Читать книгу A Fantasy of Far Japan; Or, Summer Dream Dialogues - Kencho Suematsu - Страница 8

Table of Contents

Greek inspiration—Semitic sympathy—Religion—Difference between Japanese and European chivalry—What is the Bushi?—The weakest point of a hereditary military organisation—Introduction of the new system—New commoners and the history of their emancipation—Combination of democratic ideas and conservative traditions—Old bottles and new wine—The Great Change of 1867—Napoleon—Negligence of a proper estimation—Scenery of Japan—History of Tokio—European and Japanese method of dwelling—President Roosevelt and jiujitsu

It seems my young secretary, noticing I was asleep, and fearing that I might catch cold, brought a rug and covered me, which action roused me for a moment, but I soon returned to the same dreamland again.

Once more I was wafted through the air, and found myself in a large entrance-hall with gilded ceiling and walls painted with pictures. It was brilliantly lighted, and in one corner a band was playing. A broad staircase, the upper part of which branched off into two, led to the upper part of the house, numerous men in livery lined both sides of the passage, displaying the sure sign of aristocracy. There were balconies, or rather corridors all round overlooking the hall. I ascended the staircase, and, passing along one side of the corridors, entered a large chamber which was evidently the reception-room. But seeing but few people there, proceeded to an open window at the end of the room and looked down into the garden, which was brilliantly illuminated. In a few moments I moved, almost unconsciously, into a further room. It was the study of the host, who with his wife was showing the room to a group of guests. The host, noticing me, made me welcome, and introduced me to one of the guests in particular. It was the Prince Royal of Greece. I exchanged some words with him, in the course of which I remarked that Greece was the country which I was most anxious to see, inasmuch as it teemed with historical interest. As I did so, the scene of many heroic actions, above all, those of Salamis and Marathon, together with the glory which Byron sung for her freedom in the recent century vividly arose before my mental eyes.

It was then announced that the music was about to commence, and the party moved on. I was with a charming lady. She was of Semitic blood. Her complexion was snow white, her eyes were dark, as also her hair, which was surmounted by a coronet of pearls, and round her throat was a necklace of the same. She happened to know me already by name, through her relatives whom I met in England. This naturally afforded us a subject of conversation as we proceeded. On arriving at one end of the corridors we stood, still conversing, and looking down into the hall, while the other people moved on the further end of the corridor where many more guests gradually arrived. While thus conversing, a nobleman passing us was introduced to me.

—'All the generals are gone to the Front,' he said, rather suddenly.

At first I thought he was referring to the war in the Far East, though I soon realised what he meant. He appeared a little excited.

—'There is more exaggeration than fact,' said I. 'I am quite confident that there will be no rupture.'

At that moment some one persuaded my fair companion to go over to where the prince was sitting. I followed at a distance, and took my seat in an obscure place in the corridor. From the corridor of the other side, an operatic singer, accompanied by a pianist, rendered the choicest of his songs, and the bands played in the intervals.

I listened to the songs and the music and watched the people. Sitting alone I am sure I must have looked awkward and stupid; which, however, is a thing I do not much mind. Now and then the host came and exchanged some words with me. He was busy looking after his guests generally, but managed to tell me he would invite me to a special dinner very soon to which also the Duchess Fairfield would be asked. The hostess was similarly occupied, and I did not converse much with her, except to pass a few remarks about music. She said she preferred vocal music to instrumental. The music over, all went down to the garden. It was delightful: the open air on a summer's night is always so. Light but choice refreshments were served there. The guests, partaking of them as they wished, chatted here and there in groups of two and three.

The night was far advanced and the guests began to disperse one after another. I also left, but without bidding adieu either to the host or hostess lest I might disturb them. On my way out I saw the lady with whom I had talked in the corridor still sitting on a bench chatting with a few gentlemen. She seemed to notice me, but I merely bowed and passed on, though I fancied she had some sympathy for us Japanese. She did not, neither does any member of her community, say anything about the hard fate of her race or the countless hardships which they are suffering, especially of late, in certain quarters of the globe. In this world, we know there are many matters in which silence speaks more than words.

Time and space, and indeed, sequence of events, are incongruous in Dreamland. One flits from place to place. I now found myself in a large mansion. It was the residence of the Marchioness Vivastine. I was of the few early arrivals. The salon was rather dark, but cool and spacious. The marchioness was not yet down, but the valet told me she would soon appear. In a minute or two she entered accompanied by her sister, asking as they greeted us our pardon for keeping us waiting. More people now arrived one after the other. The marchioness proceeded to make tea and distributed it, assisted by her sister, much in the same way as did the Duchess of Fairfield and her daughters. I was naturally introduced to many of the visitors, Princess A., Countess B., Baron C., Monsieur D., etc., but for me, a foreigner, it is impossible to remember their names. The Duchess of Fairfield and the Lady Dulciana were among the new arrivals.

—'Baron and I had a very heated discussion the other day,' remarked the marchioness. Then turning to me, she said, 'Did we not?' To which I replied, 'If you please, it was indeed interesting.'

—'Did you go to the Trocadero the other evening?' said the marchioness.

—'Yes! we did. Thank you very much for sending the box. And the duchess and her party were there too—in a box close by ours,' I added.

—'Did the lecture interest you?' asked the marchioness.

—'Oh yes! the experiments were all very interesting, but I hardly understood a single sentence of the lecture,' I answered.

—'No wonder! for no one else understood it, at least, I did not. It was so scientific,' interposed Baron C.

'Ah! you were there too, of course,' said I. 'And the best fun of the evening was that there was a man distributing hand-bills. At first we all thought it was a kind of syllabus of the lecture, but in reality it was the advertisement of a competitor stating that he was an earlier inventor.'

The marchioness and her sister, being the hostesses, were unable to talk long to each guest. I soon found myself sitting next to the duchess on a sofa, with Baron C. in front of us on a chair. Our conversation having turned upon the question of the separation of state and religion, Baron C., who was keen on the subject, being a Deputy, said:

—'With us it is a very interesting question. There are many points to be thought of and discussed, but I think it interests outsiders very little, especially a person like yourself, a Japanese, for I understand the Japanese gentry have very little religion.'

—'And yet,' said the duchess, 'in my opinion there is scarcely a single people who have no religion at all. Bushido is the creed of the Japanese gentry, as I understand, and in truth it is nothing else than a religion. The Latin religio, from which the term religion is derived, comes from the verb religere to hold tight. In that sense, at least, Bushido must also be taken for a religion. I know something about it, especially through your writings. But, baron, will you please explain to me something about the points of resemblance and difference between our ancient chivalry and your Bushido?'

—'I am not, madam, well acquainted with your chivalry, and, therefore, I cannot pretend to hit the mark. But I know that one of the ideals of your chivalry was "bravery" to the point of being fearless of death; in that there is certainly a great resemblance. Another of your ideals was loyalty and truthfulness. Always ready to render assistance to one weaker; in that also there is a great resemblance. The third ideal was: a great devotion to religion. On this point I must admit there is some difference. I do not say our Bushi despised the idea of supernatural beings, but you see our Bushi had more faith in their own spirit of self-reliance, therefore religion governed their thoughts to no such degree as it did in the West. Then comes a great difference between them—I mean their attitudes as regards the fair sex. But have you no objection to my proceeding further?'

—'Not at all,' said the duchess.

—'Very well,' said I. 'With your chivalry the custom of rendering respect to the fair sex had been carried to such a high pitch that it was nothing less than adoration or worship. I do not say the motive was originally bad, because it came no doubt from the idea of helping the weaker. But, remember, it often happened that too much prominence was given to keeping faithfulness to women, even where one had some higher duty which ought to have claimed the whole loyalty of his heart. The subject is rather too delicate for me to describe minutely, but you can see what I mean. In the days of your chivalry faithfulness in love-affairs was looked upon in general as gallantry, no matter whether the affair was honourable or otherwise, but with the Japanese Bushido it was very different. It was not because a Bushi was heartless toward the weaker sex, but effeminacy was a thing which he despised most. In the days gone by in Japan, if a Bushi had been found paying too much attention to a lady, and making himself a slave to her, to the neglect of his duty, he would have been hooted out of society. With European chivalry, therefore, the tendency of desire was to be noticed by others for his actions performed in homage to a lady, whilst with our chivalry one would try to do his utmost to conceal his emotion and even to look cold. In the West, therefore, the word "gallantry," which was originally used more for "dashing and noble bravery" came in common parlance to have quite a different meaning, as you know. Nothing of the sort has ever taken place with us.'

—'But I thought your Samurai also had love-affairs—I was at least made to understand so from your story of the other day about a young Samurai,' interrupted Lady Dulciana.

—'Yes, that is true, but our Samurai is not "trees and stones" as we say, and you must know there are exceptions to every rule,' I replied and continued.

