former colleagues who have risen to eminence—kiderlin-waechter—aehrenthal—colonel klepsch—the discomfiture of an inquisitive journalist—origin of certain russian scares—tokyo—dulness of geisha dinners—japanese culinary curiosities—"musical chairs"—lack of colour in japan—the tokugawa dynasty—japanese gardens—the transplanted suburban embassy house—cherry-blossom—japanese politeness—an unfortunate incident in rome—eastern courtesy—the country in japan—an imperial duck catching party—an up-to-date tokyo house—a shinto temple—linguistic difficulties at a dinner-party—the economical colleague—japan defaced by advertisements.
petrograd was the only capital at which i was stationed in which there was a diplomatic table d'hôte. in one of the french restaurants there, a room was specially set apart for the diplomats, and here the "chers collègues" foregathered nightly, when they had no other engagements. when a spaniard and a dane, a roumanian and a dutchman, a hungarian and an englishman dine together frequently, it becomes a subject of thankfulness that the universal use of the french language as a means of international communication has mitigated the linguistic difficulties brought about by the ambitious tower-builders of babel.
two men whom i met frequently at that diplomatic table d'hôte rose afterwards to important
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positions in their own countries. they were baron von kiderlin-waechter, the german, and baron von aehrenthal, the austrian, both of whom became ministers for foreign affairs in their respective countries, and both of whom are now dead. kiderlin-waechter arrived in petrograd as quite a young man with the reputation of being bismarck's favourite and most promising pupil. though a south german by birth, kiderlin-waechter had acquired an overbearing and dictatorial manner of the most approved prussian type. when a number of young men, all of whom are on very friendly terms with each other, constantly meet, there is naturally a good deal of fun and chaff passed to and fro between them. diplomats are no exception to this rule, and the fact that the ten young men talking together may be of ten different nationalities is no bar to the interchange of humorous personalities, thanks to the convenient french language, which lends itself peculiarly to "persiflage."
germans can never understand the form of friendly banter which we term chaff, and always resent it deeply. i have known german diplomats so offended at a harmless joke that they have threatened to challenge the author of it to a duel. i should like to pay a belated tribute to the memory of the late count lovendal, danish minister in petrograd; peace to his ashes! this kindly, tactful, middle-aged man must during my time in petrograd have stopped at least eight duels. people in trouble went straight to count lovendal, and this
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shrewd, kind-hearted, experienced man of the world heard them with infinite patience, and then always gave them sound advice. as years went on, count lovendal came to be a sort of recognised court of honour, to whom all knotty and delicate points were referred. he, if anyone, should have "blessed are the peacemakers" inscribed on his tomb. at least four of the duels he averted were due to the inability of germans to stand chaff. kiderlin-waechter, for instance, was for ever taking offence at harmless jokes, and threatening swords and pistols in answer to them. he was a very big, gross-looking, fair-haired man; with exactly the type of face that a caricaturist associates with the average prussian.
his face was slashed with a generous allowance of the scars of which germans are so proud, as testifying to their prowess in their student-duelling days. i think that it was the late sir wilfrid lawson who, referring to the beer-drinking habits of german students and their passionate love of face-slashing, described them as living in a perpetual atmosphere of "scars and swipes." though from south germany, kiderlin snapped out his words with true "preussische grobheit" in speaking german. fortunately, it is impossible to obtain this bullying effect in the french language. it does not lend itself to it. i should be guilty of exaggeration were i to say that kiderlin-waechter was wildly adored by his foreign colleagues. he became minister for foreign affairs of the german
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empire, but made the same mistake as some of his predecessors, notably count herbert bismarck, had done. they attributed bismarck's phenomenal success to his habitual dictatorial, bullying manner. this was easily copied; they forgot the genius behind the bully, which could not be copied, and did not realise that bismarck's tremendous brain had not fallen to their portion. kiderlin-waechter's tenure of office was a short one; he died very suddenly in 1912. he was a violent anglophobe.
baron von aehrenthal was a very different stamp of man. he was of semitic origin, and in appearance was a good-looking, tall, slim, dark young fellow with very pleasing manners. some people indeed thought his manners too pleasant, and termed them subservient. i knew aehrenthal very well indeed, and liked him, but i never suspected that under that very quiet exterior there lay the most intense personal ambition. he became austro-hungarian minister for foreign affairs in 1907, being raised to the rank of count next year. this quiet, sleepy-mannered man began embarking on a recklessly bold foreign policy, and, to the surprise of those who fancied that they knew him well, exhibited a most domineering spirit. the old emperor francis joseph's mental powers were failing, and it was aehrenthal who persuaded him to put an end to the understanding with russia under which the status quo in the balkan states was guaranteed, and to astonish europe in 1908 by proclaiming the annexation of bosnia and herzegovina
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to the austrian empire. this step, owing to the seething discontent it aroused in bosnia, led directly to the catastrophe of sarajevo on june 28, 1914, and plunged europe into the most terrible war of history. aehrenthal, whether intentionally or not, played directly into the hands of the pan-germanic party, and succeeded in tying his own country, a pliant vassal, to the chariot-wheels of berlin. it was aehrenthal who brought the immemorially old hapsburg monarchy crashing to the ground and by his foreign policy caused the proud austrian empire to collapse like a house of cards. he did not live to see the final results of his work, for he died in 1912.
