The Imjin War (55 page)

Kim Dong-nyong’s growing reputation led inevitably to feelings of jealousy in others, in particular
Korea’s cadre of professional army officers, with whom the twenty-seven-year-old civilian commander was in direct competition. Foremost among Kim’s detractors were Chungchong Army Commander Yi Si-on and Kyongsang Commander Kim Ung-so. They had their first chance to bring him down in early 1596, when charges were brought against Kim Dong-nyong of cruelty. Kim was arrested and taken to Seoul for trial, but was subsequently cleared and released.
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A few months later Yi Si-on spearheaded a second attack. He sent out agents to spread rumors that Kim Dong-nyong was secretly in league with a local rebel who had recently been captured and executed for attempting to spark an uprising in Chungchong Province and over
throw the king. The rumor, as intended, found its way to Seoul, and resulted in Kim’s being arrested again, this time on charges of treason. His fate was sealed when two captured rebels were coerced into testifying that Kim was indeed a rebel sympathizer and intent on perpetrating a coup. In Kim’s trial no one dared speak out in his defense; the charge was too grave. But neither would Kim confess. He was tortured six times over a period of twenty days, until his knees were broken and his face reduced to a bloody pulp, but still he continued to deny the charge. “Even if I die a thousand times,” he said, “the only sin I will confess to is my failure to complete the period of mourning for my mother. My anger against the Japanese was so great that I had to take up arms and fight them instead. I may deserve to die for this failure to do my duty. But not for disloyalty to my king.”
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Kim Dong-nyong died in his cell a few days later. When word of his fate reached the south, guerrilla leaders there became increasingly reticent to step to the fore and head armies of their own, lest they too attract the ire of others and be falsely accused and killed.
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Three years had now passed since first word of Hideyoshi’s plan to conquer Asia had reached the Spanish in Manila. It had arrived in the form of a letter from the taiko demanding the Philippines’ capitulation, delivered by a Japanese adventurer named Harada Magoshichiro. Harada, anxious to elicit a favorable response from the Spanish, had tried to soften the belligerent tone of Hideyoshi’s letter, and presented the governor with gifts that he purported to be from the taiko, but that he had probably purchased himself. The governor, Gomez Perez Dasmarinas, remained unconvinced. He found Hideyoshi’s letter arrogant and threatening, and unacceptable by the standards of international diplomacy as he knew them. He did not want to cause trouble for his young and still vulnerable colony, however, so in his reply the governor maintained a conciliatory tone, expressing his desire for good relations with the taiko, and assuring him that King Philip, “the greatest monarch in the world,” in turn would be glad to extend his hand “in true friendship and alliance.” As a further sign of goodwill he sent along a few presents in return for the gifts that Hideyoshi’s envoy had supposedly brought from Japan.
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Governor Perez Dasmarinas placed his return letter and presents in the hands of a Dominican priest named Juan Cobo, with orders to carry them personally to
Japan and, while there, to gather as much information as he could about Hideyoshi’s true intentions. Father Cobo arrived at Nagoya in the summer of 1592 and subsequently had an audience with Hideyoshi in which he tried to impress upon him the greatness of King Philip II, pointing out on a globe the many nations and colonies over which he reigned, including his namesake, the Philippines. Father Cobo’s discourse was not hyperbole. Philip II’s Spain was in fact the greatest European power that had ever existed, possessing an empire that in terms of size and population was even larger than the Roman Empire at its height. It was the western hemisphere’s equivalent of China in the East, Europe’s own Middle Kingdom. Hideyoshi was interested in Father Cobo’s globe, but was unimpressed by his talk of the greatness of Spain, for he had derived the wrong impression from the presents the priest had brought. These were misconstrued to the taiko as tribute from the Philippines, and thus a sign that those islands were bowing to his threats.

