Emperor of Japan

by Donald Keene

  On December 30 Prime Minister Itō and President of the Privy Council Yamagata Aritomo had an audience with the emperor, after which the House was dissolved. Itō had requested permission to suspend debates in order to keep the House from passing its resolution in favor of extending the existing treaties. This had been the reason for the two-week suspension issued the previous day, but the House showed no signs of reconsidering. Itō decided that there was no other way to deal with the situation than to dissolve the House. The emperor ordered this the same day.

  The emperor had reached the same conclusion as Itō—no matter how many times debates might be suspended, there was unlikely to be any change of attitude. Not long afterward he confided to Sasaki Takayuki that he felt such collisions between the government and the House of Representatives were caused by the excessive haste with which the Diet had been established.32 From this point on, the emperor’s political views seem to have become more conservative. He had begun to think that the granting of the constitution and establishment of the Diet, in which he had taken pride, had been premature.

  Chapter 44

  On New Year’s Day 1894, worship of the four directions and other prescribed ceremonies were again performed not by the emperor but by a surrogate. The emperor’s failure to perform these ceremonies probably did not surprise anyone. In recent years he had often declined to appear, sometimes alleging indisposition, sometimes without explanation. People seem to have forgotten that for centuries the performance of such rites was an emperor’s chief duty.

  The most memorable feature of the day for those in the palace was probably the visit of the crown prince to congratulate the emperor on the arrival of the new year. Visits by the prince to the emperor became more frequent this year—several times each month—suggesting that their relations, previously governed by court decorum rather than by ties of affection, had become closer. Of course, the emperor had worried each time the crown prince was stricken with illness, but his chief concern was probably for the succession to the throne rather than for the life of this particular son. All his other male offspring had died in infancy, and it seemed increasingly likely that Yoshihito, despite his delicate health, would be his successor. The emperor probably had many occasions to regret that his son was not as healthy and energetic as he had been at the same age.

  All the same, it was necessary to prepare the prince for his future position. The emperor was determined that his son receive a proper education. As we have seen, he early decided that the prince would attend Gakushū-in along with other boys instead of receiving the private tuition that had been normal for members of the imperial family. The prince was an indifferent student, but his lack of scholarly aptitude did not result in the termination of his studies. It was essential to Meiji that the next emperor of Japan be acquainted not only with Japanese and Chinese history and culture but with the West. The prince would also have to write an acceptable hand and compose poetry in the traditional manner.1 But although much consideration was given to planning the prince’s education, his health always took precedence, and his studies were frequently interrupted by illness or by the decision of physicians that Tōkyō was too hot or too cold for the prince to remain in school.

  The prince seems to have been intimidated by a father who never showed him parental tenderness. Meiji’s coldness was not unusual: he treated his son in the manner customary in orthodox Confucian fathers. Perhaps he modeled his behavior on remembrances of Emperor Kōmei’s severity toward himself; but he did not follow Kōmei in giving his son daily guidance in composing tanka. The emperor seems to have contributed little to the education of his heir.

  The increased frequency of Yoshihito’s visits to the palace in 1894 suggests that the natural affection of father and son had at last taken hold. Toward the end of the year there was proof. On November 17, 1894, Yoshihito arrived in Hiroshima intending to visit his father (who had moved there during the Sino-Japanese War). The prince appeared at headquarters at ten-thirty the next morning and, after chatting briefly with his father, went with him to inspect a Manchurian horse. They later climbed together to the castle tower, from where they enjoyed a splendid view of the entire city of Hiroshima. A palace attendant, serving as their guide, explained the sights with the aid of a telescope and maps. The emperor and his son ate lunch together. Members of the emperor’s staff, who had long wondered whether the emperor had any affection for his son, were so delighted to see his kindness this day that they decided to inform the empress. But this rare intimacy did not keep the emperor from his duties; he was able to find time for lunch with Yoshihito only twice more before the prince left for Tōkyō on November 24.2

