by Donald Keene
The officials, needless to say, were petrified at the thought they had acted in contravention of his wishes. Probably the emperor was simply annoyed that the hood had been opened without his permission. But the fact that despite the heat, he had not wanted the carriage windows opened suggests that it was not solely annoyance that made him insist that the hood be closed; he may have had an old man’s fear of the cold.
At the beginning of February 1907, in response to an inquiry from the emperor, the chiefs of the army and navy general staffs prepared a memorandum on national defense. The first and most important point was that Japan must be ready to attack any country that infringed on its rights. They claimed that apart from the Tokugawa period, when a retrogressive policy was followed, a forward-looking policy—meaning a readiness to attack—had always been typical of Japan and exemplified the Japanese character.
In drawing up defense plans, the chiefs considered probable enemies. Ever since its defeat in the Russo-Japanese War, Russia had been steadily building up its military in the Far East. It also had plans to rebuild its navy and seemed to be watching for an opportunity to take revenge. Russia therefore ranked as the prime hypothetical enemy.
Next came the United States. Although America seemed to wish to maintain friendly relations with Japan, Japan could not be sure that at some time in the future there would not be a violent clash caused by geographic, economic, racial, and religious factors. Again, the alliance with England was a basic part of national defense, but in accordance with the renewed treaty, Japan was still obligated to send military assistance in the event of Russian aggression against India.
The conclusion was that the Japanese army must be able to attack its hypothetical enemy, Russia, and the Japanese navy its hypothetical enemy, the United States. To this end plans must be put into effect, beginning in the following year, to build army strength to nineteen divisions and navy strength to eight 20,000-ton battleships and nine 18,000-ton armored cruisers.25 The emperor’s reactions were not stated, but he may well have pondered the great cost of these ambitious plans at a time when Japan had yet to recover economically from the Russo-Japanese War.
A week after receiving this report, the emperor had word that miners at the copper mine in Ashio in Tochigi Prefecture had rioted, demanding better conditions and higher wages. The revolt was suppressed at the request of the governor of Tochigi by soldiers of the Fifteenth Infantry Regiment. This was not the first time the emperor had heard of the Ashio mine. In March 1897 a cabinet committee had been established to study copper poisoning of the soil resulting from the Ashio mine’s operation.26 At that time improvements in the mine’s conditions were ordered, and the owner was warned that if the orders were disobeyed, he would henceforth be forbidden to engage in mining. Enforcement of the orders, however, was lax. The pollution continued, and the miners were increasingly dissatisfied with the conditions under which they worked.
The emperor was also reminded of the deplorable situation at the mine when in December 1901, Tanaka Shōzō, who had resigned from the House of Representatives to protest its indifference to his pleas to end copper poisoning, in desperation attempted to push a petition into the emperor’s carriage as it was returning from the Diet to the palace. Tanaka was stopped by members of the police escort and arrested, but this did not end protests over pollution.
The protests were amply justified, but they came too early to be effective: the period was marked by desperate attempts to make Japan a major industrial power, and the harm suffered by the miners and farmers of the Ashio region probably seemed of only minor national significance to the emperor and others in the government. In the course of suppressing the violence in 1907, eighty-two miners, convicted of inciting a riot and damaging mine property, were sent to prison. In June of the same year, violence by miners at a copper mine in Ehime Prefecture over a reduction in wages was also suppressed by the militia. In July a gas explosion at a coal mine in Fukuoka Prefecture caused the deaths of more than 420 men. The emperor and empress gave 1,200 yen to the prefecture for the relief of those who suffered in the disaster, and the emperor sent a chamberlain to examine the circumstances.27 Each of these incidents contributed to the general somber mood of the times.
Relations with foreign countries, however, were generally good. A trade treaty was signed with Russia in March, the first step toward reconciliation between the two countries. In August, on a visit to the Privy Council, the emperor delivered a rescript looking forward to removing the causes of conflict with Russia and returning to peaceful relations. A new treaty was signed with Russia that included a secret protocol in which each nation promised to respect the rights of the other north or south of a line in Manchuria.28 This was followed by a directive proclaiming renewed friendship with Russia.
In August, Itō Hirobumi, temporarily back in Japan from Korea, received a rescript from the emperor praising his achievements in Korea. The emperor said that Itō had, by virtue of his diligence and hard work, succeeded in perfectly realizing his own desire to maintain peace in East Asia and assist Korea. In September Itō was promoted to kōshaku.29
On August 27 Sunjong, the new emperor of Korea, was officially crowned. His younger brother, the extremely handsome but dissolute Prince Yi Kan (known in Japan as Gi Shinnō), should have became crown prince, but his behavior was so outrageous that he was replaced on August 7 by Yi Eun (Ei Shinnō), his younger brother. Once Yi Eun had been installed as crown prince, Itō Hirobumi proposed that the ten-year-old boy be sent to Japan for his studies. Although he was never so described, the prince served as a hostage, as the Korean emperor realized.30 Itō also requested that the Japanese crown prince travel to Korea in the interests of promoting friendly relations between the two countries. Although Emperor Meiji was enthusiastic about Yi Eun studying in Japan, he at first opposed sending Yoshihito abroad because of security risks, but Itō swore on his life he would safely escort the prince. The emperor finally consented, provided that Prince Takehito accompanied the crown prince.
Itō hurried back to Seoul, where he had an audience with Emperor Sunjong at which he disclosed the crown prince’s forthcoming visit and presented specific plans for the Korean crown prince’s study in Japan. Prince Yoshihito arrived in Seoul on October 16, accompanied by both Prince Takehito and former Prime Minister Katsura Tarō, Admiral Tōgō Heihachirō, and other high dignities. The effect of this visit, interpreted as a great gesture of friendship toward Korea, was to make it impossible for the Korean emperor to refuse to allow Yi Eun to study in Japan.31 Later that year, at the request of Emperor Sunjong and with the approval of Emperor Meiji, Itō became the grand preceptor of the Korean crown prince, and it was he who escorted Yi Eun to Japan in December 1907.32
Probably the event of 1907 that most directly and strongly affected Meiji was the death in October of his mother, Nakayama Yoshiko. This was not her first illness. Dr. Erwin Baelz mentioned in his diary for November 28, 1893, that he had examined the emperor’s mother, who was then suffering from a stomach ailment. On January 20, 1900, he wrote about a more serious illness:
Had good luck with the emperor’s mother. When the old lady was at her worst, with high fever and pneumonia, and the court chamberlain asked me whether she had any chance, I said that there was hope she would pull through if she could last two days more. My words were evidently misreported to the emperor. When, two days later, Dr. Oka appeared to give his report, he found the emperor watch in hand. The emperor nodded to him saying: “I know, it’s all right, she is saved.” Dr. Oka, speechless with astonishment, said he did not quite understand, but he was delighted to be able to inform His Majesty that there really was a shade of improvement. The emperor rejoined: “Baelz said she would recover if only she could live forty-eight hours longer. He knew!” Oka begged permission to say that perhaps my words had been a little misrepresented. But the emperor stuck to his opinion.
Actually, the mother is better.33
This anecdote, though Dr. Baelz tells it with humor, is
touching because the emperor so rarely revealed his emotions. He was obviously extremely concerned about his mother’s illness, and when Baelz said that there was hope she might recover if she lasted two days more, the emperor’s anxiety made him interpret this as meaning that if his mother lasted two days more, her recovery was certain. Dr. Oka’s description of Meiji waiting, watch in hand, for the forty-eighth hour to pass, is particularly appealing, for at that moment he seemed to have forgotten he was an emperor and behaved merely like a son.
On October 4, 1907, the emperor received word from Dr. Oka that he was treating Nakayama Yoshiko for pneumonia and that her condition was serious. The empress immediately decided to pay a visit, but first she sent the tenji Yanagihara Naruko to wait on the stricken woman. Her reasons for choosing Naruko were not stated, but perhaps it was because Naruko, like Yoshiko, would one day be the mother of an emperor.
