Emperor of Japan

by Donald Keene

  In June 1872 Gotō Shōjirō (1838–1897), the president of the Sa’in, and Ijichi Masaharu (1824–1886), the vice president, jointly proposed the creation of a lower house (kagi-in) as provided for in the Oath in Five Articles. Unless there were two houses—the upper house representing the nobles and samurai and the lower house, the common people—there could be no budget or even a foundation for the laws. The lower house, modeled on those in Europe and America, should serve as a forum where open discussions and public opinion could be heard. Although the Sa’in approved, it postponed acting on the proposal until the following year.

  In 1873 the emperor commanded the Sa’in to draft a constitution that would serve as the foundation of the nation and provide the essentials of government. The Oath in Five Articles might, of course, be described as a constitution for all ages, but it also was necessary to have a constitution that would serve as the basic law of the land.

  Little progress was made despite the general agreement that a constitution was desirable. In September 1876 the emperor sent a message to the Genrō-in commanding the members to prepare a rough draft that, though faithful to Japanese traditions, would benefit from the study of the constitutions of other countries.30

  Soon afterward Prince Taruhito, the president of the Genrō-in, was appointed by the emperor to frame a first draft. He and the committee he appointed completed a draft in October. Despite the leisurely pace with which the draft had been compiled, it was evidently much discussed. General Grant, who arrived in Japan a year later, observed in his conversation with Meiji that “the theme now so popularly advocated by the press and some of the people of this country seems to be that of Elective Assembly.” He offered these comments:

  I do not know whether the proper time for it has come or not. But such assemblies are very good for all countries in due time…. An assembly will have to be established in this country sooner or later, and therefore the government ought to hold out to the people this idea, and educate them to the fact that in due time such an assembly shall be established for them. The people shall know that it is coming and they should be educating themselves for the responsibility. But you must always remember that privileges like this can never be recalled. When you give suffrage and representation you give them forever. Consequently in establishing such an assembly too great caution can not be taken. It is exceedingly dangerous to launch out too suddenly. You do not want to see anarchy as the result of any premature creation of an assembly.31

  Coming from the former president of a country that was proud of its democratic traditions, these views struck a responsive chord among Japanese statesmen. Yamagata, a conservative military man and statesman, strongly favored a constitution and a legislative body, and in August 1880 Iwakura Tomomi, another conservative, proposed to the emperor the creation of an office for examining constitutions. It was rather late in the day for such a proposal, but Iwakura evidently had decided that the time had come for implementing the provisions of the emperor’s Oath in Five Articles:

  At the very outset of his reign, His Majesty intuitively grasped the world situation, and he swore in five articles that he would effect extraordinary reforms. In this manner he greatly enhanced the imperial rule and initiated the glorious achievements of the Restoration. All state affairs since then have been carried out in accordance with his oath.32

  Iwakura went on to propose the compilation of a constitution, but first, he insisted, the constitutions of all European countries should be examined in detail, so that there would be no flaws in the Japanese constitution.

  The caution with which Iwakura made his proposal suggested that his real object may have been to postpone action, but Itō Hirobumi, a more progressive man, was no less cautious. His superior knowledge of European history enabled him to give more positive reasons than Iwakura’s why Japan should possess a constitution.

  Itō pointed out that the influence of the French Revolution had by now been felt in every other country, sometimes resulting in a rejection of the past and a commitment to distinctly new ways and sometimes even leading to disorder. Some enlightened rulers anticipated changes without waiting for a revolution. But however the influence of the French Revolution made itself felt, no country has been able to escape the assumption that the ruler must share power with the people. European books, with their new theories of government, had flooded into Japan, reaching the remotest hamlet. Itō declared that there was no way to check the new concept of government.

  He offered specific proposals concerning the future composition of a bicameral parliament, with the upper house to be composed of nobles and samurai and the lower house, of common people. He believed that it was extremely desirable for the sovereign and people to share the rule, but he insisted that changes not be made hastily. Itō was particularly desirous that the emperor take an active part in all deliberations.33

  The draft constitution on which Prince Taruhito had begun to work in 1876 was not presented until December 1880, and the prince envisaged a further long period of study of other countries’ constitutions.34

  Prince Taruhito’s draft constitution contained no note of urgency. Like Iwakura, Itō and others, he seems to have considered that a gradual approach to democracy was better than prompt action. But many people felt otherwise. In April 1880, at a convention in Ōsaka, members of the Aikoku-sha (Society of Patriots) passed a resolution calling for the convening of an assembly and spread word of this decision throughout the country. In March, delegates from twenty-four prefectures met in Ōsaka and adopted as its name The League for Establishing a National Assembly.35

  The league attempted to present a petition to the emperor asking for the convening of an assembly. Although frustrated by the government and the Genrō-in, the attempt was not without effect. Iwakura, who had insisted that changes must be gradual, suddenly began to urge speed in creating a constitution. His haste was occasioned by fears, aroused by the petition, of possible danger to the imperial household if no action was taken.36 In December 1880 the league decided to form a political party, the Jiyū-tō (Freedom Party). The struggle of this and similar parties to create a national assembly lasted through the 1880s.

  Chapter 34

  The year 1881 was one of the most eventful years of Meiji’s reign. It opened calmly with the emperor’s ritual worship of the four directions, but changes were soon apparent even in the New Year ceremonies. He and the empress accepted congratulations both from the princes of the blood and high-ranking officers and from their wives. Later that day, the ministers of foreign countries, also accompanied for the first time by their wives, paid their respects.

  No reason was given for the change, but presumably it reflected Japanese diplomats’ knowledge of European court usages. The change immediately aroused problems. If Japanese women were to attend court on such an important occasion, what would be the appropriate attire? It was eventually decided that they should wear a trailing outer robe (uchikake) and trousers (hakama), but diplomats’ wives who did not own these items of formal Japanese dress would be permitted to wear foreign clothes. Next, what should be the relative positions of husband and wife when advancing toward the throne? Should the wife trail behind the husband, as was customary when a Japanese wife accompanied her husband? It was decided that the couple should advance together, the husband on the right and the wife on the left, although left usually took precedence over right. These and similar decisions were not lightly reached. The officials in charge of protocol were creating traditions that would govern etiquette at the court for many years to come.

  Sasaki Takayuki, one of the men closest to the emperor at this time, described the change in these terms:

  This year for the first time husbands and wives offered New Year congratulations to the emperor. Most of the wives, however, stayed away. Foreigners think of participating in such ceremonies as a great honor, but people of our country have quite different reactions. Wives either actively dislike such experiences or avoid them because of unfamiliarity. Again,
in foreign countries they do not allow women who were originally performers or prostitutes to mingle in upper-class society, not even if they are legal wives. Their practice, which I find admirable, is to look down on such women and not permit them ever to appear in public gatherings. In our country, too, this was the custom before the Restoration, but at the time of the Restoration many women of base birth became consorts of important men in the government, and this unfortunate practice has continued to this day. It is natural, then, that some people argue that it is inappropriate for such women to offer congratulations to the emperor. It is essential today that we revert to our former, admirable ways.1

  The emperor presumably approved of this change in the ceremonies, but he refused to accept others. For example, when Foreign Minister Inoue Kaoru proposed that foreign diplomats, being guests, be permitted to pay their respects to the emperor ahead of Japanese, he did not approve. He replied that the central meaning of the reception of officials at the beginning of the year was to affirm the correct relationship between lord and vassals and that it was therefore proper for Japanese officials to pay their respects ahead of foreign visitors, even though normally, as guests, they would come first.2

  On January 3 the emperor rode horseback. In the previous year he went riding 144 times, but this year he went only fifty-four times, an indication of the increasing demands on his time. In 1881 he attended sixty-six cabinet meetings, usually remaining from 10 A.M. to noon each time. On January 10, three days later than normal,3 the emperor and empress heard their first lecture of the year, delivered by Motoda Nagazane on the mythical Chinese emperors Yao and Shun. Soejima Taneomi and Nishimura Shigeki also delivered lectures regularly during the remainder of the year, but whether because of the press of official duties or because the emperor had lost interest in Confucian wisdom, only seventeen were delivered in 1881.4

  On January 5 foreign diplomats were invited for the first time to the traditional New Year banquet at the palace, another example of the court’s willingness to accommodate itself to foreign usage. On this occasion the serving dishes, previously of pewter, were of silver, no doubt in honor of the foreign guests, although a policy of strict economy was still in effect.

  Beginning this year, Meiji had regular luncheon meetings on Wednesdays and Saturdays with princes of the blood, ministers, councillors, and other high-ranking officials, evidence of his increased interest in running the government. Sometimes he chose these sessions to express personal opinions, although previously he had been hardly more than a mute witness. For example, on January 29, after the Saturday luncheon had ended, he called Sasaki Takayuki to his study and asked about the new penal law ending the death penalty. The new law was supposed to go into effect on July 1. In that case, asked the emperor, was it not true that quite a few criminals who had already been sentenced to death would (if not executed by that date) escape their sentences? He asked the opinion of Justice Minister Tanaka Fujimaro, who expressed the hope that the execution of criminals according to the old penal code would be delayed by special order until July when the death penalty was abolished—in other words, that there would be no further executions. The emperor felt that if the aim was to end executions, the people who framed the new law should have said so at the start. It would be highly irregular suddenly to issue special stays of execution. Either executions should be carried out in accordance with the present law, or when the verdict of death was passed on to a higher authority, the official in charge should delay acting on it until July and then administer the punishment prescribed by the new law. The emperor added that the trouble had arisen because of the haste with which the new penal code had been proclaimed. The haste was unavoidable in terms of the eagerness to revise the treaties with foreign powers—a lessening of the severity of punishments was likely to impress foreigners favorably—but the new penal code could not escape the charge of having been compiled carelessly.5

  The particular issue that disturbed the emperor may not appear of major significance, but his active concern over a legal matter indicated a new maturity. It is noteworthy also that Sasaki did not hesitate later in the conversation to consult the emperor concerning the need to make changes in the Genrō-in, as divisions of opinion among the various factions had impeded its functions. The emperor answered with not only surprising frankness but also a confidence that indicated that although he had not spoken at cabinet meetings, he had formed opinions of the issues and politicians involved.

  The emperor was not, however, so absorbed by politics that he forgot other diversions. In February 1881 he suddenly developed a passion for rabbit hunting. He always refused to escape the extremes of Tōkyō climate by going away during the winter or summer. When his advisers urged him to take a vacation, he would reply, “I will do what the majority of my people do,” meaning that he did not feel free to escape cold or heat when he knew that most Japanese were busy at their places of work, regardless of the temperature.

  Virtually the only exceptions he made to this refusal to travel for pleasure were the four times he went to the Tama area to shoot rabbits. At the time the region was scantily populated, and there were many more rabbits to shoot than at the Fukiage or the Akasaka Palace grounds, where hunts had earlier been conducted. The emperor liked to hunt until dark, and it was feared that he might have trouble finding his way back along the badly lit paths in Tama. People were ordered to put torches outside their houses to light his way. One night, after returning to his quarters in Fuchū, he mentioned he had noticed on the way a torch that proved to be a bamboo broom on fire. He asked people to find out who had put out the burning broom. It proved to be an old woman who lived alone and was so poor she had nothing but the broom to burn. The emperor summoned the woman and, praising her unselfish action, rewarded her.6

  On February 23 the emperor had word from John Bingham, the American minister, that King Kalakaua of Hawaii would be arriving in Japan on a round-the-world journey. The king would be traveling incognito, but he had some state business to transact: he wished to encourage Japanese migration to Hawaii and to sign a treaty with the Japanese government. He was accordingly treated as a state visitor, and Prince Yoshiaki was appointed as the commissioner for the visit. Two other officials were charged with entertaining the king.

  Kalakaua arrived in Yokohama on March 4. He was greeted with twenty-one-gun salutes by Japanese and foreign warships anchored in the bay. When the boat sent by the Japanese to take the Hawaiians from the Oceanic to their hotel touched shore, they heard the Hawaiian national anthem, played with explosive vigor by a Japanese military band. They were astonished that the Japanese musicians had learned the anthem of so remote and unimportant a country.7 The king and the others of his retinue, touched, were all but in tears. Along the way to the palace where they were to stay, they noticed that the houses of Yokohama were decorated with crossed Japanese and Hawaiian flags. The king and his party were stunned by the welcome.

  Kalakaua traveled to Tōkyō the next day aboard the imperial train and, after receiving an official reception at Shimbashi Station, proceeded directly to the Akasaka Palace. The emperor, following the etiquette of European courts that requires a monarch to receive a visiting monarch at the threshold of his palace, went to a room close to the entrance of the palace to meet his royal visitor. He was resplendent in a dress uniform studded with medals. The two monarchs shook hands. The Hawaiians, having been informed that the emperor normally did not shake hands, interpreted the gesture as a special honor. The two monarchs, after exchanging formal greetings, walked side by side into an interior room. W. N. Armstrong, the king’s chamberlain and the chronicler of his journey around the world, had heard that because of his divine origin, the emperor had never before permitted anyone to walk by his side; even the empress followed him. “But, for the first time in his own reign, and in those of his predecessors, he walked by the side of his kingly guest.”8

  The empress was waiting for the royal visitor in the audience chamber. Meiji presented Kalakaua to th
e empress. “She did not rise, but returned the king’s salutation with the least movement of her head and eyes.” Sueko, the daughter of Inoue Kaoru, who had spent several years in England, served as her interpreter. (Armstrong wrote that she spoke perfect English.) Refreshments were served, but the Hawaiians, having been previously informed that they should not eat in the presence of the emperor, declined them.

  The emperor was tall for a Japanese of that time, but Kalakaua was a giant of man. He was unusually dark for a Hawaiian, and this made the emperor, who was of a swarthy complexion, look much lighter. Earlier descriptions of Meiji’s face by foreign visitors had always noted the prominent jaw, but it was now concealed by his beard. Armstrong mentioned instead the unusually high forehead and, above all, the eyes, which were black and penetrating; they seemed to say that he was not “one who would put himself entirely in the hands of his Ministers.”9

  The two monarchs chatted for some twenty minutes until the king, rather overwhelmed by the reception, decided it was time to leave. The emperor saw him off as far as the threshold. Kalakaua and his party left for the Enryōkan, the building at the Hama Detached Palace where foreign dignitaries were lodged. Later, the emperor, conforming to the rule of European etiquette that a monarch’s visit must be returned within an hour, called on the Hawaiians, who had taken off their heavy uniforms and were relaxing in their underwear.

  Kalakaua originally intended to spend only three days in Japan, but Foreign Minister Inoue Kaoru, believing that this first visit to Japan of a foreign monarch should be commemorated in some way, sent word that the emperor was planning various events, including “a grand ball in the palace, which, it was intimated, would be the most notable given since the new order of things was established; there would also be a grand review of the imperial troops, special theatrical exhibitions and other entertainments.”10 The king at once postponed his departure, expressing deep appreciation of the emperor’s kindness. He also asked Armstrong, the legal expert in his suite, to inform Inoue that he would at once consent to abrogating the extraterritoriality clause in the treaty between Japan and Hawaii. Inoue, delighted, said that it “would give the emperor and the people of Japan unbounded pleasure.”