by Donald Keene
The final proposals opened with the request to suppress the clause in article 5 stating Japan was “not to use any part of Korean territory for strategic purposes” and to suppress all of article 6 concerning the establishment of a neutral zone. The Russian proposals concerning Manchuria would be modified to include an agreement by Russia to respect the territorial integrity of China in Manchuria.36
The Japanese could have had little hope that Russia would agree to these changes. The Russians found the language so provocative as to constitute an ultimatum that did not allow for further discussion. Their reply, as usual, was slow in coming. In the meantime, preparations were initiated by the Japanese for the war that would follow if negotiations broke down. On January 16 orders were given to the army to ready four battalions of infantry for transport to Inch’on, the port of Seoul. Japan planned to occupy Seoul and make it the center of operations during the war.37
On January 18 the annual lecture on European history delivered before the emperor was devoted to reading an extract from David Hume’s History of England describing the defeat of the Spanish Armada by the British, a curiously prophetic choice.38 The emperor’s tanka, composed on the theme of “Pines on the Rocks” at the first poetry meeting of the year, was ambiguous enough to be interpreted as a prayer of safety for Japan in the war that threatened.39
By this time, both Japan and Russia seem to have resigned themselves to war, but in France efforts continued to avert a conflict. The French were in a difficult position, being tied to Russia by an alliance but having recently become close also to England, an enemy of Russia and an ally of Japan. The French had enormous investments in Russia that they were determined to preserve. On January 23 Maurice Paléologue, the deputy director of political affairs at the Ministry for Foreign Affairs in Paris, wrote in his diary:
[Foreign Minister Théophile] Delcassé is skilfully continuing his efforts to bring St. Petersburg and Tōkyō near together. He has hit upon certain ingenious formulae which would simultaneously solve both the Manchu and Korean problems. He has been equally skilful in exploiting the support he has managed to get from London. Lansdowne, Komura and Lams-dorf have been showering thanks upon him.
“I think I’m going to bring it off,” he said to me this morning.
His face was radiant and his eyes positively sparkled.
I told the Minister of the latest revelations which make me feel certain that Russia wants war, or at any rate is putting herself in a position to send Japan a threatening ultimatum which will almost inevitably result in war.
Delcassé’s face clouded over at once:
“You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? I’m corresponding daily with the Tsar. Only yesterday he thanked me for comprehending his views so well and working so hard in the cause of peace. And, according to you, he means war all the time! What next!”40
Delcassé was sure, on the basis of personal contacts, that Czar Nicholas II was extremely anxious to settle the quarrel between Japan and Russia by diplomatic means. But (as Paléologue elsewhere pointed out) he dreamed of extending his frontiers still farther and annexing not only Manchuria and Korea but also Tibet, Persia, and perhaps Turkey. Paléologue described the character of Nicholas II in these terms: “He is not very intelligent, but timid, credulous, slack, vacillating, very susceptible to occult influences…. And he lets himself be led by a gang of visionaries, speculators and filibusters who are absolutely set on war.”41
Paléologue related how Nicholas II (whom he termed “shifty and a dissembler—like all weak creatures”) had got around ministers who opposed the collision course with Japan by creating the viceroyalty of the Far East without even consulting them. If the viceroy had been truly outstanding, the situation might have been remedied, but as Witte wrote of Admiral Alekseev, who during the ensuing war became commander in chief of the Russian armed forces, “he knew nothing about the army and little about the navy.” He had risen to eminence because when Grand Duke Alexis was interrogated by the police after behaving in a disorderly fashion at a Marseilles brothel, Alekseev had taken the blame, saying there had been a confusion between Alexis and Alekseev. The grateful grand duke, for this reason, recommended Alekseev as chief of the Kwantung region.42
It is astonishing that the czar chose such a man for a position of extraordinary importance. Witte attributed such unpredictable actions to Nicholas’s “feminine character,” quoting a remark that it was only by a whim of fate that Nicholas was born with the traits that distinguish male from female. Everyone who knew Nicholas said that he had fundamentally a good character and that he was passionately devoted to his wife and children, but his vacillation made him a difficult master to serve. His conviction that he derived his authority from God, to whom alone he was responsible, might account for his sense of the coming war with Japan as a holy mission. He was certain that Russia would win, even though it might require some effort.43
Nicholas was also under the influence of Wilhelm II of Germany. It is hard to imagine a worse influence. As early as April 1895, the kaiser wrote to his “cousin,”44 “I shall certainly do all in my power to keep Europe quiet and also guard the rear of Russia so that nobody shall hamper your action toward the Far East! For that is clearly the great task of the future for Russia to cultivate the Asian Continent and to defend Europe from the inroads of the Great Yellow race. In this you will always find me at your side ready to help you as best I can.”45 Again and again in his letters to the czar, the kaiser vented his hatred of the Yellow Peril and his conviction that it was Russia’s mission to defend “the old Christian European culture against the inroads of the Mongols and Buddhism.”46 (In one letter, the kaiser sketched a drawing of the powers of Europe, represented by their respective genii called together by the Archangel Michael “to unite in resisting the inroad of Buddhism, heathenism and barbarism for the Defense of the Cross.”)47
“Willy,” as the kaiser signed his letters, had a vision of himself as admiral of the Atlantic and Nicholas as admiral of the Pacific. He encouraged Nicholas’s ambitions at every stage. On January 3, 1904, for example, he wrote, “It is evident to every unbiassed mind that Korea must be and will be Russian. When or how that is nobody’s affair and concerns only you and your country.”48
It is terrifying to realize that these two emperors were absolute masters of the lives of millions of their subjects. The third emperor to be involved in the approaching war, Meiji, was the only one deserving of his title.
