Everything important connected with the Imperial Court of Japan is
regulated by law in the most careful manner. These regulations include,
not only the Peerage of all ranks, but also those natives who belong
to the civil service or who have been judged deserving of recognition
on account of some special contribution to the public welfare. The
latter system of nominal honours is called “ikai,” or more commonly
“kurai”; but it has no outward badge to represent it. The holder
of a fourth or higher grade of “ikai,” however, even when he is no
longer in Government service, receives an invitation on the occasion
of certain state festivals,--as for example, the Birthday evening
party. The heir of a Peer is entitled to the fifth-grade junior “ikai”
as soon as he reaches his majority. A number of wealthy merchants
possess this nominal honour, which they have gained by contributions
of money to public purposes. Besides these, there are those who have
been “decorated,” both natives and a few foreigners, all of whom have
their court rank prescribed according to the Order and the Degree of
the decoration conferred. Of these decorations, the six grades of “The
Order of the Rising Sun” are the most coveted; because this Order is
bestowed only for “conspicuous personal merit”; and hitherto it has
been only sparingly bestowed. When the Grand Order of Merit and The
Grand Cordon of the Chrysanthemum are added to the First Class of the
Rising Sun, the fortunate person has been invested with the highest
honour accessible to a Japanese subject. Only eight personages,
exclusive of Imperial Princes, and mentioning only those who are still
alive, have attained so high an honour. At the head of this list stood
Prince Ito; and following him are such well known names as Yamagata,
Oyama, Matsukata, and latest of all, Admiral Togo.
It can easily be imagined that fixing the order of precedence at the
Imperial Court of Japan is not a matter in which the inexpert foreigner
can intermeddle safely, whether by way of his own proposed conduct, or
even of the expression of wishes or of opinion. The actual arrangement,
as given in the “Japanese Year Book” for 1908, mentions by name about
eighty gentlemen and twenty “court ladies,”--the precedence of all
other persons who have either the occasional or the regular privilege
of attending court being fixed, by general rules, according to their
rank. Foreigners having decorations come in the same position as
natives of the same Order and Class of decoration. For example, those
who have the 2nd Class Order of the Rising Sun have with it a court
rank between the Counts and the Viscounts; and those who have the 3d
Class of the same Order fall between the Viscounts and the Barons.
Holders of the 3d and higher classes of the “Orders of Merit” have
the right to request cards of invitation to certain of the Court
functions, attendance at which is a much coveted privilege. To some
of these a few foreigners may obtain invitations, either through
the official representative of the country to which they belong, or
through some influential native friend; but for certain other of these
functions such a thing is very difficult or impossible. This fact is
not infrequently the occasion of much heart-burning and complaining
on the part of the foreign tourist; and of no small embarrassment to
foreign Ambassadors and Ministers, and even to the Departments of “The
Household” and of Foreign Affairs, of the Japanese Government. Perhaps
the citizens of the United States are no more unreasonable in this
matter than are the citizens of other countries; but I am inclined to
think that they are. At any rate, it is well to remind ourselves that,
while our sentiment which exalts personal worthiness above court rank
is quite justifiable, both on moral and on political grounds, it is an
essential effect of this very sentiment, when sincere and refined, not
to wish to go where one is not desired, or where one’s presence is not
in every way an appropriate part of the social or ceremonial occasion.
From the point of view of those who issue the invitation it is also to
be remembered that to summon everybody who might wish to attend would
not only deprive the particular function of all meaning, but would be
to face a physical impossibility. Besides, no one who is not either
actually invited or unintentionally overlooked, can lay any slightest
claim to a “right,” in the case of any similar engagement. The
accredited representatives of foreign countries are, indeed, entitled
to be treated, not only politically but socially, with a deference
which is something more than personal; and to certain others--as has
already been said--a similar social distinction has been conceded as a
“right.” But as for the rest of us, I fail to see how either ethics or
etiquette prescribes to courts any other obligations than those which
we, ourselves, as private persons, choose to follow. We invite only
those whom we, for one reason or another, want to have come; and, if we
are truly self-respecting, we do not ourselves want to go where we are
not wanted.
The two most conspicuous of the ceremonial occasions which are open to
a selected few among the foreign residents or visitors in Japan, and to
which invitations are especially coveted, are, perhaps the Court Ball
given by the Japanese Minister of Foreign Affairs, on the evening of
the Emperor’s birthday, and the Audience given by both Their Majesties,
on New Year’s morning, in the throne-room of the Imperial Palace in
Tokyo.
The annual Court Ball on the night of the third of November, 1906, was
given by Viscount and Viscountess Hayashi, at the official residence of
the Minister of Foreign Affairs. The daylight hours had fully justified
the Japanese impression with regard to the “regulation” weather for His
Majesty’s birthday. It was delightfully clear and cool, without being
in the least uncomfortably chilly. We had risen at six o’clock, and
had left the house soon after seven in order to reach, on time, the
parade-ground, at Oyama, where the Emperor was to review about thirty
thousand picked troops, of the different branches of the service. After
His Majesty had once made the circuit of the large field on horseback,
he sat on his horse, while the entire force,--first, the infantry,
then the artillery, and, finally, the cavalry, passed in review before
him. The rain of the night before had laid the dust so that it was not
difficult to take in a view of the entire field at once. The order of
the troops was, indeed, excellent, but they did not make at all so
brilliant a display as the fifteen thousand Turkish troops which I
had seen called out to guard the now dethroned Sultan, Abdul Hamid,
at a Selamlik, in the Spring of 1900. Japan’s Emperor needs no guard,
however, to protect him against his own subjects.
When we reached the outer gate of the residence of the Minister we
found the driveway to the entrance so blocked with a crowd of carriages
and jinrikishas that it was only by a succession of jerks forward and
sudden stoppages that any approach whatever was possible. And when we
were still several rods away, something--we were unable to ascertain
just what--about the harness appeared to give way, leaving us glad to
complete the journey, by dodging the jinrikishas and ducking under the
horses’ heads, on foot. On entering, we found that the accommodations
of the mansion, in order to provide for the more than fifteen hundred
guests (of whom rather more than one hundred were foreigners), had been
greatly enlarged by temporary structures built out over the nearer
parts of the surrounding garden. The principal rooms added in this way
were a large salon, or assembly hall, and a refreshment hall. Both
these rooms were beautifully decorated, with that mixture of lavishness
and reserve in which the best Japanese art of decoration so much
excels, with silks, flags of the nations, artificial cherry trees in
full bloom, and real pomegranate and persimmon trees loaded with fruit.
All these were still further decorated and illuminated by concealed
electric lights.
[Illustration: “THEY TOOK PART IN OUTDOOR SPORTS”]
It was a curious misnomer to speak of this assembly as a “Court Ball.”
Many of the nobility of high, and some of Imperial, rank were indeed
there; and the official world, both Japanese and foreign, was very
fully represented. But few cared to dance; and few could have danced,
if they had desired to do so. Japanese ladies, in general, do not enjoy
dancing; although in olden time they took part in out-door sports, such
as polo: but they cannot dance in foreign style when dressed in the
native costume, which is appropriate to them and in which many of them
appear very attractive and even beautiful when judged by Occidental
standards. Dressed in foreign costume, however, very few of them look
well; almost all of them are uncomfortable, both because the clothing
is physically irksome and also because they are conscious that they do
not look well. Besides this, the ball-room was small and from the first
insufferably crowded with those who, in the carefully regulated order
of their court rank, were somewhat languidly and even wearisomely doing
their duty solemnly, in honour of His Majesty’s birthday. But most of
the men of middle age and older, the men of mark in the army and navy,
in the state, and in business enterprises, still consider dancing as
unmanly and unworthy of a dignified gentleman.
At the Court Ball there were none of those forms of entertainment
which make the garden-parties and other less stately social functions
of the Japanese so enjoyable to the foreign guest. In spite of this
fact, however, the evening was far from being dull. The sight of the
brilliantly lighted and beautifully decorated rooms, and of the crowd
of notable persons gathered in them, afforded in itself a rare species
of instructive entertainment. Besides this, it gave the opportunity
of meeting many friends and of hearing kindly and encouraging words
from them. Among these was Baron M----, the Minister of Education, Mr.
Z----, who spoke definitely about the plans of Marquis Ito for having
us visit him in Korea; and the Japanese Minister to Siam, with whom we
had become well acquainted, seven years before, while on the same ship
from Kobé, Japan, to Singapore.
The most interesting interview of all, however, came latest in the
evening. For as the Japanese friend who had consented to be our escort
on this occasion was gathering his party together for a return home,
and we were in his company passing through the refreshment salon to
the cloak-rooms, a party of Japanese gentlemen, seated at a table by
themselves near the place of exit, called to him to bring us to them
that we might be introduced. These gentlemen proved to be, Marquis
Saionji, then Prime Minister, our host, Viscount Hayashi, Minister of
Foreign Affairs, Minister Kosai Uchida, then of the Peking Legation,
and Admiral Shimamura. The latter was jestingly introduced to us as
“a very destructive man,” having sunk no fewer than thirteen Russian
ships, but as being now “a man of peace.” Whereupon the Admiral
gravely said: “Let us drink to peace,” a toast which was heartily
responded to by all present. I take this occasion to say again, that
of the greater men in the army and navy of Japan,--many of whom I have
met in a friendly way, and with some of whom I have become rather
intimately acquainted,--I have never seen one who gave the slightest
sign of a pugnacious temper or of desire for war. Of this brave and
loyal, but eminently modest and peaceful disposition, Admiral Shimamura
is a conspicuous example. He was staff-officer on board the flag-ship
Matsushima in the Japan-China war, and was wounded in the battle of the
Yellow Sea. He was Chief Staff of the Standing Squadron at the time
of the Boxer troubles in 1900. He was singled out by Admiral Togo as
his chief staff officer, when the latter was appointed Commander of
the Fleet at the outbreak of the war with Russia. At the time of my
interview, he was President of the Naval Staff College; and soon after
was ordered to represent his country at the Hague Peace Conference
of 1907. In Japan, more emphatically than with us, it is not the men
who would have to do the fighting who are ready to engage in loose
“war-talk”; with us much more than in Japan, it is an unscrupulous,
and in certain instances, a subsidised press, and a body of ignorant
and selfish “promoters” of trade interests and labour unions, together
with the politicians whom they control, who are chiefly responsible
for propagating false impressions and stirring up feelings of strife
between the two countries. Should so deplorable an event ever occur
under existing conditions, I, for one, have little doubt that the
ultimate verdict of history would charge us with being the principal
criminal. But these are after thoughts, and quite different from those
which filled our mind as we went to sleep at the end of nineteen hours
of sight-seeing and of social converse in celebration of His Majesty’s
birthday on November 3, 1906.
The most stately, formal, and except for a carefully selected class,
unapproachable, of the regular functions of the Imperial Court of
Japan, are the New Year’s Audiences. On the morning of the first of
January, at the earliest hour of all, the Imperial Princes or princes
of “the blood,” go to the Palace to congratulate and felicitate His
Majesty, and to signify their continued and undiminished allegiance.
At a somewhat later hour follow the highest ranks of the Japanese
nobility; then in due succession, according to their court rank, come
to the Palace the Japanese diplomats, the higher officials in the
army, the navy, and the state, the holders of decorations of the Third
and higher Classes, and certain of the professors in the Imperial
University, and of the Shintō priests. In this way, four groups take
their turns at the Imperial Audience, during the successive morning
hours from nine o’clock onwards. The foreign diplomats are received in
audience in the early afternoon.
The drive to the Palace showed us the Capital City as it appears only
when it is decked out in characteristically Japanese fashion, on this,
Japan’s most notable gala time of the entire year. The weather of the
day was glorious, bright sunshine and soft dry air. There appeared
not to be a hut in Tokyo too small or too poor to be decorated with
at least two tiny pieces of pine boughs tied together with a bit of
new straw rope. Even the draught horses and the stakes to which the
scows were moored in the canals were ornamented with pine, bamboo, and
fern-leaves, and with little white Shintō “prayer papers” fluttering in
the gentle breeze. The larger houses and shops, the banks and business
buildings, had set into the ground at each side of their doorways and
gates young bamboo trees, of from four to eight feet high, around
which young pine trees were tied compactly into a form resembling a
huge bouquet. To this an added significance is given by tying into the
queerly knotted rope at its centre a collection of fern leaves, strands
of straw, stalks of rice, streamers of Shintō paper, dried fish, and
an orange or a boiled lobster. Peace, plenty, long life, prosperity,
and happiness,--everything that the human heart can desire or hope
for--are supposed to be symbolised in this way. Along the narrower
streets, where only native shops of the smaller sort and of unfamiliar
specialties abound, the line of the projecting roofs, which was itself
not more than six or eight feet above the ground, was decorated with
a deep fringe of plaited straw, held together by a rope that carried
little flags and gay lanterns. Not at all a gorgeous or expensive style
of decoration, surely! But universal and expressive of thoroughly
human sentiments, mingled, indeed, with quaint ancestral beliefs and
superstitions, it certainly is.
On arrival at the Palace, we were shown into a dressing-room to remove
our overcoats and wraps, where the ladies were assisted by three
Japanese maids, two of them in foreign dresses of silk with trains, and
the third more splendid in the old-style Japanese court dress. When,
about fifteen minutes later, the time for the Audience of our “degree”
had arrived, a Master of Ceremonies came and ushered the party into a
large and beautiful salon, where about one hundred persons, with five
or six exceptions all Japanese, were waiting for the coming of their
turn to enter the throne-room. All were in court costume; the officers
of the army and navy in full-dress uniforms, wearing their decorations
and cocked hats trimmed with black or white ostrich tips; and the
University professors decked out in coats of antique style elaborately
embroidered with gold, cocked hats with feathers, and gold bands down
their trousers. It was, indeed, a sight to delight the eyes of those
who are delighted with such sights, and one that any person interested
in brilliant colour schemes and the human impulse to parade, might look
upon for once with a measure of keen enjoyment.
In good truth, there was an abundance of time to enjoy, and even
to sate one’s self with the brilliant spectacle; for it was fully
three-quarters of an hour before we were convoyed to the throne-room.
One was led anew to admire the superior physical endurance of the
ladies, who had trains weighing many pounds each to support and
manage all the meanwhile. It was a relief to know, however, that the
sum-total of suffering caused in this way could not have been great,
for there were not more than a half-dozen ladies in the whole company.
The former custom of making the New Year’s Audiences more particular
and personal has now, for all except the Princes of the Blood, the
higher Japanese nobility, and the Diplomatic Corps, been abandoned; it
had become too seriously burdensome, especially upon the Empress, who
in her sincere and self-sacrificing devotion to her manifold Imperial
duties and benevolent enterprises, is constantly tempted to exceed
her strength. Instead, therefore, of Their Majesties undertaking to
stand for many hours, while those received by them advanced and were
introduced and made their bows, the ceremony has been in a manner
reversed. When, then, we entered the throne-room, we found that it had
been divided along its entire length into two about equal parts by
a thick cord of red silk. Along the side of this cord, opposite the
throne, the entire number, which had now increased to about one hundred
and seventy-five, were allowed to arrange themselves as they chose.
This arrangement having been accomplished, and all having quieted down,
the Imperial party entered without flourish of any kind to announce
them, at one end of the side opposite to their guests; and when they
had reached its centre, right in front of the throne, they stopped and
bowed three times to those waiting in audience, all of whom, of course,
acknowledged the Imperial salutation by themselves bowing as low as
their somewhat more than ordinarily stiff costumes would permit. The
Imperial procession then passed out of the throne-room at the other
end from that at which it had entered. This was all there was of the
Audience at New Years, to which the privilege of an invitation is so
much coveted and which it is so impossible for one outside the circle
prescribed by court rules to obtain.
Of late years a somewhat comic supplement has been added to the
ceremonial drama in the form of a function which bears the suggestive
but not euphonious title of “Tails and Tea.” It has become the custom
for some one of the foreign diplomatic corps, usually the acting
_Doyen_, to invite to his official residence for tea that same
afternoon a considerable number of those who have not attended any of
the audiences of the earlier part of the day, as well as all those who
have been in attendance. This function not only gives the opportunity
for much chat such as is customarily inspired by tea-drinking on
similar occasions, but it also has the added advantage that it affords
to some of the ladies the gratification of displaying their trains to
a larger circle of admiring or critical spectators, and to others the
consolation of seeing some of the elements of the pomp of the morning,
whose _tout ensemble_ has been denied to them.
In 1899, the year of my second visit to Japan, audiences with the
Emperor for foreigners, not connected with royal families or members
of the diplomatic corps, were more rarely granted than they are at
the present time. Indeed, our Minister at that date, who was greatly
respected and beloved by the Japanese, told me that he had ceased
asking them for his own nationals, unless some indication of favourable
disposition toward any particular request were first received from
the other side. It was then toward the close of my work in behalf of
the educational interests of the nation, and when the lectures in the
University and before the Imperial Educational Association had come to
a successful end, that the Department of the Household, moved by the
representations of the Department of Education, sent to our Minister
the assurance he desired. This was followed by the formal request for
the Audience, which was promptly granted. The date, however, could
not be at once definitely fixed; for His Majesty was suffering from a
slight indisposition which had led his physicians to forbid him every
sort of exposure. This indefiniteness of itself made indefinite the
date when we could leave Tokyo without a serious breach of politeness;
or else without Imperial permission granted for an imperative reason.
We were summoned back from Kamakura, where we were spending a day or
two as the guests of Baron Kuki, by a telegram from Colonel Buck,
which informed us that the time for the Audience had been set for the
morning of the next day, at ten o’clock. On our way from the Legation
to the Palace it was a real pleasure to hear the Minister say--what my
subsequent experiences have convinced me is strictly true--that the
friendly services and courtesies of educated men were worth more for
cementing relations of friendship between the two nations than a great
amount of what is called diplomacy. As to this, I am inclined to insist
once more upon the judgment that financial greed and commercial rivalry
have been of late, and still are, the chief causes of war between
nations. Witness the powerful influence of the South-African gold and
diamond interests in bringing about the Boer war; and of the infamous
procedure of Bezobrazoff’s Yalu River Timber Company, with its issue
in the Russo-Japanese war. A vigorous but unscrupulous “trade policy”
is almost certain ultimately to lead to a war policy.
Arrived at the Palace, Minister Buck and I were taken through long
corridors to a drawing-room adjoining the audience chamber, where
Counts Toda and Nagasaki were, with other gentlemen, already in
waiting. Here we were kept engaged in conversation for perhaps ten
or fifteen minutes before being ushered into the audience chamber.
But before its doors were thrown open, Count Toda remarked that “His
Majesty was very gracious this morning and wished to shake hands with
Professor Ladd.”
When the Minister and I had entered the room in the prescribed
form--he, two or three steps in advance, and each of us bowing low
three times (at the threshold, about half way, and just in front of
His Majesty)--the Emperor, who was standing near the other end of
the chamber, addressed through his interpreter a few questions to
Colonel Buck. He particularly inquired after his health, and whether
the buildings or trees of the Legation had been injured by the severe
storm of the day before. I was next introduced, the Emperor cordially
extending his hand. His Majesty then inquired about my coming to Japan,
the time of my leaving; expressed his pleasure at seeing me, and
gratification at the work which had been done; and, finally, the hope
that he might some time see me again. This last utterance I understood
as a permission to withdraw. And this was promptly done, by backing out
and bowing the requisite three times in the reverse order.
It was more than seven years later and on my third visit to Japan
that the honour of another private audience was accorded to me by the
Emperor. At this time, the newly arrived First and Second Secretaries
of our Embassy, with their wives, and Mrs. Ladd, were all to be
presented. The gentlemen would have audience with both the Emperor
and the Empress; the ladies with the Empress only. The whole party,
on arriving at the Palace, was rapidly conducted along the corridors,
past the waiting-room where my own deceased friend, Minister Buck,
and I had rested for a few minutes on the former occasion, to the
room of waiting set apart for the Empress’ guests. There three of the
gentlemen-in-waiting and three of the maids of honour met us; and
introductions followed. After twenty minutes of chatting together, the
men of the party were taken in front and to one side of the door of
the audience chamber, to await the summons of His Majesty. They had
not long to wait, for he makes it a point to be very prompt in such
matters. Here, to my no small surprise, I learned that my decoration
gave me precedence of the Secretaries of the Embassy, and that I would
therefore be presented first. Ambassador Wright then led the way into
the audience chamber, leaving the others standing outside. After
exchanging inquiries with the Ambassador as to his health, on my being
presented the Emperor held out his hand and cordially welcomed me. I
expressed my thanks for the honour done in permitting me to see him
again, and congratulated His Majesty on the successful termination of
the war and on the apparently prosperous condition of his country. His
Majesty then said that he had heard with pleasure of the work which
I was doing for the moral education of his young men; that it would
prove very useful for Japan; and that he wished to thank me for it. I
expressed the great pleasure I was taking in the work, and my sincere
gratitude for so favourable an opportunity. Whereupon he expressed the
hope that I would continue it. I replied that it would be an honour
as well as a pleasure, if I might be permitted to continue to be of
service, however small, to Japan; since, next to my own country, I had
learned to love Japan best of all. When this was interpreted to the
Emperor, his face, which is ordinarily very immovable--almost like a
mask--showed a gleam of satisfaction which was unmistakable; and he
again thanked me and took my hand for the second time.
After the two Secretaries had been presented, to both of whom these
conventional sentences were said: “Have you been before in Japan?”;
and “I am glad to see you,”--we all withdrew backward, bowing in the
customary fashion. We were then taken at once to the audience-room of
the Empress, before the door of which we were asked to wait a moment.
Here, too, the same order of precedence was observed. On taking my
hand, Her Majesty said, with an air of great kindness, that Minister
Makino had told of my work for the moral education of Japanese young
men, and that it would be of great value to the country. Her Majesty
also asked concerning my plans; where I was going and how long I was
expecting to stay. After she had taken my hand again to dismiss me,
the other two gentlemen were presented, and the same two sentences
said to them which the Emperor had said. The ladies had already been
presented; and on rejoining them, we were all immediately ushered out
of the Palace. (I have always had a sly suspicion that the gentlemen in
waiting, at least, consider--and not altogether unnaturally!--this sort
of service toward foreigners to be something of a bore.)
The last of my audiences with His Imperial Majesty of Japan was by
far the most notable, and, indeed, unique. At a “farewell meeting,”
held on Friday evening of the week preceding the date of my sailing
home, in September of 1907, I was confidentially informed to expect
a private audience on the following Monday. The more formal summons,
which came the next day through the private secretary of the Minister
of Education, was couched in the following quaint language:
“_Dear Sir_:
“I have the honour to inform you that on the 30th at half-past ten
o’clock A. M. His Majesty, the Emperor, will be graciously pleased to
receive you in audience at the Palace.
“On that day you are required to be present before that hour, wearing
swallow-tailed coat.”
(It should be explained that this sobriquet for the upper garment
of evening dress is a literal translation back into English of a
Japanese word which is itself derived by the same literal rendering
of its English original.)
The anxiety of my escort, who was the same person as the writer of the
letter, lest we might be unpardonably late in keeping the appointment,
was so great that our carriage arrived at the designated gate (a
comparatively private one) of the Palace, a full half-hour before the
time. But, leaving my Japanese friend at the entrance room of the
Department of the Household, I was conducted along what seemed like
endless corridors, by the state rooms of the palace, whose elegant
beauty of proportion and reserve in decoration I thus had an excellent
opportunity for admiring, to a waiting-room at the other end of the
Palace, which I at once recognised as the one customarily assigned
to those who were to have an audience with the Emperor. Soon both
the doors of this room were closed and the occupant was left to his
reflections in the completest possible in-door solitude. The silence
was impressive, profound. At rare intervals, the distant cawing of
a crow somewhere in the Imperial grounds, or muffled footsteps in
some far-off corridor, were the only sounds to be heard. As I strove
to occupy my mind with recalling the memorable experiences of the
past year, in Korea as well as in Japan, my imagination persisted in
dwelling upon the comical problem: “What should I do; how explain my
presence, with my scanty knowledge of Japanese, to persons who know no
English; how escape from the Palace,--in case there should have been
any misunderstanding about the matter?”
Quite promptly at 10.25, however, the door of the waiting-room was
thrown open and I was motioned to follow the Palace attendant who stood
in front of it. Not a word was spoken by either of us. On reaching the
corridor in front of the audience chamber, two gentlemen-in-waiting,
dressed in frock coats, were there,--one in front of the entrance
and one in the corner nearest the waiting-room. The latter motioned
me to stand by his side. In a minute or two a slight rustle
announced the entrance of the Emperor into the audience chamber; the
gentleman-in-waiting who stood before its entrance bowed low and drew
back, beckoning me to come forward; and I then first became aware that,
this time, no one was expecting to present me. Doubtless, it saved the
chance of no little embarrassment that previous experiences had left me
precisely informed as to what I ought to do. The Emperor was standing
in his accustomed place, in military undress; his interpreter was on
his right hand; and two gentlemen were standing in the farthest corner
at the back of the room.
As he reached out his hand, His Majesty began to express, in simple
but sincere fashion, his satisfaction at the instruction and advice
which had been given to his people, and added renewed assurances of his
gratitude for the service. In few words, he was assured by me of the
great pleasure which had been taken in the work of the year, and of the
debt of gratitude which was felt for the opportunity to be of service
to Japan. His Majesty then said that he had heard of my intention
soon to depart for home, wished me a safe and prosperous journey, and
expressed the hope that my family and friends would be found in health
and prosperity on my arrival. He then dismissed me by extending his
hand again for me to take.
I have spoken of the four audiences which I have had the honour to
enjoy, with His Majesty, the Emperor of Japan, with some detail and
with all the frankness within the limits of a courteous reserve,
because they seem to me to throw light upon his personality as a man
and as a ruler of men. There has never been any diplomatic reason or
political motive for noticing me or my work in any distinctive way. I
am only a teacher; and I have had no ambition for any higher title than
that of “teacher,” no desire for any more imposing kind of service.
But His Majesty’s painstaking to recognise, and to signalise with his
favour before the nation, his appreciation for any services rendered to
the “moral education” of his people, has been as unmistakably sincere
as it has been distinctive. And there is abundant reason to believe
that this painstaking regard for the moral and other welfare of his
people, irrespective of considerations of diplomatic policy, or rank,
or expectation of similar favours in return, characterises throughout
the Imperial rule of the present Emperor of Japan. One would have to
search hard among the world’s present day rulers to find another so
affectionate, so solicitous, so self-sacrificing, where the interests
of his people are concerned, as Mutsu-hito, His Imperial Japanese
Majesty.
Let it be remembered that the present Emperor succeeded to the Throne
on the January of the year before the one (1868) on the third of
November of which he became sixteen years of age. A civil war had
placed him upon the throne, with something like the real Imperial power
which had been withheld from his ancestors for so many generations.
There was partisan strife and confusion of opinion and of counsel
everywhere. Since his day, the nation has passed through one civil
war, and two bloody and expensive foreign wars. Meantime, too, it has
in a manner to astonish the civilised world, come forward into the
rank of one of the nations destined to lead the world’s civilisation.
Without laying any stress upon the traditional way among the Japanese
of ascribing all manner of success and prosperity to the virtues of
the Emperor, it is simple matter of historical fact that the patience,
wisdom, and benevolence of their present ruler are, either directly
or indirectly, responsible for the escaping of much evil and the
securing of much good on the nation’s behalf. Japan has been guided
out of the old era into the new by a very remarkable body of men; but
among them all, there is probably not one who will not tell you in all
sincerity, if he can be induced to speak freely and in confidence upon
the subject, that, all things considered, His Imperial Majesty must be
conceded to be the most patient, wise, and benevolent guide and supreme
ruler of them all.
THE END
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Illustrations have been moved to paragraph breaks near where they are
mentioned, except for the frontispiece.
Punctuation has been made consistent.
Variations in spelling, hyphenation, and accenting were retained
as they appear in the original publication, except that obvious
typographical errors have been corrected.