The second letter Hideyoshi sent to Governor Perez Dasmarinas was therefore even more aggressive and presumptuous than the first. He began with the standard recitation of how the sun had shone upon him at birth, portending that he would become “lord of all between the rising and the setting sun, and that all kingdoms must render me vassal
age and bow down before my door; and unless they do it, I will destroy them with war.” Then,

I have conquered all the kingdom of Xapon [Japan], and that of Coria [Korea], and many of my commanders have asked my permission to go and capture Manila. Learning this, Faranda [Harada] and Funguen told me that ships went there from here, and came back, and so the people there appeared not to be enemies, for which reason I did not send troops. I made war against the Koreans and conquered as far as Meaco, because they failed to keep their word. Afterward my soldiers killed many Chinese and many nobles who came to help the Koreans. In view of this they humbled themselves, and sent an ambassador who...said that the Chinese desired eternal friendship with the kingdom of Xapon. I have sent many of our people to Coria to occupy the fortresses and await the embassy. Should they break their word again, I will go in person and make war upon them; and after going to China, Luzon will be within my reach. Let us be friends forever, and write to that effect to the king of Castilla [Philip II]. Do not, because he is far away, let him slight my words. I have never seen those far lands, but from the accounts given I know what is there.
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Father Juan Cobo was shipwrecked and died on his return voyage to Manila, and so it was not until April of 1594 that a copy of Hideyoshi’s letter was finally delivered to the governor of the Philippines. By this time Gomez Perez Dasmarinas was himself dead as well, killed by the Chinese crew of his galley while on an abortive expedition south from Manila to conquer the clove-producing island kingdom of Ternate in the Moluccas. The new governor was his son, Luis Perez Dasmarinas, appointed temporarily until a suitable replacement could be sent out from Madrid. The younger Perez Dasmarinas was annoyed by the arrogance of Hideyoshi’s letter. He was particularly incensed to read that the envoy and presents his slain father had sent to Japan had been interpreted “as tokens of obedience.”
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Don Luis therefore wrote a long letter of reply to the taiko designed to clear away any misunder
standing. He began by pointing out the falseness of Hideyoshi’s belief that the sun had portended his greatness at birth. Such a thing, explained Don Luis with renaissance logic, was “in no wise possible or practical,” for the sun “has no more life or power than what God gave it, and this does not go to the extent of taking or giving away kingdoms, which can only be done by God himself.” Don Luis was informing Hideyoshi of these facts “because it is right that I do so, and in order that your Grandeur be not deceived by what is nothing else than the false flattery of ignorant people.”

After deflating the tale of Hideyoshi’s miraculous birth, the young governor went on to expound on the greatness of King Philip II of
Spain: “My king’s power is such, and the kingdoms and countries under his royal and Christian rule are so many, that his power and greatness is beyond compare with that of many kings and lords.... His dominions here [in Asia] are but a corner.” In fact, “were it not that our divine and Christian laws prevent us from taking unjustly from any one that which does not belong to us, and if affairs were in accordance with power and strength, my king only would be the one obeyed and acknowledged” as the most powerful sovereign in the world. Fortunately for Japan, King Philip had no desire to assert his authority in such an uncivilized way. He and in turn his representatives in the Philippines wanted only friendship with Hideyoshi, but “with less formality and more frankness than in your royal letters hitherto received.”
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Don Luis read his letter to Hideyoshi before a council of war convened in Manila on April 22, 1594, adding that he would have written “with more decision and heat,” but did not want to provoke Hideyoshi into declaring war and putting the colony in danger. He then asked the gathered officials and dignitaries for their opinions. The lieutenant governor, Pedro de Rojas, observed that the letter “was very prudent and discreet, and that its warmth and spirit were proper” in view of the arrogance of Hideyoshi’s own words. The portion pointing out the falsity of the prophesies surrounding Hideyoshi’s birth, however, was ill advised. It would be better, de Rojas suggested, “to follow the reserved and dignified style generally used among such personages, and to leave out some words.” The rest of the assembly agreed, and the offending passage was accordingly removed. An amended version of Don Luis’s letter, “briefer and less likely to provoke and annoy,” was read before the council six days later and unanimously approved.

Following the dispatch of Luis Perez Dasmarinas’s amended letter, relations between Toyotomi Hideyoshi and the Spanish in
Manila entered a two-year lull. The silence would be broken, with ultimately bloody repercussions, with the wreck of the treasure galleon
San Felipe
in the autumn of 1596.

