"Thank God, that's over," said Butterfield. "If there's anything much
more deadly than the banquets of the Nippon-Columbia Society, I don't
want to see it."
They had come down from the banquet hall in the Imperial Hotel, a group
of correspondents, Kittrick, Kent, Butterfield and Templeton, with
Roberts, just arrived from New York to gather material for a series of
magazine articles; Sands, an engineer who had something to do with the
new subway, and one or two others. At one end of Peacock Alley they
found a table where they might observe the crowd, the men coming down
here to meet the women who had dined below in the main dining room,
Japanese and foreigners mingling, concentrating in little groups about
the guests of honor, an eminent engineer from America, a Cabinet member
from Washington, and a couple of Congressmen of whom no one in Tokyo
had heard until they arrived in Japan, unofficially, of course, it was
given out, but as "Ambassadors of Friendship," as the newspapers called
them.
Butterfield was still grouching. "Here I've been to dozens of these
affairs, and I wonder if I'll ever come away from one without a bad
taste in my mouth. It makes me sick, all this fulsomeness. Take
to-night, Barry talking as if the Japanese were the only engineers
in the world, as if they had invented the steam engine, electricity,
telephones, radio and all that. Here Japan is suffering so badly from
swelled head that the best service one may do her is to tell her the
truth, for her own good, and still whenever we have distinguished
visitors here, they always insist on making asses of themselves. Barry
is a pleasant enough, kindly old ass, but, heavens, the only way I
could stand his speech to-night was by watching Matthews. He has in
one way or another been behind half the things that Barry was lauding
our Japanese friends for. Did you see his face? It was the only fun I
got out of it all, seeing Matthews' face getting redder and redder. I
thought he'd have a fit. But all the rest of it honestly gets my goat;
the main table, with old Count Ibara sitting through the speeches
waiting for the time when he'll have a chance to spring his eternal
story about his college days with President Wilson. I can stand on
my head and write a complete report of these meetings as they were
ten years ago, as they will be ten years from now; old Baron Nishida
leads off with "Perry's Black Ships" and everlasting love for America.
Eminent American stands up and talks of Bushido--I have lived here ten
years, and I've yet to hear Bushido mentioned by a Japanese; it's as
dead as the rules of knighthood with us--more Eminent Americans tell
the Japanese how wonderful they are. Why the devil is it that when an
American comes here, he must almost invariably make a fool of himself?
Of course, the trouble is often that they are generally mediocrities
who become all puffed up at the attentions they get here; and then we
do send out such asses. Do you remember the Congressional Party some
years ago? The men acted like clodhoppers, and their women were worse.
That's where the Japanese are wiser than we are. When they let any one
represent them, officially or semi-officially, abroad, they hand-pick
them, send only the best they have, and our people at home get a
wonderful idea of the advanced stage of Japan. That's how half the
good spirit towards Japan was built up at the Washington Conference;
they sent their best men in the entourage of the delegation, who
chummed with our newspapermen and writers; the best kind of advertising.
"But we let loose third-rate Congressmen, ebullient business men, who
let Japanese hospitality get to their heads and proceed to slobber all
over the landscape. I wouldn't mind if it were not for the fact that
just as we in America judge the Japanese people from the Japanese who
make a splash there, thus the Japanese judge us Americans from the kind
of specimens who come over here and spill their foolishness as these
fellows did to-night. We Americans ought to have a censorship here to
prevent visiting notables from making speeches which have not been
carefully edited."
"But what do you come here for then, if you dislike it so?" It was
Roberts, the magazine man. "Why do you belong to the Society at all if
you think it does no good?"
"But I don't say that. I admit it does good. Anything does that brings
Americans and Japanese together in a friendly way. But what I object
to is the effervescence of our visitors. I think it is proper that we
should be courteous, cordial, friendly towards the Japanese, but what's
the use of telling them that we think they love us, when we know darned
well they don't. That old chap at the left of Barry tried some time
ago in the Privy Council to have the _Japan American_ suppressed for
no reason except that it had translated some embarrassing editorials
from a Japanese paper. The business premises of Americans are ransacked
by the police and accusations are constantly being made that 'a
certain nation' is cramming this country with spies; some of our most
prominent engineering firms are having their business seriously
interfered with because of constant 'spy' charges. They have no use
for us, and they have no use for England. They think we euchred them
at the Washington Conference. They feel that when we called off on
militarism, we did away with the one chance which Japan had to be a
great nation. They have no use for us big nations who, they feel, are
constantly interfering with the development of the policies they would
like to pursue in Asia. Mind you, I believe in being friendly--it's
indefensible to stir up needless trouble between America and Japan--but
I don't believe in slopping over, and I think it is right to let them
know that we know jolly well how they feel about us. The funny thing
is, Roberts, and every man who has lived here any time will tell you
the same, that just as sentiment in America towards Japan has become
more and more friendly since the Washington Conference, in the same
ratio Japanese sentiment is becoming unfriendly towards America. It may
be largely the doings of the militarists. Possibly they're the ones who
are egging the police on with these eternal spy scares. It may be part
of their plans to counteract the general agitation for army reduction;
to justify an army, there must be a potential enemy, and America is
the most obvious one. So put it down to the militarists, if you like.
They're the official goat, anyway."
"Yes, that's the popular game to-day, cussing the militarists," cut
in Kent. "Still, you know, I can see their point of view even if, God
knows, I condemn their methods. Look here, there's no use denying that
just one thing made Japan great, her army and navy. Take them away,
and the other Powers would put her in the class of, say, Spain. Now we
have decreed that hereafter we will measure nations by industrial and
commercial greatness, and the Japanese see that they're being left way
behind. The militarists see that Japan can remain great only in the
same way as she became great, by the sword. Now, it's probably sure
enough that they have given up the old idea of an offensive outside of
Asia; but what I think they are working up to is establishing a line of
defense to the eastward, and once that's complete, they will be ready
to do as they please in Asia; probably they feel that we won't easily
be led into war against them, anyway.
"And it seems plain that they must go into the continent of Asia.
That's where they must get raw materials for their industries which
they haven't at home. That's the only place to which we'll let them
emigrate----"
"Oh, hell, don't spring that worn-out theory of Japan's overflowing,"
interrupted Templeton. "As Japan industrializes, she'll take care of
her population; and there's still room in Japan for lots of additional
people. Premier Hara himself told me once that there was room for
millions in Hokkaido alone."
"Sure," Kent flashed back. "Just as there's lots of room in America for
the Americans. We don't have to emigrate, and still we would resent
it, wouldn't we, if we were told that we couldn't go where we pleased.
Here Japan sees her friends, America and Great Britain, possessing
enormous tracts that lie idle for want of settlers--take Australia, for
instance, where they are yelling for immigrants, and still they won't
let the Japanese in--and while the Japanese would like to go there, and
would develop these lands highly, as we all know, we tell them no, stay
home in icy Hokkaido. You talk about worn-out theories, Templeton; what
about that old stuff about Japanese driving out the whites wherever
they enter. How is a nation of less than sixty millions going to
swarm all over America and Australia and the rest of the earth. They
may breed like rabbits, but they would have to breed like herrings to
do that. And, anyway, even if we must keep them from immigrating into
America in masses--as we ought to keep out the hordes of low class
Latins and Slavs, people a sight lower than the Japanese, whom we have
let overrun our country--we might be less offensive about it. We all
know that what makes Japan sore is not the fact that she can't send
her surplus over to America; the Japanese Government wants them to go
west, not east, in fact; but it's the insult to her race pride, the
circumstance that a Doctor Takamine, a Doctor Kitisato, people who rank
among the best brains in the world, can't become American citizens,
should they wish to do so; but under our laws we can give citizenship
to Kaffirs and Hottentots, anything that's black and comes out of
Africa.
"You're looking into conditions in the Far East, Roberts. Take a look
at that angle of the question. We, the Anglo-Saxons, insist on holding
the Oriental down. We say that's not because we think he's lower than
we are, but what are mere words? We're judged by our actions. Now,
you notice how the Japanese papers every now and then break out with
Pan-Asia propaganda, calling for a combination of the peoples of China,
of India, of all Asia, to stand together against the White, under
Japan's 'hegemony,' as they put it. If you'd been here at the time
Kemal Pasha was telling England to go to Hades, you would have noticed
how the Japanese press applauded him; here, they boasted joyfully, was
finally an Asiatic defying the Anglo-Saxon, the Christian, and getting
away with it. We're bringing it upon ourselves. Japan has lost lots of
chances in the past to become the leader of Asia, but she may become
so yet; and that's what I think may be the militarist policy; either
they aspire to hold Japan in readiness to lead the rest of Asia, or
they may simply be preparing for the next time Europe and America are
too busy elsewhere to watch Asia, and then take what they want in
Manchuria and Mongolia. When you look upon all these things in the
light that the Japanese militarist looks upon them, you can, at least,
understand what he's driving at. I'm not a jingo. War between Japan
and America would be the most silly, the most damnable thing you can
think of; but I don't think we are using the best methods to avoid
it. Instead of going so strong on the brotherhood stuff, hands across
the seas and empty words, we should try to understand Japan a little
better. As it is, I'm sure that the nation at large, the Government as
represented by the Foreign Office, for instance, wants only friendship;
but you must remember that the General Staff is still running things to
a large extent, and is there any one of you who doesn't think they do
not expect war with us sometime, sooner or later?"
"Suppose they do," Sands, the engineer, leaned forward. "What hope can
they have of success? The next war will be fought in the air, they say,
and there Japan is helpless. We run regular air-mail services from
the Atlantic to the Pacific. The Japanese have not as yet been able
to stage a mail flight between Tokyo and Osaka, a few hundred miles,
without having participants dropping to earth. The Japanese have no
machine sense; they can run an engine when it's running smoothly, but
they're at sea in an emergency. That's why they're always tumbling
down with their airplanes. And modern war depends on industrial
organization, ability to work up and maintain tremendous outputs of
material. Japan simply hasn't the ability to do that. She'd be beaten
on that point alone."
"You may be right, Sands," Kittrick took up the argument. "But it is
not a question of war just now or for some years to come, thank God.
The next point of difference, I take it, will be the racial equality
question that has been smoldering ever since the Paris Conference. And
that's just where the world has been treating Japan wrong, granting
national equality, but not racial. It should be just the opposite.
I'm willing to grant any moment that racially the Japanese is as good
as we are and a sight better than lots of the white scum we admit to
citizenship, but nationally, no, sir; as long as Japan is run as she
is at present, with militarists capable of and quite willing to break
the nation's international pledges, no matter how sincere the diplomats
may or may not be in making them, just so long do I object to national
equality. The individual Japanese may be quite as good intrinsically as
we are, but the present system is not bringing out his capabilities,
and to contend that Japan is as great a nation as America or England is
plain rot."
"So you would want to admit Japanese to American citizenship?" asked
Roberts.
"Only after they had assimilated American training and ideals; but that
is just the point; as they are here in Japan I don't think they're
fit for citizenship of any country, any more than are the low-class
Europeans we import; but I contend that they are just as capable of
assimilation as are any other nationals. There's a bird here in Tokyo
who used to be in charge of the school system in Hawaii where forty per
cent. of the school children are Japanese, and he tells me that these
kiddies, under American training, are becoming as capable, as honest
and as loyal Americans as are any children under the flag, white, black
or brown. The American-trained Japanese is as efficient as we are;
the Japanese-trained Japanese is ineffective; it takes four or five
of them to do the work that a white man can do. It all shows that the
fault lies with the government here, the whole system. There's nothing
the matter with the Japanese; he's the same, mentally and morally as
the rest of us, with a few virtues such as cleanliness and industry
thrown in, but you have to take him away from the atmosphere here, of
incapacity, deceit, graft, the spirit that is exemplified by their
proverb: '_Uso wa Nihon no takara_.'"
"What's that, what's that?" Roberts had been taking it all in anxiously.
"Oh, it's simply a proverb to the effect that lies, deceit, craft,
whatever you may choose to call it, is the treasure of Japan. It's a
fine sentiment for a proverb, isn't it? Still it's fairly typical of
the situation. In fact, I think that that point, the fact that Japan
regards falsehood, deceit, in a light far more lenient than we do,
accounts more than anything else for the feeling of racial difference
between us. The average Japanese does not greatly mind being caught
in a lie; it conveys no distinct sense of shame to him; it's simply
a difference in ethical viewpoint, just as the Japanese look with
abhorrence on some of our ethical shortcomings, our comparatively scant
respect for old age, and all that--but it's the variant in Japanese
character which we find it the hardest to understand."
"You claim then that all Japanese are liars, to put it tersely?"
insisted Roberts.
"Not by a long sight. I know Japanese whose word is as good to me as
that of any white man. Of some of the big men and big firms you might
even say that their word is better than their bond; they'd rather be
generous than merely just, and the Japanese is far from being a piker.
There are lots of absolutely truthful Japanese just as there are lots
of whites who are thorough-going liars. But you might say that whereas
with the white man we take it for granted that he tells the truth until
we find out that he's a liar, with the Japanese one's inclined to take
it for granted that he's a liar until one learns the contrary. It may
be a blunt way of putting it, but it's the best I can do; and I think
that once the Japanese come to adopt our ethical point of view in this
respect, the same as they have adopted so many material things from us,
the greatest bar between the races will be removed.
"I should like to see it removed. I like the Japanese, and even if
I do realize that they don't like us, I can't greatly blame them. I
feel that we must appear arrogant to them, even when we are trying to
produce the feeling of quality--possibly even more so then--and so many
whites, especially among our own newcomers here, are beastly trying.
When I see our drummers and flappers, just off the ships, sitting
in trains, pointing at and commenting about Japanese men and women,
careless of the fact or not knowing that many of these people speak
foreign languages, I feel resentment myself, and I can understand what
the Japanese must feel. They have their faults and their scandals, but
are they worse on the whole than are ours? They treat us better here
than we treat them in America. I rave and rant at them as much as do
the rest of you; and yet, when it comes right down to the point, I like
them, and I wish them well, at least the people, the great masses, the
real nation, and I am sorry when I see the country shooting down-grade,
power going, wealth, industry, commerce, all going, I feel it is a
great pity. I want to see some great man come and lead them out of this
wilderness, some one like the great Meiji--but, where is he?"
"But what about the Prince Regent, then?" Roberts was using his
opportunity for copy. "He----"
Kittrick leaned forward to him, outstretched arm upsetting the liquor
glass before him. "So sorry, old man. Here, boy-san, quick, wipe up
this mess and get another glass for Mr. Roberts." He waited until the
boy had left them. "Really, Roberts, it seemed a rude thing to do, but
you simply must not talk about the Imperial House in front of these
boys, who like as not are in the pay of the Foreign Office or the
police. Possibly what you were going to say might have been all right,
but I was afraid to take the chance. Remember this is in many respects
the Land of the Free far more than our own United States. We can drink
what we please and have far more personal liberty in thousands of ways.
You can even cuss the government quite freely as long as you don't
preach Communism, or Sovietism, or that kind of rot; but, when it comes
to mention of the Imperial House, they stand for no nonsense. It's the
law of the land. It's safest to keep quiet."
The crowd in Peacock Alley was passing away, up the stairways to the
ballroom. The rest of the men followed; Kittrick and Roberts were alone
for the moment. "But just tell me this," the magazine man was noted
for his insistence. "What do you, from what you hear, think about it?
What are the chances, in your opinion, of the Prince Regent becoming a
second Meiji?"
"My dear man, I have no more idea about it than if I lived in Lima.
The pitifully few points we do know are hopeful. When he returned from
England, the police, according to the old rule, forbade cheering; but
the crowd cheered, anyway, for the first time in history, and it was
quite plain that the Prince Regent liked it. Then, a little later, when
the crowd at Kyoto broke through the cordons and came closer than had
been ordained, he remained with it longer than the set time. The mayor
resigned, "took the responsibility" as they call it; but the point is
that the Prince Regent was immensely pleased.
"That's about all I know that's of significance. Pitifully meager,
isn't it? But the fact is that we know less of what is really going
on inside Tokyo palace walls than we do about the holy of holies
in Lhassa. What are the influences surrounding the ruler of Japan,
modern or reactionary, sixteenth century or twentieth century? It is
possible that the entire future of Japan, of the Far East, depends on
just that one thing--and yet we don't know a blessed thing about it,
I, the rest of the correspondents, any one, in fact. No one knows,
except the infinitely narrow and secretive circle of the highest
officials. The Prince Regent is seen at official functions, he sees
foreigners, entirely formally, quite occasionally, but outside of the
scant official announcements which give no real information at all, the
world knows nothing. When you think of our present-day news facilities,
cables, wireless, and the rest, it seems impossible, incredible, that
we shouldn't know a little, have some slight idea; but it remains, to
my mind at least, the biggest and the most fascinating mystery in the
world. If any country ever stood at the crossroads, if any country ever
needed a great man to lead it, that's Japan to-day. Will the Prince
Regent be a second Meiji?" He threw his hands wide. "Go and find out,
and you'll have one of the biggest stories of the year."
Kent came over to them. "I say, aren't you chaps coming upstairs?" They
went up together, to the ballroom where dancing had already begun, and
stood near the entrance watching the dancers.
"An odd scene, isn't it, this combination of East and West," commented
Roberts. "They actually do seem graceful with their wonderful,
fanciful kimonos. Look at this girl just passing us. Can they really
dance?"
"Can a duck swim? That young lady is Miss Kimiko Suzuki, a special
friend of Kent's." Kittrick turned towards Kent. "Roberts is just
admiring your friend, Miss Kimiko----" But Kent was not listening. He
had noticed Sylvia coming towards them and stepped forward to meet her.
"I was hoping to see you here. You know, I haven't seen you since that
night at Ikegami."
"I am just on my way to find some cool place." He followed her as she
went towards the stairway. "There's such a crush in here, and I am
rather tired, anyway."
They found a nook, balcony-like, discreetly tucked away in the
labyrinth of porticoes and passages, overhanging a court with a long
stone-set pool, whose jet-black, surface, lacquer-like, gave back
glimmering reflection of the stars. A few commonplaces; then they fell
silent. He reflected how odd it was that with this girl he obtained
complete satisfaction, the delicious feeling of absolute content,
superlative well-being, by merely being in her presence. Strains of
a waltz air came down to them, softened, etherealized by distance,
intertwined with the sound from a fountain plashing into the pool,
monotonous, hypnotic. She was leaning forward, cheek pillowed on one
hand, the other lying on the balustrade. He took it between his, held
it, without definite forethought, intention; somehow, it seemed just
the natural thing to do--and apparently it seemed so to her, too; she
let it rest there; merely looked at him softly, dreamily, hardly even
questioning. He knew that he would make love to her, would ask her to
marry him; ideas, words began to stir about, moving as if in a jumble
in his mind, trying to form themselves into phrases; but they refused
to shape themselves into tangible, definite sentences, and he felt
as if they were hardly necessary. They were in the perfect accord,
attunement, that rendered words superfluous. Of course, he must say
them some time, later in the evening, in a few minutes, perhaps, but
now, just now, he wished merely to sit like this, enjoying the sense
of their coming together, fusion, love, brought about perfectly,
disdainful of the crude medium of words.
But a mumble of voices could be heard among the pillars behind them. A
group passed, unseen, chattering, below. Hurried footsteps rang along
the tiles. He roused himself. "Sylvia----"
The footsteps had come right up to them. "Here, Kent." It was Karsten;
of all men one would have thought that he at least would have had more
tact. But he rushed right up to them heedlessly, blunderingly. "Kent,
I've been hunting high and low for you. Kikuchi is waiting for you in
his auto at the side entrance to take you to the cable office. Big
news. Beat it. Don't bother about your hat or stick. I don't know what
it is, but it's big news. For God's sake, hurry," he was propelling
him down the hallway now. "I'll look after Miss Elliott for you in the
meanwhile; only move."
As he peered into the automobile standing at the side entrance, hands
seized him and dragged him in. "Kyubashi post-office, quick." It was
Kikuchi's voice giving directions to the chauffeur. "Kent, old man, I'm
giving you the beat of the year. Mito, the Premier, was assassinated
less than half an hour ago. I happened to be at my father's house when
they notified him. The cable office closes in fifteen minutes. The news
isn't out yet. You have a chance to beat the world. You did me a favor
with Kimiko-san, though probably you may not have realized it. I'm
trying to pay you back now."
"Mito, assassinated!" By the gods, the biggest story out of Japan since
the stabbing of Premier Hara. "But what are the details, Kikuchi? For
God's sake, tell me all you know."
"Nothing much is known yet, though it seems more sinister than the
Hara case. Mito was shot at the entrance of his official residence. A
volley, not a single shot, was fired through the board fence opposite.
They had made loopholes in it. They claim that there must have been
half a dozen of them, at least. No, no one has been caught. Yes, he's
dead as a doornail. That's all I know. Well, here we are. I'll wait for
you. Be quick."
His hand almost shook as he drafted his message, sending it at
urgent rates, by both wireless and cable to America, and by cable to
the London office, for luck. As he filed his stuff, he noted with
satisfaction that the clerks were getting ready to leave. His would be
the last message to get through that night. He had beaten the world.
He reëntered the hotel with the feeling of a conqueror, that he must
succeed in whatever he undertook. He would see Sylvia again presently,
just as soon as he had had a look in the ballroom, at the other
correspondents, to make sure that they were still in ignorance. He
sauntered up to Kittrick. He and Templeton were chatting idly. He
joined them. So far the news was not out. But as they stood there, he
noticed Butterfield in eager conversation with some Japanese. Now he
glanced about, left the hall hurriedly. Now the Japanese was talking to
Carew, editor of the _Japan American_, and Carew also suddenly became
active, febrile, as if he had received an electric shock.
"Hallo, Carew, what's the rush?" Kent caught him as he was hastening
past them. The editor glanced at his wrist-watch. "Past cable time, I
see. I might as well tell you. The Premier was assassinated less than
an hour ago. No, I have no details. I've got to hurry over to the shop.
I'm going to look after this make-up myself."
Safe, by George! Still he said nothing to the others. They would find
out soon enough that he had beaten them. But he wanted to bring his
triumph to her, Sylvia, a conqueror with the spoils of victory. But on
his way through Peacock Alley he met Karsten alone.
"Sorry, old man; I did the best I could to hold the lady, but I must
be getting old, losing my grip, or what? Anyway, she did not seem
to take to me as a substitute for you at all, acted sort of dumb,
moonstruck--you acted in a sort of a dazed way, too, for that matter,"
he whistled provokingly. "What do you intend to do now, anyway; the
night's still young."
"If you don't mind, I think I'll go home. Did you hear what the news
was, about the assassination of Mito? Well, I scored a clean beat, as
you may know. I want to get home and gloat comfortably, to enjoy my
thoughts of my luck."
"Oh, what absolute liars newspapermen are." Karsten placed an arm
affectionately about his shoulders. "I can't let you insult my
intelligence by letting you think that I believe that. Kent, looking
at you, I have wondered whether when, in my sinful past, I have been
in love, I have looked so damned silly as that? It's wonderful; and
whether you deny it or not, I'm going to open a bottle of Cliquot with
you when we come home."