  Although the crown prince actually spent little time in his father’s presence, from 1887 he was frequently portrayed along with the emperor and empress in nishikie, the cheaply produced, often gaudy, prints popular at the time. Sometimes the prints depict the prince standing between his parents, as if to emphasize the domestic harmony within the imperial family.3 Another glimpse of their family life was provided in 1894 by the public celebrations of the twenty-fifth wedding anniversary of the emperor and empress. The wedding anniversaries of Japanese sovereigns had never before been a matter for public rejoicing, but when the emperor was informed that it was customary in foreign countries for royalty to celebrate “silver weddings,” he gladly gave his consent to the proposed celebrations. To make sure they maintained the proper tone, a committee was formed to investigate foreign examples. It was announced that the celebration would take place on March 9.

  In honor of the occasion, gold and silver medals were struck, suitably engraved with auspicious designs such as the imperial chrysanthemum and paired cranes.4 Permission was granted to those who purchased the medals to wear them for the rest of their lives and then pass them on to their descendants. On March 9, 15 million postage stamps were issued in honor of the occasion, the first Japanese commemorative stamps.

  The day of the celebration opened with observances in the palace sanctuary. Neither the emperor nor the empress took part in these ceremonies, but the crown prince, princes of the blood, and members of the cabinet joined in worship. Royal salutes were fired by the Household Guards artillery regiment and by ships at sea. At eleven that morning the emperor and empress appeared in the Phoenix Room, where they were joined by more than 200 members of the nobility, the cabinet, and their wives. The emperor wore his formal uniform and all his decorations. The empress wore a white gown, decorations, and a crown. The train of her gown was decorated with designs of flowers and birds worked in silver thread. Later, messages from their governments were delivered by the ministers of France, England, Germany, Russia, the United States, Belgium, Korea, and Austria, to each of which the emperor responded graciously.

  At two that afternoon the emperor and empress, riding in the same carriage, traveled to the Aoyama parade grounds to review the troops. Outside the main palace gate, students from Tōkyō Imperial University formed ranks along with members of other organizations to acclaim the royal couple as they emerged from the palace. The streets were lined with crowds of people eager to catch a glimpse of their Majesties. About 2:45 they reached their destination, where they were welcomed by Prince Akihito and high-ranking officers. The different units presented arms, and a military band played the national anthem. After receiving the guests, who included both Japanese and foreign dignitaries, the emperor and empress again boarded their carriage and, with the hood removed, rode around the grounds, receiving the acclamation of the crowd. After this they reviewed the troops.

  The celebration continued all day, concluding with performances of bugaku and a banquet. Although the words “silver wedding” were not officially used,5 the presents given to the guests or offered to the imperial couple were mainly of silver. Persons who were not lucky enough to be invited to the festivities were permitted to offer gifts. These, however, tended not to be of silver but included poems, saké, shōyu, dried cuttlefish, swords, paintings, ceramics, lacquerware, bon
sai, and so on. Twenty-five men and twenty-five women (the number chosen because of the twenty-fifth anniversary), including members of the nobility, cabinet ministers, and participants in the regular palace poetry gatherings, offered poems on the theme “Song-thrush in the Blossoms Promise Ten Thousand Springs!” The exhausted emperor and empress did not get to bed until 1:45 in the morning.6

  The festive mood of the silver wedding ceremonies had hardly dissipated when word was received that on March 28, the Korean politician Kim Ok-kyun (1851–1894) had been murdered at a Japanese inn in Shanghai. The murderer, who had accompanied Kim from Japan, had acted under orders from the conservative leaders of Korea who hated Kim because he belonged to the progressive faction.

  Kim had lived in Japan before the failed coup of 1884. Soon after his first visit in 1881, he became friendly with Fukuzawa Yukichi, who strongly favored the “enlightenment” faction in Korea and believed that Japan must take the lead in enabling both Koreans and Chinese to modernize their countries.7 But in 1885, after it had become clear that the “enlightenment” faction was unable to keep control of the Korean government, Fukuzawa published his famous article “Datsua ron” (On Escaping from Asia) in which he asserted that Japan could not wait for neighboring countries in Asia to achieve enlightenment, that it was imperative that Japan share the future of the advanced countries of the West.

  Kim fled to Japan in December 1884 along with eight other Koreans who believed that their country should follow the Japanese example of modernization. These Koreans took Japanese names and wore Western dress in the attempt to ingratiate themselves with the Japanese leaders.8 They probably expected to be well treated by the Japanese government, but they received only minimal protection. In February 1885 the Korean government sent a mission to Japan requesting the Japanese to turn over Kim to them. When the Japanese refused, assassins were sent to Japan, provided with orders signed by King Kojong to kill Kim and his associate, Pak Yong-hyo.9 Kim, learning of the plot, informed the prime minister, Itō Hirobumi, and the foreign minister, Inoue Kaoru. Inoue sent a message to the Korean government asking that the assassins be recalled, promising in return to expel Kim from Japan.

  Kim was staying at the time at the Grand Hotel in Yokohama. Inoue ordered the governor of Kanagawa Prefecture to remove Kim forcibly from the hotel, then under consular jurisdiction, and detained him under arrest in a villa belonging to the Mitsui family. In June 1886 the minister of the interior, Yamagata Arinori, ordered the governor to expel Kim from the country within fifteen days on the grounds that he was a menace to Japanese security and an obstacle to peace with foreign countries.10 The Japanese officials regarded Kim as a nuisance, despite his pro-Japanese views, and feared that his presence might provoke a war before Japan was ready for one.11 In the end, Kim was sent not to a foreign country but to a remote island, Chichijima in the Bonin Islands, where for two years he led the lonely life of an exile. The climate was deleterious to his health, and he was therefore sent under escort from the hot climate of the Bonins to the northerly cold of Hokkaidō, where he remained until permitted to return to Tōkyō in 1890.12 He survived his years of exile with the help of gifts of money from numerous Japanese sympathizers.

  In March 1894, having given up hope of assistance from the Japanese government in bringing enlightenment to Korea, Kim left for Shanghai. His purpose was to meet Li Hung-chang. Kim had become friendly with Li Ching-fang (the son of Li Hung-chang), who was then the Chinese minister to Japan, and continued to correspond with him after Ching-fang’s return to China. Kim hoped that Ching-fang would enable him to meet his father, the most powerful man in China. He hoped especially to put before this senior statesman his plan for cooperation among the three nations of East Asia to prevent further aggression by the Western powers.13 Kim was warned of the danger in making this journey,14 but he was sure it would be worth taking the risk if there was a chance of having even five minutes with Li Hung-chang.15

  Funds for the journey (and for paying the debts Kim had incurred while in Japan) were provided by Yi Il-sik, a Korean resident of Ōsaka. Yi also gave Kim a bill of exchange to cover his expenses while in China but informed him that in order to cash the bill, he would have to be accompanied by Hong Chong-u, a Korean who had until recently been studying in France.16 The party included Kim’s Japanese friend Wada Enjirō.

  Kim arrived in Shanghai on March 27. On the following day while Wada was out on an errand, Kim was reading a book in bed when Hong broke into his room and shot him twice. Kim crawled from his bed to the corridor, only to be shot from behind, this time fatally. The brilliant, erratic, charming victim was forty-three years old.17

  Wada bought a coffin for Kim and arranged with the captain of the Saikyō maru, the ship on which Kim and the others had come to Shanghai, to take the coffin back to Japan. However, the night before the ship was to sail, a man from the Japanese consulate ordered Wada to wait. When Wada refused to delay, the consulate informed the settlement authorities, who took the coffin and turned it over to the Chinese.18 Li Hung-chang, informed of the murder, ordered the coffin and the murderer to be sent to Korea aboard the warship Wei-yüan. Both the Chinese and Japanese governments seemed to be eager to be rid of a troublesome idealist.

  When the coffin reached Korea, the government had Kim’s body removed. His head, hands, and feet were severed and hung from poles with an inscription proclaiming him a traitor; the torso was left lying on the ground nearby.19 The vengeance of the Korean government did not stop with this atrocity: members of Kim’s family were also executed.20 Hong Chong-u was given a hero’s welcome.