On February 8, 1595, the Wanli emperor, acting on the suggestion of Minister of War Shi Xing, appointed Li Zongzheng as imperial envoy with the task of investing Toyotomi Hideyoshi as a vassal of Ming China. Li set out on his long journey to Japan with the onset of spring, accompanied by Vice-Envoy Yang Fangheng and a train of retainers, porters, and horses. In their baggage they carried a patent of investiture declaring Hideyoshi King of Japan, together with a crown, a golden seal, and dozens of courtly robes for the taiko and his inner circle of daimyo lords.

The Ming delegation arrived in
Seoul in May only to learn that thousands of Japanese soldiers still remained in a string of camps along Korea’s south coast. This was a violation of the three preconditions for investiture that Japanese envoy Naito Joan had agreed to on Hideyoshi’s behalf. The second stipulation had clearly stated that all Japanese troops were to be withdrawn not only from Korea, but also from the island of Tsushima in the straits between the two nations. Why, Envoys Li and Yang wanted to know, had this withdrawal not taken place? Refusing to proceed any further with their mission until they were satisfied on this score, the two Ming dignitaries settled down in the Korean capital and began a wait that would last for six months.

When the envoys’ message reached the south, Konishi Yukinaga sought to break the impasse by sending a portion of his forces back to
Japan from the outlying camps at Ungchon, Changmunpo, Sojinpo, and Koje Island. Those remaining in Korea were concentrated in the vicinity of Pusan. This only partially ameliorated the Ming delegation, and so Vice-Envoy Yang was sent on to Pusan alone while Envoy Li remained in Seoul. Konishi responded by closing two more camps, at Kimhae and Tongnae, drawing the troops stationed there into the garrison at Pusan. That, he said, was as much as he would do. Only when Li Zongzheng himself came south would the Japanese agree to withdraw completely from Korea. Besides, added Konishi disingenuously, if all his soldiers were sent back home, who would welcome Li to Pusan and escort him to Japan?
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After a month of wrangling, Envoy Li finally relented and continued to
Pusan. Upon his arrival in October of 1595, however, the evacuation of Japanese troops that he and Yang had been led to believe would now take place failed to materialize. The Ming mission thus bogged down again, with Li and Yang demanding complete withdrawal before they would proceed another step. Konishi was now in a bind, for a number of his fellow daimyo commanders were adamantly refusing to quit Korea without first receiving orders to do so from Hideyoshi himself. In February 1596 Konishi accordingly set sail for Japan to confer with the taiko. Shen Weijing accompanied him as far as Nagoya, ostensibly to make arrangements for the welcoming of the Ming dignitaries.

With Konishi away, Kato Kiyomasa now attempted to insert him
self once again into the negotiation process. From his camp near Ulsan he sent messages to the Ming delegation quartered at Pusan, stating that Konishi had deceived them into thinking Hideyoshi wanted to submit to China and become a vassal king. To drive the point home, he assured the envoys that if they proceeded with their mission they would only succeed in enraging the taiko and in turn very likely would lose their heads. These threats of death, coupled with the strain of close confinement within a Japanese military camp, went to work on Envoy Li Zongzheng’s nerves until finally they broke. In May, some time in the middle of the night, he slipped out of the Pusan camp with just the clothes on his back and began a panicked race north, arriving at the city of Kyongju after several days of hard walking over back routes and mountain trails. When the Japanese assigned to tend Li awoke the next morning to find him gone, they began scouring the countryside to run him down. But the Ming official was too elusive. After arriving bedraggled at Kyongju, he made his way north to Seoul, and eventually on to a prison cell in Beijing.
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Konishi was on his way back to
Korea when he received word of Li’s flight. For the Christian daimyo this was a potential disaster, the calamitous collapse of the delicately balanced house of cards he had carefully constructed over the past three years. He immediately sent a messenger back to Fushimi to inform Hideyoshi of the mess that his rival had caused and succeeded in turning the taiko against Kato Kiyomasa, so much so that a letter was sent to Korea ordering the disgraced daimyo back to Japan. Kato sailed for home in early June and spent the next month in Kyoto, waiting for Hideyoshi to either grant him an audience or order his death. Konishi, meanwhile, continued on to Pusan to see how the situation could be repaired.
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As it turned out the damage Kato had done was slight. Vice-Envoy Yang Fangheng took control of the situation and calmed the agitated Japanese by retrieving his superior’s abandoned seal of office—Li had fled in such haste that he had left even this behind—and assuming the leadership of the delegation. An imperial order was in time dispatched from
Beijing making Yang’s appointment official and promoting Ming negotiator and Konishi confidant Shen Weijing to the now-vacant post of vice-envoy. A new patent of investiture for Hideyoshi and replacement royal robes were also sent, the originals by this time having become soiled.
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Konishi Yukinaga now announced the happy news that Hideyoshi was eagerly awaiting their arrival at
Fushimi Castle in Kyoto and that as yet another show of good faith even more troops would be sent back to Japan; only a very small force would be left in Korea to garrison the fortress at the port of Pusan. This at last satisfied the Chinese. On July 10, 1596, Ming envoys Yang and Shen and a delegation of some three hundred Chinese set sail for Japan.

There was just one more thing Konishi had to do to complete his charade of a negotiated peace. Upon returning to
Pusan from his visit with the taiko, he insisted that Seoul appoint an envoy of its own to accompany the Ming delegation. His intention was undoubtedly to give Hideyoshi the false impression that the Koreans were joining with the Ming Chinese in submitting to him and apologizing for the war. But Konishi gave no intimation of this when making his request. “If a Korean envoy does not accompany the Chinese embassy to Japan,” he explained, “the peace will be only between Japan and China, and Korea will have no part in it. This will lead to grave troubles.”
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King Sonjo and his ministers had no faith in Hideyoshi’s alleged desire for peace, and discounted his earlier letter of submission to Beijing as a forgery, perpetrated by Konishi Yukinaga and Shen Weijing—which of course it was. They were thus strongly opposed to the upcoming Ming mission to
Japan and had no desire to join it. The decision, however, was not theirs to make. Shen Weijing, the mission’s new vice-envoy, sent his nephew back from Nagoya to urge that a Korean envoy be appointed at once. Envoy Yang concurred. With these two men representing the authority of the Wanli emperor, there was nothing the Koreans could do but comply.

The matter was discussed at length in
Seoul. The first thought was to appoint a low-ranking military official as envoy as a sign of Korea’s disdain for Japan. Then it was pointed out that a military official, lacking the scholarship and sophistication of a civil official, might do something to embarrass the kingdom. In the end it was decided to appoint a civil official as envoy, someone capable and well educated, but not too highly ranked. The man selected for the job was Hwang Sin, a thirty-six-year-old government inspector from the southwestern province of Cholla. Pak Hong-jang was appointed as his second in command. The two men, bearing a letter from King Sonjo to Hideyoshi that said not a word about submission or apology, set sail for Japan two months after the Ming delegation. They caught up to them at Sakai, the gateway port to Osaka and Kyoto, and from there proceeded on together to the taiko’s palace at Fushimi.
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It had taken three years of slow and uncertain negotiations for the Chinese and Korean envoys to arrive at this point. Through it all Toyotomi Hideyoshi waited patiently at
Osaka Castle and in nearby Kyoto, overseeing construction of his retirement palace at Fushimi. Since returning to the capital region from his Nagoya invasion headquarters in September of 1593, the taiko seems to have paid little attention to the war and to subsequent peace negotiations. In his fifty-odd personal letters that have survived from this period, not a single mention is made of these events. Had he lost interest in the project? Or was he simply keeping silent about a costly overseas adventure that had not gone according to plan?

