by Donald Keene
When the emperor asked Motoda’s opinion, he replied that he believed Tani had spoken out of loyalty and that nobody in the whole country could disagree with his denunciation of the evils of the time. Motoda was sure that unless the concessions made to foreign countries in order to obtain treaty revision were at once discontinued, incalculable disaster would result.37
About this time Gustave Boissonade, a Frenchman who served as a legal expert to the cabinet, expressed his opposition to the agreement for treaty revision. He attempted unsuccessfully to present his objections to Inoue Kaoru, and when he stated his position to Yamada Akiyoshi, the minister of justice, Yamada said he was unable to consider the matter because it was outside his competence. At this point Inoue Kowashi, the cabinet librarian, who had grave doubts about the advisability of treaty revision, secretly visited Boissonade and listened to his arguments against the agreement. Boissonade was convinced it would cause the nation great harm. Inoue Kowashi, persuaded, decided to use his every effort to end treaty revision.
Boissonade tirelessly presented position papers to members of the cabinet explaining why revision must be stopped. He contended that it would inevitably harm Japanese prestige, weaken security, and lower Japan’s position. He attacked every provision of the agreement, including the use of foreign judges: they would have to be paid a salary that satisfied them, which would be a considerable drain on national resources. He warned that the Japanese people, indignant at the harm to Japanese interests and the damage to national prestige, might revolt once new treaties were approved that might lead to foreign intervention.38
Inoue Kowashi wrote Inoue Kaoru on July 12 stating his reasons for opposing the agreement, declaring that it would reduce Japan to the level of a semi-independent state. He predicted also that the country would be divided into two camps, for and against the revisions, which might lead to open conflict and immense losses. In the end, Inoue Kaoru was forced to recognize the turmoil that his plans had created. He saw that if he plunged ahead without modifying his original agreement with the foreign powers on the operation of Japanese courts, it would cause a national crisis. At the conference meeting on July 18 he informed the delegates that the Japanese government had decided it was necessary to make certain changes in the treaty with respect to the courts.
On September 17 Itō resigned as imperial household minister, though retaining his post as prime minister. At first the emperor was unwilling to accept Itō’s resignation, and he rejected Itō’s suggestion that Kuroda Kiyotaka succeed him. The Imperial House Act had yet to be framed and the property of the imperial household had not been systematically defined. Itō was the only one capable of dealing effectively with these matters. As for Kuroda, his character was such that the emperor would not wish him to remain long in the palace. The emperor asked Motoda Nagazane his opinion. Motoda replied that although in principle it was best in a constitutional monarchy for palace and state to be united, this depended on the particular man. In China there had been Chu-ko Liang, and in Prussia there had been Bismarck, men of great sincerity and ability. Itō had enormous ability, but his moral qualities were not yet sufficient. His continued presence in the palace might prove harmful. Motoda urged the emperor to accept Itō’s resignation as imperial household minister.39
The emperor was loath to lose Itō, but in the end he accepted his resignation and appointed Hijikata Hisamoto to succeed him. Kuroda was named minister of agriculture and commerce. Motoda’s recommendation that Inoue be dismissed as foreign minister was effected on September 16. For the time being, Itō would serve as foreign minister as well as prime minister.40
Although these political changes greatly disturbed the emperor, his year was not entirely gloomy. On August 22 his fourth son, Prince Michihito, was born to Sono Sachiko. On August 31 Prince Yoshihito, whose ninth birthday was that day, was confirmed both as heir to the throne and as the “true child” (jisshi) of the empress. That evening, with the emperor, the empress, the dowager empress, and Yoshihito in attendance, a birthday party was held. Thirty-nine members of the imperial family and palace officials were invited. The emperor, happy and relaxed, called one after another of the guests to his side. With his own hands, he poured saké for the empress dowager, the empress, and Yoshihito. Soon the dining room was filled with happy shouts induced by the liquor. The emperor commanded various people to sing and dance. The chronology of his reign comments that probably so joyful an occasion, shared alike by ruler and ruled, had never before been witnessed.41 There were indeed few such moments in the emperor’s life.
Chapter 40
During much of 1888, Emperor Meiji was prevented by illness from performing his ritual duties or attending field maneuvers and graduation ceremonies. The most severe illness, which lasted from February 7 until May 5, was diagnosed as catarrhal pneumonia.1 After the emperor had passed out of danger, his doctors recommended that he recuperate at a salubrious site along the coast, but he refused to leave the palace, obsessed as always with a sense of monarchical duty.2 Later that year, he suffered from disabling colds, but his dislike of doctors was so intense that he paid no attention to their advice. On various occasions, especially when he was ill, the empress took his place, receiving envoys from Siam, launching a warship, or inspecting the medical and scientific facilities of Tōkyō Imperial University.
The record of the court physicians was dismal, but the emperor, still clinging to traditional “Chinese” medicine, was reluctant to replace them.3 One more of the emperor’s children, Michihito, died of meningitis on November 12, despite the efforts of the court physicians (and despite also the ministrations of army and navy surgeons called in at the last moment). Another daughter (the emperor’s sixth) was born to Sono Sachiko in September. As usual, there was a banquet to celebrate the birth, but surely most of those present, remembering how many of the royal children had died, must have wondered whether their toasts to the health of the infant Princess Masako would have much effect.
Early in the new year, the emperor listened as usual to lectures: by Fukuba Bisei on the section of the Records of Japan describing the reign of the emperor Keikō, by Motoda Nagazane on a passage in the Doctrine of the Mean, and by Nishimura Shigeki on “the meaning of autonomy” from Henry Wheaton’s Elements of International Law.4 The choice of subjects for these lectures reflects the continuing efforts made to achieve a balance in the emperor’s education among Japanese historical traditions, Chinese moral teachings, and Western practical learning.
Among the few intimate glimpses we get of the emperor at this time, one is of particular interest. Believing that a portrait of the emperor more recent than the photographs taken by Uchida Kuichi in 1872 was needed for presentation to foreign monarchs and other dignitaries, Imperial Household Minister Hijikata Hisamoto asked the Italian artist Eduardo Chiossone, an employee of the Printing Bureau, to prepare a suitable likeness. The simplest way would have been to take a photograph, but the emperor’s dislike of being photographed made this impossible. Not long before, Itō Hirobumi had repeatedly begged the emperor to allow a new photograph to be taken, but the emperor refused each time. Realizing how unlikely it was that the emperor would change his mind, Hijikata asked Chiossone to sketch his features secretly, promising to take responsibility if anything went amiss.
After securing the consent of the chamberlains and other officials, Hijikata waited for a suitable occasion. The day chosen was January 14, when the emperor dined out. Chiossone, hidden behind a sliding partition, carefully sketched in crayon the dragon countenance, the emperor’s posture, and the changes of expression as he chatted.5 Hijikata was delighted with the finished Chiossone portrait and decided to show it to the emperor, first apologizing for not having secured his permission in advance. When the emperor saw the portrait, he said not one word, of either approbation or displeasure. Hijikata wondered what the emperor’s silence signified, but he could not very well ask for an explanation. Just at this time, a request was received from Europe for the emperor’s pictur
e. Hijikata asked him to sign for presentation a photograph of Chiossone’s portrait. The emperor did so, to the great relief of Hijikata, who interpreted this as meaning that he was pleased with the portrait.6 From this time on, photographs of Chiossone’s picture (based on his original sketches) were widely distributed to foreign royalty and schools around the country, and generations of children bowed in reverence before the imperial portrait (goshin’ei). The picture was so realistic that most people assumed it was a photograph.7
On February 1, 1888, the emperor appointed Ōkuma Shigenobu as foreign minister. As we have seen, Ōkuma’s predecessor, Inoue Kaoru, had had to resign as the result of opposition to his plans for treaty revision, but he hoped that Ōkuma might succeed in his place.8 The main problem in making the appointment lay in persuading Kuroda Kiyotaka, an adviser to the cabinet, to accept a man with whom relations had been strained ever since the scandal over the sale of Hokkaidō Development Office properties.
Itō Hirobumi, the prime minister, agreed to help persuade Kuroda. He had his own reservations about Ōkuma: although Ōkuma’s party, the Kaishin-tō (Constitutional Reform Party), was less radical than the Jiyō-tō, it advocated changes of which Itō disapproved.9 Nonetheless, surmounting his political antipathy, Itō urged Kuroda to support Ōkuma. His persuasion was effective, for one day Kuroda suddenly appeared at Ōkuma’s residence, apologized for what had happened in the past, and promised to cooperate with him in the future.10
Ōkuma was moved by Kuroda’s gesture, but he was reluctant to enter the cabinet because of the possible adverse effects on the Kaishin-tō. He stipulated conditions for accepting the post: the establishment, within seven or eight years of the convening of the Diet, of a cabinet composed of members of parliament; agreement that the qualifications for voters in the election of the new parliament should not be set higher than those for voters in local elections; and assurance that orderly and steady progress would be made.11 Ōkuma also asked that if his conditions were met, they would be publicly announced. For some months Itō was so reluctant to accept these conditions that he continued to serve as foreign minister, but eventually a compromise was reached and Ōkuma took office.
Ōkuma was no less determined than Inoue Kaoru to end extraterritoriality. His modified version of Inoue’s proposals included the controversial permission to foreigners to travel, reside, and own property in the interior of Japan. However, under his plan the role of foreign judges would be limited, and the authoritative version of the new civil codes would be the Japanese, not the English, text.12 These concessions did not placate opponents of treaty revision within the government, and criticism was levied at Ōkuma’s proposals through 1888 and much of 1889.
In the meantime, on April 28, 1888, the emperor created the Privy Council (Sūmitsu-in). His edict stated, “Whereas We deem it expedient to consult personages who have rendered signal service to the State, and to avail Ourselves of their valuable advice on matters of state, We hereby establish Our Privy Council which shall henceforth be an institution of Our Supreme counsel.”13
The main function of this body was to discuss matters relating to the enactment of a constitution.14 Members of the Privy Council would be senior persons (over forty years old) who had performed conspicuous service to the state. The council would consist of some fifteen members, including the president and vice president. When the constitution came into force, the Privy Council would serve as both an intermediary between the government and the Diet and an advisory body to the emperor.
Itō was the chief proponent of the Privy Council. He firmly believed that the constitution must be considered to be a gift bestowed by the emperor, whose authority was inviolable and whose decisions were final. The Privy Council would guide him, especially when a conflict occurred between the government and the Diet—for example, on whether to replace a minister or to dissolve the Diet.
To emphasize the importance of the newly formed body, Itō resigned as prime minister to become the president of the Privy Council. At Itō’s suggestion, Kuroda Kiyotaka was appointed as his successor. Although reluctant to lose Itō as prime minister, the emperor granted him permission to move to the Privy Council, probably because Itō was the only person who could control the discussions.15 Meetings of the Privy Council would be enhanced by the presence of the emperor, who attended every session except when he was ill. He listened carefully to the proceedings without ever once saying a word, although after-ward he occasionally sent for speakers to ask questions.16 During the summer months, the room where the discussions took place sometimes became unbearably hot, but Meiji, apparently unaffected by the heat, listened tirelessly.
Why did the emperor willingly spend so many hours listening to debates that must often have been inept and repetitious? Perhaps, in contrast to the boredom of the annual court rituals and the countless meetings with foreign visitors, he had at last found something that engaged his attention. The discussions may have helped him understand his role in the future of Japan.
In April 1888 Itō presented to the Privy Council a draft of a constitution. As far back as 1884 he had been asked by the court to study the framing of a constitution, and he had met with Inoue Kowashi, Itō Miyoji, and Kaneko Kentarō, as well as with K. F. H. Rösler, the German adviser to the dajōkan (later, professor of law at Tōkyō Imperial University); but other duties had kept him from making progress. In 1886 he began to work seriously on drawing up a constitution. Itō divided the different aspects of the task among his three associates, delegating to Inoue chief responsibility for the actual writing.