—'There was also another great difference. In the West chivalry had grown and decayed, traversing always pretty much the same line; I mean it had undergone no great transformation. But in Japan the case was somewhat different. There it became united with the art of intellectual learning, and has made Bushido, that is, the ways of Bushi, more systematic and ethical.'

—'What you have just told us,' said Baron C., 'seems to explain some difference which is said to exist in the attitudes of men towards women in your country and ours.'

—'Perhaps so,' I answered, 'where a gentleman approaches a lady and kisses her hand, as one sees commonly in the best Parisian society, a Japanese would stand at a distance and make a respectful bow. There is no doubt, it seems to me, that a great many of the customs which prevailed in the feudal period are still influencing your modern society, and ours also in Japan; hence the difference which still exists between the customs of Japan and Western nations. Broadly speaking, I can say that in the West friendship or affection moved more towards intimacy, whilst in the East it moved more towards respect.'

—'Ah, I remember one thing. Some years ago there was a smart American who was a keen observer of different customs and manners. He said, "the Japanese hit their wives before strangers, and caress them in private, whilst the Occidentals worship their wives before strangers, and beat them in private." I beg your pardon, I must not tell you such a thing, I withdraw it at once; but I can say this, it is dangerous to gauge the customs and manners of other countries only by the measure of one's own country. The position of our women is not so low as represented by those who look through the colour of their own glass.'

—'Very true,' said Baron C. 'Such things often occur. One ought always to be on guard, lest one commit unaccountable errors quite inadvertently. But what do you mean by saying your Bushido has become systematic and ethical. Let us have a little more light on the subject.'

—'Quite so,' said the duchess. 'I should also like to be more informed on that subject. One never gets tired of things Japanese, especially in these days.'

—'I am afraid I shall appear somewhat dogmatic, but if you have enough patience I will explain. In the Far East, Bun and Bu, that is to say matters pertaining to Intellectual culture and matters pertaining to military training, were always regarded, at least in theory, as co-existent and of equal importance. They were compared to the wings of a bird, or to the two wheels of a cart. The generals who were held in the highest esteem were those who were efficient in both. The same esteem was held for all warriors, no matter their degree or rank; though, of course, the higher the rank the greater the excellence expected. They all became imbued with a desire for literary and ethical education, and thus civil elements were introduced into military training. The best ideas and notions of chivalry were ethically systematised, and these ideas and notions came to be nurtured and developed according to the normal roots of ethics. We were fortunate in arriving at this solution, for the country had enjoyed a long peaceful epoch, and the Bushi had therefore sufficient time to give their attention to both subjects. Besides the policy of the country had been directed to that end. Moreover, four hundred thousand families of Bushi, having enjoyed their position by hereditary succession, and having no need to labour for existence, all that they had to do was to make themselves as much "a gentleman" as possible. Of course, there were some who became outcasts and some who were newly enrolled, and some who were degraded, and some who were promoted from various causes, but these were exceptions. As a general rule they succeeded to their father's position and handed it down to their own successors. Colleges were established by their lords where they received intellectual education side by side with fencing, riding, the use of spears or the art of jiujitsu.'

—'You mentioned just now,' said the duchess, 'four hundred thousand families of Bushi, and of the heredity of their service. That seems to be somewhat different from our knighthood, which was more of the nature of personal distinction, and its ranks were filled by personal enlistment, although naturally they came from the same class of people.'

—'Well,' said I, 'our term Bushi, otherwise called Samurai, is a comprehensive one. It comprised all the retainers of the feudal lords. They generally lived, with their families, in the capital town of the lords under whom they served. There was generally a quarter in these towns where the Samurai lived quite apart from other people. Under some lords, there were Samurai who lived in the country, but they were exceptions. By Bushi then we understand those retainers in general, and as I said the service usually became hereditary. It was the strong point of our military men and also their weakest point, or at least it became so in the course of time.'

—'What do you mean by weak point? Tell me, please,' said Baron C.

—'I say "weak point," because that system as an organisation for fighting purposes became inefficient: the reason is almost plain without saying. You see the hereditary system has one advantage: respect and affection increase from generation to generation. Personal intelligence was also acquired under that system so long as the training and instruction were well attended to, but the descendant of a warrior who had led, for instance, one thousand or one hundred men with great ability, could not always be expected to do as well as his ancestor. This is so from the very fact that ability and skill for qualifying one for a higher position is not a thing which is hereditary. This is the weakest point of an hereditary military organisation. "Ministership and generalship are no inherited stocks" is our old saying. Napoleon's eighteen marshals were, one and all, children of the time. Even before the restoration of the present Imperial régime we perceived this weak point, and that was one of the reasons we made a radical change in our military system and adopted the system of universal service. One might think that, by doing so, the spirit of respect and affection, in other words, loyalty and patriotism, might be lessened in the ranks of the troops; but that is not so, for with us the spirit of loyalty to and patriotism for the Emperor and country is very strong among all the people. And because the feudal system had been abolished and the whole nation came to owe no other allegiance than that which is direct to the Emperor, there is no necessity of making any difference among the different classes of the people in regard to those services. As to intelligence, we do not leave the children without education, whatever class they may belong to, I mean to say, we have adopted a system of universal education which gives sufficient knowledge and therefore intelligence to the men enlisted in the ranks from all classes. As to the officers, we take in any candidates who are willing to be suitably educated as such, provided they show sufficient capacity, without any distinction of class or family. It seems to us the only way to procure the most efficient officers. We are very radical in these matters. One can see in the Japanese army or navy sons of noblemen or rich merchants being commanded and led by an officer who has risen from the lowest class of the people. There may even be officers whose origin, if scrutinised minutely, belonged to a class vulgarly called "New Commoners."'

—'I think I understand now,' said Baron C. 'But do you mean to say Bushido is a thing of the past? We are made to understand that the whole Japanese army and navy, indeed the whole nation, are animated with the spirit of Bushido at this very moment.'

—'No, I did not say Bushido was a thing of the past. Bushi exists no more, it is true, except that those who belonged to that class still enjoy the privilege of being called Shizoku (knight family), which, however, has no legal signification, and therefore is only an empty title. There may be a Shizoku driving a carriage or earning a living by selling trifles. It is sad to think of the fact, as far as personal consideration is concerned, but they have given their benefits and privileges for the general good of the country, and I am glad to say that the spirit of Bushido is now made the common property of the whole nation. It has been spread throughout every rank of the Japanese.'

—'It seems sad when we think about Bushi, as you say, from a personal point of view,' said the duchess; 'but when a country makes such a great change as your country has done, some great sacrifice on the part of some portion of the community is inevitable.'

—'And especially so with our Bushi,' said I, 'because they were in fact the chief instruments by which the present great change has been brought about. When we view things in this way, we can say that our Bushi fought and sacrificed their lives in order to destroy their own order.'

—'But what do you mean by the "New Commoners," which you mentioned just a minute ago?' asked Baron C.

—'By "New Commoners" is meant those who have been newly made ordinary commoners by emancipation. There was in Japan a class of people below the class of the common subjects of the empire; they neither enjoyed the rights of ordinary Japanese nor owed any duty similar to others. I mean to say, they enjoyed no citizenship, but, on the other hand, they had in most cases not to pay taxes for the lands they tilled or dwelt on. Their position may be in one way compared with the slavery which existed in the West from the Roman period onward. But there were two points of a great difference. In the West the slaves had their masters whom they served, and it seems that no personal pollution in our sense was attached to them. In Japan, those people had no masters to serve, and earned their living by their own labour. At the same time, however, they were regarded as having personal pollution, so much so indeed, that they were not allowed, nor did they themselves dare, to enter within the door of an ordinary Japanese, still less could they intermarry or indeed hold any social intercourse with them. A love-affair like that of Aïda, a slave girl, and Ardamès in the opera "Aïda," which I had the pleasure of seeing in your company the other evening, is a thing almost unimaginable in Japan between a girl belonging to the class I have just spoken of, and a man of any other class. The number of these people was only a very small minority of the whole population. But they were to be found in all parts of Japan. In the country they formed here and there small villages. They were also to be found in the vicinity of towns, but always having separate communities. They were the only people who dealt with dead oxen and horses, and even dogs, and also were the only people who dressed the skins of those animals. In former days in Japan no beef was eaten but by those people. Horse flesh was not eaten even by them. The common notion was that horse flesh was sour and inedible, but I am sorry to say that, of late years, it is eaten by the poorer classes to some extent. The dealers in it insist on continuing the trade on the ground that the same business is carried on in the midst of the most enlightened nations in the West. I do not like the idea at all. However, to proceed with my story. When a cow, a horse, or a bullock belonging to a commoner died, it was notified to a community of those people, who in a group came and carried the carcase to a convenient place, where they skinned it and buried the rest; and in the case of a cow or a bullock, if it had not died from any infectious disease, they took away its flesh to their homes, as well as the skin and horns. It was the occupation of those communities who lived in the vicinity of a town to prepare the skins sent to them from all parts of the country. Their lot was not, therefore, an enviable one, as you may perceive. This class of people was called "Yeta," which is represented, though by corruption, by the Chinese ideographs meaning "much pollution." No one knows exactly what their origin was; some say they were the remnants of Mongolian troops who remained in the land after the total destruction of Mongolian armada, while some say they might have been prisoners from Corea; but all these conjectures are not satisfactory. There was another portion of the people very much akin to those just described. They were known by the name of "Hinin," a term which is represented by two Chinese ideographs, meaning "not-man," which suggests a similarity of notion to the European term "outlaw." This class was in number even less than the former. Their occupation was also very different. They chiefly lived by fishing or by making some trifling articles, and, therefore, no such deep stigma of personal pollution was attached to them as to the other ones. In fact, it was supposed that among this class of men there were sometimes to be found a Samurai declassed from one cause or another. In Yedo, now Tokio, homeless destitutes were known by that name. One must not suppose, however, that either class was unprotected by law, for their lives and properties were respected just as those of ordinary people; and, moreover, they were not necessarily poor people, because some of them, especially those who lived near towns, were very well off. A characteristic of these people was that they had a certain sentiment of community throughout their own class without distinction of locality. They had no privilege of attending a "Shinto" or Buddhist temple belonging to the citizen classes, but they had here and there their own Buddhist temple and priests. I have never seen any instance of their possessing any Shinto temples; this fact arises from the very nature of Shintoism, which is most sensitive of anything unclean, in other words, most opposed to any pollution. The Imperial régime was inaugurated with most enlightened notions, especially in the matter of personal freedom. At the very beginning of the Imperial régime, the present Marquis Ito was governor of the prefecture of Hiogo-Kobe, and he emancipated, on his own initiative, the Yeta and Hinin under his government, and made them ordinary commoners. There was little formality in such matters in those days. A governor of a province sometimes took such measures on his own responsibility. In the course of a few years the Imperial Government emancipated all of those people throughout the whole empire, and the people thus emancipated came to be vulgarly called "New Commoners." That term, however, is fast losing its significance, inasmuch as those people are daily acquiring common intercourse with the ordinary people; this is especially the case with those who transfer their abodes to other parts of the country, where their identity is not known. I am even told there are one or two deputies in the House of Representatives who originally belonged to that class.'

—'It shows a very bold and enlightened policy on the part of your Government,' said the duchess. 'From all that you have said, it appears that the success of the great changes in your country is due to the combination of democratic ideas with conservative traditions; in other words, you seem to have well succeeded in "putting new wine into old bottles."'

—'If you please, you may think so,' I said; 'that phrase describes our situation very aptly. You see, the present régime of our Imperial Government is, after all, a restoration to its ancient form, animated by modern spirits. Our change has not taken place through any uprising of the people at large. Before the Restoration, European notions of "Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity" had not been much developed, it is true, but then the people had not been labouring under any great oppression and destitution. They were not rich, as a rule, but they were mostly happy, and not in an extreme condition of misery, as was the case in Europe when the popular movements based on those notions commenced, or as is the case in a certain country now before our eyes. The movements which caused our great change were due almost entirely to aspirations of a political nature, that is to say, for the bettering of the political organism of the country. The matter was taken up by the upper classes, and was fought out chiefly by them, and, therefore, when the strife came to an end there existed no more class animosity, and the people, both high and low, devoted their energy to the common good which they held in view. It is true that at one time their views of the right methods to attain the end were not altogether unanimous. Some of the feudal lords and their retainers fought against other feudal lords and retainers. One side espoused the Imperial cause, and the other opposed, but those who opposed bore no opposition to the Imperial house itself. It was more an opposition to the lords and their clansmen who stood on the other side. You know that, after the submission of the Shogun himself to the emperor, the great majority of the feudal lords in the north and the east of Japan effected a combination among themselves and opposed the troops on the Imperial side. What I said just now was chiefly in reference to that occurrence. The nature of our civil war being such, it was not a matter of surprise that the country should be reconciled and conciliated under the new régime. I may here mention an instance, trifling as it is, to show how it has operated even in ordinary social matters. Marshal Oyama, who is now commanding our armies in Manchuria, is a Satsuma man, and he fought as a young officer of the Imperialists in the east. His wife is a daughter of a Samurai of an eastern feudal lord, one of the staunchest opponents to the Imperial troops, I mean the Lord of Aizu, whose castle was besieged and taken after a long resistance. A sister of Madame Oyama is a lady in our Imperial courts, and her brother, who had been a leader of the troops of his clan, was afterwards a general of the Imperial army, and died in that capacity recently. We have a nobility of five grades, almost identical with the European system. The origin of our noble families is various, but their broad distinctions are: Noblemen who were formerly feudal lords; noblemen who were formerly court nobles attached direct to the Imperial courts before the Restoration, and those who have been newly made nobles by virtue of their meritorious services rendered to the new Government. But in the eyes of the law, or rather in the treatment of them by the Imperial court, there is no difference, nor is there any confliction of interest or sentiment existing between them. Napoleon was a great ruler, there is no doubt, but his one misfortune was that the very nature of his origin was not sufficiently potent to reconcile and harmonise all the difference of this kind in which sentiments go a long way. Supposing he had been a direct scion of the Bourbons, and supposing the general condition of the French people of those days had not been such as it was, and supposing that the great Revolution had been effected by the movements of the aristocracy itself with Napoleon at its head, the course of the history of France might have been very different, although, in spite of that, France has always been a remarkable nation.'

The marchioness seems to have noticed that our conversation was becoming animated and stepped towards us, evidently to take part in it. At this juncture, an elderly gentleman and his wife were ushered into the room. They were duly introduced to us. He was an astronomer. He said that he and his wife had been in Japan years ago when a transit of Venus across the sun was taking place. But their observation of the transit was a failure owing to bad weather. They stayed eight years, and waited for another transit, but again he was disappointed; because a sudden change in the weather obscured the heavens.

—'That must have been a great disappointment,' I said. 'As to myself, I have seen one such transit very well at a temporary observatory erected at Yokohama. It was very interesting to me, unscientific as I am, to see the sun reflected in white on the prepared ground, and the planet, a small black spot, traversing slowly across the white surface. Of course, one could also see the actual sun and planet through a smoked glass. The transit I refer to might have been a different one, or else the locality where I saw it from was not the same. I will tell you a stupid experience of mine,' said I, turning to others present. 'There was a total eclipse of the sun, some eighteen years ago. I was on a trip, and had to cross over a high mountain pass. I, and a few companions, thought it would be great fun to see an eclipse from the summit of the mountain and observe all the changing phenomena of nature from there. So we hurried on our way, but by the time we reached the summit the sky was very cloudy, it even showered, and the consequence was that we did not see much and regretted that we had not stayed a little longer on the lower grounds, from where the people saw the eclipse very well. Fancy the height of a mountain—however high it may be, it is only an infinitesimal part of the distance between the earth and the sun. To think that we would be nearer to the sun if we climbed to the summit of the mountain was an act of great stupidity; but such things often occur in actual life. We often forget to think about the relative situation between ourselves and others, and make our calculations according to fancy. Thus great errors are often committed. Such is the case when we play at games, say at chess. We make our moves, thinking that our opponent would make his move just as we ourselves would do, but the probability is that he makes a move totally different to our anticipation, much to our chagrin and surprise. All this arises from our negligence of making a proper estimate of the relative position occupied by both sides.'

—'You seem to have some special reference in what you say,' said the marchioness. 'By the bye, Madame P. says she likes Japan very much.'

—'Yes, I do,' said the professor's wife. 'I can never forget it. Miyanoshita, Nikko, Chiuzenzi, and above all, the scenery of the inland sea, are superb.'

—'Yes, those are the places which foreign travellers are fond of and talk about the most. The accommodation of the warm spring of Miyanoshita and the sights of the artistic buildings of the Nikko temples seem to be thought much of. Chiuzenzi, with its calm, mirror-like lake, is certainly an excellent summer resort—no wonder most of the corps diplomatic in Japan betake themselves thereto every summer. But from our own point of view the Nikko temples are new and consequently the arts displayed there are only of modern type, elaborate but not deep. They are not quite three hundred years old. In fact—Tokio itself is only a new town, being scarcely three hundred years old. One must go to Kioto and Nara if one wishes to see the real classical Japan. Those are places where there are so many spots of historical and artistic interest, not only in the towns themselves, but also in the surrounding localities.'

—'Yes, my husband and I had opportunities of visiting those places, and we made very pleasant and interesting trips.'

—'But how is it that Tokio is such an important town in these days, as I understand?' asked the marchioness.

—'I will explain,' said I. 'Tokio is situated on both banks of the mouth of a river called Sumida, about the same size as the Seine, running through the middle of a large flat land and flowing into the bay of Tokio. That flat land was formerly called "Musashi-no," that is to say, plain of "Musashi,"—from the fact that the greater parts of it belong to the province of Musashi (we call it a large plain because Japan is so mountainous and flat plains are so rare). It is the plain which was sung of by a poet as one where the moon rises and sinks from grass to grass, there being no mountain for her to seek shelter. When Tokugawa, that is to say, the family of the last Shogunate, became a powerful feudal lord about three hundred years ago, it made the site of the present Tokio its seat and built its castle on the spot where a small old castle had stood some time before. Towns had arisen around the castle, which came to be known as Yedo until it was changed into Tokio thirty-eight years ago. The town, and, indeed, the castle itself, had been gradually enlarged from time to time. It is well known that, not long after Yedo was made the seat of Tokugawa, the house of Tokugawa became the Shogunate, that is to say, the military and administrative government of the empire which used to be called by foreigners the temporary chief of Japan. For nearly three hundred years the Shogunate exercised great power. All the feudal lords were obliged to reside in Yedo every other year. Their families, I mean wives and children, had to live permanently in their mansions at Yedo all the year round as a kind of hostage. Great lords usually had three mansions, the upper, the middle, and the lower ones as they were called; even small lords had two. It was almost necessary for them to have several mansions because Yedo was so famous for fire—fire was called the flowers of Yedo—and they had to move their residence from one to the other in case of fire. Of course, the magnitude of these mansions differed according to the rank and position of the owners, but were mostly very large, and a large number of retainers also resided in surrounding buildings, though the exact number of the retainers also varied according to the ranks of the lords. You may well imagine how expensive such establishments must have been. Hence also the flourishing condition of the town itself, and thus Yedo had become the largest town of the Empire. When the Shogunate came to an end, the emperor removed his residence to Yedo and re-named it Tokio, that is to say, the eastern capital in contrast to Kioto, which is also known as Saikio, i.e. the western capital. It was a masterstroke of the bold policy of the new Government. The removal went a long way in facilitating the renovation of Japan, for it helped the getting rid of old notions and introducing new ideas. Besides, by assuming a commanding position over the whole country, and having been thus made the new Imperial capital, Tokio continues to maintain, even advances in, its prosperity. Voila! the answer to your question.'

—'I suppose Tokio is much changed, as people say?' asked the marchioness.

—'Yes, it is so,' I answered. 'One can no longer see the Tokio of thirty years ago. The residences of the feudal lords in former days were very grand, especially the parts just beyond the inner moats surrounding the castle, where stood the residential mansions of great lords, called Daimio-Koji, i.e. broad way of the Grand Seigneurs. The premises of these mansions generally formed a square, the main building stood in the middle, the four sides of the square were generally occupied by long lines of buildings in which the retainers lived. There were several gateways, the main entrance, of course, being the largest. Some great lords spent a good deal more money than necessary in making their mansions appear grand in order to efface any suspicion of their unfaithfulness to the Shogunate—in other words, they showed by so doing that they had no idea of accumulating wealth for secret designs. I well remember those buildings, but nothing is left of them now. The very centre of the place where those houses stood is now a park. The gates, which were constructed of wood, were very elaborate and imposing. There are only three or four of them left in Tokio, but not on their old sites. They are but reminiscences of old ones, and reconstructed elsewhere by private persons as curiosities. The streets where the great lords once marched in grand state are now crossed in all directions by electric tramways. But we are not sorry for all that.'

—'People say there will soon be no more old Japan to be seen in Japan,' said Lady Dulciana, 'unless one visits her without delay.'

—'That is not likely,' I said. 'A nation cannot completely metamorphosise itself at a moment's notice. Despite all those changes, Japan is still Japan, especially in the interior. The old Japan will not disappear during the lifetime of either you or me. However, we have a saying, "For good things let us hurry." If you have any idea of going to see Japan, which I consider a good thing, hurry by all means.'

—'I suppose the style of residence in Japan differed, and still differs, from ours?' asked the duchess.

—'Yes, very much; and not only the grand residences, but also the houses of all classes. If you allow me to be candid, I will tell you a conversation I had with a Frenchman a little time ago on the very subject. He asked me what I thought of the appearance of Paris, and if I did not think the rows of grand, lofty houses which form the avenues and streets magnificent. "They are magnificent for sights," I answered. The last part of my remark made him a little suspicious, and he pressed me to explain my meaning, and I did so. Can you guess my answer?'

—'No, I cannot.'

—'My answer was to the following effect. You see, here in Paris, people who dwell in a building generally occupy only one part of it. They share a house and live in different flats and corners of the same building; and yet the people, who meet every day at their very door, do not know each other. Their rooms are generally dark, because the buildings overshadow each other. They cannot move out of their rooms without putting on hat and jacket, and generally have no spare ground attached to the house where they can rest or promenade. They seldom see the moon or the beautiful morning and evening sun, being buried in deep valleys of houses. For practical purposes, therefore, my preference is for the style of my country—I mean houses detached, though not grand and lofty, so that one can use every part of the building, from the basement to the roof, with some ground, around the building, be it large or small, tastefully laid out into a garden. I say, therefore, people who live in magnificent, high buildings may not necessarily be happier than those who live in smaller and humbler dwellings. This is what I said to that French friend of mine. Please excuse my making such remarks: I have no thought of running down your style of living, but have only been tempted to say what little good I can of my country.'

—'When spaces are available,' said Baron C, 'we also attach gardens to our houses. Apropos, you were at the matinée dance at the Palais Elysée, were you not?'

—'Yes, I had the pleasure of being invited by Monsieur le President and Madame Loubet.'

—'The trees there are fine, are they not?' said Baron C.

—'Yes, they are very fine, and the gathering was fine also. An incident which I experienced there was rather unique. I was walking with Madame Matoni in the crowd. We encountered two gentlemen clad in fashionable attire. Somehow or other, Madame Matoni began conversing with one of them. At the same time I heard a female voice echoing in my ears—I could not imagine where it came from, except from the gentleman with whom madame was talking. I thought it very queer, but presently I was introduced to them: they were announced as Monsieur and Madame Ecrivan. Then it occurred to me that the person whom I thought a gentleman was in reality a lady of whom I had heard something before. She was an author attired like a man.'

—'Yes, she is an author, and a clever one too,' said the duchess. 'But what did you think of the whole reception?'

—'Simplicity was, I thought, its features as compared with similar occasions in monarchical countries, but it was in unison with the constitution of the country. Then, too, although somehow or other I missed entering into the dancing pavilion, I understood the matinée dance there was customarily given chiefly for the entertainment of the orphan daughters of army and naval officers. The idea is pleasant.'

—'And what of the President?' inquired one young lady.

—'A fine old gentleman, I thought, and kind-hearted too. I was specially introduced to him, in the garden, after the formal reception. He repeatedly pressed me to put my hat on while talking with him, because the sun's rays glanced on my head through the foliage.'

—'You met with many fashionable belles there, too, I suppose,' remarked another.

—'There were Madame Riviera, who is so very vivacious, and several other ladies; I mean the wives of cabinet ministers and other high personages. But on the whole, I did not think the gathering was particularly unique for Paris, with regard to beauty.'

—'By the bye, have you ever seen Mr. Roosevelt?' asked the duchess.

—'Yes, I have. He impresses one at first sight with his enormous energy and intellectual power. He likes Japan. He was taking lessons in jiujitsu under a Japanese master when I was at Washington early last year. He told me he had been practising it three times a week.'

—'Yes,' said the duchess, 'I understand jiujitsu is much in vogue in England and America just at present.'

—'It seems so. In New York and Washington some ladies are also taking lessons, I am told; so also in England, as you know.'

—'But I suppose even in Japan it is only studied something like fencing is in our fencing schools, not as a part of the universal education.'

—'Just so,' I answered. 'It does not form a part of the general education, though it is very extensively studied in the higher colleges and schools.'

—'It looks certainly like an art worth paying attention to,' said the duchess.

—'Here, too, some time ago,' said Baron C., 'a Japanese jiujitsu master once came to Paris and gave an exhibition at a theatre, challenging, with the offer of a prize, any Frenchman who would combat with him. No Frenchman won. They were beaten one after the other. The people did not like so much humiliation, and the audience decreased, so the master had to go back to London; such is the Frenchman.'

—'Well,' said I, 'it might have been only a momentary caprice, perhaps because Japan is not your ally, but the audience could not have been diminished for such a cause as you say. There can be no notion of humiliation, because it is a question of art. However, if the Occidentals, with their natural strength and physique, become well equipped with that art, we the small Japs shall never be a match for them; so I would rather wish you Occidentals do not learn the art.'

All present broke into laughter, and in a minute or two I was once more wafted through the air and making my way elsewhere.