emperor recommended instead Kōno Togama, but Matsukata, pointing out that Soejima’s reputation was far higher than Kōno’s and that Kōno enjoyed little popularity with provincial officials, decided to appoint Soejima despite the emperor’s disapproval.13