Emperor of Japan: Meiji and His World, 1852’1912 (100 page)

I was not at all prepared to meet such a strange ceremony, for the thing was the new invention of the president of the school. As I was the third in turn to go up and bow, I had scarcely time to think upon the matter. So, hesitating in doubt, I took a safer course for my Christian conscience, in the august presence of sixty professors (all non-Christians, the two other Xian prof.’s beside myself having absented themselves) and over one thousand students, I took my stand and did
not
bow! It was an awful moment for me, for I instantly apprehended the result of my conduct.
³⁴

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 T
ō
ky
ō
. Indeed, there were said to be 5,000 university students in T
ō
ky
ō
, 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 Sanj
ō
Sanetomi, Prime Minister Yamagata Aritomo, President of the Privy Council
Ō
ki Takat
ō
, 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. It
ō
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
Ō
kuma 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 It
ō
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. Sanj
ō
Sanetomi died on February 18. On the preceding day the emperor, learning that Sanj
ō
’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 Sanj
ō
’s house. The emperor had earlier sent the imperial household minister with a rescript praising Sanj
ō
’s achievements and bestowing on him the rank of senior first grade. He feared that if he himself presented this decoration, Sanj
ō
might try to leave bed to receive it, worsening his condition. On being ushered into the sickroom, he asked Sanj
ō
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 Sanj
ō
, 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, Sanj
ō
had been a hot-headed noble of the
sonn
ō
j
ō
i
faction. In 1863 he had physically forced Emperor K
ō
mei, much against his will, to make a pilgrimage to Iwashimizu to pray for
j
ō
i
. In the following year, he had joined six other noble extremists in a flight to Ch
ō
sh
ō
in opposition to the court’s policy of
k
ō
bu 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 Sanj
ō
.

After the Restoration, Sanj
ō
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 Sanj
ō
than on Iwakura, Kido, or It
ō
; Sanj
ō
’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 Sanj
ō
with greater wisdom than he actually had. Sanj
ō
was given a state funeral and was buried at the Gokoku-ji in T
ō
ky
ō
. 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” (
shat
ō
kisei
) was

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 T
ō
ky
ō
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 T
ō
ky
ō
over the forthcoming visit: