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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..83b96f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55802 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55802) diff --git a/old/55802-0.txt b/old/55802-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index efde628..0000000 --- a/old/55802-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7355 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Out of the East, by Lafcadio Hearn - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Out of the East - Reveries and Studies in New Japan - -Author: Lafcadio Hearn - -Release Date: October 24, 2017 [EBook #55802] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUT OF THE EAST *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon -in an extended version,also linking to free sources for -education worldwide ... MOOC's, educational materials,...) -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -"OUT OF THE EAST" - -REVERIES AND STUDIES IN NEW JAPAN - -LAFCADIO HEARN - -AUTHOR OF "GLIMPSES OF UNFAMILIAR JAPAN" - -"As far as the east is from the west--" - -BOSTON AND NEW YORK - -HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY - -The Riverside Press, Cambridge - -1895 - - - - -TO - -NISHIDA SENTARŌ - -IN DEAR REMEMBRANCE OF - -IZUMO DAYS - - - -CONTENTS - - I. The Dream of a Summer Day - II. With Kyūshū Students - III. At Hakata - IV. Of the Eternal Feminine - V. Bits of Life and Death - VI. The Stone Buddha - VII. Jiujutsu - VIII. The Bed Bridal - IX. A Wish fulfilled - X. In Yokohama - XI. Yuko: A Reminiscence - - -"The Dream of a Summer Day" first appeared in the "Japan Daily -Mail." - - - - -OUT OF THE EAST - - - -I - - -THE DREAM OF A SUMMER DAY - - - -I - - -The hotel seemed to me a paradise, and the maids thereof celestial -beings. This was because I had just fled away from one of the Open -Ports, where I had ventured to seek comfort in a European hotel, -supplied with all "modern improvements." To find myself at ease once -more in a yukata, seated upon cool, soft matting, waited upon by -sweet-voiced girls, and surrounded by things of beauty, was therefore -like a redemption from all the sorrows of the nineteenth century. -Bamboo-shoots and lotus-bulbs were given me for breakfast, and a fan -from heaven for a keepsake. The design upon that fan represented only -the white rushing burst of one great wave on a beach, and sea-birds -shooting in exultation through the blue overhead. But to behold it -was worth all the trouble of the journey. It was a glory of light, a -thunder of motion, a triumph of sea-wind,--all in one. It made me want -to shout when I looked at it. - -Between the cedarn balcony pillars I could see the course of the pretty -gray town following the shore-sweep,--and yellow lazy junks asleep at -anchor,--and the opening of the bay between enormous green cliffs,--and -beyond it the blaze of summer to the horizon. In that horizon there -were mountain shapes faint as old memories. And all things but the gray -town, and the yellow junks, and the green cliffs, were blue. - -Then a voice softly toned as a wind-bell began to tinkle words of -courtesy into my reverie, and broke it; and I perceived that the -mistress of the palace had come to thank me for the chadai,[1] -and I prostrated myself before her. She was very young, and more -than pleasant to look upon,--like the moth-maidens, like the -butterfly-women, of Kuni-sada. And I thought at once of death;--for -the beautiful is sometimes a sorrow of anticipation. - -She asked whither I honorably intended to go, that she might order a -kuruma for me. And I made answer:-- - -"To Kumamoto. But the name of your house I much wish to know, that I -may always remember it." - -"My guest-rooms," she said, "are augustly insignificant, and my maidens -honorably rude. But the house is called the House of Urashima. And now -I go to order a kuruma." - -The music of her voice passed; and I felt enchantment falling all about -me,--like the thrilling of a ghostly web. For the name was the name of -the story of a song that bewitches men. - - -[1] A little gift of money, always made to a hotel by the guest shortly -after his arrival. - - - -II - - -Once you hear the story, you will never be able to forget it. Every -summer when I find myself on the coast,--especially of very soft, -still days,--it haunts me most persistently. There are many native -versions of it which have been the inspiration for countless works -of art. But the most impressive and the most ancient is found in the -"Manyefushifu," a collection of poems dating from the fifth to the -ninth century. From this ancient version the great scholar Aston -translated it into prose, and the great scholar Chamberlain into both -prose and verse. But for English readers I think the most charming form -of it is Chamberlain's version written for children, in the "Japanese -Fairy-Tale Series,"--because of the delicious colored pictures by -native artists. With that little book before me, I shall try to tell -the legend over again in my own words. - - -Fourteen hundred and sixteen years ago, the fisher-boy Urashima Taro -left the shore of Suminoyé in his boat. - -Summer days were then as now,--all drowsy and tender blue, with only -some light, pure white clouds hanging over the mirror of the sea. Then, -too, were the hills the same,--far blue soft shapes melting into the -blue sky. And the winds were lazy. - -And presently the boy, also lazy, let his boat drift as he fished. It -was a queer boat, unpainted and rudderless, of a shape you probably -never saw. But still, after fourteen hundred years, there are such -boats to be seen in front of the ancient fishing-hamlets of the coast -of the Sea of Japan. - -After long waiting, Urashima caught something, and drew it up to him. -But he found it was only a tortoise. - -Now a tortoise is sacred to the Dragon God of the Sea, and the period -of its natural life is a thousand--some say ten thousand--years. So -that to kill it is very wrong. The boy gently unfastened the creature -from his line, and set it free, with a prayer to the gods. - -But he caught nothing more. And the day was very warm; and sea and air -and all things were very, very silent. And a great drowsiness grew upon -him,--and he slept in his drifting boat. - -Then out of the dreaming of the sea rose up a beautiful girl,--just -as you can see her in the picture to Professor Chamberlain's -"Urashima,"--robed in crimson and blue, with long black hair flowing -down her back even to her feet, after the fashion of a prince's -daughter fourteen hundred years ago. - -Gliding over the waters she came, softly as air; and she stood above -the sleeping boy in the boat, and woke him with a light touch, and -said:-- - -"Do not be surprised. My father, the Dragon King of the Sea, sent me to -you, because of your kind heart. For to-day you set free a tortoise. -And now we will go to my father's palace in the island where summer -never dies; and I will be your flower-wife if you wish; and we shall -live there happily forever." - -And Urashima wondered more and more as he looked upon her; for she -was more beautiful than any human being, and he could not but love -her. Then he took one oar, and he took another, and they rowed away -together,--just as you may still see, off the far western coast, wife -and husband rowing together, when the fishing-boats flit into the -evening gold. - -They rowed away softly and swiftly over the silent blue water down into -the south,--till they came to the island where summer never dies,--and -to the palace of the Dragon King of the Sea. - -[Here the text of the little book suddenly shrinks away as you read, -and faint blue ripplings flood the page; and beyond them in a fairy -horizon you can see the long low soft shore of the island, and peaked -roofs rising through evergreen foliage--the roofs of the Sea God's -palace--like the palace of the Mikado Yuriaku, fourteen hundred and -sixteen years ago.] - -There strange servitors came to receive them in robes of -ceremony--creatures of the Sea, who paid greeting to Urashima as the -son-in-law of the Dragon King. - -So the Sea God's daughter became the bride of Urashima; and it was a -bridal of wondrous splendor; and in the Dragon Palace there was great -rejoicing. - -And each day for Urashima there were new wonders and new -pleasures:--wonders of the deepest deep brought up by the servants of -the Ocean God;--pleasures of that enchanted land where summer never -dies. And so three years passed. - -But in spite of all these things, the fisher-boy felt always a -heaviness at his heart when he thought of his parents waiting alone. So -that at last he prayed his bride to let him go home for a little while -only, just to say one word to his father and mother,--after which he -would hasten hack to her. - -At these words she began to weep; and for a long time she continued to -weep silently. Then she said to him: "Since you wish to go, of course -you must go. I fear your going very much; I fear we shall never see -each other again. But I will give you a little box to take with you. It -will help you to come hack to me if you will do what I tell you. Do not -open it. Above all things, do not open it,--no matter what may happen! -Because, if you open it, you will never be able to come hack, and you -will never see me again." - -Then she gave him a little lacquered box tied about with a silken cord. -[And that box can be seen unto this day in the temple of Kanagawa, by -the seashore; and the priests there also keep Urashima Tarō's fishing -line, and some strange jewels which he brought back with him from the -realm of the Dragon King.] - -But Urashima comforted his bride, and promised her never, never to open -the box--never even to loosen the silken string. Then he passed away -through the summer light over the ever-sleeping sea;--and the shape of -the island where summer never dies faded behind him like a dream;--and -he saw again before him the blue mountains of Japan, sharpening in the -white glow of the northern horizon. - -Again at last he glided into his native bay;--again he stood upon its -beach. But as he looked, there came upon him a great bewilderment,--a -weird doubt. - -For the place was at once the same, and yet not the same. The cottage -of his fathers had disappeared. There was a village; but the shapes -of the houses were all strange, and the trees were strange, and the -fields, and even the faces of the people. Nearly all remembered -landmarks were gone;--the Shintō temple appeared to have been rebuilt -in a new place; the woods had vanished from the neighboring slopes. -Only the voice of the little stream flowing through the settlement, -and the forms of the mountains, were still the same. All else was -unfamiliar and new. In vain he tried to find the dwelling of his -parents; and the fisherfolk stared wonderingly at him; and he could not -remember having ever seen any of those faces before. - -There came along a very old man, leaning on a stick, and Urashima asked -him the way to the house of the Urashima family. But the old man looked -quite astonished, and made him repeat the question many times, and then -cried out:-- - -"Urashima Tarō! Where do you come from that you do not know the story? -Urashima Tarō! Why, it is more than four hundred years since he was -drowned, and a monument is erected to his memory in the graveyard. The -graves of all his people are in that graveyard,--the old graveyard -which is not now used any more. Urashima Tarō! How can you he so -foolish as to ask where his house is?" And the old man hobbled on, -laughing at the simplicity of his questioner. - -But Urashima went to the village graveyard,--the old graveyard that -was not used any more,--and there he found his own tombstone, and -the tombstones of his father and his mother and his kindred, and -the tombstones of many others he had known. So old they were, so -moss-eaten, that it was very hard to read the names upon them. - -Then he knew himself the victim of some strange illusion, and he took -his way hack to the beach,--always carrying in his hand the box, the -gift of the Sea God's daughter. But what was this illusion? And what -could be in that box? Or might not that which was in the box be the -cause of the illusion? Doubt mastered faith. Recklessly he broke the -promise made to his beloved;--he loosened the silken cord;--he opened -the box! - -Instantly, without any sound, there burst from it a white cold spectral -vapor that rose in air like a summer cloud, and began to drift away -swiftly into the south, over the silent sea. There was nothing else in -the box. - -And Urashima then knew that he had destroyed his own happiness,--that -he could never again return to his beloved, the daughter of the Ocean -King. So that he wept and cried out bitterly in his despair. - -Yet for a moment only. In another, he himself was changed. An icy chill -shot through all his blood;--his teeth fell out; his face shriveled; -his hair turned white as snow; his limbs withered; his strength ebbed; -he sank down lifeless on the sand, crushed by the weight of four -hundred winters. - -Now in the official annals of the Emperors it is written that "in the -twenty-first year of the Mikado Yuriaku, the boy Urashima of Midzunoyé, -in the district of Yosa, in the province of Tango, a descendant of -the divinity Shimanemi, went to Elysium [_Hōraï_] in a fishing-boat." -After this there is no more news of Urashima during the reigns of -thirty-one emperors and empresses--that is, from the fifth until the -ninth century. And then the annals announce that "in the second year -of Tenchiyō, in the reign of the Mikado Go-Junwa, the boy Urashima -returned, and presently departed again, none knew whither."[1] - - - -III - - -The fairy mistress came back to tell me that everything was ready, -and tried to lift my valise in her slender hands,--which I prevented -her from doing, because it was heavy. Then she laughed, but would not -suffer that I should carry it myself, and summoned a sea-creature with -Chinese characters upon his back. I made obeisance to her; and she -prayed me to remember the unworthy house despite the rudeness of the -maidens. "And you will pay the kurumaya," she said, "only seventy-five -sen." - -Then I slipped into the vehicle; and in a few minutes the little gray -town had vanished behind a curve. I was rolling along a white road -overlooking the shore. To the right were pale brown cliffs; to the left -only space and sea. - -Mile after mile I rolled along that shore, looking into the infinite -light. All was steeped in blue,--a marvelous blue, like that which -comes and goes in the heart of a great shell. Glowing blue sea met -hollow blue sky in a brightness of electric fusion; and vast blue -apparitions--the mountains of Higo--angled up through the blaze, like -masses of amethyst. What a blue transparency! The universal color -was broken only by the dazzling white of a few high summer clouds, -motionlessly curled above one phantom peak in the offing. They threw -down upon the water snowy tremulous lights. Midges of ships creeping -far away seemed to pull long threads after them,--the only sharp lines -in all that hazy glory. But what divine clouds! White purified spirits -of clouds, resting on their way to the beatitude of Nirvana? Or perhaps -the mists escaped from Urashima's box a thousand years ago? - - -The gnat of the soul of me flitted out into that dream of blue, 'twixt -sea and sun,--hummed back to the shore of Suminoyé through the luminous -ghosts of fourteen hundred summers. Vaguely I felt beneath me the -drifting of a keel. It was the time of the Mikado Yuriaku. And the -Daughter of the Dragon King said tinklingly,--"Now we will go to my -father's palace where it is always blue." "Why always blue?" I asked. -"Because," she said, "I put all the clouds into the Box." "But I must -go home," I answered resolutely. "Then," she said, "you will pay the -kurumaya only seventy-five sen." - - -Wherewith I woke into Doyō, or the Period of Greatest Heat, in the -twenty-sixth year of Meiji--and saw proof of the era in a line of -telegraph poles reaching out of sight on the land side of the way. The -kuruma was still fleeing by the shore, before the same blue vision of -sky, peak, and sea; but the white clouds were gone!--and there were -no more cliffs close to the road, but fields of rice and of barley -stretching to far-off hills. The telegraph lines absorbed my attention -for a moment, because on the top wire, and only on the top wire, hosts -of little birds were perched, all with their heads to the road, and -nowise disturbed by our coming. They remained quite still, looking down -upon us as mere passing phenomena. There were hundreds and hundreds -in rank, for miles and miles. And I could not see one having its tail -turned to the road. Why they sat thus, and what they were watching -or waiting for, I could not guess. At intervals I waved my hat and -shouted, to startle the ranks. Whereupon a few would rise up fluttering -and chippering, and drop back again upon the wire in the same position -as before. The vast majority refused to take me seriously. - - -The sharp rattle of the wheels was drowned by a deep booming; and as -we whirled past a village I caught sight of an immense drum under an -open shed, beaten by naked men. - -"O kurumaya!" I shouted--"that--what is it?" - -He, without stopping, shouted back:--- "Everywhere now the same thing -is. Much time-in rain has not been: so the gods-to prayers are made, -and drums are beaten." We flashed through other villages; and I saw -and heard more drums of various sizes, and from hamlets invisible, -over miles of parching rice-fields, yet other drums, like echoings, -responded. - - -[1] See _The Classical Poetry of the Japanese_, by Professor -Chamberlain, in Trübner's _Oriental Series_. According to Western -chronology, Urashima went fishing in 477 A.D., and returned in 825. - - - -IV - - -Then I began to think about Urashima again. I thought of the pictures -and poems and proverbs recording the influence of the legend upon the -imagination of a race. I thought of an Izumo dancing-girl I saw at -a banquet acting the part of Urashima, with a little lacquered box -whence there issued at the tragical minute a mist of Kyōto incense. -I thought about the antiquity of the beautiful dance,--and therefore -about vanished generations of dancing-girls,--and therefore about dust -in the abstract; which, again, led me to think of dust in the concrete, -as bestirred by the sandals of the kurumaya to whom I was to pay only -seventy-five sen. And I wondered how much of it might be old human -dust, and whether in the eternal order of things the motion of hearts -might be of more consequence than the motion of dust. Then my ancestral -morality took alarm; and I tried to persuade myself that a story which -had lived for a thousand years, gaining fresher charm with the passing -of every century, could only have survived by virtue of some truth in -it. But what truth? For the time being I could find no answer to this -question. - - -The heat had become very great; and I cried,-- - -"O kurumaya! the throat of Selfishness is dry; water desirable is." - -He, still running, answered:-- - -"The Village of the Long Beach inside of--not far--a great gush-water -is. There pure august water will be given." - -I cried again:-- - -"O kurumaya!--those little birds as-for, why this way always facing?" - -He, running still more swiftly, responded:--"All birds wind-to facing -sit." - -I laughed first at my own simplicity; then at my -forgetfulness,--remembering I had been told the same thing, somewhere -or other, when a boy. Perhaps the mystery of Urashima might also have -been created by forgetfulness. - - -I thought again about Urashima. I saw the Daughter of the Dragon King -waiting vainly in the palace made beautiful for his welcome,--and the -pitiless return of the Cloud, announcing what had happened,--and the -loving uncouth sea-creatures, in their garments of great ceremony, -trying to comfort her. But in the real story there was nothing of all -this; and the pity of the people seemed to be all for Urashima. And I -began to discourse with myself thus:-- - -Is it right to pity Urashima at all? Of course he was bewildered by the -gods. But who is not bewildered by the gods? What is Life itself but a -bewilderment? And Urashima in his bewilderment doubted the purpose of -the gods, and opened the box. Then he died without any trouble, and the -people built a shrine to him as Urashima Miō-jin. Why, then, so much -pity? - -Things are quite differently managed in the West. After disobeying -Western gods, we have still to remain alive and to learn the height and -the breadth and the depth of superlative sorrow. We are not allowed to -die quite comfortably just at the best possible time: much less are we -suffered to become after death small gods in our own right. How can -we pity the folly of Urashima after he had lived so long alone with -visible gods. - -Perhaps the fact that we do may answer the riddle. This pity must be -self-pity; wherefore the legend may be the legend of a myriad souls. -The thought of it comes just at a particular time of blue light and -soft wind,--and always like an old reproach. It has too intimate -relation to a season and the feeling of a season not to be also related -to something real in one's life, or in the lives of one's ancestors. -But what was that real something? Who was the Daughter of the Dragon -King? Where was the island of unending summer? And what was the cloud -in the box? - -I cannot answer all those questions. I know this only,--which is not at -all new:-- - - -I have memory of a place and a magical time in which the Sun and the -Moon were larger and brighter than now. Whether it was of this life or -of some life before I cannot tell. But I know the sky was very much -more blue, and nearer to the world,--almost as it seems to become above -the masts of a steamer steaming into equatorial summer. The sea was -alive, and used to talk,--and the Wind made me cry out for joy when -it touched me. Once or twice during other years, in divine days lived -among the peaks, I have dreamed just for a moment that the same wind -was blowing,--but it was only a remembrance. - -Also in that place the clouds were wonderful, and of colors for which -there are no names at all,--colors that used to make me hungry and -thirsty. I remember, too, that the days were ever so much longer -than these days,--and that every day there were new wonders and new -pleasures for me. And all that country and time were softly ruled by -One who thought only of ways to make me happy. Sometimes I would refuse -to be made happy, and that always caused her pain, although she was -divine;--and I remember that I tried very hard to be sorry. When day -was done, and there fell the great hush of the light before moonrise, -she would tell me stories that made me tingle from head to foot with -pleasure. I have never heard any other stories half so beautiful. And -when the pleasure became too great, she would sing a weird little song -which always brought sleep. At last there came a parting day; and she -wept, and told me of a charm she had given that I must never, never -lose, because it would keep me young, and give me power to return. But -I never returned. And the years went; and one day I knew that I had -lost the charm, and had become ridiculously old. - - - -V - - -The Village of the Long Beach is at the foot of a green cliff near the -road, and consists of a dozen thatched cottages clustered about a rocky -pool, shaded by pines. The basin overflows with cold water, supplied -by a stream that leaps straight from the heart of the cliff,--just as -folks imagine that a poem ought to spring straight from the heart of a -poet. It was evidently a favorite halting-place, judging by the number -of kuruma and of people resting. There were benches under the trees; -and, after having allayed thirst, I sat down to smoke and to look at -the women washing clothes and the travelers refreshing themselves at -the pool,--while my kurumaya stripped, and proceeded to dash buckets of -cold water over his body. Then tea was brought me by a young man with -a baby on his back; and I tried to play with the baby, which said "Ah, -bah!" - -Such are the first sounds uttered by a Japanese babe. But they are -purely Oriental; and in Itomaji should be written _Aba_. And, as -an utterance untaught, _Aba_ is interesting. It is in Japanese -child-speech the word for "good-by,"--precisely the last we would -expect an infant to pronounce on entering into this world of illusion. -To whom or to what is the little soul saying good-by?--to friends in -a previous state of existence still freshly remembered?--to comrades -of its shadowy journey from nobody--knows--where? Such theorizing is -tolerably safe, from a pious point of view, since the child can never -decide for us. What its thoughts were at that mysterious moment of -first speech, it will have forgotten long before it has become able to -answer questions. - -Unexpectedly, a queer recollection came to me,--resurrected, perhaps, -by the sight of the young man with the baby,--perhaps by the song of -the water in the cliff: the recollection of a story:-- - - -Long, long ago there lived somewhere among the mountains a poor -wood-cutter and his wife. They were very old, and had no children. -Every day the husband went alone to the forest to cut wood, while the -wife sat weaving at home. - -One day the old man went farther into the forest than was his custom, -to seek a certain kind of wood; and he suddenly found himself at -the edge of a little spring he had never seen before. The water was -strangely clear and cold, and he was thirsty; for the day was hot, -and he had been working hard. So he doffed his great straw hat, knelt -down, and took a long drink. That water seemed to refresh him in a most -extraordinary way. Then he caught sight of his own face in the spring, -and started back. It was certainly his own face, but not at all as he -was accustomed to see it in the old mirror at home. It was the face of -a very young man! He could not believe his eyes. He put up both hands -to his head, which had been quite bald only a moment before. It was -covered with thick black hair. And his face had become smooth as a -boy's; every wrinkle was gone. At the same moment he discovered himself -full of new strength. He stared in astonishment at the limbs that had -been so long withered by age; they were now shapely and hard with dense -young muscle. Unknowingly he had drunk at the Fountain of Youth; and -that draught had transformed him. - -First, he leaped high and shouted for joy; then he ran home faster than -he had ever run before in his life. When he entered his house his wife -was frightened,--because she took him for a stranger; and when he told -her the wonder, she could not at once believe him. But after a long -time he was able to convince her that the young man she now saw before -her was really her husband; and he told her where the spring was, and -asked her to go there with him. - -Then she said: "You have become so handsome and so young that you -cannot continue to love an old woman;--so I must drink some of that -water immediately. But it will never do for both of us to be away from -the house at the same time. Do you wait here while I go." And she ran -to the woods all by herself. - -She found the spring and knelt down, and began to drink. Oh! how cool -and sweet that water was! She drank and drank and drank, and stopped -for breath only to begin again. - -Her husband waited for her impatiently; he expected to see her come -back changed into a pretty slender girl. But she did not come back at -all. He got anxious, shut up the house, and went to look for her. - -When he reached the spring, he could not see her. He was just on the -point of returning when he heard a little wail in the high grass near -the spring. He searched there and discovered his wife's clothes and a -baby,--a very small baby, perhaps six months old! - -For the old woman had drunk too deeply of the magical water; she had -drunk herself far back beyond the time of youth into the period of -speechless infancy. - -He took up the child in his arms. It looked at him in a sad, wondering -way. He carried it home,--murmuring to it,--thinking strange, -melancholy thoughts. - - -In that hour, after my reverie about Urashima, the moral of this story -seemed less satisfactory than in former time. Because by drinking too -deeply of life we do not become young. - - -Naked and cool my kurumaya returned, and said that because of the heat -he could not finish the promised run of twenty-five miles, but that he -had found another runner to take me the rest of the way. For so much as -he himself had done, he wanted fifty-five sen. - -It was really very hot--more than 100° I afterwards learned; and far -away there throbbed continually, like a pulsation of the beat itself, -the sound of great drums beating for rain. And I thought of the -Daughter of the Dragon King. - -"Seventy-five sen, she told me," I observed;--"and that promised to be -done has not been done. Nevertheless, seventy-five sen to you shall be -given,--because I am afraid of the gods." - -And behind a yet unwearied runner I fled away into the enormous -blaze--in the direction of the great drums. - - - - -II - - -WITH KYŪSHŪ STUDENTS - - - -I - - -The students of the Government College, or Higher Middle School, -can scarcely be called boys; their ages ranging from the average of -eighteen, for the lowest class, to that of twenty-five for the highest. -Perhaps the course is too long. The best pupil can hardly hope to reach -the Imperial University before his twenty-third year, and will require -for his entrance thereinto a mastery of written Chinese as well as a -good practical knowledge of either English and German, or of English -and French.[1] Thus he is obliged to learn three languages besides all -that relates to the elegant literature of his own; and the weight of -his task cannot be understood without knowledge of the fact that his -study of Chinese alone is equal to the labor of acquiring six European -tongues. - -The impression produced upon me by the Kumamoto students was very -different from that received on my first acquaintance with my Izumo -pupils. This was not only because the former had left well behind them -the delightfully amiable period of Japanese boyhood, and had developed -into earnest, taciturn men, but also because they represented to a -marked degree what is called Kyūshū character. Kyūshū still remains, -as of yore, the most conservative part of Japan, and Kumamoto, its -chief city, the centre of conservative feeling. This conservatism is, -however, both rational and practical. Kyūshū was not slow in adopting -railroads, improved methods of agriculture, applications of science -to certain industries; but remains of all districts of the Empire -the least inclined to imitation of Western manners and customs. The -ancient samurai spirit still lives on; and that spirit in Kyūshū was -for centuries one that exacted severe simplicity in habits of life. -Sumptuary laws against extravagance in dress and other forms of luxury -used to be rigidly enforced; and though the laws themselves have been -obsolete for a generation, their influence continues to appear in -the very simple attire and the plain, direct manners of the people. -Kumamoto folk are also said to be characterized by their adherence to -traditions of conduct which have been almost forgotten elsewhere, and -by a certain independent frankness in speech and action, difficult -for any foreigner to define, but immediately apparent to an educated -Japanese. And here, too, under the shadow of Kiyomasa's mighty -fortress,--now occupied by an immense garrison,--national sentiment is -declared to be stronger than in the very capital itself,--the spirit -of loyalty and the love of country. Kumamoto is proud of all these -things, and boasts of her traditions. Indeed, she has nothing else to -boast of. A vast, straggling, dull, unsightly town is Kumamoto: there -are no quaint, pretty streets, no great temples, no wonderful gardens. -Burnt to the ground in the civil war of the tenth Meiji, the place -still gives you the impression of a wilderness of flimsy shelters -erected in haste almost before the soil had ceased to smoke. There are -no remarkable places to visit (not, at least, within city limits),--no -sights,--few amusements. For this very reason the college is thought -to be well located: there are neither temptations nor distractions for -its inmates. But for another reason, also, rich men far away in the -capital try to send their sons to Kumamoto. It is considered desirable -that a young man should be imbued with what is called "the Kyūshū -spirit," and should acquire what might be termed the Kyūshū "tone." The -students of Kumamoto are said to be the most peculiar students in the -Empire by reason of this "tone." I have never been able to learn enough -about it to define it well; but it is evidently a something akin to the -deportment of the old Kyūshū samurai. Certainly the students sent from -Tokyo or Kyoto to Kyūshū have to adapt themselves to a very different -_milieu_. The Kumamoto, and also the Kagoshima youths,--whenever not -obliged to don military uniform for drill-hours and other special -occasions,--still cling to a costume somewhat resembling that of the -ancient bushi, and therefore celebrated in sword-songs---the short robe -and hakama reaching a little below the knee, and sandals. The material -of the dress is cheap, coarse, and sober in color; cleft stockings -(_tabi_) are seldom worn, except in very cold weather, or during -long marches, to keep the sandal-thongs from cutting into the flesh. -Without being rough, the manners are not soft; and the lads seem to -cultivate a certain outward hardness of character. They can preserve -an imperturbable exterior under quite extraordinary circumstances, but -under this self-control there is a fiery consciousness of strength -which will show itself in a menacing form on rare occasions. They -deserve to be termed rugged men, too, in their own Oriental way. Some -I know, who, though born to comparative wealth, find no pleasure so -keen as that of trying how much physical hardship they can endure. The -greater number would certainly give up their lives without hesitation -rather than their high principles. And a rumor of national danger -would instantly transform the whole four hundred into a body of iron -soldiery. But their outward demeanor is usually impassive to a degree -that is difficult even to understand. - -For a long time I used to wonder in vain what feelings, sentiments, -ideas might be hidden beneath all that unsmiling placidity. The native -teachers, _de facto_ government officials, did not appear to be on -intimate terms with any of their pupils: there was no trace of that -affectionate familiarity I had seen in Izumo; the relation between -instructors and instructed seemed to begin and end with the bugle-calls -by which classes were assembled and dismissed. In this I afterwards -found myself partly mistaken; still such relations as actually existed -were for the most part formal rather than natural, and quite unlike -those old-fashioned, loving sympathies of which the memory had always -remained with me since my departure from the Province of the Gods. - -But later on, at frequent intervals, there came to me suggestions of an -inner life much more attractive than this outward seeming,--hints of -emotional individuality. A few I obtained in casual conversations, but -the most remarkable in written themes. Subjects given for composition -occasionally coaxed out some totally unexpected blossoming of thoughts -and feelings. A very pleasing fact was the total absence of any false -shyness, or indeed shyness of any sort: the young men were not ashamed -to write exactly what they felt or hoped. They would write about their -homes, about their reverential love to their parents, about happy -experiences of their childhood, about their friendships, about their -adventures during the holidays; and this often in a way I thought -beautiful, because of its artless, absolute sincerity. After a number -of such surprises, I learned to regret keenly that I had not from the -outset kept notes upon all the remarkable compositions received. Once -a week I used to read aloud and correct in class a selection from the -best handed in, correcting the remainder at home. The very best I could -not always presume to read aloud and criticise for the general benefit, -because treating of matters too sacred to be methodically commented -upon, as the following examples may show. - -I had given as a subject for English composition this question: "What -do men remember longest?" One student answered that we remember our -happiest moments longer than we remember all other experiences, because -it is in the nature of every rational being to try to forget what is -disagreeable or painful as soon as possible. I received many still -more ingenious answers,--some of which gave proof of a really keen -psychological study of the question. But I liked best of all the simple -reply of one who thought that painful events are longest remembered. -He wrote exactly what follows: I found it needless to alter a single -word:-- - - -"What do men remember longest? I think men remember longest that which -they hear or see under painful circumstances. - -"When I was only four years old, my dear, dear mother died. It was a -winter's day. The wind was blowing hard in the trees, and round the -roof of our house. There were no leaves on the branches of the trees. -Quails were whistling in the distance,--making melancholy sounds. I -recall something I did. As my mother was lying in bed,--a little -before she died,--I gave her a sweet orange. She smiled and took it, -and tasted it. It was the last time she smiled.... From the moment -when she ceased to breathe to this hour more than sixteen years have -elapsed. But to me the time is as a moment. Now also it is winter. The -winds that blew when my mother died blow just as then; the quails utter -the same cries; all things are the same. But my mother has gone away, -and will never come back again." - - -The following, also, was written in reply to the same question:-- - - -"The greatest sorrow in my life was my father's death. I was seven -years old. I can remember that he had been ill all day, and that my -toys had been put aside, and that I tried to be very quiet. I had -not seen him that morning, and the day seemed very long. At last I -stole into my father's room, and put my lips close to his cheek, and -whispered, '_Father! father!_'--and his cheek was very cold. He did -not speak. My uncle came, and carried me out of the room, but said -nothing. Then I feared my father would die, because his cheek felt cold -just as my little sister's had been when she died. In the evening a -great many neighbors and other people came to the house, and caressed -me, so that I was happy for a time. But they carried my father away -during the night, and I never saw him after." - - -[1] This essay was written early in 1894. Since then, the study of -French and of German has been made optional instead of obligatory, and -the Higher School course considerably shortened, by a wise decision -of the late Minister of Education, Mr. Inouye. It is to be hoped that -measures will eventually be taken to render possible making the study -of English also optional. Under existing conditions the study is forced -upon hundreds who can never obtain any benefit from it. - - - -II - - -From the foregoing one might suppose a simple style characteristic -of English compositions in Japanese higher schools. Yet the reverse -is the fact. There is a general tendency to prefer big words to -little ones, and long complicated sentences to plain short periods. -For this there are some reasons which would need a philological -essay by Professor Chamberlain to explain. But the tendency in -itself--constantly strengthened by the absurd text-books in use--can -be partly understood from the fact that the very simplest forms of -English expression are the most obscure to a Japanese,--because they -are idiomatic. The student finds them riddles, since the root-ideas -behind them are so different from his own that, to explain those ideas, -it is first necessary to know something of Japanese psychology; and in -avoiding simple idioms he follows instinctively the direction of least -resistance. - -I tried to cultivate an opposite tendency by various devices. Sometimes -I would write familiar stories for the class, all in simple sentences, -and in words of one syllable. Sometimes I would suggest themes to -write upon, of which the nature almost compelled simple treatment. Of -course I was not very successful in my purpose, but one theme chosen -in relation to it--"My First Day at School"--evoked a large number of -compositions that interested me in quite another way, as revelations -of sincerity of feeling and of character. I offer a few selections, -slightly abridged and corrected. Their naïveté is not their least -charm,--especially if one reflect they are not the recollections of -boys. The following seemed to me one of the best:-- - - -"I could not go to school until I was eight years old. I had often -begged my father to let me go, for all my playmates were already -at school; but he would not, thinking I was not strong enough. So I -remained at home, and played with my brother. - -"My brother accompanied me to school the first day. He spoke to the -teacher, and then left me. The teacher took me into a room, and -commanded me to sit on a bench, then he also left me. I felt sad as I -sat there in silence: there was no brother to play with now,--only many -strange boys. A bell ring twice; and a teacher entered our classroom, -and told us to take out our slates. Then he wrote a Japanese character -on the blackboard, and told us to copy it. That day he taught us how to -write two Japanese words, and told us some story about a good boy. When -I returned home I ran to my mother, and knelt down by her side to tell -her what the teacher had taught me. Oh! how great my pleasure then was! -I cannot even tell how I felt,--much less write it. I can only say that -I then thought the teacher was a more learned man than father, or any -one else whom I knew,--the most awful, and yet the most kindly person -in the world." - - -The following also shows the teacher in a very pleasing light:-- - - -"My brother and sister took me to school the first day. I thought I -could sit beside them in the school, as I used to do at home; but -the teacher ordered me to go to a classroom which was very far away -from that of my brother and sister. I insisted upon remaining with my -brother and sister; and when the teacher said that could not be, I -cried and made a great noise. Then they allowed my brother to leave -his own class, and accompany me to mine. But after a while I found -playmates in my own class; and then I was not afraid to be without my -brother." - - -This also is quite pretty and true:-- - - -"A teacher--(I think, the head master) called me to him, and told me -that I must become a great scholar. Then he bade some man take me into -a classroom where there were forty or fifty scholars. I felt afraid and -pleased at the same time, at the thought of having so many playfellows. -They looked at me shyly, and I at them. I was at first afraid to speak -to them. Little boys are innocent like that. But after a while, in some -way or other, we began to play together; and they seemed to be pleased -to have me play with them." - - -The above three compositions were by young men who had their first -schooling under the existing educational system, which prohibits -harshness on the part of masters. But it would seem that the teachers -of the previous era were less tender. Here are three compositions by -older students who appear to have had quite a different experience:-- - - -1. "Before Meiji, there were no such public schools in Japan as there -are now. But in every province there was a sort of student society -composed of the sons of Samurai. Unless a man were a Samurai, his son -could not enter such a society. It was under the control of the Lord -of the province, who appointed a director to rule the students. The -principal study of the Samurai was that of the Chinese language and -literature. Most of the Statesmen of the present government were -once students in such Samurai schools. Common citizens and country, -people had to send their sons and daughters to primary schools called -_Terakoya_, where all the teaching was usually done by one teacher. -It consisted of little more than reading, writing, calculating, and -some moral instruction. We could learn to write an ordinary letter, -or a very easy essay. At eight years old, I was sent to a terakoya, -as I was not the son of a Samurai. At first I did not want to go; and -every morning my grandfather had to strike me with his stick to make -me go. The discipline at that school was very severe. If a boy did -not obey, he was beaten with a bamboo,--being held down to receive -his punishment. After a year, many public schools were opened: and I -entered a public school." - - -2. "A great gate, a pompous building, a very large dismal room with -benches in rows,--these I remember. The teachers looked very severe; -I did not like their faces. I sat on a bench in the room and felt -hateful. The teachers seemed unkind; none of the boys knew me, or -spoke to me. A teacher stood up by the blackboard, and began to call -the names. He had a whip in his band. He called my name. I could not -answer, and burst out crying. So I was sent borne. That was my first -day at school." - - -3. "When I was seven years old I was obliged to enter a school in my -native village. My father gave me two or three writing-brushes and some -paper;--I was very glad to get them, and promised to study as earnestly -as I could. But how unpleasant the first day at school was! When I went -to the school, none of the students knew me, and I found myself without -a friend. I entered a classroom. A teacher, with a whip in his hand, -called my name in a _large_ voice. I was very much surprised at it, -and so frightened that I could not help crying. The boys laughed very -loudly at me; but the teacher scolded them, and whipped one of them, -and then said to me, 'Don't be afraid of my voice: what is your name?' -I told him my name, snuffling. I thought then that school was a very -disagreeable place, where we could neither weep nor laugh. I wanted -only to go back home at once; and though I felt it was out of my power -to go, I could scarcely bear to stay until the lessons were over. When -I returned home at last, I told my father what I had felt at school, -and said: 'I do not like to go to school at all.'" - - -Needless to say the next memory is of Meiji. It gives, as a -composition, evidence of what we should call in the West, character. -The suggestion of self-reliance at six years old is delicious: so is -the recollection of the little sister taking off her white tabi to deck -her child-brother on his first school-day:-- - - -"I was six years old. My mother awoke me early. My sister gave me her -own stockings (_tabi_) to wear,--and I felt very happy. Father ordered -a servant to attend me to the school; but I refused to be accompanied: -I wanted to feel that I could go all by myself. So I went alone; and, -as the school was not far from the house, I soon found myself in front -of the gate. There I stood still a little while, because I knew none -of the children I saw going in. Boys and girls were passing into -the schoolyard, accompanied by servants or relatives; and inside I -saw others playing games which filled me with envy. But all at once -a little boy among the players saw me, and with a laugh came running -to me. Then I was very happy. I walked to and fro with him, hand in -hand. At last a teacher called all of us into a schoolroom, and made a -speech which I could not understand. After that we were free for the -day because it was the first day. I returned home with my friend. My -parents were waiting for me, with fruits and cakes; and my friend and I -ate them together." - - -Another writes:-- - - -"When I first went to school I was six years old. I remember only that -my grandfather carried my books and slate for me, and that the teacher -and the boys were very, very, very kind and good to me,--so that I -thought school was a paradise in this world, and did not want to return -home." - -I think this little bit of natural remorse is also worth the writing -down:-- - -"I was eight years old when I first went to school. I was a bad boy. -I remember on the way home from school I had a quarrel with one of -my playmates,--younger than I. He threw a very little stone at me -which hit me. I took a branch of a tree lying in the road, and struck -him across the face with all my might. Then I ran away, leaving him -crying in the middle of the road. My heart told me what I had done. -After reaching my home, I thought I still heard him crying. My little -playmate is not any more in this world now. Can any one know my -feelings?" - - -All this capacity of young men to turn back with perfect naturalness -of feeling to scenes of their childhood appears to me essentially -Oriental. In the Occident men seldom begin to recall their childhood -vividly before the approach of the autumn season of life. But childhood -in Japan is certainly happier than in other lands, and therefore -perhaps is regretted earlier in adult life. The following extract from -a student's record of his holiday experience touchingly expresses such -regret: - - -"During the spring vacation, I went home to visit my parents. Just -before the end of the holidays, when it was nearly time for me to -return to the college, I heard that the students of the middle school -of my native town were also going to Kumamoto on an excursion, and I -resolved to go with them. - -"They marched in military order with their rifles. I had no rifle, so -I took my place in the rear of the column. We marched all day, keeping -time to military songs which we sung all together. - -"In the evening we reached Soyeda. The teachers and students of the -Soyeda school, and the chief men of the village, welcomed us. Then -we were separated into detachments, each of which was quartered in a -different hotel. I entered a hotel, with the last detachment, to rest -for the night. - -"But I could not sleep for a long time. Five years before, on a similar -'military excursion,' I had rested in that very hotel, as a student of -the same middle school. I remembered the fatigue and the pleasure; -and I compared my feelings of the moment with the recollection of my -feelings then as a boy. I could not help a weak wish to be young again -like my companions. They were fast asleep, tired with their long march; -and I sat up and looked at their faces. How pretty their faces seemed -in that young sleep!" - - - - -III - - -The preceding selections give no more indication of the general -character of the students' compositions than might be furnished by any -choice made to illustrate a particular feeling. Examples of ideas and -sentiments from themes of a graver kind would show variety of thought -and not a little originality in method, but would require much space. -A few notes, however, copied out of my class-register, will be found -suggestive, if not exactly curious. - -At the summer examinations of 1893 I submitted to the graduating -classes, for a composition theme, the question, "What is eternal in -literature?" I expected original answers, as the subject had never -been discussed by us, and was certainly new to the pupils, so far as -their knowledge of Western thought was concerned. Nearly all the papers -proved interesting. I select twenty replies as examples. Most of them -immediately preceded a long discussion, but a few were embodied in the -text of the essay:-- - - -1. "Truth and Eternity are identical: these make the Full Circle,--in -Chinese, Yen-Man." - -2. "All that in human life and conduct which is according to the laws -of the Universe." - -3. "The lives of patriots, and the teachings of those who have given -pure maxims to the world." - -4. "Filial Piety, and the doctrine of its teachers. Vainly the books -of Confucius were burned during the Shin dynasty; they are translated -to-day into all the languages of the civilized world." - -5. "Ethics, and scientific truth." - -6. "Both evil and good are eternal, said a Chinese sage. We should read -only that which is good." - -7. "The great thoughts and ideas of our ancestors." - -8. "For a thousand million centuries truth is truth." - -9. "Those ideas of right and wrong upon which all schools of ethics -agree." - -10. "Books which rightly explain the phenomena of the Universe." - -11. "Conscience alone is unchangeable. Wherefore books about ethics -based upon conscience are eternal." - -12. "Reasons for noble action: these remain unchanged by time." - -13. "Books written upon the best moral means of giving the greatest -possible happiness to the greatest possible number of people,--that is, -to mankind." - -14. "The Gokyō (the Five Great Chinese Classics)." - -15. "The holy books of China, and of the Buddhists." - -16. "All that which teaches the Right and Pure Way of human conduct." - -17. "The Story of Kusunoki Masaskigé, who vowed to be reborn seven -times to fight against the enemies of his Sovereign." - -18. "Moral sentiment, without which the world would be only an enormous -clod of earth, and all books waste-paper." - -19. "The Tao-te-King." - -20. Same as 19, but with this comment. "He who reads that which is -eternal, _his soul shall hover eternally in the Universe._" - - - -IV - - -Some particularly Oriental sentiments were occasionally drawn out -through discussions. The discussions were based upon stories which I -would relate to a class by word of mouth, and invite written or spoken -comment about. The results of such a discussion are hereafter set -forth. At the time it took place, I had already told the students of -the higher classes a considerable number of stories. I had told them -many of the Greek myths; among which that of Œdipus and the Sphinx -seemed especially to please them, because of the hidden moral, and -that of Orpheus, like all our musical legends, to have no interest -for them. I had also told them a variety of our most famous modern -stories. The marvelous tale of "Rappacini's Daughter" proved greatly -to their liking; and the spirit of Hawthorne might have found no -little ghostly pleasure in their interpretation of it. "Monos and -Daimonos" found favor; and Poe's wonderful fragment, "Silence," was -appreciated after a fashion that surprised me. On the other hand, -the story of "Frankenstein" impressed them very little. None took it -seriously. For Western minds the tale must always hold a peculiar -horror, because of the shock it gives to feelings evolved under -the influence of Hebraic ideas concerning the origin of life, the -tremendous character of divine prohibitions, and the awful punishments -destined for those who would tear the veil from Nature's secrets, or -mock, even unconsciously, the work of a jealous Creator. But to the -Oriental mind, unshadowed by such grim faith,--feeling no distance -between gods and men,--conceiving life as a multiform whole ruled by -one uniform law that shapes the consequence of every act into a reward -or a punishment,--the ghastliness of the story makes no appeal. Most of -the written criticisms showed me that it was generally regarded as a -comic or semi-comic parable. After all this, I was rather puzzled one -morning by the request for a "very strong moral story of the Western -kind." - -I suddenly resolved--though knowing I was about to venture on dangerous -ground--to try the full effect of a certain Arthurian legend which I -felt sure somebody would criticise with a vim. The moral is rather -more than "very strong;" and for that reason I was curious to hear the -result. - -So I related to them the story of Sir Bors, which is in the sixteenth -book of Sir Thomas Mallory's "Morte d'Arthur,"--"how Sir Bors met his -brother Sir Lionel taken and beaten with thorns,--and of a maid which -should have been dishonored,--and how Sir Bors left his brother to -rescue the damsel,---and how it was told them that Lionel was dead." -But I did not try to explain to them the knightly idealism imaged in -the beautiful old tale, as I wished to hear them comment, in their own -Oriental way, upon the bare facts of the narrative. - -Which they did as follows:-- - -"The action of Mallory's knight," exclaimed Iwai, "was contrary even -to the principles of Christianity,--if it be true that the Christian -religion declares all men brothers. Such conduct might be right if -there were no society in the world. But while any society exists -which is formed of families, family love must be the strength of that -society; and the action of that knight was against family love, and -therefore against society. The principle he followed was opposed not -only to all society, but was contrary to all religion, and contrary to -the morals of all countries." - -"The story is certainly immoral," said Orito. "What it relates is -opposed to all our ideas of love and loyalty, and even seems to us -contrary to nature. Loyalty is not a mere duty. It must be from the -heart, or it is not loyally. It must be an inborn feeling. And it is in -the nature of every Japanese." - -"It is a horrible story," said Andō. "Philanthropy itself is only an -expansion of fraternal love. The man who could abandon his own brother -to death merely to save a strange woman was a wicked man. Perhaps he -was influenced by passion." - -"No," I said: "you forget I told you that there was no selfishness in -his action,--that it must be interpreted as a heroism." - -"I think the explanation of the story must be religious," said -Yasukochi. "It seems strange to us; but that may be because we do -not understand Western ideas very well. Of course to abandon one's -own brother in order to save a strange woman is contrary to all our -knowledge of right. But if that knight was a man of pure heart, he -must have imagined himself obliged to do it because of some promise -or some duty. Even then it must have seemed to him a very painful and -disgraceful thing to do, and he could not have done it without feeling -that he was acting against the teaching of his own heart." - -"There you are right," I answered. "But you should also know that the -sentiment obeyed by Sir Bors is one which still influences the conduct -of brave and noble men in the societies of the West,--even of men who -cannot be called religious at all in the common sense of that word." - -"Still, we think it a very bad sentiment," said Iwai; "and we would -rather hear another story about another form of society." - -Then it occurred to me to tell them the immortal story of Alkestis. I -thought for the moment that the character of Herakles in that divine -drama would have a particular charm for them. But the comments proved I -was mistaken. No one even referred to Herakles. Indeed I ought to have -remembered that our ideals of heroism, strength of purpose, contempt of -death, do not readily appeal to Japanese youth. And this for the reason -that no Japanese gentleman regards such qualities as exceptional. -He considers heroism a matter of course--something belonging to -manhood and inseparable from it. He would say that a woman may be -afraid without shame, but never a man. Then as a mere idealization of -physical force, Herakles could interest Orientals very little: their -own mythology teems with impersonations of strength; and, besides, -dexterity, sleight, quickness, are much more admired by a true Japanese -than strength. No Japanese boy would sincerely wish to be like the -giant Benkei; but Yoshitsune, the slender, supple conqueror and master -of Benkei, remains an ideal of perfect knighthood dear to the hearts of -all Japanese youth. - -Kamekawa said:-- - -"The story of Alkestis, or at least the story of Admetus, is a story -of cowardice, disloyalty, immorality. The conduct of Admetus was -abominable. His wife was indeed noble and virtuous--too good a wife for -so shameless a man. I do not believe that the father of Admetus would -not have been willing to die for his son if his son had been worthy. I -think he would gladly have died for his son had he not been disgusted -by the cowardice of Admetus. And how disloyal the subjects of Admetus -were! The moment they heard of their king's danger they should have -rushed to the palace, and humbly begged that they might be allowed to -die in his stead. However cowardly or cruel he might have been, that -was their duty. They were his subjects. They lived by his favor. Yet -how disloyal they were! A country inhabited by such shameless people -must soon have gone to ruin. Of course, as the story says, 'it is sweet -to live.' Who does not love life? Who does not dislike to die? But no -brave man--no loyal man even--should so much as think about his life -when duty requires him to give it." - -"But," said Midzuguchi, who had joined us a little too late to hear -the beginning of the narration, "perhaps Admetus was actuated by -filial piety. Had I been Admetus, and found no one among my subjects -willing to die for me, I should have said to my wife: 'Dear wife, I -cannot leave my father alone now, because he has no other son, and his -grandsons are still too young to be of use to him. Therefore, if you -love me, please die in my place.'" - -"You do not understand the story," said Yasukochi. "Filial piety did -not exist in Admetus. He wished that his father should have died for -him." - -"Ah!" exclaimed the apologist in real surprise,--"that is not a nice -story, teacher!" - -"Admetus," declared Kawabuchi, "was everything which is bad. He was a -hateful coward, because he was afraid to die; he was a tyrant, because -he wanted his subjects to die for him; he was an unfilial son because -he wanted his old father to die in his place; and he was an unkind -husband, because he asked his wife--a weak woman with little children ---to do what _he_ was afraid to do as a man. What could be baser than -Admetus?" - -"But Alkestis," said Iwai,--"Alkestis was all that is good. For she -gave up her children and everything,--even like the Buddha [_Shaka_] -himself. Yet she was very young. How true and brave! The beauty of -her face might perish like a spring-blossoming, but the beauty of -her act should be remembered for a thousand times a thousand years. -Eternally her soul will hover in the universe. Formless she is now; but -it is the Formless who teach us more kindly than our kindest living -teachers,--the souls of all who have done pure, brave, wise deeds." - -"The wife of Admetus," said Kumamoto, inclined to austerity in his -judgments, "was simply obedient. She was not entirely blameless. For, -before her death, it was her highest duty to have severely reproached -her husband for his foolishness. And this she did not do,--not at least -as our teacher tells the story." - -"Why Western people should think that story beautiful," said Zaitsu, -"is difficult for us to understand. There is much in it which fills -us with anger. For some of us cannot but think of our parents when -listening to such a story. After the Revolution of Meiji, for a time, -there was much suffering. Often perhaps our parents were hungry; yet -we always had plenty of food. Sometimes they could scarcely get money -to live; yet we were educated. When we think of all it cost them to -educate us, all the trouble it gave them to bring us up, all the love -they gave us, and all the pain we caused them in our foolish childhood, -then we think we can never, never do enough for them. And therefore we -do not like that story of Admetus." - - -The bugle sounded for recess. I went to the parade-ground to take -a smoke. Presently a few students joined me, with their rifles and -bayonets--for the next hour was to be devoted to military drill. One -said: "Teacher, we should like another subject for composition,--not -_too_ easy." - -I suggested: "How would you like this for a subject, 'What is most -difficult to understand?'" - -"That," said Kawabuchi, "is not hard to answer,--the correct use of -English prepositions." - -"In the study of English by Japanese students,--yes," I answered. "But -I did not mean any special difficulty of that kind. I meant to write -your ideas about what is most difficult for all men to understand." - -"The universe?" queried Yasukochi. "That is too large a subject." - -"When I was only six years old," said Orito, "I used to wander along -the seashore, on fine days, and wonder at the greatness of the world. -Our home was by the sea. Afterwards I was taught that the problem of -the universe will at last pass away, like smoke." - -"I think," said Miyakawa, "that the hardest of all things to understand -is why men live in the world. From the time a child is born, what does -he do? He eats and drinks; he feels happy and sad; he sleeps at night; -he awakes in the morning. He is educated; he grows up; he marries; he -has children; he gets old; his hair turns first gray and then white; he -becomes feebler and feebler,--and he dies. - -"What does he do all his life? All his real work in this world is to -eat and to drink, to sleep and to rise up; since, whatever be his -occupation as a citizen, he toils only that he may be able to continue -doing this. But for what purpose does a man really come into the world? -Is it to eat? Is it to drink? Is it to sleep? Every day he does exactly -the same thing, and yet he is not tired! It is strange. - -"When rewarded, he is glad; when punished, he is sad. If he becomes -rich, he thinks himself happy. If he becomes poor, he is very unhappy. -Why is he glad or sad according to his condition? Happiness and sadness -are only temporary things. Why does he study hard? No matter how great -a scholar he may become, what is there left of him when he is dead? -Only bones." - - -Miyakawa was the merriest and wittiest in his class; and the -contrast between his joyous character and his words seemed to me -almost startling. But such swift glooms of thought--especially since -Meiji--not unfrequently make apparition in quite young Oriental minds. -They are fugitive as shadows of summer clouds; they mean less than they -would signify in Western adolescence; and the Japanese lives not by -thought, nor by emotion, but by duty. Still, they are not haunters to -encourage. - -"I think," said I, "a much better subject for you all would be the Sky: -the sensations which the sky creates in us when we look at it on such a -day as this. See how wonderful it is!" - -It was blue to the edge of the world, with never a floss of cloud. -There were no vapors in the horizon; and very far peaks, invisible on -most days, now-massed into the glorious light, seemingly diaphanous. - -Then Kumashiro, looking up to the mighty arching, uttered with -reverence the ancient Chinese words:-- - -"_What thought is so high as It is? What mind is so wide?_" - -"To-day," I said, "is beautiful as any summer day could be,--only that -the leaves are falling, and the semi are gone." - -"Do you like semi, teacher?" asked Mori. - -"It gives me great pleasure to hear them," I answered. "We have no such -cicadæ in the West." - -"Human life is compared to the life of a semi," said Orito,--"_utsuzemi -no yo_. Brief as the song of the semi all human joy is, and youth. Men -come for a season and go, as do the semi." - -"There are no semi now," said Yasukochi; "perhaps the teacher thinks it -is sad." - -"I do not think it sad," observed Noguchi. "They hinder us from study. -I hate the sound they make. When we hear that sound in summer, and are -tired, it adds fatigue to fatigue so that we fall asleep. If we try to -read or write, or even think, when we hear that sound we have no more -courage to do anything. Then we wish that all those insects were dead." - -"Perhaps you like the dragon-flies," I suggested. "They are flashing -all around us; but they make no sound." - -"Every Japanese likes dragon-flies," said Ivumashiro. "Japan, you know, -is called Akitsusu, which means the Country of the Dragon-fly." - -We talked about different kinds of dragon-flies; and they told me of -one I had never seen,--the Shōro-tombo, or "Ghost dragon-fly," said -to have some strange relation to the dead. Also they spoke of the -Yamma--a very large kind of dragon-fly, and related that in certain -old songs the samurai were called Yamma, because the long hair of -a young warrior used to be tied up into a knot in the shape of a -dragon-fly. - -A bugle sounded; and the voice of the military officer rang out,-- - -"_AtsumarÉ!_" (fall in!) But the young men lingered an instant to ask,-- - -"Well, what shall it be, teacher?--that which is most difficult to -understand?" - -"No," I said, "the Sky." - -And all that day the beauty of the Chinese utterance haunted me, filled -me like an exaltation:-- - -"_What thought is so high as It is? What mind is so wide?_" - - - -V - - -There is one instance in which the relation between teachers and -students is not formal at all,--one precious survival of the mutual -love of other days in the old Samurai Schools. By all the aged -Professor of Chinese is reverenced; and his influence over the young -men is very great. With a word he could calm any outburst burst of -anger; with a smile he could quicken any generous impulse. For he -represents to the lads their ideal of all that was brave, true, noble, -in the elder life,--the Soul of Old Japan. - -His name, signifying "Moon-of-Autumn," is famous in his own land. A -little book has been published about him, containing his portrait. He -was once a samurai of high rank belonging to the great clan of Aidzu. -He rose early to positions of trust and influence. He has been a leader -of armies, a negotiator between princes, a statesman, a ruler of -provinces--all that any knight could be in the feudal era. But in the -intervals of military or political duty he seems to have always been -a teacher. There are few such teachers. There are few such scholars. -Yet to see him now, you would scarcely believe how much he was once -feared--though loved--by the turbulent swordsmen under his rule. -Perhaps there is no gentleness so full of charm as that of the man of -war noted for sternness in his youth. - -When the Feudal System made its last battle for existence, he heard the -summons of his lord, and went into that terrible struggle in which -even the women and little children of Aidzu took part. But courage and -the sword alone could not prevail against the new methods of war;--the -power of Aidzu was broken; and he, as one of the leaders of that power, -was long a political prisoner. - -But the victors esteemed him; and the Government he had fought against -in all honor took him into its service to teach the new generations. -From younger teachers these learned Western science and Western -languages. But he still taught that wisdom of the Chinese sages which -is eternal,--and loyalty, and honor, and all that makes the man. - -Some of his children passed away from his sight. But he could not feel -alone; for all whom he taught were as sons to him, and so reverenced -him. And he became old, very old, and grew to look like a god,--like a -Kami-Sama. - -The Kami-Sama in art bear no likeness to the Buddhas. These more -ancient divinities have no downcast gaze, no meditative impassiveness. -They are lovers of Nature; they haunt her fairest solitudes, and -enter into the life of her trees, and speak in her waters, and hover -in her winds. Once upon the earth they lived as men; and the people of -the land are their posterity. Even as divine ghosts, they remain very -human, and of many dispositions. They are the emotions, they are the -sensations of the living. But as figuring in legend and the art born -of legend, they are mostly very pleasant to know. I speak not of the -cheap art which treats them irreverently in these skeptical days, but -of the older art explaining the sacred texts about them. Of course such -representations vary greatly. But were you to ask what is the ordinary -traditional aspect of a Kami, I should answer: "An ancient smiling man -of wondrously gentle countenance, having a long white beard, and all -robed in white with a white girdle." - -Only that the girdle of the aged Professor was of black silk, just such -a vision of Shintō he seemed when he visited me the last time. - -He had met me at the college, and had said: "I know there has been a -congratulation at your house; and that I did not call was not because I -am old or because your house is far, but only because I have been long -ill. But you will soon see me." - -So one luminous afternoon he came, bringing gifts of -felicitation,--gifts of the antique high courtesy, simple in -themselves, yet worthy a prince: a little plum-tree, every branch and -spray one snowy dazzle of blossoms; a curious and pretty bamboo vessel -full of wine; and two scrolls bearing beautiful poems,--texts precious -in themselves as the work of a rare calligrapher and poet; otherwise -precious to me, because written by his own hand. Everything which -he said to me I do not fully know. I remember words of affectionate -encouragement about my duties,--some wise, keen advice,--a strange -story of his youth. But all was like a pleasant dream; for his mere -presence was a caress, and the fragrance of his flower-gift seemed as a -breathing from the Takama-no-hara. And as a Kami should come and go, so -he smiled and went,--leaving all things hallowed. The little plum-tree -has lost its flowers: another winter must pass before it blooms again. -But something very sweet still seems to haunt the vacant guest-room. -Perhaps only the memory of that divine old man;--perhaps a spirit -ancestral, some Lady of the Past, who followed his steps all viewlessly -to our threshold that day, and lingers with me awhile, just because he -loved me. - - - - -III - - -AT HAKATA - - - -I - - -Traveling by kuruma one can only see and dream. The jolting makes -reading too painful; the rattle of the wheels and the rush of the -wind render conversation impossible,--even when the road allows of a -fellow-traveler's vehicle running beside your own. After having become -familiar with the characteristics of Japanese scenery, you are not apt -to notice during such travel, except at long intervals, anything novel -enough to make a strong impression. Most often the way winds through -a perpetual sameness of rice-fields, vegetable farms, tiny thatched -hamlets,--and between interminable ranges of green or blue hills. -Sometimes, indeed, there are startling spreads of color, as when you -traverse a plain all burning yellow with the blossoming of the natané, -or a valley all lilac with the flowering of the gengebana; but these -are the passing splendors of very short seasons. As a rule, the vast -green monotony appeals to no faculty: you sink into reverie or nod, -perhaps, with the wind in your face, to be wakened only by some jolt of -extra violence. - -Even so, on my autumn way to Hakata, I gaze and dream and nod by -turns. I watch the flashing of the dragon-flies, the infinite network -of rice-field paths spreading out of sight on either hand, the slowly -shifting lines of familiar peaks in the horizon glow, and the changing -shapes of white afloat in the vivid blue above all,--asking myself how -many times again must I view the same Kyūshū landscape, and deploring -the absence of the wonderful. - -Suddenly and very softly, the thought steals into my mind that the most -wonderful of possible visions is really all about me in the mere common -green of the world,--in the ceaseless manifestation of Life. - -Ever and everywhere, from beginnings invisible, green things are -growing,--out of soft earth, out of hard rock,--forms multitudinous, -dumb soundless races incalculably older than man. Of their visible -history we know much: names we have given them, and classification. The -reason of the forms of their leaves, of the qualities of their fruits, -of the colors of their flowers, we also know; for we have learned not -a little about the course of the eternal laws that give shape to all -terrestrial things. But why they are,--that we do not know. What is the -ghostliness that seeks expression in this universal green,--the mystery -of that which multiplies forever issuing out of that which multiplies -not? Or is the seeming lifeless itself life,--only a life more silent -still, more hidden? - -But a stranger and quicker life moves upon the face of the world, -peoples wind and flood. This has the ghostlier power of separating -itself from earth, yet is always at last recalled thereto, and -condemned to feed that which it once fed upon. It feels; it knows; -it crawls, swims, runs, flies, thinks. Countless the shapes of it. -The green slower life seeks being only. But this forever struggles -against non-being. We know the mechanism of its motion, the laws of -its growth: the innermost mazes of its structure have been explored? -the territories of its sensation have been mapped and named. But the -meaning of it, who will tell us? Out of what ultimate came it? Or, more -simply, what is it? Why should it know pain? Why is it evolved by pain? - -And this life of pain is our own. Relatively, it sees, it -knows. Absolutely, it is blind, and gropes, like the slow cold -green life which supports it. But does it also support a higher -existence,--nourish some invisible life infinitely more active and more -complex? Is there ghostliness orbed in ghostliness,--life within life -without end? Are there universes interpenetrating universes? - - -For our era, at least, the boundaries of human knowledge have been -irrevocably fixed; and far beyond those limits only exist the solutions -of such questions. Yet what constitutes those limits of the possible? -Nothing more than human nature itself. Must that nature remain equally -limited in those who shall come after us? Will they never develop -higher senses, vaster faculties, subtler perceptions? What is the -teaching of science? - -Perhaps it has been suggested in the profound saying of Clifford, -that we were never made, but have made ourselves. This is, indeed, -the deepest of all teachings of science. And wherefore has man made -himself? To escape suffering and death. Under the pressure of pain -alone was our being shaped; and even so long as pain lives, so long -must continue the ceaseless toil of self-change. Once in the ancient -past, the necessities of life were physical; they are not less moral -than physical now. And of all future necessities, none seems likely to -prove so merciless, so mighty, so tremendous, as that of trying to read -the Universal Riddle. - -The world's greatest thinker--he who has told us why the Riddle cannot -be read--has told us also how the longing to solve it must endure, and -grow with the growing of man.[1] - -And surely the mere recognition of this necessity contains within it -the germ of a hope. May not the desire to know, as the possibly highest -form of future pain, compel within men the natural evolution of powers -to achieve the now impossible,--of capacities to perceive the now -invisible? We of to-day are that which we are through longing so to -be; and may not the inheritors of our work yet make themselves that -which we now would wish to become? - - -[1] _First Principles_ (The Reconciliation). - - - -II - - -I am in Hakata, the town of the Girdle-Weavers,--which is a very tall -town, with fantastic narrow ways full of amazing color;--and I halt -in the Street-of-Prayer-to-the-Gods because there is an enormous head -of bronze, the head of a Buddha, smiling at me through a gateway. The -gateway is of a temple of the Jōdō sect; and the head is beautiful. - -But there is only the head. What supports it above the pavement of the -court is hidden by thousands of metal mirrors heaped up to the chin -of the great dreamy face. A placard beside the gateway explains the -problem. The mirrors are contributions by women to a colossal seated -figure of Buddha--to be thirty-five feet high, including the huge lotus -on which it is to be enthroned. And the whole is to be made of bronze -mirrors. Hundreds have been already used to cast the head; myriads will -be needed to finish the work. Who can venture to assert, in presence -of such an exhibition, that Buddhism is passing away? - - -Yet I cannot feel delighted at this display, which, although gratifying -the artistic sense with the promise of a noble statue, shocks it still -more by ocular evidence of the immense destruction that the project -involves. For Japanese metal mirrors (now being superseded by atrocious -cheap looking-glasses of Western manufacture) well deserve to be called -things of beauty. Nobody unfamiliar with their gracious shapes can feel -the charm of the Oriental comparison of the moon to a mirror. One side -only is polished. The other is adorned with designs in relief: trees or -flowers, birds or animals or insects, landscapes, legends, symbols of -good fortune, figures of gods. Such are even the commonest mirrors. But -there are many kinds; and some among them very wonderful, which we call -"magic mirrors,"--because when the reflection of one is thrown upon a -screen or wall, you can see, in the disk of light, _luminous images of -the designs upon the back._[1] - -Whether there be any magic mirrors in that heap of bronze ex-votos I -cannot tell; but there certainly are many beautiful things. And there -is no little pathos in the spectacle of all that wonderful quaint -work thus cast away, and destined soon to vanish utterly. Probably -within another decade the making of mirrors of silver and mirrors of -bronze will have ceased forever. Seekers for them will then hear, with -something more than regret, the story of the fate of these. - -Nor is this the only pathos in the vision of all those domestic -sacrifices thus exposed to rain and sun and trodden dust of streets. -Surely the smiles of bride and babe and mother have been reflected in -not a few: some gentle home life must have been imaged in nearly all. -But a ghostlier value than memory can give also attaches to Japanese -mirrors. An ancient proverb declares, "The Mirror is the Sold of the -Woman,"--and not merely, as might be supposed, in a figurative sense. -For countless legends relate that a mirror feels all the joys or -pains of its mistress, and reveals in its dimness or brightness some -weird sympathy with her every emotion. Wherefore mirrors were of old -employed--and some say are still employed--in those magical rites -believed to influence life and death, and were buried with those to -whom they belonged. - -And the spectacle of all those mouldering bronzes thus makes queer -fancies in the mind about wrecks of Souls,--or at least of soul-things. -It is even difficult to assure one's self that, of all the movements -and the faces those mirrors once reflected, absolutely nothing now -haunts them. One cannot help imagining that whatever has been must -continue to be somewhere;--that by approaching the mirrors very -stealthily, and turning a few of them suddenly face up to the light, -one might be able to catch the Past in the very act of shrinking and -shuddering away. - -Besides, I must observe that the pathos of this exhibition has -been specially intensified for me by one memory which the sight of -a Japanese mirror always evokes,--the memory of the old Japanese -story _Matsuyama no Kagami_. Though related in the simplest manner -and with the fewest possible words,[2] it might well be compared to -those wonderful little tales by Goethe, of which the meanings expand -according to the experience and capacity of the reader. Mrs. James has -perhaps exhausted the psychological possibilities of the story in one -direction; and whoever can read her little book without emotion should -be driven from the society of mankind. Even to guess the Japanese idea -of the tale, one should be able to _feel_ the intimate sense of the -delicious colored prints accompanying her text,--the interpretation -of the last great artist of the Kano school. (Foreigners, unfamiliar -with Japanese home life, cannot fully perceive the exquisiteness of the -drawings made for the Fairy-Tale Series; but the silk-dyers of Kyōto -and of Ōsaka prize them beyond measure, and reproduce them constantly -upon the costliest textures.) But there are many versions; and, with -the following outline, readers can readily make nineteenth-century -versions for themselves. - - -[1] See article entitled "On the Magic Mirrors of Japan, by Professors -Ayrton and Perry," in vol. xxvii. of the _Proceedings of the Royal -Society_; also an article treating the same subject by the same authors -in vol. xxii. of _The Philosophical Magazine_. - -[2] See, for Japanese text and translation, _A Romanized Japanese -Reader_, by Professor B. H. Chamberlain. The beautiful version for -children, written by Mrs. F. H. James, belongs to the celebrated -Japanese Fairy-Tale Series, published at Tōkyō. - - - -III - - -Long ago, at a place called Matsuyama, in the province of Echigo, there -lived a young samurai husband and wife whose names have been quite -forgotten. They had a little daughter. - -Once the husband went to Yedo,--probably as a retainer in the train -of the Lord of Echigo. On his return he brought presents from the -capital,--sweet cakes and a doll for the little girl (at least so the -artist tells us), and for his wife a mirror of silvered bronze. To the -young mother that mirror seemed a very wonderful thing; for it was the -first mirror ever brought to Matsuyama. She did not understand the -use of it, and innocently asked whose was the pretty smiling face she -saw inside it. When her husband answered her, laughing, "Why, it is -your own face! How foolish you are!" she was ashamed to ask any more -questions, but hastened to put her present away, still thinking it to -be a very mysterious thing. And she kept it hidden many years,--the -original story does not say why. Perhaps for the simple reason that in -all countries love makes even the most trifling gift too sacred to be -shown. - -But in the time of her last sickness she gave the mirror to her -daughter, saying, "After I am dead you must look into this mirror every -morning and evening, and you will see me. Do not grieve." Then she died. - -And the girl thereafter looked into the mirror every morning and -evening, and did not know that the face in the mirror was her own -shadow,--but thought it to be that of her dead mother, whom she much -resembled. So she would talk to the shadow, having the sensation, or, -as the Japanese original more tenderly says, "_having the heart of -meeting her mother_" day by day; and she prized the mirror above all -things. - -At last her father noticed this conduct, and thought it strange, and -asked her the reason of it, whereupon she told him all. "Then," says -the old Japanese narrator, "he thinking it to be a very piteous thing, -his eyes grew dark with tears." - - - -IV - - -Such is the old story.... But was the artless error indeed so piteous -a thing as it seemed to the parent? Or was his emotion vain as my -own regret for the destiny of all those mirrors with all their -recollections? - -I cannot help fancying that the innocence of the maiden was nearer to -eternal truth than the feeling of the father. For in the cosmic order -of things the present is the shadow of the past, and the future must be -the reflection of the present. One are we all, even as Light is, though -unspeakable the millions of the vibrations whereby it is made. One are -we all,--and yet many, because each is a world of ghosts. Surely that -girl saw and spoke to her mother's very soul, while seeing the fair -shadow of her own young eyes and lips, uttering love! - -And, with this thought, the strange display in the old temple -court takes a new meaning,--becomes the symbolism of a sublime -expectation. Each of us is truly a mirror, imaging something of -the universe,--reflecting also the reflection of ourselves in that -universe; and perhaps the destiny of all is to be molten by that -mighty Image-maker, Death, into some great sweet passionless unity. How -the vast work shall be wrought, only those to come after us may know. -We of the present West do not know: we merely dream. But the ancient -East believes. Here is the simple imagery of her faith. All forms -must vanish at last to blend with that Being whose smile is immutable -Rest,--whose knowledge is Infinite Vision. - - - - -IV - - -OF THE ETERNAL FEMININE - - For metaphors of man we search the skies, - And find our allegory in all the air;-- - We gaze on Nature with Narcissus-eyes, - Enamoured of ourshadow everywhere. - WATSON. - - -I - - -What every intelligent foreigner dwelling in Japan must sooner or later -perceive is, that the more the Japanese learn of our æsthetics and of -our emotional character generally, the less favorably do they seem to -be impressed thereby. The European or American who tries to talk to -them about Western art, or literature, or metaphysics will feel for -their sympathy in vain. He will be listened to politely; but his utmost -eloquence will scarcely elicit more than a few surprising comments, -totally unlike what he hoped and expected to evoke. Many successive -disappointments of this sort impel him to judge his Oriental auditors -very much as he would judge Western auditors behaving in a similar -way. Obvious indifference to what we imagine the highest expression -possible of art and thought, we are led by our own Occidental -experiences to take for proof of mental incapacity. So we find one -class of foreign observers calling the Japanese a race of children; -while another, including a majority of those who have passed many years -in the country, judge the nation essentially materialistic, despite the -evidence of its religions, its literature, and its matchless art. I -cannot persuade myself that either of these judgments is less fatuous -than Goldsmith's observation to Johnson about the Literary Club: "There -can now be nothing new among us; we have traveled over one another's -minds." A cultured Japanese might well answer with Johnson's famous -retort: "Sir, you have not yet traveled over my mind, I promise you!" -And all such sweeping criticisms seem to me due to a very imperfect -recognition of the fact that Japanese thought and sentiment have been -evolved out of ancestral habits, customs, ethics, beliefs, directly -the opposite of our own in some cases, and in all cases strangely -different. Acting on such psychological material, modern scientific -education cannot but accentuate and develop race differences. Only -half-education can tempt the Japanese to servile imitation of Western -ways. The real mental and moral power of the race, its highest -intellect, strongly resists Western influence; and those more competent -than I to pronounce upon such matters assure me that this is especially -observable in the case of superior men who have traveled or been -educated in Europe. Indeed, the results of the new culture have served -more than aught else to show the immense force of healthy conservatism -in that race superficially characterized by Rein as a race of children. -Even very imperfectly understood, the causes of this Japanese attitude -to a certain class of Western ideas might well incite us to reconsider -our own estimate of those ideas, rather than to tax the Oriental -mind with incapacity. Now, of the causes in question, which are -multitudinous, some can only be vaguely guessed at. But there is at -least one--a very important one--which we may safely study, because a -recognition of it is forced upon any one who passes a few years in the -Far East. - - - -II - - -"Teacher, please tell us why there is so much about love and marrying -in English novels;--it seems to us very, very strange." - -This question was put to me while I was trying to explain to my -literature class--young men from nineteen to twenty-three years of -age--why they had failed to understand certain chapters of a standard -novel, though quite well able to understand the logic of Jevons and -the psychology of James. Under the circumstances, it was not an easy -question to answer; in fact, I could not have replied to it in any -satisfactory way had I not already lived for several years in Japan. -As it was, though I endeavored to be concise as well as lucid, my -explanation occupied something more than two hours. - -There are few of our society novels that a Japanese student can -really comprehend; and the reason is, simply, that English society is -something of which he is quite unable to form a correct idea. Indeed, -not only English society, in a special sense, but even Western life, -in a general sense, is a mystery to him. Any social system of which -filial piety is not the moral cement; any social system in which -children leave their parents in order to establish families of their -own; any social system in which it is considered not only natural but -right to love wife and child more than the authors of one's being; -any social system in which marriage can be decided independently of -the will of parents, by the mutual inclination of the young people -themselves; any social system in which the mother-in-law is not -entitled to the obedient service of the daughter-in-law, appears to him -of necessity a state of life scarcely better than that of the birds of -the air and the beasts of the field, or at best a sort of moral chaos. -And all this existence, as reflected in our popular fiction, presents -him with provoking enigmas. Our ideas about love and our solicitude -about marriage furnish some of these enigmas. To the young Japanese, -marriage appears a simple, natural duty, for the due performance of -which his parents will make all necessary arrangements at the proper -time. That foreigners should have so much trouble about getting married -is puzzling enough to him; but that distinguished authors should write -novels and poems about such matters, and that those novels and poems -should be vastly admired, puzzles him infinitely more,--seems to him -"very, very strange." - -My young questioner said "strange" for politeness' sake. His real -thought would have been more accurately rendered by the word -"indecent." But when I say that to the Japanese mind our typical novel -appears indecent, highly indecent, the idea thereby suggested to my -English readers will probably be misleading. The Japanese are not -morbidly prudish. Our society novels do not strike them as indecent -because the theme is love. The Japanese have a great deal of literature -about love. No; our novels seem to them indecent for somewhat the same -reason that the Scripture text, "For this cause shall a man leave his -father and mother, and shall cleave unto his wife," appears to them -one of the most immoral sentences ever written. In other words, their -criticism requires a sociological explanation. To explain fully why our -novels are, to their thinking, indecent, I should have to describe the -whole structure, customs, and ethics of the Japanese family, totally -different from anything in Western life; and to do this even in a -superficial way would require a volume. I cannot attempt a complete -explanation; I can only cite some facts of a suggestive character. - -To begin with, then, I may broadly state that a great deal of our -literature, besides its fiction, is revolting to the Japanese moral -sense, not because it treats of the passion of love per se, but -because it treats of that passion in relation to virtuous maidens, and -therefore in relation to the family circle. Now, as a general rule, -where passionate love is the theme in Japanese literature of the best -class, it is not that sort of love which leads to the establishment -of family relations. It is quite another sort of love,--a sort of -love about which the Oriental is not prudish at all,--the _mayoi_, or -infatuation of passion, inspired by merely physical attraction; and its -heroines are not the daughters of refined families, but mostly hetæræ, -or professional dancing-girls. Neither does this Oriental variety -of literature deal with its subject after the fashion of sensuous -literature in the West,--French literature, for example: it considers -it from a different artistic standpoint, and describes rather a -different order of emotional sensations. - -A national literature is of necessity reflective: and we may -presume that what it fails to portray can have little or no outward -manifestation in the national life. Now, the reserve of Japanese -literature regarding that love which is the great theme of our greatest -novelists and poets is exactly paralleled by the reserve of Japanese -society in regard to the same topic. The typical woman often figures -in Japanese romance as a heroine; as a perfect mother; as a pious -daughter, willing to sacrifice all for duty; as a loyal wife, who -follows her husband into battle, fights by his side, saves his life at -the cost of her own; never as a sentimental maiden, dying, or making -others die, for love. Neither do we find her on literary exhibition as -a dangerous beauty, a charmer of men; and in the real life of Japan -she has never appeared in any such rôle. Society, as a mingling of the -sexes, as an existence of which the supremely refined charm is the -charm of woman, has never existed in the East. Even in Japan, society, -in the special sense of the word, remains masculine. Nor is it easy -to believe that the adoption of European fashions and customs within -some restricted circles of the capital indicates the beginning of such -a social change as might eventually remodel the national life according -to Western ideas of society. For such a remodeling would involve the -dissolution of the family, the disintegration of the whole social -fabric, the destruction of the whole ethical system,--the breaking up, -in short, of the national life. - -Taking the word "woman" in its most refined meaning, and postulating -a society in which woman seldom appears, a society in which she is -never placed "on display," a society in which wooing is utterly out of -the question, and the faintest compliment to wife or daughter is an -outrageous impertinence, the reader can at once reach some startling -conclusions as to the impression made by our popular fiction upon -members of that society. But, although partly correct, his conclusions -must fall short of the truth in certain directions, unless he also -possess some knowledge of the restraints of that society and of the -ethical notions behind the restraints. For example, a refined Japanese -never speaks to you about his wife (I am stating the general rule), -and very seldom indeed about his children, however proud of them he -may be. Rarely will he be heard to speak about any of the members of -his family, about his domestic life, about any of his private affairs. -But if he should happen to talk about members of his family, the -persons mentioned will almost certainly be his parents. Of them he will -speak with a reverence approaching religious feeling, yet in a manner -quite different from that which would be natural to an Occidental, -and never so as to imply any mental comparison between the merits of -his own parents and those of other men's parents. But he will not -talk about his wife even to the friends who were invited as guests to -his wedding. And I think I may safely say that the poorest and most -ignorant Japanese, however dire his need, would never dream of trying -to obtain aid or to invoke pity by the mention of his wife--perhaps -not even of his wife and children. But he would not hesitate to ask -help for the sake of his parents or his grandparents. Love of wife and -child, the strongest of all sentiments with the Occidental, is judged -by the Oriental to be a selfish affection. He professes to be ruled -by a higher sentiment,--duty: duty, first, to his Emperor; next, to -his parents. And since love can he classed only as an ego-altruistic -feeling, the Japanese thinker is not wrong in his refusal to consider -it the loftiest of motives, however refined or spiritualized it may he. - -In the existence of the poorer classes of Japan there are no secrets; -but among the upper classes family life is much less open to -observation than in any country of the West, not excepting Spain. It -is a life of which foreigners see little, and know almost nothing, all -the essays which have been written about Japanese women to the contrary -notwithstanding.[1] Invited to the home of a Japanese friend, you may -or may not see the family. It will depend upon circumstances. - -If you see any of them, it will probably be for a moment only, and -in that event you will most likely see the wife. At the entrance -you give your card to the servant, who retires to present it, and -presently returns to usher you into the zashiki, or guest-room, always -the largest and finest apartment in a Japanese dwelling, where your -kneeling-cushion is ready for you, with a smoking-box before it. The -servant brings you tea and cakes. In a little time the host himself -enters, and after the indispensable salutations conversation begins. -Should you be pressed to stay for dinner, and accept the invitation, -it is probable that the wife will do you the honor, as her husband's -friend, to wait upon you during an instant. You may or may not be -formally introduced to her; but a glance at her dress and coiffure -should be sufficient to inform you at once who she is, and you must -greet her with the most profound respect. She will probably impress you -(especially if your visit be to a samurai home) as a delicately refined -and very serious person, by no means a woman of the much-smiling and -much-bowing kind. She will say extremely little, but will salute you, -and will serve you for a moment with a natural grace of which the mere -spectacle is a revelation, and glide away again, to remain invisible -until the instant of your departure, when she will reappear at the -entrance to wish you good-by. During other successive visits you may -have similar charming glimpses of her; perhaps, also, some rarer -glimpses of the aged father and mother; and if a much favored visitor, -the children may at last come to greet you, with wonderful politeness -and sweetness. But the innermost intimate life of that family will -never be revealed to you. All that you see to suggest it will be -refined, courteous, exquisite, but of the relation of those souls to -each other you will know nothing. Behind the beautiful screens which -mask the further interior, all is silent, gentle mystery. There is no -reason, to the Japanese mind, why it should be otherwise. Such family -life is sacred; the home is a sanctuary, of which it were impious to -draw aside the veil. Nor can I think this idea of the sacredness of -home and of the family relation in any wise inferior to our highest -conception of the home and the family in the West. - -Should there be grown-up daughters in the family, however, the visitor -is less likely to see the wife. More timid, but equally silent and -reserved, the young girls will make the guest welcome. In obedience to -orders, they may even gratify him by a performance upon some musical -instrument, by exhibiting some of their own needlework or painting, or -by showing to him some precious or curious objects among the family -heirlooms. But all submissive sweetness and courtesy are inseparable -from the high-bred reserve belonging to the finest native culture. And -the guest must not allow himself to be less reserved. Unless possessing -the privilege of great age, which would entitle him to paternal freedom -of speech, he must never venture upon personal compliment, or indulge -in anything resembling light flattery. What would be deemed gallantry -in the West may be gross rudeness in the East. On no account can -the visitor compliment a young girl about her looks, her grace, her -toilette, much less dare address such a compliment to the wife. But, -the reader may object, there are certainly occasions upon which a -compliment of some character cannot be avoided. This is true, and on -such an occasion politeness requires, as a preliminary, the humblest -apology for making the compliment, which will then be accepted with a -phrase more graceful than our "Pray do not mention it;"--that is, the -rudeness of making a compliment at all. - -But here we touch the vast subject of Japanese etiquette, about which -I must confess myself still profoundly ignorant. I have ventured thus -much only in order to suggest how lacking: in refinement much of our -Western society fiction must appear to the Oriental mind. - -To speak of one's affection for wife or children, to bring into -conversation anything closely related to domestic life, is totally -incompatible with Japanese ideas of good breeding. Our open -acknowledgment, or rather exhibition, of the domestic relation -consequently appears to cultivated Japanese, if not absolutely -barbarous, at least uxorious. And this sentiment may be found to -explain not a little in Japanese life which has given foreigners a -totally incorrect idea about the position of Japanese women. It is not -the custom in Japan for the husband even to walk side by side with -his wife in the street, much less to give her his arm, or to assist -her in ascending or descending a flight of stairs. But this is not -any proof upon his part of want of affection. It is only the result -of a social sentiment totally different from our own; it is simply -obedience to an etiquette founded upon the idea that public displays of -the marital relation are improper. Why improper? Because they seem to -Oriental judgment to indicate a confession of personal, and therefore -selfish sentiment For the Oriental the law of life is duty. Affection -must, in every time and place, be subordinated to duty. Any public -exhibition of personal affection of a certain class is equivalent to -a public confession of moral weakness. Does this mean that to love -one's wife is amoral weakness? No; it is the duty of a man to love his -wife; but it is moral weakness to love her more than his parents, or -to show her, in public, more attention than he shows to his parents. -Nay, it would be a proof of moral weakness to show her even the _same_ -degree of attention. During the lifetime of the parents her position -in the household is simply that of an adopted daughter, and the most -affectionate of husbands must not even for a moment allow himself to -forget the etiquette of the family. - -Here I must touch upon one feature of Western literature never to be -reconciled with Japanese ideas and customs. Let the reader reflect -for a moment how large a place the subject of kisses and caresses and -embraces occupies in our poetry and in our prose fiction; and then -let him consider the fact that in Japanese literature these have no -existence whatever. For kisses and embraces are simply unknown in Japan -as tokens of affection, if we except the solitary fact that Japanese -mothers, like mothers all over the world, lip and hug their little -ones betimes. After babyhood there is no more hugging or kissing. Such -actions, except in the case of infants, are held to be highly immodest. -Never do girls kiss one another; never do parents kiss or embrace -their children who have become able to walk. And this rule holds good -of all classes of society, from the highest nobility to the humblest -peasantry. Neither have we the least indication throughout Japanese -literature of any time in the history of the race when affection -was more demonstrative than it is to-day. Perhaps the Western reader -will find it hard even to imagine a literature in the whole course of -which no mention is made of kissing, of embracing, even of pressing -a loved hand; for hand-clasping is an action as totally foreign to -Japanese impulse as kissing. Yet on these topics even the naïve songs -of the country folk, even the old ballads of the people about unhappy -lovers, are quite as silent as the exquisite verses of the court -poets. Suppose we take for an example the ancient popular ballad of -Shuntokumaru, which has given origin to various proverbs and household -words familiar throughout western Japan. Here we have the story of two -betrothed lovers, long separated by a cruel misfortune, wandering in -search of each other all over the Empire, and at last suddenly meeting -before Kiomidzu Temple by the favor of the gods. Would not any Aryan -poet describe such a meeting as a rushing of the two into each other's -arms, with kisses and cries of love? But how does the old Japanese -ballad describe it? In brief, the twain only sit down together _and -stroke each other a little._ Now, even this reserved form of caress is -an extremely rare indulgence of emotion. You may see again and again -fathers and sons, husbands and wives, mothers and daughters, meeting -after years of absence, yet you will probably never see the least -approach to a caress between them. They will kneel down and salute -each other, and smile, and perhaps cry a little for joy; but they will -neither rush into each other's arms, nor utter extraordinary phrases of -affection. Indeed, such terms of affection as "my dear," "my darling," -"my sweet," "my love," "my life," do not exist in Japanese, nor any -terms at all equivalent to our emotional idioms. Japanese affection is -not uttered in words; it scarcely appears even in the tone of voice: it -is chiefly shown in acts of exquisite courtesy and kindness. I might -add that the opposite emotion is under equally perfect control; but to -illustrate this remarkable fact would require a separate essay. - - -[1] I do not, however, refer to those extraordinary persons who make -their short residence in teahouses and establishments of a much worse -kind, and then go home to write books about the women of Japan. - - - -III - - -He who would study impartially the life and thought of the Orient -must also study those of the Occident from the Oriental point of -view. And the results of such a comparative study he will find to -be in no small degree retroactive. According to his character and -his faculty of perception, he will be more or less affected by those -Oriental influences to which he submits himself. The conditions of -Western life will gradually begin to assume for him new, undreamed-of -meanings, and to lose not a few of their old familiar aspects. Much -that he once deemed right and true he may begin to find abnormal and -false. He may begin to doubt whether the moral ideals of the West are -really the highest. He may feel more than inclined to dispute the -estimate placed by Western custom upon Western civilization. Whether -his doubts be final is another matter: they will be at least rational -enough and powerful enough to modify permanently some of his prior -convictions,--among others his conviction of the moral value of the -Western worship of Woman as the Unattainable, the Incomprehensible, -the Divine, the ideal of "_la femme que tu ne connaîtras pas,_"[1]--the -ideal of the Eternal Feminine. For in this ancient East the Eternal -Feminine does not exist at all. And after having become quite -accustomed to live without it, one may naturally conclude that it is -not absolutely essential to intellectual health, and may even dare to -question the necessity for its perpetual existence upon the other side -of the world. - - -[1] A phrase from Baudelaire. - - - -IV - - -To say that the Eternal Feminine does not exist in the Far East is to -state but a part of the truth. That it could be introduced thereinto, -in the remotest future, is not possible to imagine. Few, if any, of -our ideas regarding it can even be rendered into the language of the -country: a language in which nouns have no gender, adjectives no -degrees of comparison, and verbs no persons; a language in which, -says Professor Chamberlain, the absence of personification is "a -characteristic so deep-seated and so all-pervading as to interfere even -with the use of neuter nouns in combination with transitive verbs."[1] -"In fact," he adds, "most metaphors and allegories are incapable of so -much as explanation to Far-Eastern minds;" and he makes a striking -citation from Wordsworth in illustration of his statement. Yet even -poets much more lucid than Wordsworth are to the Japanese equally -obscure. I remember the difficulty I once had in explaining to an -advanced class this simple line from a well-known ballad of Tennyson,-- - - "She is more beautiful than day." - -My students could understand the use of the adjective "beautiful" -to qualify "day," and the use of the same adjective, separately, to -qualify the word "maid." But that there could exist in any mortal mind -the least idea of analogy between the beauty of day and the beauty -of a young woman was quite beyond their understanding. In order to -convey to them the poet's thought, it was necessary to analyze it -psychologically,--to prove a possible nervous analogy between two modes -of pleasurable feeling excited by two different impressions. - -Thus, the very nature of the language tells us how ancient and how -deeply rooted in racial character are those tendencies by which we must -endeavor to account--if there be any need of accounting at all--for -the absence in this Far East of a dominant ideal corresponding to -our own. They are causes incomparably older than the existing social -structure, older than the idea of the family, older than ancestor -worship, enormously older than that Confucian code which is the -reflection rather than the explanation of many singular facts in -Oriental life. But since beliefs and practices react upon character, -and character again must react upon practices and beliefs, it has -not been altogether irrational to seek in Confucianism for causes as -well as for explanations. Far more irrational have been the charges -of hasty critics against Shintō and against Buddhism as religious -influences opposed to the natural rights of woman. The ancient faith -of Shintō has been at least as gentle to woman as the ancient faith -of the Hebrews. Its female divinities are not less numerous than its -masculine divinities, nor are they presented to the imagination of -worshipers in a form much less attractive than the dreams of Greek -mythology. Of some, like So-tohori-no-Iratsumé, it is said that the -light of their beautiful bodies passes through their garments; and the -source of all life and light, the eternal Sun, is a goddess, fair -Amaterasu-oho-mi-kami. Virgins serve the ancient gods, and figure in -all the pageants of the faith; and in a thousand shrines throughout -the land the memory of woman as wife and mother is worshiped equally -with the memory of man as hero and father. Neither can the later and -alien faith of Buddhism be justly accused of relegating woman to a -lower place in the spiritual world than monkish Christianity accorded -her in the West. The Buddha, like the Christ, was horn of a virgin; -the most lovable divinities of Buddhism, Jizo excepted, are feminine, -both in Japanese art and in Japanese popular fancy; and in the Buddhist -as in the Roman Catholic hagiography, the lives of holy women hold -honored place. It is true that Buddhism, like early Christianity, used -its utmost eloquence in preaching against the temptation of female -loveliness; and it is true that in the teaching of its founder, as -in the teaching of Paul, social and spiritual supremacy is accorded -to the man. Yet, in our search for texts on this topic, we must not -overlook the host of instances of favor shown by the Buddha to women of -all classes, nor that remarkable legend of a later text, in which a -dogma denying to woman the highest spiritual opportunities is sublimely -rebuked. - -In the eleventh chapter of the Sutra of the Lotus of the Good Law, it -is written that mention was made before the Lord Buddha of a young girl -who had in one instant arrived at supreme knowledge; who had in one -moment acquired the merits of a thousand meditations, and the proofs of -the essence of all laws. And the girl came and stood in the presence of -the Lord. - -But the Bodhissattva Pragnakuta doubted, saying, "I have seen the Lord -Sakyamuni in the time when he was striving for supreme enlightenment, -and I know that he performed good works innumerable through countless -æons. In all the world there is not one spot so large as a grain of -mustard-seed where he has not surrendered his body for the sake of -living creatures. Only after all this did he arrive at enlightenment. -Who then may believe this girl could in one moment have arrived at -supreme knowledge?" - -And the venerable priest Sariputra likewise doubted, saying, "It may -indeed happen, O Sister, that a woman fulfill the six perfect virtues; -but as yet there is no example of her having attained to Buddhaship, -because a woman cannot attain to the rank of a Bodhissattva." - -But the maiden called upon the Lord Buddha to be her witness. And -instantly in the sight of the assembly her sex disappeared; and she -manifested herself as a Bodhissattva, filling all directions of space -with the radiance of the thirty-two signs. And the world shook in six -different ways. And the priest Sariputra was silent.[2] - - - -[1] _See Things Japanese_, second edition, pp. 255, 256; article -"Language." - -[2] See the whole wonderful passage in Kern's translation of this -magnificent Sutra, _Sacred Books of the East_, vol. xxi. chap. xi. - - - -V - - -But to feel the real nature of what is surely one of the greatest -obstacles to intellectual sympathy between the West and the Far East, -we must fully appreciate the immense effect upon Occidental life of -this ideal which has no existence in the Orient. We must remember what -that ideal has been to Western civilization,--to all its pleasures -and refinements and luxuries; to its sculpture, painting, decoration, -architecture, literature, drama, music; to the development of countless -industries. We must think of its effect upon manners, customs, and -the language of taste, upon conduct and ethics, upon endeavor, upon -philosophy and religion, upon almost every phase of public and private -life,--in short, upon national character. Nor should we forget that -the many influences interfused in the shaping of it--Teutonic, Celtic, -Scandinavian, classic, or mediæval, the Greek apotheosis of human -beauty, the Christian worship of the mother of God, the exaltations -of chivalry, the spirit of the Renascence steeping and coloring all -the preëxisting idealism in a new sensuousness--must have had their -nourishment, if not their birth, in a race feeling ancient as Aryan -speech, and as alien the most eastern East. - -Of all these various influences combined to form our ideal, the classic -element remains perceptibly dominant. It is true that the Hellenic -conception of human beauty, so surviving, has been wondrously informed -with a conception of soul beauty never of the antique world nor of -the Renascence. Also it is true that the new philosophy of evolution, -forcing recognition of the incalculable and awful cost of the Present -to the Past, creating a totally new comprehension of duty to the -Future, enormously enhancing our conception of character values, has -aided more than all preceding influences together toward the highest -possible spiritualization of the ideal of woman. Yet, however further -spiritualized it may become through future intellectual expansion, -this ideal must in its very nature remain fundamentally artistic and -sensuous. - -We do not see Nature as the Oriental sees it, and as his art proves -that he sees it. We see it less realistically, we know it less -intimately, because, save through the lenses of the specialist, we -contemplate it anthropomorphically. In one direction, indeed, our -æsthetic sense has been cultivated to a degree incomparably finer -than that of the Oriental; but that direction has been passional. We -have learned something of the beauty of Nature through our ancient -worship of the beauty of woman. Even from the beginning it is probable -that the perception of human beauty has been the main source of all -our æsthetic sensibility. Possibly we owe to it likewise our idea of -proportion;[1] our exaggerated appreciation of regularity; our fondness -for parallels, curves, and all geometrical symmetries. And in the long -process of our æsthetic evolution, the ideal of woman has at last -become for us an æsthetic abstraction. Through the illusion of that -abstraction only do we perceive the charms of our world, even as forms -might be perceived through some tropic atmosphere whose vapors are -iridescent. - -Nor is this all. Whatsoever has once been likened to woman by art or -thought has been strangely informed and transformed by that momentary -symbolism: wherefore, through all the centuries Western fancy has -been making Nature more and more feminine. Whatsoever delights us -imagination has feminized,--the infinite tenderness of the sky,--the -mobility of waters,--the rose of dawn,--the vast caress of Day,--Night, -and the lights of heaven,--even the undulations of the eternal hills. -And flowers, and the flush of fruit, and all things fragrant, fair, -and gracious; the genial seasons with their voices; the laughter of -streams, and whisper of leaves, and ripplings of song within the -shadows;--all sights, or sounds, or sensations that can touch our love -of loveliness, of delicacy, of sweetness, of gentleness, make for us -vague dreams of woman. Where our fancy lends masculinity to Nature, -it is only in grimness and in force,--as if to enhance by rugged and -mighty contrasts the witchcraft of the Eternal Feminine. Nay, even the -terrible itself, if fraught with terrible beauty,--even Destruction, if -only shaped with the grace of destroyers,--becomes for us feminine. And -not beauty alone, of sight or sound, but well-nigh all that is mystic, -sublime, or holy, now makes appeal to us through some marvelously -woven intricate plexus of passional sensibility. Even the subtlest -forces of our universe speak to us of woman; new sciences have taught -us new names for the thrill her presence wakens in the blood, for -that ghostly shock which is first love, for the eternal riddle of her -fascination. Thus, out of simple human passion, through influences -and transformations innumerable, we have evolved a cosmic emotion, a -feminine pantheism. - - -[1] On the origin of the idea of bilateral symmetry, see Herbert -Spencer's essay, "The Sources of Architectural Types." - - - -VI - - -And now may not one venture to ask whether all the consequences of this -passional influence in the æsthetic evolution of our Occident have been -in the main beneficial? Underlying all those visible results of which -we boast as art triumphs, may there not be lurking invisible results, -some future revelation of which will cause more than a little shock to -our self-esteem? Is it not quite possible that our æsthetic faculties -have been developed even abnormally in one direction by the power of a -single emotional idea which has left us nearly, if not totally blind -to many wonderful aspects of Nature? Or rather, must not this be the -inevitable effect of the extreme predominance of one particular emotion -in the evolution of our æsthetic sensibility? And finally, one may -surely be permitted to ask if the predominating influence itself has -been the highest possible, and whether there is not a higher, known -perhaps to the Oriental soul. - -I may only suggest these questions, without hoping to answer them -satisfactorily. But the longer I dwell in the East, the more I feel -growing upon me the belief that there are exquisite artistic faculties -and perceptions, developed in the Oriental, of which we can know -scarcely more than we know of those unimaginable colors, invisible to -the human eye, yet proven to exist by the spectroscope. I think that -such a possibility is indicated by certain phases of Japanese art. - -Here it becomes as difficult as dangerous to particularize. I dare -hazard only some general observations. I think this marvelous art -asserts that, out of the infinitely varied aspects of Nature, those -which for us hold no suggestion whatever of sex character, those -which cannot be looked at anthropomorphically, those which are -neither masculine nor feminine, but neuter or nameless, are those -most profoundly loved and comprehended by the Japanese. Nay, he sees -in Nature much that for thousands of years has remained invisible to -us; and we are now learning from him aspects of life and beauties -of form to which we were utterly blind before. We have finally -made the startling discovery that his art--notwithstanding all -the dogmatic assertions of Western prejudice to the contrary, and -notwithstanding the strangely weird impression of unreality which -at first it produced--is never a mere creation of fantasy, but a -veritable reflection of what has been and of what is: wherefore we -have recognized that it is nothing less than a higher education in art -simply to look at his studies of bird life, insect life, plant life, -tree life. Compare, for example, our very finest drawings of insects -with Japanese drawings of similar subjects. Compare Giacomelli's -illustrations to Michelet's "L'Insecte" with the commonest Japanese -figures of the same creatures decorating the stamped leather of a cheap -tobacco pouch or the metal work of a cheap pipe. The whole minute -exquisiteness of the European engraving has accomplished only an -indifferent realism, while the Japanese artist, with a few dashes of -his brush, has seized and reproduced, with an incomprehensible power -of interpretation, not only every peculiarity of the creature's shape, -but every special characteristic of its motion. Each figure flung from -the Oriental painter's brush is a lesson, a revelation, to perceptions -unbeclouded by prejudice, an opening of the eyes of those who can see, -though it be only a spider in a wind-shaken web, a dragon-fly riding -a sunbeam, a pair of crabs running through sedge, the trembling of a -fish's fins in a clear current, the lilt of a flying wasp, the pitch of -a flying duck, a mantis in fighting position, or a semi toddling up a -cedar branch to sing. All this art is alive, intensely alive, and our -corresponding art looks absolutely dead beside it. - -Take, again, the subject of flowers. An English or German flower -painting, the result of months of trained labor, and valued at several -hundred pounds, would certainly not compare as a nature study, in -the higher sense, with a Japanese flower painting executed in twenty -brush strokes, and worth perhaps five sen. The former would represent -at best but an ineffectual and painful effort to imitate a massing -of colors. The latter would prove a perfect memory of certain flower -shapes instantaneously flung upon paper, without any model to aid, -and showing, not the recollection of any individual blossom, but the -perfect realization of a general law of form expression, perfectly -mastered, with all its moods, tenses, and inflections. The French -alone, among Western art critics, seem fully to understand these -features of Japanese art; and among all Western artists it is the -Parisian alone who approaches the Oriental in his methods. Without -lifting his brush from the paper, the French artist may sometimes, -with a single wavy line, create the almost speaking figure of a -particular type of man or woman. But this high development of faculty -is confined chiefly to humorous sketching; it is still either -masculine or feminine. To understand what I mean by the ability of -the Japanese artist, my reader must imagine just such a power of -almost instantaneous creation as that which characterizes certain -French work, applied to almost every subject except individuality, -to nearly all recognized general types, to all aspects of Japanese -nature, to all forms of native landscape, to clouds and flowing water -and mists, to all the life of woods and fields, to all the moods of -seasons and the tones of horizons and the colors of the morning and -the evening. Certainly, the deeper spirit of this magical art seldom -reveals itself at first sight to unaccustomed eyes, since it appeals -to so little in Western æsthetic experience. But by gentle degrees it -will so enter into an appreciative and unprejudiced mind as to modify -profoundly therein almost every preëxisting sentiment in relation to -the beautiful. All of its meaning will indeed require many years to -master, but something of its reshaping power will be felt in a much -shorter time when the sight of an American illustrated magazine or of -any illustrated European periodical has become almost unbearable. - -Psychological differences of far deeper import are suggested by -other facts, capable of exposition in words, but not capable of -interpretation through Western standards of æsthetics or Western -feeling of any sort. For instance, I have been watching two old men -planting young trees in the garden of a neighboring temple. They -sometimes spend nearly an hour in planting a single sapling. Having -fixed it in the ground, they retire to a distance to study the position -of all its lines, and consult together about it. As a consequence, the -sapling is taken up and replanted in a slightly different position. -This is done no less than eight times before the little tree can be -perfectly adjusted into the plan of the garden. Those two old men are -composing a mysterious thought with their little trees, changing them, -transferring them, removing or replacing them, even as a poet changes -and shifts his words, to give to his verse the most delicate or the -most forcible expression possible. - -In every large Japanese cottage there are several alcoves, or tokonoma, -one in each of the principal rooms. In these alcoves the art treasures -of the family are exhibited.[1] Within each toko a kakemono is hung; -and upon its slightly elevated floor (usually of polished wood) -are placed flower vases and one or two artistic objects. Flowers -are arranged in the toko vases according to ancient rules which Mr. -Conder's beautiful hook will tell you a great deal about; and the -kakemono and the art objects there displayed are changed at regular -intervals, according to occasion and season. Now, in a certain alcove, -I have at various times seen many different things of beauty: a -Chinese statuette of ivory, an incense vase of bronze,--representing a -cloud-riding pair of dragons,--the wood carving of a Buddhist pilgrim -resting by the wayside and mopping his bald pate, masterpieces of -lacquer ware and lovely Kyōto porcelains, and a large stone placed on -a pedestal of heavy, costly wood, expressly made for it. I do not know -whether you could see any beauty in that stone; it is neither hewn nor -polished, nor does it possess the least imaginable intrinsic value. -It is simply a gray water-worn stone from the bed of a stream. Yet it -cost more than one of those Kyōto vases which sometimes replace it, and -which you would be glad to pay a very high price for. - -In the garden of the little house I now occupy in Kumamoto, there are -about fifteen rocks, or large stones, of as many shapes and sizes. -They also have no real intrinsic value, not even as possible building -material. And yet the proprietor of the garden paid for them something -more than seven hundred and fifty Japanese dollars, or considerably -more than the pretty house itself could possibly have cost. And it -would be quite wrong to suppose the cost of the stones due to the -expense of their transportation from the bed of the Shira-kawa. No; -they are worth seven hundred and fifty dollars only because they are -considered beautiful to a certain degree, and because there is a large -local demand for beautiful stones. They are not even of the best class, -or they would have cost a great deal more. Now, until you can perceive -that a big rough stone may have more æsthetic suggestiveness than a -costly steel engraving, that it is a thing of beauty and a joy forever, -you cannot begin to understand how a Japanese sees Nature. "But what," -you may ask, "can be beautiful in a common stone?" Many things; but I -will mention only one,--irregularity. - -In my little Japanese house, the fusuma, or sliding screens of opaque -paper between room and room, have designs at which I am never tired of -looking. The designs vary in different parts of the dwelling; I will -speak only of the fusuma dividing my study from a smaller apartment. -The ground color is a delicate cream-yellow; and the golden pattern -is very simple,--the mystic-jewel symbols of Buddhism scattered over -the surface by pairs. But no two sets of pairs are placed at exactly -the same distance from each other; and the symbols themselves are -curiously diversified, never appearing twice in exactly the same -position or relation. Sometimes one jewel is transparent, and its -fellow opaque; sometimes both are opaque or both diaphanous; sometimes -the transparent one is the larger of the two; sometimes the opaque is -the larger; sometimes both are precisely the same size; sometimes they -overlap, and sometimes do not touch; sometimes the opaque is on the -left, sometimes on the right; sometimes the transparent jewel is above, -sometimes below. Vainly does the eye roam over the whole surface in -search of a repetition, or of anything resembling regularity, either -in distribution, juxtaposition, grouping, dimensions, or contrasts. -And throughout the whole dwelling nothing resembling regularity in -the various decorative designs can be found. The ingenuity by which -it is avoided is amazing,--rises to the dignify of genius. Now, all -this is a common characteristic of Japanese decorative art; and after -having lived a few years under its influences, the sight of a regular -pattern upon a wall, a carpet, a curtain, a ceiling, upon any decorated -surface, pains like a horrible vulgarism. Surely, it is because we have -so long been accustomed to look at Nature anthropomorphically that -we can still endure mechanical ugliness in our own decorative art, -and that we remain insensible to charms of Nature which are clearly -perceived even by the eyes of the Japanese child, wondering over its -mother's shoulder at the green and blue wonder of the world. - -"_He_" saith a Buddhist text, "_who discerns that nothingness is -law,--such a one hath wisdom._" - - -[1] The tokonoma, or toko, is said to have been first introduced into -Japanese architecture about four hundred and fifty years ago, by the -Buddhist priest Eisai, who had studied in China. Perhaps the alcove was -originally devised and used for the exhibition of sacred objects; but -to-day, among the cultivated, it would be deemed in very had taste to -display either images of the gods or sacred paintings in the toko of -a guest-room. The toko is still, however, a sacred place in a certain -sense. No one should ever step upon it, or squat within it, or even -place in it anything not pure, or anything offensive to taste. There -is an elaborate code of etiquette in relation to it. The most honored -among guests is always placed nearest to it; and guests take their -places, according to rank, nearer to or further from it. - - - - -V - - -BITS OF LIFE AND DEATH - - - -I - - -_July_ 25. Three extraordinary visits have been made to my house this -week. - -The first was that of the professional well-cleaners. For once every -year all wells must be emptied and cleansed, lest the God of Wells, -Suijin-Sama, be wroth. On this occasion I learned some things relating -to Japanese wells and the tutelar deity of them, who has two names, -being also called Mizuha-nome-no-mikoto. - -Suijin-Sama protects all wells, keeping their water sweet and cool, -provided that house-owners observe his laws of cleanliness, which are -rigid. To those who break them sickness comes, and death. Rarely the -god manifests himself, taking the form of a serpent. I have never seen -any temple dedicated to him. But once each month a Shinto priest -visits the homes of pious families having wells, and he repeats certain -ancient prayers to the Well-God, and plants nobori, little paper flags, -which are symbols, at the edge of the well. After the well has been -cleaned, also, this is done. Then the first bucket of the new water -must be drawn up by a man; for if a woman first draw water, the well -will always thereafter remain muddy. - -The god has little servants to help him in his work. These are the -small fishes the Japanese call funa.[1] One or two funa are kept in -every well, to clear the water of larvae. When a well is cleaned, great -care is taken of the little fish. It was on the occasion of the coming -of the well-cleaners that I first learned of the existence of a pair of -funa in my own well. They were placed in a tub of cool water while the -well was refilling, and thereafter were replunged into their solitude. - -The water of my well is clear and ice-cold. But now I can never drink -of it without a thought of those two small white lives circling always -in darkness, and startled through untold years by the descent of -plashing buckets. - -The second curious visit was that of the district firemen, in full -costume, with their hand-engines. According to ancient custom, they -make a round of all their district once a year during the dry spell, -and throw water over the hot roofs, and receive some small perquisite -from each wealthy householder. There is a belief that when it has not -rained for a long time roofs may be ignited by the mere heat of the -sun. The firemen played with their hose upon my roofs, trees, and -garden, producing considerable refreshment; and in return I bestowed on -them wherewith to buy saké. - -The third visit was that of a deputation of children asking for some -help to celebrate fittingly the festival of Jizō, who has a shrine on -the other side of the street, exactly opposite my house. I was very -glad to contribute to their fund, for I love the gentle god, and I -knew the festival would be delightful. Early next morning, I saw that -the shrine had already been decked with flowers and votive lanterns. -A new bib had been put about Jizō's neck, and a Buddhist repast set -before him. Later on, carpenters constructed a dancing-platform in the -temple court for the children to dance upon; and before sundown the -toy-sellers had erected and stocked a small street of booths inside the -precincts. After dark I went out into a great glory of lantern fires -to see the children dance; and I found, perched before my gate, an -enormous dragon-fly more than three feet long. It was a token of the -children's gratitude for the little help I had given them,--a kazari, a -decoration. I was startled for the moment by the realism of the thing; -but upon close examination I discovered that the body was a pine branch -wrapped with colored paper, the four wings were four fire-shovels, -and the gleaming head was a little teapot. The whole was lighted by a -candle so placed as to make extraordinary shadows, which formed part of -the design. It was a wonderful instance of art sense working without a -speck of artistic material, yet it was all the labor of a poor little -child only eight years old! - - -[1] A sort of small silver carp. - - - -II - - -_July_ 30. The next house to mine, on the south side,--a low, dingy -structure,--is that of a dyer. You can always tell where a Japanese -dyer is by the long pieces of silk or cotton stretched between bamboo -poles before his door to dry in the sun,--broad bands of rich azure, of -purple, of rose, pale blue, pearl gray. Yesterday my neighbor coaxed me -to pay the family a visit; and after having been led through the front -part of their little dwelling, I was surprised to find myself looking -from a rear veranda at a garden worthy of some old Kyōto palace. There -was a dainty landscape in miniature, and a pond of clear water peopled -by goldfish having wonderfully compound tails. - -When I had enjoyed this spectacle awhile, the dyer led me to a small -room fitted up as a Buddhist chapel. Though everything had had to -be made on a reduced scale, I did not remember to have seen a more -artistic display in any temple. He told me it had cost him about -fifteen hundred yen. I did not understand how even that sum could have -sufficed. - -There were three elaborately carven altars,-a triple blaze of gold -lacquer-work; a number of charming Buddhist images; many exquisite -vessels; an ebony reading-desk; a mokugyō[1]; two fine bells,--in -short, all the paraphernalia of a temple in miniature. My host had -studied at a Buddhist temple in his youth, and knew the sutras, of -which he had all that are used by the Jōdō sect. He told me that he -could celebrate any of the ordinary services. Daily, at a fixed hour, -the whole family assembled in the chapel for prayers; and he generally -read the Kyō for them. But on extraordinary occasions a Buddhist priest -from the neighboring temple would come to officiate. - -He told me a queer story about robbers. Dyers are peculiarly liable -to be visited by robbers; partly by reason of the value of the silks -intrusted to them, and also because the business is known to be -lucrative. One evening the family were robbed. The master was out -of the city; his old mother, his wife, and a female servant were the -only persons in the house at the time. Three men, having their faces -masked and carrying long swords, entered the door. One asked the -servant whether any of the apprentices were still in the building; -and she, hoping to frighten the invaders away, answered that the -young men were all still at work. But the robbers were not disturbed -by this assurance. One posted himself at the entrance, the other two -strode into the sleeping-apartment. The women started up in alarm, -and the wife asked, "Why do you wish to kill us?" He who seemed to be -the leader answered, "We do not wish to kill you; we want money only. -But if we do not get it, then it will be this"--striking his sword -into the matting. The old mother said, "Be so kind as not to frighten -my daughter-in-law, and I will give you whatever money there is in -the house. But you ought to know there cannot be much, as my son has -gone to Kyōto." She handed them the money-drawer and her own purse. -There were, just twenty-seven yen and eighty-four sen. The head robber -counted it, and said, quite gently, "We do not want to frighten you. -We know you are a very devout believer in Buddhism, and we think you -would not tell a lie. Is this all?" "Yes, it is all," she answered. -"I am, as you say, a believer in the teaching of the Buddha, and if -you come to rob me now, I believe it is only because I myself, in some -former life, once robbed you. This is my punishment for that fault, -and so, instead of wishing to deceive you, I feel grateful at this -opportunity to atone for the wrong which I did to you in my previous -state of existence." The robber laughed, and said, "You are a good old -woman, and we believe you. If you were poor, we would not rob you at -all. Now we only want a couple of kimono and this,"--laying his hand on -a very fine silk overdress. The old woman replied, "All my son's kimono -I can give you, but I beg you will not take that, for it does not -belong to my son, and was confided to us only for dyeing. What is ours -I can give, but I cannot give what belongs to another." "That is quite -right," approved the robber, "and we shall not take it." - -After receiving a few robes, the robbers said good-night, very -politely, but ordered the women not to look after them. The old servant -was still near the door. As the chief robber passed her, he said, "You -told us a lie,--so take that!"--and struck her senseless. None of the -robbers were ever caught. - - -[1] A hollow wooden block shaped like a dolphin's head. It is tapped in -accompaniment to the chanting of the Buddhist sutras. - - - -III - - -_August_ 29. When a body has been burned, according to the funeral -rites of certain Buddhist sects, search is made among the ashes for a -little bone called the Hotoke-San, or "Lord Buddha," popularly supposed -to be a little bone of the throat. What bone it really is I do not -know, never having had a chance to examine such a relic. - -According to the shape of this little bone when found after the -burning, the future condition of the dead may be predicted. Should the -next state to which the soul is destined be one of happiness, the bone -will have the form of a small image of Buddha. But if the next birth -is to be unhappy, then the bone will have either an ugly shape, or no -shape at all. - -A little boy, the son of a neighboring tobacconist, died the night -before last, and to-day the corpse was burned. The little hone -left over from the burning was discovered to have the form of three -Buddhas,--San-Tai,--which may have afforded some spiritual consolation -to the bereaved parents.[1] - - -[1] At the great temple of Tennōji, at Ōsaka, all such bones are -dropped into a vault; and according _to the sound each makes in -falling_, further evidence about the Gōsho is said to be obtained. -After a hundred years from the time of beginning this curious -collection, all these bones are to be ground into a kind of paste, out -of which a colossal statue of Buddha is to be made. - - - -IV - - -_September_ 13. A letter from Matsue, Izumo, tells me that the old -man who used to supply me with pipestems is dead. (A Japanese pipe, -you must know, consists of three pieces, usually,--a metal bowl large -enough to hold a pea, a metal mouthpiece, and a bamboo stem which is -renewed at regular intervals.) He used to stain his pipestems very -prettily: some looked like porcupine quills, and some like cylinders of -snakeskin. He lived in a queer narrow little street at the verge of the -city. I know the street because in it there is a famous statue of Jizō -called Shiroko-ō,--"White-Child-Jizō,"--which I once went to see. They -whiten its face, like the face of a dancing-girl, for some reason which -I have never been able to find out. - -The old man had a daughter, O-Masu, about whom a story is told. O-Masu -is still alive. She has been a happy wife for many years; but she is -dumb. Long ago, an angry mob sacked and destroyed the dwelling and the -storehouses of a rice speculator in the city. His money, including a -quantity of gold coin (_koban_), was scattered through the street. -The rioters--rude, honest peasants--did not want it: they wished to -destroy, not to steal. But O-Masu's father, the same evening, picked up -a koban from the mud, and took it home. Later on a neighbor denounced -him, and secured his arrest. The judge before whom he was summoned -tried to obtain certain evidence by cross-questioning O-Masu, then a -shy girl of fifteen. She felt that if she continued to answer she would -be made, in spite of herself, to give testimony unfavorable to her -father; that she was in the presence of a trained inquisitor, capable, -without effort, of forcing her to acknowledge everything she knew. She -ceased to speak, and a stream of blood gushed from her mouth. She had -silenced herself forever by simply biting off her tongue. Her father -was acquitted. A merchant who admired the act demanded her in marriage, -and supported her father in his old age. - - - -V - - -_October_ 10. There is said to be one day--only one--in the life of a -child during which it can remember and speak of its former birth. - -On the very day that it becomes exactly two years old, the child is -taken by its mother into the most quiet part of the house, and is -placed in a mi, or rice-winnowing basket. The child sits down in the -mi. Then the mother says, calling the child by name, "_Omae no zensé -wa, nande attakane?--iute, gōran._"[1] Then the child always answers -in one word. For some mysterious reason, no more lengthy reply is -ever given. Often the answer is so enigmatic that some priest or -fortune-teller must be asked to interpret it. For instance, yesterday, -the little son of a copper-smith living near us answered only "Umé" -to the magical question. Now umé might mean a plum-flower, a plum, -or a girl's name,--"Flower-of-the-Plum." Could it mean that the boy -remembered having been a girl? Or that he had been a plum-tree? "Souls -of men do not enter plum-trees," said a neighbor. A fortune-teller this -morning declared, on being questioned about the riddle, that the boy -had probably been a scholar, poet, or statesman, because the plum-tree -is the symbol of Tenjin, patron of scholars, statesmen, and men of -letters. - - -[1] "Thy previous life as for,--what was it? Honorably look [or, -_please_ look] and tell." - - - -VI - - -_November_ 17. An astonishing book might be written about those things -in Japanese life which no foreigner can understand. Such a book should -include the study of certain rare but terrible results of anger. - -As a national rule, the Japanese seldom allow themselves to show anger. -Even among the common classes, any serious menace is apt to take the -form of a smiling assurance that your favor shall be remembered, and -that its recipient is grateful. (Do not suppose, however, that this -is ironical, in our sense of the word: it is only euphemistic,--ugly -things not being called by their real names.) But this smiling -assurance may possibly mean death. When vengeance comes, it comes -unexpectedly. Neither distance nor time, within the empire, can offer -any obstacles to the avenger who can walk fifty miles a day, whose -whole baggage can be tied up in a very small towel, and whose patience -is almost infinite. He may choose a knife, but is much more likely -to use a sword,--a Japanese sword. This, in Japanese hands, is the -deadliest of weapons; and the killing of ten or twelve persons by one -angry man may occupy less than a minute. It does not often happen that -the murderer thinks of trying to escape. Ancient custom requires that, -having taken another life, he should take his own; wherefore to fall -into the hands of the police would be to disgrace his name. He has made -his preparations beforehand, written his letters, arranged for his -funeral, perhaps--as in one appalling instance last year--even chiseled -his own tombstone. Having fully accomplished his revenge, he kills -himself. - -There has just occurred, not far from the city, at the village called -Sugikamimura, one of those tragedies which are difficult to understand. -The chief actors were, Narumatsu Ichirō, a young shopkeeper; his wife, -O-Noto, twenty years of age, to whom he had been married only a year; -and O-Noto's maternal uncle, one Sugimoto Ivasaku, a man of violent -temper, who had once been in prison. The tragedy was in four acts. - -Act I. _Scene: Interior of public bathhouse. Sugimoto Nasaku in the -bath. Enter Narumatsu Ichirō, who strips, gets into the smoking water -without noticing his relative, and cries out,_-- - -"_Aa!_ as if one should be in Jigoku, so hot this water is!" - -(The word "Jigoku" signifies the Buddhist hell; but, in common -parlance, it also signifies a prison,--this time an unfortunate -coincidence.) - -_Kasaku_ (terribly angry). "A raw baby, you, to seek a hard quarrel! -What do you not like?" - -_Ichirō_ (surprised and alarmed, but rallying against the tone of -Kasaku). "Nay! What? That I said need not by you be explained. Though I -said the water was hot, your help to make it hotter was not asked." - -_Kasaku_ (now dangerous). "Though for my own fault, not once, but twice -in the hell of prison I had been, what should there be wonderful in it? -Either an idiot child or a low scoundrel you must be!" - -(_Each eyes the other for a spring, but each hesitates, although things -no Japanese should suffer himself to say have been said. They are too -evenly matched, the old and the young._) - -_Kasaku_ (growing cooler as Ichirō becomes angrier). "A child, a raw -child, to quarrel with _me!_ What should a baby do with a wife? Your -wife is my blood, mine,--the blood of the man from hell! Give her back -to my house." - -_Ichirō_ (desperately, now fully assured Kasaku is physically the -better man). "Return my wife? You say to return her? Right quickly -shall she be returned, at once!" - -So far everything is clear enough. Then Ichiro hurries home, caresses -his wife, assures her of his love, tells her all, and sends her, not to -Kasaku's house, but to that of her brother. Two days later, a little -after dark, O-Noto is called to the door by her husband, and the two -disappear in the night. - -Act II. _Night scene. House of Kasaku closed: light appears through -chinks of sliding shutters. Shadow of a woman approaches. Sound of -knocking. Shutters slide back._ - -_Wife of Kasaku_ (recognizing O-Noto). "_Aa! aa!_ Joyful it is to see -you! Deign to enter, and some honorable tea to take." - -_O-Noto_ (speaking very sweetly). "Thanks indeed. But where is Kasaku -San?" - -_Wife of Kasaku._ "To the other village he has gone, but must soon -return. Deign to come in and wait for him." - -_O-Noto_ (still more sweetly). "Very great thanks. A little, and I -come. But first I must tell my brother." - -(_Bows, and slips off into the darkness, and becomes a shadow again, -which joins another shadow. The two shadows remain motionless._) - -Act III. _Scene: Bank of a river at night, fringed by pines. Silhouette -of the house of Kasaku far away. O-Noto and Ichiro under the trees, -Ichirō with a lantern. Both have white towels tightly bound round their -heads; their robes are girded well up, and their sleeves caught back -with tasuki cords, to leave the arms free. Each carries a long sword._ - -It is the hour, as the Japanese most expressively say, "when the sound -of the river is loudest." There is no other sound but a long occasional -humming of wind in the needles of the pines; for it is late autumn, and -the frogs are silent. The two shadows do not speak, and the sound of -the river grows louder. - -Suddenly there is the noise of a plash far off,--somebody crossing -the shallow stream; then an echo of wooden sandals,--irregular, -staggering,--the footsteps of a drunkard, coming nearer and nearer. The -drunkard lifts up his voice: it is Kasaku's voice. He sings,-- - - "_Suita okata ni suirarete_; - _Ya-ton-ton!_"[1] - ---a song of love and wine. - -Immediately the two shadows start toward the singer at a run,--a -noiseless flitting, for their feet are shod with waraji. Kasaku still -sings. Suddenly a loose stone turns under him; he wrenches his ankle, -and utters a growl of anger. Almost in the same instant a lantern is -held close to his face. Perhaps for thirty seconds it remains there. No -one speaks. The yellow light shows three strangely inexpressive masks -rather than visages. Kasaku sobers at once,--recognizing the faces, -remembering the incident of the bathhouse, and seeing the swords. But -he is not afraid, and presently bursts into a mocking laugh. - -"Hé! hé! The Ichirō pair! And so you take me, too, for a baby? What are -you doing with such things in your hands? Let me show you how to use -them." - -But Ichirō, who has dropped the lantern, suddenly delivers, with the -full swing of both hands, a sword-slash that nearly severs Kasaku's -right arm from the shoulder; and as the victim staggers, the sword of -the woman cleaves through his left shoulder. He falls with one fearful -cry, "_Hitogoroshi!_" which means "murder." But he does not cry again. -For ten whole minutes the swords are busy with him. The lantern, still -glowing, lights the ghastliness. Two belated pedestrians approach, -hear, see, drop their wooden sandals from their feet, and flee back -into the darkness without a word. Ichirō and O-Noto sit down by the -lantern to take breath, for the work was hard. - -The son of Kasaku, a boy of fourteen, comes running to find his father. -He has heard the song, then the cry; but he has not yet learned fear. -The two suffer him to approach. As he nears O-Noto, the woman seizes -him, flings him down, twists his slender arms under her knees, and -clutches the sword. But Ichirō, still panting, cries, "No! no! Not the -boy! He did us no wrong!" O-Noto releases him. He is too stupefied to -move. - -She slaps his face terribly, crying, "Go!" He runs,--not daring to -shriek. - -Ichirō and O-Noto leave the chopped mass, walk to the house of Kasaku, -and call loudly. There is no reply;--only the pathetic, crouching -silence of women and children waiting death. But they are bidden not to -fear. Then Ichirō cries:-- - -"Honorable funeral prepare! Kasaku by my hand is now dead!" - -"And by mine!" shrills O-Noto. - -Then the footsteps recede. - - -Act IV. _Scene: Interior of Ichirō's house. Three persons kneeling in -the guest-room: Ichirō, his wife, and an aged woman, who is weeping._ - -Ichirō. "And now, mother, to leave you alone in this world, though -you have no other son, is indeed an evil thing. I can only pray your -forgiveness. But my uncle will always care for you, and to his house -you must go at once, since it is time we two should die. No common, -vulgar death shall we have, but an elegant, splendid death,--_Rippana!_ -And you must not see it. Now go." - -She passes away, with a wail. The doors are solidly barred behind her. -All is ready. - -O-Noto thrusts the point of the sword into her throat. But she still -struggles. With a last kind word Ichiro ends her pain by a stroke that -severs the head. - -And then? - -Then he takes his writing-box, prepares the inkstone, grinds some ink, -chooses a good brush, and, on carefully selected paper, composes five -poems, of which this is the last:-- - - "Meido yori - Yu dempō ga - Aru naraba, - Hay aha an chaku - Mōshi okuran."[2] - -Then he cuts his own throat perfectly well. - -Now, it was clearly shown, during the official investigation of these -facts, that Ichirō and his wife had been universally liked, and had -been from their childhood noted for amiability. - -The scientific problem of the origin of the Japanese has never yet been -solved. But sometimes it seems to me that those who argue in favor -of a partly Malay origin have some psychological evidence in their -favor. Under the submissive sweetness of the gentlest Japanese woman--a -sweetness of which the Occidental can scarcely form any idea--there -exist possibilities of hardness absolutely inconceivable without ocular -evidence. A thousand times she can forgive, can sacrifice herself in a -thousand ways unutterably touching: but let one particular soul-nerve -be stung, and fire shall forgive sooner than she. Then there may -suddenly appear in that frail-seeming woman an incredible courage, -an appalling, measured, tireless purpose of honest vengeance. Under -all the amazing self-control and patience of the man there exists an -adamantine something very dangerous to reach. Touch it wantonly, and -there can be no pardon. But resentment is seldom likely to be excited -by mere hazard. Motives are keenly judged. An error can be forgiven; -deliberate malice never. - -In the house of any rich family the guest is likely to be shown some -of the heirlooms. Among these are almost sure to be certain articles -belonging to those elaborate tea ceremonies peculiar to Japan. A pretty -little box, perhaps, will be set before you. Opening it, you see only -a beautiful silk bag, closed with a silk running-cord decked with tiny -tassels. Very soft and choice the silk is, and elaborately figured. -What marvel can be hidden under such a covering? You open the bag, and -see within another bag, of a different quality of silk, but very fine. -Open that, and lo! a third, which contains a fourth, which contains -a fifth, which contains a sixth, which contains a seventh bag, which -contains the strangest, roughest, hardest vessel of Chinese clay that -you ever beheld. Yet it is not only curious but precious: it may be -more than a thousand years old. - -Even thus have centuries of the highest social culture wrapped the -Japanese character about with many priceless soft coverings of -courtesy, of delicacy, of patience, of sweetness, of moral sentiment. -But underneath these charming multiple coverings there remains the -primitive clay, hard as iron;--kneaded perhaps with all the mettle of -the Mongol,--all the dangerous suppleness of the Malay. - - -[1] The meaning is, "Give to the beloved one a little more [wine]." The -"_Ya-ton-ton_" is only a burden, without exact meaning, like our own -"_With a hey! and a ho!_" etc. - -[2] The meaning is about as follows: "If from the Meido it be possible -to send letters or telegrams, I shall write and forward news of our -speedy safe arrival there." - - - -VII - - -_December_ 28. Beyond the high fence inclosing my garden in the -rear rise the thatched roofs of some very small houses occupied by -families of the poorest class. From one of these little dwellings there -continually issues a sound of groaning,--the deep groaning of a man in -pain. I have heard it for more than a week, both night and day, but -latterly the sounds have been growing longer and louder, as if every -breath were an agony. "Somebody there is very sick," says Manyemon, my -old interpreter, with an expression of extreme sympathy. - -The sounds have begun to make me nervous. I reply, rather brutally, "I -think it would be better for all concerned if that somebody were dead." - -Manyemon makes three times a quick, sudden gesture with both hands, -as if to throw off the influence of my wicked words, mutters a -little Buddhist prayer, and leaves me with a look of reproach. Then, -conscience-stricken, I send a servant to inquire if the sick person -has a doctor, and whether any aid can be given. Presently the servant -returns with the information that a doctor is regularly attending the -sufferer, and that nothing else can be done. - -I notice, however, that, in spite of his cobwebby gestures, Manyemon's -patient nerves have also become affected by those sounds. He has even -confessed that he wants to stay in the little front room, near the -street, so as to be away from them as far as possible. I can neither -write nor read. My study being in the extreme rear, the groaning is -there almost as audible as if the sick man were in the room itself. -There is always in such utterances of suffering a certain ghastly -timbre by which the intensity of the suffering can be estimated; and I -keep asking myself, How can it be possible for the human being making -those sounds by which I am tortured, to endure much longer? - -It is a positive relief, later in the morning, to hear the moaning -drowned by the beating of a little Buddhist drum in the sick man's -room, and the chanting of the _Namu myō ho renge kyō_ by a multitude -of voices. Evidently there is a gathering of priests and relatives -in the house. "Somebody is going to die," Manyemon says. And he also -repeats the holy words of praise to the Lotus of the Good Law. - -The chanting and the tapping of the drum continue for several hours. -As they cease, the groaning is heard again. Every breath a groan! -Toward evening it grows worse--horrible. Then it suddenly stops. There -is a dead silence of minutes. And then we hear a passionate burst of -weeping,--the weeping of a woman,--and voices calling a name. "Ah! -somebody is dead!" Manyemon says. - -We hold council. Manyemon has found out that the people are miserably -poor; and I, because my conscience smites me, propose to send them the -amount of the funeral expenses, a very small sum. Manyemon thinks I -wish to do this out of pure benevolence, and says pretty things. We -send the servant with a kind message, and instructions to learn if -possible the history of the dead man. I cannot help suspecting some -sort of tragedy; and a Japanese tragedy is generally interesting. - -_December_ 29. As I had surmised, the story of the dead man was worth -learning. The family consisted of four,--the father and mother, both -very old and feeble, and two sons. It was the eldest son, a man of -thirty-four, who had died. He had been sick for seven years. The -younger brother, a kurumaya, had been the sole support of the whole -family. He had no vehicle of his own, but hired one, paying five sen a -day for the use of it. Though strong and a swift runner, he could earn -little: there is in these days too much competition for the business -to be profitable. It taxed all his powers to support his parents -and his ailing brother; nor could he have done it without unfailing -self-denial. He never indulged himself even to the extent of a cup of -saké; he remained unmarried; he lived only for his filial and fraternal -duty. - -This was the story of the dead brother: When about twenty years of age, -and following the occupation of a fish-seller, he had fallen in love -with a pretty servant at an inn. The girl returned his affection. They -pledged themselves to each other. But difficulties arose in the way of -their marriage. - -The girl was pretty enough to have attracted the attention of a man of -some means, who demanded her hand in the customary way. She disliked -him; but the conditions he was able to offer decided her parents in his -favor. Despairing of union, the two lovers resolved to perform jōshi. -Somewhere or other they met at night, renewed their pledge in wine, and -bade farewell to the world. The young man then killed his sweetheart -with one blow of a sword, and immediately afterward cut his own throat -with the same weapon. But people rushed into the room before he had -expired, took away the sword, sent for the police, and summoned a -military surgeon from the garrison. The would-be suicide was removed to -the hospital, skillfully nursed back to health, and after some months -of convalescence was put on trial for murder. - -What sentence was passed I could not fully learn. In those days, -Japanese judges used a good deal of personal discretion when dealing -with emotional crime; and their exercise of pity had not yet been -restricted by codes framed upon Western models. Perhaps in this case -they thought that to have survived a jōshi was in itself a severe -punishment. Public opinion is less merciful, in such instances, than -law. After a term of imprisonment the miserable man was allowed -to return to his family, but was placed under perpetual police -surveillance. The people shrank from him. He made the mistake of living -on. Only his parents and brother remained to him. And soon he became a -victim of unspeakable physical suffering; yet he clung to life. - -The old wound in his throat, although treated at the time as skillfully -as circumstances permitted, began to cause terrible pain. After its -apparent healing, some slow cancerous growth commenced to spread -from it, reaching into the breathing-passages above and below where -the sword-blade had passed. The surgeon's knife, the torture of the -cautery, could only delay the end. But the man lingered through seven -years of continually increasing agony. There are dark beliefs about -the results of betraying the dead,--of breaking the mutual promise to -travel together to the Meido. Men said that the hand of the murdered -girl always reopened the wound,--undid by night all that the surgeon -could accomplish by day. For at night the pain invariably increased, -becoming most terrible at the precise hour of the attempted shinjū! - -Meanwhile, through abstemiousness and extraordinary self-denial, the -family found means to pay for medicines, for attendance, and for more -nourishing food than they themselves ever indulged in. They prolonged -by all possible means the life that was their shame, their poverty, -their burden. And now that death has taken away that burden, they weep! - -Perhaps all of us learn to love that which we train ourselves to make -sacrifices for, whatever pain it may cause. Indeed, the question might -be asked whether we do not love most that which causes us most pain. - - - - -VI - - -THE STONE BUDDHA - - - -I - - -On the ridge of the hill behind the Government College,--above a -succession of tiny farm fields ascending the slope by terraces,--there -is an ancient village cemetery. It is no longer used: the people of -Kurogamimura now bury their dead in a more secluded spot; and I think -their fields are beginning already to encroach upon the limits of the -old graveyard. - -Having an idle hour to pass between two classes, I resolve to pay the -ridge a visit. Harmless thin black snakes wiggle across the way as I -climb; and immense grasshoppers, exactly the color of parched leaves, -whirr away from my shadow. The little field path vanishes altogether -under coarse grass before reaching the broken steps at the cemetery -gate; and in the cemetery itself there is no path at all--only weeds -and stones. But there is a fine view from the ridge: the vast green -Plain of Higo, and beyond it bright blue hills in a half-ring against -the horizon light, and even beyond them the cone of Aso smoking forever. - -Below me, as in a bird's-eye view, appears the college, like a -miniature modern town, with its long ranges of many windowed -buildings, all of the year 1887. They represent the purely utilitarian -architecture of the nineteenth century: they might be situated equally -well in Kent or in Auckland or in New Hampshire without appearing in -the least out of tone with the age. But the terraced fields above and -the figures toiling in them might be of the fifth century. The language -cut upon the haka whereon I lean is transliterated Sanscrit. And there -is a Buddha beside me, sitting upon his lotus of stone just as he sat -in the days of Kato Kiyomasa. His meditative gaze slants down between -his half-closed eyelids upon the Government College and its tumultuous -life; and he smiles the smile of one who has received an injury not to -be resented. This is not the expression wrought by the sculptor: moss -and scurf have distorted it. I also observe that his hands are broken. -I am sorry, and try to scrape the moss away from the little symbolic -protuberance on his forehead, remembering the ancient text of the -"Lotus of the Good Law:"-- - -"_There issued a ray of light from the circle of hair between the -brows of the Lord. It extended over eighteen hundred thousand Buddha -fields, so that all those Buddha fields appeared wholly illuminated -by its radiance, down to the great hell Aviki, and up to the limit of -existence. And all the beings in each of the Six States of existence -became visible,--all without exception. Even the Lord Buddhas in those -Buddha fields who had reached final Nirvana, all became visible._" - - - -II - - -The sun is high behind me; the landscape before me as in an old -Japanese picture-book. In old Japanese color-prints there are, as a -rule, no shadows. And the Plain of Higo, all shadowless, broadens -greenly to the horizon, where the blue spectres of the peaks seem to -float in the enormous glow. But the vast level presents no uniform -hue: it is banded and seamed by all tones of green, intercrossed as if -laid on by long strokes of a brush. In this again the vision resembles -some scene from a Japanese picture-book. - -Open such a book for the first time, and you receive a peculiarly -startling impression, a sensation of surprise, which causes you to -think: "How strangely, how curiously, these people feel and see -Nature!" The wonder of it grows upon you, and you ask: "Can it be -possible their senses are so utterly different from ours?" Yes, it is -quite possible; but look a little more. You do so, and there defines -a third and ultimate idea, confirming the previous two. You feel the -picture is more true to Nature than any Western painting of the same -scene would be,--that it produces sensations of Nature no Western -picture could give. And indeed there are contained within it whole -ranges of discoveries for you to make. Before making them, however, you -will ask yourself another riddle, somewhat thus: "All this is magically -vivid; the inexplicable color is Nature's own. _But why does the thing -seem so ghostly?_" - -Well, chiefly because of the absence of shadows. What prevents you from -missing them at once is the astounding skill in the recognition and use -of color-values. The scene, however, is not depicted as if illumined -from one side, but as if throughout suffused with light. Now there are -really moments when landscapes do wear this aspect; but our artists -rarely study them. - -Be it nevertheless observed that the old Japanese loved shadows made -by the moon, and painted the same, because these were weird and did -not interfere with color. But they had no admiration for shadows that -blacken and break the charm of the world under the sun. When their -noon-day landscapes are flecked by shadows at all,'tis by very thin -ones only,--mere deepenings of tone, like those fugitive half-glooms -which run before a summer cloud. And the inner as well as the outer -world was luminous for them. Psychologically also they saw life without -shadows. - -Then the West burst into their Buddhist peace, and saw their art, and -bought it up till an Imperial law was issued to preserve the best of -what was left. And when there was nothing more to be bought, and it -seemed possible that fresh creation might reduce the market price of -what had been bought already, then the West said: "Oh, come now! you -must n't go on drawing and seeing things that way, you know! It is n't -Art! You, must really learn to see shadows, you know,--and pay me to -teach you." - -So Japan paid to learn how to see shadows in Nature, in life, and in -thought. And the West taught her that the sole business of the divine -sun was the making of the cheaper kind of shadows. And the West taught -her that the higher-priced shadows were the sole product of Western -civilization, and bade her admire and adopt. Then Japan wondered at -the shadows of machinery and chimneys and telegraph-poles; and at the -shadows of mines and of factories, and the shadows in the hearts of -those who worked there; and at the shadows of houses twenty stories -high, and of hunger begging under them; and shadows of enormous -charities that multiplied poverty; and shadows of social reforms that -multiplied vice; and shadows of shams and hypocrisies and swallow-tail -coats; and the shadow of a foreign God, said to have created mankind -for the purpose of an _auto-da-fé_. Whereat Japan became rather -serious, and refused to study any more silhouettes. Fortunately for the -world, she returned to her first matchless art; and, fortunately for -herself, returned to her own beautiful faith. But some of the shadows -still clung to her life; and she cannot possibly get rid of them. Never -again can the world seem to her quite so beautiful as it did before. - - - -III - - -Just beyond the cemetery, in a tiny patch of hedged-in land, a farmer -and his ox are plowing the black soil with a plow of the Period of the -Gods; and the wife helps the work with a hoe more ancient than even the -Empire of Japan. All the three are toiling with a strange earnestness, -as though goaded without mercy by the knowledge that labor is the price -of life. - -That man I have often seen before in the colored prints of another -century. I have seen him in kakemono of much more ancient date. I have -seen him on painted screens of still greater antiquity. Exactly the -same! Other fashions beyond counting have passed: the peasant's straw -hat, straw coat, and sandals of straw remain. He himself is older, -incomparably older, than his attire. The earth he tills has indeed -swallowed him up a thousand times a thousand times; but each time -it has given back to him his life with force renewed. And with this -perpetual renewal he is content: he asks no more. The mountains change -their shapes; the rivers shift their courses; the stars change their -places in the sky: he changes never. Yet, though unchanging, is he a -maker of change. Out of the sum of his toil are wrought the ships of -iron, the roads of steel, the palaces of stone; his are the hands that -pay for the universities and the new learning, for the telegraphs and -the electric lights and the repeating-rifles, for the machinery of -science and the machinery of commerce and the machinery of war. He is -the giver of all; he is given in return--the right to labor forever. -Wherefore he plows the centuries under, to plant new lives of men. -And he will thus toil on till the work of the world shall have been -done,--till the time of the end of man. - -And what will be that end? Will it be ill or well? Or must it for all -of us remain a mystery insolvable? - -Out of the wisdom of the West is answer given: "Man's evolution is -a progress into perfection and beatitude. The goal of evolution is -Equilibration. Evils will vanish, one by one, till only that which is -good survive. Then shall knowledge obtain its uttermost expansion; then -shall mind put forth its most wondrous blossoms; then shall cease all -struggle and all bitterness of soul, and all the wrongs and all the -follies of life. Men shall become as gods, in all save immortality; and -each existence shall be prolonged through centuries; and all the joys -of life shall be made common in many a paradise terrestrial, fairer -than poet's dream. And there shall be neither riders nor ruled, neither -governments nor laws; for the order of all things shall be resolved by -love." - -But thereafter? - -"Thereafter? Oh, thereafter by reason of the persistence of Force and -other cosmic laws, dissolution must come: all integration must yield -to disintegration. This is the testimony of science." - -Then all that may have been won, must be lost; all that shall have been -wrought, utterly undone. Then all that shall have been overcome, must -overcome; all that may have been suffered for good, must be suffered -again for no purpose interpretable. Even as out of the Unknown was born -the immeasurable pain of the Past, so into the Unknown must expire the -immeasurable pain of the Future. What, therefore, the worth of our -evolution? what, therefore, the meaning of life--of this phantom-flash -between darknesses? Is your evolution only a passing out of absolute -mystery into universal death? In the hour when that man in the hat of -straw shall have crumbled back, for the last mundane time, into the -clay he tills, of what avail shall have been all the labor of a million -years? - -"Nay!" answers the West. "There is not any universal death in such a -sense. Death signifies only change. Thereafter will appear another -universal life. All that assures us of dissolution, not less certainly -assures us of renewal. The Cosmos, resolved into a nebula, must -recondense to form another swarm of worlds. And then, perhaps, your -peasant may reappear with his patient ox, to till some soil illumined -by purple or violet suns." Yes, but after that resurrection? "Why, then -another evolution, another equilibration, another dissolution. This is -the teaching of science. This is the infinite law." - -But then that resurrected life, can it be ever new? Will it not rather -be infinitely old? For so surely as that which is must eternally be, so -must that which will be have eternally been. As there can be no end, -so there can have been no beginning; and even Time is an illusion, -and there is nothing new beneath a hundred million suns. Death is -not death, not a rest, not an end of pain, but the most appalling of -mockeries. And out of this infinite whirl of pain you can tell us no -way of escape. Have you then made us any wiser than that straw-sandaled -peasant is? He knows all this. He learned, while yet a child, from -the priests who taught him to write in the Buddhist temple school, -something of his own innumerable births, and of the apparition and -disparition of universes, and of the unity of life. That which you have -mathematically discovered was known to the East long before the coming -of the Buddha. How known, who may say? Perhaps there have been memories -that survived the wrecks of universes. But be that as it may, your -annunciation is enormously old: your methods only are new, and serve -merely to confirm ancient theories of the Cosmos, and to recomplicate -the complications of the everlasting Riddle. - -Unto which the West makes answer:--"Not so! I have discerned the -rhythm of that eternal action whereby worlds are shapen or dissipated; -I have divined the Laws of Pain evolving all sentient existence, the -Laws of Pain evolving thought; I have discovered and proclaimed the -means by which sorrow may be lessened; I have taught the necessity of -effort, and the highest duty of life. And surely the knowledge of the -duty of life is the knowledge of largest worth to man." - -Perhaps. But the knowledge of the necessity and of the duty, as you -have proclaimed them, is a knowledge very, very much older than you. -Probably that peasant knew it fifty thousand years ago, on this planet. -Possibly also upon other long--vanished planets, in cycles forgotten -by the gods. If this be the Omega of Western wisdom, then is he of the -straw sandals our equal in knowledge, even though he be classed by the -Buddha among the ignorant ones only,--they who "people the cemeteries -again and again." - -"He cannot know," makes answer Science; "at the very most he only -believes, or thinks that he believes. Not even his wisest priests can -prove. I alone have proven; I alone have given proof absolute. And -I have proved for ethical renovation, though accused of proving for -destruction. I have defined the uttermost impassable limit of human -knowledge; but I have also established for all time the immovable -foundations of that highest doubt which is wholesome, since it is the -substance of hope. I have shown that even the least of human thoughts, -of human acts, may have perpetual record,--making self-registration -through tremulosities invisible that pass to the eternities. And I -have fixed the basis of a new morality upon everlasting truth, even -though I may have left of ancient creeds only their empty shell." - -Creeds of the West--yes! But not of the creed of this older East. -Not yet have you even measured it. What matter that this peasant -cannot prove, since thus much of his belief is that which you have -proved for all of us? And he holds still another belief that reaches -beyond yours. He too has been taught that acts and thoughts outlive -the lives of men. But he has been taught more than this. He has been -taught that the thoughts and acts of each being, projected beyond the -individual existence, shape other lives unborn; he has been taught to -control his most secret wishes, because of their immeasurable inherent -potentialities. And he has been taught all this in words as plain -and thoughts as simply woven as the straw of his rain-coat. What if -he cannot prove his premises? you have proved them, for him and for -the world. He has only a theory of the future, indeed; but you have -furnished irrefutable evidence that it is not founded upon dreams. And -since all your past labors have only served to confirm a few of the -beliefs stored up in his simple mind, is it any folly to presume that -your future labors also may serve to prove the truth of other beliefs -of his, which you have not yet taken the trouble to examine? - -"For instance, that earthquakes are caused by a big fish?" - -Do not sneer! Our Western notions about such things were just as crude -only a few generations back. No! I mean the ancient teaching that acts -and thoughts are not merely the incidents of life, but its creators. -Even as it has been written, "_All that we are is the result of what -we have thought: it is founded on our thoughts; it is made up of our -thoughts._" - - - -IV - - -And there comes to me the memory of a queer story. - -The common faith of the common people, that the misfortunes of the -present are results of the follies committed in a former state of -existence, and that the errors of this life will influence the future -birth, is curiously reinforced by various superstitions probably much -older than Buddhism, but not at variance with its faultless doctrine of -conduct. Among these, perhaps the most remarkable is the belief that -even our most secret thoughts of evil may have ghostly consequences -upon _other people's lives._ - -The house now occupied by one of my friends used to be haunted. You -could never imagine it to have been haunted, because it is unusually -luminous, extremely pretty, and comparatively new. It has no dark nooks -or corners. It is surrounded with a large bright garden,--a Kyūshū -landscape garden without any big trees for ghosts to hide behind. Yet -haunted it was, and in broad day. - -First you must learn that in this Orient there are two sorts of -haunters: the Shi-ryō and the Iki-ryō. The Shi-ryō are merely the -ghosts of the dead; and here, as in most lands, they follow their -ancient habit of coming at night only. But the Iki-ryō, which are the -ghosts of the living, may come at all hours; and they are much more to -be feared, because they have power to kill. - -Now the house of which I speak was haunted by an Iki-ryō. - -The man who built it was an official, wealthy and esteemed. He designed -it as a home for his old age; and when it was finished he filled it -with beautiful things, and hung tinkling wind bells along its eaves. -Artists of skill painted the naked precious wood of its panels with -blossoming sprays of cherry and plum tree, and figures of gold-eyed -falcons poised on crests of pine, and slim fawns feeding under maple -shadows, and wild ducks in snow, and herons flying, and iris flowers -blooming, and long-armed monkeys clutching at the face of the moon in -water: all the symbols of the seasons and of good fortune. - -Fortunate the owner was; yet he knew one sorrow--he had no heir. -Therefore, with his wife's consent, and according to antique custom, he -took a strange woman into his home that she might give him a child,--a -young woman from the country, to whom large promises were made. When -she had borne him a son, she was sent away; and a nurse was hired for -the boy, that he might not regret his real mother. All this had been -agreed to beforehand; and there were ancient usages to justify it. But -all the promises made to the mother of the boy had not been fulfilled -when she was sent away. - -And after a little time the rich man fell sick; and he grew worse -thereafter day by day; and his people said there was an Iki-ryō in -the house. Skilled physicians did all they could for him; but he only -became weaker and weaker; and the physicians at last confessed they had -no more hope. And the wife made offerings at the Ujigami, and prayed -to the Gods; but the Gods gave answer: "He must die unless he obtain -forgiveness from one whom he wronged, and undo the wrong by making just -amend. For there is an Iki-ryō in your house." - -Then the sick man remembered, and was conscience-smitten, and sent -out servants to bring the woman back to his home. But she was -gone,--somewhere lost among the forty millions of the Empire. And the -sickness ever grew worse; and search was made in vain; and the weeks -passed. At last there came to the gate a peasant who said that he knew -the place to which the woman had gone, and that he would journey to -find her if supplied with means of travel. But the sick man, hearing, -cried out: "No! she would never forgive me in her heart, because she -could not. It is too late!" And he died. - -After which the widow and the relatives and the little boy abandoned -the new house; and strangers entered thereinto. - -Curiously enough, the people spoke harshly concerning the mother of the -boy--holding her to blame for the haunting. - -I thought it very strange at first, not because I had formed any -positive judgment as to the rights and wrongs of the case. Indeed I -could not form such a judgment; for I could not learn the full details -of the story. I thought the criticism of the people very strange, -notwithstanding. - -Why? Simply because there is nothing voluntary about the sending of an -Iki-ryō. It is not witchcraft at all. The Iki-ryō goes forth without -the knowledge of the person whose emanation it is. (There is a kind of -witchcraft which is believed to send Things,--but not Iki-ryō.) You -will now understand why I thought the condemnation of the young woman -very strange. - -But you could scarcely guess the solution of the problem. It is a -religious one, involving conceptions totally unknown to the West. She -from whom the Iki-ryō proceeded was never blamed by the people as -a witch. They never suggested that it might have been created with -her knowledge. They even sympathized with what they deemed to be her -just plaint. They blamed her only for having been too angry,--for -not sufficiently controlling her unspoken resentment,--because she -should have known _that anger, secretly indulged, can have ghostly -consequences._ - -I ask nobody to take for granted the possibility of the Iki-ryō, except -as a strong form of conscience. But as an influence upon conduct, the -belief certainly has value. Besides, it is suggestive. Who is really -able to assure us that secret evil desires, pent-up resentments, masked -hates, do not exert any force outside of the will that conceives and -nurses them? May there not be a deeper meaning than Western ethics -recognize in those words of the Buddha,--"_Hatred ceases not by hatred -at any time; hatred ceases by love: this is an old rule_"? It was very -old then, even in his day. In ours it has been said, "Whensoever a -wrong is done you, and you do not resent it, then so much evil dies in -the world." But does it? Are we quite sure that not to resent it is -enough? Can the motive tendency set loose in the mind by the sense of -a wrong be nullified simply by non-action on the part of the wronged? -Can any force die? The forces we know may be transformed only. So much -also may be true of the forces we do not know; and of these are Life, -Sensation, Will,--all that makes up the infinite mystery called "I." - - - -V - - -"The duty of Science," answers Science, "is to systematize human -experience, not to theorize about ghosts. And the judgment of the time, -even in Japan, sustains this position taken by Science. What is now -being taught below there,--my doctrines, or the doctrines of the Man in -the Straw Sandals?" - -Then the Stone Buddha and I look down upon the college together; and -as we gaze, the smile of the Buddha--perhaps because of a change in -the light--seems to me to have changed its expression, to have become -an ironical smile. Nevertheless he is contemplating the fortress of -a more than formidable enemy. In all that teaching of four hundred -youths by thirty-three teachers, there is no teaching of faith, but -only teaching of fact,--only teaching of the definite results of the -systematization of human experience. And I am absolutely certain that -if I were to question, concerning the things of the Buddha, any of -those thirty-three instructors (saving one dear old man of seventy, -the Professor of Chinese), I should receive no reply. For they belong -unto the new generation, holding that such topics are fit for the -consideration of Men-in-Straw-Rain--coats only, and that in this -twenty-sixth year of Meiji, the scholar should occupy himself only -with the results of the systematization of human experience. Yet the -systematization of human experience in no wise enlightens us as to the -Whence, the Whither, or, worst of all!--the Why. - -"_The Laws of Existence which proceed from a cause,--the cause of these -hath the Buddha explained, as also the destruction of the same. Even of -such truths is the great Sramana the teacher._" - -And I ask myself, Must the teaching of Science in this land efface at -last the memory of the teaching of the Buddha? - -"As for that," makes answer Science, "the test of the right of a -faith to live must be sought in its power to accept and to utilize -my revelations. Science neither affirms what it cannot prove, nor -denies that which it cannot rationally disprove. Theorizing about the -Unknowable, it recognizes and pities as a necessity of the human mind. -You and the Man-in-the-Straw-Rain-coat may harmlessly continue to -theorize for such time as your theories advance in lines parallel with -my facts, but no longer." - -And seeking inspiration from the deep irony of Buddha's smile, I -theorize in parallel lines. - - - -VI - - -The whole tendency of modern knowledge, the whole tendency of -scientific teaching, is toward the ultimate conviction that the -Unknowable, even as the Brahma of ancient Indian thought, is -inaccessible to prayer. Not a few of us can feel that Western Faith -must finally pass away forever, leaving us to our own resources when -our mental manhood shall have been attained, even as the fondest of -mothers must leave her children at last. In that far day her work will -all have been done; she will have fully developed our recognition -of certain eternal spiritual laws; she will have fully ripened our -profounder human sympathies; she will have fully prepared us by her -parables and fairy tales, by her gentler falsehoods, for the terrible -truth of existence;--prepared us for the knowledge that there is no -divine love save the love of man for man; that we have no All-Father, -no Saviour, no angel guardians; that we have no possible refuge but in -ourselves. - -Yet even in that strange day we shall only have stumbled to the -threshold of the revelation given by the Buddha so many ages ago: -"Be ye lamps unto yourselves; be ye a refuge unto yourselves. Betake -yourselves to no other refuge. The Buddhas are only teachers. Hold ye -fast to the truth as to a lamp. Hold fast as a refuge to the truth. -Look not for refuge to any beside yourselves." - -Does the utterance shock? Yet the prospect of such a void awakening -from our long fair dream of celestial aid and celestial love would -never be the darkest prospect possible for man. There is a darker, -also foreshadowed by Eastern thought. Science may hold in reserve -for us discoveries infinitely more appalling than the realization -of Richter's dream,--the dream of the dead children seeking vainly -their father Jesus. In the negation of the materialist even, there -was a faith of consolation--self-assurance of individual cessation, -of oblivion eternal. But for the existing thinker there is no such -faith. It may remain for us to learn, after having vanquished all -difficulties possible to meet upon this tiny sphere, that there await -us obstacles to overcome beyond it,--obstacles vaster than any system -of worlds,--obstacles weightier than the whole inconceivable Cosmos -with its centuries of millions of systems; that our task is only -beginning; and that there will never be given to us even the ghost of -any help, save the help of unutterable and unthinkable Time. We may -have to learn that the infinite whirl of death and birth, out of which -we cannot escape, is of our own creation, of our own seeking--that the -forces integrating worlds are the errors of the Past;--that the eternal -sorrow is but the eternal hunger of insatiable desire;--and that the -burnt-out suns are rekindled only by the inextinguishable passions of -vanished lives. - - - - -VII - - -JIUJUTSU - - -Man at his birth is supple and weak; at his death, firm and strong. So -is it with all things.... Firmness and strength are the concomitants of -death; softness and weakness, the concomitants of life. Hence he who -relies on his own strength shall not conquer. Tao-Te-King. - - - -I - - -There is one building in the grounds of the Government College quite -different in structure from the other edifices. Except that it is -furnished with horizontally sliding glass windows instead of paper -ones, it might be called a purely Japanese building. It is long, broad, -and of one story; and it contains but a single huge room, of which -the elevated floor is thickly cushioned with one hundred mats. It has -a Japanese name, too,--Zuihōkwan,--signifying "The Hall of Our Holy -Country;" and the Chinese characters which form that name were painted -upon the small tablet above its entrance by the hand of a Prince of -the Imperial blood. Within there is no furniture; nothing but another -tablet and two pictures hanging upon the wall. One of the pictures -represents the famous "White-Tiger Band" of seventeen brave boys who -voluntarily sought death for loyalty's sake in the civil war. The other -is a portrait in oil of the aged and much beloved Professor of Chinese, -Akizuki of Aidzu, a noted warrior in his youth, when it required much -more to make a soldier and a gentleman than it does to-day. And the -tablet bears Chinese characters written by the hand of Count Katsu, -which signify: "Profound knowledge is the best of possessions." - -But what is the knowledge taught in this huge unfurnished apartment? It -is something called jiujutsu. And what is jiujutsu? - -Here I must premise that I know practically nothing of jiujutsu. One -must begin to study it in early youth, and must continue the study a -very long time in order to learn it even tolerably well. To become an -expert requires seven years of constant practice, even presupposing -natural aptitudes of an uncommon order. I can give no detailed account -of jiujutsu, but merely venture some general remarks about its -principle. - -Jiujutsu is the old samurai art of fighting without weapons. To the -uninitiated it looks like wrestling. Should you happen to enter the -Zuihōkwan while jiujutsu is being practiced, you would see a crowd -of students watching ten or twelve lithe young comrades, barefooted -and barelimbed, throwing each other about on the matting. The dead -silence might seem to you very strange. No word is spoken, no sign of -approbation or of amusement is given, no face even smiles. Absolute -impassiveness is rigidly exacted by the rules of the school of -jiujutsu. But probably only this impassibility of all, this hush of -numbers, would impress you as remarkable. - -A professional wrestler would observe more. He would see that those' -young men are very cautious about putting forth their strength, and -that the grips, holds, and flings are both peculiar and risky. In spite -of the care exercised, he would judge the whole performance to be -dangerous play, and would be tempted, perhaps, to advise the adoption -of Western "scientific" rules. - -The real thing, however,--not the play,--is much more dangerous than -a Western wrestler could guess at sight. The teacher there, slender -and light as he seems, could probably disable an ordinary wrestler -in two minutes. Jiujutsu is not an art of display at all: it is not -a training for that sort of skill exhibited to public audiences; it -is an art of self-defense in the most exact sense of the term; it is -an art of war. The master of that art is able, in one moment, to put -an untrained antagonist completely _hors de combat_. By some terrible -legerdemain he suddenly dislocates a shoulder, unhinges a joint, bursts -a tendon, or snaps a bone,--without any apparent effort. He is much -more than an athlete: he is an anatomist. And he knows also touches -that kill--as by lightning. But this fatal knowledge he is under oath -never to communicate except under such conditions as would render its -abuse almost impossible. Tradition exacts that it be given only to men -of perfect self-command and of unimpeachable moral character. - -The fact, however, to which I want to call attention is that the master -of jiujutsu never relies upon his own strength. He scarcely uses his -own strength in the greatest emergency. Then what does he use? Simply -the strength of his antagonist. The force of the enemy is the only -means by which that enemy is overcome. The art of jiujutsu teaches you -to rely for victory solely upon the strength of your opponent; and -the greater his strength, the worse for him and the better for you. I -remember that I was not a little astonished when one of the greatest -teachers of jiujutsu[1] told me that he found it extremely difficult to -teach a certain very strong pupil, whom I had innocently imagined to -be the best in the class. On asking why, I was answered: "Because he -relies upon his enormous muscular strength, and uses it." The very name -"jiujutsu" means _to conquer by yielding._ - -I fear I cannot explain at all; I can only suggest. Every one knows -what a "counter" in boxing means. I cannot use it for an exact simile, -because the boxer who counters opposes his whole force to the impetus -of the other; while a jiujutsu expert does precisely the contrary. -Still there remains this resemblance between a counter in boxing and -a yielding in jiujutsu,--that the suffering is in both cases due to -the uncontrollable forward impetus of the man who receives it. I -may venture then to say, loosely, that in jiujutsu there is a sort -of counter for every twist, wrench, pull, push, or bend: only, the -jiujutsu expert does not oppose such movements at all. No: he yields -to them. But he does much more than yield to them. He aids them with a -wicked sleight that causes the assailant to put out his own shoulder, -to fracture his own arm, or, in a desperate case, even to break his own -neck or back. - - -[1] Kano Jigoro. Mr. Kano contributed some years ago to the -_Transactions of the Asiatic Society_ a very interesting paper on the -history of Jiujutsu. - - - -II - - -With even this vaguest of explanations, you will already have been able -to perceive that the real wonder of jiujutsu is not in the highest -possible skill of its best professor, but in the uniquely Oriental idea -which the whole art expresses. What Western brain could have elaborated -this strange teaching,--never to oppose force to force, but only to -direct and utilize the power of attack; to overthrow the enemy solely -by his own strength,--to vanquish him solely by his own effort? Surely -none! The Occidental mind appears to work in straight lines; the -Oriental, in wonderful curves and circles. Yet how fine a symbolism of -Intelligence as a means to foil brute force! Much more than a science -of defense is this jiujutsu: it is a philosophical system; it is an -economical system; it is an ethical system (indeed, I had forgotten to -say that a very large part of jiujutsu-training is purely moral); and -it is, above all, the expression of a racial genius as yet but faintly -perceived by those Powers who dream of further aggrandizement in the -East. - -Twenty-five years ago,--and even more recently,---foreigners might -have predicted, with every appearance of reason, that Japan would -adopt not only the dress, but the manners of the Occident; not only -our means of rapid transit and communication, but also our principles -of architecture; not only our industries and our applied science, but -likewise our metaphysics and our dogmas. Some really believed that -the country would soon be thrown open to foreign settlement; that -Western capital would be tempted by extraordinary privileges to aid in -the development of various resources; and even that the nation would -eventually proclaim, through Imperial Edict, its sudden conversion to -what we call Christianity. But such beliefs were due to an unavoidable -but absolute ignorance of the character of the race,--of its deeper -capacities, of its foresight, of its immemorial spirit of independence. -That Japan might only be practicing jiujutsu, nobody supposed for -a moment: indeed at that time nobody in the West had ever heard of -jiujutsu. - -And, nevertheless, jiujutsu it all was. Japan adopted a military -system founded upon the best experience of France and Germany, with -the result that she can call into the field a disciplined force of -250,000 men, supported by a formidable artillery. She created a strong -navy, comprising some of the finest cruisers in the world;--modeling -her naval system upon the best English and French teaching. She made -herself dockyards under French direction, and built or bought steamers -to carry her products to Korea, China, Manilla, Mexico, India, and -the tropics of the Pacific. She constructed, both for military and -commercial purposes, nearly two thousand miles of railroad. With -American and English help she established the cheapest and perhaps the -most efficient telegraph and postal service in existence. She built -lighthouses to such excellent purpose that her coast is said to be the -best lighted in either hemisphere; and she put into operation a signal -service not inferior to that of the United States. From America she -obtained also a telephone system, and the best methods of electric -lighting. She modeled her public-school system upon a thorough study -of the best results obtained in Germany, France, and America, but -regulated it so as to harmonize perfectly with her own institutions. -She founded a police system upon a French model, but shaped it to -absolute conformity with her own particular social requirements. -At first she imported machinery for her mines, her mills, her -gun-factories, her railways, and hired numbers of foreign experts: she -is now dismissing all her teachers. But what she has done and is doing -would require volumes even to mention. Suffice to say, in conclusion, -that she has selected and adopted the best of everything represented by -our industries, by our applied sciences, by our economical, financial, -and legal experience; availing herself in every case of the highest -results only, and invariably shaping her acquisitions to meet her own -needs. - -Now in all this she has adopted nothing for a merely imitative reason. -On the contrary, she has approved and taken only what can help her -to increase her strength. She has made herself able to dispense with -nearly all foreign technical instruction; and she has kept firmly in -her own hands, by the shrewdest legislation, all of her own resources. -But she has _not_ adopted Western dress, Western habits of life, -Western architecture, or Western religion; since the introduction -of any of these, especially the last, would have diminished instead -of augmenting her force. Despite her railroad and steamship lines, -her telegraphs and telephones, her postal service and her express -companies, her steel artillery and magazine-rifles, her universities -and technical schools, she remains just as Oriental to-day as she -was a thousand years ago. She has been able to remain herself, and to -profit to the utmost possible limit by the strength of the enemy. She -has been, and still is, defending herself by the most admirable system -of intellectual self-defense ever heard of,--by a marvelous national -jiujutsu. - - - -III - - -Before me lies an album more than thirty years old. It is filled -with photographs taken at the time when Japan was entering upon her -experiments with foreign dress and with foreign institutions. All are -photographs of samurai or daimyô; and many possess historical value as -reflections of the earliest effects of foreign influence upon native -fashions. - -Naturally the military class were the earliest subjects of the -new influence; and they seem to have attempted several curious -compromises between the Western and the Eastern costume. More than -a dozen photographs represent feudal leaders surrounded by their -retainers,--all in a peculiar garb of their own composition. They -have frock coats, waistcoats, and trousers of foreign style and -material; but under the coat the long silk girdle or obi is still worn, -simply for the purpose of holding the swords. (For the samurai were -never in a literal sense _traîneurs de sabre_; and their formidable -but exquisitely finished weapons were never made to be slung at the -side,--besides being in most cases much too long to be carried in the -Western way.) The cloth of the suits is broadcloth; but the samurai -will not surrender his mon, or crest, and tries to adapt it to his -novel attire by all manner of devices. One has faced the lappets of -his coat with white silk; and his family device is either dyed or -embroidered upon the silk six times--three mon to each lappet. All the -men, or nearly all, wear European watches with showy guards; one is -examining his timepiece curiously, probably a very recent acquisition. -All wear Western shoes, too,--shoes with elastic sides. But none seem -to have yet adopted the utterly abominable European hat--destined, -unfortunately, to become popular at a later day. They still retain the -jingasa,--a strong wooden headpiece, heavily lacquered in scarlet -and gold. And the jingasa and the silken girdle remain the only -satisfactory parts of their astounding uniform. The trousers and coats -are ill fitting; the shoes are inflicting slow tortures; there is an -indescribably constrained, slouchy, shabby look common to all thus -attired. They have not only ceased to feel free: they are conscious of -not looking their best. The incongruities are not grotesque enough to -be amusing; they are merely ugly and painful. What foreigner in that -time could have persuaded himself that the Japanese were not about to -lose forever their beautiful taste in dress? - -Other photographs show still more curious results of foreign -influences. Here are samurai who refuse to adopt the Western fashions, -but who have compromised with the new mania by having their haori -and hakama made of the heaviest and costliest English broadcloth,--a -material utterly unsuited for such use both because of its weight and -its inelasticity. Already you can see that creases have been formed -which no hot iron can ever smooth away. - -It is certainly an æsthetic relief to turn from these portraits to -those of a few conservatives who paid no attention to the mania at -all, and clung to their native warrior garb to the very last. Here are -nagabakama worn by horsemen,--and jin-baori, or war-coats, superbly -embroidered,--and kamishimo,--and shirts of mail,--and full suits of -armor. Here also are various forms of kaburi,--the strange but imposing -head-dresses anciently worn on state occasions by princes and by -samurai of high rank,--curious cobwebby structures, of some light black -material. In all this there is dignity, beauty, or the terrible grace -of war. - -But everything is totally eclipsed by the last photograph of the -collection,--a handsome youth with the sinister, splendid gaze of a -falcon,--Matsudaira Buzen-no-Kami, in full magnificence of feudal war -costume. One hand bears the tasseled signal-wand of a leader of armies; -the other rests on the marvelous hilt of his sword. His helmet is a -blazing miracle; the steel upon his breast and shoulders was wrought -by armorers whose names are famed in all the museums of the West. The -cords of his war-coat are golden; and a wondrous garment of heavy -silk--all embroidered with billowings and dragonings of gold--flows -from his mailed waist to his feet, like a robe of fire. And this is no -dream;--this was!--I am gazing at a solar record of one real figure -of mediæval life! How the man flames in his steel and silk and gold, -like some splendid iridescent beetle,--but a War beetle, all horns and -mandibles and menace despite its dazzlings of jewel-color! - - - -IV - - -From the princely magnificence of feudal costume as worn by -Matsudaira--Buzen-no-Kami to the nondescript garments of the transition -period, how vast a fall! Certainly the native dress and the native -taste in dress might well have seemed doomed to pass away forever. -And when even the Imperial Court had temporarily adopted Parisian -modes, few foreigners could have doubted that the whole nation was -about to change garb. As a fact, there then began in the chief cities -that passing mania for Western fashions which was reflected in the -illustrated journals of Europe, and which created for a while the -impression that picturesque Japan had become transformed into a land -of "loud" tweeds, chimney-pot hats, and swallow-tail coats. But in -the capital itself to-day, among a thousand passers-by, you may see -scarcely one in Western dress, excepting, of course, the uniformed -soldiers, students, and police. The former mania really represented -a national experiment; and the results of that experiment were not -according to Western expectation. Japan has adopted various styles of -Western uniform,[1] with some excellent modifications, for her army, -her navy, and her police, simply because such attire is the best -possible for such callings. Foreign civil costume has been adopted by -the Japanese official world, but only to be worn during office-hours -in buildings of Western construction furnished with modern desks -and chairs.[2] At home even the general, the admiral, the judge, -the police-inspector, resume the national garb. And, finally, both -teachers and students in all but the primary schools are expected to -wear uniform, as the educational training is partly military. This -obligation, once stringent, has, however, been considerably relaxed; in -many schools the uniform being now obligatory only during drill-time -and upon certain ceremonial occasions. In all Kyūshū schools, except -the Normal, the students are free to wear their robes, straw sandals, -and enormous straw hats, when not on parade. But everywhere after -class-hours both teachers and students return at home to their kimono -and their girdles of white crape silk. - -In brief, then, Japan has fairly resumed her national dress; and it -is to be hoped that she will never again abandon it. Not only is -it the sole attire perfectly adapted to her domestic habits; it is -also, perhaps, the most dignified, the most comfortable, and the most -healthy in the world. In some respects, indeed, the native fashions -have changed during the era of Meiji much more than in previous eras; -but this was largely due to the abolition of the military caste. As to -forms, the change has been slight; as to color, it has been great. The -fine taste of the race still appears in the beautiful tints and colors -and designs of those silken or cotton textures woven for apparel. But -the tints are paler, the colors are darker, than those worn by the -last generation;--the whole national costume, in all its varieties, -not excepting even the bright attire of children and of young girls, -is much more sober of tone than in feudal days. All the wondrous old -robes of dazzling colors have vanished from public life: you can study -them now only in the theatres, or in those marvelous picture-books -reflecting the fantastic and beautiful visions of the Japanese classic -drama, which preserves the Past. - - -[1] What seems to be the only serious mistake Japan has made in this -regard is the adoption of leather shoes for her infantry. The fine feet -of young men accustomed to the freedom of sandals, and ignorant of -the existence of what we call corns and bunions, are cruelly tortured -by this unnatural footgear. On long marches they are allowed to wear -sandals, however; and a change in footgear may yet be made. With -sandals, even a Japanese boy can easily walk his thirty miles a day, -almost unfatigued. - -[2] A highly educated Japanese actually observed to a friend of mine: -"The truth is that we dislike Western dress. We have been temporarily -adopting it only as certain animals take particular colors in -particular seasons,--_for protective reasons_". - - - - -V - - -Indeed, to give up the native dress would involve the costly necessity -of changing nearly all the native habits of life. Western costume is -totally unsuited to a Japanese interior; and would render the national -squatting, or kneeling, posture extremely painful or difficult for -the wearer. The adoption of Western dress would thus necessitate the -adoption of Western domestic habits: the introduction into home of -chairs for resting, tables for eating, stoves or fireplaces for warmth -(since the warmth of the native robes alone renders these Western -comforts at present unnecessary), carpets for floors, glass for -windows,--in short, a host of luxuries which the people have always -been well able to do without. There is no furniture (according to the -European sense of the term) in a Japanese home,--no beds, tables, or -chairs. There may be one small book-case, or rather "book-box;" and -there are nearly always a pair of chests of drawers in some recess -hidden by sliding paper screens; but such articles are quite unlike any -Western furniture. As a rule, you will see nothing in a Japanese room -except a small brazier of bronze or porcelain, for smoking purposes; a -kneeling-mat, or cushion, according to season; and in the alcove only, -a picture or a flower vase. For thousands of years Japanese life has -been on the floor. Soft as a hair mattress and always immaculately -clean, the floor is at once the couch, the dining-table, and most often -the writing-table; although there exist tiny pretty writing-tables -about one foot high. And the vast economy of such habits of life -renders it highly improbable they will ever be abandoned, especially -while the pressure of population and the struggle of life continue to -increase. It should also be remembered that there exists no precedent -of a highly civilized people--such as were the Japanese before the -Western aggression upon them--abandoning ancestral habits out of a -mere spirit of imitation. Those who imagine the Japanese to be merely -imitative also imagine them to be savages. As a fact, they are not -imitative at all: they are assimilative and adoptive only, and that to -the degree of genius. - -It is probable that careful study of Western experience with -fire-proof building-material will eventually result in some changes in -Japanese municipal architecture. Already, in some quarters of Tōkyō, -there are streets of brick houses. But these brick dwellings are matted -in the ancient manner; and their tenants follow the domestic habits -of their ancestors. The future architecture of brick or stone is not -likely to prove a mere copy of Western construction; it is almost -certain to develop new and purely Oriental features of rare interest. - -Those who believe the Japanese dominated by some blind admiration for -everything Occidental might certainly expect at the open ports to find -less of anything purely Japanese (except curios) than in the interior: -less of Japanese architecture; less of national dress, manners, and -customs; less of native religion, and shrines, and temples. But exactly -the reverse is the fact. Foreign buildings there are, but, as a general -rule, in the foreign concessions only, and for the use of foreigners. -The usual exceptions are a fire-proof post-office, a custom-house, and -perhaps a few breweries and cotton-mills. But not only is Japanese -architecture excellently represented at all the foreign ports: it is -better represented there than in almost any city of the interior. -The edifices heighten, broaden, expand; but they remain even more -Oriental than elsewhere. At Kobe, at Nagasaki, at Ōsaka, at Yokohama, -everything that is essentially and solely Japanese (except moral -character) accentuates as if in defiance of foreign influence. Whoever -has looked over Kobe from some lofty roof or balcony will have seen -perhaps the best possible example of what I mean,--the height, the -queerness, the charm of a Japanese port in the nineteenth century, -the blue-gray sea of tile-slopes ridged and banded with white, the -cedar world of gables and galleries and architectural conceits and -whimsicalities indescribable. And nowhere outside of the Sacred City of -Kyōto, can you witness a native religious festival to better advantage -than in the open ports; while the multitude of shrines, of temples, of -torii, of all the sights and symbols of Shintō and of Buddhism, are -scarcely paralleled in any city of the interior except Nikko, and the -ancient capitals of Nara and Saikyō. No! the more one studies the -characteristics of the open ports, the more one feels that the genius -of the race will never voluntarily yield to Western influence, beyond -the rules of jiujutsu. - - - -VI - - -The expectation that Japan would speedily announce to the world -her adoption of Christianity was not so unreasonable as some other -expectations of former days. Yet it might well seem to have been more -so. There were no precedents upon which to build so large a hope. No -Oriental race has ever yet been converted to Christianity. Even under -British rule, the wonderful labors of the Catholic propaganda in -India have been brought to a standstill. In China, after centuries of -missions, the very name of Christianity is detested,--and not without -cause, since no small number of aggressions upon China have been -made in the name of Western religion. Nearer home, we have made even -less progress in our efforts to convert Oriental races. There is not -the ghost of a hope for the conversion of the Turks, the Arabs, the -Moors, or of any Islamic people; and the memory of the Society for the -Conversion of the Jews only serves to create a smile. But, even leaving -the Oriental races out of the question, we have no conversions whatever -to boast of. Never within modern history has Christendom been able to -force the acceptance of its dogmas upon a people able to maintain any -hope of national existence. The nominal[1] success of missions among -a few savage tribes, or the vanishing Maori races, only proves the -rule; and unless we accept the rather sinister declaration of Napoleon -that missionaries may have great political usefulness, it is not easy -to escape the conclusion that the whole work of the foreign mission -societies has been little more than a vast expenditure of energy, time, -and money, to no real purpose. - -In this last decade of the nineteenth century, at all events, the -reason should be obvious. A religion means much more than mere dogma -about the supernatural: it is the synthesis of the whole ethical -experience of a race, the earliest foundation, in many cases, of its -wiser laws, and the record, as well as the result, of its social -evolution. It is thus essentially a part of the race-life, and -cannot possibly be replaced in any natural manner by the ethical and -social experience of a totally alien people,--that is to say, by a -totally alien religion. And no nation in a healthy social state can -voluntarily abandon the faith so profoundly identified with its ethical -life. A nation may reshape its dogmas: it may willingly even accept -another faith; but it will not voluntarily cast away its older belief, -even when the latter has lost all ethical or social usefulness. When -China accepted Buddhism, she gave up neither the moral codes of her -ancient sages, nor her primitive ancestor-worship; when Japan accepted -Buddhism, she did not forsake the Way of the Gods. Parallel examples -are yielded by the history of the religions of antique Europe. Only -religions the most tolerant can be voluntarily accepted by races -totally alien to those that evolved them; and even then only as an -addition to what they already possess, never as a substitute for it. -Wherefore the great success of the ancient Buddhist missions. Buddhism -was an absorbing but never a supplanting power: it incorporated alien -faiths into its colossal system, and gave them new interpretation. -But the religion of Islam and the religion of Christianity--Western -Christianity--have always been religions essentially intolerant, -incorporating nothing and zealous to supplant everything. To introduce -Christianity, especially into an Oriental country, necessitates the -destruction not only of the native faith but of the native social -systems as well. Now the lesson of history is that such wholesale -destruction, can be accomplished only by force, and, in the case of -a highly complex society, only by the most brutal force. And force, -the principal instrument of Christian propagandism in the past, is -still the force behind our missions. Only we have, or affect to have, -substituted money power and menace for the franker edge of the sword; -occasionally fulfilling the menace for commercial reasons in proof -of our Christian professions. We force missionaries upon China, for -example, under treaty clauses extorted by war; and pledge ourselves -to support them with gunboats, and to exact enormous indemnities for -the lives of such as get themselves killed. So China pays blood-money -at regular intervals, and is learning more and more each year to -understand the value of what we call Christianity. And the saying of -Emerson, that by some a truth can never be comprehended until its -light happens to fall upon a fact, has been recently illustrated by -some honest protests against the immorality of missionary aggressions -in China,--protests which would never have been listened to before it -was discovered that the mission troubles were likely to react against -purely commercial interests. - -But in spite of the foregoing considerations there was really at one -time fair reason for believing the nominal conversion of Japan quite -possible. Men could not forget that after the Japanese Government had -been forced by political necessity to extirpate the wonderful Jesuit -missions of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the very word -Christian had become a term of hatred and scorn.[2] - -But the world had changed since then; Christianity had changed; and -more than thirty different Christian sects were ready to compete for -the honor of converting Japan. Out of so large a variety of dogmas, -representing the principal shades both of orthodoxy and of heterodoxy, -Japan might certainly be able to choose a form of Christianity to her -own taste! And the conditions of the country were more propitious than -ever before for the introduction of some Western religion. The whole -social system had been disorganized to the very core; Buddhism had been -disestablished, and was tottering under the blow; Shintō appeared to be -incapable of resistance; the great military caste had been abolished; -the system of rule had been changed; the provinces had been shaken -by war; the Mikado, veiled for centuries, had shown himself to his -astonished people; the tumultuous flood of new ideas threatened to -sweep away all customs and to wreck all beliefs; and the preaching of -Christianity had been once more tolerated by law. Nor was this all. -In the hour of its prodigious efforts to reconstruct society, the -Government had actually considered the question of Christianity--just -as shrewdly and as impartially as it had studied the foreign -educational, military, and naval systems. A commission was instructed -to report upon the influence of Christianity in checking crime and vice -abroad. The result confirmed the impartial verdict of Kaempffer, in -the seventeenth century, upon the ethics of the Japanese: "They profess -a great respect and veneration for their Gods, and worship them in -various ways. And I think I may affirm that, in the practice of virtue, -in purity of life, and outward devotion, they far outdo the Christians." - -In short, it was wisely decided that the foreign religion, besides its -inappropriateness to the conditions of Oriental society, had proved -itself less efficacious as an ethical influence in the West than -Buddhism had done in the East. Certainly, in the great jiujutsu there -could have been little to gain, but much to lose, by a patriarchal -society established on the principle of reciprocal duties, through the -adoption of the teaching that a man shall leave his father and his -mother and shall cleave unto his wife.[3] - -The hope of making Japan Christian by Imperial edict has passed; and -with the reorganization of society, the chances of making Christianity, -by any means whatever, the national religion, grow less and less. -Probably missionaries must be tolerated for some time longer, in -spite of their interference in matters altogether outside of their -profession; but they will accomplish no moral good, and in the interim -they will be used by those whom they desire to use. In 1894 there were -in Japan some eight hundred Protestant, ninety-two Roman Catholic, -and three Greek Catholic missionaries; and the total expenditure for -all the foreign missions in Japan must represent not much less than -a million dollars a year,--probably represents more. As a result of -this huge disbursement, the various Protestant sects claim to have -made about 50,000 converts, and the Catholics an equal number; leaving -some thirty-nine million nine hundred thousand unconverted souls. -Conventions, and very malignant ones, forbid all unfavorable criticism -of mission reports; but in spite of them I must express my candid -opinion that even the above figures are not altogether trustworthy. -Concerning the Roman Catholic missions, it is worthy of note that they -profess with far smaller means to have done as much work as their -rivals; and that even their enemies acknowledge a certain solidity in -that work--which begins, rationally enough, with the children. But it -is difficult not to feel skeptical as to mission reports: when one -knows that among the lowest classes of Japanese there are numbers -ready to profess conversion for the sake of obtaining pecuniary -assistance or employment; when one knows that poor boys pretend to -become Christians for the sake of obtaining instruction in some foreign -language; when one hears constantly of young men, who, after professing -Christianity for a time, openly return to their ancient gods; when -one sees--immediately after the distribution by missionaries of -foreign contributions for public relief in time of flood, famine, -or earthquake--sudden announcement of hosts of conversions, one is -obliged to doubt not only the sincerity of the converted, but the -morality of the methods. Nevertheless, the expenditure of one million -dollars a year in Japan for one hundred years might produce very -large results, the nature of which may be readily conceived, though -scarcely admired; and the existing weakness of the native religions, -both in regard to educational and financial means of self-defense, -tempts aggression. Fortunately there now seems to be more than a mere -hope that the Imperial Government will come to the aid of Buddhism -in matters educational. On the other hand, there is at least a faint -possibility that Christendom, at no very distant era, may conclude that -her wealthiest missions are becoming transformed into enormous mutual -benefit societies. - - - -[1] Nominal, because the simple fact is that the real object of -missions is impossible. This whole question has been very strongly -summed up in a few lines by Herbert Spencer:-- - -"Everywhere, indeed, the special theological bias, accompanying a -special set of doctrines, inevitably prejudges many sociological -questions. One who holds a creed to be absolutely true, and who by -implication holds the multitudinous other creeds to be absolutely false -in so far as they differ from his own, cannot entertain the supposition -that the value of a creed is relative. That each religious system is, -in its general characters, a natural part of the society in which it -is found, is an entirely alien conception, and indeed a repugnant -one. His system of dogmatic theology he thinks good for all places -and all times. He does not doubt that, when planted among a horde of -savages, it will be duly understood by them, duly appreciated by them, -and will work upon them results such as those he experiences from it. -Thus prepossessed, he passes over the proofs that a people is no more -capable of receiving a higher form of religion than it is capable of -receiving a higher form of government; and that inevitably along with -such religion, as with such government, there will go on a degradation -which presently reduces it to one differing but nominally from its -predecessor. In other words, his special theological bias blinds him to -an important class of sociological truths." - - -[2] The missionary work was begun by St. Francis Xavier, who landed at -Kagoshima in Kyūshū on the 15th of August, 1549. A curious fact is that -the word _Bateren,_ a corruption of the Portuguese or Spanish _padre_, -and so adopted into the language two centuries ago, still lingers -among the common people in some provinces as a synonym for "wicked -magician." Another curious fact worth mentioning is that a particular -kind of bamboo screen--from behind which a person can see all that goes -on outside the house without being himself seen--is still called a -_Kirishitan_ (Christian). - -Griffis explains the larger success of the Jesuit missions of the -sixteenth century partly by the resemblance between the outer forms of -Roman Catholicism and the outer forms of Buddhism. This shrewd judgment -has been confirmed by the researches of Ernest Satow (see _Transactions -of the Asiatic Society of Japan_, vol. ii. part 2), who has published -facsimiles of some documents proving that the grant to the foreign -missionaries by the Lord of Yamaguchi was made that they might "_preach -the law of Buddha,_"--the new religion being at first taken for a -higher form of Buddhism. But those who have read the old Jesuit letters -from Japan, or even the more familiar compilation of Charlevoix, -must recognize that the success of the missions could not be thus -entirely explained. It presents us with psychological phenomena of a -very remarkable order,--phenomena perhaps never again to be repeated -in the history of religion, and analogous to those strange forms of -emotionalism classed by Hecker as contagious (see his _Epidemics of -the Middle Ages_). The old Jesuits understood the deeper emotional -character of the Japanese infinitely better than any modern missionary -society: they studied with marvelous keenness all the springs of the -race-life, and knew how to operate them. Where they failed, our modern -Evangelical propagandists need not hope to succeed. Still, even in -the most flourishing period of the Jesuit missions, only six hundred -thousand converts were claimed. - -[3] A recent French critic declared that the comparatively small number -of public charities and benevolent institutions in Japan proved the -race deficient in humanity! Now the truth is that in Old Japan the -principle of mutual benevolence rendered such institutions unnecessary. -And another truth is that the vast number of such institutions in the -West testifies much more strongly to the inhumanity than to the charity -of our own civilization. - - - -VII - - -The idea that Japan would throw open her interior to foreign industrial -enterprise, soon after the beginning of Meiji, proved as fallacious -as the dream of her sudden conversion to Christianity. The country -remained, and still remains, practically closed against foreign -settlement. The Government itself had never seemed inclined to pursue -a conservative policy, and had made various attempts to bring about -such a revision of treaties as would have made Japan a new field for -large investments of Western capital Events, however, proved that the -national course was not to be controlled by statecraft only, but was to -be directed by something much less liable to error,--the Race-Instinct. - -The world's greatest philosopher, writing in 1867, uttered this -judgment: "Of the way in which disintegrations are liable to be set up -in a society that has evolved to the limit of its type, and reached -a state of moving equilibrium, a good illustration is furnished -by Japan. The finished fabric into which its people had organized -themselves maintained an almost constant state so long as it was -preserved from fresh external forces. But as soon as it received -an impact from European civilization,--partly by armed aggression, -partly by commercial impulse, partly by the influence of ideas,--this -fabric began to fall to pieces. There is now in progress a political -dissolution. Probably a political reorganization will follow; but, -be this as it may, the change thus far produced by outer action is -a change towards dissolution,--a change from integrated motions to -disintegrated motions."[1] - -The political reorganization suggested by Mr. Spencer not only -followed rapidly, but seemed more than likely to prove all that could -be desired, providing the new formative process were not seriously -and suddenly interfered with. Whether it would be interfered with by -treaty revision, however, appeared a very doubtful question. While -some Japanese politicians worked earnestly for the removal of every -obstacle to foreign settlement in the interior, others felt that such -settlement would mean a fresh introduction into the yet unstable social -organism of disturbing elements sure to produce new disintegrations. -The argument of the former was that by the advocated revision of -existing treaties the revenue of the Empire could be much increased, -and that the probable number of foreign settlers would be quite small. -But conservative thinkers considered that the real danger of opening -the country to foreigners was not the danger of the influx of numbers; -and on this point the Race-Instinct agreed with them. It comprehended -the peril only in a vague way, but in a way that touched the truth. - -One side of that truth ought to be familiar to Americans,--the -Occidental side. The Occidental has discovered that, under any -conditions of fair play, he cannot compete with the Oriental in the -struggle for life: he has fully confessed the fact, both in Australia -and in the United States, by the passage of laws to protect himself -against Asiatic emigration. For outrages upon Chinese or Japanese -immigrants he has nevertheless offered a host of absurd "moral -reasons." The only true reason can be formulated in six words: _The -Oriental can underlive the Occidental._ Now in Japan the other face -of the question was formulated thus: _The Occidental can overlive -the Oriental[2] under certain favorable conditions_. One condition -would be a temperate climate; the other, and the more important, -that, in addition to full rights of competition, the Occidental -should have power for aggression. Whether he _would_ use such power -was not a common-sense question: the real question was, _could_ he -use it? And this answered in the affirmative, all discussion as to -the nature of his possible future policy of aggrandizement--whether -industrial, financial, political, or all three in one--were pure waste -of time. It was enough to know that he might eventually find ways -and means to master, if not to supplant, the native race; crushing -opposition, paralyzing competition by enormous combinations of capital, -monopolizing resources, and raising the standard of living above the -native capacity. Elsewhere various weaker races had vanished or were -vanishing under Anglo-Saxon domination. And in a country so poor as -Japan, who could give assurance that the mere admission of foreign -capital did not constitute a national danger? Doubtless Japan would -never have to fear conquest by any single Western power: she could -hold her own, on her own soil, against any one foreign nation. Neither -would she have to face the danger of invasion by a combination of -military powers: the mutual jealousies of the Occident would render -impossible any attack for the mere purpose of territorial acquisition. -But she might reasonably fear that, by prematurely opening her -interior to foreign settlement, she would condemn herself to the fate -of Hawaii,--that her land would pass into alien ownership, that her -politics would be regulated by foreign influence, that her independence -would become merely nominal, that her ancient empire would eventually -become transformed into a sort of cosmopolitan industrial republic. - -Such were the ideas fiercely discussed by opposite parties until -the eve of the war with China. Meanwhile the Government had been -engaged upon difficult negotiations. To open the country in the face -of the anti-foreign reaction seemed in the highest degree dangerous; -yet to have the treaties revised without opening the country seemed -impossible. It was evident that the steady pressure of the Western -powers upon Japan was to be maintained unless their hostile combination -could be broken either by diplomacy or by force. The new treaty -with England, devised by the shrewdness of Aoki, met the dilemma. -By this treaty the country is to be opened; but British subjects -cannot own land. They can even hold land only on leases terminating, -according to Japanese law, _ipso facto_ with the death of the lessor. -No coasting-trade is permitted them--not even to some of the old -treaty ports; and all other trade is to be heavily taxed. The foreign -concessions are to revert to Japan; British settlers pass under -Japanese jurisdiction; England, in fact, loses everything, and Japan -gains all by this treaty. - -The first publication of the articles stupefied the English merchants, -who declared themselves betrayed by the mother-country,--legally tied -hand and foot and delivered into Oriental bondage. Some declared -their resolve to leave the country before the treaty should be put in -force. Certainly Japan may congratulate herself upon her diplomacy. -The country is, indeed, to be opened; but the conditions have been -made such as not only to deter foreign capital seeking investment, but -as even to drive existing capital away. Should similar conditions be -obtained from other powers, Japan will have much more than regained all -that she lost by former treaties contrived to her disadvantage. The -Aoki document surely represents the highest possible feat of jiujutsu -in diplomacy. - -But no one can well predict what may occur before this or any other -new treaty be put into operation. It is still uncertain whether Japan -will ultimately win all her ends by jiujutsu, although never in history -did any race display such courage and such genius in facing colossal -odds. Within the memory of men not yet old, Japan has developed her -military power to a par with that of more than one country of Europe; -industrially she is fast becoming a competitor of Europe in the markets -of the East; educationally she has placed herself also in the front -rank of progress, having established a system of schools less costly -but scarcely less efficient than those of any Western country. And she -has done this in spite of being steadily robbed each year by unjust -treaties, in spite of enormous losses by floods and earthquakes, -in spite of political troubles at home, in spite of the efforts of -foreign proselytizers to sap the national spirit, and in spite of the -extraordinary poverty of her people. - - -[1] _First Principles_, 2d Ed., § 178. - -[2] That is, of course, the Japanese. I do not believe that under -any circumstances the Occidentals could overlive the Chinese,--no -matter what might be the numerical disproportion. Even the Japanese -acknowledge their incapacity to compete with the Chinese; and one of -the best arguments against the unreserved opening of the country is the -danger of Chinese immigration. - - - -VII - - -Should Japan fail in her glorious purpose, her misfortune will -certainly not be owing to any lack of national spirit. That quality she -possesses in a degree without existing modern parallel,--in a degree -that so trite a word as "patriotism" is utterly powerless to represent. -However psychologists may theorize on the absence or the limitations of -personal individuality among the Japanese, there can be no question at -all that, as a nation, Japan possesses an individuality much stronger -than our own. Indeed we may doubt whether Western civilization has not -cultivated the qualities of the individual even to the destruction of -national feeling. - -On the topic of duty the entire people has but one mind. Any schoolboy -will say to you, if questioned about this subject: "The duty of every -Japanese to our Emperor is to help to make our country strong and -wealthy, and to help to defend and preserve our national independence." -All know the danger. All are morally and physically trained to meet -it. Every public school gives its students a preparatory course of -military discipline; every town has its _bataillons scolaires_. Even -the children too young to be regularly drilled are daily taught to -sing in chorus the ancient songs of loyalty and the modern songs of -war. And new patriot songs are composed at regular intervals, and -introduced by Government approval into the schools and the camps. It -is quite an experience to hear four hundred students chanting one of -these at the school in which I teach. The young men are all in uniform -on such occasions, and marshaled in military rank. The commanding -officer gives the order to "mark time," and all the feet begin to beat -the ground together, with a sound as of a drum-roll. Then the leader -sings a verse, and the students repeat it with surprising spirit, -throwing a peculiar emphasis always _on the last syllable_ of each -line, so that the vocal effect is like a crash of musketry. It is a -very Oriental, but also a very impressive manner of chanting: you can -hear the fierce heart of Old Japan beating through every Word. But -still more impressive is the same kind of singing by the soldiery. -And at this very moment, while writing these lines, I hear from the -ancient castle of Kumamoto, like a pealing of thunder, the evening song -of its garrison of eight thousand men, mingled with the long, sweet, -melancholy calling of a hundred bugles.[1] - -The Government never relaxes its efforts to keep aglow the old sense of -loyalty and love of country. New festivals have lately been established -to this noble end; and the old ones are celebrated with increasing -fervor each succeeding year. Always on the Emperor's birthday, His -Imperial Majesty's photograph is solemnly saluted in all the public -schools and public offices of the Empire, with appropriate songs -and ceremonies.[2] Occasionally some students, under missionary -instigation, refuse this simple tribute of loyalty and gratitude, -on the extraordinary ground that they are "Christians," and thus -get themselves ostracized by their comrades--sometimes to such an -extent that they find it unpleasant to remain in the school. Then -the missionaries write home to sectarian papers some story about the -persecution of Christians in Japan, "_for refusing to worship an Idol -of the Emperor_"![3] Such incidents are, of course, infrequent, and -serve only to indicate those methods by which the foreign evangelizers -manage to defeat the real purpose of their mission. - -Probably their fanatical attacks, not only upon the native spirit, -the native religion, and the native code of ethics, but even -upon the native dress and customs, may partly account for some -recent extraordinary displays of national feeling by the Japanese -Christians themselves. Some have openly expressed their desire to -dispense altogether with the presence of foreign proselytizers, -and to create a new and peculiar Christianity, to be essentially -Japanese and essentially national in spirit. Others have gone much -further,--demanding that all mission schools, churches, and other -property, now held (to satisfy or evade law) in Japanese names, shall -be made over in fact as well as name to Japanese Christians, as a -proof of the purity of the motives professed. And in sundry cases -it has already been found necessary to surrender mission schools -altogether to native direction. - -I spoke in a former paper of the splendid enthusiasm with which the -entire nation had seconded the educational efforts and purposes of the -Government.[4] Not less zeal and self-denial have been shown in aid -of the national measures of self-defense. The Emperor himself having -set the example, by devoting a large part of his private income to the -purchase of ships-of-war, no murmur was excited by the edict requiring -one tenth of all government salaries for the same purpose. Every -military or naval officer, every professor or teacher, and nearly every -employee of the Civil Service[5] thus contributes monthly to the naval -defense. Minister, peer, or member of Parliament, is no more exempt -than the humblest post-office clerk. Besides these contributions by -edict, to continue for six years, generous donations are voluntarily -made by rich land-owners, merchants, and hankers throughout the Empire. -For, in order to save herself, Japan must become strong quickly: the -outer pressure upon her is much too serious to admit of delay. Her -efforts are almost incredible, and their success is not improbable. But -the odds against her are vast; and she may--stumble. Will she stumble? -It is very hard to predict. But a future misfortune could scarcely -be the result of any weakening of the national spirit. It would be -far more likely to occur as a result of political mistakes,--of rash -self-confidence. - - -[1] This was written in 1893. - -[2] The ceremony of saluting His Majesty's picture is only a repetition -of the ceremony required on presentation at court. A bow; three steps -forward; a deeper how; three more steps forward, and a very low how. On -retiring from the Imperial presence, the visitor walks backward, bowing -again three times as before. - -[3] This is an authentic text. - -[4] See _Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan_. - -[5] Letter-carriers and ordinary policemen are exempted. But the salary -of a policeman is only about six yen a month; that of a letter-carrier -much less. - - - -IX - - -It still remains to ask what is the likely fate of the old morality -in the midst of all this absorption, assimilation, and reaction. And -I think an answer is partly suggested in the following conversation -which I had recently with a student of the University. It is written -from memory, and is therefore not exactly verbatim, but has interest -as representing the thought of the new generation---witnesses of the -vanishing of the gods:-- - -"Sir, what was your opinion when you first came to this country, about -the Japanese? Please to be quite frank with me." - -"The young Japanese of to-day?" - -"No." - -"Then you mean those who still follow the ancient customs, and maintain -the ancient forms of courtesy,--the delightful old men, like your -former Chinese teacher, who still represent the old samurai spirit?" - -"Yes. Mr. A---- is an ideal samurai. I mean such as he." - -"I thought them all that is good and noble. They seemed to me just like -their own gods." - -"And do you still think so well of them?" - -"Yes. And the more I see the Japanese of the new generation, the more I -admire the men of the old." - -"We also admire them. But, as a foreigner, you must also have observed -their defects." - -"What defects?" - -"Defects in practical knowledge of the Western kind." - -"But to judge the men of one civilization by the standard requirements -of another, which is totally different in organization, would be -unjust. It seems to me that the more perfectly a man represents his -own civilization, the more we must esteem him as a citizen, and as a -gentleman. And judged by their own standards, which were morally very -high, the old Japanese appear to me almost perfect men." - -"In what respect?" - -"In kindness, in courtesy, in heroism, in self-control, in power of -self-sacrifice, in filial piety, in simple faith, and in the capacity -to be contented with a little." - -"But would such qualities be sufficient to assure practical success in -the struggle of Western life?" - -"Not exactly; but some of them would assist." - -"The qualities really necessary for practical success in Western life -are just those qualities wanting to the old Japanese--are they not?" - -"I think so." - -"And our old society cultivated those qualities of unselfishness, -and courtesy, and benevolence which you admire, at the sacrifice of -the individual. But Western society cultivates the individual by -unrestricted competition,--competition in the power of thinking and -acting." - -"I think that is true." - -"But in order that Japan be able to keep her place among nations, she -must adopt the industrial and commercial methods of the West. Her -future depends upon her industrial development; but there can be no -development if we continue to follow our ancient morals and manners." - -"Why?" - -"Not to be able to compete with the West means ruin; but to compete -with the West we must follow the methods of the West; and these are -quite contrary to the old morality." - -"Perhaps." - -"I do not think it can be doubted. To do any kind of business upon a -very large scale, men must not be checked by the idea that no advantage -should be sought which could injure the business of others. And on -the other hand, wherever there is no restraint on competition, men who -hesitate to compete because of mere kindliness of heart, must fail. -The law of the struggle is that the strong and active shall win, the -weak and the foolish and the indifferent lose. But our old morality -condemned such competition." - -"That is true." - -"Then, Sir, no matter how good the old morality, we cannot make any -great industrial progress, nor even preserve our national independence, -by following it. We must forsake our past. We must substitute law for -morality." - -"But it is not a good substitute." - -"It has been a good substitute in the West, if we can judge by the -material greatness and power of England. We must learn in Japan to be -moral by reason, instead of being moral by emotion. A knowledge of the -moral reason of law is itself a moral knowledge." - -"For you, and those who study cosmic law, perhaps. But what of the -common people?" - -"They will try to follow the old religion; they will continue to trust -in their gods. But life will, perhaps, become more difficult for them. -They were happy in the ancient days." - - * * * * * - -The foregoing essay was written two years ago. Later political events -and the signing of new treaties obliged me to remodel it last year; -and now, while the proofs are passing through my hands, the events of -the war with China compel some further remarks. What none could have -predicted in 1893 the whole world recognizes in 1895 with astonishment -and with admiration. Japan has won in her jiujutsu. Her autonomy is -practically restored, her place among civilized nations seems to be -assured: she has passed forever out of Western tutelage. What neither -her arts nor her virtues could ever have gained for her, she has -obtained by the very first display of her new scientific powers of -aggression and destruction. - -Not a little has been hastily said about long secret preparation -for the war made by Japan, and about the flimsiness of her pretexts -for entering upon it. I believe that the purposes of her military -preparations were never other than those indicated in the preceding -chapter. It was to recover her independence that Japan steadily -cultivated her military strength for twenty-five years. But -successive pulses of popular reaction against foreign influence -during that period--each stronger than the preceding--warned the -Government of the nation's growing consciousness of power and of its -ever-increasing irritation against the treaties. The reaction of -1893-94 took so menacing a form through the House of Representatives -that the dissolution of the Diet became an immediate necessity. But -even repeated parliamentary dissolutions could only have postponed -the issue. It has since been averted partly by the new treaties, -and partly by the sudden loosening of the Empire's military force -against China. Should it not be obvious that only the merciless -industrial and political pressure exercised by a combined Occident -against Japan really compelled this war,--as a manifestation of force -in the direction of least resistance? Happily that manifestation -has been effectual. Japan has proved herself able to hold her own -against the world. She has no wish to break her industrial relations -with the Occident unless further imposed upon; but with the military -revival of her Empire it is almost certain that the day of Occidental -influence upon her--whether direct or indirect--is definitely over. -Further anti-foreign reaction may be expected in the natural order of -things,--not necessarily either violent or unreasonable, but embodying -the fullest reassertion of national individuality. Some change even in -the form of government is not impossible, considering the questionable -results of experimentation with Constitutional Government made by a -people accustomed for untold centuries to autocratic rule. But the -fallacy of Sir Harry Parkes's prediction that Japan would become "a -South American republic" warns against ventures to anticipate the -future of this wonderful and enigmatic race. - -It is true that the war is not yet over;--but the ultimate triumph of -Japan seems beyond doubt,--even allowing for the formidable chances of -a revolution in China. The world is already asking with some anxiety -what will come next? Perhaps the compulsion of the most peaceable and -most conservative of all nations, under both Japanese and Occidental -pressure, to really master our arts of war in self-defense. After that -perhaps a great military awakening of China, who would be quite likely, -under the same circumstances as made New Japan, to turn her arms _South -and West_. For possible ultimate consequences, consult Dr. Pearson's -recent book, _National Character_. - -It is to be remembered that the art of jiujutsu was invented in China. -And the West has yet to reckon with China,--China, the ancient teacher -of Japan,--China, over whose changeless millions successive storms -of conquest have passed only as a wind over reeds. Under compulsion, -indeed, she may be forced, like Japan, to defend her integrity by -jiujutsu. But the end of that prodigious jiujutsu might have results -the most serious for the entire world. It might be reserved for China -to avenge all those aggressions, extortions, exterminations, of which -the colonizing West has been guilty in dealing with feebler races. - -Already thinkers, summarizing the experience of the two great -colonizing nations,--thinkers not to be ignored, both French and -English,--have predicted that the earth will never be fully dominated -by the races of the West, and that the future belongs to the Orient. -Such, too, are the convictions of many who have learned by long sojourn -in the East to see beneath the surface of that strange humanity so -utterly removed from us in thought,--to comprehend the depth and force -of its tides of life,--to understand its immeasurable capacities of -assimilation,--to discern its powers of self-adaptation to almost -any environment between the arctic and antarctic circles. And in the -judgment of such observers nothing less than the extermination of a -race comprising more than one third of the world's population could now -assure us even of the future of our own civilization. - -Perhaps, as has been recently averred by Dr. Pearson, the long history -of Western expansion and aggression is even now approaching its close. -Perhaps our civilization has girdled the earth only to force the study -of our arts of destruction and our arts of industrial competition upon -races much more inclined to use them against us than for us. Even to do -this we had to place most of the world under tribute,--so colossal were -the powers needed. Perhaps we could not have attempted less, because -the tremendous social machinery we have created, threatens, like the -Demon of the old legend, to devour us in the same hour that we can find -no more tasks for it. - -A wondrous creation, indeed, this civilization of ours,--ever growing -higher out of an abyss of ever-deepening pain; but it seems also to -many not less monstrous than wonderful. That it may crumble suddenly in -a social earthquake has long been the evil dream of those who dwell in -its summits. That as a social structure it cannot endure, by reason of -its moral foundation, is the teaching of Oriental wisdom. - -Certainly the results of its labors cannot pass away till man shall -have fully played out the drama of his existence upon this planet. -It has resurrected the past;--it has revived the languages of the -dead;--it has wrested countless priceless secrets from Nature;--it has -analyzed suns and vanquished space and time;--it has compelled the -invisible to become visible;--it has torn away all veils save the veil -of the Infinite;--it has founded ten thousand systems of knowledge;--it -has expanded the modern brain beyond the cubic capacity of the mediæval -skull;--it has evolved the most noble, even if it has also evolved -the most detestable, forms of individuality;--it has developed the -most exquisite sympathies and the loftiest emotions known to man, even -though it has developed likewise forms of selfishness and of suffering -impossible in other eras. Intellectually it has grown beyond the -altitude of the stars. That it must, in any event, bear to the future -a relation incomparably vaster than that of Greek civilization to the -past, is impossible to disbelieve. - -But more and more each year it exemplifies the law that the greater -the complexity of an organism, the greater also its susceptibility to -fatal hurt Always, as its energies increase, is there evolved within -it a deeper, a keener, a more exquisitely ramified sensibility to -every shock or wound,--to every exterior force of change. Already the -mere results of a drought or a famine in the remotest parts of the -earth, the destruction of the smallest centre of supply, the exhaustion -of a mine, the least temporary stoppage of any commercial vein or -artery, the slightest pressure upon any industrial nerve, may produce -disintegrations that carry shocks of pain into every portion of the -enormous structure. And the wondrous capacity of that structure to -oppose exterior forces by corresponding changes within itself would -appear to be now endangered by internal changes of a totally different -character. Certainly our civilization is developing the individual more -and more. But is it not now developing him much as artificial heat -and colored light and chemical nutrition might develop a plant under -glass? Is it not rapidly evolving millions into purely special fitness -for conditions impossible to maintain,--of luxury without limit for -the few, of merciless servitude to steel and steam for the many? To -such doubts the reply has been given that social transformations will -supply the means of providing against perils, and of recuperating all -losses. That, for a time at least, social reforms will work miracles -is much more than a hope. But the ultimate problem of our future seems -to be one that no conceivable social change can happily solve,--not -even supposing possible the establishment of an absolutely perfect -communism,--because the fate of the higher races seems to depend upon -their true value in the future economy of Nature. To the query, "Are -we not the Superior Race?"--we may emphatically answer "Yes;" but this -affirmative will not satisfactorily answer a still more important -question, "Are we the fittest to survive?" - -Wherein consists the fitness for survival? In the capacity of -self-adaptation to any and every environment;--in the instantaneous -ability to face the unforeseen;--in the inherent power to meet and to -master all opposing natural influences. And surely not in the mere -capacity to adapt ourselves to factitious environments of our own -invention, or to abnormal influences of our own manufacture,--but only -in the simple power to live. Now in this simple power of living, our -so-called higher races are immensely inferior to the races of the Far -East. Though the physical energies and the intellectual resources of -the Occidental exceed those of the Oriental, they can be maintained -only at an expense totally incommensurate with the racial advantage. -For the Oriental has proved his ability to study and to master the -results of our science upon a diet of rice, and on as simple a diet can -learn to manufacture and to utilize our most complicated inventions. -But the Occidental cannot even live except at a cost sufficient for -the maintenance of twenty Oriental lives. In our very superiority lies -the secret of our fatal weakness. Our physical machinery requires a -fuel too costly to pay for the running of it in a perfectly conceivable -future period of race-competition and pressure of population. - -Before, and very probably since, the apparition of Man, various -races of huge and wonderful creatures, now extinct, lived on this -planet. They were not all exterminated by the attacks of natural -enemies: many seem to have perished simply by reason of the enormous -costliness of their structures at a time when the earth was forced to -become less prodigal of her gifts. Even so it may be that the Western -Races will perish--because of the cost of their existence. Having -accomplished their uttermost, they may vanish from the face of the -world,--supplanted by peoples better fitted for survival. - -Just as we have exterminated feebler races by merely _overliving_ -them,--by monopolizing and absorbing, almost without conscious -effort, everything necessary to their happiness,--so may we -ourselves be exterminated at last by races capable of underliving -us, of monopolizing all our necessities; races more patient, more -self-denying, more fertile, and much less expensive for Nature to -support. These would doubtless inherit our wisdom, adopt our more -useful inventions, continue the best of our industries,--perhaps -even perpetuate what is most worthy to endure in our sciences and -our arts. But they would scarcely regret our disappearance any more -than we ourselves regret the extinction of the dinotherium or the -ichthyosaurus. - - - - -VIII - - -THE RED BRIDAL - - -Falling in love at first sight is less common in Japan than in the -West; partly because of the peculiar constitution of Eastern society, -and partly because much sorrow is prevented by early marriages which -parents arrange. Love suicides, on the other hand, are not infrequent; -but they have the particularity of being nearly always double. -Moreover, they must be considered, in the majority of instances, the -results of improper relationships. Still, there are honest and brave -exceptions; and these occur usually in country districts. The love -in such a tragedy may have evolved suddenly out of the most innocent -and natural boy-and-girl friendship, and may have a history dating -back to the childhood of the victims. But even then there remains a -very curious difference between a Western double suicide for love -and a Japanese jōshi. The Oriental suicide is not the result of a -blind, quick frenzy of pain. It is not only cool and methodical: it is -sacramental. It involves a marriage of which the certificate is death. -The twain pledge themselves to each other in the presence of the gods, -write their farewell letters, and die. No pledge can be more profoundly -sacred than this. And therefore, if it should happen that, by sudden -outside interference and by medical skill, one of the pair is snatched -from death, that one is bound by the most solemn obligation of love and -honor to cast away life at the first possible opportunity. Of course, -if both are saved, all may go well. But it were better to commit any -crime of violence punishable with half a hundred years of state prison -than to become known as a man who, after pledging his faith to die with -a girl, had left her to travel to the Meido alone. The woman who should -fail in her vow might be partially forgiven; but the man who survived a -jōshi through interference, and allowed himself to live on because his -purpose was once frustrated, would be regarded all his mortal days as a -perjurer, a murderer, a bestial coward, a disgrace to human nature. I -knew of one such case--but I would now rather try to tell the story of -an humble love affair which happened at a village in one of the eastern -provinces. - - - -I - - -The village stands on the bank of a broad but very shallow river, the -stony bed of which is completely covered with water only during the -rainy season. The river traverses an immense level of rice-fields, -open to the horizon north and south, but on the west walled in by a -range of blue peaks, and on the east by a chain of low wooded hills. -The village itself is separated from these hills only by half a -mile of rice-fields; and its principal cemetery, the adjunct of a -Buddhist temple dedicated to Kwannon-of-the-Eleven-Faces, is situated -upon a neighboring summit. As a distributing centre, the village -is not unimportant. Besides several hundred thatched dwellings of -the ordinary rustic style, it contains one whole street of thriving -two-story shops and inns with handsome tiled roofs. It possesses also -a very picturesque ujigami, or Shintō parish temple, dedicated to -the Sun-Goddess, and a pretty shrine, in a grove of mulberry-trees, -dedicated to the Deity of Silkworms. - -There was born in this village, in the seventh year of Meiji, in the -house of one Uchida, a dyer, a boy called Tarō. His birthday happened -to be an aku-nichi, or unlucky day,--the seventh of the eighth month, -by the ancient Calendar of Moons. Therefore his parents, being -old-fashioned folk, feared and sorrowed. But sympathizing neighbors -tried to persuade them that everything was as it should be, because -the calendar had been changed by the Emperor's order, and according -to the new calendar the day was a kitsu-nichi, or lucky day. These -representations somewhat lessened the anxiety of the parents; but when -they took the child to the ujigami, they made the gods a gift of a very -large paper lantern, and besought earnestly that all harm should be -kept away from their boy. The kannushi, or priest, repeated the archaic -formulas required, and waved the sacred gohei above the little shaven -head, and prepared a small amulet to be suspended about the infant's -neck; after which the parents visited the temple of Kwannon on the -hill, and there also made offerings, and prayed to all the Buddhas to -protect their first-born. - - - -II - - -When Tarō was six years old, his parents decided to send him to the new -elementary school which had been built at a short distance from the -village. Tarō's grandfather bought him some writing-brushes, paper, a -book, and a slate, and early one morning led him by the hand to the -school. Tarō felt very happy, because the slate and the other things -delighted him like so many new toys, and because everybody had told him -that the school was a pleasant place, where he would have plenty of -time to play. Moreover, his mother had promised to give him many cakes -when he should come home. - -As soon as they reached the school,--a big two-story building with -glass windows,--a servant showed them into a large bare apartment, where -a serious-looking man was seated at a desk. Tarō's grandfather bowed -low to the serious-looking man, and addressed him as Sensei, and humbly -requested him to teach the little fellow kindly. The Sensei rose up, -and bowed in return, and spoke courteously to the old man. He also put -his hand on Tarō's head, and said nice things. But Taro became all at -once afraid. When his grandfather had bid him good-by, he grew still -more afraid, and would have liked to run away home; but the master took -him into a large, high, white room, full of girls and boys sitting on -benches, and showed him a bench, and told him to sit down. All the boys -and girls turned their heads to look at Tarō, and whispered to each -other, and laughed. Tarō thought they were laughing at him, and began -to feel very miserable. A big bell rang; and the master, who had taken -his place on a high platform at the other end of the room, ordered -silence in a tremendous way that terrified Tarō. All became quiet, and -the master began to speak. Tarō thought he spoke most dreadfully. He -did not say that school was a pleasant place: he told the pupils very -plainly that it was not a place for play, but for hard work. He told -them that study was painful, but that they must study in spite of the -pain and the difficulty. He told them about the rules which they must -obey, and about the punishments for disobedience or carelessness. -When they all became frightened and still, he changed his voice -altogether, and began to talk to them like a kind father,--promising -to love them just like his own little ones. Then he told them how the -school had been built by the august command of His Imperial Majesty, -that the boys and girls of the country might become wise men and good -women, and how dearly they should love their noble Emperor, and be -happy even to give their lives for his sake. Also he told them how they -should love their parents, and how hard their parents had to work for -the means of sending them to school, and how wicked and ungrateful it -would be to idle during study-hours. Then he began to call them each by -name, asking questions about what he had said. - -Tarō had heard only a part of the master's discourse. His small mind -was almost entirely occupied by the fact that all the boys and girls -had looked at him and laughed when he had first entered the room. And -the mystery of it all was so painful to him that he could think of -little else, and was therefore quite unprepared when the master called -his name. - -"Uchida Tarō, what do you like best in the world?" - -Tarō started, stood up, and answered frankly,-- - -"Cake." - -All the boys and girls again looked at him and laughed; and the master -asked reproachfully, "Uchida Tarō, do you like cake more than you like -your parents? Uchida Tarō, do you like cake better than your duty to -His Majesty our Emperor?" - -Then Tarō knew that he had made some great mistake; and his face became -very hot, and all the children laughed, and he began to cry. This only -made them laugh still more; and they kept on laughing until the master -again enforced silence, and put a similar question to the next pupil. -Tarō kept his sleeve to his eyes, and sobbed. - -The bell rang. The master told the children they would receive their -first writing-lesson during the next class-hour from another teacher, -but that they could first go out and play for a while. He then left the -room; and the boys and girls all ran out into the school-yard to play, -taking no notice whatever of Tarō. The child felt more astonished at -being thus ignored than he had felt before on finding himself an object -of general attention. Nobody except the master had yet spoken one word -to him; and now even the master seemed to have forgotten his existence. -He sat down again on his little bench, and cried and cried; trying all -the while not to make a noise, for fear the children would come back to -laugh at him. - -Suddenly a hand was laid upon his shoulder: a sweet voice was speaking -to him; and turning his head, he found himself looking into the most -caressing pair of eyes he had ever seen,--the eyes of a little girl -about a year older than he. - -"What is it?" she asked him tenderly. - -Tarō sobbed and snuffled helplessly for a moment, before he could -answer: "I am very unhappy here. I want to go home." - -"Why?" questioned the girl, slipping an arm about his neck. - -"They all hate me; they will not speak to me or play with _me_." - -"Oh no!" said the girl. "Nobody dislikes you at all. It is only because -you are a stranger. When I first went to school, last year, it was -just the same with me. You must not fret." - -"But all the others are playing; and I must sit in here," protested -Tarō. - -"Oh no, you must not. You must come and play with me. I will be your -playfellow. Come!" - -Taro at once began to cry out loud. Self-pity and gratitude and the -delight of newfound sympathy filled his little heart so full that he -really could not help it. It was so nice to be petted for crying. - -But the girl only laughed, and led him out of the room quickly, because -the little mother soul in her divined the whole situation. "Of course -you may cry, if you wish," she said; "but you must play, too!" And oh, -what a delightful play they played together! - -But when school was over, and Tarō's grandfather came to take him home, -Tarō began to cry again, because it was necessary that he should bid -his little playmate good-by. - -The grandfather laughed, and exclaimed, "Why, it is little -Yoshi,--Miyahara O-Yoshi! Yoshi can come along with us, and stop at -the house a while. It is on her way home." - -At Tarō's house the playmates ate the promised cake together; and -O-Yoshi mischievously asked, mimicking the master's severity, "Uchida -Tarō, do you like cake better than me?" - - - -III - - -O-Yoshi's father owned some neighboring rice-lands, and also kept a -shop in the village. Her mother, a samurai, adopted into the Miyahara -family at the time of the breaking up of the military caste, had -borne several children, of whom O-Yoshi, the last, was the only -survivor. While still a baby, O-Yoshi lost her mother. Miyahara was -past middle age; but he took another wife, the daughter of one of his -own farmers,--a young girl named Ito O-Tama. Though swarthy as new -copper, O-Tama was a remarkably handsome peasant girl, tall, strong, -and active; but the choice caused surprise, because O-Tama could -neither read nor write. The surprise changed to amusement when it was -discovered that almost from the time of entering the house she had -assumed and maintained absolute control. But the neighbors stopped -laughing at Miyahara's docility when they learned more about O-Tama. -She knew her husband's interests better than he, took charge of -everything, and managed his affairs with such tact that in less than -two years she had doubled his income. Evidently, Miyahara had got a -wife who was going to make him rich. As a step-mother she bore herself -rather kindly, even after the birth of her first boy. O-Yoshi was well -cared for, and regularly sent to school. - -While the children were still going to school, a long-expected and -wonderful event took place. Strange tall men with red hair and -beards--foreigners from the West--came down into the valley with a -great multitude of Japanese laborers, and constructed a railroad. -It was carried along the base of the low hill range, beyond the -rice-fields and mulberry groves in the rear of the village; and almost -at the angle where it crossed the old road leading to the temple of -Kwannon, a small station-house was built; and the name of the village -was painted in Chinese characters upon a white signboard erected on a -platform. Later, a line of telegraph-poles was planted, parallel with -the railroad. And still later, trains came, and shrieked, and stopped, -and passed,--nearly shaking the Buddhas in the old cemetery off their -lotus-flowers of stone. - -The children wondered at the strange, level, ash-strewn way, with its -double lines of iron shining away north and south into mystery; and -they were awe-struck by the trains that came roaring and screaming and -smoking, like storm-breathing dragons, making the ground quake as they -passed by. But this awe was succeeded by curious interest,--an interest -intensified by the explanations of one of their school-teachers, who -showed them, by drawings on the blackboard, how a locomotive engine was -made; and who taught them, also, the still more marvelous operation of -the telegraph, and told them how the new western capital and the sacred -city of Kyoto were to be united by rail and wire, so that the journey -between them might be accomplished in less than two days, and messages -sent from the one to the other in a few seconds. - -Taro and O-Yoshi became very dear friends. They studied together, -played together, and visited each other's homes. But at the age of -eleven O-Yoshi was taken from school to assist her step-mother in the -household; and thereafter Tarō saw her but seldom. He finished his own -studies at fourteen, and began to learn his father's trade. Sorrows -came. After having given him a little brother, his mother died; and -in the same year, the kind old grandfather who had first taken him to -school followed her; and after these things the world seemed to him -much less bright than before. Nothing further changed his life till he -reached his seventeenth year. Occasionally he would visit the home of -the Miyahara, to talk with O-Yoshi. She had grown up into a slender, -pretty woman; but for him she was still only the merry playfellow of -happier days. - - - -IV - - -One soft spring day, Tarō found himself feeling very lonesome, and the -thought came to him that it would be pleasant to see O-Yoshi. Probably -there existed in his memory some constant relation between the sense of -lonesomeness in general and the experience of his first schoolday in -particular. At all events, something within him--perhaps that a dead -mother's love had made, or perhaps something belonging to other dead -people--wanted a little tenderness, and he felt sure of receiving the -tenderness from O-Yoshi. So he took his way to the little shop. As he -approached it, he heard her laugh, and it sounded wonderfully sweet. -Then he saw her serving an old peasant, who seemed to be quite pleased, -and was chatting garrulously. Tarō had to wait, and felt vexed that he -could not at once get O-Yoshi's talk all for himself; but it made him -a little happier even to be near her. He looked and looked at her, and -suddenly began to wonder why he had never before thought how pretty she -was. Yes, she was really pretty,--more pretty than any other girl in -the village. He kept on looking and wondering, and always she seemed -to be growing prettier. It was very strange; he could not understand -it. But O-Yoshi, for the first time, seemed to feel shy under that -earnest gaze, and blushed to her little ears. Then Tarō felt quite sure -that she was more beautiful than anybody else in the whole world, and -sweeter, and better, and that he wanted to tell her so; and all at -once he found himself angry with the old peasant for talking so much -to O-Yoshi, just as if she were a common person. In a few minutes the -universe had been quite changed for Taro, and he did not know it. He -only knew that since he last saw her O-Yoshi had become divine; and as -soon as the chance came, he told her all his foolish heart, and she -told him hers. And they wondered because their thoughts were so much -the same; and that was the beginning of great trouble. - - - -V - - -The old peasant whom Tarō had once seen talking to O-Yoshi had not -visited the shop merely as a customer. In addition to his real calling -he was a professional nakōdo, or match-maker, and was at that very -time acting in the service of a wealthy rice dealer named Okazaki -Yaïchirō. Okazaki had seen O-Yoshi, had taken a fancy to her, and had -commissioned the nakōdo to find out everything possible about her, and -about the circumstances of her family. - -Very much detested by the peasants, and even by his more immediate -neighbors in the village, was Okazaki Yaïchirō. He was an elderly man, -gross, hard-featured, with a loud, insolent manner. He was said to be -malignant. He was known to have speculated successfully in rice during -a period of famine, which the peasant considers a crime, and never -forgives. He was not a native of the ken, nor in any way related to its -people, but had come to the village eighteen years before, with his -wife and one child, from some western district. His wife had been dead -two years, and his only son, whom he was said to have treated cruelly, -had suddenly left him, and gone away, nobody knew whither. Other -unpleasant stories were told about him. One was that, in his native -western province, a furious mob had sacked his house and his godowns, -and obliged him to fly for his life. Another was that, on his wedding -night, he had been compelled to give a banquet to the god Jizō. - -It is still customary in some provinces, on the occasion of the -marriage of a very unpopular farmer, to make the bridegroom feast -Jizō. A band of sturdy young men force their way into the house, -carrying with them a stone image of the divinity, borrowed from the -highway or from some neighboring cemetery. A large crowd follows them. -They deposit the image in the guest-room, and they demand that ample -offerings of food and of saké be made to it at once. This means, of -course, a big feast for themselves, and it is more than dangerous to -refuse. All the uninvited guests must be served till they can neither -eat nor drink any more. The obligation to give such a feast is not only -a public rebuke: it is also a lasting public disgrace. - -In his old age, Okazaki wished to treat himself to the luxury of -a young and pretty wife; but in spite of his wealth he found this -wish less easy to gratify than he had expected. Various families had -checkmated his proposals at once by stipulating impossible conditions. -The Headman of the village had answered, less politely, that he would -sooner give his daughter to an oni (demon). And the rice dealer would -probably have found himself obliged to seek for a wife in some other -district, if he had not happened, after these failures, to notice -O-Yoshi. The girl much more than pleased him; and he thought he might -be able to obtain her by making certain offers to her people, whom he -supposed to be poor. Accordingly, he tried, through the nakōdo, to open -negotiations with the Miyahara family. - -O-Yoshi's peasant step-mother, though entirely uneducated, was -very much the reverse of a simple woman. She had never loved her -step-daughter, but was much too intelligent to be cruel to her without -reason. Moreover, O-Yoshi was far from being in her way. O-Yoshi was -a faithful worker, obedient, sweet-tempered, and very useful in the -house. But the same cool shrewdness that discerned O-Yoshi's merits -also estimated the girl's value in the marriage market. Okazaki never -suspected that he was going to deal with his natural superior in -cunning. O-Tama knew a great deal of his history. She knew the extent -of his wealth. She was aware of his unsuccessful attempts to obtain a -wife from various families, both within and without the village. She -suspected that O-Yoshi's beauty might have aroused a real passion, -and she knew that an old man's passion might be taken advantage of in -a large number of cases. O-Yoshi was not wonderfully beautiful, but -she was a really pretty and graceful girl, with very winning ways; and -to get another like her, Okazaki would have to travel far. Should he -refuse to pay well for the privilege of obtaining such a wife, O-Tama -knew of younger men who would not hesitate to be generous. He might -have O-Yoshi, but never upon easy terms. After the repulse of his first -advances, his conduct would betray him. Should he prove to be really -enamored, he could be forced to do more than any other resident of -the district could possibly afford. It was therefore highly important -to discover the real strength of his inclination, and to keep the -whole matter, in the mean time, from the knowledge of O-Yoshi. As the -reputation of the nakōdo depended on professional silence, there was no -likelihood of his betraying the secret. - -The policy of the Miyahara family was settled in a consultation between -O-Yoshi's father and her step-mother. Old Miyahara would have scarcely -presumed, in any event, to oppose his wife's plans; but she took the -precaution of persuading him, first of all, that such a marriage ought -to be in many ways to his daughter's interest. She discussed with him -the possible financial advantages of the union. She represented that -there were, indeed, unpleasant risks, but that these could be provided -against by making Okazaki agree to certain preliminary settlements. -Then she taught her husband his rôle. Pending negotiations, the visits -of Tarō were to be encouraged. The liking of the pair for each other -was a mere cobweb of sentiment that could be brushed out of existence -at the required moment; and meantime it was to be made use of. That -Okazaki should hear of a likely young rival might hasten desirable -conclusions. - -It was for these reasons that, when Tarō's father first proposed -for O-Yoshi in his son's name, the suit was neither accepted nor -discouraged. The only immediate objection offered was that O-Yoshi was -one year older than Taro, and that such a marriage would be contrary to -custom,--which was quite true. Still, the objection was a weak one, and -had been selected because of its apparent unimportance. - -Okazaki's first overtures were at the same time received in suck a -manner as to convey the impression that their sincerity was suspected. -The Miyahara refused to understand the nakōdo at all. They remained -astonishingly obtuse even to the plainest assurances, until Okazaki -found it politic to shape what he thought a tempting offer. Old -Miyahara then declared that he would leave the matter in his wife's -hands, and abide by her decision. - -O-Tama decided by instantly rejecting the proposal, with every -appearance of scornful astonishment. She said unpleasant things. There -was once a man who wanted to get a beautiful wife very cheap. At last -he found a beautiful woman who said she ate only two grains of rice -every day. So he married her; and every day she put into her mouth only -two grains of rice; and he was happy. But one night, on returning from -a journey, he watched her secretly through a hole in the roof, and saw -her eating monstrously,--devouring mountains of rice and fish, and -putting all the food into a hole in the top of her head under her hair. -Then he knew that he had married the Yama-Omba. - -O-Tama waited a month for the results of her rebuff,--waited very -confidently, knowing how the imagined value of something wished for -can be increased by the increase of the difficulty of getting it. And, -as she expected, the nakōdo at last reappeared. This time Okazaki -approached the matter less condescendingly than before; adding to his -first offer, and even volunteering seductive promises. Then she knew -she was going to have him in her power. Her plan of campaign was not -complicated, but it was founded upon a deep instinctive knowledge of -the uglier side of human nature; and she felt sure of success. Promises -were for fools; legal contracts involving conditions were traps for the -simple. Okazaki should yield up no small portion of his property before -obtaining O-Yoshi. - - - -VI - - -Taro's father earnestly desired his son's marriage with O-Yoshi, -and had tried to bring it about in the usual way. He was surprised -at not being able to get any definite answer from the Miyahara. He -was a plain, simple man; but he had the intuition of sympathetic -natures, and the unusually gracious manner of O-Tama, whom he had -always disliked, made him suspect that he had nothing to hope. He -thought it best to tell his suspicions to Tarō, with the result that -the lad fretted himself into a fever. But O-Yoshi's step-mother had no -intention of reducing Taro to despair at so early a stage of her plot. -She sent kindly worded messages to the house during his illness, and a -letter from O-Yoshi, which had the desired effect of reviving all his -hopes. After his sickness, he was graciously received by the Miyahara, -and allowed to talk to O-Yoshi in the shop. Nothing, however, was said -about his father's visit. - -The lovers had also frequent chances to meet at the ujigami court, -whither O-Yoshi often went with her step-mother's last baby. Even among -the crowd of nurse-girls, children, and young mothers, they could -exchange a few words without fear of gossip. Their hopes received no -further serious check for a month, when O-Taina pleasantly proposed to -Tarō's father an impossible pecuniary arrangement. She had lifted a -corner of her mask, because Okazaki was struggling wildly in the net -she had spread for him, and by the violence of the struggles she knew -the end was not far off. O-Yoshi was still ignorant of what was going -on; but she had reason to fear that she would never be given to Tarō. -She was becoming thinner and paler. - -Tarō one morning took his child-brother with him to the temple court, -in the hope of an opportunity to chat with O-Yoshi. They met; and he -told her that he was feeling afraid. He had found that the little -wooden amulet which his mother had put about his neck when he was a -child had been broken within the silken cover. - -"That is not bad luck," said O-Yoshi. "It is only a sign that the -august gods have been guarding you. There has been sickness in the -village; and you caught the fever, but you got well. The holy charm -shielded you: that is why it was broken. Tell the kannushi to-day: he -will give you another." - -Because they were very unhappy, and had never done harm to anybody, -they began to reason about the justice of the universe. - -Tarō said: "Perhaps in the former life we hated each other. Perhaps -I was unkind to you, or you to me. And this is our punishment. The -priests say so." - -O-Yoshi made answer with something of her old playfulness: "I was a man -then, and you were a woman. I loved you very, very much; but you were -very unkind to me. I remember it all quite well." - -"You are not a Bosatsu," returned Taro, smiling despite his sorrow; "so -you cannot remember anything. It is only in the first of the ten states -of Bosatsu that we begin to remember." - -"How do you know I am not a Bosatsu?" - -"You are a woman. A woman cannot be a Bosatsu." - -"But is not Kwan-ze-on Bosatsu a woman?" - -"Well, that is true. But a Bosatsu cannot love anything except the kyō." - -"Did not Shaka have a wife and a son? Did he not love them?" - -"Yes; but you know he had to leave them." - -"That was very bad, even if Shaka did it. But I don't believe all those -stories. And would you leave me, if you could get me?" - -So they theorized and argued, and even laughed betimes: it was so -pleasant to be together. But suddenly the girl became serious again, -and said:-- - -"Listen! Last night I saw a dream. I saw a strange river, and the sea. -I was standing, I thought, beside the river, very near to where it -flowed into the sea. And I was afraid, very much afraid, and did not -know why. Then I looked, and saw there was no water in the river, no -water in the sea, but only the bones of the Buddhas. But they were all -moving, just like water. - -"Then again I thought I was at home, and that you had given me a -beautiful gift-silk for a kimono, and that the kimono had been made. -And I put it on. And then I wondered, because at first it had seemed of -many colors, but now it was all white; and I had foolishly folded it -upon me as the robes of the dead are folded, to the left. Then I went -to the homes of all my kinsfolk to say good-by; and I told them I was -going to the Meido. And they all asked me why; and I could not answer." - -"That is good," responded Tarō; "it is very lucky to dream of the -dead. Perhaps it is a sign we shall soon be husband and wife." This -time the girl did not reply; neither did she smile. - -Tarō was silent a minute; then he added: "If you think it was not a -good dream, Yoshi, whisper it all to the nanten plant in the garden: -then it will not come true." - -But on the evening of the same day Taro's father was notified that -Miyahara O-Yoshi was to become the wife of Okazaki Yaïchirō. - - - -VII - - -O-Tama was really a very clever woman. She had never made any serious -mistakes. She was one of those excellently organized beings who -succeed in life by the perfect ease with which they exploit inferior -natures. The full experience of her peasant ancestry in patience, in -cunning, in crafty perception, in rapid foresight, in hard economy, -was concentrated into a perfect machinery within her unlettered brain. -That machinery worked faultlessly in the environment which had called -it into existence, and upon the particular human material with which it -was adapted to deal,--the nature of the peasant. But there was another -nature which O-Tama understood less well, because there was nothing in -her ancestral experience to elucidate it. She was a strong disbeliever -in all the old ideas about character distinctions between samurai and -heimin. She considered there had never been any differences between -the military and the agricultural classes, except such differences -of rank as laws and customs had established; and these had been bad. -Laws and customs, she thought, had resulted in making all people -of the former samurai class more or less helpless and foolish; and -secretly she despised all shizoku. By their incapacity for hard work -and their absolute ignorance of business methods, she had seen them -reduced from wealth to misery. She had seen the pension bonds given -them by the new government pass from their hands into the clutches of -cunning speculators of the most vulgar class. She despised weakness; -she despised incapacity; and she deemed the commonest vegetable -seller a much superior being to the ex-Karō obliged in his old age to -beg assistance from those who had formerly cast off their footgear -and bowed their heads to the mud whenever he passed by. She did not -consider it an advantage for O-Yoshi to have had a samurai mother: she -attributed the girl's delicacy to that cause, and thought her descent -a misfortune. She had clearly read in O-Yoshi's character all that -could be read by one not of a superior caste; among other facts, that -nothing would be gained by needless harshness to the child, and the -implied quality was not one that she disliked. But there were other -qualities in O-Yoshi that she had never clearly perceived,--a profound -though well-controlled sensitiveness to moral wrong, an unconquerable -self-respect, and a latent reserve of will power that could triumph -over any physical pain. And thus it happened that the behavior of -O-Yoshi, when told she would have to become the wife of Okazaki, duped -her step-mother, who was prepared to encounter a revolt. She was -mistaken. - -At first the girl turned white as death. But in another moment she -blushed, smiled, bowed down, and agreeably astonished the Miyahara -by announcing, in the formal language of filial piety, her readiness -to obey the will of her parents in all things. There was no further -appearance even of secret dissatisfaction in her manner; and O-Tama was -so pleased that she took her into confidence, and told her something of -the comedy of the negotiations, and the full extent of the sacrifices -which Okazaki had been compelled to make. Furthermore, in addition to -such trite consolations as are always offered to a young girl betrothed -without her own consent to an old man, O-Tama gave her some really -priceless advice how to manage Okazaki. Tarō's name was not even once -mentioned. For the advice O-Yoshi dutifully thanked her step-mother, -with graceful prostrations. It was certainly admirable advice. Almost -any intelligent peasant girl, fully instructed by such a teacher as -O-Tama, might have been able to support existence with Okazaki. But -O-Yoshi was only half a peasant girl. Her first sudden pallor and her -subsequent crimson flush, after the announcement of the fate reserved -for her, were caused by two emotional sensations of which O-Tama was -far from suspecting the nature. Both represented much more complex -and rapid thinking than O-Tama had ever done in all her calculating -experience. - -The first was a shock of horror accompanying the full recognition -of the absolute moral insensibility of her step-mother, the utter -hopelessness of any protest, the virtual sale of her person to that -hideous old man for the sole motive of unnecessary gain, the cruelty -and the shame of the transaction. But almost as quickly there rushed -to her consciousness an equally complete sense of the need of courage -and strength to face the worst, and of subtlety to cope with strong -cunning. It was then she smiled. And as she smiled, her young will -became steel, of the sort that severs iron without turning edge. She -knew at once exactly what to do,--her samurai blood told her that; and -she plotted only to gain the time and the chance. And she felt already -so sure of triumph that she had to make a strong effort not to laugh -aloud. The light in her eyes completely deceived O-Tama, who detected -only a manifestation of satisfied feeling, and imagined the feeling due -to a sudden perception of advantages to be gained by a rich marriage. - -It was the fifteenth day of the ninth month; and the wedding was to be -celebrated upon the sixth of the tenth month. But three days later, -O-Tama, rising at dawn, found that her step-daughter had disappeared -during the night. Tarō Uchida had not been seen by his father since the -afternoon of the previous day. But letters from both were received a -few hours afterwards. - - - -VIII - - -The early morning train from Kyōto was in; the little station was full -of hurry and noise,--clattering of geta, humming of converse, and -fragmentary cries of village boys selling cakes and luncheons: "_Kwashi -yoros--!_" "_Sushi yoros--!_" "_Bentō yoros--!_" Five minutes, and the -geta clatter, and the banging of carriage doors, and the shrilling of -the boys stopped, as a whistle blew and the train jolted and moved. -It rumbled out, puffed away slowly northward, and the little station -emptied itself. The policeman on duty at the wicket banged it to, and -began to walk up and down the sanded platform, surveying the silent -rice-fields. - -Autumn had come,--the Period of Great Light. The sun glow had suddenly -become whiter, and shadows sharper, and all outlines clear as edges -of splintered glass. The mosses, long parched out of visibility by -the summer heat, had revived in wonderful patches and bands of bright -soft green over all shaded bare spaces of the black volcanic soil; -from every group of pine-trees vibrated the shrill wheeze of the -tsuku-tsuku-bōshi; and above all the little ditches and canals was a -silent flickering of tiny lightnings,--zigzag soundless flashings of -emerald and rose and azure-of-steel,--the shooting of dragon-flies. - -Now, it may have been due to the extraordinary clearness of the morning -air that the policeman was able to perceive, far up the track, looking -north, something which caused him to start, to shade his eyes with his -hand, and then to look at the clock. But, as a rule, the black eye of -a Japanese policeman, like the eye of a poised kite, seldom fails to -perceive the least unusual happening within the whole limit of its -vision. I remember that once, in far-away Oki, wishing, without being -myself observed, to watch a mask-dance in the street before my inn, -I poked a small hole through a paper window of the second story, and -peered at the performance. Down the street stalked a policeman, in -snowy uniform and havelock; for it was midsummer. He did not appear -even to see the dancers or the crowd through which he walked without so -much as turning his head to either side. Then he suddenly halted, and -fixed his gaze exactly on the hole in my shōji; for at that hole he had -seen an eye which he had instantly decided, by reason of its shape, to -be a foreign eye. Then he entered the inn, and asked questions about my -passport, which had already been examined. - -What the policeman at the village station observed, and afterwards -reported, was that, more than half a mile north of the station, two -persons had reached the railroad track by crossing the rice-fields, -apparently after leaving a farmhouse considerably to the northwest of -the village. One of them, a woman, he judged by the color of her robe -and girdle to be very young. The early express train from Tōkyō was -then due in a few minutes, and its advancing smoke could be perceived -from the station platform. The two persons began to run quickly along -the track upon which the train was coming. They ran on out of sight -round a curve. - -Those two persons were Tarō and O-Yoshi. They ran quickly, partly to -escape the observation of that very policeman, and partly so as to meet -the Tōkyō express as far from the station as possible. After passing -the curve, however, they stopped running, and walked, for they could -see the smoke coming. As soon as they could see the train itself, they -stepped off the track, so as not to alarm the engineer, and waited, -hand in hand. Another minute, and the low roar rushed to their ears, -and they knew it was time. They stepped back to the track again, -turned, wound their arms about each other, and lay down cheek to cheek, -very softly and quickly, straight across the inside rail, already -ringing like an anvil to the vibration of the hurrying pressure. - -The boy smiled. The girl, tightening her arms about his neck, spoke in -his ear:-- - -"For the time of two lives, and of three, I am your wife; you are my -husband, Tarō Sama." - -Tarō said nothing, because almost at the same instant, notwithstanding -frantic attempts to halt a fast train without airbrakes in a distance -of little more than a hundred yards, the wheels passed through -both,--cutting evenly, like enormous shears. - - - -IX - - -The village people now put bamboo cups full of flowers upon the single -gravestone of the united pair, and burn incense-sticks, and repeat -prayers. This is not orthodox at all, because Buddhism forbids jōshi, -and the cemetery is a Buddhist one; but there is religion in it,--a -religion worthy of profound respect. - -You ask why and how the people pray to those dead. Well, all do not -pray to them, but lovers do, especially unhappy ones. Other folk only -decorate the tomb and repeat pious texts. But lovers pray there for -supernatural sympathy and help. I was myself obliged to ask why, and I -was answered simply, "_Because those dead suffered so much._" - -So that the idea which prompts such prayers would seem to be at once -more ancient and more modern than Buddhism,--the Idea of the eternal -Religion of Suffering. - - - - -IX - - -A WISH FULFILLED - - -Then, when thou leavest the body, and comest into the free ether, thou -shalt be a God undying, everlasting;--neither shall death have any more -dominion over thee.--The Golden Verses. - - - -I - - -The streets were full of white uniforms, and the calling of bugles, -and the rumbling of artillery. The armies of Japan, for the third -time in history, had subdued Korea; and the Imperial declaration of -war against China had been published by the city journals, printed on -crimson paper. All the military powers of the Empire were in motion. -The first line of reserves had been summoned, and troops were pouring -into Kumamoto. Thousands were billeted upon the citizens; for barracks -and inns and temples could not shelter the passing host. And still -there was no room, though special trains were carrying regiments north, -as fast as possible, to the transports waiting at Shimonoseki. - -Nevertheless, considering the immensity of the movement, the city was -astonishingly quiet. The troops were silent and gentle as Japanese boys -in school hours; there was no swaggering, no reckless gayety. Buddhist -priests were addressing squadrons in the courts of the temples; and a -great ceremony had already been performed in the parade-ground by the -Abbot of the Shin-shū sect, who had come from Kyōto for the occasion. -Thousands had been placed by him under the protection of Amida; the -laying of a naked razor-blade on each young head, symbolizing voluntary -renunciation of life's vanities, was the soldier's consecration. -Everywhere, at the shrines of the older faith, prayers were being -offered up by priests and people to the shades of heroes who fought -and died for their Emperor in ancient days, and to the gods of armies. -At the Shintō temple of Fujisaki sacred charms were being distributed -to the men. But the most imposing rites were those at Honmyōji, the -far-famed monastery of the Nichiren sect, where for three hundred years -have reposed the ashes of Kato Kiyomasa, conqueror of Korea, enemy -of the Jesuits, protector of the Buddhists;--Honmyōji, where the -pilgrim chant of the sacred invocation, Namu-myō-hō-renge-kyō, sounds -like the roar of surf;--Honmyōji, where you may buy wonderful little -mamori in the shape of tiny Buddhist shrines, each holding a minuscule -image of the deified warrior. In the great central temple, and in all -the lesser temples that line the long approach, special services were -sung, and special prayers were addressed to the spirit of the hero for -ghostly aid. The armor, and helmet, and sword of Kiyomasa, preserved in -the main shrine for three centuries, were no longer to be seen. Some -declared that they had been sent to Korea, to stimulate the heroism -of the army. But others told a story of echoing hoofs in the temple -court by night, and the passing of a mighty Shadow, risen from the dust -of his sleep, to lead the armies of the Son of Heaven once more to -conquest. Doubtless even among the soldiers, brave, simple lads from -the country, many believed,--just as the men of Athens believed in the -presence of Theseus at Marathon. All the more, perhaps, because to no -small number of the new recruits Kumamoto itself appeared a place of -marvels hallowed by traditions of the great captain, and its castle -a world's wonder, built by Kiyomasa after the plan of a stronghold -stormed in Chösen. - -Amid all these preparations, the people remained singularly quiet. -From mere outward signs no stranger could have divined the general -feeling.[1] The public calm was characteristically Japanese; the race, -like the individual, becoming to all appearance the more self-contained -the more profoundly its emotions are called into play. The Emperor had -sent presents to his troops in Korea, and words of paternal affection; -and citizens, following the august example, were shipping away by every -steamer supplies of rice-wine, provisions, fruits, dainties, tobacco, -and gifts of all kinds. Those who could afford nothing costlier were -sending straw sandals. The entire nation was subscribing to the war -fund; and Kumamoto, though by no means wealthy, was doing all that both -poor and rich could help her do to prove her loyalty. The check of the -merchant mingled obscurely with the paper dollar of the artisan, the -laborer's dime, the coppers of the kurumaya, in the great fraternity -of unbidden self-denial. Even children gave; and their pathetic -little contributions were not refused, lest the universal impulse of -patriotism should be in any manner discouraged. But there were special -subscriptions also being collected in every street for the support -of the families of the troops of the reserves,--married men, engaged -mostly in humble callings, who had been obliged of a sudden to leave -their wives and little ones without the means to live. That means the -citizens voluntarily and solemnly pledged themselves to supply. One -could not doubt that the soldiers, with all this unselfish love behind -them, would perform even more than simple duty demanded. - -And they did. - - -[1] This was written in Kumamoto during the fall of 1894. The -enthusiasm of the nation was concentrated and silent; but under that -exterior calm smouldered all the fierceness of the old feudal days. -The Government was obliged to decline the freely proffered services -of myriads of volunteers,--- chiefly swordsmen. Had a call for such -volunteers been made I am sure 100,000 men would have answered it -within a week. But the war spirit manifested itself in other ways -not less painful than extraordinary. Many killed themselves on being -refused the chance of military service; and I may cite at random a -few strange facts from the local press. The gendarme at Söul, ordered -to escort Minister Otori back to Japan, killed himself for chagrin at -not having been allowed to proceed instead to the field of battle. -An officer named Ishiyama, prevented by illness from joining his -regiment on the day of its departure for Korea, rose from his sick-bed, -and, after saluting a portrait of the Emperor, killed himself with -his sword. A soldier named Ikeda, at Ōsaka, having been told that -because of some breach of discipline he might not be permitted to go -to the front, shot himself. Captain Kani, of the "Mixed Brigade," was -prostrated by sickness during the attack made by his regiment on a fort -near Chinchow, and carried insensible to the hospital. Recovering a -week later, he went (November 28) to the spot where he had fallen, and -killed himself,--leaving this letter, translated by the _Japan Daily -Mail_: "It was here that illness compelled me to halt and to let my -men storm the fort without me. Never can I wipe out such a disgrace in -life. To clear my honor I die thus,--leaving this letter to speak for -me." - -A lieutenant in Tōkyō, finding none to take care of his little -motherless girl after his departure, killed her, and joined his -regiment before the facts were known. He afterwards sought death on the -field and found it, that he might join his child on her journey to the -Meido. This reminds one of the terrible spirit of feudal times. The -samurai, before going into a hopeless contest, sometimes killed his -wife and children the better to forget those three things no warrior -should remember on the battle-field,--namely, home, the dear ones, and -his own body. After that act of ferocious heroism the samurai was ready -for the shini-mono-gurui,--the hour of the "death-fury,"--giving and -taking no quarter. - - - -II - - -Manyemon said there was a soldier at the entrance who wanted to see me. - -"Oh, Manyemon, I hope they are not going to billet soldiers upon -us!--the house is too small! Please ask him what he wishes." - -"I did," answered Manyemon; "he says he knows you." - -I went to the door and looked at a fine young fellow in uniform, who -smiled and took off his cap as I came forward. I could not recognize -him. The smile was familiar, notwithstanding. Where could I have seen -it before? - -"Teacher, have you really forgotten me?" - -For another moment I stared at him, wondering: then he laughed gently, -and uttered his name,-- - -"Kosuga Asakichi." - -How my heart leaped to him as I held out both hands! "Come in, come in!" -I cried. - -"But how big and handsome you have grown! No wonder I did not know you." - -He blushed like a girl, as he slipped off his shoes and unbuckled his -sword. I remembered that he used to blush the same way in class, both -when he made a mistake, and when he was praised. Evidently his heart -was still as fresh as then, when he was a shy boy of sixteen in the -school at Matsue. He had got permission to come to bid me good-by: the -regiment was to leave in the morning for Korea. - -We dined together, and talked of old times,--of Izumo, of Kitzuki, of -many pleasant things. I tried in vain at first to make him drink a -little wine; not knowing that he had promised his mother never to drink -wine while he was in the army. Then I substituted coffee for the wine, -and coaxed him to tell me all about himself. He had returned to his -native place, after graduating, to help his people, wealthy farmers; -and he had found that his agricultural studies at school were of great -service to him. A year later, all the youths of the village who had -reached the age of nineteen, himself among the number, were summoned -to the Buddhist temple for examination as to bodily and educational -fitness for military service. He had passed as ichiban (first-class) -by the verdicts of the examining surgeon and of the recruiting-major -(_shōsa_), and had been drawn at the ensuing conscription. After -thirteen months' service he had been promoted to the rank of sergeant. -He liked the array. At first he had been stationed at Nagoya, then at -Tōkyō; but finding that his regiment was not to be sent to Korea, he -had petitioned with success for transfer to the Kumamoto division. "And -now I am so glad," he exclaimed, his face radiant with a soldier's -joy: "we go to-morrow!" Then he blushed again, as if ashamed of having -uttered his frank delight. I thought of Carlyle's deep saying, that -never pleasures, but only suffering and death are the lures that draw -true hearts. I thought also--what I could not say to any Japanese--that -the joy in the lad's eyes was like nothing I had ever seen before, -except the caress in the eyes of a lover on the morning of his bridal. - -"Do you remember," I asked, "when you declared in the schoolroom that -you wished to die for His Majesty the Emperor?" - -"Yes," he answered, laughing. "And the chance has come,--not for me -only, but for several of my class." - -"Where are they?" I asked. "With you?" - -"No; they were all in the Hiroshima division, and they are already -in Korea. Imaoka (you remember him, teacher: he was very tall), and -Nagasaki, and Ishihara,--they were all in the fight at Söng-Hwan. And -our drill-master, the lieutenant,--you remember him?" - -"Lieutenant Fujii, yes. He had retired from the army." - -"But he belonged to the reserves. He has also gone to Korea. He has had -another son born since you left Izumo." - -"He had two little girls and one boy," I said, "when I was in Matsue." - -"Yes: now he has two boys." - -"Then his family must feel very anxious about him?" - -"_He_ is not anxious," replied the lad. "To die in battle is very -honorable; and the Government will care for the families of those who -are killed. So our officers have no fear. Only--it is very sad to die -if one has no son." - -"I cannot see why." - -"Is it not so in the West?" - -"On the contrary, we think it is very sad for the man to die who has -children." - -"But why?" - -"Every good father must be anxious about the future of his children. -If he be taken suddenly away from them, they may have to suffer many -sorrows." - -"It is not so in the families of our officers. The relations care well -for the child, and the Government gives a pension. So the father need -not be afraid. But to die is sorrowful for one who has no child." - -"Do you mean sorrowful for the wife and the rest of the family?" - -"No; I mean for the man himself, the husband." - -"And how? Of what use can a son be to a dead man?" - -"The son inherits. The son maintains the family name. The son makes the -offerings." - -"The offerings to the dead?" - -"Yes. Do you now understand?" - -"I understand the fact, not the feeling. Do military men still hold -these beliefs?" - -"Certainly. Are there no such beliefs in the West?" - -"Not now. The ancient Greeks and Romans had such beliefs. They thought -that the ancestral spirits dwelt in the home, received the offerings, -watched over the family. Why they thought so, we partly know; but -we cannot know exactly how they felt, because we cannot understand -feelings which we have never experienced, or which we have not -inherited. For the same reason, I cannot know the real feeling of a -Japanese in relation to the dead." - -"Then you think that death is the end of everything?" - -"That is not the explanation of my difficulty. Some feelings are -inherited,--perhaps also some ideas. Your feelings and your thoughts -about the dead, and the duty of the living to the dead, are totally -different from those of an Occidental. To us the idea of death is that -of a total separation, not only from the living, but from the world. -Does not Buddhism also tell of a long dark journey that the dead must -make?" - -"The journey to the Meido,--yes. All must make that journey. But we -do not think of death as a total separation. We think of the dead as -still with us. We speak to them each day." - -"I know that. What I do not know are the ideas behind the facts. If the -dead go to the Meido, why should offerings be made to ancestors in the -household shrines, and prayers be said to them as if they were really -present? Do not the common people thus confuse Buddhist teachings and -Shintō belief?" - -"Perhaps many do. But even by those who are Buddhists only, the -offerings and the prayers to the dead are made in different places -at the same time,--in the parish temples, and also before the family -butsudan." - -"But how can souls be thought of as being in the Meido, and also in -various other places at the same time? Even if the people believe the -soul to be multiple, that would not explain away the contradiction. For -the dead, according to Buddhist teaching, are judged." - -"We think of the soul both as one and as many. We think of it as of one -person, but not as of a substance. We think of it as something that may -be in many places at once, like a moving of air." - -"Or of electricity?" I suggested. - -"Yes." - -Evidently, to my young friend's mind the ideas of the Meido and of -the home-worship of the dead had never seemed irreconcilable; and -perhaps to any student of Buddhist philosophy the two faiths would not -appear to involve any serious contradictions. The Sutra of the Lotus -of the Good Law teaches that the Buddha state "is endless and without -limit,--immense as the element of ether." Of a Buddha who had long -entered into Nirvana it declares, "Even after his complete extinction, -he wanders through this whole world in all ten points of space." And -the same Sutra, after recounting the simultaneous apparition of all -the Buddhas who had ever been, makes the teacher proclaim, "_All these -you see are my proper bodies, by kotis of thousands, like the sands of -the Ganges: they have appeared that the law may be fulfilled._" But it -seemed to me obvious that, in the artless imagination of the common -people, no real accord could ever have been established between the -primitive conceptions of Shintō and the much more definite Buddhist -doctrine of a judgment of souls. - -"Can you really think of death," I asked, "as life, as light?" - -"Oh yes," was the smiling answer. "We think that after death we shall -still be with our families. We shall see our parents, our friends. We -shall remain in this world,--the light as now." - -(There suddenly recurred to me, with new meaning, some words of a -student's composition regarding the future of a just man: _His soul -shall hover eternally in the universe._) - -"And therefore," continued Asakichi, "one who has a son can die with a -cheerful mind." - -"Because the son will make those offerings of food and drink without -which the spirit would suffer?" I queried. - -"It is not only that. There are duties much more important than the -making of offerings. It is because every man needs some one to love him -after he is dead. Now you will understand." - -"Only your words," I replied, "only the facts of the belief. The -feeling I do not understand. I cannot think that the love of the -living could make me happy after death. I cannot even imagine myself -conscious of any love after death. And you, you are going far away to -battle,--do you think it unfortunate that you have no son?" - -"I? Oh no! I myself _am_ a son,--a younger son. My parents are still -alive and strong, and my brother is caring for them. If I am killed, -there will be many at home to love me,--brothers, sisters, and little -ones. It is different with us soldiers: we are nearly all very young." - -"For how many years," I asked, "are the offerings made to the dead?" - -"For one hundred years." - -"Only for a hundred years?" - -"Yes. Even in the Buddhist temples the prayers and the offerings are -made only for a hundred years." - -"Then do the dead cease to care for remembrance in a hundred years? Or -do they fade out at last? Is there a dying of souls?" - -"No, but after one hundred years they are no longer with us. Some say -they are born again; others say they become kami, and do reverence to -them as kami, and on certain days make offerings to them in the toko." - -(Such were, I knew, the commonly accepted explanations, but I had heard -of beliefs strangely at variance with these. There are traditions that, -in families of exceeding virtue, the souls of ancestors took material -form, and remained sometimes visible through hundreds of years. A -sengaji pilgrim[1] of old days has left an account of two whom he said -he had seen in some remote part of the interior. They were small, dim -shapes, "dark like old bronze." They could not speak, but made little -moaning sounds, and they did not eat, but only inhaled the warm vapor -of the food daily set before them. Every year, their descendants said, -they became smaller and vaguer.) - -"Do you think it is very strange that we should love the dead?" -Asakichi asked. - -"No," I replied, "I think it is beautiful. But to me, as a Western -stranger, the custom seems not of to-day, but of a more ancient world. -The thoughts of the old Greeks about the dead must have been much like -those of the modern Japanese. The feelings of an Athenian soldier in -the age of Pericles were perhaps the same as yours in this era of -Meiji. And you have read at school how the Greeks sacrificed to the -dead, and how they paid honor to the spirits of brave men and patriots?" - -"Yes. Some of their customs were very like our own. Those of us who -fall in battle against China will also be honored. They will be revered -as kami. Even our Emperor will honor them." - -"But," I said, "to die so far away from the graves of one's fathers, in -a foreign land, would seem, even to Western people, a very sad thing." - -"Oh no. There will be monuments set up to honor our dead in their own -native villages and towns, and the bodies of our soldiers will be -burned, and the ashes sent home to Japan. At least that will be done -whenever possible. It might be difficult after a great battle." - -(A sudden memory of Homer surged back to me, with, a vision of that -antique plain where "the pyres of the dead burnt continually in -multitude.") - -"And the spirits of the soldiers slain in this war," I asked,--"will -they not always be prayed to help the country in time of national -danger?" - -"Oh yes, always. We shall be loved and worshiped by all the people." - -He said "we" quite naturally, like one already destined. After a little -pause he resinned:-- - -"The last year that I was at school we had a military excursion. We -marched to a shrine in the district of In, where the spirits of heroes -are worshiped. It is a beautiful and lonesome place, among hills; and -the temple is shadowed by very high trees. It is always dim and cool -and silent there. We drew up before the shrine in military order; -nobody spoke. Then the bugle sounded through the holy grove, like a -call to battle; and we all presented arms; and the tears came to my -eyes,--I do not know why. I looked at my comrades, and I saw they -felt as I did. Perhaps, because you are a foreigner, you will not -understand. But there is a little poem, that every Japanese knows, -which expresses the feeling very well. It was written long ago by the -great priest Saigyo Hōshi, who had been a warrior before becoming a -priest, and whose real name was Sato Norikyo:-- - - "'_Nani go to no_ - _Owashimasu ka wa_ - _Shirane domo_ - _Arigata sa ni zo_ - _Namida kobururu._'"[2] - -It was not the first time that I had heard such a confession. Many of -my students had not hesitated to speak of sentiments evoked by the -sacred traditions and the dim solemnity of the ancient shrines. Really -the experience of Asakichi was no more individual than might be a -single ripple in a fathomless sea. He had only uttered the ancestral -feeling of a race,--the vague but immeasurable emotion of Shintō. - -We talked on till the soft summer darkness fell. Stars and the -electric lights of the citadel twinkled out together; bugles sang; -and from Kiyomasa's fortress rolled into the night a sound deep as a -thunder-peal, the chant of ten thousand men:-- - - Nishi mo higashi mo - Mina teki zo, - Minami mo kita mo - Mina teki zo: - Yose-kura teki wa - Shiranuhi no - Tsukushi no hate no - Satsuma gata.[3] - -"You have learned that song, have you not?" I asked. - -"Oh yes," said Asakichi. "Every soldier knows it." - -It was the Kumamoto Rōjō, the Song of the Siege. We listened, and could -even catch some words in that mighty volume of sound:-- - - Tenchi mo kuzuru - Bakari nari, - Tenchi wa kuzure - Yama kawa wa - Saicuru tameshi no - Araba tote, - Ugokanu mono wa - Kimi ga mi yo.[4] - -For a little while Asakichi sat listening, swaying his shoulders in -time to the strong rhythm of the chant; then, as one suddenly waking, -he laughed, and said:-- - -"Teacher, I must go! I do not know how to thank you enough, nor to tell -you how happy this day has been for me. But first,"--taking from his -breast a little envelope,--"please accept this. You asked me for a -photograph long ago: I brought it for a souvenir." - -He rose, and buckled on his sword. I pressed his hand at the entrance. - -"And what may I send you from Korea, teacher?" he asked. - -"Only a letter," I said,--"after the next great victory." - -"Surely, if I can hold a pen," he responded. - -Then straightening up till he looked like a statue of bronze, he gave -me the formal military salute, and strode away in the dark. - -I returned to the desolate guest-room and dreamed. I heard the thunder -of the soldiers' song. I listened to the roar of the trains, bearing -away so many young hearts, so much priceless loyalty, so much splendid -faith and love and valor, to the fever of Chinese rice-fields, to -gathering cyclones of death. - - -[1] A sengaji pilgrim is one who makes the pilgrimage to the thousand -famous temples of the Nichiren sect; a journey requiring many years to -perform. - -[2] "What thing (cause) there may he, I cannot tell. But [whenever I -come in presence of the shrine] grateful tears overflow." - -[3] This would be a free translation in nearly the same measure:-- - - Oh! the land to south and north - All is full of foes! - Westward, eastward, looking forth, - All is full of foes! - None can well the number tell - Of the hosts that pour - From the strand of Satsuma, - From Tsukushi's shore. - - - -[4] - - What if Earth should sundered he? - What if Heaven fall? - What if mountain mix with sea? - Brave hearts each and all, - Know one thing shall still endure, - Ruin cannot whelm, - Everlasting, holy, pure,-- - This Imperial Realm. - - - -III - - -The evening of the same day that we saw the name "Kosuga Asakichi" in -the long list published by the local newspaper, Manyemon decorated -and illuminated the alcove of the guest-room as for a sacred festival; -filling the vases with flowers, lighting several small lamps, and -kindling incense-rods in a little cup of bronze. When all was finished, -he called me. Approaching the recess, I saw the lad's photograph -within, set upright on a tiny dai; and before it was spread a miniature -feast of rice and fruits and cakes,--the old man's offering. - -"Perhaps," ventured Manyemon, "it would please his spirit if the master -should be honorably willing to talk to him. He would understand the -master's English." - -I did talk to him; and the portrait seemed to smile through the wreaths -of the incense. But that which I said was for him only, and the Gods. - - - - -X - - -IN YOKOHAMA - - -A good sight indeed has met us to-day,--a good daybreak,--a beautiful -rising;--for we have seen the Perfectly Enlightened, who has crossed -the stream.--HEMAVATASUTTA. - - - -I - - -The Jizō-Dō was not easy to find, being hidden away in a court behind -a street of small shops; and the entrance to the court itself--a very -narrow opening between two houses--being veiled at every puff of wind -by the fluttering sign-drapery of a dealer in second-hand clothing. - -Because of the heat, the shōji of the little temple had been removed, -leaving the sanctuary open to view on three sides. I saw the usual -Buddhist furniture--service-bell, reading-desk, and scarlet lacquered -mokugyō, disposed upon the yellow matting. The altar supported a stone -Jizō, wearing a bib for the sake of child ghosts; and above the statue, -upon a long shelf, were smaller ages gilded and painted,--another -Jizō, aureoled from head to feet, a radiant Amida, a sweet-faced -Kwannon, and a grewsome figure of the Judge of Souls. Still higher -were suspended a confused multitude of votive offerings, including -two framed prints taken from American illustrated papers: a view of -the Philadelphia Exhibition, and a portrait of Adelaide Neilson in -the character of Juliet. In lieu of the usual flower vases before the -horizon there were jars of glass bearing the inscription,--"_Reine -Claude au jus; conservation garantie. Toussaint Cosnard: Bordeaux._" -And the box filled with incense-rods bore the legend: "_Rich in -flavor--Pinhead Cigarettes._" To the innocent folk who gave them, -and who could never hope in this world to make costlier gifts, -these _ex-voto_ seemed beautiful because strange; and in spite of -incongruities it seemed to me that the little temple did really look -pretty. - -A screen, with weird figures of Arhats creating dragons, masked the -further chamber; and the song of an unseen uguisu sweetened the hush -of the place. A red cat came from behind the screen to look at us, -and retired again, as if to convey a message. Presently appeared an -aged nun, who welcomed us and bade us enter; her smoothly shaven head -shining like a moon at every reverence. We doffed our footgear, and -followed her behind the screen, into a little room that opened upon a -garden; and we saw the old priest seated upon a cushion, and writing at -a very low table. He laid aside his brush to greet us; and we also took -our places on cushions before him. Very pleasant his face was to look -upon: all wrinkles written there by the ebb of life spake of that which -was good. - -The nun brought us tea, and sweetmeats stamped with the Wheel of the -Law; the red cat curled itself up beside me; and the priest talked to -us. His voice was deep and gentle; there were bronze tones in it, like -the rich murmurings which follow each peal of a temple bell. We coaxed -him to tell us about himself. He was eighty-eight years of age, and his -eyes and ears were still as those of a young man; but he could not walk -because of chronic rheumatism. For twenty years he had been occupied in -writing a religious history of Japan, to be completed in three hundred -volumes; and he had already completed two hundred and thirty. The rest -he hoped to write during the coming year. I saw on a small book-shelf -behind him the imposing array of neatly bound MSS. - -"But the plan upon which he works," said my student interpreter, -"is quite wrong. His history will never be published; it is full of -impossible stories--miracles and fairy-tales." - -(I thought I should like to read the stories.) - -"For one who has reached such an age," I said, "you seem very strong." - -"The signs are that' I shall live some years longer," replied the old -man, "though I wish to live only long enough to finish my history. -Then, as I am helpless and cannot move about, I want to die so as to -get a new body. I suppose I must have committed some fault in a former -life, to be crippled as I am. But I am glad to feel that I am nearing -the Shore." - -"He means the shore of the Sea of Death and Birth," says my -interpreter. "The ship whereby we cross, you know, is the Ship of the -Good Law; and the farthest shore is Nehan,--Nirvana." - -"Are all our bodily weaknesses and misfortunes," I asked, "the results -of errors committed in other births?" - -"That which we are," the old man answered, "is the consequence of -that which we have been. We say in Japan the consequence of mangō and -ingō,--the two classes of actions." - -"Evil and good?" I queried. - -"Greater and lesser. There are no perfect actions. Every act contains -both merit and demerit, just as even the best painting has defects and -excellences. But when the sum of good in any action exceeds the sum of -evil, just as in a good painting the merits outweigh the faults, then -the result is progress. And gradually by such progress will all evil be -eliminated." - -"But how," I asked, "can the result of actions affect the physical -conditions? The child follows the way of his fathers, inherits their -strength or their weakness; yet not from them does he receive his -soul." - -"The chain of causes and effects is not easy to explain in a few words. -To understand all you should study the Dai-jō or Greater Vehicle; also -the Shō-jō, or Lesser Vehicle. There you will learn that the world -itself exists only because of acts. Even as one learning to write, -at first writes only with great difficulty, but afterward, becoming -skillful, writes without knowledge of any effort, so the tendency of -acts continually repeated is to form habit. And such tendencies persist -far beyond this life." - -"Can any man obtain the power to remember his former births?" - -"That is very rare," the old man answered, shaking his head. "To have -such memory one should first become a Bosatsu [Bodhissattva]." - -"Is it not possible to become a Bosatsu?" - -"Not in this age. This is the Period of Corruption. First there was -the Period of True Doctrine, when life was long; and after it came the -Period of Images, during which men departed from the highest truth; -and now the world is degenerate. It is not now possible by good deeds -to become a Buddha, because the world is too corrupt and life is -too short. But devout persons may attain the Gokuraku [Paradise] by -virtue of merit, and by constantly repeating the Nembutsu; and in the -Gokuraku, they may be able to practice the true doctrine. For the days -are longer there, and life also is very long." - -"I have read in our translations of the Sutras," I said, "that by -virtue of good deeds men may be reborn in happier and yet happier -conditions successively, each time obtaining more perfect faculties, -each time surrounded by higher joys. Riches are spoken of, and strength -and beauty, and graceful women, and all that people desire in this -temporary world. Wherefore I cannot help thinking that the way of -progress must continually grow more difficult the further one proceeds. -For if these texts be true, the more one succeeds in detaching one's -self from the things of the senses, the more powerful become the -temptations to return to them. So that the reward of virtue would seem -itself to be made an obstacle in the path." - -"Not so!" replied the old man. "They, who by self-mastery reach such -conditions of temporary happiness, have gained spiritual force also, -and some knowledge of truth. Their strength to conquer themselves -increases more and more with every triumph, until they reach at -last that world of Apparitional Birth, in which the lower forms of -temptation have no existence." - -The red cat stirred uneasily at a sound of geta, then went to the -entrance, followed by the nun. There were some visitors waiting; and -the priest begged us to excuse him a little while, that he might attend -to their spiritual wants. We made place quickly for them, and they came -in,--poor pleasant folk, who saluted us kindly: a mother bereaved, -desiring to have prayers said for the happiness of her little dead boy; -a young wife to obtain the pity of the Buddha for her ailing husband; a -father and daughter to seek divine help for somebody that had gone very -far away. The priest spoke caressingly to all, giving to the mother -some little prints of Jizō, giving a paper of blest rice to the wife, -and on behalf of the father and daughter, preparing some holy texts. -Involuntarily there came to me the idea of all the countless innocent -prayers thus being daily made in countless temples; the idea of all -the fears and hopes and heartaches of simple love; the idea of all -the humble sorrows unheard by any save the gods. The student began to -examine the old man's books, and I began to think of the unthinkable. - -Life--life as unity, uncreated, without beginning,--of which we know -the luminous shadows only;--life forever striving against death, and -always conquered yet always surviving--what is it?--why is it? A myriad -times the universe is dissipated,--a myriad times again evolved; and -the same life vanishes with every vanishing, only to reappear in -another cycling. The Cosmos becomes a nebula, the nebula a Cosmos: -eternally the swarms of suns and worlds are born; eternally they die. -But after each tremendous integration the flaming spheres cool down and -ripen into life; and the life ripens into Thought. The ghost in each -one of us must have passed through the burning of a million suns,--must -survive the awful vanishing of countless future universes. May not -Memory somehow and somewhere also survive? Are we sure that in ways -and forms unknowable it does not? as infinite vision,--remembrance of -the Future in the Past? Perhaps in the Night-without-end, as in deeps -of Nirvana, dreams of all that has ever been, of all that can ever be, -are being perpetually dreamed. - -The parishioners uttered their thanks, made their little offerings to -Jizō, and retired, saluting us as they went. We resumed our former -places beside the little writing-table, and the old man said:-- - -"It is the priest, perhaps, who among all men best knows what sorrow is -in the world. I have heard that in the countries of the West there is -also much suffering, although the Western nations are so rich." - -"Yes," I made answer; "and I think that in Western countries there -is more unhappiness than in Japan. For the rich there are larger -pleasures, but for the poor greater pains. Our life is much more -difficult to live; and, perhaps for that reason, our thoughts are more -troubled by the mystery of the world." - -The priest seemed interested, but said nothing. With the interpreter's -help, I continued:-- - -"There are three great questions by which the minds of many men in the -Western countries are perpetually tormented. These questions we call -'the Whence, the Whither, and the Why,' meaning, Whence Life? Whither -does it go? Why does it exist and suffer? Our highest Western Science -declares them riddles impossible to solve, yet confesses at the same -time that the heart of man can find no peace till they are solved. -All religions have attempted explanations; and all their explanations -are different. I have searched Buddhist books for answers to these -questions, and I found answers which seemed to me better than any -others. Still, they did not satisfy me, being incomplete. From your own -lips I hope to obtain some answers to the first and the third questions -at least. I do not ask for proof or for arguments of any kind: I ask -only to know doctrine. Was the beginning of all things in universal -Mind?" - -To this question I really expected no definite answer, having, in the -Sutra called Sabbâsava, read about "those things which ought not to -be considered," and about the Six Absurd Notions, and the words of the -rebuke to such as debate within themselves: "_This is a being: whence -did it come? whither will it go?_" But the answer came, measured and -musical, like a chant:-- - -"All things considered as individual have come into being, through -forms innumerable of development and reproduction, out of the universal -Mind. Potentially within that mind they had existed from eternity. -But between that we call Mind and that we call Substance there is no -difference of essence. What we name Substance is only the sum of our -own sensations and perceptions; and these themselves are but phenomena -of Mind. Of Substance-in-itself we have not any knowledge. We know -nothing beyond the phases of our mind, and these phases are wrought in -it by outer influence or power, to which we give the name Substance. -But Substance and Mind in themselves are only two phases of one -infinite Entity." - -"There are Western teachers also," I said, "who teach a like doctrine; -and the most profound researches of our modern science seem to -demonstrate that what we term Matter has no absolute existence. But -concerning that infinite Entity of which you speak, is there any -Buddhist teaching as to when and how It first produced those two forms -which in name we still distinguish as Mind and Substance?" - -"Buddhism," the old priest answered, "does not teach, as other -religions do, that things have been produced by creation. The one and -only Reality is the universal Mind, called in Japanese Shinnyo,[1]--the -Reality-in-its-very-self, infinite and eternal. Now this infinite -Mind within Itself beheld Its own sentiency. And, even as one who in -hallucination assumes apparitions to be actualities, so the universal -Entity took for external existences that which It beheld only within -Itself. We call this illusion Mu-myo,[2] signifying 'without radiance,' -or 'void of illumination.'" - -"The word has been translated by some Western scholars," I observed, -"as Ignorance.'" - -"So I have been told. But the idea conveyed by the word we use is not -the idea expressed by the term 'ignorance.' It is rather the idea of -enlightenment misdirected, or of illusion." - -"And what has been taught," I asked, concerning the time of that -illusion?" - -"The time of the primal illusion is said to be Mu-shi, 'beyond -beginning,' in the incalculable past. From Shinnyo emanated the first -distinction of the Self and the Not-Self, whence have arisen all -individual existences, whether of Spirit or of Substance, and all those -passions and desires, likewise, which influence the conditions of being -through countless births. Thus the universe is the emanation of the -infinite Entity; yet it cannot be said that we are the creations of -that Entity. The original Self of each of us is the universal Mind; and -within each of us the universal Self exists, together with the effects -of the primal illusion. And this state of the original Self enwrapped -in the results of illusion, we call Nyōrai-zō,[3] or the Womb of the -Buddha. The end for which we should all strive is simply our return to -the infinite Original Self, which is the essence of Buddha." - -"There is another subject of doubt," I said, "about which I much -desire to know the teaching of Buddhism. Our Western science declares -that the visible universe has been evolved and dissolved successively -innumerable times during the infinite past, and must also vanish and -reappear through countless cycles in the infinite future. In our -translations of the ancient Indian philosophy, and of the sacred texts -of the Buddhists, the same thing is declared. But is it not also -taught that there shall come at last for all things a time of ultimate -vanishing and of perpetual rest?" - -He answered: "The Shō-jō indeed teaches that the universe has appeared -and disappeared over and over again, times beyond reckoning in the -past, and that it must continue to be alternately dissolved and -reformed through unimaginable eternities to come. But we are also -taught that all things shall enter finally and forever, into the state -of Nehan."[4] - -An irreverent yet irrepressible fancy suddenly arose within me. I could -not help thinking of Absolute Rest as expressed by the scientific -formula of two hundred and seventy-four degrees (centigrade) below -zero, or 461°.2 Fahrenheit. But I only said:-- - -"For the Western mind it is difficult to think of absolute rest as a -condition of bliss. Does the Buddhist idea of Nehan include the idea of -infinite stillness, of universal immobility?" - -"No," replied the priest. "Nehan is the condition of Absolute -Self-sufficiency, the state of all-knowing, all-perceiving. We do -not suppose it a state of total inaction, but the supreme condition -of freedom from all restraint. It is true that we cannot imagine a -bodiless condition of perception or knowledge; because all our ideas -and sensations belong to the condition of the body. But we believe that -Nehan is the state of infinite vision and infinite wisdom and infinite -spiritual peace." - -The red cat leaped upon the priest's knees, and there curled itself -into a posture of lazy comfort. The old man caressed it; and my -companion observed, with a little laugh:-- - -"See how fat it is! Perhaps it may have performed some good deeds in a -previous life." - -"Do the conditions of animals," I asked, "also depend upon merit and -demerit in previous existences?" - -The priest answered me seriously:-- - -"All conditions of being depend upon conditions preëxisting, and Life -is One. To be born into the world of men is fortunate; there we have -some enlightenment, and chances of gaining merit. But the state of -an animal is a state of obscurity of mind, deserving our pity and -benevolence. No animal can be considered truly fortunate; yet even in -the life of animals there are countless differences of condition." - -A little silence followed,--softly broken by the purring of the cat. I -looked at the picture of Adelaide Neilson, just visible above the top -of the screen; and I thought of Juliet, and wondered what the priest -would say about Shakespeare's wondrous story of passion and sorrow, -were I able to relate it worthily in Japanese. Then suddenly, like an -answer to that wonder, came a memory of the two hundred and fifteenth -verse of the Dhammapada: "_From love comes grief; from grief comes -fear: one who is free from love knows neither grief nor fear._" - -"Does Buddhism," I asked, "teach that all sexual love ought to be -suppressed? Is such love of necessity a hindrance to enlightenment? -I know that Buddhist priests, excepting those of the Shin-shū, are -forbidden to marry; but I do not know what is the teaching concerning -celibacy and marriage among the laity." - -"Marriage may be either a hindrance or a help on the Path," the old -man said, "according to conditions. All depends upon conditions. If -the love of wife and child should cause a man to become too much -attached to the temporary advantages of this unhappy world, then such -love would be a hindrance. But, on the contrary, if the love of wife -and child should enable a man to live more purely and more unselfishly -than he could do in a state of celibacy, then marriage would be a very -great help to him in the Perfect Way. Many are the dangers of marriage -for the wise; but for those of little understanding the dangers of -celibacy are greater. And even the illusion of passion may sometimes -lead noble natures to the higher knowledge. There is a story of this. -Dai-Mokukenren,[5] whom the people call Mokuren, was a disciple of -Shaka.[6] He was a very comely man; and a girl became enamored of him. -As he belonged already to the Order, she despaired of being ever able -to have him for her husband; and she grieved in secret. But at last she -found courage to go to the Lord Buddha, and to speak all her heart to -him. Even while she was speaking, he cast a deep sleep upon her; and -she dreamed she was the happy wife of Mokuren. Years of contentment -seemed to pass in her dream; and after them years of joy and sorrow -mingled; and suddenly her husband was taken away from her by death. -Then she knew such sorrow that she wondered how she could live; and -she awoke in that pain, and saw the Buddha smile. And he said to her: -'Little Sister, thou hast seen. Choose now as thou wilt,--either to -be the bride of Mokuren, or to seek the higher Way upon which he -has entered.' Then she cut off her hair, and became a nun, and in -after-time attained to the condition of one never to be reborn." - -For a moment it seemed to me that the story did not show how love's -illusion could lead to self-conquest; that the girl's conversion -was only the direct result of painful knowledge forced upon her, -not a consequence of her love. But presently I reflected that the -vision accorded her could have produced no high result in a selfish -or unworthy soul. I thought of disadvantages unspeakable which the -possession of foreknowledge might involve in the present order of life; -and felt it was a blessed thing for most of us that the future shaped -itself behind a veil. Then I dreamed that the power to lift that veil -might be evolved or won, just so soon as such a faculty should be of -real benefit to men, but not before; and I asked:-- - -"Can the power to see the Future be obtained through enlightenment?" - -The priest answered:-- - -"Yes. When we reach that state of enlightenment in which we obtain -the Roku-Jindzū, or Six Mysterious Faculties, then we can see the -Future as well as the Past. Such power comes at the same time as the -power of remembering former births. But to attain to that condition of -knowledge, in the present age of the world, is very difficult." - -My companion made me a stealthy sign that it was time to say good-by. -We had stayed rather long--even by the measure of Japanese etiquette, -which is generous to a fault in these matters. I thanked the master of -the temple for his kindness in replying to my fantastic questions, and -ventured to add:-- - -"There are a hundred other things about which I should like to ask you, -but to-day I have taken too much of your time. May I come again?" - -"It will make me very happy," he said. "Be pleased to come again as -soon as you desire. I hope you will not fail to ask about all things -which are still obscure to you. It is by earnest inquiry that truth may -be known and illusions dispelled. Nay, come often--that I may speak to -you of the Shō-jō. And these I pray you to accept." - -He gave me two little packages. One contained white sand--sand from -the holy temple of Zenkōji, whither all good souls make pilgrimage -after death. The other contained a very small white stone, said to be a -shari, or relic of the body of a Buddha. - -I hoped to visit the kind old man many times again. But a school -contract took me out of the city and over the mountains; and I saw him -no more. - - -[1] Sanscrit: _Bhûta-Tathatâ._ - -[2] Sanscrit: _Avidya._ - -[3] Sanscrit: Tathâgata-gharba. The term "Tathâgata" (Japanese Nyōrai) -is the highest title of a Buddha. It signifies "One whose coming is -like the coming of his predecessors." - -[4] Nirvana. - -[5] Sanscrit: _Mahâmaudgalyâyana._ - -[6] The Japanese rendering of Sakyamuni. - - - -II - - -Five years, all spent far away from treaty ports, slowly flitted by -before I saw the Jizō-Dō again. Many changes had taken place both -without and within me during that time. The beautiful illusion of -Japan, the almost weird charm that comes with one's first entrance into -her magical atmosphere, had, indeed, stayed with me very long, but had -totally faded out at last. I had learned to see the Far East without -its glamour. And I had mourned not a little for the sensations of the -past. - -But one day they all came back to me--just for a moment. I was in -Yokohama, gazing once more from the Bluff at the divine spectre -of Fuji haunting the April morning. In that enormous spring blaze -of blue light, the feeling of my first Japanese day returned, the -feeling of my first delighted wonder in the radiance of an unknown -fairy-world full of beautiful riddles,--an Elf-land having a special -sun and a tinted atmosphere of its own. Again I knew myself steeped -in a dream of luminous peace; again all visible things assumed for -me a delicious immateriality. Again the Orient heaven--flecked only -with thinnest white ghosts of cloud, all shadowless as Souls entering -into Nirvana--became for me the very sky of Buddha; and the colors of -the morning seemed deepening into those of the traditional hour of -His birth, when trees long dead burst into blossom, and winds were -perfumed, and all creatures living found themselves possessed of loving -hearts. The air seemed pregnant with even such a vague sweetness, as if -the Teacher were about to come again; and all faces passing seemed to -smile with premonition of the celestial advent. - -Then the ghostliness went away, and things looked earthly; and I -thought of all the illusions I had known, and of the illusions of the -world as Life, and of the universe itself as illusion. Whereupon the -name Mu-myo returned to memory; and I was moved immediately to seek the -ancient thinker of the Jizō-Dō. - -The quarter had been much changed: old houses had vanished, and new -ones dovetailed wondrously together. I discovered the court at last -nevertheless, and saw the little temple just as I had remembered it. -Before the entrance women were standing; and a young priest I had -never seen before was playing with a baby; and the small brown hands -of the infant were stroking his shaven face. It was a kindly face, and -intelligent, with very long eyes. - -"Five years ago," I said to him, in clumsy Japanese, "I visited this -temple. In that time there was an aged bonsan here." - -The young bonsan gave the baby into the arms of one who seemed to be -its mother, and responded:-- - -"Yes. He died--that old priest; and I am now in his place. Honorably -please to enter." - -I entered. The little sanctuary no longer looked interesting: all -its innocent prettiness was gone. Jizō still smiled over his bib; -but the other divinities had disappeared, and likewise many votive -offerings--including the picture of Adelaide Neilson. The priest tried -to make me comfortable in the chamber where the old man used to write, -and set a smoking-box before me. I looked for the books in the corner; -they also had vanished. Everything seemed to have been changed. - -I asked:-- - -"When did he die?" - -"Only last winter," replied the incumbent, "in the Period of Greatest -Cold. As he could not move his feet, he suffered much from the cold. -This is his ihai." - -He went to an alcove containing shelves incumbered with a bewilderment -of objects indescribable,--old wrecks, perhaps, of sacred things,--and -opened the doors of a very small butsudan, placed between glass jars -full of flowers. Inside I saw the mortuary tablet,--fresh black -lacquer and gold. He lighted a lamplet before it, set a rod of incense -smouldering, and said:-- - -"Pardon my rude absence a little while; for there are parishioners -waiting." - -So left alone, I looked at the ihai and watched the steady flame of -the tiny lamp and the blue, slow, upcurlings of incense,--wondering if -the spirit of the old priest was there. After a moment I felt as if -he really were, and spoke to him without words. Then I noticed that -the flower vases on either side of the butsudan still bore the name of -Toussaint Cosnard of Bordeaux, and that the incense-box maintained its -familiar legend of richly flavored cigarettes. Looking about the room -I also perceived the red cat, fast asleep in a sunny corner. I went to -it, and stroked it; but it knew me not, and scarcely opened its drowsy -eyes. It was sleeker than ever, and seemed happy. Near the entrance I -heard a plaintive murmuring; then the voice of the priest, reiterating -sympathetically some half-comprehended answer to his queries: "_A woman -of nineteen, yes. And a man of twenty-seven,--is it?_" Then I rose to -go. - -"Pardon," said the priest, looking up from his writing, while the poor -women saluted me, "yet one little moment more!" - -"Nay," I answered; "I would not interrupt you. I came only to see the -old man, and I have seen his ihai. This, my little offering, was for -him. Please to accept it for yourself." - -"Will you not wait a moment, that I may know your name?" - -"Perhaps I shall come again," I said evasively. "Is the old nun also -dead?" - -"Oh no! she is still taking care of the temple. She has gone out, but -will presently return. Will you not wait? Do you wish nothing?" - -"Only a prayer," I answered. "My name makes no difference. A man of -forty-four. Pray that he may obtain whatever is best for him." - -The priest wrote something down. Certainly that which I had bidden him -pray for was not the wish of my "heart of hearts." But I knew the Lord -Buddha would never hearken to any foolish prayer for the return of lost -illusions. - - - - -XI - -YUKO: A REMINISCENCE - - -MEIJI, xxiv, 5. MAY, 1891 - -Who shall find a valiant woman?--far and from the uttermost coasts is -the price of her.--_Vulgate._ - - -"_Tenshi-Sama go-shimpai._" The Son of Heaven augustly sorrows. - -Strange stillness in the city, a solemnity as of public mourning. Even -itinerant venders utter their street cries in a lower tone than is -their wont. The theatres, usually thronged from early morning until -late into the night, are all closed. Closed also every pleasure-resort, -every show--even the flower-displays. Closed likewise all the -banquet-halls. Not even the tinkle of a samisen can be heard in the -silent quarters of the geisha. There are no revelers in the great inns; -the guests talk in subdued voices. Even the faces one sees upon the -street have ceased to wear the habitual smile; and placards announce -the indefinite postponement of banquets and entertainments. - -Such public depression might follow the news of some great calamity or -national peril,--a terrible earthquake, the destruction of the capital, -a declaration of war. Yet there has been actually nothing of all -this,--only the announcement that the Emperor sorrows; and in all the -thousand cities of the land, the signs and tokens of public mourning -are the same, expressing the deep sympathy of the nation with its -sovereign. - -And following at once upon this immense sympathy comes the universal -spontaneous desire to repair the wrong, to make all possible -compensation for the injury done. This manifests itself in countless -ways mostly straight from the heart, and touching in their simplicity. -From almost everywhere and everybody, letters and telegrams of -condolence, and curious gifts, are forwarded to the Imperial guest. -Rich and poor strip themselves of their most valued heirlooms, their -most precious household treasures, to offer them to the wounded Prince. -Innumerable messages also are being prepared to send to the Czar,--and -all this by private individuals, spontaneously. A nice old merchant -calls upon me to request that I should compose for him a telegram in -French, expressing the profound grief of all the citizens for the -attack upon the Czarevitch,--a telegram to the Emperor of all the -Russias. I do the best I can for him, but protest my total inexperience -in the wording of telegrams to high and mighty personages. "Oh! that -will not matter," he makes answer; "we shall send it to the Japanese -Minister at St. Petersburg: he will correct any mistakes as to form." I -ask him if he is aware of the cost of such a message. He has correctly -estimated it as something over one hundred yen, a very large sum for a -small Matsue merchant to disburse. - -Some grim old samurai show their feelings about the occurrence in a -less gentle manner. The high official intrusted with the safety of -the Czarevitch at Otsu receives, by express, a fine sword and a stem -letter bidding him prove his manhood and his regret like a sa murai, by -performing harakiri immediately. - -For this people, like its own Shintō gods, has various souls: it -has its Nigi-mi-tama and its Ara-mi-tama, its Gentle and its Rough -Spirit. The Gentle Spirit seeks only to make reparation; but the Rough -Spirit demands expiation. And now through the darkening atmosphere of -the popular life, everywhere is felt the strange thrilling of these -opposing impulses, as of two electricities. - -Far away in Kanagawa, in the dwelling of a wealthy family, there is a -young girl, a serving-maid, named Yuko, a samurai name of other days, -signifying "valiant." - -Forty millions are sorrowing, but she more than all the rest. How -and why no Western mind could fully know. Her being is ruled by -emotions and by impulses of which we can guess the nature only in -the vaguest possible way. Something of the soul of a good Japanese -girl we can know. Love is there--potentially, very deep and still. -Innocence also, insusceptible of taint--that whose Buddhist symbol is -the lotus-flower. Sensitiveness likewise, delicate as the earliest -snow of plum-blossoms. Fine scorn of death is there--her samurai -inheritance--hidden under a gentleness soft as music. Religion is -there, very real and very simple,--a faith of the heart, holding the -Buddhas and the Gods for friends, and unafraid to ask them for anything -of which Japanese courtesy allows the asking. But these, and many other -feelings, are supremely dominated by one emotion impossible to express -in any Western tongue--something for which the word "loyalty" were an -utterly dead rendering, something akin rather to that which we call -mystical exaltation: a sense of uttermost reverence and devotion to -the Tenshi-Sama. Now this is much more than any individual feeling. -It is the moral power and will undying of a ghostly multitude whose -procession stretches back out of her life into the absolute night of -forgotten time. She herself is but a spirit-chamber, haunted by a past -utterly unlike our own,--a past in which, through centuries uncounted, -all lived and felt and thought as one, in ways which never were as our -ways. - -"_Tenshi-Sama go-shimpai._" A burning shock of desire to give was -the instant response of the girl's heart--desire over powering, yet -hopeless, since she owned nothing, unless the veriest trifle saved from -her wages. But the longing remains, leaves her no rest. In the night -she thinks; asks herself questions which the dead answer for her. "What -can I give that the sorrow of the August may cease?" "Thyself," respond -voices without sound. "But can I?" she queries wonderingly. "Thou hast -no living parent," they reply; "neither does it belong to thee to make -the offerings. Be thou our sacrifice. To give life for the August One -is the highest duty, the highest joy." "And in what place?" she asks. -"Saikyō," answer the silent voices; "in the gateway of those who by -ancient custom should have died." - -Dawn breaks; and Yuko rises to make obeisance to the sun. She fulfills -her first morning duties; she requests and obtains leave of absence. -Then she puts on her prettiest robe, her brightest girdle, her whitest -tabi, that she may look worthy to give her life for the Tenshi-Sama. -And in another hour she is journeying to Kyōto. From the train window -she watches the gliding of the landscapes. Very sweet the day is;--all -distances, blue-toned with drowsy vapors of spring, are good to look -upon. She sees the loveliness of the land as her fathers saw it, but as -no Western eyes can see it, save in the weird, queer charm of the old -Japanese picture-books. She feels the delight of life, but dreams not -at all of the possible future preciousness of that life for herself. -No sorrow follows the thought that after her passing the world will -remain as beautiful as before. No Buddhist melancholy weighs upon -her: she trusts herself utterly to the ancient gods. They smile upon -her from the dusk of their holy groves, from their immemorial shrines -upon the backward fleeing hills. And one, perhaps, is with her: he who -makes the grave seem fairer than the palace to those who fear not; he -whom the people call Shinigami, the lord of death-desire. For her the -future holds no blackness. Always she will see the rising of the holy -Sun above the peaks, the smile of the Lady-Moon upon the waters, the -eternal magic of the Seasons. She will haunt the places of beauty, -beyond the folding of the mists, in the sleep of the cedar-shadows, -through circling of innumerable years. She will know a subtler life, in -the faint winds that stir the snow of the flowers of the cherry, in the -laughter of playing waters, in every happy whisper of the vast green -silences. But first she will greet her kindred, somewhere in shadowy -halls awaiting her coming to say to her: "_Thou hast done well,--like a -daughter of samurai. Enter, child! because of thee to-night we sup with -the Gods!_" - -It is daylight when the girl reaches Kyōto. She finds a lodging, and -seeks the house of a skillful female hairdresser. - -"Please to make it very sharp," says Yuko, giving the kamiyui a very -small razor (article indispensable of a lady's toilet); "and I shall -wait here till it is ready." She unfolds a freshly bought newspaper -and looks for the latest news from the capital; while the shop-folk -gaze curiously, wondering at the serious pretty manner which forbids -familiarity. Her face is placid like a child's; but old ghosts stir -restlessly in her heart, as she reads again of the Imperial sorrow. "I -also wish it were the hour," is her answering thought. "But we must -wait." At last she receives the tiny blade in faultless order, pays the -trifle ashed, and returns to her inn. - -There she writes two letters: a farewell to her brother, an -irreproachable appeal to the high officials of the City of Emperors, -praying that the Tenshi-Sama may be petitioned to cease from sorrowing, -seeing that a young life, even though unworthy, has been given in -voluntary expiation of the wrong. - -When she goes out again it is that hour of heaviest darkness which -precedes the dawn; and there is a silence as of cemeteries. Few and -faint are the lamps; strangely loud the sound of her little geta. Only -the stars look upon her. - -Soon the deep gate of the Government edifice is before her. Into the -hollow shadow she slips, whispers a prayer, and kneels. Then, according -to ancient rule, she takes off her long under-girdle of strong soft -silk, and with it binds her robes tightly about her, making the knot -just above her knees. For no matter what might happen in the instant -of blind agony, the daughter of a samurai must be found in death with -limbs decently composed. And then, with steady precision, she makes in -her throat a gash, out of which the blood leaps in a pulsing jet. A -samurai girl does not blunder in these matters: she knows the place of -the arteries and the veins. - -At sunrise the police find her, quite cold, and the two letters, and a -poor little purse containing five yen and a few sen (enough, she had -hoped, for her burial); and they take her and all her small belongings -away. - -Then by lightning the story is told at once to a hundred cities. - -The great newspapers of the capital receive it; and cynical journalists -imagine vain things, and try to discover common motives for that -sacrifice: a secret shame, a family sorrow, some disappointed love. But -no; in all her simple life there had been nothing hidden, nothing weak, -nothing unworthy; the bud of the lotus unfolded were less virgin. So -the cynics write about her only noble things, befitting the daughter of -a samurai. - -The Son of Heaven hears, and knows how his people love him, and -augustly ceases to mourn. - -The Ministers hear, and whisper to one another, within the shadow of -the Throne: "All else will change; but the heart of the nation will not -change." - -Nevertheless, for high reasons of State, the State pretends not to know. - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Out of the East, by Lafcadio Hearn - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUT OF THE EAST *** - -***** This file should be named 55802-0.txt or 55802-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/8/0/55802/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon -in an extended version,also linking to free sources for -education worldwide ... 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Out of the East - Reveries and Studies in New Japan - -Author: Lafcadio Hearn - -Release Date: October 24, 2017 [EBook #55802] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUT OF THE EAST *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon -in an extended version,also linking to free sources for -education worldwide ... MOOC's, educational materials,...) -(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/front.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<h1>"OUT OF THE EAST"</h1> - -<h3>REVERIES AND STUDIES IN NEW JAPAN</h3> - -<h2>LAFCADIO HEARN</h2> - -<h4>AUTHOR OF "GLIMPSES OF UNFAMILIAR JAPAN"</h4> - -<h4>"As far as the east is from the west—"</h4> - -<h5>BOSTON AND NEW YORK</h5> - -<h5>HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY</h5> - -<h5>The Riverside Press, Cambridge</h5> - -<h5>1895</h5> - - - -<hr class="full" /> -<p class="center" style="font-size: 0.8em;">TO<br /> - -NISHIDA SENTARŌ<br /> - -IN DEAR REMEMBRANCE OF<br /> - -IZUMO DAYS</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h5>CONTENTS</h5> - - -<div class="center" style="font-variant: small-caps;"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#I">I.</a></td><td align="left">The Dream of a Summer Day</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#II">II.</a></td><td align="left">With Kyūshū Students</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#III">III.</a></td><td align="left">At Hakata</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#IV">IV.</a></td><td align="left">Of the Eternal Feminine</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#V">V.</a></td><td align="left">Bits of Life and Death</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#VI">VI.</a></td><td align="left">The Stone Buddha</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#VII">VII.</a></td><td align="left">Jiujutsu</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#VIII">VIII.</a></td><td align="left">The Bed Bridal</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#IX">IX.</a></td><td align="left">A Wish fulfilled</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#X">X.</a></td><td align="left">In Yokohama</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#XI">XI.</a></td><td align="left">Yuko: A Reminiscence</td></tr> -</table></div> - - - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">"The Dream of a Summer Day" first appeared in the "Japan Daily -Mail."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3>OUT OF THE EAST</h3> - - - -<h4><a id="I"></a>I</h4> - - -<h4>THE DREAM OF A SUMMER DAY</h4> - - - -<h4 class="p2">I</h4> - - -<p>The hotel seemed to me a paradise, and the maids thereof celestial -beings. This was because I had just fled away from one of the Open -Ports, where I had ventured to seek comfort in a European hotel, -supplied with all "modern improvements." To find myself at ease once -more in a yukata, seated upon cool, soft matting, waited upon by -sweet-voiced girls, and surrounded by things of beauty, was therefore -like a redemption from all the sorrows of the nineteenth century. -Bamboo-shoots and lotus-bulbs were given me for breakfast, and a fan -from heaven for a keepsake. The design upon that fan represented only -the white rushing burst of one great wave on a beach, and sea-birds -shooting in exultation through the blue overhead. But to behold it -was worth all the trouble of the journey. It was a glory of light, a -thunder of motion, a triumph of sea-wind,—all in one. It made me want -to shout when I looked at it.</p> - -<p>Between the cedarn balcony pillars I could see the course of the pretty -gray town following the shore-sweep,—and yellow lazy junks asleep at -anchor,—and the opening of the bay between enormous green cliffs,—and -beyond it the blaze of summer to the horizon. In that horizon there -were mountain shapes faint as old memories. And all things but the gray -town, and the yellow junks, and the green cliffs, were blue.</p> - -<p>Then a voice softly toned as a wind-bell began to tinkle words of -courtesy into my reverie, and broke it; and I perceived that the -mistress of the palace had come to thank me for the chadai,<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> -and I prostrated myself before her. She was very young, and more -than pleasant to look upon,—like the moth-maidens, like the -butterfly-women, of Kuni-sada. And I thought at once of death;—for -the beautiful is sometimes a sorrow of anticipation.</p> - -<p>She asked whither I honorably intended to go, that she might order a -kuruma for me. And I made answer:—</p> - -<p>"To Kumamoto. But the name of your house I much wish to know, that I -may always remember it."</p> - -<p>"My guest-rooms," she said, "are augustly insignificant, and my maidens -honorably rude. But the house is called the House of Urashima. And now -I go to order a kuruma."</p> - -<p>The music of her voice passed; and I felt enchantment falling all about -me,—like the thrilling of a ghostly web. For the name was the name of -the story of a song that bewitches men.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> A little gift of money, always made to a hotel by the -guest shortly after his arrival.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>Once you hear the story, you will never be able to forget it. Every -summer when I find myself on the coast,—especially of very soft, -still days,—it haunts me most persistently. There are many native -versions of it which have been the inspiration for countless works -of art. But the most impressive and the most ancient is found in the -"Manyefushifu," a collection of poems dating from the fifth to the -ninth century. From this ancient version the great scholar Aston -translated it into prose, and the great scholar Chamberlain into both -prose and verse. But for English readers I think the most charming form -of it is Chamberlain's version written for children, in the "Japanese -Fairy-Tale Series,"—because of the delicious colored pictures by -native artists. With that little book before me, I shall try to tell -the legend over again in my own words.</p> - - -<p>Fourteen hundred and sixteen years ago, the fisher-boy Urashima Taro -left the shore of Suminoyé in his boat.</p> - -<p>Summer days were then as now,—all drowsy and tender blue, with only -some light, pure white clouds hanging over the mirror of the sea. Then, -too, were the hills the same,—far blue soft shapes melting into the -blue sky. And the winds were lazy.</p> - -<p>And presently the boy, also lazy, let his boat drift as he fished. It -was a queer boat, unpainted and rudderless, of a shape you probably -never saw. But still, after fourteen hundred years, there are such -boats to be seen in front of the ancient fishing-hamlets of the coast -of the Sea of Japan.</p> - -<p>After long waiting, Urashima caught something, and drew it up to him. -But he found it was only a tortoise.</p> - -<p>Now a tortoise is sacred to the Dragon God of the Sea, and the period -of its natural life is a thousand—some say ten thousand—years. So -that to kill it is very wrong. The boy gently unfastened the creature -from his line, and set it free, with a prayer to the gods.</p> - -<p>But he caught nothing more. And the day was very warm; and sea and air -and all things were very, very silent. And a great drowsiness grew upon -him,—and he slept in his drifting boat.</p> - -<p>Then out of the dreaming of the sea rose up a beautiful girl,—just -as you can see her in the picture to Professor Chamberlain's -"Urashima,"—robed in crimson and blue, with long black hair flowing -down her back even to her feet, after the fashion of a prince's -daughter fourteen hundred years ago.</p> - -<p>Gliding over the waters she came, softly as air; and she stood above -the sleeping boy in the boat, and woke him with a light touch, and -said:—</p> - -<p>"Do not be surprised. My father, the Dragon King of the Sea, sent me to -you, because of your kind heart. For to-day you set free a tortoise. -And now we will go to my father's palace in the island where summer -never dies; and I will be your flower-wife if you wish; and we shall -live there happily forever."</p> - -<p>And Urashima wondered more and more as he looked upon her; for she -was more beautiful than any human being, and he could not but love -her. Then he took one oar, and he took another, and they rowed away -together,—just as you may still see, off the far western coast, wife -and husband rowing together, when the fishing-boats flit into the -evening gold.</p> - -<p>They rowed away softly and swiftly over the silent blue water down into -the south,—till they came to the island where summer never dies,—and -to the palace of the Dragon King of the Sea.</p> - -<p>[Here the text of the little book suddenly shrinks away as you read, -and faint blue ripplings flood the page; and beyond them in a fairy -horizon you can see the long low soft shore of the island, and peaked -roofs rising through evergreen foliage—the roofs of the Sea God's -palace—like the palace of the Mikado Yuriaku, fourteen hundred and -sixteen years ago.]</p> - -<p>There strange servitors came to receive them in robes of -ceremony—creatures of the Sea, who paid greeting to Urashima as the -son-in-law of the Dragon King.</p> - -<p>So the Sea God's daughter became the bride of Urashima; and it was a -bridal of wondrous splendor; and in the Dragon Palace there was great -rejoicing.</p> - -<p>And each day for Urashima there were new wonders and new -pleasures:—wonders of the deepest deep brought up by the servants of -the Ocean God;—pleasures of that enchanted land where summer never -dies. And so three years passed.</p> - -<p>But in spite of all these things, the fisher-boy felt always a -heaviness at his heart when he thought of his parents waiting alone. So -that at last he prayed his bride to let him go home for a little while -only, just to say one word to his father and mother,—after which he -would hasten hack to her.</p> - -<p>At these words she began to weep; and for a long time she continued to -weep silently. Then she said to him: "Since you wish to go, of course -you must go. I fear your going very much; I fear we shall never see -each other again. But I will give you a little box to take with you. It -will help you to come hack to me if you will do what I tell you. Do not -open it. Above all things, do not open it,—no matter what may happen! -Because, if you open it, you will never be able to come hack, and you -will never see me again."</p> - -<p>Then she gave him a little lacquered box tied about with a silken cord. -[And that box can be seen unto this day in the temple of Kanagawa, by -the seashore; and the priests there also keep Urashima Tarō's fishing -line, and some strange jewels which he brought back with him from the -realm of the Dragon King.]</p> - -<p>But Urashima comforted his bride, and promised her never, never to open -the box—never even to loosen the silken string. Then he passed away -through the summer light over the ever-sleeping sea;—and the shape of -the island where summer never dies faded behind him like a dream;—and -he saw again before him the blue mountains of Japan, sharpening in the -white glow of the northern horizon.</p> - -<p>Again at last he glided into his native bay;—again he stood upon its -beach. But as he looked, there came upon him a great bewilderment,—a -weird doubt.</p> - -<p>For the place was at once the same, and yet not the same. The cottage -of his fathers had disappeared. There was a village; but the shapes -of the houses were all strange, and the trees were strange, and the -fields, and even the faces of the people. Nearly all remembered -landmarks were gone;—the Shintō temple appeared to have been rebuilt -in a new place; the woods had vanished from the neighboring slopes. -Only the voice of the little stream flowing through the settlement, -and the forms of the mountains, were still the same. All else was -unfamiliar and new. In vain he tried to find the dwelling of his -parents; and the fisherfolk stared wonderingly at him; and he could not -remember having ever seen any of those faces before.</p> - -<p>There came along a very old man, leaning on a stick, and Urashima asked -him the way to the house of the Urashima family. But the old man looked -quite astonished, and made him repeat the question many times, and then -cried out:—</p> - -<p>"Urashima Tarō! Where do you come from that you do not know the story? -Urashima Tarō! Why, it is more than four hundred years since he was -drowned, and a monument is erected to his memory in the graveyard. The -graves of all his people are in that graveyard,—the old graveyard -which is not now used any more. Urashima Tarō! How can you he so -foolish as to ask where his house is?" And the old man hobbled on, -laughing at the simplicity of his questioner.</p> - -<p>But Urashima went to the village graveyard,—the old graveyard that -was not used any more,—and there he found his own tombstone, and -the tombstones of his father and his mother and his kindred, and -the tombstones of many others he had known. So old they were, so -moss-eaten, that it was very hard to read the names upon them.</p> - -<p>Then he knew himself the victim of some strange illusion, and he took -his way hack to the beach,—always carrying in his hand the box, the -gift of the Sea God's daughter. But what was this illusion? And what -could be in that box? Or might not that which was in the box be the -cause of the illusion? Doubt mastered faith. Recklessly he broke the -promise made to his beloved;—he loosened the silken cord;—he opened -the box!</p> - -<p>Instantly, without any sound, there burst from it a white cold spectral -vapor that rose in air like a summer cloud, and began to drift away -swiftly into the south, over the silent sea. There was nothing else in -the box.</p> - -<p>And Urashima then knew that he had destroyed his own happiness,—that -he could never again return to his beloved, the daughter of the Ocean -King. So that he wept and cried out bitterly in his despair.</p> - -<p>Yet for a moment only. In another, he himself was changed. An icy chill -shot through all his blood;—his teeth fell out; his face shriveled; -his hair turned white as snow; his limbs withered; his strength ebbed; -he sank down lifeless on the sand, crushed by the weight of four -hundred winters.</p> - -<p>Now in the official annals of the Emperors it is written that "in the -twenty-first year of the Mikado Yuriaku, the boy Urashima of Midzunoyé, -in the district of Yosa, in the province of Tango, a descendant of -the divinity Shimanemi, went to Elysium [<i>Hōraï</i>] in a fishing-boat." -After this there is no more news of Urashima during the reigns of -thirty-one emperors and empresses—that is, from the fifth until the -ninth century. And then the annals announce that "in the second year -of Tenchiyō, in the reign of the Mikado Go-Junwa, the boy Urashima -returned, and presently departed again, none knew whither."<a name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>The fairy mistress came back to tell me that everything was ready, -and tried to lift my valise in her slender hands,—which I prevented -her from doing, because it was heavy. Then she laughed, but would not -suffer that I should carry it myself, and summoned a sea-creature with -Chinese characters upon his back. I made obeisance to her; and she -prayed me to remember the unworthy house despite the rudeness of the -maidens. "And you will pay the kurumaya," she said, "only seventy-five -sen."</p> - -<p>Then I slipped into the vehicle; and in a few minutes the little gray -town had vanished behind a curve. I was rolling along a white road -overlooking the shore. To the right were pale brown cliffs; to the left -only space and sea.</p> - -<p>Mile after mile I rolled along that shore, looking into the infinite -light. All was steeped in blue,—a marvelous blue, like that which -comes and goes in the heart of a great shell. Glowing blue sea met -hollow blue sky in a brightness of electric fusion; and vast blue -apparitions—the mountains of Higo—angled up through the blaze, like -masses of amethyst. What a blue transparency! The universal color -was broken only by the dazzling white of a few high summer clouds, -motionlessly curled above one phantom peak in the offing. They threw -down upon the water snowy tremulous lights. Midges of ships creeping -far away seemed to pull long threads after them,—the only sharp lines -in all that hazy glory. But what divine clouds! White purified spirits -of clouds, resting on their way to the beatitude of Nirvana? Or perhaps -the mists escaped from Urashima's box a thousand years ago?</p> - - -<p>The gnat of the soul of me flitted out into that dream of blue, 'twixt -sea and sun,—hummed back to the shore of Suminoyé through the luminous -ghosts of fourteen hundred summers. Vaguely I felt beneath me the -drifting of a keel. It was the time of the Mikado Yuriaku. And the -Daughter of the Dragon King said tinklingly,—"Now we will go to my -father's palace where it is always blue." "Why always blue?" I asked. -"Because," she said, "I put all the clouds into the Box." "But I must -go home," I answered resolutely. "Then," she said, "you will pay the -kurumaya only seventy-five sen."</p> - - -<p>Wherewith I woke into Doyō, or the Period of Greatest Heat, in the -twenty-sixth year of Meiji—and saw proof of the era in a line of -telegraph poles reaching out of sight on the land side of the way. The -kuruma was still fleeing by the shore, before the same blue vision of -sky, peak, and sea; but the white clouds were gone!—and there were -no more cliffs close to the road, but fields of rice and of barley -stretching to far-off hills. The telegraph lines absorbed my attention -for a moment, because on the top wire, and only on the top wire, hosts -of little birds were perched, all with their heads to the road, and -nowise disturbed by our coming. They remained quite still, looking down -upon us as mere passing phenomena. There were hundreds and hundreds -in rank, for miles and miles. And I could not see one having its tail -turned to the road. Why they sat thus, and what they were watching -or waiting for, I could not guess. At intervals I waved my hat and -shouted, to startle the ranks. Whereupon a few would rise up fluttering -and chippering, and drop back again upon the wire in the same position -as before. The vast majority refused to take me seriously.</p> - - -<p>The sharp rattle of the wheels was drowned by a deep booming; and as -we whirled past a village I caught sight of an immense drum under an -open shed, beaten by naked men.</p> - -<p>"O kurumaya!" I shouted—"that—what is it?"</p> - -<p>He, without stopping, shouted back:—- "Everywhere now the same thing -is. Much time-in rain has not been: so the gods-to prayers are made, -and drums are beaten." We flashed through other villages; and I saw -and heard more drums of various sizes, and from hamlets invisible, -over miles of parching rice-fields, yet other drums, like echoings, -responded.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_2" id="Footnote_1_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_2"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> See <i>The Classical Poetry of the Japanese</i>, by Professor -Chamberlain, in Trübner's <i>Oriental Series</i>. According to Western -chronology, Urashima went fishing in 477 A.D., and returned in 825.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>Then I began to think about Urashima again. I thought of the pictures -and poems and proverbs recording the influence of the legend upon the -imagination of a race. I thought of an Izumo dancing-girl I saw at -a banquet acting the part of Urashima, with a little lacquered box -whence there issued at the tragical minute a mist of Kyōto incense. -I thought about the antiquity of the beautiful dance,—and therefore -about vanished generations of dancing-girls,—and therefore about dust -in the abstract; which, again, led me to think of dust in the concrete, -as bestirred by the sandals of the kurumaya to whom I was to pay only -seventy-five sen. And I wondered how much of it might be old human -dust, and whether in the eternal order of things the motion of hearts -might be of more consequence than the motion of dust. Then my ancestral -morality took alarm; and I tried to persuade myself that a story which -had lived for a thousand years, gaining fresher charm with the passing -of every century, could only have survived by virtue of some truth in -it. But what truth? For the time being I could find no answer to this -question.</p> - - -<p>The heat had become very great; and I cried,—</p> - -<p>"O kurumaya! the throat of Selfishness is dry; water desirable is."</p> - -<p>He, still running, answered:—</p> - -<p>"The Village of the Long Beach inside of—not far—a great gush-water -is. There pure august water will be given."</p> - -<p>I cried again:—</p> - -<p>"O kurumaya!—those little birds as-for, why this way always facing?"</p> - -<p>He, running still more swiftly, responded:—"All birds wind-to facing -sit."</p> - -<p>I laughed first at my own simplicity; then at my -forgetfulness,—remembering I had been told the same thing, somewhere -or other, when a boy. Perhaps the mystery of Urashima might also have -been created by forgetfulness.</p> - - -<p>I thought again about Urashima. I saw the Daughter of the Dragon King -waiting vainly in the palace made beautiful for his welcome,—and the -pitiless return of the Cloud, announcing what had happened,—and the -loving uncouth sea-creatures, in their garments of great ceremony, -trying to comfort her. But in the real story there was nothing of all -this; and the pity of the people seemed to be all for Urashima. And I -began to discourse with myself thus:—</p> - -<p>Is it right to pity Urashima at all? Of course he was bewildered by the -gods. But who is not bewildered by the gods? What is Life itself but a -bewilderment? And Urashima in his bewilderment doubted the purpose of -the gods, and opened the box. Then he died without any trouble, and the -people built a shrine to him as Urashima Miō-jin. Why, then, so much -pity?</p> - -<p>Things are quite differently managed in the West. After disobeying -Western gods, we have still to remain alive and to learn the height and -the breadth and the depth of superlative sorrow. We are not allowed to -die quite comfortably just at the best possible time: much less are we -suffered to become after death small gods in our own right. How can -we pity the folly of Urashima after he had lived so long alone with -visible gods.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the fact that we do may answer the riddle. This pity must be -self-pity; wherefore the legend may be the legend of a myriad souls. -The thought of it comes just at a particular time of blue light and -soft wind,—and always like an old reproach. It has too intimate -relation to a season and the feeling of a season not to be also related -to something real in one's life, or in the lives of one's ancestors. -But what was that real something? Who was the Daughter of the Dragon -King? Where was the island of unending summer? And what was the cloud -in the box?</p> - -<p>I cannot answer all those questions. I know this only,—which is not at -all new:—</p> - - -<p class="p2">I have memory of a place and a magical time in which the Sun and the -Moon were larger and brighter than now. Whether it was of this life or -of some life before I cannot tell. But I know the sky was very much -more blue, and nearer to the world,—almost as it seems to become above -the masts of a steamer steaming into equatorial summer. The sea was -alive, and used to talk,—and the Wind made me cry out for joy when -it touched me. Once or twice during other years, in divine days lived -among the peaks, I have dreamed just for a moment that the same wind -was blowing,—but it was only a remembrance.</p> - -<p>Also in that place the clouds were wonderful, and of colors for which -there are no names at all,—colors that used to make me hungry and -thirsty. I remember, too, that the days were ever so much longer -than these days,—and that every day there were new wonders and new -pleasures for me. And all that country and time were softly ruled by -One who thought only of ways to make me happy. Sometimes I would refuse -to be made happy, and that always caused her pain, although she was -divine;—and I remember that I tried very hard to be sorry. When day -was done, and there fell the great hush of the light before moonrise, -she would tell me stories that made me tingle from head to foot with -pleasure. I have never heard any other stories half so beautiful. And -when the pleasure became too great, she would sing a weird little song -which always brought sleep. At last there came a parting day; and she -wept, and told me of a charm she had given that I must never, never -lose, because it would keep me young, and give me power to return. But -I never returned. And the years went; and one day I knew that I had -lost the charm, and had become ridiculously old.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>V</h4> - - -<p>The Village of the Long Beach is at the foot of a green cliff near the -road, and consists of a dozen thatched cottages clustered about a rocky -pool, shaded by pines. The basin overflows with cold water, supplied -by a stream that leaps straight from the heart of the cliff,—just as -folks imagine that a poem ought to spring straight from the heart of a -poet. It was evidently a favorite halting-place, judging by the number -of kuruma and of people resting. There were benches under the trees; -and, after having allayed thirst, I sat down to smoke and to look at -the women washing clothes and the travelers refreshing themselves at -the pool,—while my kurumaya stripped, and proceeded to dash buckets of -cold water over his body. Then tea was brought me by a young man with -a baby on his back; and I tried to play with the baby, which said "Ah, -bah!"</p> - -<p>Such are the first sounds uttered by a Japanese babe. But they are -purely Oriental; and in Itomaji should be written <i>Aba</i>. And, as -an utterance untaught, <i>Aba</i> is interesting. It is in Japanese -child-speech the word for "good-by,"—precisely the last we would -expect an infant to pronounce on entering into this world of illusion. -To whom or to what is the little soul saying good-by?—to friends in -a previous state of existence still freshly remembered?—to comrades -of its shadowy journey from nobody—knows—where? Such theorizing is -tolerably safe, from a pious point of view, since the child can never -decide for us. What its thoughts were at that mysterious moment of -first speech, it will have forgotten long before it has become able to -answer questions.</p> - -<p>Unexpectedly, a queer recollection came to me,—resurrected, perhaps, -by the sight of the young man with the baby,—perhaps by the song of -the water in the cliff: the recollection of a story:—</p> - - -<p class="p2">Long, long ago there lived somewhere among the mountains a poor -wood-cutter and his wife. They were very old, and had no children. -Every day the husband went alone to the forest to cut wood, while the -wife sat weaving at home.</p> - -<p>One day the old man went farther into the forest than was his custom, -to seek a certain kind of wood; and he suddenly found himself at -the edge of a little spring he had never seen before. The water was -strangely clear and cold, and he was thirsty; for the day was hot, -and he had been working hard. So he doffed his great straw hat, knelt -down, and took a long drink. That water seemed to refresh him in a most -extraordinary way. Then he caught sight of his own face in the spring, -and started back. It was certainly his own face, but not at all as he -was accustomed to see it in the old mirror at home. It was the face of -a very young man! He could not believe his eyes. He put up both hands -to his head, which had been quite bald only a moment before. It was -covered with thick black hair. And his face had become smooth as a -boy's; every wrinkle was gone. At the same moment he discovered himself -full of new strength. He stared in astonishment at the limbs that had -been so long withered by age; they were now shapely and hard with dense -young muscle. Unknowingly he had drunk at the Fountain of Youth; and -that draught had transformed him.</p> - -<p>First, he leaped high and shouted for joy; then he ran home faster than -he had ever run before in his life. When he entered his house his wife -was frightened,—because she took him for a stranger; and when he told -her the wonder, she could not at once believe him. But after a long -time he was able to convince her that the young man she now saw before -her was really her husband; and he told her where the spring was, and -asked her to go there with him.</p> - -<p>Then she said: "You have become so handsome and so young that you -cannot continue to love an old woman;—so I must drink some of that -water immediately. But it will never do for both of us to be away from -the house at the same time. Do you wait here while I go." And she ran -to the woods all by herself.</p> - -<p>She found the spring and knelt down, and began to drink. Oh! how cool -and sweet that water was! She drank and drank and drank, and stopped -for breath only to begin again.</p> - -<p>Her husband waited for her impatiently; he expected to see her come -back changed into a pretty slender girl. But she did not come back at -all. He got anxious, shut up the house, and went to look for her.</p> - -<p>When he reached the spring, he could not see her. He was just on the -point of returning when he heard a little wail in the high grass near -the spring. He searched there and discovered his wife's clothes and a -baby,—a very small baby, perhaps six months old!</p> - -<p>For the old woman had drunk too deeply of the magical water; she had -drunk herself far back beyond the time of youth into the period of -speechless infancy.</p> - -<p>He took up the child in his arms. It looked at him in a sad, wondering -way. He carried it home,—murmuring to it,—thinking strange, -melancholy thoughts.</p> - - -<p>In that hour, after my reverie about Urashima, the moral of this story -seemed less satisfactory than in former time. Because by drinking too -deeply of life we do not become young.</p> - - -<p class="p2">Naked and cool my kurumaya returned, and said that because of the heat -he could not finish the promised run of twenty-five miles, but that he -had found another runner to take me the rest of the way. For so much as -he himself had done, he wanted fifty-five sen.</p> - -<p>It was really very hot—more than 100° I afterwards learned; and far -away there throbbed continually, like a pulsation of the beat itself, -the sound of great drums beating for rain. And I thought of the -Daughter of the Dragon King.</p> - -<p>"Seventy-five sen, she told me," I observed;—"and that promised to be -done has not been done. Nevertheless, seventy-five sen to you shall be -given,—because I am afraid of the gods."</p> - -<p>And behind a yet unwearied runner I fled away into the enormous -blaze—in the direction of the great drums.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="II" id="II">II</a></h4> - - -<h4>WITH KYŪSHŪ STUDENTS</h4> - - - -<h4 class="p2">I</h4> - - -<p>The students of the Government College, or Higher Middle School, -can scarcely be called boys; their ages ranging from the average of -eighteen, for the lowest class, to that of twenty-five for the highest. -Perhaps the course is too long. The best pupil can hardly hope to reach -the Imperial University before his twenty-third year, and will require -for his entrance thereinto a mastery of written Chinese as well as a -good practical knowledge of either English and German, or of English -and French.<a name="FNanchor_1_3" id="FNanchor_1_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_3" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Thus he is obliged to learn three languages besides all -that relates to the elegant literature of his own; and the weight of -his task cannot be understood without knowledge of the fact that his -study of Chinese alone is equal to the labor of acquiring six European -tongues.</p> - -<p>The impression produced upon me by the Kumamoto students was very -different from that received on my first acquaintance with my Izumo -pupils. This was not only because the former had left well behind them -the delightfully amiable period of Japanese boyhood, and had developed -into earnest, taciturn men, but also because they represented to a -marked degree what is called Kyūshū character. Kyūshū still remains, -as of yore, the most conservative part of Japan, and Kumamoto, its -chief city, the centre of conservative feeling. This conservatism is, -however, both rational and practical. Kyūshū was not slow in adopting -railroads, improved methods of agriculture, applications of science -to certain industries; but remains of all districts of the Empire -the least inclined to imitation of Western manners and customs. The -ancient samurai spirit still lives on; and that spirit in Kyūshū was -for centuries one that exacted severe simplicity in habits of life. -Sumptuary laws against extravagance in dress and other forms of luxury -used to be rigidly enforced; and though the laws themselves have been -obsolete for a generation, their influence continues to appear in -the very simple attire and the plain, direct manners of the people. -Kumamoto folk are also said to be characterized by their adherence to -traditions of conduct which have been almost forgotten elsewhere, and -by a certain independent frankness in speech and action, difficult -for any foreigner to define, but immediately apparent to an educated -Japanese. And here, too, under the shadow of Kiyomasa's mighty -fortress,—now occupied by an immense garrison,—national sentiment is -declared to be stronger than in the very capital itself,—the spirit -of loyalty and the love of country. Kumamoto is proud of all these -things, and boasts of her traditions. Indeed, she has nothing else to -boast of. A vast, straggling, dull, unsightly town is Kumamoto: there -are no quaint, pretty streets, no great temples, no wonderful gardens. -Burnt to the ground in the civil war of the tenth Meiji, the place -still gives you the impression of a wilderness of flimsy shelters -erected in haste almost before the soil had ceased to smoke. There are -no remarkable places to visit (not, at least, within city limits),—no -sights,—few amusements. For this very reason the college is thought -to be well located: there are neither temptations nor distractions for -its inmates. But for another reason, also, rich men far away in the -capital try to send their sons to Kumamoto. It is considered desirable -that a young man should be imbued with what is called "the Kyūshū -spirit," and should acquire what might be termed the Kyūshū "tone." The -students of Kumamoto are said to be the most peculiar students in the -Empire by reason of this "tone." I have never been able to learn enough -about it to define it well; but it is evidently a something akin to the -deportment of the old Kyūshū samurai. Certainly the students sent from -Tokyo or Kyoto to Kyūshū have to adapt themselves to a very different -<i>milieu</i>. The Kumamoto, and also the Kagoshima youths,—whenever not -obliged to don military uniform for drill-hours and other special -occasions,—still cling to a costume somewhat resembling that of the -ancient bushi, and therefore celebrated in sword-songs—-the short robe -and hakama reaching a little below the knee, and sandals. The material -of the dress is cheap, coarse, and sober in color; cleft stockings -(<i>tabi</i>) are seldom worn, except in very cold weather, or during -long marches, to keep the sandal-thongs from cutting into the flesh. -Without being rough, the manners are not soft; and the lads seem to -cultivate a certain outward hardness of character. They can preserve -an imperturbable exterior under quite extraordinary circumstances, but -under this self-control there is a fiery consciousness of strength -which will show itself in a menacing form on rare occasions. They -deserve to be termed rugged men, too, in their own Oriental way. Some -I know, who, though born to comparative wealth, find no pleasure so -keen as that of trying how much physical hardship they can endure. The -greater number would certainly give up their lives without hesitation -rather than their high principles. And a rumor of national danger -would instantly transform the whole four hundred into a body of iron -soldiery. But their outward demeanor is usually impassive to a degree -that is difficult even to understand.</p> - -<p>For a long time I used to wonder in vain what feelings, sentiments, -ideas might be hidden beneath all that unsmiling placidity. The native -teachers, <i>de facto</i> government officials, did not appear to be on -intimate terms with any of their pupils: there was no trace of that -affectionate familiarity I had seen in Izumo; the relation between -instructors and instructed seemed to begin and end with the bugle-calls -by which classes were assembled and dismissed. In this I afterwards -found myself partly mistaken; still such relations as actually existed -were for the most part formal rather than natural, and quite unlike -those old-fashioned, loving sympathies of which the memory had always -remained with me since my departure from the Province of the Gods.</p> - -<p>But later on, at frequent intervals, there came to me suggestions of an -inner life much more attractive than this outward seeming,—hints of -emotional individuality. A few I obtained in casual conversations, but -the most remarkable in written themes. Subjects given for composition -occasionally coaxed out some totally unexpected blossoming of thoughts -and feelings. A very pleasing fact was the total absence of any false -shyness, or indeed shyness of any sort: the young men were not ashamed -to write exactly what they felt or hoped. They would write about their -homes, about their reverential love to their parents, about happy -experiences of their childhood, about their friendships, about their -adventures during the holidays; and this often in a way I thought -beautiful, because of its artless, absolute sincerity. After a number -of such surprises, I learned to regret keenly that I had not from the -outset kept notes upon all the remarkable compositions received. Once -a week I used to read aloud and correct in class a selection from the -best handed in, correcting the remainder at home. The very best I could -not always presume to read aloud and criticise for the general benefit, -because treating of matters too sacred to be methodically commented -upon, as the following examples may show.</p> - -<p>I had given as a subject for English composition this question: "What -do men remember longest?" One student answered that we remember our -happiest moments longer than we remember all other experiences, because -it is in the nature of every rational being to try to forget what is -disagreeable or painful as soon as possible. I received many still -more ingenious answers,—some of which gave proof of a really keen -psychological study of the question. But I liked best of all the simple -reply of one who thought that painful events are longest remembered. -He wrote exactly what follows: I found it needless to alter a single -word:—</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>"What do men remember longest? I think men remember longest that which -they hear or see under painful circumstances.</p> - -<p>"When I was only four years old, my dear, dear mother died. It was a -winter's day. The wind was blowing hard in the trees, and round the -roof of our house. There were no leaves on the branches of the trees. -Quails were whistling in the distance,—making melancholy sounds. I -recall something I did. As my mother was lying in bed,—a little -before she died,—I gave her a sweet orange. She smiled and took it, -and tasted it. It was the last time she smiled.... From the moment -when she ceased to breathe to this hour more than sixteen years have -elapsed. But to me the time is as a moment. Now also it is winter. The -winds that blew when my mother died blow just as then; the quails utter -the same cries; all things are the same. But my mother has gone away, -and will never come back again."</p> -</blockquote> - -<p>The following, also, was written in reply to the same question:—</p> - - -<p>"The greatest sorrow in my life was my father's death. I was seven -years old. I can remember that he had been ill all day, and that my -toys had been put aside, and that I tried to be very quiet. I had -not seen him that morning, and the day seemed very long. At last I -stole into my father's room, and put my lips close to his cheek, and -whispered, '<i>Father! father!</i>'—and his cheek was very cold. He did -not speak. My uncle came, and carried me out of the room, but said -nothing. Then I feared my father would die, because his cheek felt cold -just as my little sister's had been when she died. In the evening a -great many neighbors and other people came to the house, and caressed -me, so that I was happy for a time. But they carried my father away -during the night, and I never saw him after."</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_3" id="Footnote_1_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_3"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This essay was written early in 1894. Since then, the -study of French and of German has been made optional instead of -obligatory, and the Higher School course considerably shortened, by -a wise decision of the late Minister of Education, Mr. Inouye. It is -to be hoped that measures will eventually be taken to render possible -making the study of English also optional. Under existing conditions -the study is forced upon hundreds who can never obtain any benefit from -it.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>From the foregoing one might suppose a simple style characteristic -of English compositions in Japanese higher schools. Yet the reverse -is the fact. There is a general tendency to prefer big words to -little ones, and long complicated sentences to plain short periods. -For this there are some reasons which would need a philological -essay by Professor Chamberlain to explain. But the tendency in -itself—constantly strengthened by the absurd text-books in use—can -be partly understood from the fact that the very simplest forms of -English expression are the most obscure to a Japanese,—because they -are idiomatic. The student finds them riddles, since the root-ideas -behind them are so different from his own that, to explain those ideas, -it is first necessary to know something of Japanese psychology; and in -avoiding simple idioms he follows instinctively the direction of least -resistance.</p> - -<p>I tried to cultivate an opposite tendency by various devices. Sometimes -I would write familiar stories for the class, all in simple sentences, -and in words of one syllable. Sometimes I would suggest themes to -write upon, of which the nature almost compelled simple treatment. Of -course I was not very successful in my purpose, but one theme chosen -in relation to it—"My First Day at School"—evoked a large number of -compositions that interested me in quite another way, as revelations -of sincerity of feeling and of character. I offer a few selections, -slightly abridged and corrected. Their naïveté is not their least -charm,—especially if one reflect they are not the recollections of -boys. The following seemed to me one of the best:—</p> - - -<p>"I could not go to school until I was eight years old. I had often -begged my father to let me go, for all my playmates were already -at school; but he would not, thinking I was not strong enough. So I -remained at home, and played with my brother.</p> - -<p>"My brother accompanied me to school the first day. He spoke to the -teacher, and then left me. The teacher took me into a room, and -commanded me to sit on a bench, then he also left me. I felt sad as I -sat there in silence: there was no brother to play with now,—only many -strange boys. A bell ring twice; and a teacher entered our classroom, -and told us to take out our slates. Then he wrote a Japanese character -on the blackboard, and told us to copy it. That day he taught us how to -write two Japanese words, and told us some story about a good boy. When -I returned home I ran to my mother, and knelt down by her side to tell -her what the teacher had taught me. Oh! how great my pleasure then was! -I cannot even tell how I felt,—much less write it. I can only say that -I then thought the teacher was a more learned man than father, or any -one else whom I knew,—the most awful, and yet the most kindly person -in the world."</p> - - -<p class="p2">The following also shows the teacher in a very pleasing light:—</p> - - -<p class="p2">"My brother and sister took me to school the first day. I thought I -could sit beside them in the school, as I used to do at home; but -the teacher ordered me to go to a classroom which was very far away -from that of my brother and sister. I insisted upon remaining with my -brother and sister; and when the teacher said that could not be, I -cried and made a great noise. Then they allowed my brother to leave -his own class, and accompany me to mine. But after a while I found -playmates in my own class; and then I was not afraid to be without my -brother."</p> - - -<p class="p2">This also is quite pretty and true:—</p> - - -<p class="p2">"A teacher—(I think, the head master) called me to him, and told me -that I must become a great scholar. Then he bade some man take me into -a classroom where there were forty or fifty scholars. I felt afraid and -pleased at the same time, at the thought of having so many playfellows. -They looked at me shyly, and I at them. I was at first afraid to speak -to them. Little boys are innocent like that. But after a while, in some -way or other, we began to play together; and they seemed to be pleased -to have me play with them."</p> - - -<p class="p2">The above three compositions were by young men who had their first -schooling under the existing educational system, which prohibits -harshness on the part of masters. But it would seem that the teachers -of the previous era were less tender. Here are three compositions by -older students who appear to have had quite a different experience:—</p> - - -<p class="p2">1. "Before Meiji, there were no such public schools in Japan as there -are now. But in every province there was a sort of student society -composed of the sons of Samurai. Unless a man were a Samurai, his son -could not enter such a society. It was under the control of the Lord -of the province, who appointed a director to rule the students. The -principal study of the Samurai was that of the Chinese language and -literature. Most of the Statesmen of the present government were -once students in such Samurai schools. Common citizens and country, -people had to send their sons and daughters to primary schools called -<i>Terakoya</i>, where all the teaching was usually done by one teacher. -It consisted of little more than reading, writing, calculating, and -some moral instruction. We could learn to write an ordinary letter, -or a very easy essay. At eight years old, I was sent to a terakoya, -as I was not the son of a Samurai. At first I did not want to go; and -every morning my grandfather had to strike me with his stick to make -me go. The discipline at that school was very severe. If a boy did -not obey, he was beaten with a bamboo,—being held down to receive -his punishment. After a year, many public schools were opened: and I -entered a public school."</p> - - -<p class="p2">2. "A great gate, a pompous building, a very large dismal room with -benches in rows,—these I remember. The teachers looked very severe; -I did not like their faces. I sat on a bench in the room and felt -hateful. The teachers seemed unkind; none of the boys knew me, or -spoke to me. A teacher stood up by the blackboard, and began to call -the names. He had a whip in his band. He called my name. I could not -answer, and burst out crying. So I was sent borne. That was my first -day at school."</p> - - -<p class="p2">3. "When I was seven years old I was obliged to enter a school in my -native village. My father gave me two or three writing-brushes and some -paper;—I was very glad to get them, and promised to study as earnestly -as I could. But how unpleasant the first day at school was! When I went -to the school, none of the students knew me, and I found myself without -a friend. I entered a classroom. A teacher, with a whip in his hand, -called my name in a <i>large</i> voice. I was very much surprised at it, -and so frightened that I could not help crying. The boys laughed very -loudly at me; but the teacher scolded them, and whipped one of them, -and then said to me, 'Don't be afraid of my voice: what is your name?' -I told him my name, snuffling. I thought then that school was a very -disagreeable place, where we could neither weep nor laugh. I wanted -only to go back home at once; and though I felt it was out of my power -to go, I could scarcely bear to stay until the lessons were over. When -I returned home at last, I told my father what I had felt at school, -and said: 'I do not like to go to school at all.'"</p> - - -<p class="p2">Needless to say the next memory is of Meiji. It gives, as a -composition, evidence of what we should call in the West, character. -The suggestion of self-reliance at six years old is delicious: so is -the recollection of the little sister taking off her white tabi to deck -her child-brother on his first school-day:—</p> - - -<p class="p2">"I was six years old. My mother awoke me early. My sister gave me her -own stockings (<i>tabi</i>) to wear,—and I felt very happy. Father ordered -a servant to attend me to the school; but I refused to be accompanied: -I wanted to feel that I could go all by myself. So I went alone; and, -as the school was not far from the house, I soon found myself in front -of the gate. There I stood still a little while, because I knew none -of the children I saw going in. Boys and girls were passing into -the schoolyard, accompanied by servants or relatives; and inside I -saw others playing games which filled me with envy. But all at once -a little boy among the players saw me, and with a laugh came running -to me. Then I was very happy. I walked to and fro with him, hand in -hand. At last a teacher called all of us into a schoolroom, and made a -speech which I could not understand. After that we were free for the -day because it was the first day. I returned home with my friend. My -parents were waiting for me, with fruits and cakes; and my friend and I -ate them together."</p> - - -<p class="p2">Another writes:—</p> - - -<p class="p2">"When I first went to school I was six years old. I remember only that -my grandfather carried my books and slate for me, and that the teacher -and the boys were very, very, very kind and good to me,—so that I -thought school was a paradise in this world, and did not want to return -home."</p> - -<p class="p2">I think this little bit of natural remorse is also worth the writing -down:—</p> - -<p class="p2">"I was eight years old when I first went to school. I was a bad boy. -I remember on the way home from school I had a quarrel with one of -my playmates,—younger than I. He threw a very little stone at me -which hit me. I took a branch of a tree lying in the road, and struck -him across the face with all my might. Then I ran away, leaving him -crying in the middle of the road. My heart told me what I had done. -After reaching my home, I thought I still heard him crying. My little -playmate is not any more in this world now. Can any one know my -feelings?"</p> - - -<p class="p2">All this capacity of young men to turn back with perfect naturalness -of feeling to scenes of their childhood appears to me essentially -Oriental. In the Occident men seldom begin to recall their childhood -vividly before the approach of the autumn season of life. But childhood -in Japan is certainly happier than in other lands, and therefore -perhaps is regretted earlier in adult life. The following extract from -a student's record of his holiday experience touchingly expresses such -regret:</p> - - -<p class="p2">"During the spring vacation, I went home to visit my parents. Just -before the end of the holidays, when it was nearly time for me to -return to the college, I heard that the students of the middle school -of my native town were also going to Kumamoto on an excursion, and I -resolved to go with them.</p> - -<p>"They marched in military order with their rifles. I had no rifle, so -I took my place in the rear of the column. We marched all day, keeping -time to military songs which we sung all together.</p> - -<p>"In the evening we reached Soyeda. The teachers and students of the -Soyeda school, and the chief men of the village, welcomed us. Then -we were separated into detachments, each of which was quartered in a -different hotel. I entered a hotel, with the last detachment, to rest -for the night.</p> - -<p>"But I could not sleep for a long time. Five years before, on a similar -'military excursion,' I had rested in that very hotel, as a student of -the same middle school. I remembered the fatigue and the pleasure; -and I compared my feelings of the moment with the recollection of my -feelings then as a boy. I could not help a weak wish to be young again -like my companions. They were fast asleep, tired with their long march; -and I sat up and looked at their faces. How pretty their faces seemed -in that young sleep!"</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>The preceding selections give no more indication of the general -character of the students' compositions than might be furnished by any -choice made to illustrate a particular feeling. Examples of ideas and -sentiments from themes of a graver kind would show variety of thought -and not a little originality in method, but would require much space. -A few notes, however, copied out of my class-register, will be found -suggestive, if not exactly curious.</p> - -<p>At the summer examinations of 1893 I submitted to the graduating -classes, for a composition theme, the question, "What is eternal in -literature?" I expected original answers, as the subject had never -been discussed by us, and was certainly new to the pupils, so far as -their knowledge of Western thought was concerned. Nearly all the papers -proved interesting. I select twenty replies as examples. Most of them -immediately preceded a long discussion, but a few were embodied in the -text of the essay:—</p> - - -<p class="p2">1. "Truth and Eternity are identical: these make the Full Circle,—in -Chinese, Yen-Man."</p> - -<p>2. "All that in human life and conduct which is according to the laws -of the Universe."</p> - -<p>3. "The lives of patriots, and the teachings of those who have given -pure maxims to the world."</p> - -<p>4. "Filial Piety, and the doctrine of its teachers. Vainly the books -of Confucius were burned during the Shin dynasty; they are translated -to-day into all the languages of the civilized world."</p> - -<p>5. "Ethics, and scientific truth."</p> - -<p>6. "Both evil and good are eternal, said a Chinese sage. We should read -only that which is good."</p> - -<p>7. "The great thoughts and ideas of our ancestors."</p> - -<p>8. "For a thousand million centuries truth is truth."</p> - -<p>9. "Those ideas of right and wrong upon which all schools of ethics -agree."</p> - -<p>10. "Books which rightly explain the phenomena of the Universe."</p> - -<p>11. "Conscience alone is unchangeable. Wherefore books about ethics -based upon conscience are eternal."</p> - -<p>12. "Reasons for noble action: these remain unchanged by time."</p> - -<p>13. "Books written upon the best moral means of giving the greatest -possible happiness to the greatest possible number of people,—that is, -to mankind."</p> - -<p>14. "The Gokyō (the Five Great Chinese Classics)."</p> - -<p>15. "The holy books of China, and of the Buddhists."</p> - -<p>16. "All that which teaches the Right and Pure Way of human conduct."</p> - -<p>17. "The Story of Kusunoki Masaskigé, who vowed to be reborn seven -times to fight against the enemies of his Sovereign."</p> - -<p>18. "Moral sentiment, without which the world would be only an enormous -clod of earth, and all books waste-paper."</p> - -<p>19. "The Tao-te-King."</p> - -<p>20. Same as 19, but with this comment. "He who reads that which is -eternal, <i>his soul shall hover eternally in the Universe.</i>"</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>Some particularly Oriental sentiments were occasionally drawn out -through discussions. The discussions were based upon stories which I -would relate to a class by word of mouth, and invite written or spoken -comment about. The results of such a discussion are hereafter set -forth. At the time it took place, I had already told the students of -the higher classes a considerable number of stories. I had told them -many of the Greek myths; among which that of Œdipus and the Sphinx -seemed especially to please them, because of the hidden moral, and -that of Orpheus, like all our musical legends, to have no interest -for them. I had also told them a variety of our most famous modern -stories. The marvelous tale of "Rappacini's Daughter" proved greatly -to their liking; and the spirit of Hawthorne might have found no -little ghostly pleasure in their interpretation of it. "Monos and -Daimonos" found favor; and Poe's wonderful fragment, "Silence," was -appreciated after a fashion that surprised me. On the other hand, -the story of "Frankenstein" impressed them very little. None took it -seriously. For Western minds the tale must always hold a peculiar -horror, because of the shock it gives to feelings evolved under -the influence of Hebraic ideas concerning the origin of life, the -tremendous character of divine prohibitions, and the awful punishments -destined for those who would tear the veil from Nature's secrets, or -mock, even unconsciously, the work of a jealous Creator. But to the -Oriental mind, unshadowed by such grim faith,—feeling no distance -between gods and men,—conceiving life as a multiform whole ruled by -one uniform law that shapes the consequence of every act into a reward -or a punishment,—the ghastliness of the story makes no appeal. Most of -the written criticisms showed me that it was generally regarded as a -comic or semi-comic parable. After all this, I was rather puzzled one -morning by the request for a "very strong moral story of the Western -kind."</p> - -<p>I suddenly resolved—though knowing I was about to venture on dangerous -ground—to try the full effect of a certain Arthurian legend which I -felt sure somebody would criticise with a vim. The moral is rather -more than "very strong;" and for that reason I was curious to hear the -result.</p> - -<p>So I related to them the story of Sir Bors, which is in the sixteenth -book of Sir Thomas Mallory's "Morte d'Arthur,"—"how Sir Bors met his -brother Sir Lionel taken and beaten with thorns,—and of a maid which -should have been dishonored,—and how Sir Bors left his brother to -rescue the damsel,—-and how it was told them that Lionel was dead." -But I did not try to explain to them the knightly idealism imaged in -the beautiful old tale, as I wished to hear them comment, in their own -Oriental way, upon the bare facts of the narrative.</p> - -<p>Which they did as follows:—</p> - -<p class="p2">"The action of Mallory's knight," exclaimed Iwai, "was contrary -even to the principles of Christianity,—if it be true that the -Christian religion declares all men brothers. Such conduct might be -right if there were no society in the world. But while any society -exists which is formed of families, family love must be the strength of -that society; and the action of that knight was against family love, -and therefore against society. The principle he followed was opposed -not only to all society, but was contrary to all religion, and contrary -to the morals of all countries."</p> - -<p>"The story is certainly immoral," said Orito. "What it relates is -opposed to all our ideas of love and loyalty, and even seems to us -contrary to nature. Loyalty is not a mere duty. It must be from the -heart, or it is not loyally. It must be an inborn feeling. And it is in -the nature of every Japanese."</p> - -<p>"It is a horrible story," said Andō. "Philanthropy itself is only an -expansion of fraternal love. The man who could abandon his own brother -to death merely to save a strange woman was a wicked man. Perhaps he -was influenced by passion."</p> - -<p>"No," I said: "you forget I told you that there was no selfishness in -his action,—that it must be interpreted as a heroism."</p> - -<p>"I think the explanation of the story must be religious," said -Yasukochi. "It seems strange to us; but that may be because we do -not understand Western ideas very well. Of course to abandon one's -own brother in order to save a strange woman is contrary to all our -knowledge of right. But if that knight was a man of pure heart, he -must have imagined himself obliged to do it because of some promise -or some duty. Even then it must have seemed to him a very painful and -disgraceful thing to do, and he could not have done it without feeling -that he was acting against the teaching of his own heart."</p> - -<p>"There you are right," I answered. "But you should also know that the -sentiment obeyed by Sir Bors is one which still influences the conduct -of brave and noble men in the societies of the West,—even of men who -cannot be called religious at all in the common sense of that word."</p> - -<p>"Still, we think it a very bad sentiment," said Iwai; "and we would -rather hear another story about another form of society."</p> - -<p>Then it occurred to me to tell them the immortal story of Alkestis. I -thought for the moment that the character of Herakles in that divine -drama would have a particular charm for them. But the comments proved I -was mistaken. No one even referred to Herakles. Indeed I ought to have -remembered that our ideals of heroism, strength of purpose, contempt of -death, do not readily appeal to Japanese youth. And this for the reason -that no Japanese gentleman regards such qualities as exceptional. -He considers heroism a matter of course—something belonging to -manhood and inseparable from it. He would say that a woman may be -afraid without shame, but never a man. Then as a mere idealization of -physical force, Herakles could interest Orientals very little: their -own mythology teems with impersonations of strength; and, besides, -dexterity, sleight, quickness, are much more admired by a true Japanese -than strength. No Japanese boy would sincerely wish to be like the -giant Benkei; but Yoshitsune, the slender, supple conqueror and master -of Benkei, remains an ideal of perfect knighthood dear to the hearts of -all Japanese youth.</p> - -<p>Kamekawa said:—</p> - -<p>"The story of Alkestis, or at least the story of Admetus, is a story -of cowardice, disloyalty, immorality. The conduct of Admetus was -abominable. His wife was indeed noble and virtuous—too good a wife for -so shameless a man. I do not believe that the father of Admetus would -not have been willing to die for his son if his son had been worthy. I -think he would gladly have died for his son had he not been disgusted -by the cowardice of Admetus. And how disloyal the subjects of Admetus -were! The moment they heard of their king's danger they should have -rushed to the palace, and humbly begged that they might be allowed to -die in his stead. However cowardly or cruel he might have been, that -was their duty. They were his subjects. They lived by his favor. Yet -how disloyal they were! A country inhabited by such shameless people -must soon have gone to ruin. Of course, as the story says, 'it is sweet -to live.' Who does not love life? Who does not dislike to die? But no -brave man—no loyal man even—should so much as think about his life -when duty requires him to give it."</p> - -<p>"But," said Midzuguchi, who had joined us a little too late to hear -the beginning of the narration, "perhaps Admetus was actuated by -filial piety. Had I been Admetus, and found no one among my subjects -willing to die for me, I should have said to my wife: 'Dear wife, I -cannot leave my father alone now, because he has no other son, and his -grandsons are still too young to be of use to him. Therefore, if you -love me, please die in my place.'"</p> - -<p>"You do not understand the story," said Yasukochi. "Filial piety did -not exist in Admetus. He wished that his father should have died for -him."</p> - -<p>"Ah!" exclaimed the apologist in real surprise,—"that is not a nice -story, teacher!"</p> - -<p>"Admetus," declared Kawabuchi, "was everything which is bad. He was a -hateful coward, because he was afraid to die; he was a tyrant, because -he wanted his subjects to die for him; he was an unfilial son because -he wanted his old father to die in his place; and he was an unkind -husband, because he asked his wife—a weak woman with little children -—to do what <i>he</i> was afraid to do as a man. What could be baser than -Admetus?"</p> - -<p>"But Alkestis," said Iwai,—"Alkestis was all that is good. For she -gave up her children and everything,—even like the Buddha [<i>Shaka</i>] -himself. Yet she was very young. How true and brave! The beauty of -her face might perish like a spring-blossoming, but the beauty of -her act should be remembered for a thousand times a thousand years. -Eternally her soul will hover in the universe. Formless she is now; but -it is the Formless who teach us more kindly than our kindest living -teachers,—the souls of all who have done pure, brave, wise deeds."</p> - -<p>"The wife of Admetus," said Kumamoto, inclined to austerity in his -judgments, "was simply obedient. She was not entirely blameless. For, -before her death, it was her highest duty to have severely reproached -her husband for his foolishness. And this she did not do,—not at least -as our teacher tells the story."</p> - -<p>"Why Western people should think that story beautiful," said Zaitsu, -"is difficult for us to understand. There is much in it which fills -us with anger. For some of us cannot but think of our parents when -listening to such a story. After the Revolution of Meiji, for a time, -there was much suffering. Often perhaps our parents were hungry; yet -we always had plenty of food. Sometimes they could scarcely get money -to live; yet we were educated. When we think of all it cost them to -educate us, all the trouble it gave them to bring us up, all the love -they gave us, and all the pain we caused them in our foolish childhood, -then we think we can never, never do enough for them. And therefore we -do not like that story of Admetus."</p> - - -<p class="p2">The bugle sounded for recess. I went to the parade-ground to take -a smoke. Presently a few students joined me, with their rifles and -bayonets—for the next hour was to be devoted to military drill. One -said: "Teacher, we should like another subject for composition,—not -<i>too</i> easy."</p> - -<p>I suggested: "How would you like this for a subject, 'What is most -difficult to understand?'"</p> - -<p>"That," said Kawabuchi, "is not hard to answer,—the correct use of -English prepositions."</p> - -<p>"In the study of English by Japanese students,—yes," I answered. "But -I did not mean any special difficulty of that kind. I meant to write -your ideas about what is most difficult for all men to understand."</p> - -<p>"The universe?" queried Yasukochi. "That is too large a subject."</p> - -<p>"When I was only six years old," said Orito, "I used to wander along -the seashore, on fine days, and wonder at the greatness of the world. -Our home was by the sea. Afterwards I was taught that the problem of -the universe will at last pass away, like smoke."</p> - -<p>"I think," said Miyakawa, "that the hardest of all things to understand -is why men live in the world. From the time a child is born, what does -he do? He eats and drinks; he feels happy and sad; he sleeps at night; -he awakes in the morning. He is educated; he grows up; he marries; he -has children; he gets old; his hair turns first gray and then white; he -becomes feebler and feebler,—and he dies.</p> - -<p>"What does he do all his life? All his real work in this world is to -eat and to drink, to sleep and to rise up; since, whatever be his -occupation as a citizen, he toils only that he may be able to continue -doing this. But for what purpose does a man really come into the world? -Is it to eat? Is it to drink? Is it to sleep? Every day he does exactly -the same thing, and yet he is not tired! It is strange.</p> - -<p>"When rewarded, he is glad; when punished, he is sad. If he becomes -rich, he thinks himself happy. If he becomes poor, he is very unhappy. -Why is he glad or sad according to his condition? Happiness and sadness -are only temporary things. Why does he study hard? No matter how great -a scholar he may become, what is there left of him when he is dead? -Only bones."</p> - - -<p class="p2">Miyakawa was the merriest and wittiest in his class; and the -contrast between his joyous character and his words seemed to me -almost startling. But such swift glooms of thought—especially since -Meiji—not unfrequently make apparition in quite young Oriental minds. -They are fugitive as shadows of summer clouds; they mean less than they -would signify in Western adolescence; and the Japanese lives not by -thought, nor by emotion, but by duty. Still, they are not haunters to -encourage.</p> - -<p>"I think," said I, "a much better subject for you all would be the Sky: -the sensations which the sky creates in us when we look at it on such a -day as this. See how wonderful it is!"</p> - -<p>It was blue to the edge of the world, with never a floss of cloud. -There were no vapors in the horizon; and very far peaks, invisible on -most days, now-massed into the glorious light, seemingly diaphanous.</p> - -<p>Then Kumashiro, looking up to the mighty arching, uttered with -reverence the ancient Chinese words:—</p> - -<p>"<i>What thought is so high as It is? What mind is so wide?</i>"</p> - -<p>"To-day," I said, "is beautiful as any summer day could be,—only that -the leaves are falling, and the semi are gone."</p> - -<p>"Do you like semi, teacher?" asked Mori.</p> - -<p>"It gives me great pleasure to hear them," I answered. "We have no such -cicadæ in the West."</p> - -<p>"Human life is compared to the life of a semi," said Orito,—"<i>utsuzemi -no yo</i>. Brief as the song of the semi all human joy is, and youth. Men -come for a season and go, as do the semi."</p> - -<p>"There are no semi now," said Yasukochi; "perhaps the teacher thinks it -is sad."</p> - -<p>"I do not think it sad," observed Noguchi. "They hinder us from study. -I hate the sound they make. When we hear that sound in summer, and are -tired, it adds fatigue to fatigue so that we fall asleep. If we try to -read or write, or even think, when we hear that sound we have no more -courage to do anything. Then we wish that all those insects were dead."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps you like the dragon-flies," I suggested. "They are flashing -all around us; but they make no sound."</p> - -<p>"Every Japanese likes dragon-flies," said Ivumashiro. "Japan, you know, -is called Akitsusu, which means the Country of the Dragon-fly."</p> - -<p>We talked about different kinds of dragon-flies; and they told me of -one I had never seen,—the Shōro-tombo, or "Ghost dragon-fly," said -to have some strange relation to the dead. Also they spoke of the -Yamma—a very large kind of dragon-fly, and related that in certain -old songs the samurai were called Yamma, because the long hair of -a young warrior used to be tied up into a knot in the shape of a -dragon-fly.</p> - -<p>A bugle sounded; and the voice of the military officer rang out,—</p> - -<p>"<i>AtsumarÉ!</i>" (fall in!) But the young men lingered an instant to ask,—</p> - -<p>"Well, what shall it be, teacher?—that which is most difficult to -understand?"</p> - -<p>"No," I said, "the Sky."</p> - -<p>And all that day the beauty of the Chinese utterance haunted me, filled -me like an exaltation:—</p> - -<p>"<i>What thought is so high as It is? What mind is so wide?</i>"</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>V</h4> - - -<p>There is one instance in which the relation between teachers and -students is not formal at all,—one precious survival of the mutual -love of other days in the old Samurai Schools. By all the aged -Professor of Chinese is reverenced; and his influence over the young -men is very great. With a word he could calm any outburst burst of -anger; with a smile he could quicken any generous impulse. For he -represents to the lads their ideal of all that was brave, true, noble, -in the elder life,—the Soul of Old Japan.</p> - -<p>His name, signifying "Moon-of-Autumn," is famous in his own land. A -little book has been published about him, containing his portrait. He -was once a samurai of high rank belonging to the great clan of Aidzu. -He rose early to positions of trust and influence. He has been a leader -of armies, a negotiator between princes, a statesman, a ruler of -provinces—all that any knight could be in the feudal era. But in the -intervals of military or political duty he seems to have always been -a teacher. There are few such teachers. There are few such scholars. -Yet to see him now, you would scarcely believe how much he was once -feared—though loved—by the turbulent swordsmen under his rule. -Perhaps there is no gentleness so full of charm as that of the man of -war noted for sternness in his youth.</p> - -<p>When the Feudal System made its last battle for existence, he heard the -summons of his lord, and went into that terrible struggle in which -even the women and little children of Aidzu took part. But courage and -the sword alone could not prevail against the new methods of war;—the -power of Aidzu was broken; and he, as one of the leaders of that power, -was long a political prisoner.</p> - -<p>But the victors esteemed him; and the Government he had fought against -in all honor took him into its service to teach the new generations. -From younger teachers these learned Western science and Western -languages. But he still taught that wisdom of the Chinese sages which -is eternal,—and loyalty, and honor, and all that makes the man.</p> - -<p>Some of his children passed away from his sight. But he could not feel -alone; for all whom he taught were as sons to him, and so reverenced -him. And he became old, very old, and grew to look like a god,—like a -Kami-Sama.</p> - -<p>The Kami-Sama in art bear no likeness to the Buddhas. These more -ancient divinities have no downcast gaze, no meditative impassiveness. -They are lovers of Nature; they haunt her fairest solitudes, and -enter into the life of her trees, and speak in her waters, and hover -in her winds. Once upon the earth they lived as men; and the people of -the land are their posterity. Even as divine ghosts, they remain very -human, and of many dispositions. They are the emotions, they are the -sensations of the living. But as figuring in legend and the art born -of legend, they are mostly very pleasant to know. I speak not of the -cheap art which treats them irreverently in these skeptical days, but -of the older art explaining the sacred texts about them. Of course such -representations vary greatly. But were you to ask what is the ordinary -traditional aspect of a Kami, I should answer: "An ancient smiling man -of wondrously gentle countenance, having a long white beard, and all -robed in white with a white girdle."</p> - -<p>Only that the girdle of the aged Professor was of black silk, just such -a vision of Shintō he seemed when he visited me the last time.</p> - -<p>He had met me at the college, and had said: "I know there has been a -congratulation at your house; and that I did not call was not because I -am old or because your house is far, but only because I have been long -ill. But you will soon see me."</p> - -<p>So one luminous afternoon he came, bringing gifts of -felicitation,—gifts of the antique high courtesy, simple in -themselves, yet worthy a prince: a little plum-tree, every branch and -spray one snowy dazzle of blossoms; a curious and pretty bamboo vessel -full of wine; and two scrolls bearing beautiful poems,—texts precious -in themselves as the work of a rare calligrapher and poet; otherwise -precious to me, because written by his own hand. Everything which -he said to me I do not fully know. I remember words of affectionate -encouragement about my duties,—some wise, keen advice,—a strange -story of his youth. But all was like a pleasant dream; for his mere -presence was a caress, and the fragrance of his flower-gift seemed as a -breathing from the Takama-no-hara. And as a Kami should come and go, so -he smiled and went,—leaving all things hallowed. The little plum-tree -has lost its flowers: another winter must pass before it blooms again. -But something very sweet still seems to haunt the vacant guest-room. -Perhaps only the memory of that divine old man;—perhaps a spirit -ancestral, some Lady of the Past, who followed his steps all viewlessly -to our threshold that day, and lingers with me awhile, just because he -loved me.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="III" id="III">III</a></h4> - - -<h4>AT HAKATA</h4> - - - -<h4 class="p2">I</h4> - - -<p>Traveling by kuruma one can only see and dream. The jolting makes -reading too painful; the rattle of the wheels and the rush of the -wind render conversation impossible,—even when the road allows of a -fellow-traveler's vehicle running beside your own. After having become -familiar with the characteristics of Japanese scenery, you are not apt -to notice during such travel, except at long intervals, anything novel -enough to make a strong impression. Most often the way winds through -a perpetual sameness of rice-fields, vegetable farms, tiny thatched -hamlets,—and between interminable ranges of green or blue hills. -Sometimes, indeed, there are startling spreads of color, as when you -traverse a plain all burning yellow with the blossoming of the natané, -or a valley all lilac with the flowering of the gengebana; but these -are the passing splendors of very short seasons. As a rule, the vast -green monotony appeals to no faculty: you sink into reverie or nod, -perhaps, with the wind in your face, to be wakened only by some jolt of -extra violence.</p> - -<p>Even so, on my autumn way to Hakata, I gaze and dream and nod by -turns. I watch the flashing of the dragon-flies, the infinite network -of rice-field paths spreading out of sight on either hand, the slowly -shifting lines of familiar peaks in the horizon glow, and the changing -shapes of white afloat in the vivid blue above all,—asking myself how -many times again must I view the same Kyūshū landscape, and deploring -the absence of the wonderful.</p> - -<p>Suddenly and very softly, the thought steals into my mind that the most -wonderful of possible visions is really all about me in the mere common -green of the world,—in the ceaseless manifestation of Life.</p> - -<p>Ever and everywhere, from beginnings invisible, green things are -growing,—out of soft earth, out of hard rock,—forms multitudinous, -dumb soundless races incalculably older than man. Of their visible -history we know much: names we have given them, and classification. The -reason of the forms of their leaves, of the qualities of their fruits, -of the colors of their flowers, we also know; for we have learned not -a little about the course of the eternal laws that give shape to all -terrestrial things. But why they are,—that we do not know. What is the -ghostliness that seeks expression in this universal green,—the mystery -of that which multiplies forever issuing out of that which multiplies -not? Or is the seeming lifeless itself life,—only a life more silent -still, more hidden?</p> - -<p>But a stranger and quicker life moves upon the face of the world, -peoples wind and flood. This has the ghostlier power of separating -itself from earth, yet is always at last recalled thereto, and -condemned to feed that which it once fed upon. It feels; it knows; -it crawls, swims, runs, flies, thinks. Countless the shapes of it. -The green slower life seeks being only. But this forever struggles -against non-being. We know the mechanism of its motion, the laws of -its growth: the innermost mazes of its structure have been explored? -the territories of its sensation have been mapped and named. But the -meaning of it, who will tell us? Out of what ultimate came it? Or, more -simply, what is it? Why should it know pain? Why is it evolved by pain?</p> - -<p>And this life of pain is our own. Relatively, it sees, it -knows. Absolutely, it is blind, and gropes, like the slow cold -green life which supports it. But does it also support a higher -existence,—nourish some invisible life infinitely more active and more -complex? Is there ghostliness orbed in ghostliness,—life within life -without end? Are there universes interpenetrating universes?</p> - - -<p class="p2">For our era, at least, the boundaries of human knowledge have been -irrevocably fixed; and far beyond those limits only exist the solutions -of such questions. Yet what constitutes those limits of the possible? -Nothing more than human nature itself. Must that nature remain equally -limited in those who shall come after us? Will they never develop -higher senses, vaster faculties, subtler perceptions? What is the -teaching of science?</p> - -<p>Perhaps it has been suggested in the profound saying of Clifford, -that we were never made, but have made ourselves. This is, indeed, -the deepest of all teachings of science. And wherefore has man made -himself? To escape suffering and death. Under the pressure of pain -alone was our being shaped; and even so long as pain lives, so long -must continue the ceaseless toil of self-change. Once in the ancient -past, the necessities of life were physical; they are not less moral -than physical now. And of all future necessities, none seems likely to -prove so merciless, so mighty, so tremendous, as that of trying to read -the Universal Riddle.</p> - -<p>The world's greatest thinker—he who has told us why the Riddle cannot -be read—has told us also how the longing to solve it must endure, and -grow with the growing of man.<a name="FNanchor_1_4" id="FNanchor_1_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_4" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>And surely the mere recognition of this necessity contains within it -the germ of a hope. May not the desire to know, as the possibly highest -form of future pain, compel within men the natural evolution of powers -to achieve the now impossible,—of capacities to perceive the now -invisible? We of to-day are that which we are through longing so to -be; and may not the inheritors of our work yet make themselves that -which we now would wish to become?</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_4" id="Footnote_1_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_4"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>First Principles</i> (The Reconciliation).</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>I am in Hakata, the town of the Girdle-Weavers,—which is a very tall -town, with fantastic narrow ways full of amazing color;—and I halt -in the Street-of-Prayer-to-the-Gods because there is an enormous head -of bronze, the head of a Buddha, smiling at me through a gateway. The -gateway is of a temple of the Jōdō sect; and the head is beautiful.</p> - -<p>But there is only the head. What supports it above the pavement of the -court is hidden by thousands of metal mirrors heaped up to the chin -of the great dreamy face. A placard beside the gateway explains the -problem. The mirrors are contributions by women to a colossal seated -figure of Buddha—to be thirty-five feet high, including the huge lotus -on which it is to be enthroned. And the whole is to be made of bronze -mirrors. Hundreds have been already used to cast the head; myriads will -be needed to finish the work. Who can venture to assert, in presence -of such an exhibition, that Buddhism is passing away?</p> - - -<p class="p2">Yet I cannot feel delighted at this display, which, although gratifying -the artistic sense with the promise of a noble statue, shocks it still -more by ocular evidence of the immense destruction that the project -involves. For Japanese metal mirrors (now being superseded by atrocious -cheap looking-glasses of Western manufacture) well deserve to be called -things of beauty. Nobody unfamiliar with their gracious shapes can feel -the charm of the Oriental comparison of the moon to a mirror. One side -only is polished. The other is adorned with designs in relief: trees or -flowers, birds or animals or insects, landscapes, legends, symbols of -good fortune, figures of gods. Such are even the commonest mirrors. But -there are many kinds; and some among them very wonderful, which we call -"magic mirrors,"—because when the reflection of one is thrown upon a -screen or wall, you can see, in the disk of light, <i>luminous images of -the designs upon the back.</i><a name="FNanchor_1_5" id="FNanchor_1_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_5" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>Whether there be any magic mirrors in that heap of bronze ex-votos I -cannot tell; but there certainly are many beautiful things. And there -is no little pathos in the spectacle of all that wonderful quaint -work thus cast away, and destined soon to vanish utterly. Probably -within another decade the making of mirrors of silver and mirrors of -bronze will have ceased forever. Seekers for them will then hear, with -something more than regret, the story of the fate of these.</p> - -<p>Nor is this the only pathos in the vision of all those domestic -sacrifices thus exposed to rain and sun and trodden dust of streets. -Surely the smiles of bride and babe and mother have been reflected in -not a few: some gentle home life must have been imaged in nearly all. -But a ghostlier value than memory can give also attaches to Japanese -mirrors. An ancient proverb declares, "The Mirror is the Sold of the -Woman,"—and not merely, as might be supposed, in a figurative sense. -For countless legends relate that a mirror feels all the joys or -pains of its mistress, and reveals in its dimness or brightness some -weird sympathy with her every emotion. Wherefore mirrors were of old -employed—and some say are still employed—in those magical rites -believed to influence life and death, and were buried with those to -whom they belonged.</p> - -<p>And the spectacle of all those mouldering bronzes thus makes queer -fancies in the mind about wrecks of Souls,—or at least of soul-things. -It is even difficult to assure one's self that, of all the movements -and the faces those mirrors once reflected, absolutely nothing now -haunts them. One cannot help imagining that whatever has been must -continue to be somewhere;—that by approaching the mirrors very -stealthily, and turning a few of them suddenly face up to the light, -one might be able to catch the Past in the very act of shrinking and -shuddering away.</p> - -<p>Besides, I must observe that the pathos of this exhibition has -been specially intensified for me by one memory which the sight of -a Japanese mirror always evokes,—the memory of the old Japanese -story <i>Matsuyama no Kagami</i>. Though related in the simplest manner -and with the fewest possible words,<a name="FNanchor_2_6" id="FNanchor_2_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_6" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> it might well be compared to -those wonderful little tales by Goethe, of which the meanings expand -according to the experience and capacity of the reader. Mrs. James has -perhaps exhausted the psychological possibilities of the story in one -direction; and whoever can read her little book without emotion should -be driven from the society of mankind. Even to guess the Japanese idea -of the tale, one should be able to <i>feel</i> the intimate sense of the -delicious colored prints accompanying her text,—the interpretation -of the last great artist of the Kano school. (Foreigners, unfamiliar -with Japanese home life, cannot fully perceive the exquisiteness of the -drawings made for the Fairy-Tale Series; but the silk-dyers of Kyōto -and of Ōsaka prize them beyond measure, and reproduce them constantly -upon the costliest textures.) But there are many versions; and, with -the following outline, readers can readily make nineteenth-century -versions for themselves.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_5" id="Footnote_1_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_5"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> See article entitled "On the Magic Mirrors of Japan, by -Professors Ayrton and Perry," in vol. xxvii. of the <i>Proceedings of the -Royal Society</i>; also an article treating the same subject by the same -authors in vol. xxii. of <i>The Philosophical Magazine</i>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_6" id="Footnote_2_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_6"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> See, for Japanese text and translation, <i>A Romanized -Japanese Reader</i>, by Professor B. H. Chamberlain. The beautiful version -for children, written by Mrs. F. H. James, belongs to the celebrated -Japanese Fairy-Tale Series, published at Tōkyō.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>Long ago, at a place called Matsuyama, in the province of Echigo, there -lived a young samurai husband and wife whose names have been quite -forgotten. They had a little daughter.</p> - -<p>Once the husband went to Yedo,—probably as a retainer in the train -of the Lord of Echigo. On his return he brought presents from the -capital,—sweet cakes and a doll for the little girl (at least so the -artist tells us), and for his wife a mirror of silvered bronze. To the -young mother that mirror seemed a very wonderful thing; for it was the -first mirror ever brought to Matsuyama. She did not understand the -use of it, and innocently asked whose was the pretty smiling face she -saw inside it. When her husband answered her, laughing, "Why, it is -your own face! How foolish you are!" she was ashamed to ask any more -questions, but hastened to put her present away, still thinking it to -be a very mysterious thing. And she kept it hidden many years,—the -original story does not say why. Perhaps for the simple reason that in -all countries love makes even the most trifling gift too sacred to be -shown.</p> - -<p>But in the time of her last sickness she gave the mirror to her -daughter, saying, "After I am dead you must look into this mirror every -morning and evening, and you will see me. Do not grieve." Then she died.</p> - -<p>And the girl thereafter looked into the mirror every morning and -evening, and did not know that the face in the mirror was her own -shadow,—but thought it to be that of her dead mother, whom she much -resembled. So she would talk to the shadow, having the sensation, or, -as the Japanese original more tenderly says, "<i>having the heart of -meeting her mother</i>" day by day; and she prized the mirror above all -things.</p> - -<p>At last her father noticed this conduct, and thought it strange, and -asked her the reason of it, whereupon she told him all. "Then," says -the old Japanese narrator, "he thinking it to be a very piteous thing, -his eyes grew dark with tears."</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>Such is the old story.... But was the artless error indeed so piteous -a thing as it seemed to the parent? Or was his emotion vain as my -own regret for the destiny of all those mirrors with all their -recollections?</p> - -<p>I cannot help fancying that the innocence of the maiden was nearer to -eternal truth than the feeling of the father. For in the cosmic order -of things the present is the shadow of the past, and the future must be -the reflection of the present. One are we all, even as Light is, though -unspeakable the millions of the vibrations whereby it is made. One are -we all,—and yet many, because each is a world of ghosts. Surely that -girl saw and spoke to her mother's very soul, while seeing the fair -shadow of her own young eyes and lips, uttering love!</p> - -<p>And, with this thought, the strange display in the old temple -court takes a new meaning,—becomes the symbolism of a sublime -expectation. Each of us is truly a mirror, imaging something of -the universe,—reflecting also the reflection of ourselves in that -universe; and perhaps the destiny of all is to be molten by that -mighty Image-maker, Death, into some great sweet passionless unity. How -the vast work shall be wrought, only those to come after us may know. -We of the present West do not know: we merely dream. But the ancient -East believes. Here is the simple imagery of her faith. All forms -must vanish at last to blend with that Being whose smile is immutable -Rest,—whose knowledge is Infinite Vision.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="IV" id="IV">IV</a></h4> - - -<h4>OF THE ETERNAL FEMININE</h4> - - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;">For metaphors of man we search the skies,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And find our allegory in all the air;—</span><br /> -We gaze on Nature with Narcissus-eyes,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enamoured of our shadow everywhere.</span><br /> -<span class="smcap" style="margin-left: 10em;">Watson.</span></p> - - - -<h4 class="p2">I</h4> - - -<p>What every intelligent foreigner dwelling in Japan must sooner or later -perceive is, that the more the Japanese learn of our æsthetics and of -our emotional character generally, the less favorably do they seem to -be impressed thereby. The European or American who tries to talk to -them about Western art, or literature, or metaphysics will feel for -their sympathy in vain. He will be listened to politely; but his utmost -eloquence will scarcely elicit more than a few surprising comments, -totally unlike what he hoped and expected to evoke. Many successive -disappointments of this sort impel him to judge his Oriental auditors -very much as he would judge Western auditors behaving in a similar -way. Obvious indifference to what we imagine the highest expression -possible of art and thought, we are led by our own Occidental -experiences to take for proof of mental incapacity. So we find one -class of foreign observers calling the Japanese a race of children; -while another, including a majority of those who have passed many years -in the country, judge the nation essentially materialistic, despite the -evidence of its religions, its literature, and its matchless art. I -cannot persuade myself that either of these judgments is less fatuous -than Goldsmith's observation to Johnson about the Literary Club: "There -can now be nothing new among us; we have traveled over one another's -minds." A cultured Japanese might well answer with Johnson's famous -retort: "Sir, you have not yet traveled over my mind, I promise you!" -And all such sweeping criticisms seem to me due to a very imperfect -recognition of the fact that Japanese thought and sentiment have been -evolved out of ancestral habits, customs, ethics, beliefs, directly -the opposite of our own in some cases, and in all cases strangely -different. Acting on such psychological material, modern scientific -education cannot but accentuate and develop race differences. Only -half-education can tempt the Japanese to servile imitation of Western -ways. The real mental and moral power of the race, its highest -intellect, strongly resists Western influence; and those more competent -than I to pronounce upon such matters assure me that this is especially -observable in the case of superior men who have traveled or been -educated in Europe. Indeed, the results of the new culture have served -more than aught else to show the immense force of healthy conservatism -in that race superficially characterized by Rein as a race of children. -Even very imperfectly understood, the causes of this Japanese attitude -to a certain class of Western ideas might well incite us to reconsider -our own estimate of those ideas, rather than to tax the Oriental -mind with incapacity. Now, of the causes in question, which are -multitudinous, some can only be vaguely guessed at. But there is at -least one—a very important one—which we may safely study, because a -recognition of it is forced upon any one who passes a few years in the -Far East.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>"Teacher, please tell us why there is so much about love and marrying -in English novels;—it seems to us very, very strange."</p> - -<p>This question was put to me while I was trying to explain to my -literature class—young men from nineteen to twenty-three years of -age—why they had failed to understand certain chapters of a standard -novel, though quite well able to understand the logic of Jevons and -the psychology of James. Under the circumstances, it was not an easy -question to answer; in fact, I could not have replied to it in any -satisfactory way had I not already lived for several years in Japan. -As it was, though I endeavored to be concise as well as lucid, my -explanation occupied something more than two hours.</p> - -<p>There are few of our society novels that a Japanese student can -really comprehend; and the reason is, simply, that English society is -something of which he is quite unable to form a correct idea. Indeed, -not only English society, in a special sense, but even Western life, -in a general sense, is a mystery to him. Any social system of which -filial piety is not the moral cement; any social system in which -children leave their parents in order to establish families of their -own; any social system in which it is considered not only natural but -right to love wife and child more than the authors of one's being; -any social system in which marriage can be decided independently of -the will of parents, by the mutual inclination of the young people -themselves; any social system in which the mother-in-law is not -entitled to the obedient service of the daughter-in-law, appears to him -of necessity a state of life scarcely better than that of the birds of -the air and the beasts of the field, or at best a sort of moral chaos. -And all this existence, as reflected in our popular fiction, presents -him with provoking enigmas. Our ideas about love and our solicitude -about marriage furnish some of these enigmas. To the young Japanese, -marriage appears a simple, natural duty, for the due performance of -which his parents will make all necessary arrangements at the proper -time. That foreigners should have so much trouble about getting married -is puzzling enough to him; but that distinguished authors should write -novels and poems about such matters, and that those novels and poems -should be vastly admired, puzzles him infinitely more,—seems to him -"very, very strange."</p> - -<p>My young questioner said "strange" for politeness' sake. His real -thought would have been more accurately rendered by the word -"indecent." But when I say that to the Japanese mind our typical novel -appears indecent, highly indecent, the idea thereby suggested to my -English readers will probably be misleading. The Japanese are not -morbidly prudish. Our society novels do not strike them as indecent -because the theme is love. The Japanese have a great deal of literature -about love. No; our novels seem to them indecent for somewhat the same -reason that the Scripture text, "For this cause shall a man leave his -father and mother, and shall cleave unto his wife," appears to them -one of the most immoral sentences ever written. In other words, their -criticism requires a sociological explanation. To explain fully why our -novels are, to their thinking, indecent, I should have to describe the -whole structure, customs, and ethics of the Japanese family, totally -different from anything in Western life; and to do this even in a -superficial way would require a volume. I cannot attempt a complete -explanation; I can only cite some facts of a suggestive character.</p> - -<p>To begin with, then, I may broadly state that a great deal of our -literature, besides its fiction, is revolting to the Japanese moral -sense, not because it treats of the passion of love per se, but -because it treats of that passion in relation to virtuous maidens, and -therefore in relation to the family circle. Now, as a general rule, -where passionate love is the theme in Japanese literature of the best -class, it is not that sort of love which leads to the establishment -of family relations. It is quite another sort of love,—a sort of -love about which the Oriental is not prudish at all,—the <i>mayoi</i>, or -infatuation of passion, inspired by merely physical attraction; and its -heroines are not the daughters of refined families, but mostly hetæræ, -or professional dancing-girls. Neither does this Oriental variety -of literature deal with its subject after the fashion of sensuous -literature in the West,—French literature, for example: it considers -it from a different artistic standpoint, and describes rather a -different order of emotional sensations.</p> - -<p>A national literature is of necessity reflective: and we may -presume that what it fails to portray can have little or no outward -manifestation in the national life. Now, the reserve of Japanese -literature regarding that love which is the great theme of our greatest -novelists and poets is exactly paralleled by the reserve of Japanese -society in regard to the same topic. The typical woman often figures -in Japanese romance as a heroine; as a perfect mother; as a pious -daughter, willing to sacrifice all for duty; as a loyal wife, who -follows her husband into battle, fights by his side, saves his life at -the cost of her own; never as a sentimental maiden, dying, or making -others die, for love. Neither do we find her on literary exhibition as -a dangerous beauty, a charmer of men; and in the real life of Japan -she has never appeared in any such rôle. Society, as a mingling of the -sexes, as an existence of which the supremely refined charm is the -charm of woman, has never existed in the East. Even in Japan, society, -in the special sense of the word, remains masculine. Nor is it easy -to believe that the adoption of European fashions and customs within -some restricted circles of the capital indicates the beginning of such -a social change as might eventually remodel the national life according -to Western ideas of society. For such a remodeling would involve the -dissolution of the family, the disintegration of the whole social -fabric, the destruction of the whole ethical system,—the breaking up, -in short, of the national life.</p> - -<p>Taking the word "woman" in its most refined meaning, and postulating -a society in which woman seldom appears, a society in which she is -never placed "on display," a society in which wooing is utterly out of -the question, and the faintest compliment to wife or daughter is an -outrageous impertinence, the reader can at once reach some startling -conclusions as to the impression made by our popular fiction upon -members of that society. But, although partly correct, his conclusions -must fall short of the truth in certain directions, unless he also -possess some knowledge of the restraints of that society and of the -ethical notions behind the restraints. For example, a refined Japanese -never speaks to you about his wife (I am stating the general rule), -and very seldom indeed about his children, however proud of them he -may be. Rarely will he be heard to speak about any of the members of -his family, about his domestic life, about any of his private affairs. -But if he should happen to talk about members of his family, the -persons mentioned will almost certainly be his parents. Of them he will -speak with a reverence approaching religious feeling, yet in a manner -quite different from that which would be natural to an Occidental, -and never so as to imply any mental comparison between the merits of -his own parents and those of other men's parents. But he will not -talk about his wife even to the friends who were invited as guests to -his wedding. And I think I may safely say that the poorest and most -ignorant Japanese, however dire his need, would never dream of trying -to obtain aid or to invoke pity by the mention of his wife—perhaps -not even of his wife and children. But he would not hesitate to ask -help for the sake of his parents or his grandparents. Love of wife and -child, the strongest of all sentiments with the Occidental, is judged -by the Oriental to be a selfish affection. He professes to be ruled -by a higher sentiment,—duty: duty, first, to his Emperor; next, to -his parents. And since love can he classed only as an ego-altruistic -feeling, the Japanese thinker is not wrong in his refusal to consider -it the loftiest of motives, however refined or spiritualized it may he.</p> - -<p>In the existence of the poorer classes of Japan there are no secrets; -but among the upper classes family life is much less open to -observation than in any country of the West, not excepting Spain. It -is a life of which foreigners see little, and know almost nothing, all -the essays which have been written about Japanese women to the contrary -notwithstanding.<a name="FNanchor_1_7" id="FNanchor_1_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_7" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Invited to the home of a Japanese friend, you may -or may not see the family. It will depend upon circumstances.</p> - -<p>If you see any of them, it will probably be for a moment only, and -in that event you will most likely see the wife. At the entrance -you give your card to the servant, who retires to present it, and -presently returns to usher you into the zashiki, or guest-room, always -the largest and finest apartment in a Japanese dwelling, where your -kneeling-cushion is ready for you, with a smoking-box before it. The -servant brings you tea and cakes. In a little time the host himself -enters, and after the indispensable salutations conversation begins. -Should you be pressed to stay for dinner, and accept the invitation, -it is probable that the wife will do you the honor, as her husband's -friend, to wait upon you during an instant. You may or may not be -formally introduced to her; but a glance at her dress and coiffure -should be sufficient to inform you at once who she is, and you must -greet her with the most profound respect. She will probably impress you -(especially if your visit be to a samurai home) as a delicately refined -and very serious person, by no means a woman of the much-smiling and -much-bowing kind. She will say extremely little, but will salute you, -and will serve you for a moment with a natural grace of which the mere -spectacle is a revelation, and glide away again, to remain invisible -until the instant of your departure, when she will reappear at the -entrance to wish you good-by. During other successive visits you may -have similar charming glimpses of her; perhaps, also, some rarer -glimpses of the aged father and mother; and if a much favored visitor, -the children may at last come to greet you, with wonderful politeness -and sweetness. But the innermost intimate life of that family will -never be revealed to you. All that you see to suggest it will be -refined, courteous, exquisite, but of the relation of those souls to -each other you will know nothing. Behind the beautiful screens which -mask the further interior, all is silent, gentle mystery. There is no -reason, to the Japanese mind, why it should be otherwise. Such family -life is sacred; the home is a sanctuary, of which it were impious to -draw aside the veil. Nor can I think this idea of the sacredness of -home and of the family relation in any wise inferior to our highest -conception of the home and the family in the West.