As late as January 30, at an extraordinary council held in St. Petersburg, Foreign Minister Lamsdorf “vigorously and persistently emphasized that the present dispute in no way involves the vital interests of Russia and does not therefore justify the enormous risks of a war which, in any event, the Russian people would not understand. His conclusion was that the Tsar’s government should leave no stone unturned to find some peaceful solution of the crisis.”49 Lamsdorf was backed by all members of the council except Admiral Alexander Ageevich Abaza, described by Witte as a “knave and a scoundrel”50—and a tool of the viceroy. Nicholas had allied himself with a band of political adventurers, and each day brought the opening of hostilities closer.
The Russian response to the Japanese “final” proposal was not approved by the czar until February 2. In the meantime, Komura repeatedly instructed Kurino to urge the Russians to reply promptly. Kurino reported that the Russians were stalling to gain time to strengthen military preparations.51 On January 30 at a meeting in the prime minister’s residence, Itō drafted a memorandum stating that the time had come for Japan to reach a resolute decision. He was supported by all the genrō and cabinet ministers present. Two days later, the chief of the army general staff, Ōyama Iwao, advised the emperor that Japan should strike first.
The emperor’s most trusted advisers expressed no confidence about the outcome of a war but dwelled on only Japan’s desperate military and financial position. The army calculated that Japan had a fifty–fifty chance of winning a war; the navy expected t
hat half its forces would be lost but hoped that the remaining half could destroy the enemy forces.52 Despite the pessimistic appraisal of Japanese chances, all the decision makers favored a war. They were convinced that it was futile to negotiate any further with the Russians, and they believed that the Russians were a serious threat to both Korea and Japan.
It is conceivable that if the Russian response to the Japanese fourth proposal had arrived earlier, the elimination of the clause “exclusive of the establishment of settlements” in the article concerning rights and privileges acquired by existing treaties from China might have induced the Japanese to reconsider the decision to open hostilities. But the message sent to Admiral Alekseev on February 3, which should have been received in Tōkyō by February 4 or 5 at the latest, did not reach Baron Rosen until February 7.53
In the meantime, on February 3, at an audience with the emperor, Prime Minister Katsura and Foreign Minister Komura reported in detail why war with Russia was now inevitable. They asked him to summon a meeting of the genrō and cabinet ministers the next day and announce his decision. No Russian reply had been received, even after two weeks of waiting and numerous requests for prompt action. Katsura attributed this discourtesy to Russian contempt for the seeming Japanese lack of the will to fight. He advised that no more time be wasted.54 The Japanese minister in Paris was instructed to make no further attempt to obtain a reply from the Russian government.
On the following day a break between the two countries was approved at the imperial council.55 On February 5 the Japanese imperial government, through its minister in St. Petersburg, informed the Russian foreign minister that the Japanese government had decided to terminate negotiations and take such action as it deemed necessary to preserve the freedom and territorial integrity of Korea. On the same day the emperor issued a rescript to the army and navy informing them that Japan’s relations with Russia had been broken, despite all the Japanese efforts to maintain peace.
A poem written by the emperor at this time seems to suggest (though very indirectly) his anxiety:
omou koto This year, too, when
ōki kotoshi mo There are so many problems
uguisu no It is not surprising
koe wa sasuga ni The voice of the song-thrush
matarenuru kana Is so longingly awaited.56
Chapter 54
The Russo-Japanese War opened without a prior declaration of war by either side. The Japanese navy, determined to wait until the cruisers Kasuga and Nisshin (recently purchased from Italy) were available for action against the Russian fleet,1 repeatedly vetoed plans to open hostilities, much to the army’s annoyance. Only when the cruisers had safely reached Singapore, the bastion of Japan’s ally, did the naval authorities agree to fire the first shots. They realized that it was essential to strike before a powerful Russian fleet, then on its way, arrived in Far Eastern waters.
Before making the decision to fight the Russians, the Japanese had waited in vain for a Russian reply to their proposals. Indeed, the immediate cause of the outbreak of war seems to have been the wounds to Japanese pride. During the past year, the Japanese had again and again been kept waiting by the Russians, who seemed indifferent to the effect that their dilatory behavior might have on Japan. This attitude was an intolerable affront to members of the Japanese government, even those well aware of Russia’s military strength. The Japanese might have acted even more quickly if they had known with what pejorative language they and their country were scorned by the czar and his cronies.
