MY LIFE IN NEW CROSS
In New Cross I lived in two places. First in Amersham Road, and then at
St. Donald Road. I have nothing much to say of these two places. I had
apartments, and took all meals in my own room, so I did not see much of
the landlords or their families. The second place was awfully
cheap--11s. 6d. for a week.
At this time the Japanese Naval office was moved to Victoria Street. I
used to walk from Charing Cross to the office way round St. James’s
Park. It was so nice to see that pretty bit of the Park every day, but
that was not my real reason. I tried to avoid seeing Westminster Abbey
too often. I shall give the reader full reason for this in the words
which my father used to tell me when I was a boy. He was a great pilgrim
to visit all historical places in Japan, in order to make poetries. He
said, “We have most poetic feeling in our minds when we only read books
of those places and don’t visit them at all. Generally we are
disappointed if we see the places actually. Sometimes they are more
poetic than we were imagining, but even then, if we visit the same
places too often and become too familiar with them our poetic ideals
suffer a great deal.”
I thoroughly agree with my father. In the case of Westminster Abbey it
was “more poetic than I was imagining,” but I was so afraid to get too
familiar with it. That was why I tried not to see it every day. Even
now, I visit it quite seldom, once in three months or so. Then every
time I enjoy myself there with some singular sorts of feelings.
In the evening, after the office, I used to take the same train from
Charing Cross to New Cross with Mr. Marriott and Mr. Buckman. Both were
my teachers at life class. They were very kind gentlemen, and I made a
great friendship with them. They used to invite me to their musical
evenings. At the school I had about seven or eight class-mates. Some of
them had awful lucky names for artists--Leighton, Watts, or Prior,
something like that. But my most intimate class-mates were Sand,
Galleghar, and Jennings.
Sand was a boy of a bootmaker at Catford. He was the youngest, about
seventeen or eighteen. As his manner was rather rough, all other
students used to mock at him. But I always had a great sympathy with
him. He was such a simple boy, and was so earnest to study hard. And he
was so very ambitious too.
One evening all students had a “chat.” I said, “If I become quite
well-known artist some day....” They all laughed at me. But Sand came to
me and shook my hand warmly (if roughly too): “Never mind their
laughter, my Chin-Chin; you and I shall make ‘a name’ some day.” I
wonder what has become of this ambitious boy now, after some ten years?
I would not be surprised if I see his name big somewhere one of these
days.
Galleghar was an Irish. He was very philosophical, and his pen-and-ink
sketches of trees on commons were full of poetry. But he was such a
woman-hater. I heard a great deal of woman-haters before, but I could
not believe until I saw him actually with my own eyes--simply a miracle
to my eyes!
Jennings was rather miserable young fellow, but most kind-hearted. He
was a great help to me when I succumbed into penniless poverty a little
later on.
I think I attended the Goldsmith Institute about two years, of course
with many intervals absence, as usual through financial difficulties.
The naval office was busy at the time, so that when I came to the
class-room I was quite worn out and unfit to study. The teachers often
said to me: “Whatever are you doing with your drawing to-night? You are
spoiling all those best parts you have done last night. You look too
tired; you had better go back, and go to bed immediately.”
But I was too sad to leave my dear class-room before the time. I used to
sit down on a chair and smoke cigarettes and watch the others working. I
don’t know whether I am right or not to mention here about my smoking.
It seemed to me, afterwards, that smoking was prohibited in the
class-room, although the teachers did not say anything to me. I know I
was much spoilt there.
The office was getting still busier. The other secretary was often
detained until late at night. I told the attaché that I felt it was not
right of me to leave the office while they were still working. He
smiled and said: “Never mind us at all. If you were here for work only,
I could get a better worker. I only keep you here for your own sake to
study art, so if you feel too tired at the school, I shall let you leave
still earlier.” And he did that to me!
Captain (now Admiral) Mukoyama, the Naval attaché, and my great idol,
was summoned back to Japan at last. It was the saddest news to me. My
Japanese friend Shirasu (the Chancellor of our Legation at the time)
came to my room one evening and said to me: “You know Captain Mukoyama
is going back to Japan in a few days. I saw him last night, and we
talked a great deal about you. He is very fond of you. He has a great
confidence in you. I am sure the other officers will be kind to keep you
all the same, but remember, our ship-building will be quite finished
soon, and you will not be wanted any longer. Why don’t you go back to
Japan soon, if not with the Captain? He might easily push you up through
his influence in Japan, and you might have a comfortable life there for
all the rest of your days.”
Oh, nothing but “comfortable life!” That was not my chief ambition then!
I worried all night. Indeed, this was the first dark cloud in sight, but
it was getting bigger and bigger, and later on I met with some of the
strongest tempests in my life.
Yes, I worried, but I had already chosen my path--to reject the
“comfortable life.” In that one sleepless night my nature became
absolutely changed from childish gaiety to gloomy misery. From that
moment I did not laugh heartily for eight long years. If I did laugh or
smile at all, it was only to conceal my misery from the public.
Captain Mukoyama called me to his private room at St. James’s Place on
the day before he left. He said to me: “Now our last day has come; you
have been so good to me, I shall miss you very much.” Why, I have done
nothing for him; it was he who has been so good and so kind to me. How
could I pretend myself to accept his words? I was so much moved in
tears, and I could hardly lift up my face to see him.
He continued: “I hear you have decided to stay in London. I suppose you
are preparing yourself to meet all sorts of difficulties; remember
there are some ten thousand artists who are struggling in London. It is
not easy matter to live on Art; besides, there are more wolves than
sheep wherever you go in this world.”
“Yes, my dear Captain, I know it is not easy thing for me. I believe it
is not only artists, but engineers, doctors, musicians, and everybody,
have enough competitors to struggle against. If one is afraid of his
competitors, he cannot succeed in anything at all. I am no cleverer than
ordinary peoples, but I have self-confidence to conquer all the
difficulties by working harder than the others. If they do once, I shall
do the same twice, and if they do ten times, I shall do the same a
hundred times. It was my ambition from the very first to be quite
independent with my art. Only you have been so kind to assist me, but
now I feel so courageous to go on with my own way.”
“Well said, Markino. One who has the ambition to conquer the world must
be so. I believe you shall succeed one day with your own eagerness.
However, I know your nature quite well, and I am so anxious to think how
much more you shall suffer than those hard-hearted peoples. This world
is not so sincere and so neat as you are imagining; but never mind,
whenever you meet any difficulty, let me know, I shall assist you all I
can.”
I think it is no wonder our Navy always wins whenever we have battles.
All the sailors would be willing to fight their best under such
kind-hearted officers. I myself thought I would fight to death, if I
were a sailor under his command.
The next evening I told my teachers and all my class-mates what I was
intending to do. Every one of them turned such an anxious face to me.
They all said how hard it was to live on Art in London. They looked more
nervous than I myself felt. Surely they anticipated my future fate more
accurately than myself, because they were all English, and they knew
English life quite well. I always say, ignorance is the best medicine
for timidness. When I crossed the Atlantic Ocean from New York to Havre
on board _La Touraine_, we met a strong gale in the English Channel. Big
waves washed the deck constantly, and the ship did not move on well. I
did not know we were in danger, for I could not understand French. All
the passengers and crew seemed very anxious, but I alone was amused
with the grand view of the high sea. I was so frightened when I learned
afterwards that it was rather a dangerous voyage, and that I might not
have lived!
My life voyage was as dangerous as _La Touraine_, only I started with
blank ignorance. Mr. Marriott asked me, “Can you draw crowds of people
in the streets?” I said, “No.”
“Can you do designs?”
“No.”
“Do you know anything of Architecture?”
“Not at all.”
He was quite pale. I never forget his kind sympathy which so naturally
appeared on his face. He said: “You go downstairs to our library and see
all those monthly or weekly magazines. You must try to do something like
those illustrations.”
So I did as he told me and bought some sketch-books, and started
studying “figures” at the stations, at the restaurants, at the theaters,
and everywhere I went.
At this time I had another secretary friend at our office, and we two
used to go together to an A. B. C. for luncheon. I always took
[Illustration: PEN AND INK STUDIES FROM MEMORY.]
out my sketch-book and studied the people. My friend was awfully
disgusted with me, and said, “Look at the people, they all are watching
you. I am ashamed to come to this restaurant with you. Can’t you give up
your horrid sketching?”
I said, “By no means could I give up my Art study. If you object to me
sketching, let us go to different restaurants quite separately.”
When I had luck to spare a few shillings, I often went to a better-class
restaurant, not for the luxury of dishes, but to study better-class
people.
Oh, I must not forget to mention one thing, of a most faithful waitress
at a restaurant in Baker Street. After my meal I left three coppers on
the table and went away. When I walked about a hundred yards a policeman
stopped me and pointed out for me to look back. I saw the waitress
chasing after me. She found out a ten shilling piece between those
coppers, so she wanted “to return gold to you.” I was much appreciative
with her faithfulness. I said, “Really, you had a full privilege to put
‘gold’ in your pocket. Let us divide this half and half.” So I gave her
five shillings in spite of my very poverty. She seemed quite happy.
Here in this book I am giving some of those sketches which I did in
restaurants at that time. I also began to study drawings from memory.
Every night when I came back to my room I used to recollect what I had
seen during the daytime and try to draw them from memory. Naturally all
the negatives in my head were nothing but young ladies!
It was a most surprising thing how little memory I had! Sometimes I
remembered only the dress, but forgot all about the hat. Sometimes I
caught dress and hat, but forgot the boots. Generally I did their backs,
because I had more chance to look at them from the back for a longer
time. Here I reproduce some of those studies just to amuse the readers
with my struggles on the difficulty.
I was not discouraged with my bad memory. When I was in San Francisco I
used to go to fifteen cents meal at some German restaurant. I was quite
surprised that those German waiters took more than twelve different
orders at one time from us hungry eaters. They never made mistakes. I
asked one of them how could he remember all the orders. He said it was
only “experience.” First time when he became a waiter he took one order,
then later on two, three, five, eight, and so on. Indeed, everything is
through “experience.” So I had patience to get experience some day. I
was quite right. After nine years’ experience now I can remember a whole
crowd of some eighteen or twenty people.
But at the starting-time it was such a difficult task for me. Whenever I
went out to the streets I was like a crazy man. More than once I knocked
my head against the lamp-posts while I was walking uncautiously, being
so busy to study the movement of peoples. The movement of horses was
still more difficult to study. Once I ran after a cab in Victoria Street
and knocked down a poor little baby. I had trouble with his mother.
How lucky I was that there were no motors in those days, or I might
easily have been killed by them!
I had a young lady friend in Lewisham High Road. She wanted me to go to
St. John’s Church every Sunday evening. Of course I could not understand
the English enough to enjoy the sermons. It was such a trying hour of
waste time there. But at last I got a happy idea. I thought I should
study the peoples in the church. I had a Bible with large leather
covers. I tore off all the script and put my sketching-book inside the
leather cover. In the church I started to sketch during the sermon. My
lady friend noticed that one day. She was so shocked. She never asked me
to go to the church. Not only that, but our friendship was ended through
my vulgar manners. I was sorry to make such savage disturbance on the
national religion of England.
She was always very good to explain to me about the ladies’ fashions.
When I got her last letter, to “end friendship,” I rather missed her.
Art or Heart? Art or Heart? Both sound so much the same to each other.
Cockneys or French peoples might easily mix them up. But to me, there
was a great different meaning, and I decided to take Art.
Although my idolized Captain Mukoyama had left the office, the Fleet
Paymaster, Mr. Sakura, was as kind as the Captain to me. Once he gave me
nine bottles of _saké_ (Japanese wine). I had not tasted _saké_ since I
came to England, so it was a great treat for me. I used to enjoy one or
two glasses every evening, and finished two bottles. But that made me so
sleepy, and I could not study well after this drink. It was too bad to
be so lazy every night. I thought I might give all the rest to my
landlord, but he preferred Scotch. It was a pearl to a pig. Too pity to
give away such precious thing which we cannot get by money! So I
finished all seven bottles in one night.
One gas-light in my room seemed to me to be three or four. The feet of
my desk began to wave like snakes. Everything was whirling. I do not
know how I got into bed.
Next morning I had bad headache. I was obliged to wire to the office,
“Too ill to attend.” In the afternoon I got up and had a walk. When I
went back to the house the landlady told me she was so frightened when
she made my bed, my slippers came out from the sheets, and seven empty
bottles were lying about the floor. She hoped the kind officers would
never give me _saké_ any more!
At this time the office removed again to Nottingham Place, near Regent’s
Park, so I removed to Kensal Rise. The landlady was rather hard-hearted
woman. She often made nasty trick on me. I shall not talk much about
her, because she was only the one exception during my thirteen years in
London.
One day I received my monthly wages at the office--five pound note and
some gold. I got on the top of bus. There was a lady with the latest
style hat on. I sat down on the back seat and began to study that hat.
The conductor came for the fare. I was so busy, and pulled a penny
quickly out of my pocket. I got off the bus at Wigmore Street and walked
to Marshall and Snelgrove. A lady came to me and said she was so glad to
see me. She was the lady whose hat I was studying from the back. I was
so surprised. I wondered if English ladies had some more eyes on their
back. How dangerous! She was a very kind lady, and she said that as soon
as I left the bus the conductor picked up a five pound note on my seat,
and said that he would take that to the Scotland Yard. “Go to Scotland
Yard to-morrow morning and you will get your five pounds.” That was her
kind advice.
Scotland Yard! What was Scotland Yard? I saw a guide-book, and found out
it
[Illustration: PENCIL STUDIES.]
was near Westminster. I thought it must be something Scotch. All the
things I knew of “Scotch” were only whisky and my tweed overcoat! I was
so curious to see some more of Scotch. I went there next morning. Why,
they were all English! Even now I don’t understand why it is “Scotland
Yard.” However, I got my money back, after paying fifteen per cent.
As I lived at Kensal Rise, I changed my school to London Central School
of Art and Craft. At the same time the paymaster told me I should not be
needed at the office. It was February of 1900. He gave me two months’
notice, with £30. Mr. Wilson was my new teacher at the school. I told
him about my position at the time. He encouraged me very much, saying
there was an opening for my future if I did my Japanese style. He
introduced me to Mr. Holme of _The Studio_. I took a few sketches there,
and Mr. Holme accepted them, but said he could not be able to publish
them for some months.
March 31st came, and I said good-bye to the office with that thirty
pounds, which the paymaster really meant for the boat’s fare to go back
to Japan. At this moment I could not worry, because I had been worrying
quite enough. I was half delighted to think to make my art as my own
master, which had been my ambition for ages.
April Fool Day was the anniversary of my artist life. I think that was
why I could not be wise with my art business!
As I could not still draw anything well enough to make a picture, I
bought Kodak in most ignorant hope to help my art. It was quite useless.
I gave it to the daughter of my landlady. I bought a wood figure for
forty-two shillings. I thought it might be a help to me. It was quite
useless too. Only this two-guinea wood figure became a help to me when I
was starving in Brixton later on. One of the lodgers in the same house
fetched me two shillings from that, “after great difficulty,” and I had
four meals from that.
I had spent almost all that thirty pounds for the lodging, as well as
for buying some “useful things for my Art business” in three months’
time. And when I had become quite conscious that there was no other help
for my art than my own hard study, I found out only £2, 10s. were left!
My lodging-house was unusually expensive (thirty-five shillings a week)
at the time; I had to move to a small house in Mortimer Street, Kensal
Rise. Every penny was so precious for me then, so I could not hire a cab
for removal. Late at night I tied up all my things. My bag was broken,
and I could not use it. So I wrapped everything in my bed-quilt, and
carried it on my back, and walked to my new diggings some three or four
streets. The peoples on the streets stared at me. Perhaps they thought I
was a smuggler!
I found this house by a “let” card on the window.