“THE COLOR OF LONDON”
It was on 20th of June, 1906, a few of my best English friends made an
arrangement for me to make a book from my pictures, and Mr. Loftie was
to write the text. The name of the book was “The Color of London,” and
Messrs. Chatto & Windus were to publish it. I hesitated to undertake
this, because I felt my art was not quite perfect yet. But my friends
told me that I must not always be so “foolish,” so I started my work at
once. All my Japanese friends were more delighted than I myself.
Although the publishers were kind enough to forward me some money by
weekly payment, I had still some debts to my landlady, and I could not
afford my bus fare every day. So I used to walk all the way wherever I
went to sketch. My doctor friend told me afterwards that I had not lost
anything by walking. It was very good thing for me. Because I needed
daily exercise.
Anyhow, I was very glad to think that I have to devote my life entirely
on the real art. No more pot-boilers! As I began to feel some comfort on
my daily life, I started to go round to see all my friends. My old
friend Arthur Ransome and I often visited our artist friends, Alphaeus
Cole and Miss Coleman Smith, in Fulham. Then I visited on Mr. Spielmann
more frequently, where I was introduced to many leading artists, writers
and diplomatists. I was quite an earnest auditor to their very
interesting conversations. Perhaps I was most spoilt at Mr. Sladen’s
house. Only he and Miss Lorimer were so cross whenever I spilt my
cigarette ashes on the floor.
Oh, at his house I have met many jolly John Bulls and John Bullesses. I
cannot write all in this chapter. I am thinking some day to write a book
exclusively about my John Bulless friends. Some one whispered me that I
ought not. Why not? Why could I not write all my admiration about them?
It is only pure and sincere admiration about them!
“The Color of London” was published on May 8, 1907, and at the same time
I had an exhibition of my original pictures at Clifford Gallery in
Haymarket. On the opening day so many prominent peoples came. I was so
shy, and I kept myself very small at one corner the whole morning. But
they began to flatter me and pet me. Only too kind of them to do so with
such horrid works. Anyhow, I got some courage at last to face with all
the visitors. I was surprised of myself on getting so bold.
Many flattering letters were pouring upon me, and I was invited to teas,
dinners, theaters, and clubs. His Majesty the King so graciously
accepted a copy of “The Color of London.”
My gay life did not last more than five days. It was a Saturday night,
May 11th. I went to see one of my Japanese friends who was going home.
Some half-dozen of my country-fellows had Japanese dinner together. Soon
after the dinner, at midnight, I became seriously ill so suddenly. I had
a cab-drive to my own lodging.
All night I was groaning in bed. As soon as the maid got up I asked her
to wire to all my Japanese friends, Hidaka, Hara, and Oku, who have left
my lodging a little time ago. Also I wired to Dr. Baldwin in Manchester
Square.
I was acquainted with Dr. Baldwin before, because he and his brother
were the admirers of my works, and bought some pictures.
My Japanese friends arrived to my room immediately. The doctor’s servant
replied that he was away to country, but he will attend on me as soon as
he comes back.
All day long my Japanese friends nursed me with great anxiety. Their
moisted eyes were better medicine than anything, and I forgot all my
pain.
They suggested me that I ought to mention the name of my illness to the
doctor, so that he would bring all necessary instrument. “Do you know,
Markino, what is your illness called in English?”
I said, “This must be appendicitis.”
“Are you quite sure?”
“Yes.”
My friends wired the doctor, “Prepare all your instrument for
appendicitis.”
Dr. Baldwin came to my place with such a large bag with him in the
evening.
He said, “Now let me see. Will you lay yourself upward?”
“No, no, doctor; my illness is on my back.”
“What? I say, Mr. Markino, this is not appendicitis. You have grossly
deceived me. Look at what a job I have had to carry all those
instruments in my bag!”
“But, doctor, I really thought ‘appendicitis’ was the right name in
English.”
He laughed so heartily, and said the real English name of my illness
is ----. He had a temporary treatment for me, and said, “That will do for
a few days, but you need an operation. You had better go to the West
London Hospital, where I myself shall operate you. You will get a card
from the hospital in a few days. Until then you must wait.”
I suppose my illness was the result of the bad foods and the lack of
exercise through my poverty.