Emperor of Japan: Meiji and His World, 1852’1912 (12 page)

The chronicle of the year 1859 mentions also epidemics and other disasters that affected the whole country. A third daughter was born to K
ō
mei, only for the second daughter to die, perhaps a victim of the epidemic. For K
ō
mei there seems to have been one comfort, his son, Sachinomiya, and the process of his gradually becoming a worthy heir to the throne provided the only bright spots in a year otherwise marked by calamities.

Chapter 6

Sachinomiya’s schooling began in 1859 when Prince Takahito (1812–1886) was appointed as his calligraphy teacher. The fact that Sachinomiya’s first teacher was a calligrapher suggests the importance attached to being able to write a distinguished hand. Although calligraphy was of only minor importance to a European prince, in Japan it was an indispensable element in the education of the aristocracy. A member of the imperial family was required to display his skill as a calligrapher on relatively few occasions, but it was essential that whenever he did write, his handwriting would be not merely acceptable but an imposing mirror of his character. It is difficult to say how proficient Emperor Meiji eventually became, however, because so little survives in his handwriting.
¹

Sachinomiya had actually begun calligraphy practice during the previous year, but this instruction was apparently casual; now that he was in his eighth year, he was expected to study calligraphy (and other subjects) systematically under appropriate tutors. Prince Takahito was chosen to teach the prince calligraphy because his family had long been renowned for its penmanship. On May 5 he brought the Naniwazu poem as a model for the writing of
kana
,
²
and Prince Takahito and his pupil exchanged gifts, each presenting a box of fresh
tai
(bream) to the other. The first formal lesson in calligraphy was a most important step in the education of a prince, and that no doubt was why
tai
, a traditional feature of celebrations, were exchanged.
³

From this time on, Prince Takahito came several times a month on appointed days to offer calligraphy instruction to Sachinomiya. On June 4 the pupil presented for his teacher’s approbation some characters of which he had made fair copies, an occasion for a further exchange of gifts. By August 10 the young prince, apparently pleased with his own progress, was presenting to attendants samples of his calligraphy—one or two characters each, most frequently
naka
and
yama
.
⁴

In the meantime, he had commenced another kind of study, reading the Confucian classics. On May 29 Fusehara Nobusato (1823–1876) was appointed as his reading tutor. During the first session with his pupil, he read a passage from the
Classic of Filial Piety
three times. Naturally, a boy of seven could not be expected to understand a Chinese philosophical text, even when read in Japanese pronunciation; but before long, Sachinomiya was able to recognize characters and read them aloud, following his teacher. This method of learning, known as
sodoku
, was surprisingly effective, as we know from the generations of Japanese who learned Chinese in this way and were later able to read and write it competently; but it must have been excruciatingly boring for a boy to recite by the hour words that meant nothing to him.

As soon as Sachinomiya completed the
sodoku
reading of the
Classic of Filial Piety
, Emperor K
ō
mei commanded that he begin reading the
Great Learning
.
⁵
In a
sodoku
class of boys of the same age, there might at least have been the pleasure of friendly emulation or perhaps fun shared at the expense of the teacher, but Sachinomiya at first had little companionship in his lessons. The nobleman Uramatsu Tarumitsu (1850–1915) became Sachinomiya’s sole school playmate in 1861, when he was eleven and the future emperor Meiji was ten (by Japanese count). He recalled in conversation,

I waited on him every day, morning until evening, never leaving his side whether he was studying or exercising, until it was time for him to go to bed. The prince generally wore a kimono with long sleeves of colored silk crepe and trousers of white silk. He did not wear new clothes each day but dressed very simply. His hair was so arranged that his frontlocks were swept over his sidelocks on both sides and was arranged on top in a boyish style. The only difference between my way of doing my hair and his was that his sidelocks were puffed out.

His studies began with
sodoku
reading of the Four Books and the Five Classics. I was his partner. We were taught by the late Fusehara Nobusato, but occasionally Ano Okumitsu substituted. The textbooks were written in fair copy by Mr. Fusehara. When we finished one book, he would present His Majesty with the next. We read aloud in unison, in the manner of an old-fashioned temple school.
⁶

Thus far the instruction had been considered to be informal, meaning that Sachinomiya and his companion studied in private with their tutor, but on June 25, 1862, their formal instruction began. Emperor K
ō
mei commanded the master of yin-yang divination Tsuchimikado Hareo to determine the proper hour for the initiation. Everything was to follow the precedent set in 1839 when K
ō
mei underwent the same formalities. The most distinguished members of the court witnessed the ceremony, which had for its climax Fusehara Nobusato’s reading three times lines from the preface to the
Book of Filial Piety
.

