by Donald Keene
A month later, Takehito again reported to the emperor on the need to foster a spirit of independence in the crown prince, but the emperor had become increasingly cautious about his son’s behavior and does not seem to have favored giving him greater independence. He issued the order that if henceforth anyone wished to ask the crown prince’s opinion, it should be in writing, and the crown prince’s answer should also be in writing.30
On January 28 the statue of another problem member of the imperial family, the late Prince Yoshihisa, was erected in front of the barracks of the First and Second Infantry Regiments of the Household Guards.31 Yoshihisa’s wartime service and death in Taiwan no doubt occasioned the erection of the statue, but his earlier career—whether as Rinnōjinomiya or as an extravagant and capricious student in Germany—hardly justified this honor. In contrast, not one statue of Meiji was ever erected, although other sovereigns (such as his near contemporary, Queen Victoria) had no objection to being immortalized in stone or bronze.
On April 7 Meiji left for Kyōto and Ōsaka to observe a Grand Naval Review and the Fifth National Industrial Exhibition. He traveled by train, making several stops along the way and arriving on the following afternoon at Maiko, where he stayed at Prince Takehito’s villa. When his train passed Kōbe, the warships outside the harbor, all fully dressed, fired salutes, and at Maiko, the warships anchored offshore were decked with pennants by day and illuminated at night. For two hours before and after dinner, the navy band played. At the emperor’s request they played the war song composed in November on his return from army maneuvers in Kumamoto.32
The emperor’s preference for the army over the navy was no secret. He disliked being aboard warships, in part because he found the smell of oil unpleasant. On April 10, the day of the Grand Naval Review, he chose to wear an army uniform,33 the one he wore in both winter and summer, regardless of the occasion or season. Although he commanded his military attaché to compose a war song about the occasion and presented it to the navy, the naval personnel were disappointed that the emperor had failed to wear his uniform as commander in chief of the navy.
Several years after the review of 1903, when the Imperial Navy was about to stage another review, a naval uniform was made for the emperor with the request that he wear it at the ceremony. He did not reply, and the navy minister, Yamamoto Gonnohyōe, fearing that this signified a refusal, requested an audience with the emperor, hoping to change his mind. Before he could say a word, the emperor, guessing what was on Yamamoto’s mind, asked, “You’ve come about the uniform, haven’t you?” He promised to wear his new naval uniform. The sight of the emperor in naval attire is said to have greatly raised morale among men of the fleet.34
The emperor left Maiko for Kyōto on April 13. On the train he composed a poem in the manner of a war song. He had Chamberlain Sawa Nobumoto write it down and commanded him to say it was his own composition when he showed it to other people:
Maiko hamabe no / kashiwayama
kari no miyai wo / gubu nashite
hashiru ressha ni / makasetsutsu
haya Ōsaka ni / tatsu keburi
hikage mo ōte / sora kuraku
kore shōgyo no / hanjō wo
hajimete satoru / gubu no tomo
fuku harukaze mo / samukarazu
yagate Kyōto ni / tsukinikeri35
Having served His Majesty
At the temporary Palace of Kashiwayama
On the shore at Maiko,
We, his attendants, boarding a speedy train,
In no time at all reach Ōsaka
Where smoke rises, obscuring the sunlight,
And we realize for the first time
That this shows the prosperity of commerce.
The blowing spring wind is not cold,
And soon we arrive at Kyōto.
Sawa suggested that this composition by the emperor, extolling Ōsaka’s prosperity, would give great pleasure to people of the city if they knew about it, but the chief chamberlain refrained from asking the emperor’s permission to publish it, fearing that this might incur his wrath.
On April 20 the emperor attended the opening ceremonies of the Fifth National Industrial Exhibition in Ōsaka. No doubt it greatly pleased him to see the progress that Japan had achieved in industry as well as in agriculture, commerce, and education.36 He and the members of his escort wore full-dress regalia for the ceremonies, where they were joined by the ministers of thirteen foreign countries and many Japanese dignitaries. It was an occasion for satisfaction in the “smoke capital” of Japan.
In the meantime, however, disquieting reports were being received from China on the slow progress of the withdrawal of Russian troops from Manchuria. The Russians had promised to withdraw in three stages. One stage had been completed, and the railway between Shan-hai-kwan and Ying-k’ou (Newchang) had been returned, but all this meant was that the Russians had moved their troops from Liao-hsi, a region where they had few interests, to their major base at Liaotung. The Russians were far more reluctant to carry out the second-stage withdrawal, which included Port Arthur and Dairen. The deadline of April 8 passed without any Russian withdrawal; instead, the Russians presented the Chinese government with seven demands that it would have to fulfill if it wanted its territory returned. The demands amounted to complete control over the administration and economy of Manchuria, which would mean that commercial relations with all other countries would be blocked.37
The Japanese were dismayed to learn of the new demands but could not agree on how to react. On March 15 at a meeting of the genrō, Itō Hirobumi had stated that England and Germany would not use force against Russian actions in Manchuria. If Japan, not backed by any other power, opposed Russia, this might lead to a conflict of views that in the end could be resolved only by war. He favored modeling Japan’s responses on those of England and Germany. With respect to Korea, the goal should be to preserve the status quo; Japan should try to reach an understanding with Russia that there would be no conflict between the two countries.
