Emperor of Japan

by Donald Keene

  When urged by his friends at the school to bow, he replied that “the good emperor must have given the precepts to his subjects not to be bowed unto but to be obeyed in our daily walks in life.” In the end, however, having been assured by the principal of the school, who did not wish to fire him, that bowing did not mean worship, Uchimura decided to bow “for the sake of the school, the principal, and my students.”35 No doubt other men, like Uchimura, “believed the ceremony to be a rather foolish one,” but it took courage to refuse to bow when all one’s colleagues were bowing. Whatever resistance such men may have felt in their hearts, most ended by bowing and joining in the chorus of praise for the “great foundation of education.”36

  The effects of the Rescript on Education were not immediately apparent. Early in November the minister of education issued a statement on higher education. Without referring to the rescript’s ideals, he noted and deplored the tendency for universities to be concentrated in Tōkyō. Indeed, there were said to be 5,000 university students in Tōkyō, quite a disproportionate part of the national number. Some private universities had established connections with political parties. Others were so wedded to England, France, or Germany that they gave no thought to Japanese traditions. Young men of no educational attainments were aimlessly studying a bit of the law or of political science and then abandoning themselves to empty speculations or getting bogged down in theories instead of devoting themselves to the welfare of the nation.37

  On November 29 the ceremonies of the long-awaited opening of the Diet took place. That morning the emperor left the palace at 10:30 and proceeded toward the House of Peers. He was accompanied by Prince Taruhito, Interior Minister Sanjō Sanetomi, Prime Minister Yamagata Aritomo, President of the Privy Council Ōki Takatō, and various high officials. On reaching the Diet building, the emperor was met by other dignitaries. The members of both Houses were already assembled for the ceremony, as were the ministers and other officers of the different foreign legations, officials personally appointed by the emperor, men decorated with first-class orders, and specially invited guests. The emperor appeared in the Hall of Ceremonies, ushered in by the grand master of ceremonies. Chamberlains bearing the sacred sword and jewel formed a line that was joined by princes of the blood and personal attendants of the emperor. The emperor seated himself on the throne, whereupon all present bowed deeply. The prime minister came forward to offer the text of the rescript, and the emperor read it aloud.

  The rescript expressed the emperor’s satisfaction with the progress toward establishing institutions of government during the twenty or so years since he ascended the throne. He hoped that this progress would result in making known abroad the glory of the country and the loyalty and bravery of its people. He was pleased that friendly relations had been secured with foreign countries and hoped that trade would be broadened and would raise the nation’s level of prosperity. He also hoped that relations with countries with which Japan had concluded treaties would be ever more cordial.38

  The tone was certainly more international than the Rescript on Education, but it, too, attributed to the Imperial Ancestors the progress of the Japanese people. Itō Hirobumi, the president of the House of Peers, came forward to accept the document from the emperor. Once again, all present made a deep bow, acknowledged by the emperor with a nod. Then he withdrew. The ceremony was over.

  The convening of the first Diet was the realization of the dreams of many men, notably Ōkuma Shigenobu. Even the authors of popular fiction had been caught up in the excitement of the impending opening of the Diet. A new kind of fiction—the political novels of the 1880s—had been written with the hopes of appealing to a large body of readers who anticipated with joy the day when Japan, like the advanced countries of the West, would be ruled by a parliament that guaranteed the liberty of all Japanese and promised them a better life. Many who entertained such high hopes would soon be disillusioned by the squabbles that marked the actual proceedings of the Diet, but it can hardly be doubted that Japan had taken an immense step toward achieving democracy, even though the path ahead was in shadows.

  Chapter 42

  On New Year’s Day 1891, the emperor performed the traditional rites, only to be stricken two days later with a serious illness. An influenza epidemic had swept the country, and not even the imperial family was spared. First to fall ill were some court ladies, then the empress, and finally the emperor, who was confined to his bed for forty days. He did not resume his duties until February 16, although court officials kept him abreast of matters that demanded his attention.

