Yet, although there was to be still much missionary activity, though printing presses had been brought from Europe for the proper diffusion of Christian literature in the Romanized colloquial,[8] though there were yet to be built more church edifices and monasteries, and Christian schools to be established, a sad change was nigh. Much seed which was yet to grow in secret had been planted,—like the exotic flowers which even yet blossom and shed their perfume in certain districts of Japan, and which the traveller from Christendom instantly recognizes, though the Portuguese Christian church or monastery centuries ago disappeared in fire, or fell to the earth and disappeared. Though there were to be yet wonderful flashes of Christian success, and the missionaries were to travel over Japan even up to the end of the main island and accompany the Japanese army to Korea; yet it may be said that with the death of Nobunaga at the hands of the traitor Akéchi, we see the high-water mark of the flood-tide of Japanese Christianity. "Akéchi reigned three days," but after him were to arise a ruler and central government jealous and hostile. After this flood was to come slowly but surely the ebb-tide, until it should leave, outwardly at least, all things as before.
The Jesuit fathers, with instant sensitiveness, felt the loss of their champion and protector, Nobunaga. The rebel and assassin, Akéchi, ambitious to imitate and excel his master, promised the Christians to do more for them even than Nobunaga had done, provided they would induce the daimiō Takayama to join forces with his. It is the record of their own friendly historian, and not of an enemy, that they, led by the Jesuit father Organtin, attempted this persuasion. To the honor of the Christian Japanese Takayama, he refused.[9] On the contrary, he marched his little army of a thousand men to Kiōto, and, though opposed to a force of eight thousand, held the capital city until Hidéyoshi, the loyal general of the Mikado, reached the court city and dispersed the assassin's band. Hidéyoshi soon made himself familiar with the whole story, and his keen eye took in the situation.
This "man on horseback," master of the situation and moulder of the destinies of Japan, Hidéyoshi (1536-1598), was afterward known as the Taikō, or Retired Regent. The rarity of the title makes it applicable in common speech to this one person. Greater than his dead master, Nobunaga, and ingenious in the arts of war and peace, Hidéyoshi compelled the warring daimiōs, even the proud lord of Satsuma,[10] to yield to his power, until the civil minister of the emperor, reverently bowing, could say: "All under Heaven, Peace." Now, Japan had once more a central government, intensely jealous and despotic, and with it the new religion must sooner or later reckon. Religion apart from politics was unknown in the Land of the Gods.
Yet, in order to employ the vast bodies of armed men hitherto accustomed to the trade of war, and withal jealous of China and hostile to Korea, Hidéyoshi planned the invasion of the little peninsular kingdom by these veterans whose swords were restless in their scabbards. After months of preparation, he despatched an army in two great divisions, one under the Christian general Konishi, and one under the Buddhist general Kato. After a brilliant campaign of eighteen days, the rivals, taking different routes, met in the Korean capital. In the masterly campaign which followed, the Japanese armies penetrated almost to the extreme northern boundary of the kingdom. Then China came to the rescue and the Japanese were driven southward.
During the six or seven years of war, while the invaders crossed swords with the natives and their Chinese allies, and devastated Korea to an extent from which she has never recovered, there were Jesuit missionaries attending the Japanese armies. It is not possible or even probable, however, that any seeds of Christianity were at this time left in the peninsula. Korean Christianity sprang up nearly two centuries later, wind-wafted from China.[11]
During the war there was always more or less of jealousy, mostly military and personal, between Konishi and Kato, which however was aggravated by the priests on either side. Kato, being then and afterward a fierce champion of the Buddhists, glorified in his orthodoxy, which was that of the Nichiren sect. He went into battle with a banneret full of texts, stuck in his back and flying behind him. His example was copied by hundreds of his officers and soldiers. On their flags and guidons was inscribed the famous apostrophe of the Nichiren sect, so often heard in their services and revivals to-day (Namu miyō ho ren gé kiō), and borrowed from the Saddharma Pundarika: "Glory be to the salvation-bringing Lotus of the True Law."
The Hostility of Hidéyoshi.
Konishi, on the other hand, was less numerously and perhaps less influentially backed by, and made the champion of, the European brethren; and as all the negotiations between the invaders and the allied Koreans and Chinese had to be conducted in the Chinese script, the alien fathers were, as secretaries and interpreters, less useful than the native Japanese bonzes.
Yet this jealousy and hostility in the camps of the invaders proved to be only correlative to the state of things in Japan. Even supposing the statistics in round numbers, reported at that time, to be exaggerated, and that there were not as many as the alleged two hundred thousand Christians, yet there were, besides scores of thousands of confessing believers among the common people, daimiōs, military leaders, court officers and many persons of culture and influence. Nevertheless, the predominating influence at the Kiōto court was that of Buddhism; and as the cult that winks at polygamy was less opposed to Hidéyoshi's sensualism and amazing vanity, the illustrious upstart was easily made hostile to the alien faith. According to the accounts of the Jesuits, he took umbrage because a Portuguese captain would not please him by risking his ship in coming out of deep water and nearer land, and because there were Christian maidens of Arima who scorned to yield to his degrading proposals. Some time after these episodes, an edict appeared, commanding every Jesuit to quit the country within twenty days. There were at this time sixty-five foreign missionaries in the country.