colonel klepsch, the austro-hungarian military attaché at petrograd, another habitué of the diplomatic table d'hôte, was a most remarkable man. he knew more of the real state of affairs in russia, and of the inner workings and intentions of the russian government, than any other foreigner in the country, and his information was invariably correct. nearly all the foreign ambassadors consulted colonel klepsch as to the probable trend of affairs in russia, and at times he called on them and volunteered pieces of information. it was well known that his source of intelligence was a feminine one, and experience had proved that it was always to be relied upon. to this day i do not know whether this mysterious, taciturn man was at times used as a convenient mouthpiece by the russian government, at the instigation of a
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certain person to whom he was devotedly attached; whether he acted on instructions from his own ambassador, or if he took the steps he did on his own initiative. this tall, red-haired, silent man, with his uncanny knowledge of every detail of what was happening in the country, will always remain an enigma to me.
i mentioned earlier in these reminiscences that lord dufferin on one occasion accomplished the difficult feat of turning an english newspaper correspondent out of his house with the most charming courtesy.
after an interval of nearly forty years, i can without indiscretion say how this came about. the person in question, whom we will call mr. q., was an exceedingly enterprising journalist, the correspondent of a big london daily. he was also pretty unscrupulous as to the methods he employed in gathering information. it is quite obviously the duty of a newspaper correspondent to collect information for his paper. it is equally clearly the duty of those to whom official secrets are entrusted to prevent their becoming public property; so here we have conflicting interests. at times it happens that an "incident" arises between two governments apparently trivial in itself, but capable of being fanned into such a fierce flame by popular opinion as to make it difficult for either government to recede from the position they had originally taken up. the press screams loudly on both sides, and every government shrinks from
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incurring the unpopularity which a charge of betraying the national interests would bring upon it. experience has shown that in these cases the difficulties can usually be smoothed down, provided the whole matter be kept secret, and that neither the public nor the press of either of the two countries concerned have an inkling of the awkward situation that has arisen. an indiscreet or hysterical press can blow a tiny spark into a roaring conflagration and work up popular feeling to fever-pitch. it may surprise people to learn that barely twenty years ago such a situation arose between our own country and another european power (not germany). those in charge of the negotiations on both sides very wisely determined that the matter should be concealed absolutely from the public and the press of both countries, and not one word about it was allowed to leak out. otherwise the situation might have been one of extreme gravity, for it was again one of those cases where neither government could give way without being accused of pusillanimity. as it was, the matter was settled amicably in a week, and to this day very few people know that this very serious difficulty ever occurred.
nearly forty years ago, just such a situation had arisen between us and the russian government; but the ambassador was convinced that he could smooth it away provided that the whole thing were kept secret.
mr. q. was a first-rate journalist, and his flair
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as a newspaperman told him that something was wrong. from the russians he could learn nothing; they were as close as wax; so mr. q. turned his attention to the chancery of the british embassy. his methods were simple. he gained admission to the chancery on some pretext or another, and then walking about the room, and talking most volubly, he cast a roving eye over any papers that might be lying about on the tables. in all chanceries a book called the register is kept in which every document received or sent out is entered, with, of course, its date, and a short summary of its contents. it is a large book, and reposes on its own high desk. ours stood in a window overlooking the neva. mr. q. was not troubled with false delicacy. under pretence of admiring the view over the river, he attempted to throw a rapid eye over the register. a colleague of mine, as a gentle hint, removed the register from under mr. q.'s very nose, and locked it up in the archive press. mr. q., however, was not thin-skinned. he came back again and again, till the man became a positive nuisance. we always cleared away every paper before he was allowed admittance. i was only twenty-two or twenty-three then, and i devised a strictly private scheme of my own for mr. q.'s discomfiture. all despatches received from the foreign office in those days were kept folded in packets of ten, with a docket on each, giving a summary of its contents. i prepared two despatches for mr. q.'s private eye and, after much
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cogitation, settled that they should be about afghanistan, which did not happen to be the particular point in dispute between the two governments at that time. i also decided on a rhyming docket. it struck me as a pleasing novelty, and i thought the jingle would impress itself on mr. q.'s memory, for he was meant to see this bogus despatch. i took eight sheets of foolscap, virgin, spotless, unblackened, folded them in the orthodox fashion, and docketed them in a way i remember to this day. it ran: first the particular year, then "foreign office no. 3527. secret and confidential. dated march 3. received march 11." then came the rhyming docket,
"general kaufman's rumoured plan
to make abdurrahman khan
ruler of afghanistan."
under that i wrote in red ink in a different hand, with a fine pen,
"urgent. instructions already acted on. see further instructions re afghanistan in no. 3534."
i was only twenty-two then, and my sense of responsibility was not fully developed, or i should not have acted so flightily. it still strikes me though as an irresistibly attractive baited hook to offer to an inquisitive newspaperman. i grieve to say that i also wrote a "fake" decypher of a purely apocryphal code telegram purporting to have come from london. this was also on the subject of
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afghanistan. it struck me at the time as a perfectly legitimate thing to do, in order to throw this paul pry off the scent, for the ambassador had impressed on us all the vital importance of not disclosing the real matter in dispute. i put these flagrant forgeries in a drawer of my table and waited. i had not to wait long. my colleagues having all gone out to luncheon, i was alone in the chancery one day, when mr. q.'s card was brought in to me. i kept him waiting until i had cleared every single despatch from the tables and had locked them up. i also locked up the register, but put an eight-year-old one, exactly similar in appearance, in its place, opening it at a date two days earlier than the actual date, in order that mr. q. might not notice that the page (and "to-morrow's" page as well) was already filled up, and the bogus despatch and fake telegram from my drawer were duly laid on the centre table. at twenty-two i was a smooth-faced youth, in appearance, i believe, much younger than my real age. mr. q. came in. he had the "well, old man" style, accompanied by a thump on the back, which i peculiarly detest. he must have blessed his luck in finding such a simple youth in sole charge of the chancery. mr. q. pursued his usual tactics. he talked volubly in a loud voice, walking about the room meanwhile. the idiotic boy smoked cigarettes, and gaped inanely. mr. q. went as usual to the window where the register lay in order to admire the view, and the pudding-brained youth noticed nothing, but lit
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a fresh cigarette. that young fool never saw that mr. paul pry read unblushingly half a column of the eight-year-old register (how it must have puzzled him!) under his very eyes. mr. q. then went to the centre table, where he had, of course, noticed the two papers lying, and proceeded to light a cigar. that cigar must have drawn very badly, for mr. q. had occasion to light it again and again, bending well over the table as he did so. he kept the unsuspicious youth engaged in incessant conversation meanwhile. so careless and stupid a boy ought never to have been left in charge of important documents. finally mr. q., having gained all the information for which he had been thirsting so long, left in a jubilant frame of mind, perfectly unconscious that he had been subjected to the slightest crural tension.
when the councillor of embassy returned, i made a clean breast of what i had done, and showed him the bogus despatch and telegram i had contrived. quite rightly, i received a very severe reprimand. i was warned against ever acting in such an irregular fashion again, under the direst penalties. in extenuation, i pointed out to the councillor that the inquisitive mr. q. was now convinced that our difficulty with russia was over afghanistan.
i further added that should anyone be dishonourable enough to come into the chancery and deliberately read confidential documents which he knew were not intended for his eye, i clearly could not
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be held responsible for any false impressions he might derive from reading them. that, i was told sharply, was no excuse for my conduct. after this "official wigging," the councillor invited me to dine with him that night, when we laughed loudly over mr. q.'s discomfiture. that person became at length such a nuisance that "his name was put on the gate," and he was refused admission to the embassy.
the great london daily which mr. q. represented at petrograd published some strong articles on the grave menace to the empire which a change of rulers in afghanistan might bring about; coupled with cassandra-like wails over the purblind british statesmen who were wilfully shutting their eyes to this impending danger, as well as to baneful russian machinations on our indian frontier. there were also some unflattering allusions to abdurrahman khan. i, knowing that the whole story had originated in my own brain, could not restrain a chuckle whilst perusing these jeremiads. after reading some particularly violent screed, the councillor of embassy would shake his head at me. "this is more of your work, you wretched boy!" after an interval of forty years this little episode can be recounted without harm.
talking of newspaper enterprise, many years later, when the emperor alexander iii died, the editor of a well-known london evening paper, a great friend of mine, told me in confidence of a journalistic "scoop" he was meditating. alexander iii
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had died at livadia in the crimea, and his body was to make a sort of triumphal progress through russia. the editor (he is no longer with us, but when i term him "harry" i shall be revealing his identity to the few) was sending out a frenchman as special correspondent, armed with a goodly store of roubles, and instructions to get himself engaged as temporary assistant to the undertaker in charge of the emperor's funeral. this cost, i believe, a considerable sum, but the frenchman, having entered on his gruesome duties, was enabled to furnish the london evening paper with the fullest details of all the funeral ceremonies.
the reason the younger diplomats foregathered so in petrograd was that, as i said before, petrograd was to all intents and purposes extra-european. apart from its charming society, the town, qua town, offered but few resources. the younger continental diplomats felt the entire absence of cafés, of music-halls, and of places of light entertainment very acutely; so they were thrown on each other's society. in far eastern posts such as pekin or tokyo, the diplomats live entirely amongst themselves. for a european, there are practically no resources whatever in tokyo. no one could possibly wish to frequent a japanese theatre, or a japanese restaurant, when once the novelty had worn off, and even geisha entertainments are deadly dull to one who cannot understand a word of the language. let us imagine a party of europeans arriving at some fashionable
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japanese restaurant for a geisha entertainment. they will, of course, remove their shoes before proceeding upstairs. i was always unfortunate enough to find on these occasions one or more holes in my socks gaping blatantly. in time one learns in japan to subject one's socks to a close scrutiny in order to make sure that they are intact, for everyone must be prepared to remove his shoes at all hours of the day. we will follow the europeans up to a room on the upper floor, tastefully arranged in japanese fashion, and spotlessly neat and clean. the temperature in this room in the winter months would be arctic, with three or four "fire-pots" containing a few specks of mildly-glowing charcoal waging a futile contest against the penetrating cold.