Itō had studied constitutional law in Vienna, and his views probably reflected what he had learned there about the importance of an “axis” (kijiku) to constitutional governments. In his speech delivered to the Privy Council on June 18, 1888, Itō mentioned that in Europe, where the seeds of constitutional government had germinated in antiquity and had steadily grown over the centuries, people were at home with this form of government. Moreover, religion, the axis of the European nations, deeply penetrated their peoples and unified them. Buddhism and Shintō, the religions of Japan, were too weak to affect people’s hearts and so could not serve as axes; the only axis the Japanese possessed was the imperial family. Itō declared that a realization of this truth was always in the minds of the men framing the constitution. Out of respect for the sovereign’s prerogatives, they had striven to avoid restricting his actions in any way. The prerogatives of the sovereign thus formed the axis of the draft constitution that Itō and his colleagues had prepared.17
Discussions of the constitution continued at a leisurely pace through the rest of the year. Other issues, such as efforts to end extraterritoriality, were not forgotten, but little progress was made until November, when a treaty was signed with Mexico that gave Mexicans the right to live in the interior and buy property, but not extraterritoriality. This was the first treaty signed by the Japanese on the basis of equality between the two contracting powers, but no other country followed Mexico’s example. Although vigorously protested by the British and French, who claimed that the most-favored-nation clause in their treaties signed with Japan automatically extended to them any privileges enjoyed by Mexico, the treaty had no immediate effect, as at the time there was only one Mexican in Japan.18
The new palace was completed toward the end of the year, and the imperial family was scheduled to move there on January 11, 1889. Since 1873, Meiji and his court had lived in a crowded “temporary palace.” The emperor’s dislike for extravagance had made him reluctant even to consider the construction of a new palace, but he at last yielded to the argument that Japan’s prestige demanded a more suitable residence for its monarch.
The palace, built at great cost, was intended to convey the grandeur of the Japanese crown, and visiting foreigners for the most part were impressed.19 The east wing of the palace was reserved for the emperor’s appearances as a public figure, when he sat on a gilded throne receiving foreign guests. The west wing, his private quarters, was i
n Japanese style. At the back were Shintō shrines where he performed ritual observances. The buildings, connected by Japanese-style passageways, had gardens around them.
Meiji seems to have been totally indifferent to the appearance of the new palace. Viscount Hinonishi recalled, for example, that artificial flowers decorating the corridors would hang there for three or four years at a time until they had lost their original color. The emperor seems not to have noticed them. By the time of his death, the blossoms had become so dirty they had to be burned.20 The palace was wired for electricity, which was used in state rooms, but the emperor refused to allow electric lights in his private quarters, fearing that a short circuit might cause a conflagration. But the use of candles blackened the ceilings, contributing to the palace’s rather forlorn appearance, especially in the emperor’s later years.
The move to the new palace took the form of a procession from the temporary palace. The emperor and empress, accompanied by princes of the blood and members of the cabinet and other dignitaries, set out at ten in the morning, arriving an hour later. Schoolchildren along the course of the procession sang the national anthem, Kimi ga yo, and music was otherwise provided by military bands. When the procession reached the Double Bridge over the moat surrounding the palace grounds, there were daytime fireworks, and enormous crowds of people shouted, “Banzai!”
The emperor’s health was better in 1889 than in the previous year, although illness sometimes kept him from attending to state business. This was one of the most hectic years of his reign because his decisions were constantly being sought. A particularly difficult decision concerned Lieutenant General Tani Tateki. Although Tani was undoubtedly an able man, he was contentious and had quarreled with both Itō Hirobumi and Inoue Kaoru, leading (as we have seen) to his resignation as minister of agriculture and commerce. He had now been out of office for a year and a half. The government, suspicious of what he might be secretly planning, sent detectives to spy on him.
