Part 7

--'I think I must reserve my remarks, either pro or con,' I said, 'but it is curious to notice what divergence of opinion there is relating to the condition of Japanese women. Perusing casually a book by Lafcadio Hearn a little time ago, I came across a passage where he speaks of Japanese women as being the most artistic objects, as it were, of the most artistic nation of the world, and laments that this perfection will be deteriorated by the influence of time. There is a lady of good birth in London whom I know very well, who admires Japanese ladies very much, though I am not quite sure that she herself would like to live like a Japanese lady. She told me that when the time came for her two boys to marry she would send them to Japan in order to be married out there. Her words may not have been mere passing compliments, for she has contributed to a monthly an article under the title of the "True Chrysanthemum," which pays a very high tribute to the Japanese women. On the other hand, however, few Occidentals know what the Japanese women are, and writers are not wanting who cast upon them sweeping condemnation. They even say that Japanese women know not what is chastity, and even that no such word exists in the Jananese language.'

--'What nonsense!'

--'Excuse me for pushing my remarks to such a point as this,' I continued, 'but you see I am so blunt in expression, and I cannot make my meaning plain unless I use such cut-and-dry phrases. In my own opinion, without any partiality for my own country, I think I can confidently say that chastity is far more practised in Japan than in any other nation.'

--'Hearn's books, which you have just mentioned, are charming,' said another lady. 'I have read some of them. They go, I think, a long way in contradicting those unfair charges.'

--'Yes, I think so too,' said I. 'But, you know, one tongue is nothing against a hundred, as we say. However that may be, he was a fine writer. It is sad that he died last year. He made, as he said, the study of the Japanese heart and thought his special subject. All his books, therefore, are concerned with some sort of Japanese psychology. They are generally so full of pathos and feeling that even Japanese readers are often moved to tears.'

--'Then you have read all his books. I should like you to give me the outline of them at your leisure,' she said.

--'I don't think that would be possible, because I don't know them all.'

--'But you have just now said "all his books," as though you knew all,' she said.

--'No!' I answered, 'I have not read _all_. I have seen most of the titles, and some pages here and there, and guessed all the rest. You see, nowadays, printing is comparatively so cheap and people are so fond of writing, and further, nine-tenths of the writers have their books printed at their own expense, so that the publishers run no, risk. If, therefore, one tries to read all books, one would become a mere bookworm and a good-for-nothing fellow. Once a compatriot of mine, when in Germany, was admitted into the study of a great professor. The four walls were covered with nothing but shelves of books. The professor said that all those books were sent to him by writers of all nations who were engaged in the same pursuits as himself. As a matter of fact he was a jurist, and all those books were on law. The visitor asked if he had read all of them, to which the professor answered "Yes." Thereupon he observed, "Impossible, you could not have had time to read them all." The professor then explained that the essential points of any book were all known to experts, so that a few pages on those points, which could easily be found by index, were sufficient to know all that was contained in a book. In that way, he said, "he read all the books which had come to him."'

--'What a joke!' said the lady. 'But what kind of man was he? I mean Mr. Hearn. His life seems to have been much in the clouds.'

--'So far as I am aware of,' said I, 'he was born in Lafcadi, one of the Ionian Islands, when it was under English occupation, having an Irish father, I believe, and a Greek mother. He passed his early years in England until he became a youth, when he went to America, where he remained until after the prime of life. He then went to Japan, and in course of time married a Japanese lady and became a naturalised subject there. So he was a regular cosmopolitan. He always occupied some position as teacher, and was much liked by his numerous pupils. His Japanese name was Koizumi Yakumo. Technically speaking, he caused himself to be adopted by the family of his wife, and so took their family name "Koizumi" for his surname, and Yakumo for his personal name, or, as you call it, Christian name.'

--'What you have just said somewhat strikes me,' remarked the lady. 'You have put the Christian name after the surname.'

--'Ah!' said I, that's a reasonable question. Perhaps you don't know that in Japan we put our family name first. That is to say Gambetta Léon instead of Léon Gambetta, if he were a Japanese. It is so with the Chinese; it is also so with the Hungarians. It is one of the proofs which the Hungarians produce as being descendants of the same stock as the Orientals. When, however, we are in Europe, or write with European letters, we generally reverse the order and make it agree with the European method. Well, unless we do that, we are liable to be called wrongly by having our names reversed, in such a fashio as Monsieur Léon, or Monsieur G. Léon, instead of Monsieur Gambetta, or Monsieur L. Gambetta. Such absurdities often occur in reality, and it is very inconvenient.

--'I see: that accounts for many discrepancies which exist in writing som well-known Japanese names, as I occasionally notice in books or papers written in a foreign language; but it is no use to refer to the Japanese by name, their names are too difficult for us to remember--it took me weeks to remember your name correctly.'

--'Just so,' I answered, 'It is equally difficult for us to remember European names. It is the reason why I do not recollect many people to whom I am continually introduced; to confess, I do not remember your name correctly. Russian names are particularly difficult to remember, not only to us Orientals, but to Anglo-Saxons, even to you, the French. Do you know that in England Rodjestvensky, before he became famous and well known, was called simply "Roj" very often, and aliens sometimes called him "Rotten-cheese-sky." Poor admiral! Witte is simple enough to remember. We Japanese remember and often write General Kuropatkin as Kurobato, that is to say, "black pigeon."

Of course, association is the best means of remembrance. We remember your words "Salle-à-manger" by _Sara-mongi_, that is, a "plate and written characters," and the English word "Minister" as _me-no-shita_, that is, "below the eyes." In fact, _me-no-shita_ is used very commonly in corrupt English at the open ports of Japan. _Frans-Me-no-shita_ is "French Minister," and _Igiris-Me-no-Shita_ is "English Minister." A dozen years ago there was in Japan an enterprising man who advertised that he had invented a good system of memory, and even opened a school. It was no other than remembering things by association, and I think there is a good deal in it. A little time ago, as you know, their Highnesses Prince and Princess Arisugawa were on a visit to Europe. Lord Lansdowne had great difficulty in remembering the name. Our _Me-no-shita_ in London asked him if there were not a Princess Alice in England, to which his Lordship replied "Yes." He then asked if there were not a street called "Gower Street," to which his Lordship similarly answered "Yes." Thereupon our minister said: "Very well, Princess Alice and Gower Street, that makes Arisugawa." After that his lordship, the Foreign Secretary of Great Britain, remembered the name of our Prince and Princess very well.'

--'That's all very well,' said she: 'but you mix up _r_ and _l_ altogether.'

--'That's true,' I answered, 'it is the weakest point for us in speaking European tongues. We cannot, or at least without the greatest difficulty, make any difference in pronouncing _r_ and _l_. Thus "right" and "light" become alike when we speak. It is very necessary to think of that fact when you talk with a Japanese. All this arises from the fact that in the Chinese and Japanese tongues there are not two different sounds of _r_ and _l_; those sounds in Japanese are more like your _ra_, _ri_, _ru_, _re_, _ro_, whilst they are _la_, _li_, _lu_, _le_, _lo_ in Chinese.'

--'I have noticed it very often,' she said, 'even while you talk you do the same. Your allusion to remembering things by association is very true; we do the same very often. But it often produces curious errors.'

--'True,' I said, 'I know a few instances. In Japan there is a kind of cloth, mostly used for négligées, called _Yukata_, a bath-cloth, so called because it was originally used after the bath. We call the "evening" _Yiukata_, the only difference being the "u" in one case being pronounced longer than in the other. We call "shower" _Yiudachi_. A European lady married to a Japanese appears to have tried to remember the bath-cloth by association. She went to a draper's and asked for a _Yiudachi_ (shower) in place of _Yiukata_ (evening). No one understood it. She was speaking of "shower" instead of "evening," the result of trying to speak by association. We have two ways of counting, and we call the number "ten" either _jiu_ or _to_. We have a certain kind of boxes which are made to fit one on top of the other, and only the topmost box has a lid. They are called _jiu-bako_, which means piling boxes. They are used in households very commonly. The same lady appears to have remembered that name by _jiu_, that is, ten of the number according to one of two ways, and _Hako_, a box. One day she called her servant to bring _to-bako_ instead of _jiu-bako_. The servants, of, course, did not understand her. The lady misused the association of counting ten in one way instead of the other.'

--'You said you had no difference between _r_ and _l_, but I suppose you have almost all sounds of our tongue.'

--'No,' I answered, 'we have not. We have, for instance, no sound of _f_ or _v_. In some parts of the country people pronounce _ha_, _hi_, _he_, _ho_ like _fa_, _fi_, _fe_, _fo_, but it is considered bad dialect. The want of _v_ and _f_ in our letters is a point of great difficulty in transcribing foreign words into our writing, but we employ a new method for doing so. On the other hand, our _h_ is pronounced very acutely. You say you have _h_ mute and _h_ aspirate, but in practice I never see, or rather hear, any aspiration at all. Hence, Count "Hisamatsu," our actual military attaché, is always called by the French, as he complains, "Isamatsu," which is not his Japanese name at all. This fact reminds me of a similar matter concerning our own Tokio. The genuine Tokio people generally pronounce _Hi_ as _shi_. It is curious, but it is a fact. This often causes comical mistakes to be made by servant-girls who are told by their mistresses to pronounce it correctly, for they often mix up and use _hi_ in place of _shi_ and _vice versa_. Mind! Tokio is the capital of Japan, but its language is not the purest of the Japanese language. The same holds good in London. It is rather strange for us to notice that in London the _h_ is so commonly misused. I once went to a master, or rather mistress, as she was a woman, of elocution, or at least she advertised herself as such, and she told me that one must be very careful not to be corrupted by the London patois, and that one must not say "am and hegg" for "ham and egg," but while she was telling me those things she herself was making an awful mangling of the _h_. No wonder! She was a pure Londoner. I went to her no more.'

--'That's too awful! She could not have been a well-educated woman, or you are telling us an exaggerated story.'

--'Maybe she was not well educated,' said I, 'but my story is a plain, naked fact. It is very difficult, I think, to get rid of colloquial corruption when once thoroughly imbued with it, even with all the aids of education. I can relate an incident bearing on the point. There is, in Japan, far away from Tokio, a district where people in common parlance can make no difference between _shi_ and _su_. Once I went to that district and gave a lecture to a large gathering of students belonging to the higher schools of the district. Seven or eight of the most capable students took down my speech, and a complete draft of it was made by them, the defective parts having been supplied by one from the other. It was published in the local papers. It was most perfect, as though taken by shorthand, except in one respect, and it was that _shi_ and _su_ had been intermingled, as though I had spoken in the local dialect. It seems that not only are they unable to distinguish the difference when they themselves speak, but also when they hear other people speak. It is a great drawback to the development of the district. The local authorities hire teachers from other districts and try to correct this defect, but with little success. The function of our ears is strange. Sounds which are quite distinct to some people are quite indistinct to others. Our music has not so high a variation of tune as the Western music, but it has sufficient variation to please our ears; but the Occidentals compare our music to the beating of a drum by a child--no tune and no variation, the reason being, I think, because our tunes and variations are quite inaudible to the Western ear. From the same point of view, crows or cows, and, indeed, all living animals have their own language, only our ears cannot distinguish the difference of their words one from another.'

--'Another pleasantry, I perceive,' remarked a lady. 'But tell me, baron, how do you pronounce the name of your great statesman, "Ito"? Is it pronounced like _a-i-t-o-_, that is to say, _i_ in the English way of pronouncing Ireland?'

--'No,' I said, 'like _a-i-t-o-_ without _a_, that is to say, _i_ in your own French way of pronouncing Ireland. I will once for all give you a good clue how to pronounce Japanese names, which you must come across very often nowadays in the newspapers. _I_ is pronounced always like _i_ in your _il_ or English _ill_. Our _E_ is always like _e_ in French "état" or "été." _G_ is always hard gutteral, that is to say, _ga_ like _g_ in "Gambetta," _ge_ like _ge_ in English "get," and _ge_ in German, and your _gue_. _Gi_ like _gi_ in the English "gift," and your _gui_ in "Guillaume," and, therefore, you must pronounce General "Nogi" like General "Nogui" in the French way, and not like "Noji" or "Nozi" as you generally do. Our _go_ is always _go_, in English "got," unless the _o_ is a long one as in Tôgô, and our _gu_ is always like a simple _g_ in Gladstone and Grant.'

--'But how do you then account for _u_?' interposed she.

--'Our _u_ preceded by a consonant,' I answered, 'is generally sounded very, very slightly--almost inaudibly, in fact--so much so that you need take no notice of it. Therefore _ku_, _su_, _mu_, etc., are like simple _k_, _s_, _m_, etc. There is another secret in pronouncing our names, and it is this: when a consonant is followed by a vowel, pronounce it always together with the vowel. Thus _yoritomo_ should be pronounced _yo-ri-to-mo_, and not _yor-i-tom-o_, and pronounce it without putting any accent: if you follow this rule, you will get nearer to the right pronunciation.'

There was among those present the daughter of Prince Ichijo, naval attaché to the Japanese Legation. She was addressed by a person present as Miss Ichijo. This appears to have struck a lady present, who was at a little distance from her. She said to me:

--'Is not that young lady of very high birth?'

--'Yes, she is. Her parentage is very high, though not of the Imperial blood.'

--'Is she not a daughter of Prince Ichijo?'

--'Yes, she is the daughter by his first wife, who is no more; the present princess is his second wife, also of high birth, being a daughter of one of our former great feudal lords.'

--'How is it, then, that the young lady is addressed as "Miss." If she were a European, she would certainly be addressed as princess, or by some other title?'

--'You are right in thinking so,' I answered; 'but in Japan the titles of nobility are only borne personally by the chief of the family and his wife. All the other members of the family differ in no way from ordinary people, except that they share the membership of the family. In this respect our system totally differs from that of Continental Europe. The English system is like ours as far as law goes, but there also the younger members of noble families enjoy some distinction by courtesy. This is the reason why one hears of a marquis, an earl, or a viscount speaking in the House of Commons as an M.P.'

--'I suppose your system of nobility is pretty much the same as the Western ones in other respects,' said she.

--'Yes, our titles of nobility are divided into five grades, corresponding, for example, to the English duke, marquis, earl, viscount, and baron. The first grade, which corresponds to the English duke, is generally translated as prince; I don't know who began it but it is so. In Germany the highest title of nobility is "Fürst," as you know, and it is translated as "prince" in English or French. I believe the analogy is taken from that fact. It must not, however, be confounded with the princes of Imperial blood, for in Japanese the two titles in question are absolutely distinct, though, translated into the European languages, they sound very much alike.'

--'What books written in English on Japan would you recommend me to read?' asked one lady.

--'I cannot say with much authority, because naturally I have not spent much time over those books, but began it from what I have observed and from what I have heard from other people Lafcadio Hearn's are the best to study the Japanese character, but his books are generally collections of different essays, so that they do not give a panoramic survey of Japan. In that respect _Advance Japan_, by J. Morris, is said to be very handy and good. Concerning that book, I may mention a rather commendable incident which took place last year. A Russian lady, a lover of her own country, I presume, lamented the great lack of knowledge of Japan among her country people, which was, as she thought, the cause of the many misfortunes to her country. She wrote to an English friend of hers asking what book written in English on Japan she would recommend her to translate into Russian. The English lady recommended the book just mentioned, and it was translated and published in Russia. I have myself seen the Russian edition of it, neatly printed and beautifully illustrated. The Rev. William E. Griffis, of America, has written several books on Japan. His _Mikado's Empire_ gives a most excellent generalisation of Japanese history. A new book on Japan, entitled _Imperial Japan_ by Knox, another American, is very good. I have read it through. The only chapter in it which I think very unfair is one relating to Japanese women. Of course, even in the best books there are some points which are not quite exact, and they contain many amusing mistakes when scrutinised from our point of view.'

--'What is then your opinion about Lafcadio Hearn's books, for instance? I would like to know your opinion,' said another lady.

--'You make me traverse almost the same field over again,' I said.

--'Never mind! The points are different,' she said.

--'Well, I need not speak of his occasional mistranslations of Japanese words or some small technical errors, but I can say that, in my opinion, he sometimes goes a little too far in giving reasons to matters concerning feeling and sentiment. For instance, he raises the question, if a soul be something concrete and suppose it is gone somewhere--heaven or Paradise, as one may term it--how would it be possible to be present simultaneously at the place where it is enshrined, or where offerings are made, and he tries to solve the difficulty philosophically and logically. He seems to place too much stress on our notions of ancestral worship. We practise it, we like it, and we think it fine and noble, and yet we do so from a spirit of feeling and sentiment. Many things in connection therewith are done by us, not always with conclusive, logical reasoning. In this respect many Europeans often misjudge us, forgetting that they themselves do the same at home. They canonise meritorious persons, sometimes only legendary; they have their wayside shrines of Madonna; they celebrate All Souls' Day, when the whole town or village flocks to the cemetery; they set up statues of great men,--a statesman, a warrior, a writer, a philanthropist, a musical composer, a sculptor, a scientist, and what not. They construct a grand pantheon or cathedral and consecrate the remains of their distinguished dead therein. They even erect colossal figures of an ideal personification, such as "Liberty" standing on high at the Place de la République, and other figures representing great cities, as at the Place de la Concorde. They sometimes decorate such figures on certain days with flowers, as is the case with the statue of Beaconsfield, which is covered with primroses on Primrose League Day, nay, sometimes a figure is decorated with wreaths all the year round, like Strasbourg at the Place de la Concorde. Mind, with regard to this last, I am not speaking of any political aspect of the matter. All this to my mind is very fine in idea. All this, I think, is not done for mere play, nor are those objects set up for mere ornament. The notion contained therein is, I think, intended to perpetuate and sanctify the memory of the person, or of an idea in the minds of the people. If any stranger, for instance, approach any of these objects and insult it in any gross manner, he would be sure to be much hissed, or even punished. From this, it is certain that these matters belong to the sphere of feeling and sentiment and are not exactly within the limits of strict philosophical and logical reasoning. Our ancestral worship and things connected with it are of the same kind. And yet those Occidentals who have themselves very similar things look upon such institutions in Japan with amazement or curiosity, or even with contempt, or else like Lafcadio Hearn, try to reason out some points which are not altogether soluable by ordinary reasoning. A Confucian saying has this: "When you perform a commemoration in honour of your dead parents, do it as though their spirit is present before you." And I think it quite right; it is no honour to the dead if one make an offering and reasons in his mind at the same time that the dead is nothing more than dust, or that its spirit could not be in existence, or at all events, far away from us in an unknown region. When a foreigner sees the shrine erected in Tokio where men, generals and soldiers alike, who died for their country, are consecrated as a sort of deity, he is apt to think it a peculiar custom. But what difference is there between our observance of the illustrious dead and that of burying a distinguished statesman or soldier in the Pantheon or Westminster Abbey? The only difference in all such matters seems to me to amount to this: the feeling and sentiment of the preservation of the memory of the deserving men is more intent and more general in one case than in the other.'

--'I cannot agree with you altogether in your philosophy,' said a young lady.