the room is apparently empty, but from behind the sliding-panels giggles and titters begin, gradually increasing in volume until the panels slide back, and a number of self-conscious overdressed children step into the room, one taking her place beside each guest. these are "micos"; little girls being trained as professional geishas. the european conception of a geisha is a totally wrong one. they are simply entertainers; trained singers, dancers, and story-tellers. the guests seat themselves clumsily and uncomfortably on the floor and the dinner begins. japanese dishes are meant to please the eye, which is fortunate, for they certainly do not appeal to the palate. i invariably drew one of the big pots of flowers which always
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decorate these places close up to me, and consigned to its kindly keeping all the delicacies of the japanese cuisine which were beyond my assimilative powers, such as slices of raw fish sprinkled with sugar, and seasoned with salted ginger. the tiresome little micos kept up an incessant chatter. their stories were doubtless extraordinarily humorous to anyone understanding japanese, but were apt to lose their point for those ignorant of the language. the abortive attempts of the europeans to eat with chopsticks afforded endless amusement to these bedizened children; they shook with laughter at seeing all the food slide away from these unaccustomed table implements. not till the dinner was over did the geishas proper make their appearance. in japan the amount of bright colour in a woman's dress varies in inverse ratio to her moral rectitude. as our geishas were all habited in sober mouse-colour, or dull neutral-blue, i can only infer that they were ladies of the very highest respectability. they were certainly wonderfully attractive little people. they were not pretty according to our standards, but there was a vivacity and a sort of air of dainty grace about them that were very captivating. their singing is frankly awful. i have heard four-footed musicians on the london tiles produce sweeter sounds, but their dancing is graceful to a degree. unfortunately, one of the favourite amusements of these charming and vivacious little people is to play "musical chairs"—without any chairs! they made all the
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european men follow them round and round the room whilst two geishas thrummed on a sort of guitar. as soon as the music stopped everyone was expected to sit down with a bang on the floor, to these little japs five feet high, the process was easy, and may have seemed good fun; to a middle-aged gentleman, "vir pietate gravis," these violent shocks were more than painful, and i failed to derive the smallest amusement from them. no japanese dinner would be complete without copious miniature cups of sake. this rice-spirit is always drunken hot; it is not disagreeable to the taste, being like warm sherry with a dash of methylated spirit thrown in, but the little sake bottles and cups are a joy to the eye. this innately artistic people delight to lavish loving care in fashioning minute objects; many english drawing-rooms contain sake bottles in enamel or porcelain ranged in cabinets as works of art. their form would be more familiar to most people than their use. japanese always seem to look on a love of colour as showing rather vulgar tastes. the more refined the individual, the more will he adhere to sober black and white and neutral tints in his house and personal belongings. the emperor's palace in kyoto is decorated entirely in black and white, with unpainted, unlacquered woodwork, and no colour anywhere. the kyoto palace of the great tokugawa family, on the other hand, a place of astounding beauty, blazes with gilding, enamels, and lacquer, as do all the tombs and temples erected by this dynasty. the tokugawas usurped power as
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shoguns in 1603, reducing the mikado to a mere figure-head as spiritual ruler, and the shoguns ruled japan absolutely until 1868, when they were overthrown, and shogun and mikado were merged into one under the title of emperor. i fancy that the japanese look upon the polychrome splendour of all the buildings erected by the tokugawas as proof that they were very inferior to the ancient dynasty, who contented themselves with plain buildings severely decorated in black and white. the lack of colour in japan is very noticeable on arriving from untidy, picturesque china. the beautiful neatness and cleanliness of japan are very refreshing after slovenly china, but the endless rows of little brown, unpainted, tidy houses, looking like so many rabbit hutches, are depressing to a degree. the perpetual earthquakes are responsible for the low elevation of these houses and also for their being invariably built of wood, as is indeed everything else in the country. i was immensely disappointed at the sight of the first temples i visited in japan. the forms were beautiful enough, but they were all of unpainted wood, without any colour whatever, and looked horribly neutral-tinted. all the famous temples of kyoto are of plain, unpainted, unvarnished wood. the splendid group of temples at nikko are the last word in japanese art. they glow with colour; with scarlet and black lacquer, gilding, enamels, and bronzes, every detail finished like jewellers' work with exquisite craftmanship, and they are amongst the most
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beautiful things in the world; but they were all erected by the tokugawa dynasty, as were the equally superb temples in the shiba park at tokyo. this family seemed determined to leave japan less colourless than they found it; in their great love for scarlet lacquer they must have been the first people who thought of painting a town red.
the same lack of colour is found in the gardens. i had pictured a japanese garden as a dream of beauty, so when i was shewn a heap of stones interspersed with little green shrubs and dwarf trees, without one single flower, i was naturally disappointed, nor had i sufficient imagination to picture a streak of whitewash daubed down a rock as a quivering cascade of foaming water. "our gardens, sir," said my host, "are not intended to inspire hilarit .. ee, but rather to create a gentle melanchol .. ee." as regards myself, his certainly succeeded in its object.
