Kent's office was in the rear of a building in the Shimbashi section, a
corner room facing two sides on narrow alleys, neither more than four
feet wide. His landlord, Nishimura, whose International Agency occupied
the front, was holding forth volubly. He would talk inexhaustibly about
his life, his affairs and, principally, about his manifold abilities,
in English, for he had lived for years in the United States.
As he talked, Kittrick came in. Kent had known him years ago, in the
San Francisco Press Club, before he had gone to Japan for the Universal
Syndicate. He hoped that his arrival would put an end to Nishimura's
talk, but the Japanese only waved a greeting to Kittrick--evidently he
knew him. He bubbled on.
"I am very pleased that I can always help you, in anything, everything.
If you want anything, ask Nishimura. I can get you access to all the
big men, the ministers of state, the politicians, the big business men,
everybody. I can get you anything, an interview, a clerk, invitations
to the official functions, a streetcar pass, a sweetheart," he leered
suggestively. "You have a unique advantage of situation, Mr. Kent,
between knowledge," he pointed towards the region of the International
Agency, "and pleasure," he waved his hand generally in the direction
of the walls and paper-covered _shoji_ appearing, familiarly close,
through the office windows.
"It is a select neighborhood, Mr. Kent. The heart of the most refined
geisha quarter, hidden, so discreetly, don't you think, behind our
respectability, yours and mine. There, you see, is the Akebono
_machiai_, one of the most famous waiting houses, where you may feast
with geisha." He pointed across one of the alleys where the _shojis_
had been drawn aside, the wide window opening displaying a large,
immaculately clean room, furnished with the constraint usual in Japan,
with only a low table and some silk cushions, a _kakemono_, hanging
silk scroll picture, in the _tokonoma_ recess. "A very quiet place
usually in the day," he explained. "But at night, ah, what scenes of
revelry, with happy guests disporting themselves with sake wine and
the pretty geisha." He sighed and threw wide his arms, as would he,
ravished, press to his breast one of the beauties of his imagination.
"You shall see, Mr. Kent, even here," now he was pointing through
the window in the other wall to a smaller house. The closed, opaque
paper _shoji_, bamboo barred, were almost within arm's length. From
beyond it came the strident whimper of samisen strings. "That is
O-Toshi-san," he explained confidentially, impressively, "the famous
O-Toshi-san. You shall see her often, there in her window; but, Mr.
Kent, do not lose your heart there. No, don't," he became even more
confidential, suggestively smiling. "She belongs to Mr. Kato, the
police commissioner. He paid big _makura-kin_, pillow-money, oh, so
big, I hear----"
A clerk entered and whispered to Nishimura. "I am so sorry," said the
landlord. "My affairs. I must go, but I shall come and see you often.
Good morning."
It was a relief. His chatter had filled the room, monopolized the
situation. "I have certainly fallen into a queer neighborhood," said
Kent. "I shall apparently have a liberal and inexpensive education in
geisha matters. What did he mean by pillow-money, anyway?"
"That's so; you left Japan too young to know about such things," said
Kittrick. "Well, the institution differs considerably, according to
locality, I think, but it means ordinarily a sum paid to a geisha who
then becomes, so far as love favors are concerned, the exclusive jewel
of the man who pays it. She may, of course, continue to entertain
other guests as a singer or dancer and so forth, but that man is, or
is supposed to be, her only lover. In fact, you know, you are not
as queerly situated as you think you are. The geisha quarters are
scattered in various parts of the city; you find them rubbing up
against business and office quarters in lots of places. They are not
bad neighbors at all. You may come to like these girls. For while
some of them are just common women, many are quite exclusive, as, for
instance, your neighbor lady appears to be, with just one lover; and
not a few are absolutely clean morally, virginal, even though they
make their living by singing, and playing, and entertaining men in
their idle hours. For the Japanese they are institutional. In many
cases important business deals are closed only in the _machiai_, with
geisha adding grace to the occasion. Statesmen discuss their affairs
in their presence. The Japanese tired business man, when he wants a
change from the formality of family life, finds relaxation in a few
hours with them, drinking, chatting, listening to their singing,
enjoying their bright wit; often, as a rule, I think, that is all,
though, of course, it frequently goes further. I myself have come to
appreciate very much the Japanese point of view. There is so little to
do in Tokyo, no theaters or concerts to speak of; only the cinemas.
So occasionally, when time hangs on my hands, I go to some clean
little tea house, call a geisha or two, lie about comfortably, lazily,
enjoy their chatter--they are such merry, charming children. You get
complete relaxation. It is easy to understand how the Japanese men,
whose wives, as gentlewomen, could not and would not think of unbending
to the gay fripperies of such talk and play, find their amusement with
these girls. Of course, many of the men have sweethearts, mistresses,
_mekakes_, concubines, as they commonly are called, but these things
are not as greatly different from similar phenomena in America and
Europe as you might think, and I am under the impression that the
characteristically Japanese concubine system, if there is such a thing,
is gradually dying out.
"However, I didn't come here to talk geisha. If you want me to show you
the ropes as a newspaperman, I'm going now to the Foreign Office, and
you had better come along."
The first glimpse of the Foreign Office attracted Kent--the great
wall, with white mortar forming big lozenges, the only glimpse of
typical Japan in the vicinity where great red brick buildings, the Navy
Department, the courts, and, gray and forbidding, imposing even while
its walls were crumbling, the Russian Embassy, formed the nucleus of
official Japan. But once inside the iron grilled gate, the Foreign
Office buildings were unimpressive, tediously modern. They did not
even go to the main structure, but went to the right into a long, drab
edifice.
"This will be one of your main points in your work," said Kittrick, as
they waited while the solemn old commissionaire shuffled upstairs to
announce them. "This is the information bureau of the Foreign Office,
the main function of which is to see that foreign correspondents are
kept satisfied with as little information as possible. We are now about
to see the head oracle, Mr. Kubota. He was in London and Washington for
years, and Japanese officialdom speaks highly of his abilities. He has
to be quite a diplomat, you know, to answer a great many questions and
still give out next to no information, anyway."
The commissionaire appeared and ushered them into Kubota's office,
a large, simply furnished room. A middle-aged, pleasant-faced man,
immaculate in frock coat, rose to greet them. His English was perfect.
He was courteously cordial. One liked him instinctively. They chatted
awhile about Kent's plans, how he liked Japan, the usual trivialities.
"I hope you will come here often. We shall all be glad to be of every
service possible to you, I and my assistants."
He called over a young man who had been sitting in the background. "My
chief assistant, Mr. Kikuchi," he introduced. Kikuchi, more interesting
at first sight than his chief, was a typical young aristocrat, in rich
silk kimono, with long, sensitive fingers, urbanely smiling. Kent
learned later on that he was regarded as one of the rising men in the
Foreign Office, a man with brains as well as prestige. His father,
Viscount Kikuchi, was considered, in the most intimately informed
circles, to be the leading mind of the Privy Council.
"We have heard of you already from Baron Saiki," said Kikuchi, shaking
Kent's hand firmly. "We shall be glad to become your good friends, if
we may. In fact----" he glanced towards his chief.
The older man smiled. "Yes, Mr. Kittrick, we had, in fact, thought
of having one of our little tea parties as a welcome to Mr. Kent and
for Mr. Jones, you know, who came a few weeks ago for the _New York
Chronicle_. To get them acquainted, just a few of us from the office
here and the newspapermen. We have these little informal, friendly
gatherings now and then, Mr. Kent. Do you think you should like to
come?"
Kent thanked him. They chatted for a while. Kent was introduced to a
few more officials, all pleasant, extremely urbane, fluent in English.
Then they came away.
"It should be pleasant to come here," commented Kent. "They seem
intelligent and friendly. I like them."
"They are pleasant," replied Kittrick. "And clever too, though, queerly
enough, it is the common thing for the Japanese to regard the Foreign
Office as a pretty stupid institution. Although it has done mighty
well, it seems to me, disentangling the foreign policy mess left by
Terauchi and his ilk, cleaning up the Yap, Shantung, Chinese and
Siberian questions, the Japanese people and press seem to think that
they are a pretty poor lot. Of course, they have had a fairly hard time
of it with the War Office, the General Staff. Many people think that
they are unduly under the thumb of the militarists, but the very fact
that the army and navy Ministers are not responsible to the Cabinet
makes running the foreign policy harder, as the militarists have had
the habit of letting the Foreign Office propose, and then doing the
disposing themselves, and that seems to me to make what our diplomatic
friends have done the more praiseworthy.
"Yes, you will find the Foreign Office crowd pleasant," he continued.
"But as a source of information you'll find them disappointing. Like
all the rest of the officials, they are obsessed with the national
mania for secrecy. All the officials seem to think that they may get
into all kinds of trouble by telling the press something; that they
can never get into trouble when they tell nothing. The great cry of
the Japanese is constantly that they are misunderstood by the rest
of the world, and still when we fellows who honestly want to bring
about understanding try to help them along, they won't help us or
themselves. Say, for instance, that some fool report against Japan
crops up in Washington, or London, or Paris, and you come here to get
the thing straightened out, to get Japan's side; you will, as a rule,
find it is like pulling teeth, and often, when you do get the story,
they won't let you quote the Foreign Minister, or even the Foreign
Office generally. They want you to cable that 'it is reported,' or 'it
is said' or 'there are indications that,' taking all the value out
of the statement. Then, if you want to see one of the Ministers or
some other big gun, they will probably arrange that you see him--they
are tremendously obliging, I admit--but it will take a week or more
before the interview can be arranged, and in the meantime the harm
has been done abroad. Your story, Japan's version, has become old as
Genesis, it has gone cold. And then they sit up and wail that the
world misunderstands them. All this talk you hear about the infernally
clever, insidious Japanese propaganda is plain rot. If there is one
thing they don't know a thing about, it is propaganda. They have their
propaganda newspapers, it is true, particularly in China, but everybody
knows them, and they don't count. This talk about the Foreign Office
handing out huge sums to writers and others is funny. The War Office
people have the funds, and I daresay they spend them where they think
it will do good. The General Staff, that is the secret force in the
Japanese Government, and you and I never hear what goes on in there.
See its headquarters, that old, gray building with the green copper
roof; that's the last remaining stronghold of militarism, in its good
old form, on this earth; and General Matsu, the chief, is the proper
high priest, the simon-pure militarist, with ethics as primitive
as those of a cave man. They are giving in now. They have to, for
Japanese public opinion about spending great sums on armies is the same
as it is in the rest of the world, but they are clever. They feel--it
is probably their sincere idea of patriotism--that Japan can be great
only by militarism, and where they reduce the army by two soldiers,
they probably buy one machine gun, making up in strength in one way
what they lose in the other. They probably feel that if they can't
preserve Japan's strength openly on account of public opinion, they
must do it quietly, for Japan's good. But there, under that green roof,
lie the forces of old Japan, and there, on the other side of the city,
in the students' quarter in Kanda, in the laborers' quarters of Honjo
and Fukagawa, the forces of new thought are stirring and fermenting.
It is medieval feudalism as opposed to modern industrialism, with a
lot of more 'isms thrown in, Socialism, Communism, Sovietism even, new
ideas, half understood, misunderstood, but grasped at with passionate
eagerness, the young generation and the workers seeking such morsels
of new thought, often the worse thought, that they can find, and
swallowing them, half digested, or not digested at all.
"There is danger in all this. There is a turbulence of too precipitate
transition. It needs wise handling. There is good in it all, this
passionate desire for making Japan modern, but all these young,
restless forces should be directed, led along wholesome paths, and
all that the powers-that-be--the militarists, the capitalists, the
police--seem to know is repression. I can see lots of good in both
sides, the cautious conservatism of the old generation which clings
desperately to the ancient virtues which it sees spurned; and which
sees all that is bad, unwholesome, in the new movement; and the young
generation which wants to create a new Japan in a day, which wants to
walk before it has learned to crawl, which is prone to discard the
virtues and values of old Japan before it has learned to understand and
use modern, Western civilization. It is a game for high stakes which is
going on here under our eyes, where immeasurably precious values of an
old civilization, unique, irreplaceable, are likely to be lost, to be
thrown ruthlessly aside; and, on the other hand, there is loss every
day that the intentness, the eagerness of the younger generation, of
the masses in the cities where they have acquired zest for modernism,
is suffered to waste itself in futile groping after lots of unwholesome
stuff, which they think must be good fruit mainly because it is
forbidden; especially when all this eagerness to learn, this ambitious
energy might, with a little sympathy, a bit of understanding wisdom, be
made into a tremendous power for constructive good. The longer you live
here, Kent, the more you will come to see that what Japan needs to-day,
what she must have, is another Meiji, some strong, wise directing
force, a truly big man--but there is no such man to-day."