Читать книгу A Fantasy of Far Japan; Or, Summer Dream Dialogues - Kencho Suematsu - Страница 7

So saying, I recited the letter. It is strange, but in dreamland one often remembers by heart that which it is impossible to do when awake.

'I tender my sincere thanks to you for your very kind present of a beautiful edition of Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome, forwarded to me by Baron Suyematsu.

'The book is so much esteemed in Japan that it is used as a text-book in some schools where English is taught, and part of it was annotated in Japanese in a magazine devoted to the study of English.

'I beg to assure you how much I feel the honour done to my deceased brother-in-law by a renowned admiral of a great and glorious nation, in comparing him with a Roman hero, who is said to have defended the Sublician Bridge against the whole Etruscan army under Porsena, while the Romans broke down the bridge behind him.

'I am happy to say that as a reward for the deed of the late Commander Hirosé, the people of Japan are going to erect his bronze statue to his memory in Tokio, as the Romans did in Comitium.

'May I be permitted to make you a present of the deceased's latest photograph and a facsimile of his autograph poem, which was composed by him just before his departure for the second blocking attempt.

'The poem was intended by him to be the final expression of his desires, and it is sad it proved to be such.

'Literally translated, it runs as follows:

"Would that I could be born seven times

And sacrifice my life for my country!

Resolved to die, my mind is firm,

And again expecting to win success,

Smiling I go on board!"

'I will take the earliest opportunity to refer to your inestimable present in my letter to my husband, the elder brother of the deceased, who is now in the front, commanding the gunboat Chokai, by whom, needless to say, your kindness will be most highly appreciated.'

—'I do not see,' observed the countess, 'much in the mere act of writing a letter, but the letter itself is interesting enough, and, besides, I must say I am much amused at the manner in which you manage to bring out things to suit your purpose, just indeed as though you are writing a novel and would make us serve you as materials.'

—'Not at all, but just a little bit of a Summer Dream,' I said.

—'What!'

—'Nothing, I beg your pardon.'

—'But, baron, I should like to ask you another question. With us, pardon, or an act of forgiving, is considered a great virtue. It is an act of courage, and, at the same time, it contains in it delicacy and tenderness; especially when the subject is a woman, that virtue sometimes amounts to nobleness, or even sublimity. It is, therefore, regarded in the West as one of the greatest elements of ethics; but some people I hear say that that idea is wanting in oriental ethics, though the notion of pity exists. Is that correct?'

—'No, not exactly,' I answered, 'but you interest me by putting such a question. However, it requires some explanation. I am afraid I weary you.'

—'No, not at all; go on, if you please.'

—'Perhaps you know that the fundamental idea in Buddhism is mercy and forbearance. These attributes would already suggest an idea of forgiving and of not taking offence. Then, again, in Japan there are several new Buddhist sects, which are very much like Protestantism in Europe. In fact, some of them go so far as to allow priests to marry. I say new sects, but not so new as you may imagine, because they are as old as eight hundred years. The essence of the tenets held by them is that the great Budha Amida is the very embodiment of mercy and forgiveness, and therefore, if one devoutly throws oneself upon him and asks his salvation, all sins committed by the suppliant would be at once forgiven and salvation granted. Theologically speaking, there is much room for discussion about this, but it is not the point which I have in view. I only mean to say that this theory is nothing else than a great example of pardon. In Confucian ethics there are more names given to different kinds of virtues than in the West. The word "Jen" is the name of a virtue most comprehensive. There is no word corresponding to it in the West. There are some who translate it as "humanity," others "benevolence," some even as "charity" in its broadest sense, but all these only represent a part of the original meaning. In that word the idea of pardoning and forgiving is amply implied. A lord who pardons an offender magnanimously is a lord rich in the virtue of "Jen," There is also one classification of virtues, comprised in two words, "chung," "shu." The first word is generally translated as loyalty, but in this instance it is not necessarily loyalty to a master, but faithfulness and truthfulness in general. The second word, "shu," has no equivalent in the Western language. It means this: We should put ourselves in the position of any one who has done wrong against us or otherwise committed some error, and we view the matter with the greatest leniency, and thus give the most favourable consideration. The Chinese ideograph of it is composed of two other ideographs, "like" and "mind," that is to say, "like one's own mind," meaning—consider the matter as your own, and act toward him in such a way as your own mind would like him to act toward you under the same circumstances if he were in your place. This ideograph is often used for the very purpose of an action which cannot be any other than the equivalent of pardoning and forgiving. Are you not becoming a little wearied?'

—'Oh, no! Go on.'