  The epidemic claimed victims who were close to the emperor. On January 22 Motoda Nagazane died after a week’s illness. As soon as the emperor heard that Motoda was unwell, he sent Dr. Erwin Baelz to examine him and repeatedly inquired about his condition. Word came on the twenty-first that Motoda was sinking. The emperor, in recognition of Motoda’s twenty years’ service as his tutor and Confucian adviser, made him a baron and promoted him to the junior second rank. The emperor sent Privy Council Adviser Inoue Kowashi to Motoda’s bedside to inform him. Motoda, joining his hands and bowing his head, wept. He died soon afterward.

  Motoda had transmitted to the emperor his Confucian belief in the importance of education and the necessity of faithfully performing his Heaven-appointed duties. Even after attaining his majority, the emperor continued to consult Motoda on state policy, respecting his opinions as those of a teacher. Although Motoda (unlike the Confucian scholars of earlier times) knew a fair amount about the West, he was basically conservative and reluctant to recognize the value of the new learning. In this respect he does not seem to have influenced Meiji, but the emperor’s extraordinary devotion to duty, his dislike of extravagance, and his determination to share the hardships of his people surely owed much to this teacher. When Itō Hirobumi learned of Motoda’s death, he said that he hoped the emperor would not replace him. “What Nagazane did was done well only because he was Nagazane. No man, no matter how studious and erudite, could replace him.”1

  The epidemic persisted well into February. Sanjō Sanetomi died on February 18. On the preceding day the emperor, learning that Sanjō’s illness had taken a turn for the worse, decided he must see him before he died. Refusing to wait until a suitable escort could be assembled, he and three chamberlains, protected by only two guards and three cavalry orderlies, set out for Sanjō’s house. The emperor had earlier sent the imperial household minister with a rescript praising Sanjō’s achievements and bestowing on him the rank of senior first grade. He feared that if he himself presented this decoration, Sanjō might try to leave bed to receive it, worsening his condition. On being ushered into the sickroom, he asked Sanjō how he felt. The latter, not mentioning his illness, expressed gratitude for the great benevolence the emperor had always shown him and his shame over receiving the emperor while lying in a sickbed. He begged the emperor’s forgiveness.

  The emperor left after a brief visit, but soon afterward issued a rescript proclaiming his indebtedness to Sanjō, whom he described as a teacher and father. The language recalls his words of grief after the death of Iwakura Tomomi, but surely there was a difference in his feelings. Before the Restoration, Sanjō had been a hot-headed noble of the sonnō jōi faction. In 1863 he had physically forced Emperor Kōmei, much against his will, to make a pilgrimage to Iwashimizu to pray for jōi. In the following year, he had joined six other noble extremists in a flight to Chōshō in opposition to the court’s policy of kōbu gattai. Meiji may have been too young at the time to be fully aware of these instances of disobedience to the emperor, but whatever he later learned could not have inspired affection for Sanjō.

  After the Restoration, Sanjō became a totally different man. Famous mainly for his vacillation, he seemed incapable of ever reaching a firm decision. Meiji certainly depended far less on Sanjō than on Iwakura, Kido, or Itō; Sanjō’s importance to the government stemmed mainly from his being a high-ranking noble. So few nobles contributed to the formation of
the new government that the emperor, who never forgot the importance of birth, may have credited Sanjō with greater wisdom than he actually had. Sanjō was given a state funeral and was buried at the Gokoku-ji in Tōkyō. Although he had done nothing to ingratiate himself with the common people, it is said that crowds flocked along the roads and wept as they watched the funeral procession pass.2

  Because of the emperor’s and empress’s illness, the first poetry gathering, usually held soon after the New Year, did not take place until February 28. The emperor’s poem on the topic “Praying for the World Before a Shrine” (shatō kisei) was

  tokoshie ni I pray to You that

  tami yasukare to The people will be at peace

  inoru naru For all time to come

  wa ga yo wo mamore Preserve and protect my reign,

  Ise no ōkami O Great Goddess of Ise.3

  This tanka was entitled “Poem of Grievance” (jukkai), suggesting that it was the emperor’s way of conveying his apprehensions about a year that had begun with an epidemic and the loss of two men who were close to him. But worse was to come.