Itō’s opinions were not easily disregarded, but when the foreign minister, Komura Jutarō, learned of Russia’s new demands on China, he at once sent a severe warning to China not to yield. At the same time he believed that the time had come to open direct negotiations with Russia. He persuaded Itō to go with him to Yamagata Aritomo’s residence in Kyōto to discuss basic policy.
Just at this time a telegram arrived from the minister to China reporting that the Russian army had begun moving. One battalion was preparing to occupy the forest on the bank of the Yalu River. A similar communication was received from the Japanese minister to Korea.
Those meeting at Yamagata’s villa on April 21 came to the conclusion that Russia’s activity in Manchuria and northern Korea threatened Korea’s existence and was incompatible with Japanese policy. The four men38 decided that although they were willing to make concessions on Manchuria, they would insist on their rights in Korea, even at the risk of war.39
There is no indication that the emperor had been apprised of the potentially dangerous situation. He was staying in Kyōto but traveled to Ōsaka repeatedly to visit the exposition. The empress usually went on the following day to the same places the emperor had visited. On May 2 the emperor listened to a phonograph that had been lent to the exhibition by Matsumoto Takeichirō of Ōsaka. The emperor, greatly pleased with this new invention, purchased it for seventy-five yen. Later, Matsumoto presented the emperor with five wax cylinders. The first was a recording of “Kimigayo,” the national anthem. The second was a performance by Tachibana Chijō, the master of the Chikuzen biwa, playing “Lord Kusunoki at the Battle of Sakurai.” The remaining cylinders were devoted to war songs.40 Matsumoto evidently knew the emperor’s tastes.
On the following day after the emperor had visited the tombs of Emperor Kōmei and Empress Eishō at Tsukinowa behind the Sennyū-ji, he wrote one of his most moving poems:
tsuki no wa no When I visited
misasagi mōde The tombs at Tsukin
owa
suru sode ni On my sleeves
matsu no furuba mo Old needles from the pines
chirikakaritsutsu Kept falling.41
When the emperor left Kyōto to return to Tōkyō on May 10, he was seen off by all the nobles and other great dignitaries. The visit had been a happy interlude, but two days later, back in Tōkyō, the emperor learned from Ōyama Iwao, the chief of the general staff, of the critical situation developing in Korea. According to reports received from the army attaché in Korea, Russia had occupied Korean territory on the left bank of the Yalu River estuary and had begun to construct military facilities intended to block any Japanese advance. It was clear that the Russians had no intention of withdrawing from Manchuria; Ōyama believed that their aim was permanent possession of the three eastern provinces.
Ōyama compared the relative military strength of Russia and Japan. Although the completion of the Trans-Siberia Railway had made it possible to transport Russian troops to East Asia more quickly than before, the railway was still not functioning adequately. All the same, troops would be steadily reinforced. At present, Russian naval strength was only about three-quarters that of the Japanese, but it was likely to surpass Japanese strength in a few years if current plans for expansion were completed.
In view of this situation, Ōyama concluded, Japan must act now in order to control the boundless greed of the Russians, to preserve the independence of China and Korea, and to maintain the rights of the Japanese. The longer Japan waited, the harder it would become to realize its objectives. If Japan yielded Manchuria to the Russians and allowed them to extend their long arms into Korean territory on the other side of the Yalu River, it would mean that Korean independence was no more and China was in danger. If these two countries perished, how could Japan alone hope to remain safe?
Ōyama revealed that he had warned Korea of the Russians’ moves, but the Korean government was powerless to act, and the Japanese government therefore had no choice but to convey to the Russians its determined opposition.42
The emperor’s reactions to this report are not known, but surely he must have been startled by the likelihood that war with the most powerful country in the world was imminent. After the idyllic visit to Kyōto where he had relived the past, he was suddenly faced with the shock of the present.
Chapter 53
On June 1, 1903, seven doctors of law sent Prime Minister Katsura Tarō a memorial concerning Japan’s future policy with respect to Russia.1 The tone was hard-line, interpreting the current tension between Japan and Russia as the latest in a series of crises and all but calling for war if Russia failed to meet Japanese demands. Their arguments were typical of those expressed by many Japanese leaders during the following eight months of negotiations with Russia.
The first crisis, said the doctors of law, was occasioned by Japan’s inability after the Sino-Japanese War to retain the Liaotung Peninsula in the face of the demands of the three powers (Russia, Germany, and France); this was the ultimate cause of the present crisis in Manchuria. Next, Japan had lacked the sea power necessary to repulse the Germans when they were casting covetous eyes on Kiaochow Bay. If Japan had been able to prevent the Germans from seizing Chinese territory, the Russians would not have found it so easy to demand leases of Port Arthur and Dairen. Finally, the failure to establish a detailed schedule for the withdrawal of troops from Manchuria after the Boxer Rebellion had given the Russians the chance to procrastinate over their withdrawal.
The new crisis arose from the Russians’ failure to carry out the promised second phase of withdrawal. If Japan let this pass unquestioned, it would be tantamount to missing a golden opportunity for action. The seven doctors of law believed that Japan had already missed three such opportunities, and they were anxious not to let this happen again. They pointed out that Russia had steadily encroached on Manchuria, strengthening its position on land by building railways, ramparts, and batteries and, on the sea, by devoting immense efforts to its fleet. Recent reports made it clear that the purpose of these armaments was to intimidate Japan. Every day of delay increased the danger. Japan could maintain its military superiority for less than a year at the longest.
At present, they said, Russia could not match Japan militarily, but once the Russians felt confident in their forces, it could hardly be doubted that, not content with Manchuria, they would turn their attention to Korea. Once Korea was in their hands, it is obvious where they would look next. Unless the question of Manchuria was resolved, Korea was doomed, and if Korea was doomed, Japan could not hope to defend itself.
But there was hope for Japan; in fact, there was a Heaven-sent chance. The Russians still did not have a firm base of operations in the Far East. Japan had the geographic advantage. Forty million and more Japanese were as one in their secret hatred of Russian actions. If the Japanese failed to take advantage of these factors, the heritage from their ancestors would be endangered, and the happiness of their descendants would be destroyed.
The seven doctors, urging prompt action, rebutted those who said Japan must act cautiously in foreign relations, first studying the attitudes of England and America and the intentions of Germany and France. But the attitudes of these countries were clear. Although Germany and France would not support Japan, they also would not support Russia, because in accordance with Japan’s alliance with England, making an enemy of Japan meant making an enemy of Britain. And Britain would not be willing to face this danger for the sake of Manchuria. The Americans’ objective was the Open Door, and as long as the door was kept open, they did not care whether the sovereignty was Chinese or Russian; all that interested them was commercial profits. To wait for the Americans to make up their minds—to assume that they were Japan’s steadfast comrades in a foreign policy aimed at ensuring peace in the Far East and the security of China—would be to deprive Japan of its freedom to act.
People say that under no circumstances should Japan lose Korea. This is correct, but to protect Korea, Japan must not let Manchuria fall into the Russians’ hands. Therefore it is essential in diplomatic disputes that Japan not allow the Russians to limit the discussion to Korea, as if Manchuria were already acknowledged to be under Russian influence.
In legal terms, the seven doctors of law continued, Russia must withdraw its troops from Manchuria, which does not mean moving troops from place A to place B in Manchuria. The railway guards must also be withdrawn. Japan has the right to demand that Russia fulfill its part of the agreement. Above all, Japan must be wary of Russian politicians who with honeyed tongues propose an exchange of Manchuria for Korea or any similar temporizing measure. Japan must take definitive measures to solve fundamentally the problem of the return of Manchurian territory and to maintain peace in the Far East.
Although the seven doctors did not say so plainly, they obviously believed that Japan should present Russia with an ultimatum, and if the Russians refused to comply with Japanese wishes on Manchuria, Japan should declare war while it held the upper hand militarily.
The seven doctors had sympathizers, but war did not seem imminent. Soon after the presentation of this memorial, the Russian minister of war, General Alexis Nikolaevich Kuropatkin, and nine other high-ranking officers who had made a tour of inspection of Vladivostok and Port Arthur, visited Japan. They were treated as state guests and on June 13 had audiences with the emperor and empress. The luncheon given by the emperor for the Russian visitors and legation personnel was attended by Yamagata Aritomo, Ōyama Iwao, and members of the cabinet. On the same day Kuropatkin was decorated with the Order of the Rising Sun, First Class, and members of his suite received lesser decorations. Kuropatkin’s visit, made by command of the czar, was for the purpose of observing the situation in Japan and learning Japanese intentions, but the Japanese felt honored.
The Japanese naturally avoided discussing military matters with the visiting Russians, but in casual conversations they expressed regret that the two countries were constantly opposed on questions relating to the Far East.
Kuropatkin expressed the hope that war could be avoided and the situation dealt with peacefully. Before he left Tōkyō to return to Russia, he conveyed the czar’s verbal message to the emperor: “Your country, unlike other countries, is a neighbor, and for this reason I hope that the relations between our two countries will be particularly close. I hope also, now that the Siberian Railway has been completed, that our future relations will be increasingly intimate.”2
Despite these friendly words, the war parties in both countries became ever more vociferous. On June 22 Ōyama Iwao, the chief of the general staff, expressed his conviction to the emperor that the question of Korea urgently required settlement, by military force if necessary. He submitted to the cabinet on the same day a written opinion declaring that if Japan let things take their natural course, the Korean peninsula would become Russian territory in three or four years. This would leave Japan with nothing more than narrow strip of water separating it from a country that was as ferocious as a tiger or a wolf. Ōyama favored efforts to achieve a peaceful settlement with Russia through negotiations, but if, unfortunately, war broke out, the Japanese army was a fair match for the Russian army. Now was the best time to settle the Korean question in such a way as to guarantee national security for a hundred years.3