Corea: The Hermit Nation

by William Elliot Griffis

China and Japan are to each other as England and the United States. The staid Chinaman looks at the lively Japanese with feelings similar to those of John Bull to his American “cousin.” Though as radically different in blood, language, and temperament as are the Germans and French, they are enough alike to find food for mutual jealousy. They discover ground for irritation in causes, which, between nations more distant from each other, would stir up no feeling whatever. China considers Japan a young, vain, and boasting stripling, whose attitude ought ever to be that of the pupil to the teacher, or the child to the father. Japan, on the contrary, considering China as an old fogy, far behind the age, decayed in constitution and fortune alike, and more than ready for the grave, resents all dictation or assumption of superiority. Even before their adoption of the forces of occidental civilization in this nineteenth century, something of this haughty contempt for China influenced the Japanese mind. Japan ever refused to become vassal or tributary to China, and the memory of one of her military usurpers, who accepted the honorary title of Nihon-O, or King of Japan, from the Chinese Emperor, is to this day loaded with increasing execration. It has ever been the practice of the Japanese court and people cheerfully to heap upon their mikado all the honors, titles, poetical and divine appellations which belong also to the Chinese emperor.

To conquer or humble their mighty neighbor, to cross their slender swords of divine temper with the clumsy blades of the continental braves, has been the ambition of more than one Japanese captain. But Hidéyoshi alone is the one hero in Japanese annals who actually made the attempt.

As the Mongol conquerors issuing from China had used Corea as their point of departure to invade Japan, so Hidéyoshi resolved to make the peninsula the road for his armies into China. After [[89]]two centuries of anarchy in Japan, he followed up the work which Nobunaga had begun until the proudest daimiō had felt the weight of his arm, and the empire was at peace.

Yet, although receiving homage and congratulations from his feudal vassals, once proud princes, Hidéyoshi was irritated that Chō-sen, which he, with all Japanese, held to be a tributary province, failed to send like greetings. Since, to the Ashikagas, she had despatched tribute and embassies, he was incensed that similar honors were not awarded to him, though, for over a century, all official relations between the two countries had ceased.

On the 31st day of July, 1585, Hidéyoshi was made Kuambaku, or Regent, and to celebrate his elevation to this, the highest office to which a subject of the mikado’s could aspire, he shortly afterward gave a great feast in Kiōto, and proclaimed holiday throughout the empire. This feast was graced by the presence of his highest feudatories, lords, and captains, court nobles and palace ladies in their richest robes. Among others was one Yasuhiro, a retainer of the lord of Tsushima. Hidéyoshi’s memory had been refreshed by his having had read to him, from the ancient chronicles, the account of Jingu Kōgō’s conquests in the second century. He announced to his captains that, though Chō-sen was from ancient times tributary to Japan, yet of late years her envoys had failed to make visits or to send tribute. He then appointed Yasuhiro to proceed to Seoul, and remind the king and court of their duty.

The Japanese envoy was a bluff old campaigner, very tall, and of commanding mien. His hair and beard had long since turned white under years and the hardships of war. His conduct was that of a man accustomed to command and to instant obedience, and to expect victory more by brute courage than by address. On his journey to Seoul he demanded the best rooms in the hotels, and annoyed even the people of rank and importance with haughty and strange questions. He even laughed at and made sarcastic remarks about the soldiers and their weapons. This conduct, so different from that of previous envoys, greatly surprised the Corean officials. Heretofore, when a Japanese officer came to Fusan, native troops escorted him from Fusan to Seoul, overawing him by their fierceness and insolence. Yasuhiro, accustomed to constant war under Hidéyoshi’s gourd-banner, rode calmly on his horse, and, amid the lines of lances drawn up as a guard of honor, spoke to his followers in a loud voice, telling them [[90]]to watch the escort and note any incivility. In a certain village he joked with a Corean soldier about his spear, saying, with a pun, that it was too short and unfit for use. At this, all the Japanese laughed out loud. The Coreans could not understand the language, but hearing the laugh were angry and surprised at such boldness. At another town he insulted an aged official who was entertaining him, by remarking to his own men that his hair and that of the Japanese grew gray by years, or by war and manly hardships; “but what,” cried he, “has turned this man’s hair gray who has lived all his life amid music and dancing?” This sarcastic fling, at premature and sensual old age, stung the official so that he became speechless with rage. At the capital, credentials were presented and a feast given, at which female musicians sang and wine flowed. During the banquet, when all were well drunk, the old hero pulled out a gourd full of pepper seeds and began to hand them around. The singing-girls and servants grabbed them, and a disgraceful scuffle began. This was what Yasuhiro wanted. Highly disgusted at their greedy behavior, he returned to his quarters and poured out a tirade of abuse about the manners of the people, which his Corean interpreter duly retailed to his superiors. Yasuhiro made up his mind that the country was in no way prepared for invasion; the martial spirit of the people was very low, and the habits of dissipation and profligacy among them had sapped the vigor of the men.

