"I left behind a flower yet in bud; it weighs on my mind that it may blow without me."
A drunken guest was reeling from a waiting-house down the alley. She drew herself away. "It is late. I must go." She raised herself on her toes, framed his face between her hands, kissed him. "Good-by, Kent-san. Good-by."
She was gone.
So it had come at last. The woman had come into his life. A geisha. Now what would follow? What would be the arrangements? Could he take her from the geisha house? Where? The thought of theo-kyaku-sanbecame suddenly intolerable. But just how should he proceed? Confound his ignorance about such matters. He would ask Karsten for advice, but first he wanted to see her again, to ask her what she wished to do. Probably he would see her in her window, in the morning. Anyway, he did not wish to reason, to fetter his thoughts with commonplace details. That could be done later. His mind reverted to the events of the hours just past, the amazingly unexpected good fortune, delight, which had come to him like a shooting star out of the dark. He let the images of recollection surge over him, envelop him. Thank God, life would have some meaning, some of the high light of love venture to brighten the dimness of dull routine existence.
He barely noticed, as he entered the office building the next morning, a couple of hand-carts, piled high with boxes and bundles, moving from the alley. He ran up the stairs, glanced through the window. Theshojiwere open, but there was no sign of her. He seated himself at his desk to wait, noticed an envelope,a quaint flower-embossed thing, and opened it curiously. The missive was from Toshi-san, written inkata-kana, the easy phonetic script which she knew he understood.
Tame wo omouteHara tate soseteMuri ni kayeshitaAtode naku.
Tame wo omouteHara tate soseteMuri ni kayeshitaAtode naku.
Tame wo omouteHara tate soseteMuri ni kayeshitaAtode naku.
Tame wo omoute
Hara tate sosete
Muri ni kayeshita
Atode naku.
Thinking only of his good,I made him angry, sent him backAgainst our mutual wish,And then I wept.
Thinking only of his good,I made him angry, sent him backAgainst our mutual wish,And then I wept.
Thinking only of his good,I made him angry, sent him backAgainst our mutual wish,And then I wept.
Thinking only of his good,
I made him angry, sent him back
Against our mutual wish,
And then I wept.
Made him angry? What? The thought flashed on him, monstrously appalling. He called Ishii. Had the people opposite moved? Yes, they had left early that morning. Should he find out where? After a while he came back. Yes, O-Toshi-san had gone away, no one would tell him where.
So the adventure had ended, suddenly, as it had begun. Why? What had been her reason? Probably he would never know. The mysterious Orient, yes, like an Arabian Nights tale, where the fairy vanished into vapor at the profaning touch of importunate hands.
Karsten could give him no help. "Better make up your mind that you have lost her. She has evidently been taken away to some other geisha quarter, Yotsuya, Ushigomo, Akasaka, probably Akasaka. They must have smelt a rat, the geisha master, or the guild. They don't want you to find her, and the police commissioner's being mixed up in it complicates the affair, makes it harder. Anyway, you are the gainer, you have had the experience. Now you know these girls' insidious—charm. The word is threadbare, but it is the only one that describes it. And then you have the memory.
"So make up your mind that she is gone. Presently there will be others; and you will add to your collection of memories." He smiled. "I don't know if it has ever struck you that as we plod along in life, with a few bright spots, vivid pleasures, illuminating the general dullness of existence, the only treasures really worth while that we gather are the memories thereof. You know, as I grow older, I find that they become valuable; they gain with age like wine. One picks them up and reviews them, as one might old pressed flowers, faded ribbons, the stupid material mementos. But the ones really worth while are those which one has stored in one's mind; they don't fade, they never lose their fragrance. And, do you know, I find that the ones which I treasure, the ones that come back pleasurably into my thoughts again and again, are not the recollections of such few good things, or wise things as I have done—they seem drab, without color,or tone, or life. No, it's the memories of the foolish things that I have done, madcap adventures, turbulent love affairs,—these are the things that I find pleasure in recalling. You have noticed those old fellows whose active life is behind them, who sit in the sunshine and smoke, and think, and dream. The daydreams of youth are all in future; but the old men have no future. Their dreams are of the past. And it has occurred to me that I know what they are dreaming of, as they sit there so quietly and smile over their pipes, and it is not the clever things that they did, the big deals they pulled off; no, it is the foolish pranks of youth, the fiery, passionate adventures of young manhood,—these are the thoughts which bring back youth to them, because they are characteristic of it, as those others are not—these are what enable them to become young again in their dreams, as they drowse, recalling this affair and that; this tryst by a pool under a hot summer moon; this girl; that fight, one after one, as one would tell off beads on a rosary.
"Even in my most frivolous days I used to have that idea, that however foolish it all might seem, I was at least gaining memories for my old age. Life becomes like diving after pearls in the opal, translucent depths of the sea, which are strung one after the other; all may have a general resemblance, color, luster, contour, but essentially each is a little different from the others; each has its individual history. At least, I have made that provision against my old age; I have a number of memories to recall, to tell off on my rosary of experiences. Can you think of anything so horrible as barren old age, the utter poverty of the old man who has none of the recollections which may bring back youth to him?" He laughed a little at his own earnestness. "'Tis a pet theory of mine. You may think it a mad fancy, but possibly you may seesomething in it, and if you do, well—go forth and collect your pearls while yet you may."
A bizarre idea; just like Karsten. But it carried no great appeal to Kent. He had no heart to seek love deliberately, even lighter love must come unsought. He would have enjoyed the company of some of the girls whom he knew, but the Suzukis had gone to their villa in Oiso for the summer, and he had not seen Kimiko-san since that night in the tea house. She had joined a traveling theatrical company and was touring the "colonies," Korea, Manchuria, Formosa.
He formed the habit of taking long walks in the evening, enjoying such scant relief as one might obtain after the sweltering heat of the day. These rambles took him all over the city and he found vague interest in book stores, curio shops, odd little drinking places; in talking with chance-met Japanese, clerks, barmaids, students, feeling that in an indefinite, tentative way he might get a glimpse of the seething, vaguely stirring thoughts of this multitude, gropingly, eagerly seeking the ideas of the new, great world all around them, the uncertainly fumbling mass mind in flux of transition.
He had dropped into one of the myriad small beer "halls," with their pathetic attempts at modernity, which were springing up all over Tokyo. They were generally much of a pattern, a few tables and chairs, foreign style, cheap, slatternly maids making their attempt at new fashion by means of dirty aprons tied over cotton kimonos. It was in Kanda, the student quarter. Gangling youths, many of them bespectacled, in kimono or university uniform, but nearly all with the brass-emblemed cap, came and went, drank their beer, munched the food prepared in what was supposed to be foreign fashion, joked with the waitresses. He noticed that many went upstairs. Idly curious, he thought he would go up there, but a waitress stoppedhim. He remonstrated; the others could go. No, she was indefinite in her explanation, but determined. Well, no matter. He dismissed it from his mind.
Suddenly some one stood before him, bowing deeply. It was Ishii, his clerk.
"Good evening, Mr. Kent." He was evidently pleased to show the others that he knew this foreign gentleman. Kent invited him to sit down. As they chatted over their beer, he told him of his rebuff. What was the reason?
"Well, you see, it is, in a way, a sort of a private place, kind of a club." He was oddly evasive, ill at ease. "Just wait a moment, please."
He scrambled upstairs and disappeared. Presently he returned. "You can come, if you like. They are my friends upstairs there. We meet here sometimes. You know," he lowered his voice, "it's politics."
So that was it. Immediately Kent was eager to go. These were the hotbeds of the new thought, the "dangerous thoughts," as the police called them, half-baked Socialism, Communism, Sovietism, fortuitously mixed with Cubist art, literature after the fashion of Dostoievsky, crude passion for mass sculpture à la Rodin, anything that was thought to be ultra-modern or outré, beyond the minds of thehoi polloi,haikara, the latest in modern culture. It was an opportunity to learn for himself what they really thought, these youths, how much of it was real, and how much only pose; to see how deeply it all went, whether it was merely the usual ebullience of youth, such as one might see in the European universities, even in America, which usually spent itself quite safely with passage into maturer years, or whether this was really more definite, more likely to have direct, positive influence on the life of the nation, the development of the government of Japan.
They were extremely courteous, quite friendly,though a little self-conscious, ill at ease, evidently diffident as to whether they had been wise in admitting this stranger. He was invited to sit at the table with two men older than the others; he was told that they were professors. Scattered at other tables were some ten or twelve students, much of a type, the ungainly age of adolescence. It was awkward in the beginning. He had the uncomfortable feeling that they were taking his measure, deciding whether he was quite safe. He would like to reassure them; still, it was probably better to let the situation develop spontaneously, to let them take the initiative. He drank with the two professors; he judged them to be about thirty-five or forty, thin, nervous men with the pale, somewhat ascetic faces of enthusiasts. They opened with the questions usual in Japan; what was his nationality, how long had he been in Japan?
"What are you politically?"
After that came a long conglomeration of political questions, first tentative hints, designed to draw out his ideas, to determine his stand, but soon they launched into their pet topic, the miseries of the present situation in Japan.
"But surely you must see that, even if there are things to correct in other countries, in no place are conditions so terrible as they are in Japan." The elder professor had risen, swept out his hand, addressing not only Kent but the whole assembly, the students who sat gazing at him raptly. "There are only a few hundred thousands in the privileged class. They are the ones who are gaining everything. They took advantage of the fact that the people, the sixty millions, are still thinking as they did in the days of the Tokugawa, looking to their masters for orders, taking dumbly whatever they might deign to fling to them. They have been exploiting the people, and they and themilitarists want to exploit the other people, too, in Siberia and China. You foreigners are always talking about the militarist rule of Japan; but you don't see that even the militarists are not all-powerful now. The real governing power of Japan is the little multi-millionaire class, the Watanabes, the Fukusakis, the Oharas, the Inouyes, the Yamanakas, the Katos, only about half a dozen enormously wealthy houses, with their mines, and their steamship companies, their tremendous business houses, their banks, who buy Diet members and cabinet ministers, who determine the Government's policy, who keep prices high by insisting on import tariffs, who wallow in concessions. Even the militarists bow to them. The plutocrats wanted Siberia, so we spent hundreds of millions of yen on the Siberia expedition and our young men were killed by the thousands that the plutocrats might get fisheries, and mines and oil wells. Japan to-day is a plutocratic oligarchy, with the militarists as a handy and subservient tool, with the police throwing into jail any one who tries to wake up the people to assert their rights. Just look about you. See, right here in Tokyo, the poor are huddled by thousands in hovels in Fukagawa and Honjo, where the river washes out their houses every year, and still they must pay heavy taxes on their miserable mud flats, while the rich with their parks, stretching over vast spaces in the best and highest parts of the city, pay taxes only on a valuation as forest lands or fields. These are the ones who want the people to remain as they were a hundred years ago, feudal slaves, in order that the rich may grow richer. That's why the police keep watch over us and the government officials hiresoshi, professional ruffians, to break up our meetings. That's why it is a crime to 'harbor dangerous thoughts.' Property is the curse of all modern countries. When private propertybecame known the class struggle began the world over; and nowhere is property as privileged as it is in Japan. Labor should be the measure of value, undifferentiated human labor, where all workers should be paid alike, no matter what might be the manner of their work. Here capital exploits labor, as capital always does, and only by abolition of capitalism can we abolish such exploitation."
The professor flung back a long wisp of wet hair, paused to refresh himself from his beer glass. The students were all nodding approval. Evidently this was familiar doctrine to which they heartily subscribed. Kent remembered the numberless volumes of Karl Marx which might be seen in every second-hand book stall in the student quarter, along Jimbo-cho. They swallowed it all, the Marxian dogmas, cramming them down hastily in their hungry voracity for new thought, ever more.
Ishii-san insisted on seeing Kent part of the way home, after another long harangue on capitalism, evidently a popular topic. As they left the place, a shadow detached itself from the general blackness of the buildings opposite and followed at a little distance. "A detective," whispered Ishii, excitedly. "He is following us. Oh, Mr. Kent, I wish I might be arrested."
When they parted, Kent was relieved to see that the shadow followed Ishii. He had no desire to become a victim to the burdensome attentions of the police. Probably he had been foolish to venture into this queer gathering. Still, it had been interesting, had given him another glimpse into the intimate life of Japan, far more vitally important than the phase which had heretofore intrigued him.
"What do you make of it?" he asked Kittrick a few days later. "It is up to us to know all this that's going on all about us. It's widespread. It's important.It has a vital bearing on the future of Japan, and still it's so intangible, so oddly impossible to get at. Is it just an intermittent phase, or is it a growing movement that will slowly but surely result in fruit of some kind,—revolution or what?"
"Of course, I've been wanting to follow it, just as you have," said Kittrick. "But what can one do? If you try to learn from the agitators, no matter how innocent may be your intentions, the police will soon make it impossible for you. One may get a little by following the Japanese papers, watching the straws that show which way the wind blows. Here you see a big appropriation for special officers to watch over 'dangerous thoughts'; here's an item about a special force to guard the persons of cabinet ministers.
"The point is that Japan is discarding her old beliefs, political, social, ethical, religious, the whole business, and she is in a breathless hurry to grab at anything, any kind of belief, or philosophy, or political creed that comes handy. Of course it's a mix-up. The political unrest may be dangerous in so far as it leads excited fanatics to take too literally what they read or hear, so they prize a knife or a bomb and sally forth to become heroes or martyrs, but there is no great amount of sound sense or definite program in it.
"When the people stand up and shout for this thing or the other, you'll find that the real underlying cause is entirely economic. A few years ago Japan's industrial system was patriarchal. The boss had a little shop with half a dozen or a dozen workmen. He fed them, and clothed them and looked after them,paterfamiliasfashion, did their thinking for them, and they were quite satisfied. That was all they knew. Now has come the big factory system, where thousands work in great plants and never see the owner. The personal relation has been lost. Then they've heardthat workmen in other countries have better conditions. During the war, when workers must be had at any price to fill the orders from abroad that swamped the factories, they learned to strike for high pay—and got it. They've learned a lot of other things, 'sabotage,' 'go slow,' unionism, that labor may have a voice in factory control, all that sort of thing. They see the rich grow richer, and are learning that they ought to have a share of those profits. Most of them think that Russia is a little paradise for the workmen. It's not the political side that interests them, it's better conditions. They have learned to look upon capitalism collectively and on labor collectively. Their unions are becoming more and more consolidated. The next thing you'll see nation-wide strikes.
"And in the meantime the economic situation grows worse every day. Japan has lost her foreign markets, so she closes factories. The capitalists insist on dividends, so, as they can't make money abroad, they insist on keeping prices high on home products by keeping production just a bit lower than the demand. That means closing more factories, discharging more workmen, unemployment. If they kick too much, they give them discharge allowances, six months' pay, a year's pay, anything to avoid a row—and, of course, the consumer pays for it, and prices go higher, while the workmen retire to the country villages they came from and blow their allowances and then live on their relatives. The family system of helping relatives is saving the situation to-day. That's why you don't hear much trouble yet from unemployment, but as the number increases of idlers whom each worker must support, the condition grows worse. The end must come some day."
The situation grew on Kent's nerves. Every morning when he looked out from his window, he half expected to see red flags in the streets, to hear the turmoil of mobs. It was absurd, he told himself. There were sure to be warnings, minor tumults, evidences of strained unrest. Still, he felt that he must spare no time in getting inside the facts as soon as possible, to come to see every side of the comprehensive picture.
It would be a good idea to become acquainted with the capitalistic side of the story. He began a round of calls on the money kings, captains of industry, the owners of names which recurred constantly in the news of economic events. For days he wandered about in the lairs of plutocracy, sent his card in to dozens of men, wasted hours in bleak waiting rooms with their scant furnishing of variegated chairs and tables, dusty curtains and innumerable ash trays, smoked idly while hundreds of clerks ran about, like bees in huge hives, or sat smoking and drinking tea. But the great men were always out of the city, or sick, or attending funerals of relatives. There was courtesy everywhere. Would he not see such and such a secretary or third vice-president instead? When he insisted, they shook their heads, a bit surprised at the effrontery of this stranger who thought that he might thus easily gain speech with the great ones. They were amusingly absurd, these foreigners, seemed to be their thought. It was as if he had marched into Buckingham Palace and demanded an interview with King George. Heknew that he could probably make his way into even these hallowed sanctums, should he obtain letters of introduction from the Foreign Office, which was always most obliging in such matters. He know that letters of introduction held an exaggerated value, were regarded as almost indispensable by the Japanese themselves. But they aroused his resentment, these haughty, purse-proud plutocrats. Evidently talking to the press was the last thing they desired. Well, let them go to blazes then; if they did not want him to have their side of the story. He'd get it elsewhere.
But Kent's peregrinations into the labyrinth of Japanese economics were interrupted by a letter from Hopkinson, his editor, brought by hand by a tourist friend who happened to pass through Japan. Kent was glad to be certain that it had not passed through the uncertainties of the Japanese post office or the more insidious danger of the ever prying unseen hands.
"I want you to see what information you can get with respect to Japan's submarine plans," wrote Hopkinson. "Of course, the old exaggerated feeling of distrust against Japan in America has, since the Conference, been replaced by a possibly just as exaggerated feeling of confidence in her will to disarm. You will get what I am driving at by reading the Bywater article which I enclose, particularly the part where he says about Japan: 'With the possible exception of France, she is the only signatory which has laid the keels of new cruisers, destroyers and submarines since the limitation program was negotiated, and she is the only one who is now at work on a large program of these vessels.—The Japanese submarine flotilla is very much stronger both in numbers and individual power than is generally known, and no other navy in the world is building so many sea-going boats.—During the past three years no coastal submarines have beenbuilt in Japan, every boat being laid down within that period having been designed for long-range cruising.' Take this in connection with the speech of the Japanese War Minister, which you recently sent us, in which he declares that 'if a nation has large wealth, small standing armaments will suffice, for such a nation will be able to expand fully its armaments in case of emergency. On the contrary, a poor nation is necessarily compelled to develop its armaments gradually, for it would be unable to expand them rapidly.'
"We don't want sensational stuff, as you know, for we intend to carry on our policy of fostering friendship as long as possible, but we want you to get as much dope as you can, if for nothing else, at least for our own guidance and future reference——"
Damn it! Just as he was getting well started with the economic matter, he would have to devote his main energies to this distasteful task. He liked the Japanese and took far more pleasure in his stories which were to Japan's credit than in those which were not. However, there was some satisfaction in knowing that theChroniclewould pursue its usual conservative policy. As he thought the matter over, he became more interested. Of course, the situation should be covered. Heretofore he had followed it only in a general way, but had been inclined to overlook its importance because of his interest in the economic and social unrest.
"It's going to be the devil's own job," he said to Karsten, as they were smoking their pipes after dinner. "If there's one thing the Japanese keep quiet about, it's their submarines; and, of course, nothing in the Conference agreement prevents them from building as many as they like. And, besides, they are the obvious weapon of defense against America. Japan has an ideal situation with a long barrier of islands running from Saghalien as far as the Equator, if you includethe Mandate Islands. Yes, I know that under the Mandate terms, she can't fortify them, but the Germans showed that any little place with a few barrels of oil on it can make a submarine base. They can place the oil there in a jiffy, if they expect trouble. Maybe it is already there; oil can be used for lots of things besides war. There's nothing to prevent it. With a chain of island supply stations and a great fleet of submarines Japan can put up a wonderful defense and commerce destruction. That's all self-evident. The job is going to be to find out what they are doing in that line and what they intend to do. It's a regular Oppenheim job. What do you think of it?"
"You know I don't take much interest in that sort of thing," Karsten rubbed his chin thoughtfully, stood up and began pacing the floor. "Still, of course, one hears a lot of talk, and I think that most foreigners here have about the same idea on the matter. The submarine is Japan's natural weapon to-day. A few years ago, before America entered the war, Japan thought she could lick the United States and her strategy was based on offensive lines. When she found to her bitter disappointment that America really could fight, she began to revise her opinion, and when America's program of bigger fortifications in Hawaii and elsewhere was brewing, she felt that she had no choice but to continue feverishly with the Eight-and-Eight battle fleet program which she had originated when the idea was to lick America. But she could never have kept it up. She couldn't have afforded it. Of course, the militarists are professionals who don't care about anything but the army and navy. They would have insisted, even if the country had been bled white. But even then, even if she had managed to build the fleet, she couldn't have kept it up. Her war savings are decreasing at an alarming rate, hernational wealth, commerce, industry, the whole thing is decreasing. The Washington Conference was the biggest bit of luck that ever happened to Japan. It enabled her to save her face, and to make a big play to gain international confidence—which I'm glad she got—and at the same time to save her from the necessity of building a vast fleet of battleships, which she couldn't afford, and do it with the assurance that America wouldn't outstrip her in a naval race either.
"So as Japan had, reluctantly, made up her mind that she must change to a defensive strategy anyway, she is just as well off with a fleet of submarines, which won't cost her nearly so much. Then, when I said that the submarine was Japan's natural weapon, I meant it in a psychological sense also. Remember, it has always been Japan's cue to watch wars and take lessons from them. Nothing probably impressed her quite so much as the fact that Germany almost beat England, in spite of her great battleships, with herunterseeboten. The general horror of the 'frightfulness' involved never touched Japan. She simply couldn't see the idea. It was virtually successful—would have been entirely so had Germany had the advantages that Japan has—and, personally, I don't believe that the militarists have one ethic to rub on another, so to speak. They'd cheerfully adopt German frightfulness, with such improvements as they might devise, and never even be able to see that it was morally wrong, so long as they thought that it would work and that they could get away with it. You know that the German methods never aroused the slightest feeling of disgust or horror in the people of Japan. They honestly wondered what the devil we were making such a fuss about. The militarists saw, sadly, that the German war machine, which they had used as a model, went to smash, that they'd have to remodel. There was never, with thewhole people, any enmity against Germany. At one time, during the spring of 1917 I think it was, when some British ship had stopped a Japanese boat to search for Germans, the feeling against England was far stronger than it ever was against Germany. At the time of the Paris Conference, when the rest of the world was yelling to hang the Kaiser, his picture, mustaches, eagle helmet and all, was offered for sale in windows not a block from Hibiya—though at reduced prices, it's fair to add. That's why I say that the submarine is Japan's natural weapon. It suits her geographically, financially and ethically. Go to it, old man, there's a story there, all right—but I don't think you'll get it."
The more he thought it over, the more the new assignment appealed to Kent. It required close thinking. He must move with the utmost caution lest suspicion be aroused which would close up every source of information instantly. He did not know just where to begin. He must proceed very indirectly. The difficulty began to fascinate him.
Finally he made up his mind that he might as well begin with old Viscount Kikuchi, the father of young Kikuchi of the Foreign Office, member of the Privy Council, whom he had met through the son and whom he called on occasionally. The name of the Viscount appeared only seldom in the papers, but he was considered by those in the know to be the most brilliant mind in the council, the best informed in respect to international politics; some even insisted that he was the actual director of Japan's foreign policy. Kent had a great liking for him, a gentleman of the old school, who with his marvelously diversified information with regard to the most intricate ramifications of politics of Europe, America and Asia, wide reading in several languages, still chose to preserve the manner and appearance, the admirable traditions of vanishing Japan. His finely chiseled features and long, white beard inspired a feeling of respect, almost reverence, lent him the aspect of a Confucian sage of the old Chinese prints, heightened by the toga-like simplicity of his black silk kimono, unornamented save for thego mon, the family crest, a white circle with a conventional heraldic device, white on the field of blackon the back below the neck and on the sleeves. He valued the Viscount highly as a source of information and had often been pleasantly surprised at the frankness with which he gave out facts which Kent had not thought it possible to gain, disdaining the secrecy about petty matters so dear to the lesser minds of Japanese officialdom.
Kent had not called for almost a month. It was quite natural to do so now. The Viscount occupied a vast room on the third floor of an office building near Hibiya, an odd rookery housing half a dozen of the euphoniously named societies which have sprung up like mushrooms, in Japan, and which serve no apparent purpose except that of furnishing presidencies and vice-presidencies in legion to numerous honorable gentlemen. As he climbed upward he passed the doors of the Society for Inculcation of Spiritual Influences Among Workmen, the Foreign Policy Debating Club, the Bolivian-Japanese Friendship Society, with their drowsy office boys and idle secretaries smoking overhibachi,—a queer collection of vapid purposelessness serving as a foil for the activities of the busy brain up above.
But as Kent climbed up the stairway, he was thinking of the coming interview, how he would lead off with the economic situation, stressing the decline of Japan's finances and industries. Gradually he would creep over to the taxation question, try to bring in the disappointing lack of tax reduction in spite of the fact that armaments were being reduced; possibly he might even venture to refer to Bywater, if it seemed propitious and natural—it would depend on how things developed. He would have to——
Suddenly, as if blotted out by a flash of blinding light, the whole train of thoughts vanished, was obliterated completely. He found himself staring ata face looking down at him from the landing above that smote his senses, dumbfounded them with an overwhelming realization of having been instantaneously, unexpectedly, brought face to face with the essence of beauty, flawless, sublime, irradiating its splendor towards him, as he advanced slowly, hesitatingly, upwards. In the few moments which it took to mount the half dozen steps a whirl of thoughts raced through his brain, each one clear-cut enough, like the rapid succession of minute individual pictures of a cinema film, yet all melting into one another, unifying into the one idea that here was the marvel, a revelation—and yet it was not the instantaneous flash of love, thecoup de foudre, desire of fulfillment of desire, possession; but rather the marvelous rapt wonder and delight at magnificent, brilliant beauty, impersonal almost, as one may be struck with ecstasy at the unexpected revealment of a splendid landscape glimpsed suddenly through a rift in fog. In the half-light he was aware mainly of the eyes, deep, dark, lustrously brilliant against her pale face, framed by a cloud of black hair. It was as if he were advancing into their luster, as if it suffused him.
As he stood in front of the table where she sat facing the stairs, he felt breathless, confused at the necessity for drab, commonplace action. He bowed ceremoniously, fished for his card case, conscious of the wonder in her eyes, pleased at her smile, irritated with the sense that he must be appearing like a fool, and still sensing delighted gratification in the feeling of her presence.
Was the Viscount in? Yes. She took his card, flitted behind a screen which separated her place from the main part of the great room. Yes, the Viscount would see him. He noted the whiteness of her teeth as she smiled. As he found a seat facing the Viscount,he discovered with joy that he was able to look past the corner of the screen at the profile of the girl as she sat at her post facing the stairway.
He tried to pull his thoughts together for the interview. Hang it, it would be hard to think connectedly; the nicely arranged logic of his questions had flown from him. He experienced intense relief when he heard, as if from a distance, the words of the Viscount—he was extremely sorry; he was glad to see him, but it happened that he had an important engagement. He must leave in just a few minutes. Would not Kent come again soon, at almost any time. He should be glad to give him all the time he might wish.
What luck! Kent was glad at the heaven-sent granting of grace; he only hated the necessity of leaving, of tearing himself away from this place where he might sit and look at that girl, this revelation of beauty which had come upon him by the wondrously kind offices of fate.
He shook hands with the Viscount. Safely behind the screen, as he passed the girl, he bowed to her, with the ceremony as if she were a great lady of the aristocracy, emphasized it, wishing to convey to her, in some way, some indication of his desire to pay tribute to that inexpressible perfection. As he made the turn of the stairway he glanced back up at her. She was looking at him and smiled again. He thought he detected a glint of something in her eyes, understanding, gratification, something, anyway, which he might construe into the slightest possible spark of a beginning of acquaintance.
He crossed through Hibiya Park and found a bench where he might sit and get order into the confusion of his impressions. Love at first sight? No, that was not it; there was no feeling of covetousness, of passionate desire to win, conquer, possess; rather anoverwhelming longing to be in her presence, to sense that feeling of being pleasurably suffused by the irradiation of pure, sheer beauty, as one might bask in warm, brilliant sunshine. It was an odd, undefinable sensation, defying logic or analysis. But why bother? He was wholly overcome with the impression that great good fortune had come upon him. He wanted to be near her, that was all. There was nothing to ponder over except the means as to how he might contrive that.
Of course, he would have a chance to see her when he called on the Viscount. He would call soon, to-morrow—no, that would be Friday, the day for meeting of the Privy Council, and the Viscount would not be at his office—would not be at his office—— In a flash the inspiration came to him: why, that is just the time you must call, you fool; you'll have a chance to see her, to talk to her alone, to gain a little headway in acquaintance.
Through the day the thought kept recurring constantly, insistingly. To-morrow. It interfered with other thoughts. Well, let them go. He would think of her. But what did he want, anyway; what would it lead to? He knew distinctly that he was not seeking a flirtation, a love affair. She had not impressed him that way at all. Could one then not be on terms of just friendship with a girl, enjoying her beauty as one would that of a picture, a gorgeous temple, or a fine, rich brocade, only that? Still, the idea kept clamoring, if they became friends, intimate friends, would not, inevitably, time come when he would want to hold her hand, gather her, the whole glorious sum of her beauty, in his arms. He tried to push the thought away. That was not what he wanted. It was the idea of the delicacy, the purity of relation which fascinated him; to hold her tenderly, as one might a frail, fragileflower, a dainty, vivid butterfly, untouched, untainted by touch of physical possession. Something, cynically suggestive, insisting in crowding up from the depth of his mind, irritated him, like a mocking face grinning at him insinuatingly. Hang it all! He must know her, that was all there was to it. He would see her in the morning.
The following day, as he looked forward to the time when he might go to her, new, disturbing thoughts kept cropping up. It seemed so foolish, this suddenly being smitten by what had seemed to him an apparition of perfection of beauty. Such could not appear, did not appear in the persons of typists in Tokyo office buildings. The Japanese term "nido-bikuri" shot into his mind, the laconically descriptive slang phrase, literally "twice surprised," referring to the delighted wonder of first sight of what appears to be perfection of beauty—the first surprise—which is dissipated by the second closer sight thereof, shattering the illusion—the second surprise. Probably he would find that she was, after all, but a pretty little typist, dainty, attractive and all that, but no more; that sober reality would cause this iridescent bubble of fancy to dissolve instantaneously into its plain component suds on which he might but stare in foolish disillusionment.
He made up his mind to banish from his mind all idea of romance, to look upon her critically. If he had invested this girl with a glamor of beauty created out of his own imagination, he would know it. He tried to prepare himself for certain disappointment; of course, he had been an ass. Still, as he climbed the stairs, his senses were aquiver with an irrepressible anxiety,—what if she should be real, after all? He peered eagerly up at her. Again the sense of beauty, the radiant magnetism of it, swept over him; but he put it off, forced himself to note that that dim half-light,which her black hair set against the golden background of the great gilt screen behind her on which refractions of light from beyond made a delicate shimmer and play of faint aureate coruscations, might be limning a nimbus which would fade away in the cold brightness of clear, white daylight.
Of course, he knew that she would tell him that Viscount Kikuchi was absent. He had planned for all that. Too bad! Might he not have a place for a moment where he might write him a note? She led him to the great desk in the big room. Now would be his chance—but before he could obtain a satisfactory look at her, she had disappeared. Hang it! He began to write his note. He had it all in his head, merely a polite word of regret, an assurance that his coming again so soon did not indicate that what he had in mind was at all important. He would call again. But he wrote slowly, hoping that she would come. Still he did not hear her until she was close beside him, with a tray with cigarettes and tea. She set it before him and stood facing him, a few feet distant, courteously at his service. All this would give time. He sipped slowly from the tiny, bowl-like cup, of the pale green, slightly aromatic fluid, took a cigarette, lit it. With the feeling of one who has placed a stake against the chance of a spun coin—he leaned back and looked at her.
Thank God, she was pretty, yes, even beautiful, with that great crown of soft black hair framing features delicately carved, finely-drawn crescent eyebrows; slender figure, but with the slightest suggestion of warm, soft curves under the closely clinging texture of the kimono. But it was the eyes which held him. He had often felt the appeal of the eyes of Japanese girls, with their appearance of intense blackness until very close view revealed the dark-brown shade, but inthis girl's eyes was a depth, a liquid sheen of luminous, limpid blackness which fascinated and held.
The feeling came to him that she was smiling. The mouth, features remained calm, unchanged, but it was as if she could convey with these marvelously expressive eyes alone mirth, amusement, probably also sorrow, anger, anything.
"I am sorry to have troubled you." He had to say something, even though he should have liked just to sit there and fill his eyes with the sight of her. "I hope I have not disturbed you—er——?"