</p> - -<p>Should there be grown-up daughters in the family, however, the visitor -is less likely to see the wife. More timid, but equally silent and -reserved, the young girls will make the guest welcome. In obedience to -orders, they may even gratify him by a performance upon some musical -instrument, by exhibiting some of their own needlework or painting, or -by showing to him some precious or curious objects among the family -heirlooms. But all submissive sweetness and courtesy are inseparable -from the high-bred reserve belonging to the finest native culture. And -the guest must not allow himself to be less reserved. Unless possessing -the privilege of great age, which would entitle him to paternal freedom -of speech, he must never venture upon personal compliment, or indulge -in anything resembling light flattery. What would be deemed gallantry -in the West may be gross rudeness in the East. On no account can -the visitor compliment a young girl about her looks, her grace, her -toilette, much less dare address such a compliment to the wife. But, -the reader may object, there are certainly occasions upon which a -compliment of some character cannot be avoided. This is true, and on -such an occasion politeness requires, as a preliminary, the humblest -apology for making the compliment, which will then be accepted with a -phrase more graceful than our "Pray do not mention it;"—that is, the -rudeness of making a compliment at all.</p> - -<p>But here we touch the vast subject of Japanese etiquette, about which -I must confess myself still profoundly ignorant. I have ventured thus -much only in order to suggest how lacking: in refinement much of our -Western society fiction must appear to the Oriental mind.</p> - -<p>To speak of one's affection for wife or children, to bring into -conversation anything closely related to domestic life, is totally -incompatible with Japanese ideas of good breeding. Our open -acknowledgment, or rather exhibition, of the domestic relation -consequently appears to cultivated Japanese, if not absolutely -barbarous, at least uxorious. And this sentiment may be found to -explain not a little in Japanese life which has given foreigners a -totally incorrect idea about the position of Japanese women. It is not -the custom in Japan for the husband even to walk side by side with -his wife in the street, much less to give her his arm, or to assist -her in ascending or descending a flight of stairs. But this is not -any proof upon his part of want of affection. It is only the result -of a social sentiment totally different from our own; it is simply -obedience to an etiquette founded upon the idea that public displays of -the marital relation are improper. Why improper? Because they seem to -Oriental judgment to indicate a confession of personal, and therefore -selfish sentiment For the Oriental the law of life is duty. Affection -must, in every time and place, be subordinated to duty. Any public -exhibition of personal affection of a certain class is equivalent to -a public confession of moral weakness. Does this mean that to love -one's wife is amoral weakness? No; it is the duty of a man to love his -wife; but it is moral weakness to love her more than his parents, or -to show her, in public, more attention than he shows to his parents. -Nay, it would be a proof of moral weakness to show her even the <i>same</i> -degree of attention. During the lifetime of the parents her position -in the household is simply that of an adopted daughter, and the most -affectionate of husbands must not even for a moment allow himself to -forget the etiquette of the family.</p> - -<p>Here I must touch upon one feature of Western literature never to be -reconciled with Japanese ideas and customs. Let the reader reflect -for a moment how large a place the subject of kisses and caresses and -embraces occupies in our poetry and in our prose fiction; and then -let him consider the fact that in Japanese literature these have no -existence whatever. For kisses and embraces are simply unknown in Japan -as tokens of affection, if we except the solitary fact that Japanese -mothers, like mothers all over the world, lip and hug their little -ones betimes. After babyhood there is no more hugging or kissing. Such -actions, except in the case of infants, are held to be highly immodest. -Never do girls kiss one another; never do parents kiss or embrace -their children who have become able to walk. And this rule holds good -of all classes of society, from the highest nobility to the humblest -peasantry. Neither have we the least indication throughout Japanese -literature of any time in the history of the race when affection -was more demonstrative than it is to-day. Perhaps the Western reader -will find it hard even to imagine a literature in the whole course of -which no mention is made of kissing, of embracing, even of pressing -a loved hand; for hand-clasping is an action as totally foreign to -Japanese impulse as kissing. Yet on these topics even the naïve songs -of the country folk, even the old ballads of the people about unhappy -lovers, are quite as silent as the exquisite verses of the court -poets. Suppose we take for an example the ancient popular ballad of -Shuntokumaru, which has given origin to various proverbs and household -words familiar throughout western Japan. Here we have the story of two -betrothed lovers, long separated by a cruel misfortune, wandering in -search of each other all over the Empire, and at last suddenly meeting -before Kiomidzu Temple by the favor of the gods. Would not any Aryan -poet describe such a meeting as a rushing of the two into each other's -arms, with kisses and cries of love? But how does the old Japanese -ballad describe it? In brief, the twain only sit down together <i>and -stroke each other a little.</i> Now, even this reserved form of caress is -an extremely rare indulgence of emotion. You may see again and again -fathers and sons, husbands and wives, mothers and daughters, meeting -after years of absence, yet you will probably never see the least -approach to a caress between them. They will kneel down and salute -each other, and smile, and perhaps cry a little for joy; but they will -neither rush into each other's arms, nor utter extraordinary phrases of -affection. Indeed, such terms of affection as "my dear," "my darling," -"my sweet," "my love," "my life," do not exist in Japanese, nor any -terms at all equivalent to our emotional idioms. Japanese affection is -not uttered in words; it scarcely appears even in the tone of voice: it -is chiefly shown in acts of exquisite courtesy and kindness. I might -add that the opposite emotion is under equally perfect control; but to -illustrate this remarkable fact would require a separate essay.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_7" id="Footnote_1_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_7"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> I do not, however, refer to those extraordinary persons -who make their short residence in teahouses and establishments of a -much worse kind, and then go home to write books about the women of -Japan.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>He who would study impartially the life and thought of the Orient -must also study those of the Occident from the Oriental point of -view. And the results of such a comparative study he will find to -be in no small degree retroactive. According to his character and -his faculty of perception, he will be more or less affected by those -Oriental influences to which he submits himself. The conditions of -Western life will gradually begin to assume for him new, undreamed-of -meanings, and to lose not a few of their old familiar aspects. Much -that he once deemed right and true he may begin to find abnormal and -false. He may begin to doubt whether the moral ideals of the West are -really the highest. He may feel more than inclined to dispute the -estimate placed by Western custom upon Western civilization. Whether -his doubts be final is another matter: they will be at least rational -enough and powerful enough to modify permanently some of his prior -convictions,—among others his conviction of the moral value of the -Western worship of Woman as the Unattainable, the Incomprehensible, -the Divine, the ideal of "<i>la femme que tu ne connaîtras pas,</i>"<a name="FNanchor_1_8" id="FNanchor_1_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_8" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>—the -ideal of the Eternal Feminine. For in this ancient East the Eternal -Feminine does not exist at all. And after having become quite -accustomed to live without it, one may naturally conclude that it is -not absolutely essential to intellectual health, and may even dare to -question the necessity for its perpetual existence upon the other side -of the world.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_8" id="Footnote_1_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_8"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> A phrase from Baudelaire.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>To say that the Eternal Feminine does not exist in the Far East -is to state but a part of the truth. That it could be introduced -thereinto, in the remotest future, is not possible to imagine. Few, -if any, of our ideas regarding it can even be rendered into the -language of the country: a language in which nouns have no gender, -adjectives no degrees of comparison, and verbs no persons; a language -in which, says Professor Chamberlain, the absence of personification -is "a characteristic so deep-seated and so all-pervading as to -interfere even with the use of neuter nouns in combination with -transitive verbs."<a name="FNanchor_1_9" id="FNanchor_1_9"></a><a -href="#Footnote_1_9" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> "In fact," he adds, "most -metaphors and allegories are incapable of so much as explanation to -Far-Eastern minds;" and he makes a striking citation from Wordsworth -in illustration of his statement. Yet even poets much more lucid -than Wordsworth are to the Japanese equally obscure. I remember -the difficulty I once had in explaining to an advanced class this -simple line from a well-known ballad of Tennyson,—"She is -more beautiful than day." My students could understand the use of -the adjective "beautiful" to qualify "day," and the use of the same -adjective, separately, to qualify the word "maid." But that there -could exist in any mortal mind the least idea of analogy between the -beauty of day and the beauty of a young woman was quite beyond their -understanding. In order to convey to them the poet's thought, it was -necessary to analyze it psychologically,—to prove a possible -nervous analogy between two modes of pleasurable feeling excited by two -different impressions.</p> - -<p>Thus, the very nature of the language tells us how ancient and how -deeply rooted in racial character are those tendencies by which we must -endeavor to account—if there be any need of accounting at all—for -the absence in this Far East of a dominant ideal corresponding to -our own. They are causes incomparably older than the existing social -structure, older than the idea of the family, older than ancestor -worship, enormously older than that Confucian code which is the -reflection rather than the explanation of many singular facts in -Oriental life. But since beliefs and practices react upon character, -and character again must react upon practices and beliefs, it has -not been altogether irrational to seek in Confucianism for causes as -well as for explanations. Far more irrational have been the charges -of hasty critics against Shintō and against Buddhism as religious -influences opposed to the natural rights of woman. The ancient faith -of Shintō has been at least as gentle to woman as the ancient faith -of the Hebrews. Its female divinities are not less numerous than its -masculine divinities, nor are they presented to the imagination of -worshipers in a form much less attractive than the dreams of Greek -mythology. Of some, like So-tohori-no-Iratsumé, it is said that the -light of their beautiful bodies passes through their garments; and the -source of all life and light, the eternal Sun, is a goddess, fair -Amaterasu-oho-mi-kami. Virgins serve the ancient gods, and figure in -all the pageants of the faith; and in a thousand shrines throughout -the land the memory of woman as wife and mother is worshiped equally -with the memory of man as hero and father. Neither can the later and -alien faith of Buddhism be justly accused of relegating woman to a -lower place in the spiritual world than monkish Christianity accorded -her in the West. The Buddha, like the Christ, was horn of a virgin; -the most lovable divinities of Buddhism, Jizo excepted, are feminine, -both in Japanese art and in Japanese popular fancy; and in the Buddhist -as in the Roman Catholic hagiography, the lives of holy women hold -honored place. It is true that Buddhism, like early Christianity, used -its utmost eloquence in preaching against the temptation of female -loveliness; and it is true that in the teaching of its founder, as -in the teaching of Paul, social and spiritual supremacy is accorded -to the man. Yet, in our search for texts on this topic, we must not -overlook the host of instances of favor shown by the Buddha to women of -all classes, nor that remarkable legend of a later text, in which a -dogma denying to woman the highest spiritual opportunities is sublimely -rebuked.</p> - -<p class="p2">In the eleventh chapter of the Sutra of the Lotus of the Good Law, it -is written that mention was made before the Lord Buddha of a young girl -who had in one instant arrived at supreme knowledge; who had in one -moment acquired the merits of a thousand meditations, and the proofs of -the essence of all laws. And the girl came and stood in the presence of -the Lord.</p> - -<p>But the Bodhissattva Pragnakuta doubted, saying, "I have seen the Lord -Sakyamuni in the time when he was striving for supreme enlightenment, -and I know that he performed good works innumerable through countless -æons. In all the world there is not one spot so large as a grain of -mustard-seed where he has not surrendered his body for the sake of -living creatures. Only after all this did he arrive at enlightenment. -Who then may believe this girl could in one moment have arrived at -supreme knowledge?"</p> - -<p>And the venerable priest Sariputra likewise doubted, saying, "It may -indeed happen, O Sister, that a woman fulfill the six perfect virtues; -but as yet there is no example of her having attained to Buddhaship, -because a woman cannot attain to the rank of a Bodhissattva."</p> - -<p>But the maiden called upon the Lord Buddha to be her witness. And -instantly in the sight of the assembly her sex disappeared; and she -manifested herself as a Bodhissattva, filling all directions of space -with the radiance of the thirty-two signs. And the world shook in six -different ways. And the priest Sariputra was silent.<a name="FNanchor_2_10" id="FNanchor_2_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_10" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_9" id="Footnote_1_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_9"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>See Things Japanese</i>, second edition, pp. 255, 256; -article "Language."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_10" id="Footnote_2_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_10"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> See the whole wonderful passage in Kern's translation of -this magnificent Sutra, <i>Sacred Books of the East</i>, vol. xxi. chap. xi.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>V</h4> - - -<p>But to feel the real nature of what is surely one of the greatest -obstacles to intellectual sympathy between the West and the Far East, -we must fully appreciate the immense effect upon Occidental life of -this ideal which has no existence in the Orient. We must remember what -that ideal has been to Western civilization,—to all its pleasures -and refinements and luxuries; to its sculpture, painting, decoration, -architecture, literature, drama, music; to the development of countless -industries. We must think of its effect upon manners, customs, and -the language of taste, upon conduct and ethics, upon endeavor, upon -philosophy and religion, upon almost every phase of public and private -life,—in short, upon national character. Nor should we forget that -the many influences interfused in the shaping of it—Teutonic, Celtic, -Scandinavian, classic, or mediæval, the Greek apotheosis of human -beauty, the Christian worship of the mother of God, the exaltations -of chivalry, the spirit of the Renascence steeping and coloring all -the preëxisting idealism in a new sensuousness—must have had their -nourishment, if not their birth, in a race feeling ancient as Aryan -speech, and as alien the most eastern East.</p> - -<p>Of all these various influences combined to form our ideal, the classic -element remains perceptibly dominant. It is true that the Hellenic -conception of human beauty, so surviving, has been wondrously informed -with a conception of soul beauty never of the antique world nor of -the Renascence. Also it is true that the new philosophy of evolution, -forcing recognition of the incalculable and awful cost of the Present -to the Past, creating a totally new comprehension of duty to the -Future, enormously enhancing our conception of character values, has -aided more than all preceding influences together toward the highest -possible spiritualization of the ideal of woman. Yet, however further -spiritualized it may become through future intellectual expansion, -this ideal must in its very nature remain fundamentally artistic and -sensuous.</p> - -<p>We do not see Nature as the Oriental sees it, and as his art proves -that he sees it. We see it less realistically, we know it less -intimately, because, save through the lenses of the specialist, we -contemplate it anthropomorphically. In one direction, indeed, our -æsthetic sense has been cultivated to a degree incomparably finer -than that of the Oriental; but that direction has been passional. We -have learned something of the beauty of Nature through our ancient -worship of the beauty of woman. Even from the beginning it is probable -that the perception of human beauty has been the main source of all -our æsthetic sensibility. Possibly we owe to it likewise our idea of -proportion;<a name="FNanchor_1_11" id="FNanchor_1_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_11" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> our exaggerated appreciation of regularity; our fondness -for parallels, curves, and all geometrical symmetries. And in the long -process of our æsthetic evolution, the ideal of woman has at last -become for us an æsthetic abstraction. Through the illusion of that -abstraction only do we perceive the charms of our world, even as forms -might be perceived through some tropic atmosphere whose vapors are -iridescent.</p> - -<p>Nor is this all. Whatsoever has once been likened to woman by art or -thought has been strangely informed and transformed by that momentary -symbolism: wherefore, through all the centuries Western fancy has -been making Nature more and more feminine. Whatsoever delights us -imagination has feminized,—the infinite tenderness of the sky,—the -mobility of waters,—the rose of dawn,—the vast caress of Day,—Night, -and the lights of heaven,—even the undulations of the eternal hills. -And flowers, and the flush of fruit, and all things fragrant, fair, -and gracious; the genial seasons with their voices; the laughter of -streams, and whisper of leaves, and ripplings of song within the -shadows;—all sights, or sounds, or sensations that can touch our love -of loveliness, of delicacy, of sweetness, of gentleness, make for us -vague dreams of woman. Where our fancy lends masculinity to Nature, -it is only in grimness and in force,—as if to enhance by rugged and -mighty contrasts the witchcraft of the Eternal Feminine. Nay, even the -terrible itself, if fraught with terrible beauty,—even Destruction, if -only shaped with the grace of destroyers,—becomes for us feminine. And -not beauty alone, of sight or sound, but well-nigh all that is mystic, -sublime, or holy, now makes appeal to us through some marvelously -woven intricate plexus of passional sensibility. Even the subtlest -forces of our universe speak to us of woman; new sciences have taught -us new names for the thrill her presence wakens in the blood, for -that ghostly shock which is first love, for the eternal riddle of her -fascination. Thus, out of simple human passion, through influences -and transformations innumerable, we have evolved a cosmic emotion, a -feminine pantheism.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_11" id="Footnote_1_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_11"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> On the origin of the idea of bilateral symmetry, see -Herbert Spencer's essay, "The Sources of Architectural Types."</p></div> - - - -<hr /> -<h4>VI</h4> - - -<p>And now may not one venture to ask whether all the consequences of this -passional influence in the æsthetic evolution of our Occident have been -in the main beneficial? Underlying all those visible results of which -we boast as art triumphs, may there not be lurking invisible results, -some future revelation of which will cause more than a little shock to -our self-esteem? Is it not quite possible that our æsthetic faculties -have been developed even abnormally in one direction by the power of a -single emotional idea which has left us nearly, if not totally blind -to many wonderful aspects of Nature? Or rather, must not this be the -inevitable effect of the extreme predominance of one particular emotion -in the evolution of our æsthetic sensibility? And finally, one may -surely be permitted to ask if the predominating influence itself has -been the highest possible, and whether there is not a higher, known -perhaps to the Oriental soul.</p> - -<p>I may only suggest these questions, without hoping to answer them -satisfactorily. But the longer I dwell in the East, the more I feel -growing upon me the belief that there are exquisite artistic faculties -and perceptions, developed in the Oriental, of which we can know -scarcely more than we know of those unimaginable colors, invisible to -the human eye, yet proven to exist by the spectroscope. I think that -such a possibility is indicated by certain phases of Japanese art.</p> - -<p>Here it becomes as difficult as dangerous to particularize. I dare -hazard only some general observations. I think this marvelous art -asserts that, out of the infinitely varied aspects of Nature, those -which for us hold no suggestion whatever of sex character, those -which cannot be looked at anthropomorphically, those which are -neither masculine nor feminine, but neuter or nameless, are those -most profoundly loved and comprehended by the Japanese. Nay, he sees -in Nature much that for thousands of years has remained invisible to -us; and we are now learning from him aspects of life and beauties -of form to which we were utterly blind before. We have finally -made the startling discovery that his art—notwithstanding all -the dogmatic assertions of Western prejudice to the contrary, and -notwithstanding the strangely weird impression of unreality which -at first it produced—is never a mere creation of fantasy, but a -veritable reflection of what has been and of what is: wherefore we -have recognized that it is nothing less than a higher education in art -simply to look at his studies of bird life, insect life, plant life, -tree life. Compare, for example, our very finest drawings of insects -with Japanese drawings of similar subjects. Compare Giacomelli's -illustrations to Michelet's "L'Insecte" with the commonest Japanese -figures of the same creatures decorating the stamped leather of a cheap -tobacco pouch or the metal work of a cheap pipe. The whole minute -exquisiteness of the European engraving has accomplished only an -indifferent realism, while the Japanese artist, with a few dashes of -his brush, has seized and reproduced, with an incomprehensible power -of interpretation, not only every peculiarity of the creature's shape, -but every special characteristic of its motion. Each figure flung from -the Oriental painter's brush is a lesson, a revelation, to perceptions -unbeclouded by prejudice, an opening of the eyes of those who can see, -though it be only a spider in a wind-shaken web, a dragon-fly riding -a sunbeam, a pair of crabs running through sedge, the trembling of a -fish's fins in a clear current, the lilt of a flying wasp, the pitch of -a flying duck, a mantis in fighting position, or a semi toddling up a -cedar branch to sing. All this art is alive, intensely alive, and our -corresponding art looks absolutely dead beside it.</p> - -<p>Take, again, the subject of flowers. An English or German flower -painting, the result of months of trained labor, and valued at several -hundred pounds, would certainly not compare as a nature study, in -the higher sense, with a Japanese flower painting executed in twenty -brush strokes, and worth perhaps five sen. The former would represent -at best but an ineffectual and painful effort to imitate a massing -of colors. The latter would prove a perfect memory of certain flower -shapes instantaneously flung upon paper, without any model to aid, -and showing, not the recollection of any individual blossom, but the -perfect realization of a general law of form expression, perfectly -mastered, with all its moods, tenses, and inflections. The French -alone, among Western art critics, seem fully to understand these -features of Japanese art; and among all Western artists it is the -Parisian alone who approaches the Oriental in his methods. Without -lifting his brush from the paper, the French artist may sometimes, -with a single wavy line, create the almost speaking figure of a -particular type of man or woman. But this high development of faculty -is confined chiefly to humorous sketching; it is still either -masculine or feminine. To understand what I mean by the ability of -the Japanese artist, my reader must imagine just such a power of -almost instantaneous creation as that which characterizes certain -French work, applied to almost every subject except individuality, -to nearly all recognized general types, to all aspects of Japanese -nature, to all forms of native landscape, to clouds and flowing water -and mists, to all the life of woods and fields, to all the moods of -seasons and the tones of horizons and the colors of the morning and -the evening. Certainly, the deeper spirit of this magical art seldom -reveals itself at first sight to unaccustomed eyes, since it appeals -to so little in Western æsthetic experience. But by gentle degrees it -will so enter into an appreciative and unprejudiced mind as to modify -profoundly therein almost every preëxisting sentiment in relation to -the beautiful. All of its meaning will indeed require many years to -master, but something of its reshaping power will be felt in a much -shorter time when the sight of an American illustrated magazine or of -any illustrated European periodical has become almost unbearable.</p> - -<p class="p2">Psychological differences of far deeper import are suggested by -other facts, capable of exposition in words, but not capable of -interpretation through Western standards of æsthetics or Western -feeling of any sort. For instance, I have been watching two old men -planting young trees in the garden of a neighboring temple. They -sometimes spend nearly an hour in planting a single sapling. Having -fixed it in the ground, they retire to a distance to study the position -of all its lines, and consult together about it. As a consequence, the -sapling is taken up and replanted in a slightly different position. -This is done no less than eight times before the little tree can be -perfectly adjusted into the plan of the garden. Those two old men are -composing a mysterious thought with their little trees, changing them, -transferring them, removing or replacing them, even as a poet changes -and shifts his words, to give to his verse the most delicate or the -most forcible expression possible.</p> - -<p>In every large Japanese cottage there are several alcoves, or tokonoma, -one in each of the principal rooms. In these alcoves the art treasures -of the family are exhibited.<a name="FNanchor_1_12" id="FNanchor_1_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_12" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Within each toko a kakemono is hung; -and upon its slightly elevated floor (usually of polished wood) -are placed flower vases and one or two artistic objects. Flowers -are arranged in the toko vases according to ancient rules which Mr. -Conder's beautiful hook will tell you a great deal about; and the -kakemono and the art objects there displayed are changed at regular -intervals, according to occasion and season. Now, in a certain alcove, -I have at various times seen many different things of beauty: a -Chinese statuette of ivory, an incense vase of bronze,—representing a -cloud-riding pair of dragons,—the wood carving of a Buddhist pilgrim -resting by the wayside and mopping his bald pate, masterpieces of -lacquer ware and lovely Kyōto porcelains, and a large stone placed on -a pedestal of heavy, costly wood, expressly made for it. I do not know -whether you could see any beauty in that stone; it is neither hewn nor -polished, nor does it possess the least imaginable intrinsic value. -It is simply a gray water-worn stone from the bed of a stream. Yet it -cost more than one of those Kyōto vases which sometimes replace it, and -which you would be glad to pay a very high price for.</p> - -<p>In the garden of the little house I now occupy in Kumamoto, there are -about fifteen rocks, or large stones, of as many shapes and sizes. -They also have no real intrinsic value, not even as possible building -material. And yet the proprietor of the garden paid for them something -more than seven hundred and fifty Japanese dollars, or considerably -more than the pretty house itself could possibly have cost. And it -would be quite wrong to suppose the cost of the stones due to the -expense of their transportation from the bed of the Shira-kawa. No; -they are worth seven hundred and fifty dollars only because they are -considered beautiful to a certain degree, and because there is a large -local demand for beautiful stones. They are not even of the best class, -or they would have cost a great deal more. Now, until you can perceive -that a big rough stone may have more æsthetic suggestiveness than a -costly steel engraving, that it is a thing of beauty and a joy forever, -you cannot begin to understand how a Japanese sees Nature. "But what," -you may ask, "can be beautiful in a common stone?" Many things; but I -will mention only one,—irregularity.</p> - -<p>In my little Japanese house, the fusuma, or sliding screens of opaque -paper between room and room, have designs at which I am never tired of -looking. The designs vary in different parts of the dwelling; I will -speak only of the fusuma dividing my study from a smaller apartment. -The ground color is a delicate cream-yellow; and the golden pattern -is very simple,—the mystic-jewel symbols of Buddhism scattered over -the surface by pairs. But no two sets of pairs are placed at exactly -the same distance from each other; and the symbols themselves are -curiously diversified, never appearing twice in exactly the same -position or relation. Sometimes one jewel is transparent, and its -fellow opaque; sometimes both are opaque or both diaphanous; sometimes -the transparent one is the larger of the two; sometimes the opaque is -the larger; sometimes both are precisely the same size; sometimes they -overlap, and sometimes do not touch; sometimes the opaque is on the -left, sometimes on the right; sometimes the transparent jewel is above, -sometimes below. Vainly does the eye roam over the whole surface in -search of a repetition, or of anything resembling regularity, either -in distribution, juxtaposition, grouping, dimensions, or contrasts. -And throughout the whole dwelling nothing resembling regularity in -the various decorative designs can be found. The ingenuity by which -it is avoided is amazing,—rises to the dignify of genius. Now, all -this is a common characteristic of Japanese decorative art; and after -having lived a few years under its influences, the sight of a regular -pattern upon a wall, a carpet, a curtain, a ceiling, upon any decorated -surface, pains like a horrible vulgarism. Surely, it is because we have -so long been accustomed to look at Nature anthropomorphically that -we can still endure mechanical ugliness in our own decorative art, -and that we remain insensible to charms of Nature which are clearly -perceived even by the eyes of the Japanese child, wondering over its -mother's shoulder at the green and blue wonder of the world.</p> - -<p>"<i>He</i>" saith a Buddhist text, "<i>who discerns that nothingness is -law,—such a one hath wisdom.</i>"</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_12" id="Footnote_1_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_12"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The tokonoma, or toko, is said to have been first -introduced into Japanese architecture about four hundred and fifty -years ago, by the Buddhist priest Eisai, who had studied in China. -Perhaps the alcove was originally devised and used for the exhibition -of sacred objects; but to-day, among the cultivated, it would be deemed -in very had taste to display either images of the gods or sacred -paintings in the toko of a guest-room. The toko is still, however, a -sacred place in a certain sense. No one should ever step upon it, or -squat within it, or even place in it anything not pure, or anything -offensive to taste. There is an elaborate code of etiquette in relation -to it. The most honored among guests is always placed nearest to it; -and guests take their places, according to rank, nearer to or further -from it.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="V" id="V">V</a></h4> - - -<h4>BITS OF LIFE AND DEATH</h4> - - - -<h4 class="p2">I</h4> - - -<p><i>July</i> 25. Three extraordinary visits have been made to my house this -week.</p> - -<p>The first was that of the professional well-cleaners. For once every -year all wells must be emptied and cleansed, lest the God of Wells, -Suijin-Sama, be wroth. On this occasion I learned some things relating -to Japanese wells and the tutelar deity of them, who has two names, -being also called Mizuha-nome-no-mikoto.</p> - -<p>Suijin-Sama protects all wells, keeping their water sweet and cool, -provided that house-owners observe his laws of cleanliness, which are -rigid. To those who break them sickness comes, and death. Rarely the -god manifests himself, taking the form of a serpent. I have never seen -any temple dedicated to him. But once each month a Shinto priest -visits the homes of pious families having wells, and he repeats certain -ancient prayers to the Well-God, and plants nobori, little paper flags, -which are symbols, at the edge of the well. After the well has been -cleaned, also, this is done. Then the first bucket of the new water -must be drawn up by a man; for if a woman first draw water, the well -will always thereafter remain muddy.</p> - -<p>The god has little servants to help him in his work. These are the -small fishes the Japanese call funa.<a name="FNanchor_1_13" id="FNanchor_1_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_13" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> One or two funa are kept in -every well, to clear the water of larvae. When a well is cleaned, great -care is taken of the little fish. It was on the occasion of the coming -of the well-cleaners that I first learned of the existence of a pair of -funa in my own well. They were placed in a tub of cool water while the -well was refilling, and thereafter were replunged into their solitude.</p> - -<p>The water of my well is clear and ice-cold. But now I can never drink -of it without a thought of those two small white lives circling always -in darkness, and startled through untold years by the descent of -plashing buckets.</p> - -<p class="p2">The second curious visit was that of the district firemen, in full -costume, with their hand-engines. According to ancient custom, they -make a round of all their district once a year during the dry spell, -and throw water over the hot roofs, and receive some small perquisite -from each wealthy householder. There is a belief that when it has not -rained for a long time roofs may be ignited by the mere heat of the -sun. The firemen played with their hose upon my roofs, trees, and -garden, producing considerable refreshment; and in return I bestowed on -them wherewith to buy saké.</p> - -<p class="p2">The third visit was that of a deputation of children asking for some -help to celebrate fittingly the festival of Jizō, who has a shrine on -the other side of the street, exactly opposite my house. I was very -glad to contribute to their fund, for I love the gentle god, and I -knew the festival would be delightful. Early next morning, I saw that -the shrine had already been decked with flowers and votive lanterns. -A new bib had been put about Jizō's neck, and a Buddhist repast set -before him. Later on, carpenters constructed a dancing-platform in the -temple court for the children to dance upon; and before sundown the -toy-sellers had erected and stocked a small street of booths inside the -precincts. After dark I went out into a great glory of lantern fires -to see the children dance; and I found, perched before my gate, an -enormous dragon-fly more than three feet long. It was a token of the -children's gratitude for the little help I had given them,—a kazari, a -decoration. I was startled for the moment by the realism of the thing; -but upon close examination I discovered that the body was a pine branch -wrapped with colored paper, the four wings were four fire-shovels, -and the gleaming head was a little teapot. The whole was lighted by a -candle so placed as to make extraordinary shadows, which formed part of -the design. It was a wonderful instance of art sense working without a -speck of artistic material, yet it was all the labor of a poor little -child only eight years old!</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_13" id="Footnote_1_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_13"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> A sort of small silver carp.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p><i>July</i> 30. The next house to mine, on the south side,—a low, dingy -structure,—is that of a dyer. You can always tell where a Japanese -dyer is by the long pieces of silk or cotton stretched between bamboo -poles before his door to dry in the sun,—broad bands of rich azure, of -purple, of rose, pale blue, pearl gray. Yesterday my neighbor coaxed me -to pay the family a visit; and after having been led through the front -part of their little dwelling, I was surprised to find myself looking -from a rear veranda at a garden worthy of some old Kyōto palace. There -was a dainty landscape in miniature, and a pond of clear water peopled -by goldfish having wonderfully compound tails.</p> - -<p>When I had enjoyed this spectacle awhile, the dyer led me to a small -room fitted up as a Buddhist chapel. Though everything had had to -be made on a reduced scale, I did not remember to have seen a more -artistic display in any temple. He told me it had cost him about -fifteen hundred yen. I did not understand how even that sum could have -sufficed.</p> - -<p>There were three elaborately carven altars,-a triple blaze of gold -lacquer-work; a number of charming Buddhist images; many exquisite -vessels; an ebony reading-desk; a mokugyō<a name="FNanchor_1_14" id="FNanchor_1_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_14" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>; two fine bells,—in -short, all the paraphernalia of a temple in miniature. My host had -studied at a Buddhist temple in his youth, and knew the sutras, of -which he had all that are used by the Jōdō sect. He told me that he -could celebrate any of the ordinary services. Daily, at a fixed hour, -the whole family assembled in the chapel for prayers; and he generally -read the Kyō for them. But on extraordinary occasions a Buddhist priest -from the neighboring temple would come to officiate.</p> - -<p class="p2">He told me a queer story about robbers. Dyers are peculiarly liable -to be visited by robbers; partly by reason of the value of the silks -intrusted to them, and also because the business is known to be -lucrative. One evening the family were robbed. The master was out -of the city; his old mother, his wife, and a female servant were the -only persons in the house at the time. Three men, having their faces -masked and carrying long swords, entered the door. One asked the -servant whether any of the apprentices were still in the building; -and she, hoping to frighten the invaders away, answered that the -young men were all still at work. But the robbers were not disturbed -by this assurance. One posted himself at the entrance, the other two -strode into the sleeping-apartment. The women started up in alarm, -and the wife asked, "Why do you wish to kill us?" He who seemed to be -the leader answered, "We do not wish to kill you; we want money only. -But if we do not get it, then it will be this"—striking his sword -into the matting. The old mother said, "Be so kind as not to frighten -my daughter-in-law, and I will give you whatever money there is in -the house. But you ought to know there cannot be much, as my son has -gone to Kyōto." She handed them the money-drawer and her own purse. -There were, just twenty-seven yen and eighty-four sen. The head robber -counted it, and said, quite gently, "We do not want to frighten you. -We know you are a very devout believer in Buddhism, and we think you -would not tell a lie. Is this all?" "Yes, it is all," she answered. -"I am, as you say, a believer in the teaching of the Buddha, and if -you come to rob me now, I believe it is only because I myself, in some -former life, once robbed you. This is my punishment for that fault, -and so, instead of wishing to deceive you, I feel grateful at this -opportunity to atone for the wrong which I did to you in my previous -state of existence." The robber laughed, and said, "You are a good old -woman, and we believe you. If you were poor, we would not rob you at -all. Now we only want a couple of kimono and this,"—laying his hand on -a very fine silk overdress. The old woman replied, "All my son's kimono -I can give you, but I beg you will not take that, for it does not -belong to my son, and was confided to us only for dyeing. What is ours -I can give, but I cannot give what belongs to another." "That is quite -right," approved the robber, "and we shall not take it."</p> - -<p>After receiving a few robes, the robbers said good-night, very -politely, but ordered the women not to look after them. The old servant -was still near the door. As the chief robber passed her, he said, "You -told us a lie,—so take that!"—and struck her senseless. None of the -robbers were ever caught.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_14" id="Footnote_1_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_14"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> A hollow wooden block shaped like a dolphin's head. It is -tapped in accompaniment to the chanting of the Buddhist sutras.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p><i>August</i> 29. When a body has been burned, according to the funeral -rites of certain Buddhist sects, search is made among the ashes for a -little bone called the Hotoke-San, or "Lord Buddha," popularly supposed -to be a little bone of the throat. What bone it really is I do not -know, never having had a chance to examine such a relic.</p> - -<p>According to the shape of this little bone when found after the -burning, the future condition of the dead may be predicted. Should the -next state to which the soul is destined be one of happiness, the bone -will have the form of a small image of Buddha. But if the next birth -is to be unhappy, then the bone will have either an ugly shape, or no -shape at all.</p> - -<p>A little boy, the son of a neighboring tobacconist, died the night -before last, and to-day the corpse was burned. The little hone -left over from the burning was discovered to have the form of three -Buddhas,—San-Tai,—which may have afforded some spiritual consolation -to the bereaved parents.<a name="FNanchor_1_15" id="FNanchor_1_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_15" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_15" id="Footnote_1_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_15"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> At the great temple of Tennōji, at Ōsaka, all such bones -are dropped into a vault; and according <i>to the sound each makes in -falling</i>, further evidence about the Gōsho is said to be obtained. -After a hundred years from the time of beginning this curious -collection, all these bones are to be ground into a kind of paste, out -of which a colossal statue of Buddha is to be made.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p><i>September</i> 13. A letter from Matsue, Izumo, tells me that the old -man who used to supply me with pipestems is dead. (A Japanese pipe, -you must know, consists of three pieces, usually,—a metal bowl large -enough to hold a pea, a metal mouthpiece, and a bamboo stem which is -renewed at regular intervals.) He used to stain his pipestems very -prettily: some looked like porcupine quills, and some like cylinders of -snakeskin. He lived in a queer narrow little street at the verge of the -city. I know the street because in it there is a famous statue of Jizō -called Shiroko-ō,—"White-Child-Jizō,"—which I once went to see. They -whiten its face, like the face of a dancing-girl, for some reason which -I have never been able to find out.</p> - -<p>The old man had a daughter, O-Masu, about whom a story is told. O-Masu -is still alive. She has been a happy wife for many years; but she is -dumb. Long ago, an angry mob sacked and destroyed the dwelling and the -storehouses of a rice speculator in the city. His money, including a -quantity of gold coin (<i>koban</i>), was scattered through the street. -The rioters—rude, honest peasants—did not want it: they wished to -destroy, not to steal. But O-Masu's father, the same evening, picked up -a koban from the mud, and took it home. Later on a neighbor denounced -him, and secured his arrest. The judge before whom he was summoned -tried to obtain certain evidence by cross-questioning O-Masu, then a -shy girl of fifteen. She felt that if she continued to answer she would -be made, in spite of herself, to give testimony unfavorable to her -father; that she was in the presence of a trained inquisitor, capable, -without effort, of forcing her to acknowledge everything she knew. She -ceased to speak, and a stream of blood gushed from her mouth. She had -silenced herself forever by simply biting off her tongue. Her father -was acquitted. A merchant who admired the act demanded her in marriage, -and supported her father in his old age.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>V</h4> - - -<p><i>October</i> 10. There is said to be one day—only one—in the life of a -child during which it can remember and speak of its former birth.</p> - -<p>On the very day that it becomes exactly two years old, the child is -taken by its mother into the most quiet part of the house, and is -placed in a mi, or rice-winnowing basket. The child sits down in the -mi. Then the mother says, calling the child by name, "<i>Omae no zensé -wa, nande attakane?—iute, gōran.</i>"<a name="FNanchor_1_16" id="FNanchor_1_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_16" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Then the child always answers -in one word. For some mysterious reason, no more lengthy reply is -ever given. Often the answer is so enigmatic that some priest or -fortune-teller must be asked to interpret it. For instance, yesterday, -the little son of a copper-smith living near us answered only "Umé" -to the magical question. Now umé might mean a plum-flower, a plum, -or a girl's name,—"Flower-of-the-Plum." Could it mean that the boy -remembered having been a girl? Or that he had been a plum-tree? "Souls -of men do not enter plum-trees," said a neighbor. A fortune-teller this -morning declared, on being questioned about the riddle, that the boy -had probably been a scholar, poet, or statesman, because the plum-tree -is the symbol of Tenjin, patron of scholars, statesmen, and men of -letters.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_16" id="Footnote_1_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_16"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> "Thy previous life as for,—what was it? Honorably look -[or, <i>please</i> look] and tell."</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>VI</h4> - - -<p><i>November</i> 17. An astonishing book might be written about those things -in Japanese life which no foreigner can understand. Such a book should -include the study of certain rare but terrible results of anger.</p> - -<p>As a national rule, the Japanese seldom allow themselves to show anger. -Even among the common classes, any serious menace is apt to take the -form of a smiling assurance that your favor shall be remembered, and -that its recipient is grateful. (Do not suppose, however, that this -is ironical, in our sense of the word: it is only euphemistic,—ugly -things not being called by their real names.) But this smiling -assurance may possibly mean death. When vengeance comes, it comes -unexpectedly. Neither distance nor time, within the empire, can offer -any obstacles to the avenger who can walk fifty miles a day, whose -whole baggage can be tied up in a very small towel, and whose patience -is almost infinite. He may choose a knife, but is much more likely -to use a sword,—a Japanese sword. This, in Japanese hands, is the -deadliest of weapons; and the killing of ten or twelve persons by one -angry man may occupy less than a minute. It does not often happen that -the murderer thinks of trying to escape. Ancient custom requires that, -having taken another life, he should take his own; wherefore to fall -into the hands of the police would be to disgrace his name. He has made -his preparations beforehand, written his letters, arranged for his -funeral, perhaps—as in one appalling instance last year—even chiseled -his own tombstone. Having fully accomplished his revenge, he kills -himself.</p> - -<p>There has just occurred, not far from the city, at the village called -Sugikamimura, one of those tragedies which are difficult to understand. -The chief actors were, Narumatsu Ichirō, a young shopkeeper; his wife, -O-Noto, twenty years of age, to whom he had been married only a year; -and O-Noto's maternal uncle, one Sugimoto Ivasaku, a man of violent -temper, who had once been in prison. The tragedy was in four acts.</p> - -<p class="p2">Act I. <i>Scene: Interior of public bathhouse. Sugimoto Nasaku in the -bath. Enter Narumatsu Ichirō, who strips, gets into the smoking water -without noticing his relative, and cries out,</i>—</p> - -<p>"<i>Aa!</i> as if one should be in Jigoku, so hot this water is!"</p> - -<p>(The word "Jigoku" signifies the Buddhist hell; but, in common -parlance, it also signifies a prison,—this time an unfortunate -coincidence.)</p> - -<p><i>Kasaku</i> (terribly angry). "A raw baby, you, to seek a hard quarrel! -What do you not like?"</p> - -<p><i>Ichirō</i> (surprised and alarmed, but rallying against the tone of -Kasaku). "Nay! What? That I said need not by you be explained. Though I -said the water was hot, your help to make it hotter was not asked."</p> - -<p><i>Kasaku</i> (now dangerous). "Though for my own fault, not once, but twice -in the hell of prison I had been, what should there be wonderful in it? -Either an idiot child or a low scoundrel you must be!"</p> - -<p>(<i>Each eyes the other for a spring, but each hesitates, although things -no Japanese should suffer himself to say have been said. They are too -evenly matched, the old and the young.</i>)</p> - -<p><i>Kasaku</i> (growing cooler as Ichirō becomes angrier). "A child, a raw -child, to quarrel with <i>me!</i> What should a baby do with a wife? Your -wife is my blood, mine,—the blood of the man from hell! Give her back -to my house."</p> - -<p><i>Ichirō</i> (desperately, now fully assured Kasaku is physically the -better man). "Return my wife? You say to return her? Right quickly -shall she be returned, at once!"</p> - -<p>So far everything is clear enough. Then Ichiro hurries home, caresses -his wife, assures her of his love, tells her all, and sends her, not to -Kasaku's house, but to that of her brother. Two days later, a little -after dark, O-Noto is called to the door by her husband, and the two -disappear in the night.</p> - -<p class="p2">Act II. <i>Night scene. House of Kasaku closed: light appears through -chinks of sliding shutters. Shadow of a woman approaches. Sound of -knocking. Shutters slide back.</i></p> - -<p><i>Wife of Kasaku</i> (recognizing O-Noto). "<i>Aa! aa!</i> Joyful it is to see -you! Deign to enter, and some honorable tea to take."</p> - -<p><i>O-Noto</i> (speaking very sweetly). "Thanks indeed. But where is Kasaku -San?"</p> - -<p><i>Wife of Kasaku.</i> "To the other village he has gone, but must soon -return. Deign to come in and wait for him."</p> - -<p><i>O-Noto</i> (still more sweetly). "Very great thanks. A little, and I -come. But first I must tell my brother."</p> - -<p>(<i>Bows, and slips off into the darkness, and becomes a shadow again, -which joins another shadow. The two shadows remain motionless.</i>)</p> - -<p class="p2">Act III. <i>Scene: Bank of a river at night, fringed by pines. Silhouette -of the house of Kasaku far away. O-Noto and Ichiro under the trees, -Ichirō with a lantern. Both have white towels tightly bound round their -heads; their robes are girded well up, and their sleeves caught back -with tasuki cords, to leave the arms free. Each carries a long sword.</i></p> - -<p>It is the hour, as the Japanese most expressively say, "when the sound -of the river is loudest." There is no other sound but a long occasional -humming of wind in the needles of the pines; for it is late autumn, and -the frogs are silent. The two shadows do not speak, and the sound of -the river grows louder.</p> - -<p>Suddenly there is the noise of a plash far off,—somebody crossing -the shallow stream; then an echo of wooden sandals,—irregular, -staggering,—the footsteps of a drunkard, coming nearer and nearer. The -drunkard lifts up his voice: it is Kasaku's voice. He sings,—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"<i>Suita okata ni suirarete</i>;<br /> -<i>Ya-ton-ton!</i>"<a name="FNanchor_1_17" id="FNanchor_1_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_17" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>—a song of love and wine.</p> - -<p>Immediately the two shadows start toward the singer at a run,—a -noiseless flitting, for their feet are shod with waraji. Kasaku still -sings. Suddenly a loose stone turns under him; he wrenches his ankle, -and utters a growl of anger. Almost in the same instant a lantern is -held close to his face. Perhaps for thirty seconds it remains there. No -one speaks. The yellow light shows three strangely inexpressive masks -rather than visages. Kasaku sobers at once,—recognizing the faces, -remembering the incident of the bathhouse, and seeing the swords. But -he is not afraid, and presently bursts into a mocking laugh.</p> - -<p>"Hé! hé! The Ichirō pair! And so you take me, too, for a baby? What are -you doing with such things in your hands? Let me show you how to use -them."</p> - -<p>But Ichirō, who has dropped the lantern, suddenly delivers, with the -full swing of both hands, a sword-slash that nearly severs Kasaku's -right arm from the shoulder; and as the victim staggers, the sword of -the woman cleaves through his left shoulder. He falls with one fearful -cry, "<i>Hitogoroshi!</i>" which means "murder." But he does not cry again. -For ten whole minutes the swords are busy with him. The lantern, still -glowing, lights the ghastliness. Two belated pedestrians approach, -hear, see, drop their wooden sandals from their feet, and flee back -into the darkness without a word. Ichirō and O-Noto sit down by the -lantern to take breath, for the work was hard.</p> - -<p>The son of Kasaku, a boy of fourteen, comes running to find his father. -He has heard the song, then the cry; but he has not yet learned fear. -The two suffer him to approach. As he nears O-Noto, the woman seizes -him, flings him down, twists his slender arms under her knees, and -clutches the sword. But Ichirō, still panting, cries, "No! no! Not the -boy! He did us no wrong!" O-Noto releases him. He is too stupefied to -move.</p> - -<p>She slaps his face terribly, crying, "Go!" He runs,—not daring to -shriek.</p> - -<p>Ichirō and O-Noto leave the chopped mass, walk to the house of Kasaku, -and call loudly. There is no reply;—only the pathetic, crouching -silence of women and children waiting death. But they are bidden not to -fear. Then Ichirō cries:—</p> - -<p>"Honorable funeral prepare! Kasaku by my hand is now dead!"</p> - -<p>"And by mine!" shrills O-Noto.</p> - -<p>Then the footsteps recede.</p> - - -<p class="p2">Act IV. <i>Scene: Interior of Ichirō's house. Three persons kneeling in -the guest-room: Ichirō, his wife, and an aged woman, who is weeping.</i></p> - -<p>Ichirō. "And now, mother, to leave you alone in this world, though -you have no other son, is indeed an evil thing. I can only pray your -forgiveness. But my uncle will always care for you, and to his house -you must go at once, since it is time we two should die. No common, -vulgar death shall we have, but an elegant, splendid death,—<i>Rippana!</i> -And you must not see it. Now go."</p> - -<p>She passes away, with a wail. The doors are solidly barred behind her. -All is ready.</p> - -<p>O-Noto thrusts the point of the sword into her throat. But she still -struggles. With a last kind word Ichiro ends her pain by a stroke that -severs the head.</p> - -<p>And then?</p> - -<p>Then he takes his writing-box, prepares the inkstone, grinds some ink, -chooses a good brush, and, on carefully selected paper, composes five -poems, of which this is the last:—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"Meido yori<br /> -Yu dempō ga<br /> -Aru naraba,<br /> -Hay aha an chaku<br /> -Mōshi okuran."<a name="FNanchor_2_18" id="FNanchor_2_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_18" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Then he cuts his own throat perfectly well.</p> - -<p class="p2">Now, it was clearly shown, during the official investigation of these -facts, that Ichirō and his wife had been universally liked, and had -been from their childhood noted for amiability.</p> - -<p>The scientific problem of the origin of the Japanese has never yet been -solved. But sometimes it seems to me that those who argue in favor -of a partly Malay origin have some psychological evidence in their -favor. Under the submissive sweetness of the gentlest Japanese woman—a -sweetness of which the Occidental can scarcely form any idea—there -exist possibilities of hardness absolutely inconceivable without ocular -evidence. A thousand times she can forgive, can sacrifice herself in a -thousand ways unutterably touching: but let one particular soul-nerve -be stung, and fire shall forgive sooner than she. Then there may -suddenly appear in that frail-seeming woman an incredible courage, -an appalling, measured, tireless purpose of honest vengeance. Under -all the amazing self-control and patience of the man there exists an -adamantine something very dangerous to reach. Touch it wantonly, and -there can be no pardon. But resentment is seldom likely to be excited -by mere hazard. Motives are keenly judged. An error can be forgiven; -deliberate malice never.</p> - -<p>In the house of any rich family the guest is likely to be shown some -of the heirlooms. Among these are almost sure to be certain articles -belonging to those elaborate tea ceremonies peculiar to Japan. A pretty -little box, perhaps, will be set before you. Opening it, you see only -a beautiful silk bag, closed with a silk running-cord decked with tiny -tassels. Very soft and choice the silk is, and elaborately figured. -What marvel can be hidden under such a covering? You open the bag, and -see within another bag, of a different quality of silk, but very fine. -Open that, and lo! a third, which contains a fourth, which contains -a fifth, which contains a sixth, which contains a seventh bag, which -contains the strangest, roughest, hardest vessel of Chinese clay that -you ever beheld. Yet it is not only curious but precious: it may be -more than a thousand years old.</p> - -<p>Even thus have centuries of the highest social culture wrapped the -Japanese character about with many priceless soft coverings of -courtesy, of delicacy, of patience, of sweetness, of moral sentiment. -But underneath these charming multiple coverings there remains the -primitive clay, hard as iron;—kneaded perhaps with all the mettle of -the Mongol,—all the dangerous suppleness of the Malay.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_17" id="Footnote_1_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_17"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The meaning is, "Give to the beloved one a little more -[wine]." The "<i>Ya-ton-ton</i>" is only a burden, without exact meaning, -like our own "<i>With a hey! and a ho!</i>" etc.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_18" id="Footnote_2_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_18"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The meaning is about as follows: "If from the Meido it be -possible to send letters or telegrams, I shall write and forward news -of our speedy safe arrival there."</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>VII</h4> - - -<p><i>December</i> 28. Beyond the high fence inclosing my garden in the -rear rise the thatched roofs of some very small houses occupied by -families of the poorest class. From one of these little dwellings there -continually issues a sound of groaning,—the deep groaning of a man in -pain. I have heard it for more than a week, both night and day, but -latterly the sounds have been growing longer and louder, as if every -breath were an agony. "Somebody there is very sick," says Manyemon, my -old interpreter, with an expression of extreme sympathy.</p> - -<p>The sounds have begun to make me nervous. I reply, rather brutally, "I -think it would be better for all concerned if that somebody were dead."</p> - -<p>Manyemon makes three times a quick, sudden gesture with both hands, -as if to throw off the influence of my wicked words, mutters a -little Buddhist prayer, and leaves me with a look of reproach. Then, -conscience-stricken, I send a servant to inquire if the sick person -has a doctor, and whether any aid can be given. Presently the servant -returns with the information that a doctor is regularly attending the -sufferer, and that nothing else can be done.</p> - -<p>I notice, however, that, in spite of his cobwebby gestures, Manyemon's -patient nerves have also become affected by those sounds. He has even -confessed that he wants to stay in the little front room, near the -street, so as to be away from them as far as possible. I can neither -write nor read. My study being in the extreme rear, the groaning is -there almost as audible as if the sick man were in the room itself. -There is always in such utterances of suffering a certain ghastly -timbre by which the intensity of the suffering can be estimated; and I -keep asking myself, How can it be possible for the human being making -those sounds by which I am tortured, to endure much longer?</p> - -<p>It is a positive relief, later in the morning, to hear the moaning -drowned by the beating of a little Buddhist drum in the sick man's -room, and the chanting of the <i>Namu myō ho renge kyō</i> by a multitude -of voices. Evidently there is a gathering of priests and relatives -in the house. "Somebody is going to die," Manyemon says. And he also -repeats the holy words of praise to the Lotus of the Good Law.</p> - -<p>The chanting and the tapping of the drum continue for several hours. -As they cease, the groaning is heard again. Every breath a groan! -Toward evening it grows worse—horrible. Then it suddenly stops. There -is a dead silence of minutes. And then we hear a passionate burst of -weeping,—the weeping of a woman,—and voices calling a name. "Ah! -somebody is dead!" Manyemon says.</p> - -<p>We hold council. Manyemon has found out that the people are miserably -poor; and I, because my conscience smites me, propose to send them the -amount of the funeral expenses, a very small sum. Manyemon thinks I -wish to do this out of pure benevolence, and says pretty things. We -send the servant with a kind message, and instructions to learn if -possible the history of the dead man. I cannot help suspecting some -sort of tragedy; and a Japanese tragedy is generally interesting.</p> - -<p><i>December</i> 29. As I had surmised, the story of the dead man was worth -learning. The family consisted of four,—the father and mother, both -very old and feeble, and two sons. It was the eldest son, a man of -thirty-four, who had died. He had been sick for seven years. The -younger brother, a kurumaya, had been the sole support of the whole -family. He had no vehicle of his own, but hired one, paying five sen a -day for the use of it. Though strong and a swift runner, he could earn -little: there is in these days too much competition for the business -to be profitable. It taxed all his powers to support his parents -and his ailing brother; nor could he have done it without unfailing -self-denial. He never indulged himself even to the extent of a cup of -saké; he remained unmarried; he lived only for his filial and fraternal -duty.</p> - -<p>This was the story of the dead brother: When about twenty years of age, -and following the occupation of a fish-seller, he had fallen in love -with a pretty servant at an inn. The girl returned his affection. They -pledged themselves to each other. But difficulties arose in the way of -their marriage.</p> - -<p>The girl was pretty enough to have attracted the attention of a man of -some means, who demanded her hand in the customary way. She disliked -him; but the conditions he was able to offer decided her parents in his -favor. Despairing of union, the two lovers resolved to perform jōshi. -Somewhere or other they met at night, renewed their pledge in wine, and -bade farewell to the world. The young man then killed his sweetheart -with one blow of a sword, and immediately afterward cut his own throat -with the same weapon. But people rushed into the room before he had -expired, took away the sword, sent for the police, and summoned a -military surgeon from the garrison. The would-be suicide was removed to -the hospital, skillfully nursed back to health, and after some months -of convalescence was put on trial for murder.</p> - -<p>What sentence was passed I could not fully learn. In those days, -Japanese judges used a good deal of personal discretion when dealing -with emotional crime; and their exercise of pity had not yet been -restricted by codes framed upon Western models. Perhaps in this case -they thought that to have survived a jōshi was in itself a severe -punishment. Public opinion is less merciful, in such instances, than -law. After a term of imprisonment the miserable man was allowed -to return to his family, but was placed under perpetual police -surveillance. The people shrank from him. He made the mistake of living -on. Only his parents and brother remained to him. And soon he became a -victim of unspeakable physical suffering; yet he clung to life.</p> - -<p>The old wound in his throat, although treated at the time as skillfully -as circumstances permitted, began to cause terrible pain. After its -apparent healing, some slow cancerous growth commenced to spread -from it, reaching into the breathing-passages above and below where -the sword-blade had passed. The surgeon's knife, the torture of the -cautery, could only delay the end. But the man lingered through seven -years of continually increasing agony. There are dark beliefs about -the results of betraying the dead,—of breaking the mutual promise to -travel together to the Meido. Men said that the hand of the murdered -girl always reopened the wound,—undid by night all that the surgeon -could accomplish by day. For at night the pain invariably increased, -becoming most terrible at the precise hour of the attempted shinjū!</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, through abstemiousness and extraordinary self-denial, the -family found means to pay for medicines, for attendance, and for more -nourishing food than they themselves ever indulged in. They prolonged -by all possible means the life that was their shame, their poverty, -their burden. And now that death has taken away that burden, they weep!</p> - -<p>Perhaps all of us learn to love that which we train ourselves to make -sacrifices for, whatever pain it may cause. Indeed, the question might -be asked whether we do not love most that which causes us most pain.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="VI" id="VI">VI</a></h4> - - -<h4>THE STONE BUDDHA</h4> - - - -<h4 class="p2">I</h4> - - -<p>On the ridge of the hill behind the Government College,—above a -succession of tiny farm fields ascending the slope by terraces,—there -is an ancient village cemetery. It is no longer used: the people of -Kurogamimura now bury their dead in a more secluded spot; and I think -their fields are beginning already to encroach upon the limits of the -old graveyard.</p> - -<p>Having an idle hour to pass between two classes, I resolve to pay the -ridge a visit. Harmless thin black snakes wiggle across the way as I -climb; and immense grasshoppers, exactly the color of parched leaves, -whirr away from my shadow. The little field path vanishes altogether -under coarse grass before reaching the broken steps at the cemetery -gate; and in the cemetery itself there is no path at all—only weeds -and stones. But there is a fine view from the ridge: the vast green -Plain of Higo, and beyond it bright blue hills in a half-ring against -the horizon light, and even beyond them the cone of Aso smoking forever.</p> - -<p>Below me, as in a bird's-eye view, appears the college, like a -miniature modern town, with its long ranges of many windowed -buildings, all of the year 1887. They represent the purely utilitarian -architecture of the nineteenth century: they might be situated equally -well in Kent or in Auckland or in New Hampshire without appearing in -the least out of tone with the age. But the terraced fields above and -the figures toiling in them might be of the fifth century. The language -cut upon the haka whereon I lean is transliterated Sanscrit. And there -is a Buddha beside me, sitting upon his lotus of stone just as he sat -in the days of Kato Kiyomasa. His meditative gaze slants down between -his half-closed eyelids upon the Government College and its tumultuous -life; and he smiles the smile of one who has received an injury not to -be resented. This is not the expression wrought by the sculptor: moss -and scurf have distorted it. I also observe that his hands are broken. -I am sorry, and try to scrape the moss away from the little symbolic -protuberance on his forehead, remembering the ancient text of the -"Lotus of the Good Law:"—</p> - -<p>"<i>There issued a ray of light from the circle of hair between the -brows of the Lord. It extended over eighteen hundred thousand Buddha -fields, so that all those Buddha fields appeared wholly illuminated -by its radiance, down to the great hell Aviki, and up to the limit of -existence. And all the beings in each of the Six States of existence -became visible,—all without exception. Even the Lord Buddhas in those -Buddha fields who had reached final Nirvana, all became visible.</i>"</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>The sun is high behind me; the landscape before me as in an old -Japanese picture-book. In old Japanese color-prints there are, as a -rule, no shadows. And the Plain of Higo, all shadowless, broadens -greenly to the horizon, where the blue spectres of the peaks seem to -float in the enormous glow. But the vast level presents no uniform -hue: it is banded and seamed by all tones of green, intercrossed as if -laid on by long strokes of a brush. In this again the vision resembles -some scene from a Japanese picture-book.</p> - -<p>Open such a book for the first time, and you receive a peculiarly -startling impression, a sensation of surprise, which causes you to -think: "How strangely, how curiously, these people feel and see -Nature!" The wonder of it grows upon you, and you ask: "Can it be -possible their senses are so utterly different from ours?" Yes, it is -quite possible; but look a little more. You do so, and there defines -a third and ultimate idea, confirming the previous two. You feel the -picture is more true to Nature than any Western painting of the same -scene would be,—that it produces sensations of Nature no Western -picture could give. And indeed there are contained within it whole -ranges of discoveries for you to make. Before making them, however, you -will ask yourself another riddle, somewhat thus: "All this is magically -vivid; the inexplicable color is Nature's own. <i>But why does the thing -seem so ghostly?</i>"</p> - -<p>Well, chiefly because of the absence of shadows. What prevents you from -missing them at once is the astounding skill in the recognition and use -of color-values. The scene, however, is not depicted as if illumined -from one side, but as if throughout suffused with light. Now there are -really moments when landscapes do wear this aspect; but our artists -rarely study them.</p> - -<p>Be it nevertheless observed that the old Japanese loved shadows made -by the moon, and painted the same, because these were weird and did -not interfere with color. But they had no admiration for shadows that -blacken and break the charm of the world under the sun. When their -noon-day landscapes are flecked by shadows at all,'tis by very thin -ones only,—mere deepenings of tone, like those fugitive half-glooms -which run before a summer cloud. And the inner as well as the outer -world was luminous for them. Psychologically also they saw life without -shadows.</p> - -<p>Then the West burst into their Buddhist peace, and saw their art, and -bought it up till an Imperial law was issued to preserve the best of -what was left. And when there was nothing more to be bought, and it -seemed possible that fresh creation might reduce the market price of -what had been bought already, then the West said: "Oh, come now! you -must n't go on drawing and seeing things that way, you know! It is n't -Art! You, must really learn to see shadows, you know,—and pay me to -teach you."</p> - -<p>So Japan paid to learn how to see shadows in Nature, in life, and in -thought. And the West taught her that the sole business of the divine -sun was the making of the cheaper kind of shadows. And the West taught -her that the higher-priced shadows were the sole product of Western -civilization, and bade her admire and adopt. Then Japan wondered at -the shadows of machinery and chimneys and telegraph-poles; and at the -shadows of mines and of factories, and the shadows in the hearts of -those who worked there; and at the shadows of houses twenty stories -high, and of hunger begging under them; and shadows of enormous -charities that multiplied poverty; and shadows of social reforms that -multiplied vice; and shadows of shams and hypocrisies and swallow-tail -coats; and the shadow of a foreign God, said to have created mankind -for the purpose of an <i>auto-da-fé</i>. Whereat Japan became rather -serious, and refused to study any more silhouettes. Fortunately for the -world, she returned to her first matchless art; and, fortunately for -herself, returned to her own beautiful faith. But some of the shadows -still clung to her life; and she cannot possibly get rid of them. Never -again can the world seem to her quite so beautiful as it did before.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>Just beyond the cemetery, in a tiny patch of hedged-in land, a farmer -and his ox are plowing the black soil with a plow of the Period of the -Gods; and the wife helps the work with a hoe more ancient than even the -Empire of Japan. All the three are toiling with a strange earnestness, -as though goaded without mercy by the knowledge that labor is the price -of life.</p> - -<p>That man I have often seen before in the colored prints of another -century. I have seen him in kakemono of much more ancient date. I have -seen him on painted screens of still greater antiquity. Exactly the -same! Other fashions beyond counting have passed: the peasant's straw -hat, straw coat, and sandals of straw remain. He himself is older, -incomparably older, than his attire. The earth he tills has indeed -swallowed him up a thousand times a thousand times; but each time -it has given back to him his life with force renewed. And with this -perpetual renewal he is content: he asks no more. The mountains change -their shapes; the rivers shift their courses; the stars change their -places in the sky: he changes never. Yet, though unchanging, is he a -maker of change. Out of the sum of his toil are wrought the ships of -iron, the roads of steel, the palaces of stone; his are the hands that -pay for the universities and the new learning, for the telegraphs and -the electric lights and the repeating-rifles, for the machinery of -science and the machinery of commerce and the machinery of war. He is -the giver of all; he is given in return—the right to labor forever. -Wherefore he plows the centuries under, to plant new lives of men. -And he will thus toil on till the work of the world shall have been -done,—till the time of the end of man.</p> - -<p>And what will be that end? Will it be ill or well? Or must it for all -of us remain a mystery insolvable?</p> - -<p>Out of the wisdom of the West is answer given: "Man's evolution is -a progress into perfection and beatitude. The goal of evolution is -Equilibration. Evils will vanish, one by one, till only that which is -good survive. Then shall knowledge obtain its uttermost expansion; then -shall mind put forth its most wondrous blossoms; then shall cease all -struggle and all bitterness of soul, and all the wrongs and all the -follies of life. Men shall become as gods, in all save immortality; and -each existence shall be prolonged through centuries; and all the joys -of life shall be made common in many a paradise terrestrial, fairer -than poet's dream. And there shall be neither riders nor ruled, neither -governments nor laws; for the order of all things shall be resolved by -love."</p> - -<p>But thereafter?</p> - -<p>"Thereafter? Oh, thereafter by reason of the persistence of Force and -other cosmic laws, dissolution must come: all integration must yield -to disintegration. This is the testimony of science."</p> - -<p>Then all that may have been won, must be lost; all that shall have been -wrought, utterly undone. Then all that shall have been overcome, must -overcome; all that may have been suffered for good, must be suffered -again for no purpose interpretable. Even as out of the Unknown was born -the immeasurable pain of the Past, so into the Unknown must expire the -immeasurable pain of the Future. What, therefore, the worth of our -evolution? what, therefore, the meaning of life—of this phantom-flash -between darknesses? Is your evolution only a passing out of absolute -mystery into universal death? In the hour when that man in the hat of -straw shall have crumbled back, for the last mundane time, into the -clay he tills, of what avail shall have been all the labor of a million -years?</p> - -<p>"Nay!" answers the West. "There is not any universal death in such a -sense. Death signifies only change. Thereafter will appear another -universal life. All that assures us of dissolution, not less certainly -assures us of renewal. The Cosmos, resolved into a nebula, must -recondense to form another swarm of worlds. And then, perhaps, your -peasant may reappear with his patient ox, to till some soil illumined -by purple or violet suns." Yes, but after that resurrection? "Why, then -another evolution, another equilibration, another dissolution. This is -the teaching of science. This is the infinite law."</p> - -<p>But then that resurrected life, can it be ever new? Will it not rather -be infinitely old? For so surely as that which is must eternally be, so -must that which will be have eternally been. As there can be no end, -so there can have been no beginning; and even Time is an illusion, -and there is nothing new beneath a hundred million suns. Death is -not death, not a rest, not an end of pain, but the most appalling of -mockeries. And out of this infinite whirl of pain you can tell us no -way of escape. Have you then made us any wiser than that straw-sandaled -peasant is? He knows all this. He learned, while yet a child, from -the priests who taught him to write in the Buddhist temple school, -something of his own innumerable births, and of the apparition and -disparition of universes, and of the unity of life. That which you have -mathematically discovered was known to the East long before the coming -of the Buddha. How known, who may say? Perhaps there have been memories -that survived the wrecks of universes. But be that as it may, your -annunciation is enormously old: your methods only are new, and serve -merely to confirm ancient theories of the Cosmos, and to recomplicate -the complications of the everlasting Riddle.</p> - -<p class="p2">Unto which the West makes answer:—"Not so! I have discerned the -rhythm of that eternal action whereby worlds are shapen or dissipated; -I have divined the Laws of Pain evolving all sentient existence, the -Laws of Pain evolving thought; I have discovered and proclaimed the -means by which sorrow may be lessened; I have taught the necessity of -effort, and the highest duty of life. And surely the knowledge of the -duty of life is the knowledge of largest worth to man."</p> - -<p>Perhaps. But the knowledge of the necessity and of the duty, as you -have proclaimed them, is a knowledge very, very much older than you. -Probably that peasant knew it fifty thousand years ago, on this planet. -Possibly also upon other long—vanished planets, in cycles forgotten -by the gods. If this be the Omega of Western wisdom, then is he of the -straw sandals our equal in knowledge, even though he be classed by the -Buddha among the ignorant ones only,—they who "people the cemeteries -again and again."</p> - -<p>"He cannot know," makes answer Science; "at the very most he only -believes, or thinks that he believes. Not even his wisest priests can -prove. I alone have proven; I alone have given proof absolute. And -I have proved for ethical renovation, though accused of proving for -destruction. I have defined the uttermost impassable limit of human -knowledge; but I have also established for all time the immovable -foundations of that highest doubt which is wholesome, since it is the -substance of hope. I have shown that even the least of human thoughts, -of human acts, may have perpetual record,—making self-registration -through tremulosities invisible that pass to the eternities. And I -have fixed the basis of a new morality upon everlasting truth, even -though I may have left of ancient creeds only their empty shell."</p> - -<p>Creeds of the West—yes! But not of the creed of this older East. -Not yet have you even measured it. What matter that this peasant -cannot prove, since thus much of his belief is that which you have -proved for all of us? And he holds still another belief that reaches -beyond yours. He too has been taught that acts and thoughts outlive -the lives of men. But he has been taught more than this. He has been -taught that the thoughts and acts of each being, projected beyond the -individual existence, shape other lives unborn; he has been taught to -control his most secret wishes, because of their immeasurable inherent -potentialities. And he has been taught all this in words as plain -and thoughts as simply woven as the straw of his rain-coat. What if -he cannot prove his premises? you have proved them, for him and for -the world. He has only a theory of the future, indeed; but you have -furnished irrefutable evidence that it is not founded upon dreams. And -since all your past labors have only served to confirm a few of the -beliefs stored up in his simple mind, is it any folly to presume that -your future labors also may serve to prove the truth of other beliefs -of his, which you have not yet taken the trouble to examine?</p> - -<p>"For instance, that earthquakes are caused by a big fish?"</p> - -<p>Do not sneer! Our Western notions about such things were just as crude -only a few generations back. No! I mean the ancient teaching that acts -and thoughts are not merely the incidents of life, but its creators. -Even as it has been written, "<i>All that we are is the result of what -we have thought: it is founded on our thoughts; it is made up of our -thoughts.</i>"</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>And there comes to me the memory of a queer story.</p> - -<p>The common faith of the common people, that the misfortunes of the -present are results of the follies committed in a former state of -existence, and that the errors of this life will influence the future -birth, is curiously reinforced by various superstitions probably much -older than Buddhism, but not at variance with its faultless doctrine of -conduct. Among these, perhaps the most remarkable is the belief that -even our most secret thoughts of evil may have ghostly consequences -upon <i>other people's lives.</i></p> - -<p class="p2">The house now occupied by one of my friends used to be haunted. You -could never imagine it to have been haunted, because it is unusually -luminous, extremely pretty, and comparatively new. It has no dark nooks -or corners. It is surrounded with a large bright garden,—a Kyūshū -landscape garden without any big trees for ghosts to hide behind. Yet -haunted it was, and in broad day.</p> - -<p>First you must learn that in this Orient there are two sorts of -haunters: the Shi-ryō and the Iki-ryō. The Shi-ryō are merely the -ghosts of the dead; and here, as in most lands, they follow their -ancient habit of coming at night only. But the Iki-ryō, which are the -ghosts of the living, may come at all hours; and they are much more to -be feared, because they have power to kill.</p> - -<p>Now the house of which I speak was haunted by an Iki-ryō.</p> - -<p>The man who built it was an official, wealthy and esteemed. He designed -it as a home for his old age; and when it was finished he filled it -with beautiful things, and hung tinkling wind bells along its eaves. -Artists of skill painted the naked precious wood of its panels with -blossoming sprays of cherry and plum tree, and figures of gold-eyed -falcons poised on crests of pine, and slim fawns feeding under maple -shadows, and wild ducks in snow, and herons flying, and iris flowers -blooming, and long-armed monkeys clutching at the face of the moon in -water: all the symbols of the seasons and of good fortune.</p> - -<p>Fortunate the owner was; yet he knew one sorrow—he had no heir. -Therefore, with his wife's consent, and according to antique custom, he -took a strange woman into his home that she might give him a child,—a -young woman from the country, to whom large promises were made. When -she had borne him a son, she was sent away; and a nurse was hired for -the boy, that he might not regret his real mother. All this had been -agreed to beforehand; and there were ancient usages to justify it. But -all the promises made to the mother of the boy had not been fulfilled -when she was sent away.</p> - -<p>And after a little time the rich man fell sick; and he grew worse -thereafter day by day; and his people said there was an Iki-ryō in -the house. Skilled physicians did all they could for him; but he only -became weaker and weaker; and the physicians at last confessed they had -no more hope. And the wife made offerings at the Ujigami, and prayed -to the Gods; but the Gods gave answer: "He must die unless he obtain -forgiveness from one whom he wronged, and undo the wrong by making just -amend. For there is an Iki-ryō in your house."</p> - -<p>Then the sick man remembered, and was conscience-smitten, and sent -out servants to bring the woman back to his home. But she was -gone,—somewhere lost among the forty millions of the Empire. And the -sickness ever grew worse; and search was made in vain; and the weeks -passed. At last there came to the gate a peasant who said that he knew -the place to which the woman had gone, and that he would journey to -find her if supplied with means of travel. But the sick man, hearing, -cried out: "No! she would never forgive me in her heart, because she -could not. It is too late!" And he died.</p> - -<p>After which the widow and the relatives and the little boy abandoned -the new house; and strangers entered thereinto.</p> - -<p class="p2">Curiously enough, the people spoke harshly concerning the mother of the -boy—holding her to blame for the haunting.</p> - -<p>I thought it very strange at first, not because I had formed any -positive judgment as to the rights and wrongs of the case. Indeed I -could not form such a judgment; for I could not learn the full details -of the story. I thought the criticism of the people very strange, -notwithstanding.</p> - -<p>Why? Simply because there is nothing voluntary about the sending of an -Iki-ryō. It is not witchcraft at all. The Iki-ryō goes forth without -the knowledge of the person whose emanation it is. (There is a kind of -witchcraft which is believed to send Things,—but not Iki-ryō.) You -will now understand why I thought the condemnation of the young woman -very strange.</p> - -<p>But you could scarcely guess the solution of the problem. It is a -religious one, involving conceptions totally unknown to the West. She -from whom the Iki-ryō proceeded was never blamed by the people as -a witch. They never suggested that it might have been created with -her knowledge. They even sympathized with what they deemed to be her -just plaint. They blamed her only for having been too angry,—for -not sufficiently controlling her unspoken resentment,—because she -should have known <i>that anger, secretly indulged, can have ghostly -consequences.</i></p> - -<p class="p2">I ask nobody to take for granted the possibility of the Iki-ryō, except -as a strong form of conscience. But as an influence upon conduct, the -belief certainly has value. Besides, it is suggestive. Who is really -able to assure us that secret evil desires, pent-up resentments, masked -hates, do not exert any force outside of the will that conceives and -nurses them? May there not be a deeper meaning than Western ethics -recognize in those words of the Buddha,—"<i>Hatred ceases not by hatred -at any time; hatred ceases by love: this is an old rule</i>"? It was very -old then, even in his day. In ours it has been said, "Whensoever a -wrong is done you, and you do not resent it, then so much evil dies in -the world." But does it? Are we quite sure that not to resent it is -enough? Can the motive tendency set loose in the mind by the sense of -a wrong be nullified simply by non-action on the part of the wronged? -Can any force die? The forces we know may be transformed only. So much -also may be true of the forces we do not know; and of these are Life, -Sensation, Will,—all that makes up the infinite mystery called "I."</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>V</h4> - - -<p>"The duty of Science," answers Science, "is to systematize human -experience, not to theorize about ghosts. And the judgment of the time, -even in Japan, sustains this position taken by Science. What is now -being taught below there,—my doctrines, or the doctrines of the Man in -the Straw Sandals?"</p> - -<p>Then the Stone Buddha and I look down upon the college together; and -as we gaze, the smile of the Buddha—perhaps because of a change in -the light—seems to me to have changed its expression, to have become -an ironical smile. Nevertheless he is contemplating the fortress of -a more than formidable enemy. In all that teaching of four hundred -youths by thirty-three teachers, there is no teaching of faith, but -only teaching of fact,—only teaching of the definite results of the -systematization of human experience. And I am absolutely certain that -if I were to question, concerning the things of the Buddha, any of -those thirty-three instructors (saving one dear old man of seventy, -the Professor of Chinese), I should receive no reply. For they belong -unto the new generation, holding that such topics are fit for the -consideration of Men-in-Straw-Rain—coats only, and that in this -twenty-sixth year of Meiji, the scholar should occupy himself only -with the results of the systematization of human experience. Yet the -systematization of human experience in no wise enlightens us as to the -Whence, the Whither, or, worst of all!—the Why.</p> - -<p>"<i>The Laws of Existence which proceed from a cause,—the cause of these -hath the Buddha explained, as also the destruction of the same. Even of -such truths is the great Sramana the teacher.</i>"</p> - -<p class="p2">And I ask myself, Must the teaching of Science in this land efface at -last the memory of the teaching of the Buddha?</p> - -<p>"As for that," makes answer Science, "the test of the right of a -faith to live must be sought in its power to accept and to utilize -my revelations. Science neither affirms what it cannot prove, nor -denies that which it cannot rationally disprove. Theorizing about the -Unknowable, it recognizes and pities as a necessity of the human mind. -You and the Man-in-the-Straw-Rain-coat may harmlessly continue to -theorize for such time as your theories advance in lines parallel with -my facts, but no longer."</p> - -<p class="p2">And seeking inspiration from the deep irony of Buddha's smile, I -theorize in parallel lines.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>VI</h4> - - -<p>The whole tendency of modern knowledge, the whole tendency of -scientific teaching, is toward the ultimate conviction that the -Unknowable, even as the Brahma of ancient Indian thought, is -inaccessible to prayer. Not a few of us can feel that Western Faith -must finally pass away forever, leaving us to our own resources when -our mental manhood shall have been attained, even as the fondest of -mothers must leave her children at last. In that far day her work will -all have been done; she will have fully developed our recognition -of certain eternal spiritual laws; she will have fully ripened our -profounder human sympathies; she will have fully prepared us by her -parables and fairy tales, by her gentler falsehoods, for the terrible -truth of existence;—prepared us for the knowledge that there is no -divine love save the love of man for man; that we have no All-Father, -no Saviour, no angel guardians; that we have no possible refuge but in -ourselves.</p> - -<p>Yet even in that strange day we shall only have stumbled to the -threshold of the revelation given by the Buddha so many ages ago: -"Be ye lamps unto yourselves; be ye a refuge unto yourselves. Betake -yourselves to no other refuge. The Buddhas are only teachers. Hold ye -fast to the truth as to a lamp. Hold fast as a refuge to the truth. -Look not for refuge to any beside yourselves."</p> - -<p>Does the utterance shock? Yet the prospect of such a void awakening -from our long fair dream of celestial aid and celestial love would -never be the darkest prospect possible for man. There is a darker, -also foreshadowed by Eastern thought. Science may hold in reserve -for us discoveries infinitely more appalling than the realization -of Richter's dream,—the dream of the dead children seeking vainly -their father Jesus. In the negation of the materialist even, there -was a faith of consolation—self-assurance of individual cessation, -of oblivion eternal. But for the existing thinker there is no such -faith. It may remain for us to learn, after having vanquished all -difficulties possible to meet upon this tiny sphere, that there await -us obstacles to overcome beyond it,—obstacles vaster than any system -of worlds,—obstacles weightier than the whole inconceivable Cosmos -with its centuries of millions of systems; that our task is only -beginning; and that there will never be given to us even the ghost of -any help, save the help of unutterable and unthinkable Time. We may -have to learn that the infinite whirl of death and birth, out of which -we cannot escape, is of our own creation, of our own seeking—that the -forces integrating worlds are the errors of the Past;—that the eternal -sorrow is but the eternal hunger of insatiable desire;—and that the -burnt-out suns are rekindled only by the inextinguishable passions of -vanished lives.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="VII" id="VII">VII</a></h4> - - -<h4>JIUJUTSU</h4> - - -<p>Man at his birth is supple and weak; at his death, firm and strong. So -is it with all things.... Firmness and strength are the concomitants of -death; softness and weakness, the concomitants of life. Hence he who -relies on his own strength shall not conquer.</p> -<p style="text-align: right; font-variant: small-caps;">Tao-Te-King.</p> - - - -<h4 class="p2">I</h4> - - -<p>There is one building in the grounds of the Government College quite -different in structure from the other edifices. Except that it is -furnished with horizontally sliding glass windows instead of paper -ones, it might be called a purely Japanese building. It is long, broad, -and of one story; and it contains but a single huge room, of which -the elevated floor is thickly cushioned with one hundred mats. It has -a Japanese name, too,—Zuihōkwan,—signifying "The Hall of Our Holy -Country;" and the Chinese characters which form that name were painted -upon the small tablet above its entrance by the hand of a Prince of -the Imperial blood. Within there is no furniture; nothing but another -tablet and two pictures hanging upon the wall. One of the pictures -represents the famous "White-Tiger Band" of seventeen brave boys who -voluntarily sought death for loyalty's sake in the civil war. The other -is a portrait in oil of the aged and much beloved Professor of Chinese, -Akizuki of Aidzu, a noted warrior in his youth, when it required much -more to make a soldier and a gentleman than it does to-day. And the -tablet bears Chinese characters written by the hand of Count Katsu, -which signify: "Profound knowledge is the best of possessions."</p> - -<p>But what is the knowledge taught in this huge unfurnished apartment? It -is something called jiujutsu. And what is jiujutsu?</p> - -<p>Here I must premise that I know practically nothing of jiujutsu. One -must begin to study it in early youth, and must continue the study a -very long time in order to learn it even tolerably well. To become an -expert requires seven years of constant practice, even presupposing -natural aptitudes of an uncommon order. I can give no detailed account -of jiujutsu, but merely venture some general remarks about its -principle.</p> - -<p>Jiujutsu is the old samurai art of fighting without weapons. To the -uninitiated it looks like wrestling. Should you happen to enter the -Zuihōkwan while jiujutsu is being practiced, you would see a crowd -of students watching ten or twelve lithe young comrades, barefooted -and barelimbed, throwing each other about on the matting. The dead -silence might seem to you very strange. No word is spoken, no sign of -approbation or of amusement is given, no face even smiles. Absolute -impassiveness is rigidly exacted by the rules of the school of -jiujutsu. But probably only this impassibility of all, this hush of -numbers, would impress you as remarkable.</p> - -<p>A professional wrestler would observe more. He would see that those' -young men are very cautious about putting forth their strength, and -that the grips, holds, and flings are both peculiar and risky. In spite -of the care exercised, he would judge the whole performance to be -dangerous play, and would be tempted, perhaps, to advise the adoption -of Western "scientific" rules.</p> - -<p>The real thing, however,—not the play,—is much more dangerous than -a Western wrestler could guess at sight. The teacher there, slender -and light as he seems, could probably disable an ordinary wrestler -in two minutes. Jiujutsu is not an art of display at all: it is not -a training for that sort of skill exhibited to public audiences; it -is an art of self-defense in the most exact sense of the term; it is -an art of war. The master of that art is able, in one moment, to put -an untrained antagonist completely <i>hors de combat</i>. By some terrible -legerdemain he suddenly dislocates a shoulder, unhinges a joint, bursts -a tendon, or snaps a bone,—without any apparent effort. He is much -more than an athlete: he is an anatomist. And he knows also touches -that kill—as by lightning. But this fatal knowledge he is under oath -never to communicate except under such conditions as would render its -abuse almost impossible. Tradition exacts that it be given only to men -of perfect self-command and of unimpeachable moral character.</p> - -<p>The fact, however, to which I want to call attention is that the master -of jiujutsu never relies upon his own strength. He scarcely uses his -own strength in the greatest emergency. Then what does he use? Simply -the strength of his antagonist. The force of the enemy is the only -means by which that enemy is overcome. The art of jiujutsu teaches you -to rely for victory solely upon the strength of your opponent; and -the greater his strength, the worse for him and the better for you. I -remember that I was not a little astonished when one of the greatest -teachers of jiujutsu<a name="FNanchor_1_19" id="FNanchor_1_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_19" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> told me that he found it extremely difficult to -teach a certain very strong pupil, whom I had innocently imagined to -be the best in the class. On asking why, I was answered: "Because he -relies upon his enormous muscular strength, and uses it." The very name -"jiujutsu" means <i>to conquer by yielding.</i></p> - -<p>I fear I cannot explain at all; I can only suggest. Every one knows -what a "counter" in boxing means. I cannot use it for an exact simile, -because the boxer who counters opposes his whole force to the impetus -of the other; while a jiujutsu expert does precisely the contrary. -Still there remains this resemblance between a counter in boxing and -a yielding in jiujutsu,—that the suffering is in both cases due to -the uncontrollable forward impetus of the man who receives it. I -may venture then to say, loosely, that in jiujutsu there is a sort -of counter for every twist, wrench, pull, push, or bend: only, the -jiujutsu expert does not oppose such movements at all. No: he yields -to them. But he does much more than yield to them. He aids them with a -wicked sleight that causes the assailant to put out his own shoulder, -to fracture his own arm, or, in a desperate case, even to break his own -neck or back.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_19" id="Footnote_1_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_19"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Kano Jigoro. Mr. Kano contributed some years ago to the -<i>Transactions of the Asiatic Society</i> a very interesting paper on the -history of Jiujutsu.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>With even this vaguest of explanations, you will already have been able -to perceive that the real wonder of jiujutsu is not in the highest -possible skill of its best professor, but in the uniquely Oriental idea -which the whole art expresses. What Western brain could have elaborated -this strange teaching,—never to oppose force to force, but only to -direct and utilize the power of attack; to overthrow the enemy solely -by his own strength,—to vanquish him solely by his own effort? Surely -none! The Occidental mind appears to work in straight lines; the -Oriental, in wonderful curves and circles. Yet how fine a symbolism of -Intelligence as a means to foil brute force! Much more than a science -of defense is this jiujutsu: it is a philosophical system; it is an -economical system; it is an ethical system (indeed, I had forgotten to -say that a very large part of jiujutsu-training is purely moral); and -it is, above all, the expression of a racial genius as yet but faintly -perceived by those Powers who dream of further aggrandizement in the -East.</p> - -<p class="p2">Twenty-five years ago,—and even more recently,—-foreigners might -have predicted, with every appearance of reason, that Japan would -adopt not only the dress, but the manners of the Occident; not only -our means of rapid transit and communication, but also our principles -of architecture; not only our industries and our applied science, but -likewise our metaphysics and our dogmas. Some really believed that -the country would soon be thrown open to foreign settlement; that -Western capital would be tempted by extraordinary privileges to aid in -the development of various resources; and even that the nation would -eventually proclaim, through Imperial Edict, its sudden conversion to -what we call Christianity. But such beliefs were due to an unavoidable -but absolute ignorance of the character of the race,—of its deeper -capacities, of its foresight, of its immemorial spirit of independence. -That Japan might only be practicing jiujutsu, nobody supposed for -a moment: indeed at that time nobody in the West had ever heard of -jiujutsu.</p> - -<p>And, nevertheless, jiujutsu it all was. Japan adopted a military -system founded upon the best experience of France and Germany, with -the result that she can call into the field a disciplined force of -250,000 men, supported by a formidable artillery. She created a strong -navy, comprising some of the finest cruisers in the world;—modeling -her naval system upon the best English and French teaching. She made -herself dockyards under French direction, and built or bought steamers -to carry her products to Korea, China, Manilla, Mexico, India, and -the tropics of the Pacific. She constructed, both for military and -commercial purposes, nearly two thousand miles of railroad. With -American and English help she established the cheapest and perhaps the -most efficient telegraph and postal service in existence. She built -lighthouses to such excellent purpose that her coast is said to be the -best lighted in either hemisphere; and she put into operation a signal -service not inferior to that of the United States. From America she -obtained also a telephone system, and the best methods of electric -lighting. She modeled her public-school system upon a thorough study -of the best results obtained in Germany, France, and America, but -regulated it so as to harmonize perfectly with her own institutions. -She founded a police system upon a French model, but shaped it to -absolute conformity with her own particular social requirements. -At first she imported machinery for her mines, her mills, her -gun-factories, her railways, and hired numbers of foreign experts: she -is now dismissing all her teachers. But what she has done and is doing -would require volumes even to mention. Suffice to say, in conclusion, -that she has selected and adopted the best of everything represented by -our industries, by our applied sciences, by our economical, financial, -and legal experience; availing herself in every case of the highest -results only, and invariably shaping her acquisitions to meet her own -needs.</p> - -<p>Now in all this she has adopted nothing for a merely imitative reason. -On the contrary, she has approved and taken only what can help her -to increase her strength. She has made herself able to dispense with -nearly all foreign technical instruction; and she has kept firmly in -her own hands, by the shrewdest legislation, all of her own resources. -But she has <i>not</i> adopted Western dress, Western habits of life, -Western architecture, or Western religion; since the introduction -of any of these, especially the last, would have diminished instead -of augmenting her force. Despite her railroad and steamship lines, -her telegraphs and telephones, her postal service and her express -companies, her steel artillery and magazine-rifles, her universities -and technical schools, she remains just as Oriental to-day as she -was a thousand years ago. She has been able to remain herself, and to -profit to the utmost possible limit by the strength of the enemy. She -has been, and still is, defending herself by the most admirable system -of intellectual self-defense ever heard of,—by a marvelous national -jiujutsu.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>Before me lies an album more than thirty years old. It is filled -with photographs taken at the time when Japan was entering upon her -experiments with foreign dress and with foreign institutions. All are -photographs of samurai or daimyô; and many possess historical value as -reflections of the earliest effects of foreign influence upon native -fashions.</p> - -<p>Naturally the military class were the earliest subjects of the -new influence; and they seem to have attempted several curious -compromises between the Western and the Eastern costume. More than -a dozen photographs represent feudal leaders surrounded by their -retainers,—all in a peculiar garb of their own composition. They -have frock coats, waistcoats, and trousers of foreign style and -material; but under the coat the long silk girdle or obi is still worn, -simply for the purpose of holding the swords. (For the samurai were -never in a literal sense <i>traîneurs de sabre</i>; and their formidable -but exquisitely finished weapons were never made to be slung at the -side,—besides being in most cases much too long to be carried in the -Western way.) The cloth of the suits is broadcloth; but the samurai -will not surrender his mon, or crest, and tries to adapt it to his -novel attire by all manner of devices. One has faced the lappets of -his coat with white silk; and his family device is either dyed or -embroidered upon the silk six times—three mon to each lappet. All the -men, or nearly all, wear European watches with showy guards; one is -examining his timepiece curiously, probably a very recent acquisition. -All wear Western shoes, too,—shoes with elastic sides. But none seem -to have yet adopted the utterly abominable European hat—destined, -unfortunately, to become popular at a later day. They still retain the -jingasa,—a strong wooden headpiece, heavily lacquered in scarlet -and gold. And the jingasa and the silken girdle remain the only -satisfactory parts of their astounding uniform. The trousers and coats -are ill fitting; the shoes are inflicting slow tortures; there is an -indescribably constrained, slouchy, shabby look common to all thus -attired. They have not only ceased to feel free: they are conscious of -not looking their best. The incongruities are not grotesque enough to -be amusing; they are merely ugly and painful. What foreigner in that -time could have persuaded himself that the Japanese were not about to -lose forever their beautiful taste in dress?</p> - -<p>Other photographs show still more curious results of foreign -influences. Here are samurai who refuse to adopt the Western fashions, -but who have compromised with the new mania by having their haori -and hakama made of the heaviest and costliest English broadcloth,—a -material utterly unsuited for such use both because of its weight and -its inelasticity. Already you can see that creases have been formed -which no hot iron can ever smooth away.</p> - -<p>It is certainly an æsthetic relief to turn from these portraits to -those of a few conservatives who paid no attention to the mania at -all, and clung to their native warrior garb to the very last. Here are -nagabakama worn by horsemen,—and jin-baori, or war-coats, superbly -embroidered,—and kamishimo,—and shirts of mail,—and full suits of -armor. Here also are various forms of kaburi,—the strange but imposing -head-dresses anciently worn on state occasions by princes and by -samurai of high rank,—curious cobwebby structures, of some light black -material. In all this there is dignity, beauty, or the terrible grace -of war.</p> - -<p>But everything is totally eclipsed by the last photograph of the -collection,—a handsome youth with the sinister, splendid gaze of a -falcon,—Matsudaira Buzen-no-Kami, in full magnificence of feudal war -costume. One hand bears the tasseled signal-wand of a leader of armies; -the other rests on the marvelous hilt of his sword. His helmet is a -blazing miracle; the steel upon his breast and shoulders was wrought -by armorers whose names are famed in all the museums of the West. The -cords of his war-coat are golden; and a wondrous garment of heavy -silk—all embroidered with billowings and dragonings of gold—flows -from his mailed waist to his feet, like a robe of fire. And this is no -dream;—this was!—I am gazing at a solar record of one real figure -of mediæval life! How the man flames in his steel and silk and gold, -like some splendid iridescent beetle,—but a War beetle, all horns and -mandibles and menace despite its dazzlings of jewel-color!</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>From the princely magnificence of feudal costume as worn by -Matsudaira—Buzen-no-Kami to the nondescript garments of the transition -period, how vast a fall! Certainly the native dress and the native -taste in dress might well have seemed doomed to pass away forever. -And when even the Imperial Court had temporarily adopted Parisian -modes, few foreigners could have doubted that the whole nation was -about to change garb. As a fact, there then began in the chief cities -that passing mania for Western fashions which was reflected in the -illustrated journals of Europe, and which created for a while the -impression that picturesque Japan had become transformed into a land -of "loud" tweeds, chimney-pot hats, and swallow-tail coats. But in -the capital itself to-day, among a thousand passers-by, you may see -scarcely one in Western dress, excepting, of course, the uniformed -soldiers, students, and police. The former mania really represented -a national experiment; and the results of that experiment were not -according to Western expectation. Japan has adopted various styles of -Western uniform,<a name="FNanchor_1_20" id="FNanchor_1_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_20" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> with some excellent modifications, for her army, -her navy, and her police, simply because such attire is the best -possible for such callings. Foreign civil costume has been adopted by -the Japanese official world, but only to be worn during office-hours -in buildings of Western construction furnished with modern desks -and chairs.<a name="FNanchor_2_21" id="FNanchor_2_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_21" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> At home even the general, the admiral, the judge, -the police-inspector, resume the national garb. And, finally, both -teachers and students in all but the primary schools are expected to -wear uniform, as the educational training is partly military. This -obligation, once stringent, has, however, been considerably relaxed; in -many schools the uniform being now obligatory only during drill-time -and upon certain ceremonial occasions. In all Kyūshū schools, except -the Normal, the students are free to wear their robes, straw sandals, -and enormous straw hats, when not on parade. But everywhere after -class-hours both teachers and students return at home to their kimono -and their girdles of white crape silk.</p> - -<p>In brief, then, Japan has fairly resumed her national dress; and it -is to be hoped that she will never again abandon it. Not only is -it the sole attire perfectly adapted to her domestic habits; it is -also, perhaps, the most dignified, the most comfortable, and the most -healthy in the world. In some respects, indeed, the native fashions -have changed during the era of Meiji much more than in previous eras; -but this was largely due to the abolition of the military caste. As to -forms, the change has been slight; as to color, it has been great. The -fine taste of the race still appears in the beautiful tints and colors -and designs of those silken or cotton textures woven for apparel. But -the tints are paler, the colors are darker, than those worn by the -last generation;—the whole national costume, in all its varieties, -not excepting even the bright attire of children and of young girls, -is much more sober of tone than in feudal days. All the wondrous old -robes of dazzling colors have vanished from public life: you can study -them now only in the theatres, or in those marvelous picture-books -reflecting the fantastic and beautiful visions of the Japanese classic -drama, which preserves the Past.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_20" id="Footnote_1_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_20"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> What seems to be the only serious mistake Japan has made -in this regard is the adoption of leather shoes for her infantry. -The fine feet of young men accustomed to the freedom of sandals, and -ignorant of the existence of what we call corns and bunions, are -cruelly tortured by this unnatural footgear. On long marches they are -allowed to wear sandals, however; and a change in footgear may yet be -made. With sandals, even a Japanese boy can easily walk his thirty -miles a day, almost unfatigued.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_21" id="Footnote_2_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_21"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> A highly educated Japanese actually observed to a friend -of mine: "The truth is that we dislike Western dress. We have been -temporarily adopting it only as certain animals take particular colors -in particular seasons,—<i>for protective reasons</i>".</p></div> - - - -<hr /> -<h4>V</h4> - - -<p>Indeed, to give up the native dress would involve the costly necessity -of changing nearly all the native habits of life. Western costume is -totally unsuited to a Japanese interior; and would render the national -squatting, or kneeling, posture extremely painful or difficult for -the wearer. The adoption of Western dress would thus necessitate the -adoption of Western domestic habits: the introduction into home of -chairs for resting, tables for eating, stoves or fireplaces for warmth -(since the warmth of the native robes alone renders these Western -comforts at present unnecessary), carpets for floors, glass for -windows,—in short, a host of luxuries which the people have always -been well able to do without. There is no furniture (according to the -European sense of the term) in a Japanese home,—no beds, tables, or -chairs. There may be one small book-case, or rather "book-box;" and -there are nearly always a pair of chests of drawers in some recess -hidden by sliding paper screens; but such articles are quite unlike any -Western furniture. As a rule, you will see nothing in a Japanese room -except a small brazier of bronze or porcelain, for smoking purposes; a -kneeling-mat, or cushion, according to season; and in the alcove only, -a picture or a flower vase. For thousands of years Japanese life has -been on the floor. Soft as a hair mattress and always immaculately -clean, the floor is at once the couch, the dining-table, and most often -the writing-table; although there exist tiny pretty writing-tables -about one foot high. And the vast economy of such habits of life -renders it highly improbable they will ever be abandoned, especially -while the pressure of population and the struggle of life continue to -increase. It should also be remembered that there exists no precedent -of a highly civilized people—such as were the Japanese before the -Western aggression upon them—abandoning ancestral habits out of a -mere spirit of imitation. Those who imagine the Japanese to be merely -imitative also imagine them to be savages. As a fact, they are not -imitative at all: they are assimilative and adoptive only, and that to -the degree of genius.</p> - -<p>It is probable that careful study of Western experience with -fire-proof building-material will eventually result in some changes in -Japanese municipal architecture. Already, in some quarters of Tōkyō, -there are streets of brick houses. But these brick dwellings are matted -in the ancient manner; and their tenants follow the domestic habits -of their ancestors. The future architecture of brick or stone is not -likely to prove a mere copy of Western construction; it is almost -certain to develop new and purely Oriental features of rare interest.</p> - -<p>Those who believe the Japanese dominated by some blind admiration for -everything Occidental might certainly expect at the open ports to find -less of anything purely Japanese (except curios) than in the interior: -less of Japanese architecture; less of national dress, manners, and -customs; less of native religion, and shrines, and temples. But exactly -the reverse is the fact. Foreign buildings there are, but, as a general -rule, in the foreign concessions only, and for the use of foreigners. -The usual exceptions are a fire-proof post-office, a custom-house, and -perhaps a few breweries and cotton-mills. But not only is Japanese -architecture excellently represented at all the foreign ports: it is -better represented there than in almost any city of the interior. -The edifices heighten, broaden, expand; but they remain even more -Oriental than elsewhere. At Kobe, at Nagasaki, at Ōsaka, at Yokohama, -everything that is essentially and solely Japanese (except moral -character) accentuates as if in defiance of foreign influence. Whoever -has looked over Kobe from some lofty roof or balcony will have seen -perhaps the best possible example of what I mean,—the height, the -queerness, the charm of a Japanese port in the nineteenth century, -the blue-gray sea of tile-slopes ridged and banded with white, the -cedar world of gables and galleries and architectural conceits and -whimsicalities indescribable. And nowhere outside of the Sacred City of -Kyōto, can you witness a native religious festival to better advantage -than in the open ports; while the multitude of shrines, of temples, of -torii, of all the sights and symbols of Shintō and of Buddhism, are -scarcely paralleled in any city of the interior except Nikko, and the -ancient capitals of Nara and Saikyō. No! the more one studies the -characteristics of the open ports, the more one feels that the genius -of the race will never voluntarily yield to Western influence, beyond -the rules of jiujutsu.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>VI</h4> - - -<p>The expectation that Japan would speedily announce to the world -her adoption of Christianity was not so unreasonable as some other -expectations of former days. Yet it might well seem to have been more -so. There were no precedents upon which to build so large a hope. No -Oriental race has ever yet been converted to Christianity. Even under -British rule, the wonderful labors of the Catholic propaganda in -India have been brought to a standstill. In China, after centuries of -missions, the very name of Christianity is detested,—and not without -cause, since no small number of aggressions upon China have been -made in the name of Western religion. Nearer home, we have made even -less progress in our efforts to convert Oriental races. There is not -the ghost of a hope for the conversion of the Turks, the Arabs, the -Moors, or of any Islamic people; and the memory of the Society for the -Conversion of the Jews only serves to create a smile. But, even leaving -the Oriental races out of the question, we have no conversions whatever -to boast of. Never within modern history has Christendom been able to -force the acceptance of its dogmas upon a people able to maintain any -hope of national existence. The nominal<a name="FNanchor_1_22" id="FNanchor_1_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_22" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> success of missions among -a few savage tribes, or the vanishing Maori races, only proves the -rule; and unless we accept the rather sinister declaration of Napoleon -that missionaries may have great political usefulness, it is not easy -to escape the conclusion that the whole work of the foreign mission -societies has been little more than a vast expenditure of energy, time, -and money, to no real purpose.</p> - -<p>In this last decade of the nineteenth century, at all events, the -reason should be obvious. A religion means much more than mere dogma -about the supernatural: it is the synthesis of the whole ethical -experience of a race, the earliest foundation, in many cases, of its -wiser laws, and the record, as well as the result, of its social -evolution. It is thus essentially a part of the race-life, and -cannot possibly be replaced in any natural manner by the ethical and -social experience of a totally alien people,—that is to say, by a -totally alien religion. And no nation in a healthy social state can -voluntarily abandon the faith so profoundly identified with its ethical -life. A nation may reshape its dogmas: it may willingly even accept -another faith; but it will not voluntarily cast away its older belief, -even when the latter has lost all ethical or social usefulness. When -China accepted Buddhism, she gave up neither the moral codes of her -ancient sages, nor her primitive ancestor-worship; when Japan accepted -Buddhism, she did not forsake the Way of the Gods. Parallel examples -are yielded by the history of the religions of antique Europe. Only -religions the most tolerant can be voluntarily accepted by races -totally alien to those that evolved them; and even then only as an -addition to what they already possess, never as a substitute for it. -Wherefore the great success of the ancient Buddhist missions. Buddhism -was an absorbing but never a supplanting power: it incorporated alien -faiths into its colossal system, and gave them new interpretation. -But the religion of Islam and the religion of Christianity—Western -Christianity—have always been religions essentially intolerant, -incorporating nothing and zealous to supplant everything. To introduce -Christianity, especially into an Oriental country, necessitates the -destruction not only of the native faith but of the native social -systems as well. Now the lesson of history is that such wholesale -destruction, can be accomplished only by force, and, in the case of -a highly complex society, only by the most brutal force. And force, -the principal instrument of Christian propagandism in the past, is -still the force behind our missions. Only we have, or affect to have, -substituted money power and menace for the franker edge of the sword; -occasionally fulfilling the menace for commercial reasons in proof -of our Christian professions. We force missionaries upon China, for -example, under treaty clauses extorted by war; and pledge ourselves -to support them with gunboats, and to exact enormous indemnities for -the lives of such as get themselves killed. So China pays blood-money -at regular intervals, and is learning more and more each year to -understand the value of what we call Christianity. And the saying of -Emerson, that by some a truth can never be comprehended until its -light happens to fall upon a fact, has been recently illustrated by -some honest protests against the immorality of missionary aggressions -in China,—protests which would never have been listened to before it -was discovered that the mission troubles were likely to react against -purely commercial interests.</p> - -<p class="p2">But in spite of the foregoing considerations there was really at one -time fair reason for believing the nominal conversion of Japan quite -possible. Men could not forget that after the Japanese Government had -been forced by political necessity to extirpate the wonderful Jesuit -missions of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the very word -Christian had become a term of hatred and scorn.<a name="FNanchor_2_23" id="FNanchor_2_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_23" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> - -<p>But the world had changed since then; Christianity had changed; and -more than thirty different Christian sects were ready to compete for -the honor of converting Japan. Out of so large a variety of dogmas, -representing the principal shades both of orthodoxy and of heterodoxy, -Japan might certainly be able to choose a form of Christianity to her -own taste! And the conditions of the country were more propitious than -ever before for the introduction of some Western religion. The whole -social system had been disorganized to the very core; Buddhism had been -disestablished, and was tottering under the blow; Shintō appeared to be -incapable of resistance; the great military caste had been abolished; -the system of rule had been changed; the provinces had been shaken -by war; the Mikado, veiled for centuries, had shown himself to his -astonished people; the tumultuous flood of new ideas threatened to -sweep away all customs and to wreck all beliefs; and the preaching of -Christianity had been once more tolerated by law. Nor was this all. -In the hour of its prodigious efforts to reconstruct society, the -Government had actually considered the question of Christianity—just -as shrewdly and as impartially as it had studied the foreign -educational, military, and naval systems. A commission was instructed -to report upon the influence of Christianity in checking crime and vice -abroad. The result confirmed the impartial verdict of Kaempffer, in -the seventeenth century, upon the ethics of the Japanese: "They profess -a great respect and veneration for their Gods, and worship them in -various ways. And I think I may affirm that, in the practice of virtue, -in purity of life, and outward devotion, they far outdo the Christians."</p> - -<p>In short, it was wisely decided that the foreign religion, besides its -inappropriateness to the conditions of Oriental society, had proved -itself less efficacious as an ethical influence in the West than -Buddhism had done in the East. Certainly, in the great jiujutsu there -could have been little to gain, but much to lose, by a patriarchal -society established on the principle of reciprocal duties, through the -adoption of the teaching that a man shall leave his father and his -mother and shall cleave unto his wife.<a name="FNanchor_3_24" id="FNanchor_3_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_24" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> - -<p>The hope of making Japan Christian by Imperial edict has passed; and -with the reorganization of society, the chances of making Christianity, -by any means whatever, the national religion, grow less and less. -Probably missionaries must be tolerated for some time longer, in -spite of their interference in matters altogether outside of their -profession; but they will accomplish no moral good, and in the interim -they will be used by those whom they desire to use. In 1894 there were -in Japan some eight hundred Protestant, ninety-two Roman Catholic, -and three Greek Catholic missionaries; and the total expenditure for -all the foreign missions in Japan must represent not much less than -a million dollars a year,—probably represents more. As a result of -this huge disbursement, the various Protestant sects claim to have -made about 50,000 converts, and the Catholics an equal number; leaving -some thirty-nine million nine hundred thousand unconverted souls. -Conventions, and very malignant ones, forbid all unfavorable criticism -of mission reports; but in spite of them I must express my candid -opinion that even the above figures are not altogether trustworthy. -Concerning the Roman Catholic missions, it is worthy of note that they -profess with far smaller means to have done as much work as their -rivals; and that even their enemies acknowledge a certain solidity in -that work—which begins, rationally enough, with the children. But it -is difficult not to feel skeptical as to mission reports: when one -knows that among the lowest classes of Japanese there are numbers -ready to profess conversion for the sake of obtaining pecuniary -assistance or employment; when one knows that poor boys pretend to -become Christians for the sake of obtaining instruction in some foreign -language; when one hears constantly of young men, who, after professing -Christianity for a time, openly return to their ancient gods; when -one sees—immediately after the distribution by missionaries of -foreign contributions for public relief in time of flood, famine, -or earthquake—sudden announcement of hosts of conversions, one is -obliged to doubt not only the sincerity of the converted, but the -morality of the methods. Nevertheless, the expenditure of one million -dollars a year in Japan for one hundred years might produce very -large results, the nature of which may be readily conceived, though -scarcely admired; and the existing weakness of the native religions, -both in regard to educational and financial means of self-defense, -tempts aggression. Fortunately there now seems to be more than a mere -hope that the Imperial Government will come to the aid of Buddhism -in matters educational. On the other hand, there is at least a faint -possibility that Christendom, at no very distant era, may conclude that -her wealthiest missions are becoming transformed into enormous mutual -benefit societies.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_22" id="Footnote_1_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_22"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Nominal, because the simple fact is that the real object -of missions is impossible. This whole question has been very strongly -summed up in a few lines by Herbert Spencer:— -</p> -<p> -"Everywhere, indeed, the special theological bias, accompanying a -special set of doctrines, inevitably prejudges many sociological -questions. One who holds a creed to be absolutely true, and who by -implication holds the multitudinous other creeds to be absolutely false -in so far as they differ from his own, cannot entertain the supposition -that the value of a creed is relative. That each religious system is, -in its general characters, a natural part of the society in which it -is found, is an entirely alien conception, and indeed a repugnant -one. His system of dogmatic theology he thinks good for all places -and all times. He does not doubt that, when planted among a horde of -savages, it will be duly understood by them, duly appreciated by them, -and will work upon them results such as those he experiences from it. -Thus prepossessed, he passes over the proofs that a people is no more -capable of receiving a higher form of religion than it is capable of -receiving a higher form of government; and that inevitably along with -such religion, as with such government, there will go on a degradation -which presently reduces it to one differing but nominally from its -predecessor. In other words, his special theological bias blinds him to -an important class of sociological truths."</p></div> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_23" id="Footnote_2_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_23"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The missionary work was begun by St. Francis Xavier, who -landed at Kagoshima in Kyūshū on the 15th of August, 1549. A curious -fact is that the word <i>Bateren,</i> a corruption of the Portuguese or -Spanish <i>padre</i>, and so adopted into the language two centuries ago, -still lingers among the common people in some provinces as a synonym -for "wicked magician." Another curious fact worth mentioning is that a -particular kind of bamboo screen—from behind which a person can see -all that goes on outside the house without being himself seen—is still -called a <i>Kirishitan</i> (Christian). -</p> -<p> -Griffis explains the larger success of the Jesuit missions of the -sixteenth century partly by the resemblance between the outer forms of -Roman Catholicism and the outer forms of Buddhism. This shrewd judgment -has been confirmed by the researches of Ernest Satow (see <i>Transactions -of the Asiatic Society of Japan</i>, vol. ii. part 2), who has published -facsimiles of some documents proving that the grant to the foreign -missionaries by the Lord of Yamaguchi was made that they might "<i>preach -the law of Buddha,</i>"—the new religion being at first taken for a -higher form of Buddhism. But those who have read the old Jesuit letters -from Japan, or even the more familiar compilation of Charlevoix, -must recognize that the success of the missions could not be thus -entirely explained. It presents us with psychological phenomena of a -very remarkable order,—phenomena perhaps never again to be repeated -in the history of religion, and analogous to those strange forms of -emotionalism classed by Hecker as contagious (see his <i>Epidemics of -the Middle Ages</i>). The old Jesuits understood the deeper emotional -character of the Japanese infinitely better than any modern missionary -society: they studied with marvelous keenness all the springs of the -race-life, and knew how to operate them. Where they failed, our modern -Evangelical propagandists need not hope to succeed. Still, even in -the most flourishing period of the Jesuit missions, only six hundred -thousand converts were claimed.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_24" id="Footnote_3_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_24"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> A recent French critic declared that the comparatively -small number of public charities and benevolent institutions in Japan -proved the race deficient in humanity! Now the truth is that in Old -Japan the principle of mutual benevolence rendered such institutions -unnecessary. And another truth is that the vast number of such -institutions in the West testifies much more strongly to the inhumanity -than to the charity of our own civilization.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>VII</h4> - - -<p>The idea that Japan would throw open her interior to foreign industrial -enterprise, soon after the beginning of Meiji, proved as fallacious -as the dream of her sudden conversion to Christianity. The country -remained, and still remains, practically closed against foreign -settlement. The Government itself had never seemed inclined to pursue -a conservative policy, and had made various attempts to bring about -such a revision of treaties as would have made Japan a new field for -large investments of Western capital Events, however, proved that the -national course was not to be controlled by statecraft only, but was to -be directed by something much less liable to error,—the Race-Instinct.</p> - -<p>The world's greatest philosopher, writing in 1867, uttered this -judgment: "Of the way in which disintegrations are liable to be set up -in a society that has evolved to the limit of its type, and reached -a state of moving equilibrium, a good illustration is furnished -by Japan. The finished fabric into which its people had organized -themselves maintained an almost constant state so long as it was -preserved from fresh external forces. But as soon as it received -an impact from European civilization,—partly by armed aggression, -partly by commercial impulse, partly by the influence of ideas,—this -fabric began to fall to pieces. There is now in progress a political -dissolution. Probably a political reorganization will follow; but, -be this as it may, the change thus far produced by outer action is -a change towards dissolution,—a change from integrated motions to -disintegrated motions."<a name="FNanchor_1_25" id="FNanchor_1_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_25" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>The political reorganization suggested by Mr. Spencer not only -followed rapidly, but seemed more than likely to prove all that could -be desired, providing the new formative process were not seriously -and suddenly interfered with. Whether it would be interfered with by -treaty revision, however, appeared a very doubtful question. While -some Japanese politicians worked earnestly for the removal of every -obstacle to foreign settlement in the interior, others felt that such -settlement would mean a fresh introduction into the yet unstable social -organism of disturbing elements sure to produce new disintegrations. -The argument of the former was that by the advocated revision of -existing treaties the revenue of the Empire could be much increased, -and that the probable number of foreign settlers would be quite small. -But conservative thinkers considered that the real danger of opening -the country to foreigners was not the danger of the influx of numbers; -and on this point the Race-Instinct agreed with them. It comprehended -the peril only in a vague way, but in a way that touched the truth.</p> - -<p>One side of that truth ought to be familiar to Americans,—the -Occidental side. The Occidental has discovered that, under any -conditions of fair play, he cannot compete with the Oriental in the -struggle for life: he has fully confessed the fact, both in Australia -and in the United States, by the passage of laws to protect himself -against Asiatic emigration. For outrages upon Chinese or Japanese -immigrants he has nevertheless offered a host of absurd "moral -reasons." The only true reason can be formulated in six words: <i>The -Oriental can underlive the Occidental.</i> Now in Japan the other face -of the question was formulated thus: <i>The Occidental can overlive -the Oriental<a name="FNanchor_2_26" id="FNanchor_2_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_26" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> under certain favorable conditions</i>. One condition -would be a temperate climate; the other, and the more important, -that, in addition to full rights of competition, the Occidental -should have power for aggression. Whether he <i>would</i> use such power -was not a common-sense question: the real question was, <i>could</i> he -use it? And this answered in the affirmative, all discussion as to -the nature of his possible future policy of aggrandizement—whether -industrial, financial, political, or all three in one—were pure waste -of time. It was enough to know that he might eventually find ways -and means to master, if not to supplant, the native race; crushing -opposition, paralyzing competition by enormous combinations of capital, -monopolizing resources, and raising the standard of living above the -native capacity. Elsewhere various weaker races had vanished or were -vanishing under Anglo-Saxon domination. And in a country so poor as -Japan, who could give assurance that the mere admission of foreign -capital did not constitute a national danger? Doubtless Japan would -never have to fear conquest by any single Western power: she could -hold her own, on her own soil, against any one foreign nation. Neither -would she have to face the danger of invasion by a combination of -military powers: the mutual jealousies of the Occident would render -impossible any attack for the mere purpose of territorial acquisition. -But she might reasonably fear that, by prematurely opening her -interior to foreign settlement, she would condemn herself to the fate -of Hawaii,—that her land would pass into alien ownership, that her -politics would be regulated by foreign influence, that her independence -would become merely nominal, that her ancient empire would eventually -become transformed into a sort of cosmopolitan industrial republic.</p> - -<p class="p2">Such were the ideas fiercely discussed by opposite parties until -the eve of the war with China. Meanwhile the Government had been -engaged upon difficult negotiations. To open the country in the face -of the anti-foreign reaction seemed in the highest degree dangerous; -yet to have the treaties revised without opening the country seemed -impossible. It was evident that the steady pressure of the Western -powers upon Japan was to be maintained unless their hostile combination -could be broken either by diplomacy or by force. The new treaty -with England, devised by the shrewdness of Aoki, met the dilemma. -By this treaty the country is to be opened; but British subjects -cannot own land. They can even hold land only on leases terminating, -according to Japanese law, <i>ipso facto</i> with the death of the lessor. -No coasting-trade is permitted them—not even to some of the old -treaty ports; and all other trade is to be heavily taxed. The foreign -concessions are to revert to Japan; British settlers pass under -Japanese jurisdiction; England, in fact, loses everything, and Japan -gains all by this treaty.</p> - -<p>The first publication of the articles stupefied the English merchants, -who declared themselves betrayed by the mother-country,—legally tied -hand and foot and delivered into Oriental bondage. Some declared -their resolve to leave the country before the treaty should be put in -force. Certainly Japan may congratulate herself upon her diplomacy. -The country is, indeed, to be opened; but the conditions have been -made such as not only to deter foreign capital seeking investment, but -as even to drive existing capital away. Should similar conditions be -obtained from other powers, Japan will have much more than regained all -that she lost by former treaties contrived to her disadvantage. The -Aoki document surely represents the highest possible feat of jiujutsu -in diplomacy.</p> - -<p>But no one can well predict what may occur before this or any other -new treaty be put into operation. It is still uncertain whether Japan -will ultimately win all her ends by jiujutsu, although never in history -did any race display such courage and such genius in facing colossal -odds. Within the memory of men not yet old, Japan has developed her -military power to a par with that of more than one country of Europe; -industrially she is fast becoming a competitor of Europe in the markets -of the East; educationally she has placed herself also in the front -rank of progress, having established a system of schools less costly -but scarcely less efficient than those of any Western country. And she -has done this in spite of being steadily robbed each year by unjust -treaties, in spite of enormous losses by floods and earthquakes, -in spite of political troubles at home, in spite of the efforts of -foreign proselytizers to sap the national spirit, and in spite of the -extraordinary poverty of her people.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_25" id="Footnote_1_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_25"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>First Principles</i>, 2d Ed., § 178.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_26" id="Footnote_2_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_26"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> That is, of course, the Japanese. I do not believe that -under any circumstances the Occidentals could overlive the Chinese,—no -matter what might be the numerical disproportion. Even the Japanese -acknowledge their incapacity to compete with the Chinese; and one of -the best arguments against the unreserved opening of the country is the -danger of Chinese immigration.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>VIII</h4> - - -<p>Should Japan fail in her glorious purpose, her misfortune will -certainly not be owing to any lack of national spirit. That quality she -possesses in a degree without existing modern parallel,—in a degree -that so trite a word as "patriotism" is utterly powerless to represent. -However psychologists may theorize on the absence or the limitations of -personal individuality among the Japanese, there can be no question at -all that, as a nation, Japan possesses an individuality much stronger -than our own. Indeed we may doubt whether Western civilization has not -cultivated the qualities of the individual even to the destruction of -national feeling.</p> - -<p>On the topic of duty the entire people has but one mind. Any schoolboy -will say to you, if questioned about this subject: "The duty of every -Japanese to our Emperor is to help to make our country strong and -wealthy, and to help to defend and preserve our national independence." -All know the danger. All are morally and physically trained to meet -it. Every public school gives its students a preparatory course of -military discipline; every town has its <i>bataillons scolaires</i>. Even -the children too young to be regularly drilled are daily taught to -sing in chorus the ancient songs of loyalty and the modern songs of -war. And new patriot songs are composed at regular intervals, and -introduced by Government approval into the schools and the camps. It -is quite an experience to hear four hundred students chanting one of -these at the school in which I teach. The young men are all in uniform -on such occasions, and marshaled in military rank. The commanding -officer gives the order to "mark time," and all the feet begin to beat -the ground together, with a sound as of a drum-roll. Then the leader -sings a verse, and the students repeat it with surprising spirit, -throwing a peculiar emphasis always <i>on the last syllable</i> of each -line, so that the vocal effect is like a crash of musketry. It is a -very Oriental, but also a very impressive manner of chanting: you can -hear the fierce heart of Old Japan beating through every Word. But -still more impressive is the same kind of singing by the soldiery. -And at this very moment, while writing these lines, I hear from the -ancient castle of Kumamoto, like a pealing of thunder, the evening song -of its garrison of eight thousand men, mingled with the long, sweet, -melancholy calling of a hundred bugles.<a name="FNanchor_1_27" id="FNanchor_1_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_27" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>The Government never relaxes its efforts to keep aglow the old sense of -loyalty and love of country. New festivals have lately been established -to this noble end; and the old ones are celebrated with increasing -fervor each succeeding year. Always on the Emperor's birthday, His -Imperial Majesty's photograph is solemnly saluted in all the public -schools and public offices of the Empire, with appropriate songs -and ceremonies.<a name="FNanchor_2_28" id="FNanchor_2_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_28" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> Occasionally some students, under missionary -instigation, refuse this simple tribute of loyalty and gratitude, -on the extraordinary ground that they are "Christians," and thus -get themselves ostracized by their comrades—sometimes to such an -extent that they find it unpleasant to remain in the school. Then -the missionaries write home to sectarian papers some story about the -persecution of Christians in Japan, "<i>for refusing to worship an Idol -of the Emperor</i>"!<a name="FNanchor_3_29" id="FNanchor_3_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_29" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> Such incidents are, of course, infrequent, and -serve only to indicate those methods by which the foreign evangelizers -manage to defeat the real purpose of their mission.</p> - -<p>Probably their fanatical attacks, not only upon the native spirit, -the native religion, and the native code of ethics, but even -upon the native dress and customs, may partly account for some -recent extraordinary displays of national feeling by the Japanese -Christians themselves. Some have openly expressed their desire to -dispense altogether with the presence of foreign proselytizers, -and to create a new and peculiar Christianity, to be essentially -Japanese and essentially national in spirit. Others have gone much -further,—demanding that all mission schools, churches, and other -property, now held (to satisfy or evade law) in Japanese names, shall -be made over in fact as well as name to Japanese Christians, as a -proof of the purity of the motives professed. And in sundry cases -it has already been found necessary to surrender mission schools -altogether to native direction.</p> - -<p class="p2">I spoke in a former paper of the splendid enthusiasm with which the -entire nation had seconded the educational efforts and purposes of the -Government.<a name="FNanchor_4_30" id="FNanchor_4_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_30" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> Not less zeal and self-denial have been shown in aid -of the national measures of self-defense. The Emperor himself having -set the example, by devoting a large part of his private income to the -purchase of ships-of-war, no murmur was excited by the edict requiring -one tenth of all government salaries for the same purpose. Every -military or naval officer, every professor or teacher, and nearly every -employee of the Civil Service<a name="FNanchor_5_31" id="FNanchor_5_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_31" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> thus contributes monthly to the naval -defense. Minister, peer, or member of Parliament, is no more exempt -than the humblest post-office clerk. Besides these contributions by -edict, to continue for six years, generous donations are voluntarily -made by rich land-owners, merchants, and hankers throughout the Empire. -For, in order to save herself, Japan must become strong quickly: the -outer pressure upon her is much too serious to admit of delay. Her -efforts are almost incredible, and their success is not improbable. But -the odds against her are vast; and she may—stumble. Will she stumble? -It is very hard to predict. But a future misfortune could scarcely -be the result of any weakening of the national spirit. It would be -far more likely to occur as a result of political mistakes,—of rash -self-confidence.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_27" id="Footnote_1_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_27"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This was written in 1893.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_28" id="Footnote_2_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_28"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The ceremony of saluting His Majesty's picture is only a -repetition of the ceremony required on presentation at court. A bow; -three steps forward; a deeper how; three more steps forward, and a very -low how. On retiring from the Imperial presence, the visitor walks -backward, bowing again three times as before.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_29" id="Footnote_3_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_29"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This is an authentic text.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_30" id="Footnote_4_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_30"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> See <i>Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan</i>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_31" id="Footnote_5_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_31"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Letter-carriers and ordinary policemen are exempted. But -the salary of a policeman is only about six yen a month; that of a -letter-carrier much less.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>IX</h4> - - -<p>It still remains to ask what is the likely fate of the old morality -in the midst of all this absorption, assimilation, and reaction. And -I think an answer is partly suggested in the following conversation -which I had recently with a student of the University. It is written -from memory, and is therefore not exactly verbatim, but has interest -as representing the thought of the new generation—-witnesses of the -vanishing of the gods:—</p> - -<p class="p2">"Sir, what was your opinion when you first came to this country, about -the Japanese? Please to be quite frank with me."</p> - -<p>"The young Japanese of to-day?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Then you mean those who still follow the ancient customs, and maintain -the ancient forms of courtesy,—the delightful old men, like your -former Chinese teacher, who still represent the old samurai spirit?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Mr. A—— is an ideal samurai. I mean such as he."</p> - -<p>"I thought them all that is good and noble. They seemed to me just like -their own gods."</p> - -<p>"And do you still think so well of them?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. And the more I see the Japanese of the new generation, the more I -admire the men of the old."</p> - -<p>"We also admire them. But, as a foreigner, you must also have observed -their defects."</p> - -<p>"What defects?"</p> - -<p>"Defects in practical knowledge of the Western kind."</p> - -<p>"But to judge the men of one civilization by the standard requirements -of another, which is totally different in organization, would be -unjust. It seems to me that the more perfectly a man represents his -own civilization, the more we must esteem him as a citizen, and as a -gentleman. And judged by their own standards, which were morally very -high, the old Japanese appear to me almost perfect men."</p> - -<p>"In what respect?"</p> - -<p>"In kindness, in courtesy, in heroism, in self-control, in power of -self-sacrifice, in filial piety, in simple faith, and in the capacity -to be contented with a little."</p> - -<p>"But would such qualities be sufficient to assure practical success in -the struggle of Western life?"</p> - -<p>"Not exactly; but some of them would assist."</p> - -<p>"The qualities really necessary for practical success in Western life -are just those qualities wanting to the old Japanese—are they not?"</p> - -<p>"I think so."</p> - -<p>"And our old society cultivated those qualities of unselfishness, -and courtesy, and benevolence which you admire, at the sacrifice of -the individual. But Western society cultivates the individual by -unrestricted competition,—competition in the power of thinking and -acting."</p> - -<p>"I think that is true."</p> - -<p>"But in order that Japan be able to keep her place among nations, she -must adopt the industrial and commercial methods of the West. Her -future depends upon her industrial development; but there can be no -development if we continue to follow our ancient morals and manners."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"Not to be able to compete with the West means ruin; but to compete -with the West we must follow the methods of the West; and these are -quite contrary to the old morality."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps."</p> - -<p>"I do not think it can be doubted. To do any kind of business upon a -very large scale, men must not be checked by the idea that no advantage -should be sought which could injure the business of others. And on -the other hand, wherever there is no restraint on competition, men who -hesitate to compete because of mere kindliness of heart, must fail. -The law of the struggle is that the strong and active shall win, the -weak and the foolish and the indifferent lose. But our old morality -condemned such competition."</p> - -<p>"That is true."</p> - -<p>"Then, Sir, no matter how good the old morality, we cannot make any -great industrial progress, nor even preserve our national independence, -by following it. We must forsake our past. We must substitute law for -morality."</p> - -<p>"But it is not a good substitute."</p> - -<p>"It has been a good substitute in the West, if we can judge by the -material greatness and power of England. We must learn in Japan to be -moral by reason, instead of being moral by emotion. A knowledge of the -moral reason of law is itself a moral knowledge."</p> - -<p>"For you, and those who study cosmic law, perhaps. But what of the -common people?"</p> - -<p>"They will try to follow the old religion; they will continue to trust -in their gods. But life will, perhaps, become more difficult for them. -They were happy in the ancient days."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The foregoing essay was written two years ago. Later political events -and the signing of new treaties obliged me to remodel it last year; -and now, while the proofs are passing through my hands, the events of -the war with China compel some further remarks. What none could have -predicted in 1893 the whole world recognizes in 1895 with astonishment -and with admiration. Japan has won in her jiujutsu. Her autonomy is -practically restored, her place among civilized nations seems to be -assured: she has passed forever out of Western tutelage. What neither -her arts nor her virtues could ever have gained for her, she has -obtained by the very first display of her new scientific powers of -aggression and destruction.</p> - -<p>Not a little has been hastily said about long secret preparation -for the war made by Japan, and about the flimsiness of her pretexts -for entering upon it. I believe that the purposes of her military -preparations were never other than those indicated in the preceding -chapter. It was to recover her independence that Japan steadily -cultivated her military strength for twenty-five years. But -successive pulses of popular reaction against foreign influence -during that period—each stronger than the preceding—warned the -Government of the nation's growing consciousness of power and of its -ever-increasing irritation against the treaties. The reaction of -1893-94 took so menacing a form through the House of Representatives -that the dissolution of the Diet became an immediate necessity. But -even repeated parliamentary dissolutions could only have postponed -the issue. It has since been averted partly by the new treaties, -and partly by the sudden loosening of the Empire's military force -against China. Should it not be obvious that only the merciless -industrial and political pressure exercised by a combined Occident -against Japan really compelled this war,—as a manifestation of force -in the direction of least resistance? Happily that manifestation -has been effectual. Japan has proved herself able to hold her own -against the world. She has no wish to break her industrial relations -with the Occident unless further imposed upon; but with the military -revival of her Empire it is almost certain that the day of Occidental -influence upon her—whether direct or indirect—is definitely over. -Further anti-foreign reaction may be expected in the natural order of -things,—not necessarily either violent or unreasonable, but embodying -the fullest reassertion of national individuality. Some change even in -the form of government is not impossible, considering the questionable -results of experimentation with Constitutional Government made by a -people accustomed for untold centuries to autocratic rule. But the -fallacy of Sir Harry Parkes's prediction that Japan would become "a -South American republic" warns against ventures to anticipate the -future of this wonderful and enigmatic race.</p> - -<p>It is true that the war is not yet over;—but the ultimate triumph of -Japan seems beyond doubt,—even allowing for the formidable chances of -a revolution in China. The world is already asking with some anxiety -what will come next? Perhaps the compulsion of the most peaceable and -most conservative of all nations, under both Japanese and Occidental -pressure, to really master our arts of war in self-defense. After that -perhaps a great military awakening of China, who would be quite likely, -under the same circumstances as made New Japan, to turn her arms <i>South -and West</i>. For possible ultimate consequences, consult Dr. Pearson's -recent book, <i>National Character</i>.</p> - -<p>It is to be remembered that the art of jiujutsu was invented in China. -And the West has yet to reckon with China,—China, the ancient teacher -of Japan,—China, over whose changeless millions successive storms -of conquest have passed only as a wind over reeds. Under compulsion, -indeed, she may be forced, like Japan, to defend her integrity by -jiujutsu. But the end of that prodigious jiujutsu might have results -the most serious for the entire world. It might be reserved for China -to avenge all those aggressions, extortions, exterminations, of which -the colonizing West has been guilty in dealing with feebler races.</p> - -<p>Already thinkers, summarizing the experience of the two great -colonizing nations,—thinkers not to be ignored, both French and -English,—have predicted that the earth will never be fully dominated -by the races of the West, and that the future belongs to the Orient. -Such, too, are the convictions of many who have learned by long sojourn -in the East to see beneath the surface of that strange humanity so -utterly removed from us in thought,—to comprehend the depth and force -of its tides of life,—to understand its immeasurable capacities of -assimilation,—to discern its powers of self-adaptation to almost -any environment between the arctic and antarctic circles. And in the -judgment of such observers nothing less than the extermination of a -race comprising more than one third of the world's population could now -assure us even of the future of our own civilization.</p> - -<p>Perhaps, as has been recently averred by Dr. Pearson, the long history -of Western expansion and aggression is even now approaching its close. -Perhaps our civilization has girdled the earth only to force the study -of our arts of destruction and our arts of industrial competition upon -races much more inclined to use them against us than for us. Even to do -this we had to place most of the world under tribute,—so colossal were -the powers needed. Perhaps we could not have attempted less, because -the tremendous social machinery we have created, threatens, like the -Demon of the old legend, to devour us in the same hour that we can find -no more tasks for it.</p> - -<p>A wondrous creation, indeed, this civilization of ours,—ever growing -higher out of an abyss of ever-deepening pain; but it seems also to -many not less monstrous than wonderful. That it may crumble suddenly in -a social earthquake has long been the evil dream of those who dwell in -its summits. That as a social structure it cannot endure, by reason of -its moral foundation, is the teaching of Oriental wisdom.</p> - -<p>Certainly the results of its labors cannot pass away till man shall -have fully played out the drama of his existence upon this planet. -It has resurrected the past;—it has revived the languages of the -dead;—it has wrested countless priceless secrets from Nature;—it has -analyzed suns and vanquished space and time;—it has compelled the -invisible to become visible;—it has torn away all veils save the veil -of the Infinite;—it has founded ten thousand systems of knowledge;—it -has expanded the modern brain beyond the cubic capacity of the mediæval -skull;—it has evolved the most noble, even if it has also evolved -the most detestable, forms of individuality;—it has developed the -most exquisite sympathies and the loftiest emotions known to man, even -though it has developed likewise forms of selfishness and of suffering -impossible in other eras. Intellectually it has grown beyond the -altitude of the stars. That it must, in any event, bear to the future -a relation incomparably vaster than that of Greek civilization to the -past, is impossible to disbelieve.</p> - -<p>But more and more each year it exemplifies the law that the greater -the complexity of an organism, the greater also its susceptibility to -fatal hurt Always, as its energies increase, is there evolved within -it a deeper, a keener, a more exquisitely ramified sensibility to -every shock or wound,—to every exterior force of change. Already the -mere results of a drought or a famine in the remotest parts of the -earth, the destruction of the smallest centre of supply, the exhaustion -of a mine, the least temporary stoppage of any commercial vein or -artery, the slightest pressure upon any industrial nerve, may produce -disintegrations that carry shocks of pain into every portion of the -enormous structure. And the wondrous capacity of that structure to -oppose exterior forces by corresponding changes within itself would -appear to be now endangered by internal changes of a totally different -character. Certainly our civilization is developing the individual more -and more. But is it not now developing him much as artificial heat -and colored light and chemical nutrition might develop a plant under -glass? Is it not rapidly evolving millions into purely special fitness -for conditions impossible to maintain,—of luxury without limit for -the few, of merciless servitude to steel and steam for the many? To -such doubts the reply has been given that social transformations will -supply the means of providing against perils, and of recuperating all -losses. That, for a time at least, social reforms will work miracles -is much more than a hope. But the ultimate problem of our future seems -to be one that no conceivable social change can happily solve,—not -even supposing possible the establishment of an absolutely perfect -communism,—because the fate of the higher races seems to depend upon -their true value in the future economy of Nature. To the query, "Are -we not the Superior Race?"—we may emphatically answer "Yes;" but this -affirmative will not satisfactorily answer a still more important -question, "Are we the fittest to survive?"</p> - -<p>Wherein consists the fitness for survival? In the capacity of -self-adaptation to any and every environment;—in the instantaneous -ability to face the unforeseen;—in the inherent power to meet and to -master all opposing natural influences. And surely not in the mere -capacity to adapt ourselves to factitious environments of our own -invention, or to abnormal influences of our own manufacture,—but only -in the simple power to live. Now in this simple power of living, our -so-called higher races are immensely inferior to the races of the Far -East. Though the physical energies and the intellectual resources of -the Occidental exceed those of the Oriental, they can be maintained -only at an expense totally incommensurate with the racial advantage. -For the Oriental has proved his ability to study and to master the -results of our science upon a diet of rice, and on as simple a diet can -learn to manufacture and to utilize our most complicated inventions. -But the Occidental cannot even live except at a cost sufficient for -the maintenance of twenty Oriental lives. In our very superiority lies -the secret of our fatal weakness. Our physical machinery requires a -fuel too costly to pay for the running of it in a perfectly conceivable -future period of race-competition and pressure of population.</p> - -<p>Before, and very probably since, the apparition of Man, various -races of huge and wonderful creatures, now extinct, lived on this -planet. They were not all exterminated by the attacks of natural -enemies: many seem to have perished simply by reason of the enormous -costliness of their structures at a time when the earth was forced to -become less prodigal of her gifts. Even so it may be that the Western -Races will perish—because of the cost of their existence. Having -accomplished their uttermost, they may vanish from the face of the -world,—supplanted by peoples better fitted for survival.</p> - -<p>Just as we have exterminated feebler races by merely <i>overliving</i> -them,—by monopolizing and absorbing, almost without conscious -effort, everything necessary to their happiness,—so may we -ourselves be exterminated at last by races capable of underliving -us, of monopolizing all our necessities; races more patient, more -self-denying, more fertile, and much less expensive for Nature to -support. These would doubtless inherit our wisdom, adopt our more -useful inventions, continue the best of our industries,—perhaps -even perpetuate what is most worthy to endure in our sciences and -our arts. But they would scarcely regret our disappearance any more -than we ourselves regret the extinction of the dinotherium or the -ichthyosaurus.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="VIII" id="VIII">VIII</a></h4> - - -<h4>THE RED BRIDAL</h4> - - -<p class="p2">Falling in love at first sight is less common in Japan than in the -West; partly because of the peculiar constitution of Eastern society, -and partly because much sorrow is prevented by early marriages which -parents arrange. Love suicides, on the other hand, are not infrequent; -but they have the particularity of being nearly always double. -Moreover, they must be considered, in the majority of instances, the -results of improper relationships. Still, there are honest and brave -exceptions; and these occur usually in country districts. The love -in such a tragedy may have evolved suddenly out of the most innocent -and natural boy-and-girl friendship, and may have a history dating -back to the childhood of the victims. But even then there remains a -very curious difference between a Western double suicide for love -and a Japanese jōshi. The Oriental suicide is not the result of a -blind, quick frenzy of pain. It is not only cool and methodical: it is -sacramental. It involves a marriage of which the certificate is death. -The twain pledge themselves to each other in the presence of the gods, -write their farewell letters, and die. No pledge can be more profoundly -sacred than this. And therefore, if it should happen that, by sudden -outside interference and by medical skill, one of the pair is snatched -from death, that one is bound by the most solemn obligation of love and -honor to cast away life at the first possible opportunity. Of course, -if both are saved, all may go well. But it were better to commit any -crime of violence punishable with half a hundred years of state prison -than to become known as a man who, after pledging his faith to die with -a girl, had left her to travel to the Meido alone. The woman who should -fail in her vow might be partially forgiven; but the man who survived a -jōshi through interference, and allowed himself to live on because his -purpose was once frustrated, would be regarded all his mortal days as a -perjurer, a murderer, a bestial coward, a disgrace to human nature. I -knew of one such case—but I would now rather try to tell the story of -an humble love affair which happened at a village in one of the eastern -provinces.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>I</h4> - - -<p>The village stands on the bank of a broad but very shallow river, the -stony bed of which is completely covered with water only during the -rainy season. The river traverses an immense level of rice-fields, -open to the horizon north and south, but on the west walled in by a -range of blue peaks, and on the east by a chain of low wooded hills. -The village itself is separated from these hills only by half a -mile of rice-fields; and its principal cemetery, the adjunct of a -Buddhist temple dedicated to Kwannon-of-the-Eleven-Faces, is situated -upon a neighboring summit. As a distributing centre, the village -is not unimportant. Besides several hundred thatched dwellings of -the ordinary rustic style, it contains one whole street of thriving -two-story shops and inns with handsome tiled roofs. It possesses also -a very picturesque ujigami, or Shintō parish temple, dedicated to -the Sun-Goddess, and a pretty shrine, in a grove of mulberry-trees, -dedicated to the Deity of Silkworms.</p> - -<p>There was born in this village, in the seventh year of Meiji, in the -house of one Uchida, a dyer, a boy called Tarō. His birthday happened -to be an aku-nichi, or unlucky day,—the seventh of the eighth month, -by the ancient Calendar of Moons. Therefore his parents, being -old-fashioned folk, feared and sorrowed. But sympathizing neighbors -tried to persuade them that everything was as it should be, because -the calendar had been changed by the Emperor's order, and according -to the new calendar the day was a kitsu-nichi, or lucky day. These -representations somewhat lessened the anxiety of the parents; but when -they took the child to the ujigami, they made the gods a gift of a very -large paper lantern, and besought earnestly that all harm should be -kept away from their boy. The kannushi, or priest, repeated the archaic -formulas required, and waved the sacred gohei above the little shaven -head, and prepared a small amulet to be suspended about the infant's -neck; after which the parents visited the temple of Kwannon on the -hill, and there also made offerings, and prayed to all the Buddhas to -protect their first-born.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>When Tarō was six years old, his parents decided to send him to the new -elementary school which had been built at a short distance from the -village. Tarō's grandfather bought him some writing-brushes, paper, a -book, and a slate, and early one morning led him by the hand to the -school. Tarō felt very happy, because the slate and the other things -delighted him like so many new toys, and because everybody had told him -that the school was a pleasant place, where he would have plenty of -time to play. Moreover, his mother had promised to give him many cakes -when he should come home.</p> - -<p>As soon as they reached the school,—a big two-story building with -glass windows,—a servant showed them into a large bare apartment, where -a serious-looking man was seated at a desk. Tarō's grandfather bowed -low to the serious-looking man, and addressed him as Sensei, and humbly -requested him to teach the little fellow kindly. The Sensei rose up, -and bowed in return, and spoke courteously to the old man. He also put -his hand on Tarō's head, and said nice things. But Taro became all at -once afraid. When his grandfather had bid him good-by, he grew still -more afraid, and would have liked to run away home; but the master took -him into a large, high, white room, full of girls and boys sitting on -benches, and showed him a bench, and told him to sit down. All the boys -and girls turned their heads to look at Tarō, and whispered to each -other, and laughed. Tarō thought they were laughing at him, and began -to feel very miserable. A big bell rang; and the master, who had taken -his place on a high platform at the other end of the room, ordered -silence in a tremendous way that terrified Tarō. All became quiet, and -the master began to speak. Tarō thought he spoke most dreadfully. He -did not say that school was a pleasant place: he told the pupils very -plainly that it was not a place for play, but for hard work. He told -them that study was painful, but that they must study in spite of the -pain and the difficulty. He told them about the rules which they must -obey, and about the punishments for disobedience or carelessness. -When they all became frightened and still, he changed his voice -altogether, and began to talk to them like a kind father,—promising -to love them just like his own little ones. Then he told them how the -school had been built by the august command of His Imperial Majesty, -that the boys and girls of the country might become wise men and good -women, and how dearly they should love their noble Emperor, and be -happy even to give their lives for his sake. Also he told them how they -should love their parents, and how hard their parents had to work for -the means of sending them to school, and how wicked and ungrateful it -would be to idle during study-hours. Then he began to call them each by -name, asking questions about what he had said.</p> - -<p>Tarō had heard only a part of the master's discourse. His small mind -was almost entirely occupied by the fact that all the boys and girls -had looked at him and laughed when he had first entered the room. And -the mystery of it all was so painful to him that he could think of -little else, and was therefore quite unprepared when the master called -his name.</p> - -<p>"Uchida Tarō, what do you like best in the world?"</p> - -<p>Tarō started, stood up, and answered frankly,—</p> - -<p>"Cake."</p> - -<p>All the boys and girls again looked at him and laughed; and the master -asked reproachfully, "Uchida Tarō, do you like cake more than you like -your parents? Uchida Tarō, do you like cake better than your duty to -His Majesty our Emperor?"</p> - -<p>Then Tarō knew that he had made some great mistake; and his face became -very hot, and all the children laughed, and he began to cry. This only -made them laugh still more; and they kept on laughing until the master -again enforced silence, and put a similar question to the next pupil. -Tarō kept his sleeve to his eyes, and sobbed.</p> - -<p>The bell rang. The master told the children they would receive their -first writing-lesson during the next class-hour from another teacher, -but that they could first go out and play for a while. He then left the -room; and the boys and girls all ran out into the school-yard to play, -taking no notice whatever of Tarō. The child felt more astonished at -being thus ignored than he had felt before on finding himself an object -of general attention. Nobody except the master had yet spoken one word -to him; and now even the master seemed to have forgotten his existence. -He sat down again on his little bench, and cried and cried; trying all -the while not to make a noise, for fear the children would come back to -laugh at him.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a hand was laid upon his shoulder: a sweet voice was speaking -to him; and turning his head, he found himself looking into the most -caressing pair of eyes he had ever seen,—the eyes of a little girl -about a year older than he.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" she asked him tenderly.</p> - -<p>Tarō sobbed and snuffled helplessly for a moment, before he could -answer: "I am very unhappy here. I want to go home."</p> - -<p>"Why?" questioned the girl, slipping an arm about his neck.</p> - -<p>"They all hate me; they will not speak to me or play with <i>me</i>."</p> - -<p>"Oh no!" said the girl. "Nobody dislikes you at all. It is only because -you are a stranger. When I first went to school, last year, it was -just the same with me. You must not fret."</p> - -<p>"But all the others are playing; and I must sit in here," protested -Tarō.</p> - -<p>"Oh no, you must not. You must come and play with me. I will be your -playfellow. Come!"</p> - -<p>Taro at once began to cry out loud. Self-pity and gratitude and the -delight of newfound sympathy filled his little heart so full that he -really could not help it. It was so nice to be petted for crying.</p> - -<p>But the girl only laughed, and led him out of the room quickly, because -the little mother soul in her divined the whole situation. "Of course -you may cry, if you wish," she said; "but you must play, too!" And oh, -what a delightful play they played together!</p> - -<p>But when school was over, and Tarō's grandfather came to take him home, -Tarō began to cry again, because it was necessary that he should bid -his little playmate good-by.</p> - -<p>The grandfather laughed, and exclaimed, "Why, it is little -Yoshi,—Miyahara O-Yoshi! Yoshi can come along with us, and stop at -the house a while. It is on her way home."</p> - -<p>At Tarō's house the playmates ate the promised cake together; and -O-Yoshi mischievously asked, mimicking the master's severity, "Uchida -Tarō, do you like cake better than me?"</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>O-Yoshi's father owned some neighboring rice-lands, and also kept a -shop in the village. Her mother, a samurai, adopted into the Miyahara -family at the time of the breaking up of the military caste, had -borne several children, of whom O-Yoshi, the last, was the only -survivor. While still a baby, O-Yoshi lost her mother. Miyahara was -past middle age; but he took another wife, the daughter of one of his -own farmers,—a young girl named Ito O-Tama. Though swarthy as new -copper, O-Tama was a remarkably handsome peasant girl, tall, strong, -and active; but the choice caused surprise, because O-Tama could -neither read nor write. The surprise changed to amusement when it was -discovered that almost from the time of entering the house she had -assumed and maintained absolute control. But the neighbors stopped -laughing at Miyahara's docility when they learned more about O-Tama. -She knew her husband's interests better than he, took charge of -everything, and managed his affairs with such tact that in less than -two years she had doubled his income. Evidently, Miyahara had got a -wife who was going to make him rich. As a step-mother she bore herself -rather kindly, even after the birth of her first boy. O-Yoshi was well -cared for, and regularly sent to school.</p> - -<p>While the children were still going to school, a long-expected and -wonderful event took place. Strange tall men with red hair and -beards—foreigners from the West—came down into the valley with a -great multitude of Japanese laborers, and constructed a railroad. -It was carried along the base of the low hill range, beyond the -rice-fields and mulberry groves in the rear of the village; and almost -at the angle where it crossed the old road leading to the temple of -Kwannon, a small station-house was built; and the name of the village -was painted in Chinese characters upon a white signboard erected on a -platform. Later, a line of telegraph-poles was planted, parallel with -the railroad. And still later, trains came, and shrieked, and stopped, -and passed,—nearly shaking the Buddhas in the old cemetery off their -lotus-flowers of stone.</p> - -<p>The children wondered at the strange, level, ash-strewn way, with its -double lines of iron shining away north and south into mystery; and -they were awe-struck by the trains that came roaring and screaming and -smoking, like storm-breathing dragons, making the ground quake as they -passed by. But this awe was succeeded by curious interest,—an interest -intensified by the explanations of one of their school-teachers, who -showed them, by drawings on the blackboard, how a locomotive engine was -made; and who taught them, also, the still more marvelous operation of -the telegraph, and told them how the new western capital and the sacred -city of Kyoto were to be united by rail and wire, so that the journey -between them might be accomplished in less than two days, and messages -sent from the one to the other in a few seconds.</p> - -<p>Taro and O-Yoshi became very dear friends. They studied together, -played together, and visited each other's homes. But at the age of -eleven O-Yoshi was taken from school to assist her step-mother in the -household; and thereafter Tarō saw her but seldom. He finished his own -studies at fourteen, and began to learn his father's trade. Sorrows -came. After having given him a little brother, his mother died; and -in the same year, the kind old grandfather who had first taken him to -school followed her; and after these things the world seemed to him -much less bright than before. Nothing further changed his life till he -reached his seventeenth year. Occasionally he would visit the home of -the Miyahara, to talk with O-Yoshi. She had grown up into a slender, -pretty woman; but for him she was still only the merry playfellow of -happier days.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>IV</h4> - - -<p>One soft spring day, Tarō found himself feeling very lonesome, and the -thought came to him that it would be pleasant to see O-Yoshi. Probably -there existed in his memory some constant relation between the sense of -lonesomeness in general and the experience of his first schoolday in -particular. At all events, something within him—perhaps that a dead -mother's love had made, or perhaps something belonging to other dead -people—wanted a little tenderness, and he felt sure of receiving the -tenderness from O-Yoshi. So he took his way to the little shop. As he -approached it, he heard her laugh, and it sounded wonderfully sweet. -Then he saw her serving an old peasant, who seemed to be quite pleased, -and was chatting garrulously. Tarō had to wait, and felt vexed that he -could not at once get O-Yoshi's talk all for himself; but it made him -a little happier even to be near her. He looked and looked at her, and -suddenly began to wonder why he had never before thought how pretty she -was. Yes, she was really pretty,—more pretty than any other girl in -the village. He kept on looking and wondering, and always she seemed -to be growing prettier. It was very strange; he could not understand -it. But O-Yoshi, for the first time, seemed to feel shy under that -earnest gaze, and blushed to her little ears. Then Tarō felt quite sure -that she was more beautiful than anybody else in the whole world, and -sweeter, and better, and that he wanted to tell her so; and all at -once he found himself angry with the old peasant for talking so much -to O-Yoshi, just as if she were a common person. In a few minutes the -universe had been quite changed for Taro, and he did not know it. He -only knew that since he last saw her O-Yoshi had become divine; and as -soon as the chance came, he told her all his foolish heart, and she -told him hers. And they wondered because their thoughts were so much -the same; and that was the beginning of great trouble.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>V</h4> - - -<p>The old peasant whom Tarō had once seen talking to O-Yoshi had not -visited the shop merely as a customer. In addition to his real calling -he was a professional nakōdo, or match-maker, and was at that very -time acting in the service of a wealthy rice dealer named Okazaki -Yaïchirō. Okazaki had seen O-Yoshi, had taken a fancy to her, and had -commissioned the nakōdo to find out everything possible about her, and -about the circumstances of her family.