Regardless of what the two governments might do, people at the time seemed convinced that war between Japan and Russia was inevitable. The poet Ishikawa Takuboku wrote in his diary on January 13:
The storm winds of East Asia have grown tempestuous. Preparations are under way for the military to move out, and there is a report that a declaration of war is being drafted. Of late people have been in high spirits. There is no avoiding a war now. Since it can’t be avoided, I think it the sooner it starts the better, and I look forward to the valiant deeds of a great people.2
At our distance from the events, this war may not seem quite so inevitable. It is hard to take seriously, in view of subsequent developments, the ostensible cause of the war: Japan’s determination to preserve Korean independence. The Japanese themselves destroyed Korean independence in the year the Russo-Japanese War ended, forcing the Korean emperor to sign a treaty that made Korea a protectorate of Japan. Five years later, Japan annexed Korea. Korean independence was clearly no more than a pretext. Ian Nish wrote,
In its origins the Russo-Japanese War stands in interesting contrast to other wars. It was not the result of economic pressures, for example the scarcity of resources for the number of people. Certainly Japan was the initiator: she also suffered from a shortage of raw materials and a rapidly growing population. But Korea was not sought for her raw materials or as a place to locate surplus population. Nor was Manchuria at this stage a place for great overseas settlement by Japanese or indeed of great commercial activity…. Nor can one say that Japan was in a state of social disintegration and was seeking war as a way of diverting attention from domestic problems. There was not in 1904 an appeal to xenophobia or nationalism or war-lust on the part of the Japanese people in order to deflect them from thoughts of poverty, revolution or political discontent. The decision for war in both countries was taken on a narrow basis and probably owed most to strategic considerations.3
The chief strategic consideration was, of course, which country would dominate in Korea and Manchuria. The Japanese were determined not to yield; perhaps their victory in the Sino-Japanese War had given them confidence that they were a match for any country, no matter how big or militarily strong. They informed the Russians on February 6, 1904, that they were terminating negotiations and that they intended henceforth to take such independent action as they deemed appropriate. They may have supposed that this statement was tantamount to a declaration of war,4 but the sudden commencement of hostilities against Russian ships at Port Arthur and Inch’on was denounced by the Russians as a shameful violation of international law.5
The Japanese naturally defended their action, and they were not without support from other countries. Maurice Paléologue of the French Foreign Ministry wrote, “In thus commencing hostilities without a declaration of war, the Japanese are repeating against their enemy the mean tactics which the Russians themselves employed against the Turks on November 30th, 1853, when they surprised and destroyed the Ottoman Black Sea squadron, at anchor off Sinope.”6
E. J. Dillon, known as “the greatest foreign authority on things Russian,”7 wrote in 1918,
The Japanese were accused of hitting below the belt when they fell foul of the Russian squadron unexpectedly, and the charge is still believed by many. I feel bound to state that having followed the ups and downs of the crisis as closely as my sources of information would permit, I formed the conviction that from beginning to end in war, as in peace, the Mikado’s government displayed chivalrous loyalty and moderation. The notion that the Russians would have behaved differently from their enemies in dealing the first blow so unexpectedly is, I fear, erroneous. There is extant a telegram [dated February 8] from the Tsar to his viceroy containing this significant injunction: “If on the west of Korea the (Japanese) fleet should sail northward past the 38th parallel, it is open to you to attack them without waiting for the first shot from their side. I rely on you. May God aid you.”8
The telegram indicated that the Russians would not have hesitated to attack, even without a declaration of war, but the Japanese beat them to the punch. On February 6 the Japanese cabled their minister to Russia to return to Japan, and on the same day the Russian minister to Japan, Baron Roman Rosen, was summoned to the residence of Foreign Minister Komura Jutarō and informed that Japan was severing diplomatic relations with Russia. On returning to the Russian legation, Rosen learned from the Russian naval attaché
that at 6 A.M. that morning the Japanese fleet had weighe
d anchor for an unknown destination, divided in two squadrons, one of which was convoying transports having on board two divisions of troops, evidently destined to be landed on the Korean coast, probably at some point on the west coast of the peninsula. The other squadron was no less evidently destined to attack our fleet, which was at anchor in the outer roadstead of Port Arthur, a fact which was known to the Japanese.9
Rosen’s information was correct, but he was powerless to warn the Russian government, as the Japanese government had suspended the sending of telegrams to foreign countries in order to preserve secrecy. While Rosen and his family were waiting for a ship to take them from Japan,
a touching incident took place. My wife was alone in her drawing-room when the arrival of the Grand Mistress of the Empress’s household was announced. She said that she had been commissioned by the Empress to express Her Majesty’s profound sorrow at seeing us depart under such painful circumstances, and that she begged my wife to accept from her a small souvenir in remembrance of our sojourn in Japan. This souvenir consisted of two small flower vases in silver, adorned with the Imperial Arms.
Baroness Rosen, though somewhat embarrassed to receive a gift from the empress now that their two countries were at war, accepted it in the spirit with which it was offered and asked to have her thanks conveyed.10 Old-fashioned courtesy lingered on, in a manner hard to imagine today.