a friend of mine, whose gardens, not a hundred miles from london, are justly famous, takes immense pride in her japanese garden, as she fondly imagines it to be. at the time of king george's coronation she invited the special japanese envoys to luncheon, for the express purpose of showing them her gardens afterwards. she kept the japanese garden to the last as a bonne-bouche, half-expecting these children of the land of the rising sun to burst into happy tears at this reminder of their distant island home. the special envoys thanked her with true japanese politeness, and loudly
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expressed their delight at seeing a real english garden. they added that they had never even imagined anything like this in japan, and begged for a design of it, in order that they might create a real english garden in their native land on their return home.
as i have said, no japanese woman can wear bright colours without sacrificing her moral reputation, but little girls may wear all the colours of the rainbow until they are eight years old or so. these little girls, with their hair cut straight across their forehead, are very attractive-looking creatures, whereas a japanese boy, with his cropped head, round face, and projecting teeth, is the most comically hideous little object imaginable. these children's appearance is spoilt by an objectionable superstition which decrees it unlucky to use a pocket-handkerchief on a child until he, or she, is nine years old. the result is unspeakably deplorable.
the interior of our embassy at tokyo was rather a surprise. owing to the constant earthquakes in tokyo and yokohama, all the buildings have to be of wood. the british embassy was built in london (i believe by a very well-known firm in tottenham court road), and was shipped out to japan complete down to its last detail. the architect who designed it unhappily took a glorified suburban villa as his model. so the tokyo embassy house is an enlarged "belmont," or "the cedars," or "tokyo towers." every
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familiar detail is there; the tiled hall, the glazed door into the garden, and the heavy mahogany chimneypieces and overmantels. in the library with its mahogany book-cases, green morocco chairs, and green plush curtains, it was difficult to realise that one was not in hampstead or upper tooting. i always felt that i was quite out of the picture unless i sallied forth at 9 a.m. with a little black bag in my hand, and returned at 6 p.m. with some fish in a bass-basket. in spite of being common-place, the house was undeniably comfortable. everything japanese was rigidly excluded from it. that in far-off lands is very natural. people do not care to be reminded perpetually of the distance they are away from home. in calcutta the maidan, the local hyde park, has nothing eastern about it. except in the eden gardens in one corner of it, where there is a splendid tangle of tropical vegetation, there is not one single palm tree on the maidan. the broad sweeps of turf, clumps of trees, and winding roads make an excellent imitation of hyde park transferred to the banks of the hooghly, and this is intentional. there is one spot in particular, where the tall gothic spire of st. paul's cathedral rises out of a clump of trees beyond a great tank (it may be pointed out that "tank" in india does not refer to a clumsy, mobile engine of destruction, but is the word used for a pool or pond), which might be in kensington gardens but for the temperature. the average briton likes to be reminded of his home, and generally manages to carry
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it about with him somehow. the russian embassy at tokyo had been built in the same way in paris and sent out, and was a perfect reproduction of a french louis xv house. the garden of the british embassy had one striking feature which i have seen nowhere else; hedges of clipped camellias, four feet high. when these blossomed in the spring, they looked like solid walls of pink, crimson, or white flowers, a really beautiful sight!
some former british minister had planted the public roads round the embassy with avenues of the pink-flowering cherry, as a present to the city of tokyo. the japanese affect to look down on the pink cherry, when compared to their adored white cherry-blossom, i suppose because there is colour in it. certainly the acres of white cherry-blossom in the uyeno park at tokyo are one of the sights of japan. in no other country in the world would the railways run special trains to enable the country-people to see the cherries in full bloom in this uyeno park. the blossom is only supposed to be at its best for three days. in no other country either would people flock by hundreds to a temple, as they did at kyoto, to look at a locally-famed contrast of red plum-blossom against dark-brown maple leaves. i liked these japanese country-people. the scrupulously neat old peasant women, with their grey hair combed carefully back, and their rosy faces, were quite attractive. their intense ceremonious politeness to each other always amused me. whole family parties would continue
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bowing to each other for ten minutes on end at railway stations, sucking their breath, and rubbing their knees. when they had finished, someone would recommence, and the whole process would have to be gone through again, the children sucking their breath louder even than their elders. anybody who has lived in a warm climate must be familiar with the curious sound of thousands of frogs croaking at once in a pond or marsh at night-time. the sound of hundreds of japanese wooden clogs clattering against the tiles of a railway platform is exactly like that. in the big shimbashi station at tokyo, as the clogs pattered over the tiles, by shutting my eyes i could imagine that i was listening to a frogs' orchestra in some large marsh.
excessive politeness brings at times its own penalty. at the beginning of these reminiscences i have related how i went with a special embassy to rome in my extreme youth. the day before our departure from rome, king humbert gave a farewell luncheon party at the quirinal to the special british ambassador and his suite, including of course myself. at this luncheon a somewhat comical incident occurred.
when we took our leave, queen margherita, then still radiantly beautiful, offered her hand first to the special british ambassador. he, a courtly and gallant gentleman of the old school, at once dropped on one knee, in spite of his age, and kissed the queen's hand "in the grand manner." the permanent british ambassador, the late sir augustus paget,
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most courteous and genial of men, followed his temporary colleague's example, and also dropped on one knee. the italian ministers present could not do less than follow the lead of the foreigners, or show themselves less courteous than the forestieri, so they too had perforce to drop on one knee whilst kissing the queen's hand. a hugely obese minister, buttoned into the tightest of frockcoats, approached the queen. with immense difficulty he lowered himself on to one knee, and kissed the royal hand; but no power on earth seemed equal to raising him to his feet again. the corpulent minister grew purple in the face; the most ominous sounds of the rending of cloth and linen re-echoed through the room; but still he could not manage to rise. the queen held out her hand to assist her husband's adipose adviser to regain his feet, but he was too dignified, or too polite, to accept it. the rending of the statesman's most intimate garments became more audible than ever; the portly minister seemed on the verge of an attack of apoplexy. it must be understood that the queen was standing alone before the throne, with this unfortunate dignitary kneeling before her; the remainder of the guests were standing in a semi-circle some twenty feet away. the queen's mouth began to twitch ominously, until, in spite of her self-control, after a few preliminary splutters of involuntary merriment, she broke down, and absolutely shook with laughter. sir augustus paget and a roman prince came up and saved the situation by raising, with infinite difficulty, the unfortunate
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italian statesman to his feet. as he resumed a standing position, a perfect niagara of oddments of apparel, of tags and scraps of his most private under-garments, rained upon the floor, and we all experienced a feeling of intense relief when this capable, if corpulent, cabinet minister was enabled to regain the background with all his clothing outwardly intact.
and all this came about from an excess of politeness. the east has always been the land of flowery compliments, also the land of hyperbole. i once saw the answer the viceroy of india had received from a certain tributary prince, who had been reprimanded in the sharpest fashion by the government of india. the native prince had been warned in the bluntest of language that unless he mended his ways at once he would be forthwith deposed, and another ruler put in his place. a list of his recent enormities was added, in order to refresh his memory, and the warning as to the future was again emphasized. the prince's answer, addressed direct to the viceroy, began as follows:
"your excellency's gracious message has reached me. it was more precious to the eyes than a casket of rubies; sweeter to the taste than a honeycomb; more delightful to the ears than the song of ten thousand nightingales. i spread it out before me, and read it repeatedly: each time with renewed pleasure."
considering the nature of the communication, that native prince must have been of a touchingly grateful disposition.
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the late duke of edinburgh was once presented with an address at hong kong from the corporation of chinese merchants, in which he was told, amongst other things, that he "was more glorious than a phoenix sitting in a crimson nest with fourteen golden tails streaming behind him." surely a charming flight of fancy!
true politeness in china demands that you should depreciate everything of your own and exalt everything belonging to your correspondent. thus, should you be asking a friend to dinner, you would entreat him "to leave for one evening the silver and alabaster palace in which you habitually dwell, and to condescend to honour the tumble-down vermin-ridden hovel in which i drag out a wretched existence. furthermore, could you forget for one evening the bird's-nest soup, the delicious sea-slugs, and the plump puppy-dogs on which you habitually feast, and deign to poke your head into my swill-trough, and there devour such loathsome garbage as a starving dog would reject, i shall feel unspeakably honoured." the answer will probably come in some such form as this: "with rapturous delight have i learnt that, thanks to your courtesy, i may escape from the pestilential shanty i inhabit, and pass one unworthy evening in a glorious palace of crystal and gold in your company. after starving for months on putrid offal, i shall at length banquet on unimagined delicacies, etc." should it be a large dinner-party, it must tax the host's ingenuity to vary the self-depreciatory epithets sufficiently.
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the mention of food reminds me that it is an acute difficulty to the stranger in japan, should he wander off the beaten track and away from european hotels. japanese use neither bread, butter, nor milk, and these things, as well as meat, are unprocurable in country districts. europeans miss bread terribly, and the japanese substitute of cold rice is frankly horrible. instead of the snowy piles of smoking-hot, beautifully cooked rice of india, rice in japan means a cold, clammy, gelatinous mass, hideously distasteful to a european interior. that, eggs, and tea like a decoction of hay constitute the standard menu of a japanese country inn. i never saw either a sheep or cow in japan, as there is no pasture. the universal bamboo-grass, with its sharp edges, pierces the intestines of any animal feeding on it, and so is worse than useless as fodder for cattle or sheep. all milk and butter are imported in a frozen state from australia, but do not, of course, penetrate beyond europe-fashion hotels, as the people of the country do not care for them.