</p> - -<p>Very much detested by the peasants, and even by his more immediate -neighbors in the village, was Okazaki Yaïchirō. He was an elderly man, -gross, hard-featured, with a loud, insolent manner. He was said to be -malignant. He was known to have speculated successfully in rice during -a period of famine, which the peasant considers a crime, and never -forgives. He was not a native of the ken, nor in any way related to its -people, but had come to the village eighteen years before, with his -wife and one child, from some western district. His wife had been dead -two years, and his only son, whom he was said to have treated cruelly, -had suddenly left him, and gone away, nobody knew whither. Other -unpleasant stories were told about him. One was that, in his native -western province, a furious mob had sacked his house and his godowns, -and obliged him to fly for his life. Another was that, on his wedding -night, he had been compelled to give a banquet to the god Jizō.</p> - -<p>It is still customary in some provinces, on the occasion of the -marriage of a very unpopular farmer, to make the bridegroom feast -Jizō. A band of sturdy young men force their way into the house, -carrying with them a stone image of the divinity, borrowed from the -highway or from some neighboring cemetery. A large crowd follows them. -They deposit the image in the guest-room, and they demand that ample -offerings of food and of saké be made to it at once. This means, of -course, a big feast for themselves, and it is more than dangerous to -refuse. All the uninvited guests must be served till they can neither -eat nor drink any more. The obligation to give such a feast is not only -a public rebuke: it is also a lasting public disgrace.</p> - -<p>In his old age, Okazaki wished to treat himself to the luxury of -a young and pretty wife; but in spite of his wealth he found this -wish less easy to gratify than he had expected. Various families had -checkmated his proposals at once by stipulating impossible conditions. -The Headman of the village had answered, less politely, that he would -sooner give his daughter to an oni (demon). And the rice dealer would -probably have found himself obliged to seek for a wife in some other -district, if he had not happened, after these failures, to notice -O-Yoshi. The girl much more than pleased him; and he thought he might -be able to obtain her by making certain offers to her people, whom he -supposed to be poor. Accordingly, he tried, through the nakōdo, to open -negotiations with the Miyahara family.</p> - -<p>O-Yoshi's peasant step-mother, though entirely uneducated, was -very much the reverse of a simple woman. She had never loved her -step-daughter, but was much too intelligent to be cruel to her without -reason. Moreover, O-Yoshi was far from being in her way. O-Yoshi was -a faithful worker, obedient, sweet-tempered, and very useful in the -house. But the same cool shrewdness that discerned O-Yoshi's merits -also estimated the girl's value in the marriage market. Okazaki never -suspected that he was going to deal with his natural superior in -cunning. O-Tama knew a great deal of his history. She knew the extent -of his wealth. She was aware of his unsuccessful attempts to obtain a -wife from various families, both within and without the village. She -suspected that O-Yoshi's beauty might have aroused a real passion, -and she knew that an old man's passion might be taken advantage of in -a large number of cases. O-Yoshi was not wonderfully beautiful, but -she was a really pretty and graceful girl, with very winning ways; and -to get another like her, Okazaki would have to travel far. Should he -refuse to pay well for the privilege of obtaining such a wife, O-Tama -knew of younger men who would not hesitate to be generous. He might -have O-Yoshi, but never upon easy terms. After the repulse of his first -advances, his conduct would betray him. Should he prove to be really -enamored, he could be forced to do more than any other resident of -the district could possibly afford. It was therefore highly important -to discover the real strength of his inclination, and to keep the -whole matter, in the mean time, from the knowledge of O-Yoshi. As the -reputation of the nakōdo depended on professional silence, there was no -likelihood of his betraying the secret.</p> - -<p>The policy of the Miyahara family was settled in a consultation between -O-Yoshi's father and her step-mother. Old Miyahara would have scarcely -presumed, in any event, to oppose his wife's plans; but she took the -precaution of persuading him, first of all, that such a marriage ought -to be in many ways to his daughter's interest. She discussed with him -the possible financial advantages of the union. She represented that -there were, indeed, unpleasant risks, but that these could be provided -against by making Okazaki agree to certain preliminary settlements. -Then she taught her husband his rôle. Pending negotiations, the visits -of Tarō were to be encouraged. The liking of the pair for each other -was a mere cobweb of sentiment that could be brushed out of existence -at the required moment; and meantime it was to be made use of. That -Okazaki should hear of a likely young rival might hasten desirable -conclusions.</p> - -<p>It was for these reasons that, when Tarō's father first proposed -for O-Yoshi in his son's name, the suit was neither accepted nor -discouraged. The only immediate objection offered was that O-Yoshi was -one year older than Taro, and that such a marriage would be contrary to -custom,—which was quite true. Still, the objection was a weak one, and -had been selected because of its apparent unimportance.</p> - -<p>Okazaki's first overtures were at the same time received in suck a -manner as to convey the impression that their sincerity was suspected. -The Miyahara refused to understand the nakōdo at all. They remained -astonishingly obtuse even to the plainest assurances, until Okazaki -found it politic to shape what he thought a tempting offer. Old -Miyahara then declared that he would leave the matter in his wife's -hands, and abide by her decision.</p> - -<p>O-Tama decided by instantly rejecting the proposal, with every -appearance of scornful astonishment. She said unpleasant things. There -was once a man who wanted to get a beautiful wife very cheap. At last -he found a beautiful woman who said she ate only two grains of rice -every day. So he married her; and every day she put into her mouth only -two grains of rice; and he was happy. But one night, on returning from -a journey, he watched her secretly through a hole in the roof, and saw -her eating monstrously,—devouring mountains of rice and fish, and -putting all the food into a hole in the top of her head under her hair. -Then he knew that he had married the Yama-Omba.</p> - -<p>O-Tama waited a month for the results of her rebuff,—waited very -confidently, knowing how the imagined value of something wished for -can be increased by the increase of the difficulty of getting it. And, -as she expected, the nakōdo at last reappeared. This time Okazaki -approached the matter less condescendingly than before; adding to his -first offer, and even volunteering seductive promises. Then she knew -she was going to have him in her power. Her plan of campaign was not -complicated, but it was founded upon a deep instinctive knowledge of -the uglier side of human nature; and she felt sure of success. Promises -were for fools; legal contracts involving conditions were traps for the -simple. Okazaki should yield up no small portion of his property before -obtaining O-Yoshi.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>VI</h4> - - -<p>Taro's father earnestly desired his son's marriage with O-Yoshi, -and had tried to bring it about in the usual way. He was surprised -at not being able to get any definite answer from the Miyahara. He -was a plain, simple man; but he had the intuition of sympathetic -natures, and the unusually gracious manner of O-Tama, whom he had -always disliked, made him suspect that he had nothing to hope. He -thought it best to tell his suspicions to Tarō, with the result that -the lad fretted himself into a fever. But O-Yoshi's step-mother had no -intention of reducing Taro to despair at so early a stage of her plot. -She sent kindly worded messages to the house during his illness, and a -letter from O-Yoshi, which had the desired effect of reviving all his -hopes. After his sickness, he was graciously received by the Miyahara, -and allowed to talk to O-Yoshi in the shop. Nothing, however, was said -about his father's visit.</p> - -<p>The lovers had also frequent chances to meet at the ujigami court, -whither O-Yoshi often went with her step-mother's last baby. Even among -the crowd of nurse-girls, children, and young mothers, they could -exchange a few words without fear of gossip. Their hopes received no -further serious check for a month, when O-Taina pleasantly proposed to -Tarō's father an impossible pecuniary arrangement. She had lifted a -corner of her mask, because Okazaki was struggling wildly in the net -she had spread for him, and by the violence of the struggles she knew -the end was not far off. O-Yoshi was still ignorant of what was going -on; but she had reason to fear that she would never be given to Tarō. -She was becoming thinner and paler.</p> - -<p>Tarō one morning took his child-brother with him to the temple court, -in the hope of an opportunity to chat with O-Yoshi. They met; and he -told her that he was feeling afraid. He had found that the little -wooden amulet which his mother had put about his neck when he was a -child had been broken within the silken cover.</p> - -<p>"That is not bad luck," said O-Yoshi. "It is only a sign that the -august gods have been guarding you. There has been sickness in the -village; and you caught the fever, but you got well. The holy charm -shielded you: that is why it was broken. Tell the kannushi to-day: he -will give you another."</p> - -<p>Because they were very unhappy, and had never done harm to anybody, -they began to reason about the justice of the universe.</p> - -<p>Tarō said: "Perhaps in the former life we hated each other. Perhaps -I was unkind to you, or you to me. And this is our punishment. The -priests say so."</p> - -<p>O-Yoshi made answer with something of her old playfulness: "I was a man -then, and you were a woman. I loved you very, very much; but you were -very unkind to me. I remember it all quite well."</p> - -<p>"You are not a Bosatsu," returned Taro, smiling despite his sorrow; "so -you cannot remember anything. It is only in the first of the ten states -of Bosatsu that we begin to remember."</p> - -<p>"How do you know I am not a Bosatsu?"</p> - -<p>"You are a woman. A woman cannot be a Bosatsu."</p> - -<p>"But is not Kwan-ze-on Bosatsu a woman?"</p> - -<p>"Well, that is true. But a Bosatsu cannot love anything except the kyō."</p> - -<p>"Did not Shaka have a wife and a son? Did he not love them?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; but you know he had to leave them."</p> - -<p>"That was very bad, even if Shaka did it. But I don't believe all those -stories. And would you leave me, if you could get me?"</p> - -<p>So they theorized and argued, and even laughed betimes: it was so -pleasant to be together. But suddenly the girl became serious again, -and said:—</p> - -<p>"Listen! Last night I saw a dream. I saw a strange river, and the sea. -I was standing, I thought, beside the river, very near to where it -flowed into the sea. And I was afraid, very much afraid, and did not -know why. Then I looked, and saw there was no water in the river, no -water in the sea, but only the bones of the Buddhas. But they were all -moving, just like water.</p> - -<p>"Then again I thought I was at home, and that you had given me a -beautiful gift-silk for a kimono, and that the kimono had been made. -And I put it on. And then I wondered, because at first it had seemed of -many colors, but now it was all white; and I had foolishly folded it -upon me as the robes of the dead are folded, to the left. Then I went -to the homes of all my kinsfolk to say good-by; and I told them I was -going to the Meido. And they all asked me why; and I could not answer."</p> - -<p>"That is good," responded Tarō; "it is very lucky to dream of the -dead. Perhaps it is a sign we shall soon be husband and wife." This -time the girl did not reply; neither did she smile.</p> - -<p>Tarō was silent a minute; then he added: "If you think it was not a -good dream, Yoshi, whisper it all to the nanten plant in the garden: -then it will not come true."</p> - -<p>But on the evening of the same day Taro's father was notified that -Miyahara O-Yoshi was to become the wife of Okazaki Yaïchirō.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>VII</h4> - - -<p>O-Tama was really a very clever woman. She had never made any serious -mistakes. She was one of those excellently organized beings who -succeed in life by the perfect ease with which they exploit inferior -natures. The full experience of her peasant ancestry in patience, in -cunning, in crafty perception, in rapid foresight, in hard economy, -was concentrated into a perfect machinery within her unlettered brain. -That machinery worked faultlessly in the environment which had called -it into existence, and upon the particular human material with which it -was adapted to deal,—the nature of the peasant. But there was another -nature which O-Tama understood less well, because there was nothing in -her ancestral experience to elucidate it. She was a strong disbeliever -in all the old ideas about character distinctions between samurai and -heimin. She considered there had never been any differences between -the military and the agricultural classes, except such differences -of rank as laws and customs had established; and these had been bad. -Laws and customs, she thought, had resulted in making all people -of the former samurai class more or less helpless and foolish; and -secretly she despised all shizoku. By their incapacity for hard work -and their absolute ignorance of business methods, she had seen them -reduced from wealth to misery. She had seen the pension bonds given -them by the new government pass from their hands into the clutches of -cunning speculators of the most vulgar class. She despised weakness; -she despised incapacity; and she deemed the commonest vegetable -seller a much superior being to the ex-Karō obliged in his old age to -beg assistance from those who had formerly cast off their footgear -and bowed their heads to the mud whenever he passed by. She did not -consider it an advantage for O-Yoshi to have had a samurai mother: she -attributed the girl's delicacy to that cause, and thought her descent -a misfortune. She had clearly read in O-Yoshi's character all that -could be read by one not of a superior caste; among other facts, that -nothing would be gained by needless harshness to the child, and the -implied quality was not one that she disliked. But there were other -qualities in O-Yoshi that she had never clearly perceived,—a profound -though well-controlled sensitiveness to moral wrong, an unconquerable -self-respect, and a latent reserve of will power that could triumph -over any physical pain. And thus it happened that the behavior of -O-Yoshi, when told she would have to become the wife of Okazaki, duped -her step-mother, who was prepared to encounter a revolt. She was -mistaken.</p> - -<p>At first the girl turned white as death. But in another moment she -blushed, smiled, bowed down, and agreeably astonished the Miyahara -by announcing, in the formal language of filial piety, her readiness -to obey the will of her parents in all things. There was no further -appearance even of secret dissatisfaction in her manner; and O-Tama was -so pleased that she took her into confidence, and told her something of -the comedy of the negotiations, and the full extent of the sacrifices -which Okazaki had been compelled to make. Furthermore, in addition to -such trite consolations as are always offered to a young girl betrothed -without her own consent to an old man, O-Tama gave her some really -priceless advice how to manage Okazaki. Tarō's name was not even once -mentioned. For the advice O-Yoshi dutifully thanked her step-mother, -with graceful prostrations. It was certainly admirable advice. Almost -any intelligent peasant girl, fully instructed by such a teacher as -O-Tama, might have been able to support existence with Okazaki. But -O-Yoshi was only half a peasant girl. Her first sudden pallor and her -subsequent crimson flush, after the announcement of the fate reserved -for her, were caused by two emotional sensations of which O-Tama was -far from suspecting the nature. Both represented much more complex -and rapid thinking than O-Tama had ever done in all her calculating -experience.</p> - -<p>The first was a shock of horror accompanying the full recognition -of the absolute moral insensibility of her step-mother, the utter -hopelessness of any protest, the virtual sale of her person to that -hideous old man for the sole motive of unnecessary gain, the cruelty -and the shame of the transaction. But almost as quickly there rushed -to her consciousness an equally complete sense of the need of courage -and strength to face the worst, and of subtlety to cope with strong -cunning. It was then she smiled. And as she smiled, her young will -became steel, of the sort that severs iron without turning edge. She -knew at once exactly what to do,—her samurai blood told her that; and -she plotted only to gain the time and the chance. And she felt already -so sure of triumph that she had to make a strong effort not to laugh -aloud. The light in her eyes completely deceived O-Tama, who detected -only a manifestation of satisfied feeling, and imagined the feeling due -to a sudden perception of advantages to be gained by a rich marriage.</p> - -<p>It was the fifteenth day of the ninth month; and the wedding was to be -celebrated upon the sixth of the tenth month. But three days later, -O-Tama, rising at dawn, found that her step-daughter had disappeared -during the night. Tarō Uchida had not been seen by his father since the -afternoon of the previous day. But letters from both were received a -few hours afterwards.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>VIII</h4> - - -<p>The early morning train from Kyōto was in; the little station was full -of hurry and noise,—clattering of geta, humming of converse, and -fragmentary cries of village boys selling cakes and luncheons: "<i>Kwashi -yoros—!</i>" "<i>Sushi yoros—!</i>" "<i>Bentō yoros—!</i>" Five minutes, and the -geta clatter, and the banging of carriage doors, and the shrilling of -the boys stopped, as a whistle blew and the train jolted and moved. -It rumbled out, puffed away slowly northward, and the little station -emptied itself. The policeman on duty at the wicket banged it to, and -began to walk up and down the sanded platform, surveying the silent -rice-fields.</p> - -<p>Autumn had come,—the Period of Great Light. The sun glow had suddenly -become whiter, and shadows sharper, and all outlines clear as edges -of splintered glass. The mosses, long parched out of visibility by -the summer heat, had revived in wonderful patches and bands of bright -soft green over all shaded bare spaces of the black volcanic soil; -from every group of pine-trees vibrated the shrill wheeze of the -tsuku-tsuku-bōshi; and above all the little ditches and canals was a -silent flickering of tiny lightnings,—zigzag soundless flashings of -emerald and rose and azure-of-steel,—the shooting of dragon-flies.</p> - -<p>Now, it may have been due to the extraordinary clearness of the morning -air that the policeman was able to perceive, far up the track, looking -north, something which caused him to start, to shade his eyes with his -hand, and then to look at the clock. But, as a rule, the black eye of -a Japanese policeman, like the eye of a poised kite, seldom fails to -perceive the least unusual happening within the whole limit of its -vision. I remember that once, in far-away Oki, wishing, without being -myself observed, to watch a mask-dance in the street before my inn, -I poked a small hole through a paper window of the second story, and -peered at the performance. Down the street stalked a policeman, in -snowy uniform and havelock; for it was midsummer. He did not appear -even to see the dancers or the crowd through which he walked without so -much as turning his head to either side. Then he suddenly halted, and -fixed his gaze exactly on the hole in my shōji; for at that hole he had -seen an eye which he had instantly decided, by reason of its shape, to -be a foreign eye. Then he entered the inn, and asked questions about my -passport, which had already been examined.</p> - -<p>What the policeman at the village station observed, and afterwards -reported, was that, more than half a mile north of the station, two -persons had reached the railroad track by crossing the rice-fields, -apparently after leaving a farmhouse considerably to the northwest of -the village. One of them, a woman, he judged by the color of her robe -and girdle to be very young. The early express train from Tōkyō was -then due in a few minutes, and its advancing smoke could be perceived -from the station platform. The two persons began to run quickly along -the track upon which the train was coming. They ran on out of sight -round a curve.</p> - -<p>Those two persons were Tarō and O-Yoshi. They ran quickly, partly to -escape the observation of that very policeman, and partly so as to meet -the Tōkyō express as far from the station as possible. After passing -the curve, however, they stopped running, and walked, for they could -see the smoke coming. As soon as they could see the train itself, they -stepped off the track, so as not to alarm the engineer, and waited, -hand in hand. Another minute, and the low roar rushed to their ears, -and they knew it was time. They stepped back to the track again, -turned, wound their arms about each other, and lay down cheek to cheek, -very softly and quickly, straight across the inside rail, already -ringing like an anvil to the vibration of the hurrying pressure.</p> - -<p>The boy smiled. The girl, tightening her arms about his neck, spoke in -his ear:—</p> - -<p>"For the time of two lives, and of three, I am your wife; you are my -husband, Tarō Sama."</p> - -<p>Tarō said nothing, because almost at the same instant, notwithstanding -frantic attempts to halt a fast train without airbrakes in a distance -of little more than a hundred yards, the wheels passed through -both,—cutting evenly, like enormous shears.</p> - - -<hr /> -<h4>IX</h4> - - -<p>The village people now put bamboo cups full of flowers upon the single -gravestone of the united pair, and burn incense-sticks, and repeat -prayers. This is not orthodox at all, because Buddhism forbids jōshi, -and the cemetery is a Buddhist one; but there is religion in it,—a -religion worthy of profound respect.</p> - -<p>You ask why and how the people pray to those dead. Well, all do not -pray to them, but lovers do, especially unhappy ones. Other folk only -decorate the tomb and repeat pious texts. But lovers pray there for -supernatural sympathy and help. I was myself obliged to ask why, and I -was answered simply, "<i>Because those dead suffered so much.</i>"</p> - -<p>So that the idea which prompts such prayers would seem to be at once -more ancient and more modern than Buddhism,—the Idea of the eternal -Religion of Suffering.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="IX" id="IX">IX</a></h4> - - -<h4>A WISH FULFILLED</h4> - -<blockquote> -<p>Then, when thou leavest the body, and comest into the free ether, thou -shalt be a God undying, everlasting;—neither shall death have any more -dominion over thee.—<span class="smcap">The Golden Verses.</span></p> -</blockquote> - - -<h4 class="p2">I</h4> - - -<p>The streets were full of white uniforms, and the calling of bugles, -and the rumbling of artillery. The armies of Japan, for the third -time in history, had subdued Korea; and the Imperial declaration of -war against China had been published by the city journals, printed on -crimson paper. All the military powers of the Empire were in motion. -The first line of reserves had been summoned, and troops were pouring -into Kumamoto. Thousands were billeted upon the citizens; for barracks -and inns and temples could not shelter the passing host. And still -there was no room, though special trains were carrying regiments north, -as fast as possible, to the transports waiting at Shimonoseki.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, considering the immensity of the movement, the city was -astonishingly quiet. The troops were silent and gentle as Japanese boys -in school hours; there was no swaggering, no reckless gayety. Buddhist -priests were addressing squadrons in the courts of the temples; and a -great ceremony had already been performed in the parade-ground by the -Abbot of the Shin-shū sect, who had come from Kyōto for the occasion. -Thousands had been placed by him under the protection of Amida; the -laying of a naked razor-blade on each young head, symbolizing voluntary -renunciation of life's vanities, was the soldier's consecration. -Everywhere, at the shrines of the older faith, prayers were being -offered up by priests and people to the shades of heroes who fought -and died for their Emperor in ancient days, and to the gods of armies. -At the Shintō temple of Fujisaki sacred charms were being distributed -to the men. But the most imposing rites were those at Honmyōji, the -far-famed monastery of the Nichiren sect, where for three hundred years -have reposed the ashes of Kato Kiyomasa, conqueror of Korea, enemy -of the Jesuits, protector of the Buddhists;—Honmyōji, where the -pilgrim chant of the sacred invocation, Namu-myō-hō-renge-kyō, sounds -like the roar of surf;—Honmyōji, where you may buy wonderful little -mamori in the shape of tiny Buddhist shrines, each holding a minuscule -image of the deified warrior. In the great central temple, and in all -the lesser temples that line the long approach, special services were -sung, and special prayers were addressed to the spirit of the hero for -ghostly aid. The armor, and helmet, and sword of Kiyomasa, preserved in -the main shrine for three centuries, were no longer to be seen. Some -declared that they had been sent to Korea, to stimulate the heroism -of the army. But others told a story of echoing hoofs in the temple -court by night, and the passing of a mighty Shadow, risen from the dust -of his sleep, to lead the armies of the Son of Heaven once more to -conquest. Doubtless even among the soldiers, brave, simple lads from -the country, many believed,—just as the men of Athens believed in the -presence of Theseus at Marathon. All the more, perhaps, because to no -small number of the new recruits Kumamoto itself appeared a place of -marvels hallowed by traditions of the great captain, and its castle -a world's wonder, built by Kiyomasa after the plan of a stronghold -stormed in Chösen.</p> - -<p>Amid all these preparations, the people remained singularly quiet. -From mere outward signs no stranger could have divined the general -feeling.<a name="FNanchor_1_32" id="FNanchor_1_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_32" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> The public calm was characteristically Japanese; the race, -like the individual, becoming to all appearance the more self-contained -the more profoundly its emotions are called into play. The Emperor had -sent presents to his troops in Korea, and words of paternal affection; -and citizens, following the august example, were shipping away by every -steamer supplies of rice-wine, provisions, fruits, dainties, tobacco, -and gifts of all kinds. Those who could afford nothing costlier were -sending straw sandals. The entire nation was subscribing to the war -fund; and Kumamoto, though by no means wealthy, was doing all that both -poor and rich could help her do to prove her loyalty. The check of the -merchant mingled obscurely with the paper dollar of the artisan, the -laborer's dime, the coppers of the kurumaya, in the great fraternity -of unbidden self-denial. Even children gave; and their pathetic -little contributions were not refused, lest the universal impulse of -patriotism should be in any manner discouraged. But there were special -subscriptions also being collected in every street for the support -of the families of the troops of the reserves,—married men, engaged -mostly in humble callings, who had been obliged of a sudden to leave -their wives and little ones without the means to live. That means the -citizens voluntarily and solemnly pledged themselves to supply. One -could not doubt that the soldiers, with all this unselfish love behind -them, would perform even more than simple duty demanded.</p> - -<p>And they did.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_32" id="Footnote_1_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_32"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This was written in Kumamoto during the fall of 1894. The -enthusiasm of the nation was concentrated and silent; but under that -exterior calm smouldered all the fierceness of the old feudal days. -The Government was obliged to decline the freely proffered services -of myriads of volunteers,—- chiefly swordsmen. Had a call for such -volunteers been made I am sure 100,000 men would have answered it -within a week. But the war spirit manifested itself in other ways -not less painful than extraordinary. Many killed themselves on being -refused the chance of military service; and I may cite at random a -few strange facts from the local press. The gendarme at Söul, ordered -to escort Minister Otori back to Japan, killed himself for chagrin at -not having been allowed to proceed instead to the field of battle. -An officer named Ishiyama, prevented by illness from joining his -regiment on the day of its departure for Korea, rose from his sick-bed, -and, after saluting a portrait of the Emperor, killed himself with -his sword. A soldier named Ikeda, at Ōsaka, having been told that -because of some breach of discipline he might not be permitted to go -to the front, shot himself. Captain Kani, of the "Mixed Brigade," was -prostrated by sickness during the attack made by his regiment on a fort -near Chinchow, and carried insensible to the hospital. Recovering a -week later, he went (November 28) to the spot where he had fallen, and -killed himself,—leaving this letter, translated by the <i>Japan Daily -Mail</i>: "It was here that illness compelled me to halt and to let my -men storm the fort without me. Never can I wipe out such a disgrace in -life. To clear my honor I die thus,—leaving this letter to speak for -me." -</p> -<p> -A lieutenant in Tōkyō, finding none to take care of his little -motherless girl after his departure, killed her, and joined his -regiment before the facts were known. He afterwards sought death on the -field and found it, that he might join his child on her journey to the -Meido. This reminds one of the terrible spirit of feudal times. The -samurai, before going into a hopeless contest, sometimes killed his -wife and children the better to forget those three things no warrior -should remember on the battle-field,—namely, home, the dear ones, and -his own body. After that act of ferocious heroism the samurai was ready -for the shini-mono-gurui,—the hour of the "death-fury,"—giving and -taking no quarter.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>Manyemon said there was a soldier at the entrance who wanted to see me.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Manyemon, I hope they are not going to billet soldiers upon -us!—the house is too small! Please ask him what he wishes."</p> - -<p>"I did," answered Manyemon; "he says he knows you."</p> - -<p>I went to the door and looked at a fine young fellow in uniform, who -smiled and took off his cap as I came forward. I could not recognize -him. The smile was familiar, notwithstanding. Where could I have seen -it before?</p> - -<p>"Teacher, have you really forgotten me?"</p> - -<p>For another moment I stared at him, wondering: then he laughed gently, -and uttered his name,—</p> - -<p>"Kosuga Asakichi."</p> - -<p>How my heart leaped to him as I held out both hands! "Come in, come in!" -I cried.</p> - -<p>"But how big and handsome you have grown! No wonder I did not know you."</p> - -<p>He blushed like a girl, as he slipped off his shoes and unbuckled his -sword. I remembered that he used to blush the same way in class, both -when he made a mistake, and when he was praised. Evidently his heart -was still as fresh as then, when he was a shy boy of sixteen in the -school at Matsue. He had got permission to come to bid me good-by: the -regiment was to leave in the morning for Korea.</p> - -<p>We dined together, and talked of old times,—of Izumo, of Kitzuki, of -many pleasant things. I tried in vain at first to make him drink a -little wine; not knowing that he had promised his mother never to drink -wine while he was in the army. Then I substituted coffee for the wine, -and coaxed him to tell me all about himself. He had returned to his -native place, after graduating, to help his people, wealthy farmers; -and he had found that his agricultural studies at school were of great -service to him. A year later, all the youths of the village who had -reached the age of nineteen, himself among the number, were summoned -to the Buddhist temple for examination as to bodily and educational -fitness for military service. He had passed as ichiban (first-class) -by the verdicts of the examining surgeon and of the recruiting-major -(<i>shōsa</i>), and had been drawn at the ensuing conscription. After -thirteen months' service he had been promoted to the rank of sergeant. -He liked the array. At first he had been stationed at Nagoya, then at -Tōkyō; but finding that his regiment was not to be sent to Korea, he -had petitioned with success for transfer to the Kumamoto division. "And -now I am so glad," he exclaimed, his face radiant with a soldier's -joy: "we go to-morrow!" Then he blushed again, as if ashamed of having -uttered his frank delight. I thought of Carlyle's deep saying, that -never pleasures, but only suffering and death are the lures that draw -true hearts. I thought also—what I could not say to any Japanese—that -the joy in the lad's eyes was like nothing I had ever seen before, -except the caress in the eyes of a lover on the morning of his bridal.</p> - -<p>"Do you remember," I asked, "when you declared in the schoolroom that -you wished to die for His Majesty the Emperor?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," he answered, laughing. "And the chance has come,—not for me -only, but for several of my class."</p> - -<p>"Where are they?" I asked. "With you?"</p> - -<p>"No; they were all in the Hiroshima division, and they are already -in Korea. Imaoka (you remember him, teacher: he was very tall), and -Nagasaki, and Ishihara,—they were all in the fight at Söng-Hwan. And -our drill-master, the lieutenant,—you remember him?"</p> - -<p>"Lieutenant Fujii, yes. He had retired from the army."</p> - -<p>"But he belonged to the reserves. He has also gone to Korea. He has had -another son born since you left Izumo."</p> - -<p>"He had two little girls and one boy," I said, "when I was in Matsue."</p> - -<p>"Yes: now he has two boys."</p> - -<p>"Then his family must feel very anxious about him?"</p> - -<p>"<i>He</i> is not anxious," replied the lad. "To die in battle is very -honorable; and the Government will care for the families of those who -are killed. So our officers have no fear. Only—it is very sad to die -if one has no son."</p> - -<p>"I cannot see why."</p> - -<p>"Is it not so in the West?"</p> - -<p>"On the contrary, we think it is very sad for the man to die who has -children."</p> - -<p>"But why?"</p> - -<p>"Every good father must be anxious about the future of his children. -If he be taken suddenly away from them, they may have to suffer many -sorrows."</p> - -<p>"It is not so in the families of our officers. The relations care well -for the child, and the Government gives a pension. So the father need -not be afraid. But to die is sorrowful for one who has no child."</p> - -<p>"Do you mean sorrowful for the wife and the rest of the family?"</p> - -<p>"No; I mean for the man himself, the husband."</p> - -<p>"And how? Of what use can a son be to a dead man?"</p> - -<p>"The son inherits. The son maintains the family name. The son makes the -offerings."</p> - -<p>"The offerings to the dead?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Do you now understand?"</p> - -<p>"I understand the fact, not the feeling. Do military men still hold -these beliefs?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly. Are there no such beliefs in the West?"</p> - -<p>"Not now. The ancient Greeks and Romans had such beliefs. They thought -that the ancestral spirits dwelt in the home, received the offerings, -watched over the family. Why they thought so, we partly know; but -we cannot know exactly how they felt, because we cannot understand -feelings which we have never experienced, or which we have not -inherited. For the same reason, I cannot know the real feeling of a -Japanese in relation to the dead."</p> - -<p>"Then you think that death is the end of everything?"</p> - -<p>"That is not the explanation of my difficulty. Some feelings are -inherited,—perhaps also some ideas. Your feelings and your thoughts -about the dead, and the duty of the living to the dead, are totally -different from those of an Occidental. To us the idea of death is that -of a total separation, not only from the living, but from the world. -Does not Buddhism also tell of a long dark journey that the dead must -make?"</p> - -<p>"The journey to the Meido,—yes. All must make that journey. But we -do not think of death as a total separation. We think of the dead as -still with us. We speak to them each day."</p> - -<p>"I know that. What I do not know are the ideas behind the facts. If the -dead go to the Meido, why should offerings be made to ancestors in the -household shrines, and prayers be said to them as if they were really -present? Do not the common people thus confuse Buddhist teachings and -Shintō belief?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps many do. But even by those who are Buddhists only, the -offerings and the prayers to the dead are made in different places -at the same time,—in the parish temples, and also before the family -butsudan."</p> - -<p>"But how can souls be thought of as being in the Meido, and also in -various other places at the same time? Even if the people believe the -soul to be multiple, that would not explain away the contradiction. For -the dead, according to Buddhist teaching, are judged."</p> - -<p>"We think of the soul both as one and as many. We think of it as of one -person, but not as of a substance. We think of it as something that may -be in many places at once, like a moving of air."</p> - -<p>"Or of electricity?" I suggested.</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p class="p2">Evidently, to my young friend's mind the ideas of the Meido and of -the home-worship of the dead had never seemed irreconcilable; and -perhaps to any student of Buddhist philosophy the two faiths would not -appear to involve any serious contradictions. The Sutra of the Lotus -of the Good Law teaches that the Buddha state "is endless and without -limit,—immense as the element of ether." Of a Buddha who had long -entered into Nirvana it declares, "Even after his complete extinction, -he wanders through this whole world in all ten points of space." And -the same Sutra, after recounting the simultaneous apparition of all -the Buddhas who had ever been, makes the teacher proclaim, "<i>All these -you see are my proper bodies, by kotis of thousands, like the sands of -the Ganges: they have appeared that the law may be fulfilled.</i>" But it -seemed to me obvious that, in the artless imagination of the common -people, no real accord could ever have been established between the -primitive conceptions of Shintō and the much more definite Buddhist -doctrine of a judgment of souls.</p> - -<p class="p2">"Can you really think of death," I asked, "as life, as light?"</p> - -<p>"Oh yes," was the smiling answer. "We think that after death we shall -still be with our families. We shall see our parents, our friends. We -shall remain in this world,—the light as now."</p> - -<p>(There suddenly recurred to me, with new meaning, some words of a -student's composition regarding the future of a just man: <i>His soul -shall hover eternally in the universe.</i>)</p> - -<p>"And therefore," continued Asakichi, "one who has a son can die with a -cheerful mind."</p> - -<p>"Because the son will make those offerings of food and drink without -which the spirit would suffer?" I queried.</p> - -<p>"It is not only that. There are duties much more important than the -making of offerings. It is because every man needs some one to love him -after he is dead. Now you will understand."</p> - -<p>"Only your words," I replied, "only the facts of the belief. The -feeling I do not understand. I cannot think that the love of the -living could make me happy after death. I cannot even imagine myself -conscious of any love after death. And you, you are going far away to -battle,—do you think it unfortunate that you have no son?"</p> - -<p>"I? Oh no! I myself <i>am</i> a son,—a younger son. My parents are still -alive and strong, and my brother is caring for them. If I am killed, -there will be many at home to love me,—brothers, sisters, and little -ones. It is different with us soldiers: we are nearly all very young."</p> - -<p>"For how many years," I asked, "are the offerings made to the dead?"</p> - -<p>"For one hundred years."</p> - -<p>"Only for a hundred years?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Even in the Buddhist temples the prayers and the offerings are -made only for a hundred years."</p> - -<p>"Then do the dead cease to care for remembrance in a hundred years? Or -do they fade out at last? Is there a dying of souls?"</p> - -<p>"No, but after one hundred years they are no longer with us. Some say -they are born again; others say they become kami, and do reverence to -them as kami, and on certain days make offerings to them in the toko."</p> - -<p class="p2">(Such were, I knew, the commonly accepted explanations, but I had heard -of beliefs strangely at variance with these. There are traditions that, -in families of exceeding virtue, the souls of ancestors took material -form, and remained sometimes visible through hundreds of years. A -sengaji pilgrim<a name="FNanchor_1_33" id="FNanchor_1_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_33" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> of old days has left an account of two whom he said -he had seen in some remote part of the interior. They were small, dim -shapes, "dark like old bronze." They could not speak, but made little -moaning sounds, and they did not eat, but only inhaled the warm vapor -of the food daily set before them. Every year, their descendants said, -they became smaller and vaguer.)</p> - -<p class="p2">"Do you think it is very strange that we should love the dead?" -Asakichi asked.</p> - -<p>"No," I replied, "I think it is beautiful. But to me, as a Western -stranger, the custom seems not of to-day, but of a more ancient world. -The thoughts of the old Greeks about the dead must have been much like -those of the modern Japanese. The feelings of an Athenian soldier in -the age of Pericles were perhaps the same as yours in this era of -Meiji. And you have read at school how the Greeks sacrificed to the -dead, and how they paid honor to the spirits of brave men and patriots?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Some of their customs were very like our own. Those of us who -fall in battle against China will also be honored. They will be revered -as kami. Even our Emperor will honor them."</p> - -<p>"But," I said, "to die so far away from the graves of one's fathers, in -a foreign land, would seem, even to Western people, a very sad thing."</p> - -<p>"Oh no. There will be monuments set up to honor our dead in their own -native villages and towns, and the bodies of our soldiers will be -burned, and the ashes sent home to Japan. At least that will be done -whenever possible. It might be difficult after a great battle."</p> - -<p>(A sudden memory of Homer surged back to me, with, a vision of that -antique plain where "the pyres of the dead burnt continually in -multitude.")</p> - -<p class="p2">"And the spirits of the soldiers slain in this war," I asked,—"will -they not always be prayed to help the country in time of national -danger?"</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, always. We shall be loved and worshiped by all the people."</p> - -<p>He said "we" quite naturally, like one already destined. After a little -pause he resinned:—</p> - -<p>"The last year that I was at school we had a military excursion. We -marched to a shrine in the district of In, where the spirits of heroes -are worshiped. It is a beautiful and lonesome place, among hills; and -the temple is shadowed by very high trees. It is always dim and cool -and silent there. We drew up before the shrine in military order; -nobody spoke. Then the bugle sounded through the holy grove, like a -call to battle; and we all presented arms; and the tears came to my -eyes,—I do not know why. I looked at my comrades, and I saw they -felt as I did. Perhaps, because you are a foreigner, you will not -understand. But there is a little poem, that every Japanese knows, -which expresses the feeling very well. It was written long ago by the -great priest Saigyo Hōshi, who had been a warrior before becoming a -priest, and whose real name was Sato Norikyo:—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -"'<i>Nani go to no</i><br /> -<i>Owashimasu ka wa</i><br /> -<i>Shirane domo</i><br /> -<i>Arigata sa ni zo</i><br /> -<i>Namida kobururu.</i>'"<a name="FNanchor_2_34" id="FNanchor_2_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_34" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>It was not the first time that I had heard such a confession. Many of -my students had not hesitated to speak of sentiments evoked by the -sacred traditions and the dim solemnity of the ancient shrines. Really -the experience of Asakichi was no more individual than might be a -single ripple in a fathomless sea. He had only uttered the ancestral -feeling of a race,—the vague but immeasurable emotion of Shintō.</p> - -<p>We talked on till the soft summer darkness fell. Stars and the -electric lights of the citadel twinkled out together; bugles sang; -and from Kiyomasa's fortress rolled into the night a sound deep as a -thunder-peal, the chant of ten thousand men:—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Nishi mo higashi mo<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mina teki zo,</span><br /> -Minami mo kita mo<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mina teki zo:</span><br /> -Yose-kura teki wa<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shiranuhi no</span><br /> -Tsukushi no hate no<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Satsuma gata.<a name="FNanchor_3_35" id="FNanchor_3_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_35" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>"You have learned that song, have you not?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Oh yes," said Asakichi. "Every soldier knows it."</p> - -<p>It was the Kumamoto Rōjō, the Song of the Siege. We listened, and could -even catch some words in that mighty volume of sound:—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -Tenchi mo kuzuru<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bakari nari,</span><br /> -Tenchi wa kuzure<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yama kawa wa</span><br /> -Saicuru tameshi no<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Araba tote,</span><br /> -Ugokanu mono wa<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kimi ga mi yo.<a name="FNanchor_4_36" id="FNanchor_4_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_36" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>For a little while Asakichi sat listening, swaying his shoulders in -time to the strong rhythm of the chant; then, as one suddenly waking, -he laughed, and said:—</p> - -<p>"Teacher, I must go! I do not know how to thank you enough, nor to tell -you how happy this day has been for me. But first,"—taking from his -breast a little envelope,—"please accept this. You asked me for a -photograph long ago: I brought it for a souvenir."</p> - -<p>He rose, and buckled on his sword. I pressed his hand at the entrance.</p> - -<p>"And what may I send you from Korea, teacher?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Only a letter," I said,—"after the next great victory."</p> - -<p>"Surely, if I can hold a pen," he responded.</p> - -<p>Then straightening up till he looked like a statue of bronze, he gave -me the formal military salute, and strode away in the dark.</p> - -<p class="p2">I returned to the desolate guest-room and dreamed. I heard the thunder -of the soldiers' song. I listened to the roar of the trains, bearing -away so many young hearts, so much priceless loyalty, so much splendid -faith and love and valor, to the fever of Chinese rice-fields, to -gathering cyclones of death.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_33" id="Footnote_1_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_33"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> A sengaji pilgrim is one who makes the pilgrimage to the -thousand famous temples of the Nichiren sect; a journey requiring many -years to perform.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_34" id="Footnote_2_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_34"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> "What thing (cause) there may he, I cannot tell. But -[whenever I come in presence of the shrine] grateful tears overflow."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_35" id="Footnote_3_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_35"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This would be a free translation in nearly the same -measure:— -</p> -<p> -Oh! the land to south and north<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All is full of foes!</span><br /> -Westward, eastward, looking forth,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All is full of foes!</span><br /> -None can well the number tell<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the hosts that pour</span><br /> -From the strand of Satsuma,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Tsukushi's shore.</span><br /> -</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_36" id="Footnote_4_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_36"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> -What if Earth should sundered he?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What if Heaven fall?</span><br /> -What if mountain mix with sea?<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brave hearts each and all,</span><br /> -Know one thing shall still endure,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ruin cannot whelm,</span><br /> -Everlasting, holy, pure,—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This Imperial Realm.</span><br /> -</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>III</h4> - - -<p>The evening of the same day that we saw the name "Kosuga Asakichi" in -the long list published by the local newspaper, Manyemon decorated -and illuminated the alcove of the guest-room as for a sacred festival; -filling the vases with flowers, lighting several small lamps, and -kindling incense-rods in a little cup of bronze. When all was finished, -he called me. Approaching the recess, I saw the lad's photograph -within, set upright on a tiny dai; and before it was spread a miniature -feast of rice and fruits and cakes,—the old man's offering.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps," ventured Manyemon, "it would please his spirit if the master -should be honorably willing to talk to him. He would understand the -master's English."</p> - -<p>I did talk to him; and the portrait seemed to smile through the wreaths -of the incense. But that which I said was for him only, and the Gods.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h4><a name="X" id="X">X</a></h4> - - -<h4>IN YOKOHAMA</h4> - -<blockquote> -<p>A good sight indeed has met us to-day,—a good daybreak,—a beautiful -rising;—for we have seen the Perfectly Enlightened, who has crossed -the stream.—<span class="smcap">Hemavatasutta.</span></p> -</blockquote> - - -<h4 class="p2">I</h4> - - -<p>The Jizō-Dō was not easy to find, being hidden away in a court behind -a street of small shops; and the entrance to the court itself—a very -narrow opening between two houses—being veiled at every puff of wind -by the fluttering sign-drapery of a dealer in second-hand clothing.</p> - -<p>Because of the heat, the shōji of the little temple had been removed, -leaving the sanctuary open to view on three sides. I saw the usual -Buddhist furniture—service-bell, reading-desk, and scarlet lacquered -mokugyō, disposed upon the yellow matting. The altar supported a stone -Jizō, wearing a bib for the sake of child ghosts; and above the statue, -upon a long shelf, were smaller ages gilded and painted,—another -Jizō, aureoled from head to feet, a radiant Amida, a sweet-faced -Kwannon, and a grewsome figure of the Judge of Souls. Still higher -were suspended a confused multitude of votive offerings, including -two framed prints taken from American illustrated papers: a view of -the Philadelphia Exhibition, and a portrait of Adelaide Neilson in -the character of Juliet. In lieu of the usual flower vases before the -horizon there were jars of glass bearing the inscription,—"<i>Reine -Claude au jus; conservation garantie. Toussaint Cosnard: Bordeaux.</i>" -And the box filled with incense-rods bore the legend: "<i>Rich in -flavor—Pinhead Cigarettes.</i>" To the innocent folk who gave them, -and who could never hope in this world to make costlier gifts, -these <i>ex-voto</i> seemed beautiful because strange; and in spite of -incongruities it seemed to me that the little temple did really look -pretty.</p> - -<p>A screen, with weird figures of Arhats creating dragons, masked the -further chamber; and the song of an unseen uguisu sweetened the hush -of the place. A red cat came from behind the screen to look at us, -and retired again, as if to convey a message. Presently appeared an -aged nun, who welcomed us and bade us enter; her smoothly shaven head -shining like a moon at every reverence. We doffed our footgear, and -followed her behind the screen, into a little room that opened upon a -garden; and we saw the old priest seated upon a cushion, and writing at -a very low table. He laid aside his brush to greet us; and we also took -our places on cushions before him. Very pleasant his face was to look -upon: all wrinkles written there by the ebb of life spake of that which -was good.</p> - -<p>The nun brought us tea, and sweetmeats stamped with the Wheel of the -Law; the red cat curled itself up beside me; and the priest talked to -us. His voice was deep and gentle; there were bronze tones in it, like -the rich murmurings which follow each peal of a temple bell. We coaxed -him to tell us about himself. He was eighty-eight years of age, and his -eyes and ears were still as those of a young man; but he could not walk -because of chronic rheumatism. For twenty years he had been occupied in -writing a religious history of Japan, to be completed in three hundred -volumes; and he had already completed two hundred and thirty. The rest -he hoped to write during the coming year. I saw on a small book-shelf -behind him the imposing array of neatly bound MSS.</p> - -<p>"But the plan upon which he works," said my student interpreter, -"is quite wrong. His history will never be published; it is full of -impossible stories—miracles and fairy-tales."</p> - -<p>(I thought I should like to read the stories.)</p> - -<p>"For one who has reached such an age," I said, "you seem very strong."</p> - -<p>"The signs are that' I shall live some years longer," replied the old -man, "though I wish to live only long enough to finish my history. -Then, as I am helpless and cannot move about, I want to die so as to -get a new body. I suppose I must have committed some fault in a former -life, to be crippled as I am. But I am glad to feel that I am nearing -the Shore."</p> - -<p>"He means the shore of the Sea of Death and Birth," says my -interpreter. "The ship whereby we cross, you know, is the Ship of the -Good Law; and the farthest shore is Nehan,—Nirvana."</p> - -<p>"Are all our bodily weaknesses and misfortunes," I asked, "the results -of errors committed in other births?"</p> - -<p>"That which we are," the old man answered, "is the consequence of -that which we have been. We say in Japan the consequence of mangō and -ingō,—the two classes of actions."</p> - -<p>"Evil and good?" I queried.</p> - -<p>"Greater and lesser. There are no perfect actions. Every act contains -both merit and demerit, just as even the best painting has defects and -excellences. But when the sum of good in any action exceeds the sum of -evil, just as in a good painting the merits outweigh the faults, then -the result is progress. And gradually by such progress will all evil be -eliminated."</p> - -<p>"But how," I asked, "can the result of actions affect the physical -conditions? The child follows the way of his fathers, inherits their -strength or their weakness; yet not from them does he receive his -soul."</p> - -<p>"The chain of causes and effects is not easy to explain in a few words. -To understand all you should study the Dai-jō or Greater Vehicle; also -the Shō-jō, or Lesser Vehicle. There you will learn that the world -itself exists only because of acts. Even as one learning to write, -at first writes only with great difficulty, but afterward, becoming -skillful, writes without knowledge of any effort, so the tendency of -acts continually repeated is to form habit. And such tendencies persist -far beyond this life."</p> - -<p>"Can any man obtain the power to remember his former births?"</p> - -<p>"That is very rare," the old man answered, shaking his head. "To have -such memory one should first become a Bosatsu [Bodhissattva]."</p> - -<p>"Is it not possible to become a Bosatsu?"</p> - -<p>"Not in this age. This is the Period of Corruption. First there was -the Period of True Doctrine, when life was long; and after it came the -Period of Images, during which men departed from the highest truth; -and now the world is degenerate. It is not now possible by good deeds -to become a Buddha, because the world is too corrupt and life is -too short. But devout persons may attain the Gokuraku [Paradise] by -virtue of merit, and by constantly repeating the Nembutsu; and in the -Gokuraku, they may be able to practice the true doctrine. For the days -are longer there, and life also is very long."</p> - -<p>"I have read in our translations of the Sutras," I said, "that by -virtue of good deeds men may be reborn in happier and yet happier -conditions successively, each time obtaining more perfect faculties, -each time surrounded by higher joys. Riches are spoken of, and strength -and beauty, and graceful women, and all that people desire in this -temporary world. Wherefore I cannot help thinking that the way of -progress must continually grow more difficult the further one proceeds. -For if these texts be true, the more one succeeds in detaching one's -self from the things of the senses, the more powerful become the -temptations to return to them. So that the reward of virtue would seem -itself to be made an obstacle in the path."</p> - -<p>"Not so!" replied the old man. "They, who by self-mastery reach such -conditions of temporary happiness, have gained spiritual force also, -and some knowledge of truth. Their strength to conquer themselves -increases more and more with every triumph, until they reach at -last that world of Apparitional Birth, in which the lower forms of -temptation have no existence."</p> - -<p>The red cat stirred uneasily at a sound of geta, then went to the -entrance, followed by the nun. There were some visitors waiting; and -the priest begged us to excuse him a little while, that he might attend -to their spiritual wants. We made place quickly for them, and they came -in,—poor pleasant folk, who saluted us kindly: a mother bereaved, -desiring to have prayers said for the happiness of her little dead boy; -a young wife to obtain the pity of the Buddha for her ailing husband; a -father and daughter to seek divine help for somebody that had gone very -far away. The priest spoke caressingly to all, giving to the mother -some little prints of Jizō, giving a paper of blest rice to the wife, -and on behalf of the father and daughter, preparing some holy texts. -Involuntarily there came to me the idea of all the countless innocent -prayers thus being daily made in countless temples; the idea of all -the fears and hopes and heartaches of simple love; the idea of all -the humble sorrows unheard by any save the gods. The student began to -examine the old man's books, and I began to think of the unthinkable.</p> - -<p class="p2">Life—life as unity, uncreated, without beginning,—of which we know -the luminous shadows only;—life forever striving against death, and -always conquered yet always surviving—what is it?—why is it? A myriad -times the universe is dissipated,—a myriad times again evolved; and -the same life vanishes with every vanishing, only to reappear in -another cycling. The Cosmos becomes a nebula, the nebula a Cosmos: -eternally the swarms of suns and worlds are born; eternally they die. -But after each tremendous integration the flaming spheres cool down and -ripen into life; and the life ripens into Thought. The ghost in each -one of us must have passed through the burning of a million suns,—must -survive the awful vanishing of countless future universes. May not -Memory somehow and somewhere also survive? Are we sure that in ways -and forms unknowable it does not? as infinite vision,—remembrance of -the Future in the Past? Perhaps in the Night-without-end, as in deeps -of Nirvana, dreams of all that has ever been, of all that can ever be, -are being perpetually dreamed.</p> - -<p class="p2">The parishioners uttered their thanks, made their little offerings to -Jizō, and retired, saluting us as they went. We resumed our former -places beside the little writing-table, and the old man said:—</p> - -<p>"It is the priest, perhaps, who among all men best knows what sorrow is -in the world. I have heard that in the countries of the West there is -also much suffering, although the Western nations are so rich."</p> - -<p>"Yes," I made answer; "and I think that in Western countries there -is more unhappiness than in Japan. For the rich there are larger -pleasures, but for the poor greater pains. Our life is much more -difficult to live; and, perhaps for that reason, our thoughts are more -troubled by the mystery of the world."</p> - -<p>The priest seemed interested, but said nothing. With the interpreter's -help, I continued:—</p> - -<p>"There are three great questions by which the minds of many men in the -Western countries are perpetually tormented. These questions we call -'the Whence, the Whither, and the Why,' meaning, Whence Life? Whither -does it go? Why does it exist and suffer? Our highest Western Science -declares them riddles impossible to solve, yet confesses at the same -time that the heart of man can find no peace till they are solved. -All religions have attempted explanations; and all their explanations -are different. I have searched Buddhist books for answers to these -questions, and I found answers which seemed to me better than any -others. Still, they did not satisfy me, being incomplete. From your own -lips I hope to obtain some answers to the first and the third questions -at least. I do not ask for proof or for arguments of any kind: I ask -only to know doctrine. Was the beginning of all things in universal -Mind?"</p> - -<p>To this question I really expected no definite answer, having, in the -Sutra called Sabbâsava, read about "those things which ought not to -be considered," and about the Six Absurd Notions, and the words of the -rebuke to such as debate within themselves: "<i>This is a being: whence -did it come? whither will it go?</i>" But the answer came, measured and -musical, like a chant:—</p> - -<p>"All things considered as individual have come into being, through -forms innumerable of development and reproduction, out of the universal -Mind. Potentially within that mind they had existed from eternity. -But between that we call Mind and that we call Substance there is no -difference of essence. What we name Substance is only the sum of our -own sensations and perceptions; and these themselves are but phenomena -of Mind. Of Substance-in-itself we have not any knowledge. We know -nothing beyond the phases of our mind, and these phases are wrought in -it by outer influence or power, to which we give the name Substance. -But Substance and Mind in themselves are only two phases of one -infinite Entity."</p> - -<p>"There are Western teachers also," I said, "who teach a like doctrine; -and the most profound researches of our modern science seem to -demonstrate that what we term Matter has no absolute existence. But -concerning that infinite Entity of which you speak, is there any -Buddhist teaching as to when and how It first produced those two forms -which in name we still distinguish as Mind and Substance?"</p> - -<p>"Buddhism," the old priest answered, "does not teach, as other -religions do, that things have been produced by creation. The one and -only Reality is the universal Mind, called in Japanese Shinnyo,<a name="FNanchor_1_37" id="FNanchor_1_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_37" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>—the -Reality-in-its-very-self, infinite and eternal. Now this infinite -Mind within Itself beheld Its own sentiency. And, even as one who in -hallucination assumes apparitions to be actualities, so the universal -Entity took for external existences that which It beheld only within -Itself. We call this illusion Mu-myo,<a name="FNanchor_2_38" id="FNanchor_2_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_38" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> signifying 'without radiance,' -or 'void of illumination.'"</p> - -<p>"The word has been translated by some Western scholars," I observed, -"as Ignorance.'"</p> - -<p>"So I have been told. But the idea conveyed by the word we use is not -the idea expressed by the term 'ignorance.' It is rather the idea of -enlightenment misdirected, or of illusion."</p> - -<p>"And what has been taught," I asked, concerning the time of that -illusion?"</p> - -<p>"The time of the primal illusion is said to be Mu-shi, 'beyond -beginning,' in the incalculable past. From Shinnyo emanated the first -distinction of the Self and the Not-Self, whence have arisen all -individual existences, whether of Spirit or of Substance, and all those -passions and desires, likewise, which influence the conditions of being -through countless births. Thus the universe is the emanation of the -infinite Entity; yet it cannot be said that we are the creations of -that Entity. The original Self of each of us is the universal Mind; and -within each of us the universal Self exists, together with the effects -of the primal illusion. And this state of the original Self enwrapped -in the results of illusion, we call Nyōrai-zō,<a name="FNanchor_3_39" id="FNanchor_3_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_39" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> or the Womb of the -Buddha. The end for which we should all strive is simply our return to -the infinite Original Self, which is the essence of Buddha."</p> - -<p>"There is another subject of doubt," I said, "about which I much -desire to know the teaching of Buddhism. Our Western science declares -that the visible universe has been evolved and dissolved successively -innumerable times during the infinite past, and must also vanish and -reappear through countless cycles in the infinite future. In our -translations of the ancient Indian philosophy, and of the sacred texts -of the Buddhists, the same thing is declared. But is it not also -taught that there shall come at last for all things a time of ultimate -vanishing and of perpetual rest?"</p> - -<p>He answered: "The Shō-jō indeed teaches that the universe has appeared -and disappeared over and over again, times beyond reckoning in the -past, and that it must continue to be alternately dissolved and -reformed through unimaginable eternities to come. But we are also -taught that all things shall enter finally and forever, into the state -of Nehan."<a name="FNanchor_4_40" id="FNanchor_4_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_40" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> - -<p>An irreverent yet irrepressible fancy suddenly arose within me. I could -not help thinking of Absolute Rest as expressed by the scientific -formula of two hundred and seventy-four degrees (centigrade) below -zero, or 461°.2 Fahrenheit. But I only said:—</p> - -<p>"For the Western mind it is difficult to think of absolute rest as a -condition of bliss. Does the Buddhist idea of Nehan include the idea of -infinite stillness, of universal immobility?"</p> - -<p>"No," replied the priest. "Nehan is the condition of Absolute -Self-sufficiency, the state of all-knowing, all-perceiving. We do -not suppose it a state of total inaction, but the supreme condition -of freedom from all restraint. It is true that we cannot imagine a -bodiless condition of perception or knowledge; because all our ideas -and sensations belong to the condition of the body. But we believe that -Nehan is the state of infinite vision and infinite wisdom and infinite -spiritual peace."</p> - -<p class="p2">The red cat leaped upon the priest's knees, and there curled itself -into a posture of lazy comfort. The old man caressed it; and my -companion observed, with a little laugh:—</p> - -<p>"See how fat it is! Perhaps it may have performed some good deeds in a -previous life."</p> - -<p>"Do the conditions of animals," I asked, "also depend upon merit and -demerit in previous existences?"</p> - -<p>The priest answered me seriously:—</p> - -<p>"All conditions of being depend upon conditions preëxisting, and Life -is One. To be born into the world of men is fortunate; there we have -some enlightenment, and chances of gaining merit. But the state of -an animal is a state of obscurity of mind, deserving our pity and -benevolence. No animal can be considered truly fortunate; yet even in -the life of animals there are countless differences of condition."</p> - -<p>A little silence followed,—softly broken by the purring of the cat. I -looked at the picture of Adelaide Neilson, just visible above the top -of the screen; and I thought of Juliet, and wondered what the priest -would say about Shakespeare's wondrous story of passion and sorrow, -were I able to relate it worthily in Japanese. Then suddenly, like an -answer to that wonder, came a memory of the two hundred and fifteenth -verse of the Dhammapada: "<i>From love comes grief; from grief comes -fear: one who is free from love knows neither grief nor fear.</i>"</p> - -<p>"Does Buddhism," I asked, "teach that all sexual love ought to be -suppressed? Is such love of necessity a hindrance to enlightenment? -I know that Buddhist priests, excepting those of the Shin-shū, are -forbidden to marry; but I do not know what is the teaching concerning -celibacy and marriage among the laity."</p> - -<p>"Marriage may be either a hindrance or a help on the Path," the old -man said, "according to conditions. All depends upon conditions. If -the love of wife and child should cause a man to become too much -attached to the temporary advantages of this unhappy world, then such -love would be a hindrance. But, on the contrary, if the love of wife -and child should enable a man to live more purely and more unselfishly -than he could do in a state of celibacy, then marriage would be a very -great help to him in the Perfect Way. Many are the dangers of marriage -for the wise; but for those of little understanding the dangers of -celibacy are greater. And even the illusion of passion may sometimes -lead noble natures to the higher knowledge. There is a story of this. -Dai-Mokukenren,<a name="FNanchor_5_41" id="FNanchor_5_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_41" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> whom the people call Mokuren, was a disciple of -Shaka.<a name="FNanchor_6_42" id="FNanchor_6_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_42" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> He was a very comely man; and a girl became enamored of him. -As he belonged already to the Order, she despaired of being ever able -to have him for her husband; and she grieved in secret. But at last she -found courage to go to the Lord Buddha, and to speak all her heart to -him. Even while she was speaking, he cast a deep sleep upon her; and -she dreamed she was the happy wife of Mokuren. Years of contentment -seemed to pass in her dream; and after them years of joy and sorrow -mingled; and suddenly her husband was taken away from her by death. -Then she knew such sorrow that she wondered how she could live; and -she awoke in that pain, and saw the Buddha smile. And he said to her: -'Little Sister, thou hast seen. Choose now as thou wilt,—either to -be the bride of Mokuren, or to seek the higher Way upon which he -has entered.' Then she cut off her hair, and became a nun, and in -after-time attained to the condition of one never to be reborn."</p> - -<p class="p2">For a moment it seemed to me that the story did not show how love's -illusion could lead to self-conquest; that the girl's conversion -was only the direct result of painful knowledge forced upon her, -not a consequence of her love. But presently I reflected that the -vision accorded her could have produced no high result in a selfish -or unworthy soul. I thought of disadvantages unspeakable which the -possession of foreknowledge might involve in the present order of life; -and felt it was a blessed thing for most of us that the future shaped -itself behind a veil. Then I dreamed that the power to lift that veil -might be evolved or won, just so soon as such a faculty should be of -real benefit to men, but not before; and I asked:—</p> - -<p>"Can the power to see the Future be obtained through enlightenment?"</p> - -<p>The priest answered:—</p> - -<p>"Yes. When we reach that state of enlightenment in which we obtain -the Roku-Jindzū, or Six Mysterious Faculties, then we can see the -Future as well as the Past. Such power comes at the same time as the -power of remembering former births. But to attain to that condition of -knowledge, in the present age of the world, is very difficult."</p> - -<p class="p2">My companion made me a stealthy sign that it was time to say good-by. -We had stayed rather long—even by the measure of Japanese etiquette, -which is generous to a fault in these matters. I thanked the master of -the temple for his kindness in replying to my fantastic questions, and -ventured to add:—</p> - -<p>"There are a hundred other things about which I should like to ask you, -but to-day I have taken too much of your time. May I come again?"</p> - -<p>"It will make me very happy," he said. "Be pleased to come again as -soon as you desire. I hope you will not fail to ask about all things -which are still obscure to you. It is by earnest inquiry that truth may -be known and illusions dispelled. Nay, come often—that I may speak to -you of the Shō-jō. And these I pray you to accept."</p> - -<p>He gave me two little packages. One contained white sand—sand from -the holy temple of Zenkōji, whither all good souls make pilgrimage -after death. The other contained a very small white stone, said to be a -shari, or relic of the body of a Buddha.</p> - -<p class="p2">I hoped to visit the kind old man many times again. But a school -contract took me out of the city and over the mountains; and I saw him -no more.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_37" id="Footnote_1_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_37"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Sanscrit: <i>Bhûta-Tathatâ.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_38" id="Footnote_2_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_38"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Sanscrit: <i>Avidya.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_39" id="Footnote_3_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_39"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Sanscrit: Tathâgata-gharba. The term "Tathâgata" (Japanese -Nyōrai) is the highest title of a Buddha. It signifies "One whose -coming is like the coming of his predecessors."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_40" id="Footnote_4_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_40"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Nirvana.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_41" id="Footnote_5_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_41"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Sanscrit: <i>Mahâmaudgalyâyana.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_42" id="Footnote_6_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_42"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> The Japanese rendering of Sakyamuni.</p></div> - - -<hr /> -<h4>II</h4> - - -<p>Five years, all spent far away from treaty ports, slowly flitted by -before I saw the Jizō-Dō again. Many changes had taken place both -without and within me during that time. The beautiful illusion of -Japan, the almost weird charm that comes with one's first entrance into -her magical atmosphere, had, indeed, stayed with me very long, but had -totally faded out at last. I had learned to see the Far East without -its glamour. And I had mourned not a little for the sensations of the -past.</p> - -<p>But one day they all came back to me—just for a moment. I was in -Yokohama, gazing once more from the Bluff at the divine spectre -of Fuji haunting the April morning. In that enormous spring blaze -of blue light, the feeling of my first Japanese day returned, the -feeling of my first delighted wonder in the radiance of an unknown -fairy-world full of beautiful riddles,—an Elf-land having a special -sun and a tinted atmosphere of its own. Again I knew myself steeped -in a dream of luminous peace; again all visible things assumed for -me a delicious immateriality. Again the Orient heaven—flecked only -with thinnest white ghosts of cloud, all shadowless as Souls entering -into Nirvana—became for me the very sky of Buddha; and the colors of -the morning seemed deepening into those of the traditional hour of -His birth, when trees long dead burst into blossom, and winds were -perfumed, and all creatures living found themselves possessed of loving -hearts. The air seemed pregnant with even such a vague sweetness, as if -the Teacher were about to come again; and all faces passing seemed to -smile with premonition of the celestial advent.</p> - -<p>Then the ghostliness went away, and things looked earthly; and I -thought of all the illusions I had known, and of the illusions of the -world as Life, and of the universe itself as illusion. Whereupon the -name Mu-myo returned to memory; and I was moved immediately to seek the -ancient thinker of the Jizō-Dō.</p> - -<p>The quarter had been much changed: old houses had vanished, and new -ones dovetailed wondrously together. I discovered the court at last -nevertheless, and saw the little temple just as I had remembered it. -Before the entrance women were standing; and a young priest I had -never seen before was playing with a baby; and the small brown hands -of the infant were stroking his shaven face. It was a kindly face, and -intelligent, with very long eyes.</p> - -<p>"Five years ago," I said to him, in clumsy Japanese, "I visited this -temple. In that time there was an aged bonsan here."</p> - -<p>The young bonsan gave the baby into the arms of one who seemed to be -its mother, and responded:—</p> - -<p>"Yes. He died—that old priest; and I am now in his place. Honorably -please to enter."</p> - -<p>I entered. The little sanctuary no longer looked interesting: all -its innocent prettiness was gone. Jizō still smiled over his bib; -but the other divinities had disappeared, and likewise many votive -offerings—including the picture of Adelaide Neilson. The priest tried -to make me comfortable in the chamber where the old man used to write, -and set a smoking-box before me. I looked for the books in the corner; -they also had vanished. Everything seemed to have been changed.</p> - -<p>I asked:—</p> - -<p>"When did he die?"</p> - -<p>"Only last winter," replied the incumbent, "in the Period of Greatest -Cold. As he could not move his feet, he suffered much from the cold. -This is his ihai."</p> - -<p>He went to an alcove containing shelves incumbered with a bewilderment -of objects indescribable,—old wrecks, perhaps, of sacred things,—and -opened the doors of a very small butsudan, placed between glass jars -full of flowers. Inside I saw the mortuary tablet,—fresh black -lacquer and gold. He lighted a lamplet before it, set a rod of incense -smouldering, and said:—</p> - -<p>"Pardon my rude absence a little while; for there are parishioners -waiting."</p> - -<p>So left alone, I looked at the ihai and watched the steady flame of -the tiny lamp and the blue, slow, upcurlings of incense,—wondering if -the spirit of the old priest was there. After a moment I felt as if -he really were, and spoke to him without words. Then I noticed that -the flower vases on either side of the butsudan still bore the name of -Toussaint Cosnard of Bordeaux, and that the incense-box maintained its -familiar legend of richly flavored cigarettes. Looking about the room -I also perceived the red cat, fast asleep in a sunny corner. I went to -it, and stroked it; but it knew me not, and scarcely opened its drowsy -eyes. It was sleeker than ever, and seemed happy. Near the entrance I -heard a plaintive murmuring; then the voice of the priest, reiterating -sympathetically some half-comprehended answer to his queries: "<i>A woman -of nineteen, yes. And a man of twenty-seven,—is it?</i>" Then I rose to -go.</p> - -<p>"Pardon," said the priest, looking up from his writing, while the poor -women saluted me, "yet one little moment more!"</p> - -<p>"Nay," I answered; "I would not interrupt you. I came only to see the -old man, and I have seen his ihai. This, my little offering, was for -him. Please to accept it for yourself."</p> - -<p>"Will you not wait a moment, that I may know your name?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps I shall come again," I said evasively. "Is the old nun also -dead?"</p> - -<p>"Oh no! she is still taking care of the temple. She has gone out, but -will presently return. Will you not wait? Do you wish nothing?"</p> - -<p>"Only a prayer," I answered. "My name makes no difference. A man of -forty-four. Pray that he may obtain whatever is best for him."</p> - -<p>The priest wrote something down. Certainly that which I had bidden him -pray for was not the wish of my "heart of hearts." But I knew the Lord -Buddha would never hearken to any foolish prayer for the return of lost -illusions.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><a id="XI"></a><a href="#XI">XI</a></h4> - - -<h4><a name="YUKO_A_REMINISCENCE" id="YUKO_A_REMINISCENCE">YUKO: A REMINISCENCE</a></h4> - - -<p class="center" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Meiji, xxiv, 5. May, 1891</p> - -<p>Who shall find a valiant woman?—far and from the uttermost coasts is -the price of her.—<i>Vulgate.</i></p> - - -<p>"<i>Tenshi-Sama go-shimpai.</i>" The Son of Heaven augustly sorrows.</p> - -<p>Strange stillness in the city, a solemnity as of public mourning. Even -itinerant venders utter their street cries in a lower tone than is -their wont. The theatres, usually thronged from early morning until -late into the night, are all closed. Closed also every pleasure-resort, -every show—even the flower-displays. Closed likewise all the -banquet-halls. Not even the tinkle of a samisen can be heard in the -silent quarters of the geisha. There are no revelers in the great inns; -the guests talk in subdued voices. Even the faces one sees upon the -street have ceased to wear the habitual smile; and placards announce -the indefinite postponement of banquets and entertainments.</p> - -<p>Such public depression might follow the news of some great calamity or -national peril,—a terrible earthquake, the destruction of the capital, -a declaration of war. Yet there has been actually nothing of all -this,—only the announcement that the Emperor sorrows; and in all the -thousand cities of the land, the signs and tokens of public mourning -are the same, expressing the deep sympathy of the nation with its -sovereign.</p> - -<p>And following at once upon this immense sympathy comes the universal -spontaneous desire to repair the wrong, to make all possible -compensation for the injury done. This manifests itself in countless -ways mostly straight from the heart, and touching in their simplicity. -From almost everywhere and everybody, letters and telegrams of -condolence, and curious gifts, are forwarded to the Imperial guest. -Rich and poor strip themselves of their most valued heirlooms, their -most precious household treasures, to offer them to the wounded Prince. -Innumerable messages also are being prepared to send to the Czar,—and -all this by private individuals, spontaneously. A nice old merchant -calls upon me to request that I should compose for him a telegram in -French, expressing the profound grief of all the citizens for the -attack upon the Czarevitch,—a telegram to the Emperor of all the -Russias. I do the best I can for him, but protest my total inexperience -in the wording of telegrams to high and mighty personages. "Oh! that -will not matter," he makes answer; "we shall send it to the Japanese -Minister at St. Petersburg: he will correct any mistakes as to form." I -ask him if he is aware of the cost of such a message. He has correctly -estimated it as something over one hundred yen, a very large sum for a -small Matsue merchant to disburse.</p> - -<p>Some grim old samurai show their feelings about the occurrence in a -less gentle manner. The high official intrusted with the safety of -the Czarevitch at Otsu receives, by express, a fine sword and a stem -letter bidding him prove his manhood and his regret like a sa murai, by -performing harakiri immediately.</p> - -<p>For this people, like its own Shintō gods, has various souls: it -has its Nigi-mi-tama and its Ara-mi-tama, its Gentle and its Rough -Spirit. The Gentle Spirit seeks only to make reparation; but the Rough -Spirit demands expiation. And now through the darkening atmosphere of -the popular life, everywhere is felt the strange thrilling of these -opposing impulses, as of two electricities.</p> - -<p class="p2">Far away in Kanagawa, in the dwelling of a wealthy family, there is a -young girl, a serving-maid, named Yuko, a samurai name of other days, -signifying "valiant."</p> - -<p>Forty millions are sorrowing, but she more than all the rest. How -and why no Western mind could fully know. Her being is ruled by -emotions and by impulses of which we can guess the nature only in -the vaguest possible way. Something of the soul of a good Japanese -girl we can know. Love is there—potentially, very deep and still. -Innocence also, insusceptible of taint—that whose Buddhist symbol is -the lotus-flower. Sensitiveness likewise, delicate as the earliest -snow of plum-blossoms. Fine scorn of death is there—her samurai -inheritance—hidden under a gentleness soft as music. Religion is -there, very real and very simple,—a faith of the heart, holding the -Buddhas and the Gods for friends, and unafraid to ask them for anything -of which Japanese courtesy allows the asking. But these, and many other -feelings, are supremely dominated by one emotion impossible to express -in any Western tongue—something for which the word "loyalty" were an -utterly dead rendering, something akin rather to that which we call -mystical exaltation: a sense of uttermost reverence and devotion to -the Tenshi-Sama. Now this is much more than any individual feeling. -It is the moral power and will undying of a ghostly multitude whose -procession stretches back out of her life into the absolute night of -forgotten time. She herself is but a spirit-chamber, haunted by a past -utterly unlike our own,—a past in which, through centuries uncounted, -all lived and felt and thought as one, in ways which never were as our -ways.</p> - -<p class="p2">"<i>Tenshi-Sama go-shimpai.</i>" A burning shock of desire to give was -the instant response of the girl's heart—desire over powering, yet -hopeless, since she owned nothing, unless the veriest trifle saved from -her wages. But the longing remains, leaves her no rest. In the night -she thinks; asks herself questions which the dead answer for her. "What -can I give that the sorrow of the August may cease?" "Thyself," respond -voices without sound. "But can I?" she queries wonderingly. "Thou hast -no living parent," they reply; "neither does it belong to thee to make -the offerings. Be thou our sacrifice. To give life for the August One -is the highest duty, the highest joy." "And in what place?" she asks. -"Saikyō," answer the silent voices; "in the gateway of those who by -ancient custom should have died."</p> - -<p class="p2">Dawn breaks; and Yuko rises to make obeisance to the sun. She fulfills -her first morning duties; she requests and obtains leave of absence. -Then she puts on her prettiest robe, her brightest girdle, her whitest -tabi, that she may look worthy to give her life for the Tenshi-Sama. -And in another hour she is journeying to Kyōto. From the train window -she watches the gliding of the landscapes. Very sweet the day is;—all -distances, blue-toned with drowsy vapors of spring, are good to look -upon. She sees the loveliness of the land as her fathers saw it, but as -no Western eyes can see it, save in the weird, queer charm of the old -Japanese picture-books. She feels the delight of life, but dreams not -at all of the possible future preciousness of that life for herself. -No sorrow follows the thought that after her passing the world will -remain as beautiful as before. No Buddhist melancholy weighs upon -her: she trusts herself utterly to the ancient gods. They smile upon -her from the dusk of their holy groves, from their immemorial shrines -upon the backward fleeing hills. And one, perhaps, is with her: he who -makes the grave seem fairer than the palace to those who fear not; he -whom the people call Shinigami, the lord of death-desire. For her the -future holds no blackness. Always she will see the rising of the holy -Sun above the peaks, the smile of the Lady-Moon upon the waters, the -eternal magic of the Seasons. She will haunt the places of beauty, -beyond the folding of the mists, in the sleep of the cedar-shadows, -through circling of innumerable years. She will know a subtler life, in -the faint winds that stir the snow of the flowers of the cherry, in the -laughter of playing waters, in every happy whisper of the vast green -silences. But first she will greet her kindred, somewhere in shadowy -halls awaiting her coming to say to her: "<i>Thou hast done well,—like a -daughter of samurai. Enter, child! because of thee to-night we sup with -the Gods!</i>"</p> - -<p class="p2">It is daylight when the girl reaches Kyōto. She finds a lodging, and -seeks the house of a skillful female hairdresser.</p> - -<p>"Please to make it very sharp," says Yuko, giving the kamiyui a very -small razor (article indispensable of a lady's toilet); "and I shall -wait here till it is ready." She unfolds a freshly bought newspaper -and looks for the latest news from the capital; while the shop-folk -gaze curiously, wondering at the serious pretty manner which forbids -familiarity. Her face is placid like a child's; but old ghosts stir -restlessly in her heart, as she reads again of the Imperial sorrow. "I -also wish it were the hour," is her answering thought. "But we must -wait." At last she receives the tiny blade in faultless order, pays the -trifle ashed, and returns to her inn.</p> - -<p>There she writes two letters: a farewell to her brother, an -irreproachable appeal to the high officials of the City of Emperors, -praying that the Tenshi-Sama may be petitioned to cease from sorrowing, -seeing that a young life, even though unworthy, has been given in -voluntary expiation of the wrong.</p> - -<p>When she goes out again it is that hour of heaviest darkness which -precedes the dawn; and there is a silence as of cemeteries. Few and -faint are the lamps; strangely loud the sound of her little geta. Only -the stars look upon her.</p> - -<p>Soon the deep gate of the Government edifice is before her. Into the -hollow shadow she slips, whispers a prayer, and kneels. Then, according -to ancient rule, she takes off her long under-girdle of strong soft -silk, and with it binds her robes tightly about her, making the knot -just above her knees. For no matter what might happen in the instant -of blind agony, the daughter of a samurai must be found in death with -limbs decently composed. And then, with steady precision, she makes in -her throat a gash, out of which the blood leaps in a pulsing jet. A -samurai girl does not blunder in these matters: she knows the place of -the arteries and the veins.</p> - -<p class="p2">At sunrise the police find her, quite cold, and the two letters, and a -poor little purse containing five yen and a few sen (enough, she had -hoped, for her burial); and they take her and all her small belongings -away.</p> - -<p class="p2">Then by lightning the story is told at once to a hundred cities.</p> - -<p>The great newspapers of the capital receive it; and cynical journalists -imagine vain things, and try to discover common motives for that -sacrifice: a secret shame, a family sorrow, some disappointed love. But -no; in all her simple life there had been nothing hidden, nothing weak, -nothing unworthy; the bud of the lotus unfolded were less virgin. So -the cynics write about her only noble things, befitting the daughter of -a samurai.</p> - -<p>The Son of Heaven hears, and knows how his people love him, and -augustly ceases to mourn.</p> - -<p>The Ministers hear, and whisper to one another, within the shadow of -the Throne: "All else will change; but the heart of the nation will not -change."</p> - -<p class="p2">Nevertheless, for high reasons of State, the State pretends not to know.</p> - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Out of the East, by Lafcadio Hearn - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUT OF THE EAST *** - -***** This file should be named 55802-h.htm or 55802-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/8/0/55802/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (online soon -in an extended version,also linking to free sources for -education worldwide ... 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