The empress herself was so impatient to leave for Yoshiko’s residence that she did not wait for a proper escort to be composed. The emperor, too, as soon as he heard of Yoshiko’s illness, commanded the surgeon general, Viscount Hashimoto Tsunatsune, to devote himself entirely to treating his mother, regardless of what this might involve. However, Yoshiko was over seventy and her illness was severe, and although Dr. Hashimoto exhausted every remedy at his disposal, her condition grew worse each day. There was no hope for her recovery. Finally, the doctor reported to the emperor that he had no way to cure her illness. The emperor looked extremely upset, and those around him could only gaze at him with apprehension.
The morning he received word of how serious his mother’s condition was, the emperor was seated at the breakfast table. Pointing at the milk that he was served every morning at breakfast, he said to the empress, “They say Ichii [Nakayama Yoshiko’s title] can’t get down food or drink. But maybe she could swallow this.” He took one of the three bottles on the table, each containing about half a pint, and gave it to the empress. As soon as the empress reached the mother’s sickroom, she took out the milk and offered it to Yoshiko, also repeating the emperor’s words. Yoshiko, overcome with emotion, drank the milk to the last drop.
The anecdote rings true even in the crucial detail, not explicitly mentioned, that the emperor was not free to visit his mother on her deathbed. He had gone to the side of his official mother, the empress dowager, and revealed then the depth of his affection, but he could not visit his real mother because her status was insufficiently elevated. Obviously, no one could have prevented him from visiting his mother if he so chose. It is unlikely there would even have been words of remonstrance. But Meiji could not violate what he believed to be the proper behavior for an emperor; he was in effect the prisoner of his conscience. Years earlier, Dr. Baelz had written in his diary that although the emperor ceremoniously visited his official mother several times a year, he was not free to visit his real mother because she was only a subject. “Strange flowers of etiquette!” had been his comment.34 The emperor could not violate the code of etiquette, however much he may have yearned to see his mother once again before she died.
Early on the morning of October 5 Nakayama Yoshiko died in her seventy-third year. On the twelfth the emperor and empress gave 30,000 yen for funeral expenses and supplemented this with a gift of 15,000 yen in recognition of her services. The crown prince and princess gave 10,000 yen, and the four imperial princesses gave another 5,000 yen.
The funeral took place on October 14. The emperor sent Chamberlain Hōjō Ujiyasu to mourn in his place at Nakayama Yoshiko’s bier. Later that day, Ujiyasu went to the Gokoku-ji, a Shingon temple associated with the imperial family, to offer prayers. The emperor also offered the Gokoku-ji tamagushi (wands of sakaki, the sacred tree of Shintō), to be placed before the Buddhist altar. On the previous day he had sent a set of seven ritual implements (shinsen) for offering food and drink to the Shintō gods. The combination of Shintō offerings and a Buddhist altar suggests that the separation of Buddhism and Shintō, promulgated early in the emperor’s reign, had broken down. Perhaps the mixture of the two religions was unavoidable because Shintō funerals were unpopular.35
The ties between the imperial family and Buddhism had become tenuous, but they could not be completely broken, as the imperial tombs (including Emperor Kōmei’s) were at Sennyū-ji in Kyōto. Two gon no tenji who had died giving birth to offspring of Emperor Meiji had been buried at Gokoku-ji, and all the other concubines of the emperor would eventually be buried within the precincts of a Buddhist temple. There was also a secular element present at Nakayama Yoshiko’s funeral: by command of the emperor, a battalion of infantry served as an honor guard in the funeral procession.
Nakayama Yoshiko’s surviving letters suggest that although she came from a distinguished noble family, she was not an educated woman. She probably did not attempt to understand the extraordinary changes that had occurred in Japan since her son had become emperor. But by all accounts she showed no hesitation about speaking her mind to the emperor if ever she disapproved of anything he did. He followed her advice, seeming to fear her stern rebukes, but his attitude was not solely one of respect: the affection he formed for Yoshiko as a child continued throughout his life. In her old age, she frequently visited the palace for the pleasure of seeing her son, and although he rarely enjoyed meeting anyone, he was always glad to see her.36
In November 1907, after a considerable hiatus, the emperor resumed one of his favorite activities, observing army maneuvers. They were held this year in Tochigi Prefecture. The emperor traveled to the site by train, at each stop on the way granting an audience (through the windows of his train compartment) to local officials who had come to welcome him. It was a festive occasion for all who rejoiced over the changes that had occurred in their lives in the forty years of the emperor’s reign. In every village there were strings of paper lanterns, flags, red and white bunting, white sand spread for the emperor to tread on, and arches of green leaves.
The maneuvers, concluded at a command from the emperor, were followed by a banquet attended by 4,800 nobles, ministers, and military. The emperor, in a good mood, offered saké to some sixty of them.37
On December 7 Prince Yi Eun arrived in Shimonoseki, escorted by Itō Hirobumi. The prince was met by Chamberlain Iwakura Tomosada, who accompanied him to Tōkyō, which they reached on December 15 after a stop in Kyōto. Prince Takehito rode in the same carriage with the young Korean prince to the Shiba Detached Palace, where he was to stay. That afternoon, Yi Eun visited the imperial palace. The emperor went as far as the entrance to the Phoenix Hall to welcome him. In conversation with the emperor and empress, the prince said that he had come, by command of the Korean emperor and empress, to study in Japan. He asked for guidance in all matters.
After lunch the Korean prince offered the emperor, empress, and crown prince presents from his country including a jade flute, a tiger skin, and a porcelain vase with a design of cranes and clouds. On December 20 the emperor, returning the visit, called on Yi Eun at the Shiba Detached Palace. He told the prince that he regretted his stay in Japan would be so short38 but said he hoped the prince would make the most of his time. So saying, he personally gave the prince a gold watch with the imperial crest, saying that he should use it to mark the time of his studies. The prince looked delighted.
On December 19 an envoy arrived from the emperor of Korea to thank the emperor for having sent General Hasegawa Yoshimichi as his deputy at the time of his coronation. The envoy, the uncle of the Korean emperor, brought a letter from him expressing in arcane phraseology his admiration for Emperor Meiji and his desire for a continuing friendship between the two countries. The Korean emperor clearly did not realize that within a few years, he would lose his crown to the monarch he had praised in such fulsome language.
Chapter 58
Although 1908 opened with traditional rituals, the emperor’s participation was minimal. On January 6 three lectures were delivered in his presence; the first was devoted to the Code of Hammurabi (Western learning), the
second to Chu Hsi’s commentary on the Doctrine of the Mean (Chinese learning), and the third to a passage from the Kojiki (Japanese religion.) The emperor probably listened attentively, whether or not the lectures were engrossing, but he probably found the following day more to his taste.
It began with a visit from Yi Eun, the Korean crown prince, who had come to the palace (along with various Korean and Japanese dignitaries) to offer New Year greetings. The emperor gave Yi Eun a toy horse, a silver anchor, and various ornaments, and the empress gave him a gilt French figurine holding a clock.1 These gifts, unlike the fresh fish or saké more commonly offered by their majesties to devoted subjects, regardless of their age or preferences, were obviously intended to please a boy of eleven. The emperor may have treated this foreign prince with greater consideration than his own children because he believed it was required by international courtesy; but perhaps his kindness indirectly expressed his regret that his own son was not more like Yi Eun.
On January 20 his son, Yoshihito, the crown prince, left Tōkyō for the mild coast of Hayama, where he would take refuge from the Tōkyō cold. The empress, also in delicate health, went for the same reason to Numazu, staying there from January 12 to April 14. The emperor was pleased that Yi Eun remained in Tōkyō, diligently attending to his studies regardless of the cold. When Yi Eun visited the palace on January 29, the emperor told him,