—'Very well! In our Bushido, that is the teaching of chivalry, of which you must have heard, "pardoning" and "forgiving" is the important element. We have a proverb saying, "When the helpless bird takes refuge in the breast of the hunter, he would not kill it." This proverb is very well known and is considered as the embodiment of a warrior's magnanimity. From all that I have just said you will understand that the criticism which says oriental ethics lack notions of pardon and forgiving is incorrect.'

—'Thank you very much,' said the countess. 'In such matters one requires much study of and penetration into the very depths of thought and reasoning of a people. One certainly ought not to come to a hasty conclusion. Japan is a country which I am so anxious to see.'

—'Go, or rather, come, by all means, you will be most welcome,' I said.

—'But it is so far off and travelling will take such a long time,' said she.

—'No, it will not take so long a time as you imagine. Means of communication are so quick nowadays. The quickest route is through America by the Canadian Pacific via Vancouver. Another route is via San Francisco, which takes a few days longer. If you go by the Canadian Pacific, like a letter in a postbag, it takes only a few days over three weeks. When I came to Europe last year I left Yokohama on the 10th of February. Having arrived at Victoria, in the island of Vancouver, I made my way to Seattle, where I disembarked. I took thence the Great Northern Railway down to St. Paul and Chicago, a route which runs between the Canadian and San Francisco lines, and on to New York. I spent a day at Seattle. I had to stop at the summit of the Rockies for five hours, on account of an accident which happened to a train in front of ours. It made me miss the junction, so that I lost more than one day on the way. I spent two days in New York, and one in Washington. The mail steamer in which I crossed the Atlantic was not the quickest one. And yet on the morning of the 13th March I was quietly taking tea at an hotel in Liverpool. Last year was a leap year, but counting by days, inclusive one extra, the whole journey took thirty-two days in all. You see the globe is like an egg—the higher the latitude, the shorter the distance.'

—'That looks long enough.'

—'Well, but one cannot jump over from one side of the world to the other in one leap.'

—'Supposing the Trans-Siberian Railway free again, what do you think of it?'

—'Well, a friend of mine who took that route took twenty days from Petersburg to the Pacific Coast. It is, of course, shorter; but you see travelling continuously by train is not very agreeable. I believe that the railway services in those quarters will be much improved and made quicker, but at present, that is to say, judging from experience before the war, the service is said to be very irregular and long. I should prefer a sea-voyage. The direct service between Europe and Japan on board the German or French mail ships through the Indian Ocean seems to be most agreeable. Of course it takes a longer time: it takes from forty-four to forty-seven days from Marseilles or Genoa to Yokohama. I have twice taken that route on a French mail ship and liked the voyage very much.'

—'But one would be killed by sea-sickness.'

—'Not at all. The sea is not always calm in the Mediterranean, so also between Hong Kong and Japan. But all the other parts are usually very calm. Besides, one soon gets accustomed to the sea, after two or three days, excepting some few persons who are by nature averse to the sea altogether.'

—'I cannot believe it.'

—'You must believe it, it is a fact, and moreover, on mail steamers there is much fun and pleasure; dances and concerts are given on board from time to time. The meals are splendid and plentiful. Passengers soon become friendly.'

—'Ah! that's too good to hear, but I wonder if it is always so,' she said.

A lady, who had travelled in the Far East, joined us a few minutes since. She spent two months in Japan, she said, and supported my views about the voyage, and talked of the pleasure of the trips somewhat in opposition to the observations of the countess.

The marchioness now turned to me and said, 'I have just been talking to your friend Monsieur Matoni about the new invention of Monsieur Blanry. A long account of it was given in Le Matin the other day. It is an improvement on the wireless telegraphy. Guns may be fired, wheels may be turned by electricity produced by wireless apparatus. He is going to give a lecture illustrated by practical experiments. Would you like to go? If so, I would send you a ticket for a box for yourself and friends.'

—'I shall be delighted,' I answered.

—'Marchioness patronises science,' said Monsieur Matoni to me, as though he only meant me to hear him, and in a further subdued voice whispered, 'Her tastes differ from the ordinary tastes of ladies.'

The visitors were now gradually dispersing. The marchioness and her sister also rose to take their leave, asking us, as they did so, to visit them on the marchioness's next reception day. We had stopped for longer than we anticipated, despite an appointment I had at my hotel. Soon after the departure of those ladies, however, we also said our goodbyes to the duchess and her daughters, and to the few people who had still remained.

We were again wafted through the air, and were once more moving over the tops of countless houses on the way. On reaching my hotel, I shook hands with my friend and his wife on the tops of the beautiful avenue-trees in front of the hotel.