  The Japanese were outraged by Kim Ok-kyun’s murder. Their feelings of hatred were directed toward the Chinese in particular for their role in the incident. Hayashi Tadasu, the deputy foreign minister, wrote in his memoirs that he was sure the outbreak of war with China a few months later was precipitated by the murder of Kim Ok-kyun and the Chinese involvement in the crime.21

  Fukuzawa Yukichi wrote sympathetically of the murdered man, expressing anger that the Chinese had turned the corpse over to the Koreans, and horror over the shameful mutilation of the corpse by the Koreans. He accused the Chinese of having violated the Treaty of Tientsin, which provided for China and Japan to cooperate in maintaining order in Korea, attributing misguided Chinese policies to the “rottenness at the core” resulting from the obstinate refusal of the Manchu rulers to permit progress. He predicted that a clash would be unavoidable if the Chinese continued to consider Korea as a vassal state. and expressed doubt that China would be able to maintain its independence if it showed no signs of progress.22

  There was still, however, no immediate reason for opening hostilities with China. This would be provided by the rebellion staged by a Korean religious group called the Tonghak. In April and May 1894 this group rose in rebellion throughout the provinces of Cholla and Ch’ungch’ong.23 The founder of the Tonghak movement, Ch’oe Che-u (1824–1864), had urged his followers to drive out Western influences and restore the native Korean beliefs, which he called Eastern learning (the meaning of tonghak). Although in principle he opposed Confucianism because its doctrines had originated in China, a foreign country, his religion was in fact a mixture of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Taoism; its chief enemy was Christianity.24 The government prohibited the Tonghak movement not so much because of its teachings as because of its popularity among the peasants, whom the authorities feared might be incited to rise in rebellion.

  Ch’oe Che-u was eventually captured and beheaded by order of the government—as a Catholic. Some Tonghak religious practices superficially resembled those of Roman Catholicism, then being persecuted in Korea, which prompted the police to give an anti-Christian zealot a martyr’s death. Having lost its founder, the Tonghak religion went underground but maintained its hold over the peasantry, for whom its appeal was not its mysterious spells and incantations but its promise of equality and this-worldly benefits.25

  The religion grew in numbers despite the prohibition, and
by 1893 the southern half of the Korean peninsula was under the control of the Tonghaks. In January of that year, the new leader, Ch’oe Si-hyong, called a meeting of believers at which he demanded the exoneration of Ch’oe Che-u and the end of the prohibition of the Tonghak religion. In March a delegation of believers went to Seoul to beg for an admission of Choe’s innocence. They remained prostrated on the ground before the main gate of the palace for three days and three nights, imploring the king to exculpate the founder of their religion.26 Although their petition was not granted, they had succeeded in demonstrating the strength of their convictions. From this time, the Tonghaks’ antiforeign slogans proliferated; originally directed against Europeans, they came now to include the Japanese. The peasants had only a vague notion of Europeans, but they all had personal experience of unscrupulous Japanese merchants who bought their rice crops and lent them money at usurious rates.

  The Tonghak believers, emboldened by the fears their movement aroused in the Korean government, plastered the walls of foreign legations and consulates with antiforeign slogans and shouted abuse at the foreign diplomats inside.27 Even the Chinese legation was not spared the abuse. Yüan Shih-k’ai, the representative of the Chinese government, realizing that these actions might easily escalate into much larger disturbances, sent an urgent message to Li Hung-chang asking for two warships. Li immediately sent the Ching-yüan and the Lai-yüan to Inch’on. Members of the Japanese legation, fearing attack, armed themselves with swords and readied themselves for action.

  Mutsu Munemitsu’s account of the circumstances leading up to the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War is of particular importance because he not only was an alert observer of the events he describes but, as foreign minister, was actively involved in decision making. His record of the war, Kenkenroku,28 opens with a consideration of the Tonghak revolt: