Chapter XIII: Introduction (8)

The building of this New Palace is unquestionably strange and antagonistic, but I will confine myself to observing the material sides. Its conception and architecture are equally incoherent; it is such an unintelligible mixture of old and new, national and foreign. Near the hall, built exactly like an old yamen, there stands a shed of corrugated iron, and a wonderful old gate leads to a passage furnished with Viennese chairs. The whole palace was built as opportunity offered, without previous plans. It came to be erected in the following way. During the last revolution, the Empress lost her life: she was dragged out of her room, atrociously tortured, and stabbed by ruffians, or, as some say, by foreign soldiers. Afterwards, her body was burned in the adjoining deer park, at the foot of the eastern hills. The Emperor himself escaped only with the greatest difficulty, in a disguise, carried on men's shoulders, as Anchises was out of the burning ruins of Troy. He never returned to those ill-fated walls, but took refuge in the Russian Legation, and remained there for a long time to be in greater security.

After this, land was secured near the legations, amidst the foreign settlement, and there the New Palace was erected. It is not completed yet, and I am afraid it will remain unfinished for many years, and offer a source of income to the commercial, trading, labouring, and idling classes of the country.

At last His Majesty awoke from his siesta and was ready to receive me. There are no ushers and no Court functionaries, and little or no display. The servants who came with the message wore a red calico kaftan to the ground, with a red calico hood that looked like a domino. It is the Court livery, simple to make and cheap to buy. Calico is the national material, that everybody wears at all seasons of the year--in winter padded with cotton-wool or sheepskin. There are over 10,000,000 purchasers of calico in Korea, and it has become quite an interesting commercial question whether Japan's Osaka or England's Manchester will secure the future market.

By a little door and through a narrow passage, built of white deal boards, we get to the inner court, which is really a backyard surrounded by store-rooms and servants' sheds.

To avoid the mud it is necessary to use a pathway composed of two planks. They are narrow enough to test the skill of an equilibrist, and it may be they are put down to drill the courtiers in that useful art. On this occasion these planks are covered with narrow bright red carpet--a poor specimen of the thing usually found in "furnished apartments," not at all conducive to comfort, and apparently only a harbour for the dust. The yard is deserted. Here and there, out of peep-holes and half-open doors, a few red-calicoed servants are gazing with inquisitive eyes, but not one of them is in attendance.

From the central building a wide, unpainted door leads into the yard. The door is open and we see a kind of hall, with its walls covered with a large-patterned blue-and-white paper, which probably lay for years neglected and unadmired in some mean shop. There is a table in the centre and a high screen behind. Squeezed in between the two stands the Emperor. I can hardly realize that I am in the presence of the all-powerful potentate--an Emperor who is more than ruler, and more even than despot, in fact, an idol in the eyes of his people. His person is sacred, his power is boundless, his word is law, and he owns everything, land and people, without restriction, his simple wish is a command.

If human hand touches him it is sacrilege, and the punishment for sacrilege is death. Even the dead body of an emperor must be lifted into the coffin by a special device. If the Emperor touches a subject, the body so touched becomes blessed. The Emperor's name must not be mentioned except in whispers. His portrait is never painted except after death, when it becomes an object of worship in the ancestral halls. Once a foreign envoy sought to present the Emperor with the portrait of his sovereign, but the Minister for Foreign Affairs regarded the offer as an outrage and the portrait was never accepted. How very strange all these customs seem to be! But it is scarcely thirty years since Korea was still, if not the "Land of the Morning Calm," at least the "Hermit Kingdom," secluded and unknown.

My impression of the Emperor is favourable. His features are heavy, but the face is kind and his expression is benevolent. Physically he is delicate. I cannot imagine him to be a man of strong likes or dislikes, and his shyness approaches timidity. He wore ancient Korean state robes of rich yellow hue, embroidered with numberless cabalistic signs. Around his waist was clasped a stiff ceremonial girdle, inlaid with jade. It looked much like an iron hoop round a shrunken barrel and seemed peculiar to Western eyes, accustomed to belts that, on the contrary, grip the body only too closely.

The representative of my country, who has lived for many years in Korea, and is an excellent scholar, had scarcely time to make the necessary introductions before the Emperor opened the conversation. He was most interested in the way I had come, and hearing that I had used the overland route, his questions were inexhaustible. "When did you leave home?"

"How long have you been travelling?" "What interested you most?" "What is the country like?" "What do the people do?" "What are their ambitions?" and so on. He seemed to be interested in my own country, and especially in all the different manners and customs of the West.

"Is your country a very hilly one?" "Are the people agricultural, as here?" "Is your capital a very fine one, and what is the Emperor's palace like? I hear there are magnificent Court functions, and pageants with a great many carriages. My envoys, coming home from the European tour, gave me very interesting details of your magnificent cities and great wealth, and brought home many valuable souvenirs and pictures. I am sorry to be too old, otherwise I myself would start to see all I have heard about."

The state coaches seemed to appeal most to his imagination, which, after all, is but natural, considering that such a thing as a carriage has never been known to the Koreans. His Majesty even expressed a wish to order one in Europe.

Question after question came, giving me scarcely time to give answers. I, of course, could not ask questions except in an indirect way, for in this respect Korea sticks firmly to the etiquette of all Courts, which provides that the monarch alone is allowed to start a new topic of conversation.

"You must have been very glad on your arrival at Seoul to find that the finest building is your cathedral? What it must have been to have built up such a high tower! and I am told its interior is beautiful. Who was your architect? How much did it cost?" I explained that it was built by one of the fathers who studied with great care the architectural books of Viollet Le Duc, and that the expense had been very limited, on account of nearly everything being made on the spot.

But he was even more interested to hear about our orphan schools close by, where nearly two hundred children are saved from misery and death. He was pleased to hear a little more of what happens outside the palace gates, to know something more about the charitable work carried out in his own country.

It was astonishing to see with what keen interest he followed my explanations.

He wanted to know my ideas concerning Koreans, and especially Korean children and the rising generation trained in our schools. I was glad to have an opportunity of expressing my satisfaction, and I told him how very much surprised I was at seeing the Korean children at work, and hearing their answers.

I could scarcely believe that boys out here could be such good Latin scholars, some of them far in advance of boys of the same age in European schools. I was even more astonished to see the real pleasure it gave them to study and to improve. To me it shed quite a new light on the Korean character and mind. What is more satisfactory still is, that when these children go back to their forlorn homes, as they do for several months each year, they seldom fail to return, and never forget what they have been taught.

Next the Emperor sat the Crown Prince, a man slightly over thirty years of age, overgrown and heavy, apathetic, and lethargic in all his movements. He shows little interest in anything outside his own sphere, and scarcely any capacity for the reception of new ideas. He is married, but has no family.

But there is a younger brother who is in every respect the reverse. He is bright, clever, active, and instead of the heavy atmosphere of the palace seeks the fresh air of far-away countries; At present he is in the United States, working hard, studying and gathering knowledge, experience, and statesmanship, which may, as he hopes it will, be of use to himself and to his country.

Behind the Emperor and Crown Prince stands a huge dark figure, casting a heavy black shadow on them. His expression is stolid, and he is mute, but he watches and follows everything that goes on around us. He is the chief eunuch of the palace, a man of great importance and influence.

The chamberlains and princes accompany me to my sedan-chair when I go. Before I leave them they make an appointment for next day to show me the ancestral hall and some of the public buildings.

I must say they are all very courteous, and want to show me much that they think would prove useful to me. At last we start, sedan-chairs begin to swing, hanging from eight bearers' shoulders. A horseman rides ahead, while the legation servants and the Kisos form a guard. As we come to the large place before the palace there is a dense crowd, a faction of the revolutionists as I am told. The city is in great excitement. As we pass along we meet crowds everywhere.

Seoul is divided into two parties. One is bitter against Russia and claims the delivery and punishment of Y.-Yung-Yk, on whom all the Imperial confidence and favours are bestowed at this moment. Another party is in favour of him and Russia. The former is for Japan--but there is no party to support their own country, to work for its independence, and to secure its freedom. There seem to be very few Koreans for Korea.

XI

TOKIO

As the train stops at the terminus of Shimbashi, I can scarcely realize that I have reached the capital of beautiful Japan. The huge station is one of the most commonplace erections I have ever come across in my long journeys. Platforms, booking offices, waiting rooms, are perfect copies of all that the Western mind has produced to be useful, but from an artistic point of view featureless and colourless. And even the crowd, which bustles along and overflows the whole place, is as drab as it could be in any commercial centre on our side of the globe. Even those who still cling to the national _kimono_, instead of keeping to the old bright colours, have it made of dark cloth or modern cotton material. As I step out into the street my disappointment is even greater. I see a few buildings constructed of wood, without any ornamentation, the unpainted timber grey and weather-beaten.

I must say the day is very much against the creation of a favourable impression. It is a cold January morning, gloomy and dark, sleet falling from leaden clouds, and the streets are thickly covered with black mud. I can almost imagine myself in the suburbs of Pittsburg, for there is a great deal of smoke, the only apparent difference being that steel is replaced mostly by timber. As my jinrickshaw rolls along through the maze of wide streets and narrow lanes, I do not feel elated. My extraordinary vehicle, which is drawn by two men harnessed tandem fashion and pushed by another, has, however, an Eastern flavour, though the 'rickshaw was actually invented by an Anglo-Saxon genius.

During the first weeks of my stay I visited all the ancient monuments, temples, and pagodas, and all the usual haunts of the traveller. There are some fine specimens of Japanese art, though they cannot be compared to the buildings of the smaller cities. I come from Nara and Kyoto, and this may be one of the reasons that everything is so far below my expectations. Some of the temples are certainly large, and one or two pagodas quaintly designed, many of the carvings being elaborate. But even the best specimens can only be classed as decorative art. Among them all, the most noteworthy examples of Japanese architecture are the temples dedicated to the memory of the Sh[=o]guns. The decoration of the inner halls is sometimes exquisite, the beams and friezes being beautifully worked. Bronzes, finely cast, magnificently finished, make the interiors delightful. I specially admired the specimens of lacquer-work I saw in the course of my rambles. Nearly all the temples had panels, doors, chests, boxes, utensils, and odds and ends of exceptional beauty. It takes a long time for a Western eye to appreciate fully the real qualities of good lacquer; but when once it has been trained it will always put their lacquer-work foremost among the artistic productions of this people next to bronzes, if not before them. The industry still survives in full vigour, and I saw several specimens which came very near those in the carefully guarded collection of Nikko. I also saw many fine bronzes, though their beauty is often depreciated by the too-great elaborateness of the design. Old national armour is to be found in many of the temples and collections of the capital, but, though most beautiful, it is not yet in much demand in the bric-a-brac market.