To the offensive conduct of the envoy was added the irritation produced by the language of Hidéyoshi’s summons; for in his letter he had used the imperial form of address, “we,” the plural of majesty. Yasuhiro asked for a reply to these letters, that he might return speedily to Japan. There was none given him, and the Coreans, pleading the flimsy excuse of the difficulty of the voyage, refused to send an embassy to Japan.

Hidéyoshi was very angry at the utter failure of Yasuhiro’s mission. He argued that for an envoy to be content with such an answer was sure proof that he favored the Coreans. Some of Yasuhiro’s ancestors, being daimiōs of Tsushima, had served as envoys to Chō-sen, and had enjoyed a monopoly of the lucrative commerce, and even held office under the Corean government. Reflecting on these things, Hidéyoshi commanded Yasuhiro and all his family to be put to death.

He then despatched a second envoy, named Yoshitoshi, himself the daimiō of Tsu Island, who took with him a favorite retainer, [[91]]and a priest, named Genshō, as his secretary. They reached Seoul in safety, and, after the formal banquet, demanded the despatch of an envoy to Japan. The Corean dignitaries did not reply at once, but unofficially sent word, through the landlord of the hotel, that they would be glad to agree to the demand if the Japanese would send back the renegades who piloted the Japanese pirates in their raids upon the Corean coasts. Thereupon, Yoshitoshi despatched one of his suite to Japan. With amazing promptness he collected the outlaws, fourteen in number, and produced them in Seoul. These traitors, after confessing their crime, were led out by the executioners and their heads knocked off. Meanwhile, having tranquillized “all under Heaven” (Japan), even to Yezo and the Ainos, and finding nothing “within the four seas” worth capturing, Hidéyoshi cast his eyes southward to the little kingdom well named Riu Kiu, or the Sleepy Dragon without horns. The people of these islands, called Loo Choo, on old maps, are true Japanese in origin, language, and dynasty. They speak a dialect kindred to that of Satsuma, and their first historical ruler was Sunten, a descendant of Tamétomo, who fled from Japan in the twelfth century. Of the population of 120,000 people, one-tenth were of the official class, who lived from the public granaries. Saving all expense in war equipment, and warding off danger from the two great powers between which they lay, they had kept the good will of either by making their country act the part of the ass which crouches down between two burdens. They made presents to both, acknowledging Japan as their father, and China as their mother. From early times they had sent tribute-laden junks to Ningpo, and had introduced the Chinese classics, and social and political customs. When the Ming dynasty came into power, the Chinese monarch bestowed on the Prince of Riu Kiu a silver seal, and a name for his country, which meant “hanging balls,” a reference to the fact that their island chain hung like a string of tassels on the skirt of China. Another of their ancient native names was Okinawa, or “long rope,” which stretches as a cable between Japan and Formosa. Sugar and rice are the chief products. Hidéyoshi, wishing to possess this group of isles as an ally against China, and acting on the principle of baiting with a sprat in order to catch a mackerel, sent word to Riu Kiu to pay tribute hereafter only to him.

The young king, fearing the wrath of the mighty lord of Nippon, sent a priest as his envoy, and a vessel laden with tribute [[92]]offerings. Arriving in the presence of the august parvenu, the priest found himself most graciously received. Hidéyoshi entered into a personal conversation with the bonze, and set forth the benefits of Riu Kiu’s adherence to Japan alone, and her ceasing to send tribute to China. At the same time he gave the priest clearly to understand that, willing or unwilling, the little kingdom was to be annexed to the mikado’s empire. When the priest returned to Riu Kiu and gave the information to the king, the latter immediately despatched a vessel to China to inform the government of the designs of Japan.