  On January 9, while the emperor was suffering from influenza, he received word of the planned visit to Japan of Czarevitch Nicholas, the Russian crown prince. No doubt the news greatly pleased him. Although Japan had clashed with Russia over the possession of various islands to the north, Russia was a neighbor, and good relations between the two countries was essential. Again, although Meiji had received other royal visitors, Nicholas would be the most important to pay a state visit.4 As the eldest son of Czar Alexander III, he would one day be the czar of all the Russias, the ruler of the biggest country in the world.

  Nicholas would be traveling with his cousin, Prince George of Greece. Count Sergei Witte, probably the most able man in the Russian government at the time, recalled in his memoirs the background for the two princes’ journey:

  When he [the czarevitch] reached his majority … it was decided to send him abroad, to round out his political development. At this point Emperor Alexander III had the idea of sending the Tsesarevich to the Far East. The Tsesarevich was accompanied on the trip by his brother George, who had to return home before the trip was over because he began to show signs of having consumption, brought on either by a cold or through some kind of carelessness. Also accompanying the Tsesarevich was Prince George of Greece, whose behavior could not serve as a model for grand dukes or princes.5

  In anticipation for the visit, the Japanese made elaborate preparations. In Tōkyō the royal guests would stay at the Western-style residence of Prince Arisugawa Taruhito in Kasumigaseki, and the large sum of 20,000 yen was set aside for repairing and refurnishing the house.6 Mary Fraser, the wife of the British minister, described the excitement in Tōkyō over the forthcoming visit:

  Very great preparations are being made for this royal visit. The apartments in the palace by the sea7 have all been furnished and decorated anew; there are to be triumphal arches and illuminations and Court balls; and the Emperor intends to lavish honours—and fun—on his guest.8

  Nicholas and his suite arrived in Nagasaki on April 27. They had left St. Petersburg in November of the previous year and had boarded the warship Pamiat Azova in Trieste, the major port of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The ship had called at Egypt, Bombay, Ceylon, Singapore, Java, Saigon, Bangkok, Hong Kong, Canton, and Shanghai before reaching Japan. Nicholas was scheduled to visit different regions of Japan and then go on to Vladivostok, where he would inaugurate the construction of the Ussuri Railroad from Vladivostok to Khabarovsk.9 The decision to send the youthful (he was twenty-three) Nicholas to the East undoubtedly reflected the growing interest of Russia in East Asia.

  In Nagasaki, Nicholas received a state reception. Prince Takehito (the younger brother of Prince Taruhito) headed the welcoming party and would accompany the Russian prince throughout his stay in Japan. The reception given Nicholas was on a grand scale and planned to the last detail, down to which kind of tea or cakes would be offered at each stop during the princes’ tour of the city.10

  It seems likely that young Nicholas was hoping for other things than tea and cakes. The night before landing in Nagasaki, Nicholas read Pierre Loti’s Madame Chrysanthème, a book that seems to have inspired a desire to acquire a temporary Japanese “wife.” The evening of his arrival in Nagasaki, he met eight junior officers of the Russian navy stationed in the Inasa district and learned that each had married a Japanese wife. He commented, “I would like to follow their example.” He added, “But how shameful to think of such things, just as Holy Week, when Christ suffered, is about to begin.”11

  May 3 was Easter Sunday, and Nicholas was expected to spend the preceding week in prayers. The Japanese, learning of this, did not schedule any official ceremonies until May 4, but Nicholas was so impatient to see the city that instead of devoting himself to prayers aboard ship, he secretly went sightseeing in a jinrikisha.12 He was delighted with the cleanliness of the streets and houses and with the friendliness of the people. Wherever he went, he was trailed by Japanese plainclothes police responsible for his safety. Their secret reports on his movements reported precisely when Nicholas went where and what he bought at souvenir shops.13 In imitation of Loti, Nicholas had a dragon tattooed on his right arm; it took seven hours, from nine in the evening until four the next morning.14

  On May 4 Nicholas, free of religious impediments to his activities, enjoyed a rousing welcome from the citizens of Nagasaki. The long association—more than thirty years—of the Russian Pacific Fleet with the city had fostered a friendly attitude toward Russians. In his diary Nicholas expressed surprise at the number of people who could speak Russian. That day he was entertained at an elaborate Japanese banquet offered by the governor of Nagasaki. After the meal, he and the Greek prince were shown a display of Arita ceramics and other Japanese artistic wares and then were taken to see the Suwa jinja, the principal Shintō shrine in the city. They returned to the ship afterward, but that evening Nicholas and George slipped ashore and went to Inasa, where they met the resident Russian officers and their Japanese wives. Geishas danced for them. Nicholas mentioned in his diary that everyone had a little to drink.15