But I have come to the conclusion that the real charm of ancient Yeddo must have lain more in nature than in art, in its bright suburbs, evergreen groves, wistaria-covered arbours, and chrysanthemum gardens; nature in her exuberance, in her spring bloom, or the varied tints of autumn intermingled with arched bridges, carved balustrades, and flights of steps, relieved by art. Monuments in Japan seem to serve above all as a foreground to a fine view: the most conspicuous towers, ex-voto lanterns, or finest "tories," acquire an artistic value more from their surroundings than from their intrinsic worth. The way in which the monuments are placed, the effect they give to the landscape, and especially the view to be seen from them, are the main points of interest. I am sorry that books written on Japanese art generally fail to perceive its real value, and point out merits it does not possess. It is particularly the imagination that ought to be dwelt on; not merely the handiwork, but the conception of the brain. Shrines, kiosks, pagodas, may sometimes be very primitive, but in the imagination of the artist they represented fairy buildings. It is the same with their tiny little gardens, or dwarf woods. Though they are in reality minute, they grow in the owners' minds to veritable parks or virgin forests. Some of the so-called Imperial palaces around Nikko are most humble abodes, surrounded by a little strip of land. Katsura-no-Rikyu Palace, for instance, consists simply of a few planks nailed together, forming a kind of log house of one storey, a few feet square, and divided in the interior by partitions or the so-called sliding screens. Certainly it is no palace; it can scarcely be called a house. It is literally a shed roofed with bamboo and thatch,--nothing more. And yet the followers of the imaginative school of aesthetics saw it with different eyes. To them it represented what their fancy imagined, not what they saw in reality, and the little open space before the building, which, with the best will in the world, can only be called a gravel yard, dotted with unhewn stones, was to them the illimitable surface of the ocean, the scattered blocks so many islands and continents. In the corner stands a little estrade of bamboo, where the Mikado and his chosen friends used to sit in deep contemplation before the elaborate world of their fancy, and enjoy the passive happiness of the Zen doctrine.

It would interest me to treat this subject most explicitly, and to deal with Japanese art from a psychological point of view; to consider not merely the objects it has created, but rather the mind and genius which have been manifested in its different creations; to deal more at length with the founders and pupils of the famous masters' schools of Nara and Kyoto, and to explain where their real value lies. To discuss the paintings, statuary, and architecture, the refinement of their watercolours, which can only be called sketches, small bronzes and jade or stone figures, the netsukes on masks, makimonos, "tories" and pagodas, would afford to our matter-of-fact appreciation an opportunity of realizing more fully the strength of their imagination. The average European generally admires in Japanese work the finish of detail, elaborateness of execution, and the patience of labour, applied to its object. He pays high prices for the workman's skill and manual dexterity, but seems to be quite indifferent to the artist's idea as such, and the originality of the conception escapes him entirely.

Yet in the most famous creations of the celebrated aesthetes we are more struck by the force of their imagination than by the actual work itself. The _cha-no-yu_ style consisted, as mentioned above with reference to the Katsura-no-Rikyu Palace, of a few planks, bamboo beams, and thatched roof, and Kobori Enshu, Nippon's Le Notre, designed his gardens to offer a panoramic effect more than a place of recreation. It was not the house nor the grounds in their real grandeur which effected the impression desired; in fact, it was not reality at all that was before them in its crude and sometimes primitive material; but the suggestiveness of log house and gravel yard, which developed in their vivid fantasy into enchanted palace and fairy land. Men retiring from active life; generals crowned with many victories; distinguished, even abdicating Mikados, secluded themselves in different rural retreats to enjoy, after the struggles of life, perfect peace. They led a life of their own, an existence not so much of active reality as of passive contemplation, in which they discussed different ideas and strove for new ideals. They invented an artificial life of artistic refinement, admiring for days together a single work of art or a flower in full bloom, inhaling choice aromas and smelling exquisite perfumes. And stately processions were organized to go and partake of afternoon tea in a summer-house, where every movement was prescribed by strict etiquette, and where the handing and receiving of the cup were attended by fastidious courtesies, and the making of the beverage of a special green leaf, pounded to powder, and poured out of a black earthen pot, was an occupation requiring several hours. The tea ceremonies have often been described; there is a whole literature at our disposal, in which the regulations respecting these proceedings are put down with the authority of a code. But what is far more interesting than the description of the elaborate ceremonies is the problem of how the mind of the people could have manifested itself in such a complex and, to us, incomprehensible way. We shall never fully realize how these men could have sat on the _Tsuki-mi-dai_, the bamboo dais, for hours, watching the moon rising behind the meadows, gazing at the scene before them, lost in the intricacy of their contemplation. And we shall never understand their thoughts as we shall never realize the world as seen from a Tsuki-mi-dai.

Is it astonishing if, in their imagination, reality and fiction became "confusion worse confounded," huts grew to palaces, the single stones to islands, and, finally, they built up a world of their own? As children gazing at clouds give full play to their fancy, so did they see in the external world what really existed only in their inner consciousness. The explanation of many of those vagaries lies in the strength of their fantasy, the vividness of their illusions; but we might go even further and justly say that one of the strongest qualities of the nation is the strength of their imagination. With them fiction almost becomes reality, fancies acquire positive values, and subjective sensations are allowed to act upon the objective world. Any one who is interested in metaphysical questions will be struck by this trait, not only in their art, but in every incident of their existence. Whether in the past or present, it will strike us as one of the main characteristics of the Japanese, and, turning over the pages of their long history, it is one of the prevailing features. It was a potent factor, which gave strength to their convictions and endurance to their arms. In fact, their whole ancient moral code and their laws of chivalry were based on the same principle. The two qualities which inspire sincere admiration all over the world--their great loyalty to the sovereign and boundless patriotism--are emanations of the same disposition. In fact their greatest achievements were carried out under the influence of some abstract conception and brought to success by a national or ethical ideal.

II

If the artistic colouring of Tokio has faded away for ever, its present aspect is marked by the evidences of practical life, and if one's first impression is one of general disappointment, the second is one of deep interest. We soon realize that the capital of Japan has ceased to be a mere bazaar, full of glitter, where all the toys and fancies of the East have been stored to make a pleasant resort for the Western traveller. It is a place of hard work, for the accomplishment of serious aims.

Though my expectations in visiting the old monuments were not fulfilled, and, as I said before, from an antiquarian and artistic standpoint the town failed to satisfy me, I became daily more deeply interested in the busy life and commercial enterprise of modern Nippon. Workshops, manufactories, banks, insurance offices, are increasing rapidly in number. The electric and steam companies, railways and shipping, telegraph and telephone companies, have developed in a most astounding manner. If we consider that the railway was only introduced into the country in 1872, for the short distance from Tokio to Yokohama, which was followed by another short line in 1876 from Kobe to Kyoto, and the first long line connecting the two capitals was opened in 1890, it is even more astonishing to see what has been done in the succeeding ten years. To-day railways have been laid all over the country, and all the main cities are connected by direct lines. To give an idea of this rapid development, I may refer to the fact that in 1887 there were 580 miles open for traffic, and in 1899 there were 3421 miles. Besides the Government railways a great many private companies have been formed. About thirty years after the commencement of Japan's new era, the Government lines extended to 833 miles, including 60 miles in Formosa, and the routes still under construction 1250. There were forty-four private companies as well, with a capital of 228 million yen. The rolling stock of the Government railways amounted to about 1500 locomotives, 5000 cars, and 18,000 goods wagons. Among private lines the Nippon Tetsudo is the most important; it is about 1000 miles long. The next in importance are the Kiushiu and Sanyo railways. To-day it is possible to go from the north end of the country to the south, a distance of 1400 miles. The only interruption on the whole track is the Straits of Moji, where there is still a ferry, but this, it is said, will probably be replaced by a steel bridge, such as that over the Forth. The greater part of the rolling stock is manufactured at home, only wheels and axles being imported to any great extent from abroad.

The first telegraph line was installed in 1869 by English engineers. In 1877 all the foreign employes had been replaced by natives, and ten years later Japan joined the International Telegraph Union. In 1891 the Government purchased from the Great Northern Telegraph Company, with great strategical foresight, and took into its own hands, all the cables forming a direct connexion with Korea. The telegraph offices are not far off 2000 in number, and the length of the wires is close on 30,000 kilometres. The number of internal messages amounts to 16 millions, and of international messages to about 300,000. The longest main line is from Tokio to Nagasaki--877 kilometres. There are several thousands of employes, and in many places bicycles are used for delivering the telegrams.

The telephone in Japan is more common than in any other country in the world, except perhaps Norway. Besides the Government and public telephone offices, nearly every large commercial house, and most private homes, have telephones.

The establishment of the electric system of illumination has become most popular in the smallest villages, and forlorn hamlets are lighted by electricity.