The truth probably lies somewhere in between. For all the misin
formation he received from the Korean front, Hideyoshi could not have helped but conclude from the withdrawal of his armies to Pusan that his original grand design could not be achieved and that the war had in fact been lost. This grim realization lay in part behind his patience throughout the long process of negotiation with the Chinese: ambiguity and delay were preferable to accepting defeat.
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It seems likely, more
over, that Hideyoshi understood throughout these interminable talks that his representative Konishi Yukinaga was taking certain liberties with the demands he had originally laid down in order to coax a face-saving settlement from the Ming, although just how great those liberties were the taiko certainly did not know. Indeed, if Hideyoshi was completely in the dark with regard to his representative’s machinations, then why did he recall Kato Kiyomasa in disgrace to Japan when the latter attempted to expose Konishi’s presumed disloyalty in altering his master’s demands? Although Hideyoshi never openly expressed a willingness to compromise, by 1596 he was clearly ready to settle for some sort of show of submission, even an empty one, from the court in Seoul and the Ming Chinese, something that could be held up to the nation as further proof of the greatness of the name of Toyotomi and as justification for a long and costly war.

While Hideyoshi waited for Konishi to deliver the Ming envoys to him, he found no end of things with which to occupy himself. Enjoying the fruits of being taiko was for him a full-time job. First there was the construction of
Fushimi Castle to attend to, located on the side of Momoyama, “Peach Mountain,” just outside Kyoto. He had embarked upon the project in September of 1592, initially as an unassuming retirement villa where he could quietly live out his days, puttering about with his poetry and tea. In the following year this modest design was changed. Perhaps Hideyoshi wished to impress the Ming envoys when they eventually arrived with a show of extravagance and grandeur even greater than his castle at Osaka. Or perhaps he was anxious to provide himself and his newborn son Hideyori with a more imposing presence in the capital, something to rival the Jurakutei, the palace occupied by his nephew Hidetsugu, the kampaku of Japan and still his official heir. Whatever the reason, by the end of 1593 the plan for Fushimi had been so greatly expanded that it would take the work of 250,000 laborers to see it complete.

The result would be unlike anything previously built in
Japan. While Fushimi contained a nod to defense in its five-story keep, this did not dominate the grounds as did the donjon at Osaka Castle. The sprawling complex was instead centered on an aesthetically engineered park enclosure of gardens, cherry trees, rustic teahouses, noh stages, and moon-viewing pavilions, with a stream meandering throughout for pleasant boat excursions. In Fushimi we thus see Japan’s sengoku civil war architecture, the soaring castle keeps and unassailable stones walls that regional warlords needed for defense, give way to a natural aestheticism and refinement that would come to dominate Japanese palace design. Their chief purpose would no longer be to provide a safe haven in time of war, but to encourage the pursuit of culture and refinement in peacetime.
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As the taiko oversaw the work at Fushimi, his study of noh theater became something of an obsession, consuming many hours of his day and leaving him often physically exhausted. He had begun his studies while still residing at
Nagoya, inviting experts from the various acting schools to his camp to tutor him and favored daimyo within his inner circle. In April of 1593 he wrote to his wife O-Ne that he had so far memorized ten plays, and was determined to learn more.
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Over the coming months he did. Then, to the forced delight of all, he began staging performances with himself in the lead, and on occasion with such dignitaries as Tokugawa Ieyasu and Maeda Toshiie backing him up. For his first public effort the taiko chose
Yumi Yawata
, a play celebrating the pacification of Japan in ancient times and the legendary conquest of Korea, and thus heavy with parallels to the current situation.
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Hideyoshi threw himself into this and subsequent performances with gusto and confidence; judging from his letters he appears to have been immune to the nervous tension one might have expected from an eager amateur with just a year’s training. Hideyoshi regarded himself as accomplished from the start, and assumed that everyone would be delighted to see him act. As he wrote to his wife a year or two into his tutelage,

Although you have repeatedly sent me letters, I have sent no reply as I have had no free time because of noh.... My noh technique becomes more and more accomplished; whenever I present the
shimai
[dance portion] of various plays, the whole audience praises it very much. I have already done so for two plays, and after resting a little, I shall act again on the 9th day and show it to all the ladies in Kyoto....  Around the 14th or 15th day, I shall have some free time and will go to Fushimi to hasten the construction work. I shall stay there three to five days, and then visit you quickly so that we can talk together. I shall perform noh at your residence to show [you and others]. Look forward to it.
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