  The secret police report on that evening’s amusements supplied details not recorded in Nicholas’s diary. They mentioned that the Russians were entertained by five geishas from Maruyama. Then followed a drinking party at which the geishas danced and the two princes sang Russian songs. Late that night, they went to a Western-style restaurant run by one Morooka Matsu. They did not return to the ship until four in the morning. Another source states that Matsu arranged private entertainment for the two princes on the second floor of her establishment; the names of the ladies involved are a matter of dispute.16 Nicholas much regretted leaving Nagasaki, which he praised especially for its cleanliness.

  The next port of call was Kagoshima, a curious choice considering the xenophobia for which Satsuma was renowned. Shimazu Tadayoshi was particularly conservative, as was apparent from his refusal to cut his hair or to wear European clothes, and he was not fond of foreigners; but when he learned that the Russian prince was to visit Japan, he decided to invite him to Kagoshima. The Russians arrived on May 6.

  The entertainment offered by Shimazu Tadayoshi was of an earlier day. When Nicholas reached Tadayoshi’s residence, the latter, along with 170 elderly samurai all dressed in traditional armor, came out to welcome him. The samurai performed warlike dances led by Tadayoshi’s six-year-old son, Tadashige, and Tadayoshi himself led the display of mounted archery.17 Nicholas was delighted with his reception in Kagoshima. He was particularly pleased that he saw no other Europeans in the city, proof that the place was still “unspoiled.” He enjoyed the elaborate Japanese meal, but above all he was pleased with the conservatism of Shimazu Tadayoshi, which accorded with his own taste.

  Not all the Russians were so impressed: Prince E. E. Ukhotomskii, who accompanied the czarevitch, complained that Kagoshima, the birthplace of “samurai-ism” and xenoph
obia, was a hotbed of Shintō and feudal tradition. He found the music for the samurai dances gloomy, and the battle cries raised by the samurai, cacophonous.18 But a bond had been formed between Nicholas and the Shimazu family that would be maintained in years to come. The Russian ships left the same day at dusk.

  May 7 and 8 were spent at sea. The Pamiat Azova passed through the Shimonoseki Straits and proceeded through the Inland Sea to Kōbe, arriving a little after midday on the ninth. After about two hours visiting the sights of the city, the Russians boarded a train for Kyōto, arriving that evening. Nicholas was delighted with Kyōto. He referred to it as the Moscow of Japan, alluding to the fact that both cities had once been capitals. He stayed at the Tokiwa, a modern hotel, but declined the Western-style room prepared for him, preferring a traditional Japanese room. That night Nicholas suddenly said that he would like to see some “Kyōto prostitutes” dance. He was taken to the Nakamura-rō in Gion, where he remained until two in the morning.

  The next day was spent in sightseeing and shopping. He visited (among other places) the Gosho, Nijō Castle, and both East and West Honganji, the two biggest Buddhist temples. He saw kemari played by members of the Asukai family and observed long-distance firing of arrows. He seemed delighted by whatever he saw, and needless to say, wherever he went, he was acclaimed by crowds. He spent more than 10,000 yen on art objects and at the Nishi Honganji donated 200 yen for relief of the poor. The Japanese were impressed by his thoughtfulness in asking before he entered any building if he should remove his shoes.

  The next morning Nicholas, George, and members of their suite left the hotel in Kyōto for Ōtsu in order to enjoy the sights of Lake Biwa and the surrounding mountains. Nicholas, dressed in a striped woolen suit and wearing a gray bowler hat, rode in a jinrikisha. At the border between Kyōto and Shiga Prefectures had been erected an arch of evergreens surmounted with crossed Japanese, Russian, and Greek flags. Once the party had passed through the arch, they were welcomed by the Ōtsu regimental commander, the chief of the Shiga police, city officials, teachers, schoolchildren, and so on, all lined up along the road.19