Steam navigation companies are numerous. Besides local companies running small steamers in the larger bays and inland seas, there are several companies for international commerce. Among all these companies the most important is the Nippon Yusen Kaisha. It is the pride of modern Japan, and I quite agree that there are very few enterprises in the shipping line which could surpass it in size and excellence of organization. To quote from their annual report, which will be of interest as giving an idea of the success they have achieved: "With a capital of 22 million yen, establishing regular steamship services all over the world, and with a fleet of 70 steamers aggregating 200,000 tons gross, the majority of them new and provided with every resource for contributing to the comfort of passengers and every modern facility for the carrying trade, the Nippon Yusen Kaisha now ranks among the greatest enterprises of the kind in the world. The regular services maintained by it, independently of its lines between all the principal ports in Japan, are with China, Asiatic Russia, the Straits Settlements, India, the Red and Mediterranean Seas, Europe, Canada, America, and Australia. The Japanese Diet in 1899 resolved to grant subsidies to the company's European and American Lines, and thus all foreign and home lines, with but a few exceptions, have been ordered to run under the mail contract of the Imperial Japanese Government. The Head Office is in Tokio, and Branch Offices and Agencies to the number of over seventy, particulars of which are given elsewhere, are situated at all the ports of call and other important points. The total number of the Company's employes is about 1200, in addition to about 3500 of crews, firemen, etc."

This synopsis grows in interest, and is even more surprising when we consider that the first enterprise in steam navigation was started only in 1868 between Osaka and Tokio, and in 1880 the Company possessed a fleet comprising about fifty boats. Skippers, engineers, and all the chief officers, were Westerners, and nearly all Englishmen. But the Japanese proved to be apt pupils, and every year a greater number of foreigners were replaced by natives. To-day there are only the captains and a few other officers on the international lines who are still foreigners, but even their days are numbered.

During my lengthened stay in the Far East, I travelled a great deal on their lines, crossed the Yellow Sea in several directions, went down once to Shanghai and once to Hong Kong, made an expedition to the Philippines and the neighbouring islands, and, finally, made a journey in one of their largest boats to Australasia; and I can speak of them with high praise in every respect. Of course, a great many of the boats are built in England, with all the latest improvements. They have electric light and ventilators. And if people who are hard to please sometimes find fault with the _chef's_ department, I think they are epicures who would make the same objections on all other lines. But every one unites in praising the general cleanliness on board.

One of the suburbs of Tokio is almost entirely devoted to shipbuilding, and on the strand of the large inner bay there are numberless boats in course of construction, though the most important shipbuilding yards are in Nagasaki. Tokio itself is the central point of all the most important commercial enterprises. The national and other banks, railway and shipping companies, all have their headquarters here. Next the modest, old-fashioned wooden houses, huge palaces of brick and steel tower aloft, built on the newest principles of American skyscrapers. I must confess I don't admire them, and I was sadly disappointed to find such commonplace and up-to-date erections in the Mikado's capital, where I expected to be delighted with mysterious pagodas of a romantic age.

Every day I passed several hours in these huge blocks, and steadily became more and more interested in Japan's commercial activity. In fact, since the reorganization of the country on Western principles the questions of education and commerce are the most pressing of all the problems with which they are confronted. Since the establishment of the new era, which opened their once secluded country to the outer world, transformed their patriarchal system of government into a parliamentary constitution, and reformed the whole army and effected a complete change in the juridical system, the national economics and the education of the rising generation are the riddles to be solved in the future. All the commercial life gave me a great opportunity of realizing the exceptional physical capabilities, diligence, and capacity for hard work, displayed by this people. The number of hours of work an average man can do in the fields or in the factories greatly exceeds that of the Western races. And what is even more striking is the great manual skill shown. The dexterity of a Japanese artisan is too well known to need description, but what I cannot omit to mention is the rapidity with which they execute their work; this faculty seems almost instinctive or innate, and one glance at a model is enough to enable the workman to reproduce the object with absolute accuracy. Another great advantage possessed by them is that the necessaries of life are so restricted. The frugal meals consist merely of a little rice or raw fish; for luxury they have half a cup of _sakki_ or rice wine, and for recreation and pleasure an afternoon walk in the flowering orchards or cherry-groves. And if they have a superfluous coin, they can go to the theatres, where national epics are performed in the old-fashioned fascinating style, and where a penny gives admittance from morning to night. Their physical endurance and freshness of mind are two qualities which contribute to the great success they have achieved. How long will they be able to preserve them unspoilt? How long will they be able to guard them from corruption? It is evident that with a different manner of life they are bound to undergo a change; with an increase of daily needs, dissatisfaction is certain to grow.

Baron Ivasaki, one of Japan's principal financiers, and the leader of many social enterprises, after his return from a voyage of investigation round the world, wrote a most interesting paper, not only dealing with his personal experiences but pointing out possibilities, both of financial and moral crises that might occur if the country did not unite to promote, not only commercial and financial endeavour, but a high moral tone. All good patriots and friends of Japan agree with the author in this respect. Unquestionably, there is always a great danger when a nation's ideals become merely material. It is even more disastrous if its spiritual life threatens to become extinct. One of the causes of Japan's strength has been her firm belief in her religious, national, and domestic codes. The great rapidity with which she has adopted Western civilization might easily have resulted in her acceptance, not only of our good points, but also of our bad ones. Considering her marvellous gift of adaptation, the question arises whether this does not happen sometimes, to the detriment of better judgment. In her great zeal to advance and to use all Western means, some of her deeper thinkers begin to realize the dangers which might beset her. The rapid transformation of the old social order must develop by gradation to avoid fresh revolutions, and to spread over the whole country. It is not enough for her to accept merely the technical side of Western civilization, she must understand and be fully convinced by its moral and spiritual principles. The nations of Europe may belong to different denominations, but their mind and soul are imbued by the higher laws of Christianity. Baron Ivasaki, in his articles, points out with great foresight that it is not enough for his countrymen's future greatness and happiness to improve materially, if there is not a corresponding moral elevation.

It becomes evident that the most important question of the day is that of education. During my prolonged stay in the capital I visited a great many schools and colleges. Besides the well-equipped Government Primary Schools I saw many Grammar and High Schools, Public and Private Colleges, and Missionary Establishments. Public instruction, as a rule, is very satisfactory. The teaching of foreign languages, and especially of technical knowledge, is quite surprising, and the examinations in these subjects have the best results. Education, as such, is less successfully carried out; the chief defect of our Western system of devoting itself exclusively to the imparting of knowledge, to the detriment of the formation of character and the arming of the child for the battle of life, more from a moral than from a material standpoint, is also the drawback of this country. Among Tokio's scholastic foundations the University is the most important. To give an epitome of its history:--

"The germ of this institution was the _Bansho Shirabejo_, or 'Place for the Examination of Barbarian Writings,' founded by the Tokugawa Government in 1856. Seven years later, this name was altered to that of _Kaisei-jo_, or, 'Place for Developing and Completing,' which indicated a change for the better in the views held by the Japanese as to the value of European learning. Numerous other modifications have taken place, both in the name and scope of the institution, which since 1881 has been placed on a thoroughly modern footing, and now includes colleges of Law, Medicine, Engineering, Literature, Science and Agriculture, where lectures are delivered by a large staff of professors of various nationalities and in various languages. The students number over 2700. The courses that attract most students are those of Law, Medicine, and Engineering. A large hospital connected with the University stands in the same grounds. Other institutions under the authority of the President of the University are the Botanical Gardens in the district of Koishikawa, and the Tokio Observatory at Ligura."

It is a large establishment, covering a huge area of park-like ground, dotted with long red brick piles. Different faculties occupy separate buildings, and if not picturesque, they are well adapted to their function. The library is especially fine, very well equipped, and cleverly organized. It interested me to observe that whenever I came the large reading-room was always filled with students, and it afforded a good opportunity of watching the keenness with which they pursue their studies. I made acquaintance with several of the leading professors, some of whom are Western. They all assisted me very kindly in my investigations. The statements of Professor von Koerber, who is the teacher of the history of modern philosophy, were of especial value. To judge the mental capacity of the rising generation, it is essential to see how metaphysical questions appeal to them, and, as I perceived, they were more prone to accept theories which appealed to their great imaginative qualities than to draw abstract conclusions by the medium of purely logical deductions. They prefer Schopenhauer to Kant, Plato to Aristotle, and so it will be easy to comprehend the unquestionable influence which the modern evolutionist school exerts over the mind of young Japan.

Another institution of great importance is the Government Printing Office, the so-called _Insatsu Kyoku_, its scope including much besides printing, the paper currency of the country being manufactured here too. The offices are marvellously equipped, but the skill of the workmen is even more marvellous. The reproduction of different old prints, etchings, and watercolours by mechanical means, is a triumph of art, and the _editions de luxe_ of the old Japanese masters are unique in their way. As I said before, manual skill and the faculty of copying are national gifts, and, during my repeated visits to workshops, factories, and builders' yards, it was these characteristics which most impressed me. I returned frequently to the new Commercial Museum, where there is such a good opportunity given to judge what Japan's commercial production will be in the future. There are already several branches in which they run us very close, if they don't surpass us. In the production of cheap articles they are certainly already ahead, and common calico and cotton goods have not only replaced the European supply for the requirements of the country, but they almost monopolize the market of Korea, and export a great deal to China and Eastern Asia. Cheap china is manufactured to a great extent also, and so are cloth, felt, and leather goods of all kinds. In the Museum there are specimens of the different home industries, and if the quality leaves something to be desired, and does not promise to be very durable, the prices are so low that the customer can afford to purchase, as all Orientals like to do, something new constantly. Unquestionably within a very short time Tokio's and Osaka's large firms will be the great competitors of Birmingham and Manchester, and the European trade in the East will be mostly secured by Japan.

In speaking of Tokio's noteworthy establishments, I finish, where I might have begun, with the Arsenal, where the famous _San-ju-nen Shiki_, Japan's victorious weapon, is manufactured. Arms, guns, soldiering and fights are out of my sphere, but I could not help observing the up-to-date character of Tokio's military equipment. Not only do the barracks bear witness to perfect order and cleanliness, but the military schools and training establishments are well organized and demand hard work in every respect. Soldiers and officers impress us equally by their neatness and perfect turn-out and their spirit of discipline; and still more impressive are the extraordinary vivacity and unceasing activity which they display. Their endurance and capacity for work are, I think, unsurpassed by any other army.

Finally, if I were asked to enumerate the interesting sights of Tokio, or to give advice what to see, and especially how to see Tokio, I should to a certain extent deviate from the generally adopted plans of the guide-books. Instead of drawing attention to the past, I would deal more with the present; instead of describing the monuments of bygone ages only, I would point out the modern institutions of the capital; instead of dreaming in the old cemeteries of the Shoguns and Ronins, I would awaken some interest in schools, factories, and barracks. In fact, instead of dwelling on what is dead, I would study what is to be born and what is already alive. And so the first disappointment of missing the expected gay fairyland will turn into interest in serious reality. Thus travellers would derive greater benefit and waste less time, if they were prepared at the outset for Tokio, not as it may once have been and as we still imagine it from description, but as it has developed in the last quarter of a century. To conjure up the past or to recall bygone traditions, one ought to linger in Nara's sacred groves and Nikko's hidden shrines; but on arrival in Tokio and Osaka, one is awakened to the reality of modern times, and dreams are bound to give place to the hard work of life. After the first disappointment caused by the capital's inartistic and rather incoherent aspect of today, one cannot fail to be impressed by the activity of its inhabitants; and the repugnance roused by its prosaic outlook, where new and old mingle indiscriminately, once overcome, one begins to understand and appreciate the indefatigable labour by which all this change has been achieved.

I would advise my friends, if they can do so, to choose a favourable season for visiting Tokio. If possible, they should arrive in the middle of the spring, when the magnificent forests and shady groves are in foliage, when the orchards are in bloom, and the flower-gardens most luxuriant; or in the autumn, when the leaves begin to turn, when the maples glow like fires on the hillsides, and the sea-breeze scatters the yellow leaves of the birch in golden showers. To stay there during the months when the beauty of nature is at its zenith, and by its marvellous harmony of colour and outline, which is, after all, Japan's main beauty, makes one forget what time has destroyed and civilization ruined, and recompenses one for many charms vanished for ever. At this time of the year the different suburbs offer delightful retreats for the traveller's leisure hours. And some of the old monuments, even though they be not works of art of great value, yet, surrounded as they are by rich vegetation, present a perfect _tout ensemble_. To those who have the privilege of entering the Mikado's palace, and perchance obtain an invitation to the celebrated Imperial chrysanthemum festival, the beauty of the grounds at this season will compensate for the modesty of the buildings and the simplicity of the interior; and though the brilliant hues of the courtiers' embroidered kimonos are replaced by black frock-coats, the chrysanthemums are still gorgeous and dazzling.

I can't help repeating with emphasis my advice to take interest in life's more serious factors. As soon as possible after arrival, observe and study, whenever there is a chance, the daily routine of one of the most advancing young countries which unfolds before the visitor. Do not restrict your visits merely to sights; besides museums inspect some schools, and instead of hunting up pagodas of little artistic value, see some of the workshops. In particular, look carefully at the work, as such, and form your conclusions from your personal experience. And I would counsel the getting of introductions to managers of large firms, to the directors of railway and shipping companies; in fact, to all the leaders of Tokio's various social movements. Call on the different ministries, and do not omit to make the acquaintance of the chiefs of the numerous political parties, whom you will find marvellously well informed on political matters, and generally very interesting. And witness some of the sittings of Parliament and a few public assemblies and meetings of shareholders. In short, my last word of advice would be, do not go with the idea of idling, but of studying, in Tokio; and in this case you may not think it pretty, but unquestionably you will realize that it is one of the most interesting cities in the whole wide world.

If Japan has proved herself a very clever scholar of the West, the West on its side can learn a great deal today from Japan. In this respect we could not find a better object-lesson than the Imperial capital, Tokio.

XII

THE EMPEROR AND EMPRESS OF JAPAN AT THE YEDDO PALACE

It is snowing. The white flakes fall persistently, and are driven round and round in whirlwinds. Looking out of my window the landscape is cold and dreary. The large square roofs of the houses and the trees are covered with a heavy white mantle.

In no direction can a single soul be seen. It is as if the whole town and the inhabitants had gone into their winter sleep; all is silent and dead under Nature's immaculate pall. I can scarcely believe that I am in the Land of the Rising Sun; it is so difficult to realize that this snowed-in city is the capital of Japan, as colour and glitter form the two main features in our primary conception of Nippon's Island.

We expect to see the brilliant shades of the bright pictures and rich embroideries and heavy silks of Japan even more brilliant under the beams of this Eastern sun, as it is represented on the national flag.

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The European hopes to find Japan above all an Asiatic, even an exotic country. He wants something like the bazaars of Cairo or Ceylon's palm-groves, tropical like the wildernesses of Java, and ever-blooming like Burmah's gardens. Arriving at Tokio, disappointment in this respect is general, for Tokio is neither bright nor artistic. In fact, the capital of Japan is one of the most colourless and prosaic places on the globe.

Its buildings are nearly all of logs of wood--planks nailed to each other--without any external ornamentation; to commend their style or taste is impossible, for most of the houses have not even an attractive appearance. The old pagodas and the historic temples make an exception to the general rule, but their number is limited, and they are hidden by the groves of centuries.

The general impression of the town is monotonous, and what makes it even more so is that the houses are, as a rule, only one storey high, and the unpainted wood they are constructed of assumes in time a weather-beaten hue; in fact, the outline is only broken by an innumerable number of telegraph-poles. I never saw more poles and beams and masts of different height piercing the sky.

I was rather sorry to have such a cold morning for the day of the audience graciously accorded to me by the Emperor. I must confess that I should have preferred a warm, bright day in the late spring, when everything is in blossom, every corner full of flowers, and Japan looks more as it is pictured on its rich screens and artistic fans.

It is still quite early when the large, heavy barouche belonging to our legation comes to fetch me, and the two strong, well-bred, native horses have hard work to get through the snow-covered streets. Our way is uninteresting; the thoroughfares are too wide altogether, and the small houses on both sides are dwarfed and insignificant.

But we also pass some large modern buildings, American brick-and-steel erections. These are public offices and banks, and make a rather unpleasant contrast in the calm scenery. For some time we skirt a large canal partly frozen over; this forms the outer moat of the Imperial castle.

We stop before a large gate. It is opened at once, and a detachment of small but well-set-up Japanese soldiers present arms. Next comes a bridge, a new stone construction, ornamented with huge candelabra, without much architectural beauty, and without any Japanese flavour. But it leads to a magnificent avenue of cryptomerea, each tree a giant, and all of them of venerable age, their trunks covered with dark moss, and their foliage forming an emerald arch--emerald set in crystals, for their branches are heavily laden with frost.

The avenue looks like a corner of the famous Tokaido highway, the Japanese main artery for centuries, where the whole country wandered--rich and poor, mighty and humble, from Kioto to Tokio, from the Mikado's to the Shogun's Court, the Daimios with their retinues in gold and silver; where, too, all the warriors rode in their rich armour, and all the troops marched to war, or home to rest; where all the pilgrims walked to the famous shrines of Nara and Nikko.

This avenue, leading to the palace, affords compensation for all the inartistic streets outside the walls. I am even glad that it is covered with snow, and that its sole inhabitants are a few gardeners shovelling the ice aside. The dark trees and the white snow, and these few men clad in straw capes looking very much like the back of a porcupine, and wearing hats like flat tea-trays, are so original and so typical. At last I have a real Japanese picture before me, and not one of those we get at home highly coloured and made partly for the cheap Western markets, but a picture full of harmony in an artistic setting, like one of those famous Kakomenos in black and white by the most celebrated disciples of the great Kano school.

A sharp turn brings us to an open space, and the palace is in front of us.

I am afraid "palace" is not the right expression, as it looks from the outside like a large Indian bungalow. It is only one storey high, mainly constructed of wood and beams, scarcely ornamental, and covered with a sloping roof of indifferent tiles. There is nothing striking about it, nothing that would attract attention, nothing that is at all imposing; it looks comfortable and nothing more.

The carriage stops before a flight of steps leading to a simple but spacious ante-room. There is a large table on which are the Imperial visiting-books, a few chairs; round the room stand some servants, dressed in ordinary French livery. I am shown through a long corridor, which is Japanese in character. It has no furniture at all; the beams are carved, and if not imposing are perfect in detail. The large drawing-room, where we sit down, is entirely modern.

The furniture is such as you would see anywhere in Europe, and specially in America--rich, but without any special style or individuality, the only exceptions being a fine cabinet of priceless old lacquer ware, and a large golden screen ornamented with an enormous dragon and signed "Kano Montonabu."

I was rather sorry that the decorations of the whole room did not adhere to the national taste. I should have liked to banish every gilded bracket and velvet lounge, and restore it to its original simplicity--such simplicity as is to be found in the Katsura Palace at Kioto.

The Emperor is a late riser, and until he is ready Baron S----a keeps me company. He speaks perfect English, having studied in England for many years; and, even more, he married an English lady whose house has become the meeting-place of all Western and local celebrities.

It is a charming villa, looking very much like an English cottage, and overlooking one of the prettiest corners of the Bay of Tokio; full of English books and Japanese art treasures--English comfort and Japanese taste--it is one of those homes that one remembers with pleasure, and looks forward to seeing again.

The Baron is certainly a most accomplished Master of Ceremonies; he has all the gentleness of old Japanese manners, and all the culture of Japanese civility, and performs his somewhat tedious duties as if they gave him a personal pleasure.

There are several other gentlemen in attendance--the Lord Chamberlain, also a few A.D.C.'s and chamberlains-in-waiting. They are all wearing Court dresses of dark blue, or of red with gold lace.

His Majesty receives me in his private apartment, whither I am escorted through endless passages. The nearer we get, the colder is the temperature. All the reception-rooms are heated with water-pipes to suit Western taste, but in the Imperial rooms there are only old-fashioned braziers. The reception-room is small, typically Japanese, has no windows, but only sliding screens, and is denuded of all furniture. The Mikado is standing in the centre, and for the occasion is wearing the uniform of a general of his army, consisting of a dark blue tunic, and even darker red trousers; and as a kind attention he wears the diamond-set star of St. Stephen, first King of Hungary. He is surrounded by his staff and several A.D.C.'s, and throughout, the formalities are carried out with perfect Court ceremonial.

His Majesty shakes hands in a military fashion and at once puts me at my ease by asking questions. First, he wants to hear about my country and our venerable monarch.