Sachinomiya was not an especially diligent pupil. Anecdotes about his dislike of study have been preserved, and he himself recalled in later years that his mother, Nakayama Yoshiko, had been quite strict with him, not giving him lunch until he had finished that day’s assignment.
⁷
Still later, in 1905, he composed a poem recollecting those long-ago days:

The following poem was composed about the same time:

Another anecdote relates how Nakayama Tadayasu, then in charge of Sachinomiya’s education, lost his temper when in the midst of a lesson, his pupil suddenly stood up and went without explanation to his private quarters. Tadayasu decided that there was no point in continuing his instruction, to which he devoted his every effort, if the prince behaved in so undisciplined a manner. He penned a note resigning his post and saying he did not intend to appear again before the prince. Tadayasu’s son, Takamaro, pleaded that the prince was still too young to realize what he was doing, but the enraged Tadayasu would not listen. Just then a messenger came from the palace asking Tadayasu to return immediately, but he obstinately refused. Takamaro, insisting that refusal was in contravention of a subject’s duties, finally succeeded in persuading his father to relent. When Sachinomiya saw Tadayasu, he apologized, saying he was at fault, and promised never to behave that way again. He said, “Please don’t lose your temper, but look after me as before.” Tadayasu was deeply moved. When he saw Takamaro later that day, he said, “His Highness is an enlightened prince. I was too hasty. It was my fault.” He wept aloud.
⁹

The story has a pleasant ending, but it implies that Sachinomiya was capable of thoughtless and even cruel behavior. We know from the testimony of his childhood playmate, Kimura Teinosuke, that even as a child, Sachinomiya was fully aware of his power over subordinates:

His Majesty had an extremely impetuous streak that went with his unyielding disposition. If ever anything occurred that failed in some way to please him, he would usually at once clench his little fists and strike whoever was at fault. I can’t tell you how many times I was the recipient of blows from his gracious fists. At any rate, I tended to be insufficiently in awe of him, perhaps because I was a year younger, and I was always venturing to do something contrary to his wishes, and each time he deigned to strike me smartly.

One day a certain daimyo presented him with a goldfish bowl with five or six goldfish swimming in it. I was greatly intrigued and watched the fish by His Majesty’s side, but when he went into the next room I immediately put my hands inside the bowl and chased the fish until I actually succeeded in catching one. The goldfish died, much to my consternation, and while I was wondering helplessly what to do, His Majesty came back into the room and saw what had happened. He flew into a rage, and with a cry of “Tei-bon!” he clenched his fists and struck my head three times. I ran away, but he came running after me, and favored me with another blow, as I recall….

And although I don’t recall the reason, on another occasion I was the recipient of his anger for some mischief I had done, and I was hit in the head nine times in succession. When I think back on it now, I realize that my mischief had caused me to trouble the imperial mind, and even now I feel the cold sweat oozing from my armpits.
¹⁰

Another unappealing anecdote relates how an elderly noble who had been placed in charge of Sachinomiya from the time of his birth began to feel that the boy was too active for him to handle. He was thinking of asking to be replaced by a younger noble when one day he saw Sachinomiya playing by a pond in the Gosho. The boy called out, “Grandpa, come have a look! See all the carp in the pond!” The old man went to the pond but could not see any carp. He asked politely where they might be, to which Sachinomiya replied, “There, over there!” The old man stooped over to get a better look, whereupon the boy gave him a shove from behind, and the old man tumbled into the water. The pond was extremely shallow, but being an old man, he had trouble getting back onto the bank. Thereupon His Majesty called out in a loud voice, “Come, everybody! The old man’s turned into a carp!” People rushed up and helped pull the man out of the water. It is related that the mud-stained garment that he wore when he fell into the pond became the greatest treasure of his family.
¹¹

It may be wondered why such anecdotes are included even in works ostensibly compiled to enhance Emperor Meiji’s glory. Probably the harshness—even brutality—with which he treated a playmate and a harmless old man was considered to be a necessary quality, enabling a prince, who not only was raised by women but for years was dressed and painted like a girl, to be transformed into the stern ruler of the nation. It is related that after the old man suffered the humiliation of being pushed into a pond, he sent Iwakura Tomomi a letter asking to be replaced. But Iwakura summoned him and said, “You have served His Majesty ever since the day he was born, but you still do not understand his greatness. I am well aware of the efforts his training has cost you now that you are old, but I believe that because you yourself were raised as a noble, your only concern has been to make sure that he was well behaved. But Japan is now in a critical state. Imperial power will unquestionably revive. At that time, it will not suffice for the emperor to be well behaved. I can see in this young prince a manly disposition that is capable of maintaining its equilibrium no matter what kind of crisis it may encounter, and I rejoice in my heart. I am returning your letter asking to be relieved of your position.”
¹²

The manliness of the little prince, ready to use his fists against anything that displeased him, has been emphasized by anecdotalists who prefer not to portray Sachinomiya as a remote figure, hidden by screens from the eyes even of members of the court, or as a prince whose delicate health was a constant source of worry to those around him. They seem to be saying that even if pushing an old man into a pond was not in itself admirable, it was a demonstration of a virile personality.

In other respects, however, Sachinomiya’s education, whether provided by tutors or by observation of life at the court, was traditional. He began to compose
waka
poetry even before he had formal instruction.
¹³
One poem composed at this time survives: