CONCLUDING CHAPTER
After being away for three times, how did that effect upon my impression
of London? It is true that I loved the _très chic_ color in Paris; it is
true that I loved the gay sunshine in Rome; and it is true that I loved
those old gothics in Oxford. But after some absences from London I began
to love London even more than before.
It was just five days after I came back from Rome that I was invited to
a dinner at the parliament by one of my M. P. friends. When I arrived at
Westminster station I was about a few minutes too soon to go in, so I
had a little walk on the Embankment. It was still daylight. I saw St.
Thomas’s Hospital across the Thames. My head was still full of those old
ruins in Rome, and those delicate colors of Parisian buildings, and I
said to myself, “How ugly colors are those London buildings!”
The dinner was finished at 9.30, and we all went out to the Terrace to
have a walk. London was in her most beautiful evening dress. I repented
that I said St. Thomas’s was ugly just a few hours ago. The rows of
those Hospital Buildings were silhouetted up and down against the soft,
misty sky; Westminster Bridge, just like many rainbows high up,
connected that distance with the foreground. All of them were in bluish
(perhaps a little greenish) gray. Pale electric lights, and the warm
umber lights of ’buses on the Bridge, were reflected on the full tide. A
few tugs were guided by small steamboats. These were all in one tone of
grayish mist. In the foreground, the pavement of the Terrace, many
semicircles were marked under many a lamp. Ladies in white, and
gentlemen’s white chests, broke the darkness here and there. They were
walking together as light as butterflies. Where else could such romantic
view be seen? Neither in Paris nor Rome, I am sure!
Perhaps the real colors of some buildings in London might be rather
crude. But this crude color is so fascinating in the mists. For
instance, that house in front of my window is painted in black and
yellow. When I came here last summer I laughed at its ugly color. But
now the winter fogs cover it, and the harmony of its color is most
wonderful, and I am sure I need a great deal of study to paint this
beautiful color. When I was in Rome I often exclaimed, “Only if Rome had
London fogs!” Paris often had fogs, but her color is quite soft enough
on the clear days, so any little fog made Paris color rather weak, and
not so lovable as London.
Then about the life of London, I have found out it is larger than any
other town, London is on the extremely larger scale altogether. She is
just like a vast ocean where sardines as well as whales are living
together. If a millionaire of other towns comes to London, he could not
be proud of his own wealth. If a beggar comes to London, he would be
surprised to see some one poorer than he. A most beautiful stranger
could not expect to be crowned for her beauty, and an ugly foreigner
need not be ashamed of his ugliness. Wise and fool both shall not be put
to the extreme ends either. Perhaps even the robbers and pickpockets may
find enough friends!
London contains more variety of life than anywhere else. I myself always
find out some friends with equal height. I mean, same degree of head
and heart and pocket too. Nothing could be more comfortable than to meet
with friends of the same degree in everything. This is the great reason
I feel so homely in London more than any other place. Then, also, it is
my pleasure to share sympathy with the peoples inferior to me, and to
respect the peoples superior than myself. Now then at teas, at dinners,
or at clubs, I often see a glimpse of some wonderful persons. I feel as
if I am diving in a mysterious ocean and see the fins and tails of some
monstrous fishes. It is my ambition to discover their whole figures some
day when I get a chance. Then, let me classify all John Bulls and John
Bullesses as Linnæus, or Grey did the botany!
I so often meet with the English peoples who express their mad
admiration of Japan. Of course there are several who really understand
everything Japanese, but in a greater majority they make me quite
disappointed. May I call those peoples curio-lovers? They love Japan
because anything Japanese is strange to their eyes. I am much afraid
these peoples shall get tired of Japan sooner or later.
I am in mad love of London, but it is not at all my curiosity. I have
been here long enough. Once I loved London for curiosity: once I was
rather homesick. But those periods in my life have passed away a long
time ago. Now I love London because I have found out the real art and
comfort in her. London life suits me so well. Of course I love my
country best, and I do not want my country too much Europeanized. “Japan
ought to be Japan forever” is my sincere desire.
Therefore I think such a person like me, who is in mad love of England,
must stay in England. My own intention is to pass my life among the pure
Britons and find out more Art in them.
Perhaps I love humans more than even the mists. Let them be either good
or bad, I cannot live without them. I hear that artists or writers
generally seclude themselves in a lonely place to find out some idea to
work out. I am quite reverse. Whenever I want to get idea for painting
or writing, I always throw myself amongst the thickest crowds such as
Earl’s Court, Shepherd’s Bush, or the music stands in the Parks. Let the
crowds push me to and fro--I call it a human bath. In this human bath I
always work out my ideas. And if I am left quite alone, I feel too
miserable to do anything.
When I was in Oxford I had no friend, and I often thought I might become
a madman. I am so lucky to say I have made so many English friends--up
from the Cabinet ministers down to a boot-repairer--and I love them all
so dearly. Only there is one thing I am very cautious about. That is, I
am always trying very hard to avoid any business matters with my English
friends. They all are very nice to me. But no sooner than I have to do
any business with them, I ever so often have been disappointed with
them. Oh, how often have I sunken into delusions! It has been my
question for a long time. Only very lately I have discovered something
about it. I think I am not mistaken, so let me write it out now.
In Japan we have some unwritten law and invisible spirit which has been
overruling all Samurais. This is called Bushido, and sometimes called
Yamato Damashii, or the Soul of Old Japan. In England there is an
unwritten law and invisible spirit too--I must call it “The Soul of
England.” The Soul of Old Japan is Honor, and the soul of England is
Business. For the sake of Honor many Samurais had dead-heat duels with
their dearest friends, and for the sake of Honor the fathers often
stabbed their children unto death. In England Business has the power
almost the same with Honor in Japan. I often notice my English friends
change their expression and knock the table with their fists and say,
“Ah, but this is the Business.” For “business” laughter gets serious,
drunkards get sober, friends quarrel, and lovers depart each other.
English husbands would bring their wives to the court, all for the
business matter. Of course I know that English peoples do much for Honor
also, but in Japan it is only the merchants who do the business, while
in England it may even be that Princes have business.
If this business soul is used properly it is just as graceful as the
Soul of Honor. They both ought to come to the same finishing point--that
is to say, one who esteems Honor shall have business fair, and the best
business men shall esteem Honor. I think this is the great reason why
England is the head of her commonwealth in this world. But if both the
soul of Japan and the soul of England were misdirected, they both would
be as ugly as possible. The former would be too quick-tempered, while
the latter would be too mean. They both are just like some drugs. If you
take them in proper way you will save your life from death, and if you
take them in wrong way you shall poison yourself unto death. But how
many peoples could be always in right way? We must remember we all human
beings could not always be perfect. Therefore we must forgive each
other’s faults. And as I am a Japanese I have a natural tendency to get
into my own fault and throw away friendship for the sake of Honor.
Frankly, I cannot bear if one thinks of a few shillings more than a
warm-hearted friendship.
When the soul of Business is misled by some inferior human, it is beyond
what I can bear. These sorts of people often think that they can easily
take advantage of me, because I am “soft.” How greatly they are mistaken
of me! It is only my etiquette not to struggle a little money matter
with them in fear that it would injure our noble humanity. But am I
afraid of any people? Never. Even if this whole world become my enemy, I
cannot feel any fear. What shall I do with those peoples who act some
mean thing upon me? There is one word, “Adieu forever.” Because I cannot
have friendly feeling with them any longer. Everything is finished with
them. What should I do throwing away all my friends like this? That is
why I said the best way is not to have any business matter with my
English friends. If your cat steals your fish, it is not the fault of
your cat, but the fault of your own self, and you can love your cat well
if you are cautious enough!
As long as no business is concerned, they all are perfectly darlings!
However, I am so lucky to say I have a few friends who are as fair in
business as their own faces. To me they are just like three or five
bright stars on the western evening sky. As the night is getting darker
they become brighter and brighter, and shine on the dark path for me to
march on. With these friends I can share my sorrow as well as my joy in
the business matters.
Are these few peoples only the bright stars in whole London? or are
there many as fair as these friends? I don’t know that, and I don’t want
to know either. Friendship is
[Illustration: EARL’S COURT STATION.]
by quality and not by quantity. These are enough for me to feel it is
worth of me living!
Now let me have a few words about my art. Although it is some seventeen
years since I left Japan, most time I have wasted for my living. So my
study on art was not much. It was not more than twelve months that I
attended at the art school in San Francisco, then about two years in
London Art Schools, which were only two hours in each night. When I
removed to Chelsea I began to study the London views; I wasted much time
owing to the lack of materials--sometimes I had no paper to work on.
It is only since I started to illustrate the “Color of London” that I so
luckily have been able to devote all my time entirely to study, and this
is the third year. Therefore, I must say my study of art is only six or
seven years all together. Though I am growing older and older every day
with the same rate with all the readers, my art is only seven-year-old
child! I know it is about ten years behind. I often feel very sad about
it, but it is altogether too foolish to lament about the past, which
shall never come back. Only I shall try to take care of my health to
prolong my life and shall patiently expect my success some day in
future. I am in the same idea with that Japanese philosopher who made a
poetry of six “no’s”--“I have no parents, no wife, no children, no home,
and though I have no money, I have no idea to die yet.”
Since some of my works appeared in the form of two or three books, some
critics as well as my intimate friends have given me most flattering
advices in papers or by letter. I am very thankful to all. Only one
thing I must beg sincerely to all my kind sympathizers: “Pray do not
take me as quite an artist yet.” If you look upon seven-year-old art as
a master, whatever shall become of this world? Some talked about
“Japanese Art or European Art?” About this question I have a few words
to say.
Yes, Japan has her own Art. The scholars have to learn how to hold the
brush and how to draw lines. These practices are just like that of
violinists. It would take some ten or fifteen years before they can
paint any of their own compositions. Some of them follow very faithfully
after their master, and some are founding their own schools. You can
call them all “Japanese styles.” How those old Japanese masters would
lament if they knew peoples were calling anything new or different “a
Japanese style”! Now the reader can clearly see I do not belong to any
Japanese style. It is true that I have studied charcoal drawings at some
schools, but it was only my study to get the shape from the nature, and
I was far below following any European styles. Then all the rest of my
study has been entirely myself-taught. Then, why am I European style? It
is true that I have learned such sciences as perspective or anatomy
through books. You may call them “European sciences,” but I learnt them,
not because they were European, but because I found them so true to
Nature. Is anything quite natural called “European”? I think it is a
very narrow-minded logic. Not only Europeans alone, but Japanese,
Chinese, Indians, and Negroes shall come to the same point if they are
faithful to Nature.
Another question reached to me, “Why don’t you paint more differently
from us, because you are a Japanese?”
A more laughable remark was, “You will lose your art unless you stick
to the Japanese style.”
To these peoples I sincerely ask, What is the definition of the word
“Art”? Perhaps they may say, “Art is something different from ordinary
things.” They might be pleased if I painted English women with one eye
or three eyes, or if I painted London Bridge on the top of St. Paul.
They would say, “Ah, this is charming Japanese Art because it is so
uncommon!”
But how could I do such things? I can see the beauty of English women as
well as the English peoples do, and I can unfortunately, or rather,
fortunately, see the beauty of London as exactly she is now. If I paint
English women not really so beautiful as they really are (very sadly I
always cannot paint so), that is my own fault, and not my Art by any
means.
My definition of the word “Art” is “Well selected,” and I faithfully
obey to my own definition. I could not be such a speculator to
distinguish myself with anything only different.
At present, I am in mad love of London seen quite naturally, and I
cannot pretend myself to make any style or mannerism which would only
mean a handicap to my study. All the books I am making now are only my
studies. Only if I were rich enough to get daily bread without selling
my pictures I should never show such studies to the public. This is
quite understood by my publishers. But some day I shall be something
more than a slave of nature. That is to say, I shall establish my own
school. Here I shall keep myself silent and let my brush speak it in the
future when I am ready. At present I am contented to be “one of many.”
* * * * *
When I finished writing this book I showed it to some friends: they
looked rather amazed because I have written about my friends and
everything “too directly,” and I have come back to my own conscience to
think that I might have written too much. But I am not clever enough to
conceal the fact and I am not hypocrite enough to tell a lie. So this
book itself is I myself. When Confucius made Shunju, he said, “It is
this book through which the public will know me. It is this book
through which the public will condemn me.” I must say, too, that it is
this book through which I may get bitter enemy. It is this book through
which I may get real friends. Anyhow, it is this book through which the
public will know me thoroughly.
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
my kind ladlady=> my kind landlady {pg 127}
‘behave’ themselvs well=> ‘behave’ themselves well {pg 142}
that our nighbor=> that our neighbor {pg 144}
After Wakamia went back=> After Wakamiya went back {pg 151}
called Yamato Damashi=> called Yamato Damashii {pg 213}