the exquisite neatness of japanese farm houses, with their black and white walls, thatched roofs, and trim little bamboo fences and gates, is a real joy to the eye of one who has grown accustomed to the slipshod untidy east, or even to the happy-go-lucky methods of the american continent. i never remember a japanese village unequipped with either electric light or telephones. i really think geographers must have placed the 180th degree in the wrong place, and that japs are really
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the most western of westerns, instead of being the most eastern of easterns. pretty and attractive as the japanese country is, its charm was spoilt for me by the almost total absence of bird and animal life. there are hardly any wild flowers either, except deliciously fragrant wild violets. being in japan, it is hardly necessary to say that these violets, instead of being of the orthodox colour, are bright yellow. they would be in japan. this quaint people who only like trees when they are contorted, who love flowerless gardens, whose grass kills cattle, who have evolved peach, plum and cherry trees which flower gloriously but never bear any fruit, would naturally have yellow violets. they are certainly a wonderfully hardy race. i was at beautiful nikko in the early spring when they were building a dam across the nikko river. the stream has a tremendous current, and is ice-cold. men were working at the dam up to their waists in the icy river, and little boys kept bringing them baskets of building stones, up to their necks in the swift current. both men and boys issued from the river as scarlet as lobsters from the intense cold, and yet they stood about quite unconcernedly in their dripping thin cotton clothes in the keen wind. had they been europeans, they would all have died of pneumonia in two days' time. a race must have great powers of endurance that live in houses with paper walls without any heating appliances during the sharp cold of a japanese winter, and that find thin cotton clothing sufficient for their wants.
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the outlines and pleasing details of those black and white country dwellings with the graceful curves of their roofs are a relief to the eye after the endless miles of ugly little brown rabbit hutches of the towns. at tokyo the enclosure and park of the emperor's palace lay just outside the gates of our embassy, surrounded by a moat so broad that it could be almost called a lake. it was curious in the heart of a town to see this moat covered with innumerable wild duck. although i have been in the imperial palace at kyoto, i was never inside the one at tokyo, so i cannot give any details about it. the glimpses one obtained from outside of its severe black and white outlines recalled a european mediæval castle, and had something strangely familiar about them. i was never fortunate enough either to be invited to an imperial duck-catching party, which i would have given anything to witness. the idea of catching wild duck in butterfly nets would never occur to anyone but the japanese. the place where this quaint amusement was indulged in was an extensive tract of flat ground intersected by countless reed-fringed little canals and waterways, much on the lines of a marsh in the norfolk broad district. i saw the ambassador on his return from a duck-catching party. with superhuman efforts, and a vast amount of exercise, he had managed to capture three ducks, and he told me that he had had to run like a hare to achieve even this modest success. all the guests were expected to appear in high hats and frock-coats
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on these occasions, and i should have dearly loved to see the ambassador arrayed in frock-coat and high hat bounding hot-foot over the marshes, his butterfly net poised aloft, in pursuit of his quacking quarry. the newspapers informed us the next day that the crown prince had headed the list as usual with a bag of twenty-seven ducks, and i always believe what i see in print. really europeans start heavily handicapped at this peculiar diversion. i have known many families in england where the sons of the house are instructed from a very early age in riding, and in the art of handling a gun and a trout rod, but even in the most sport-loving british families the science of catching wild duck in butterfly nets forms but seldom part of the sporting curriculum of the rising generation. though the imperial family are shintoists, i expect that the buddhist horror of taking animal life is at the bottom of this idea of duck-catching, for the ducks are, i believe, all set free again after their capture.
we always heard that the emperor and his family lived entirely on rice and fish in the frugal japanese fashion, and that they never tasted meat.
i had the opportunity of seeing a very fine house of sixty rooms, built in strict japanese style, and just completed. count mitsu is one of the few very wealthy men in japan; he can also trace his pedigree back for three thousand years. he had built this house in tokyo, and as it was supposed to be the last word in purity of style ("itchi-ban," or "number one," as the japanese express it), he very
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kindly invited the ambassador and myself to go all over it with him. we had, of course, to remove our shoes on entering, and my pleasure was somewhat marred by the discovery of a large hole in one sock, on which i fancied the gaze of the entire mitsu family was riveted. nothing can equal the high-bred courtesy and politeness of japanese of really ancient lineage. countess mitsu, of a family as old as her husband's, had a type of face which we do not usually associate with japan, and is only found in ladies of the imperial family and some others equally old. in place of the large head, full cheeks, and flat features of the ordinary japanese woman, countess mitsu and her daughters had thin faces with high aquiline features, giving them an extraordinarily high-bred and distinguished appearance. this great house consisted of a vast number of perfectly empty rooms, destitute of one single scrap of furniture. there was fine matting on the floor, a niche with one kakemono hanging in it, one bronze or other work of art, and a vase with one single flower, and nothing else whatever. the mitsus being a very high caste family, there was no colour anywhere. the decoration was confined to black and white and beautifully-finished, unpainted, unvarnished woodwork, except for the exquisitely chased bronze door-grips (door-handles would be an incorrect term for these grips to open and close the sliding panels). i must confess that i never saw a more supremely uncomfortable-looking dwelling in my life. the children's nurseries upstairs
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were a real joy. the panels had been painted by a japanese artist with everything calculated to amuse a child. there were pictures of pink and blue rabbits, purple frogs, scarlet porcupines, and grass-green guinea-pigs, all with the most comical expressions imaginable on their faces. the lamps were of fish-skin shaped over thin strips of bamboo into the form of the living fish, then highly coloured, and fitted with electric globes inside them; weird, luminous marine monsters! each child had a little chinese dressing-table of mother-of-pearl eighteen inches high, and a tub of real chinese "powder-blue" porcelain as a bath. the windows looked on to a fascinating dwarf garden ten feet square, with real waterfalls, tiny rivers of real water, miniature mountains and dwarf trees, all in perfect proportion. it was like looking at an extensive landscape through the wrong end of a telescope.
the polite infants who inhabited this child's paradise received us with immense courtesy, lying at full length on the floor on their little tummies, and wagging their little heads in salutation, till i really thought they would come off.
the most interesting thing in count mitsu's house was a beautiful little shinto temple of bronze-gold lacquer, where all the names of his many ancestors were inscribed on gilt tablets. here he and all his sons (women take no part in ancestor worship) came nightly, and made a full confession before the tablets of their ancestors of all they had done during the day; craving for pardon should
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they have acted in a fashion unworthy of their family and of japan. the count and his sons then lighted the little red lamps before the tablets of their forebears to show that they were not forgotten, and placed the exquisitely carved little ivory "ghost-ship" two inches long in its place, should any of their ancestors wish to return that night from the land of spirits to their old home.
the underlying idea of undying family affection is rather a beautiful one.
that same evening i went to a very interesting dinner-party at the house of prince arisugawa, a son-in-law of the emperor's. both the dinner and the house were on european lines, but the main point of interest was that it was a gathering of all the generals and admirals who had taken a prominent part in the russo-japanese war. i was placed between an admiral and a general, but found it difficult to communicate with them, japanese being conspicuously bad linguists. the general could speak a little fairly unintelligible german; the admiral could stutter a very little russian. it was a pity that the roads of communication were so blocked for us, for i shall probably never again sit between two men who had had such thrilling experiences. i cursed the builders of the tower of babel for erecting this linguistic barrier between us.
i found that i was a full head taller than all the japanese in the room. princess arisugawa appeared later. this tiny, dainty, graceful little lady
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had the same strongly aquiline type of features as countess mitsu, and the same high-bred look of distinction. she was beautifully dressed in european style, and had rue de la paix written all over her clothes and her jewels. i have seldom seen anyone with such taking graceful dignity as this daughter of the imperial house, in spite of her diminutive stature.
the old families in japan have a pretty custom of presenting every european guest with a little black-and-gold lacquer box, two inches high, full of sweetmeats, of the sort we called in my youth "hundreds and thousands." these little boxes bear on their tops in gold lacquer the badge or crest of the family, thus serving as permanent souvenirs.
in a small community such as the european diplomats formed at tokyo, the peculiarities and foibles of the "chers collègues" formed naturally an unending topic of conversation. there was one foreign representative who was determined to avoid bankruptcy, could the most rigorously careful regulation of his expenditure avert such a catastrophe. his official position forced him to give occasional dinner-parties, much, i imagine, against his inclinations. he always, in the winter months, borrowed all the available oil-stoves from his colleagues and friends, when one of these festivities was contemplated, in order to warm his official residence without having to go to the expense of fires. he had in some mad fit of extravagance bought two dozen of
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a really fine claret some years before. the wine had long since been drunk; the bottles he still retained with their labels. it was his custom to buy the cheapest and roughest red wine he could find, and then enshrine it in these old bottles with their mendacious labels. at his dinner-parties these time-worn bottles were always ranged down the tables. the evidence of palate and eye was conflicting. the palate (as far as it could discriminate through the awful reek with which the oil-stoves filled the room), pronounced it sour, immature vin ordinaire. the label on the bottle proclaimed it château margaux of 1874, actually bottled at the château itself. politeness dictated that we should compliment our host on this exquisite vintage, which had, perhaps, begun to feel (as we all do) the effects of extreme old age. a cynical dutch colleague might possibly hazard a few remarks, lamenting the effects of the japanese climate on "les premiers crus de bordeaux."
life at any post would be dull were it not for the little failings of the "chers collègues," which always give one something to talk of.
the japanese are ruining the beauty of their country by their insane mania for advertising. the railways are lined with advertisements; a beautiful hillside is desecrated by a giant advertisement, cut in the turf, and filled in with white concrete. even the ugly little streets of brown packing-cases are plastered with advertisements. the fact that these advertisements are all in chinese characters
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give them a rather pleasing exotic flavour at first; that soon wears off, and then one is only too thankful not to be able to read them. they remain a hideous disfigurement of a fair land.
one large japanese-owned department store in tokyo had a brass band playing in front of it all day, producing an ear-splitting din. the bandsmen were little japanese boys dressed, of all things in the world, as highlanders. no one who has not seen it can imagine the intensely grotesque effect of a little stumpy, bandy-legged jap boy in a red tartan kilt, bare knees, and a glengarry bonnet. no one who has not heard them can conceive the appalling sounds they produced from their brass instruments, or can form any conception of the japanese idea of "rag-time."
we have in this country some very competent amateurs who, to judge from the picture papers, have reduced the gentle art of self-advertisement to a science.
i think these ladies would be repaid for the trouble of a voyage to japan by the new ideas in advertisement they would pick up from that enterprising people. they need not blow their own trumpets, like the little jap highlander bandsmen; they can get it done for them as they know, by the press.