"My name is Adachi." She had caught the question which he had meant to imply.
"I have not seen you here before, Adachi-san."
"No, I have been here only a few weeks."
As he sipped his tea, he employed all his wit to maintain the conversation, enjoying the clear, soft sound of her voice, its musical contralto tone reminiscent of the subdued resonance of a great brass temple bell from a distance. But he wanted principally to build up ground for more intimate acquaintance, to become established as at least some one just a little more personal than the ordinary caller. She was smilingly responsive, gracious. He managed to remain a half hour, with commonplaces. The weather led to talk of the countryside, places she had seen, his own stay in Japan, and on to his impressions of the country, to mutual tastes.
He came away with a pleasant feeling of success that he had not been disappointed. Prosaic as their conversation had been, there had been a subtle, warm undercurrent of understanding, mutual sympathy, which was leading swiftly, surely, towards friendship. It was one of Karsten's theories that the feeling of attraction between men and women was intrinsically governed by an as yet little understood, undefined element of something like telepathy—that suchattraction as was produced by merely physical features, such as beauty, for instance, was, if not unessential, at least only an outward, largely crude feature of the play of the relation between sexes. It could be explained most closely, said Karsten, in terms of physics, the response which is established between instruments similarly attuned, an intangible, invisible condition, which draws humans irresistibly, apparently irrationally, together in one case, while in another, where outward circumstances would seem to be more conducive thereto, they remain untouched, cold. Of course, there was something in it. Kent felt that some sort of sympathy like that existed between this girl and himself. Oddly, he was certain that he was not in love with her, and yet he craved intensely for intimate companionship with her.
A few days later he called again on the Viscount. He should have liked to have arranged it again so he would see the girl alone; still, it was time to get to work, to try somehow to establish a beginning point whence he might evolve his information. The beginning of the interview moved smoothly as he had planned, almost too smoothly. They arrived at the crucial point, the Bywater article, so easily that Kent had an uneasy sense that this smoothness, this facility, was deceptive, that the Viscount by some trick of intuition knew what he was after and was leading him on. The feeling disturbed him; he had to strive to overcome a sense of diffidence, a suspicion that he was but being played with by this uncannily clever diplomat, the master mind of the Japanese Empire, who had for decades gained experience at this game in bouts with the best trained brains of Europe and America.
"To come to the point, Mr. Kent, the fact is that it is believed, or at least suspected, that Japan, while living up to the letter of the Washington Conferenceagreement, is, in fact, violating the spirit thereof; that while she is keeping her battle fleet strictly within the ratio of six to America's and England's ten, as she agreed to do, she is trying to make up for the difference in ratio by building up a great fleet of powerful submarines. I am glad that we may take up this matter together, for it is important that this misunderstanding be set right. The fact is, as naval statistics which have already been made public will show you, that we are merely trying to make our auxiliary fleet forces catch up to the proper proportion they should bear to the battle fleet. As you know, Japan is a poor country. In the past the naval authorities decided to build a great fleet of vessels of the first class, but to do so they had to give up building the number of auxiliary craft which is generally considered by the naval experts of all countries to be the minimum necessary to keep up the proportion between battleships and auxiliaries. In other words, as we did not have enough money to have both first-class ships and auxiliaries, we decided to build the big ships, even though we knew that we should be short of the smaller ones. Now that the Conference has made it unnecessary to spend the great sums set aside for battleship construction, we are using the chance to build smaller craft to the number necessary to make proper proportion. That's the reason you hear that we are building some submarines; but remember there's nothing sinister about that. We are merely rounding out our construction program along the lines recognized as being proper by all naval authorities. Of course, the mere fact that we are building is being made use of by the anti-Japanese propagandists, who seize anything whatever to make out a case against Japan. It's partly because Japan's liberal diplomacy of recent years had cut very short the crop of material that may be used as propagandaagainst us. We have always kept our word in both letter and spirit. We gave the Chinese liberal terms in the Shantung settlement, and we have withdrawn our troops from Shantung. We were liberal in respect to Yap. We have withdrawn our troops from Siberia. We showed the world at the Washington Conference that we have no militaristic ambitions. Our action in all these cases has deprived the anti-Japanese propagandists of their old weapons, so now they must invent stuff for calumny. All we want is fair play. I know that you, Mr. Kent, are as interested as I am in maintaining the friendly spirit now existing between America and Japan; that you are glad to help combat the mischief-makers. Of course, you know that I must never be quoted—but I give you my word that there is not the slightest basis in fact for the belief that Japan is violating either the letter or the spirit of the Washington agreement, and the talk about her building an unduly large submarine fleet is pure buncombe."
The Viscount spoke earnestly, with a tone which made for conviction even though Kent had believed that he would talk on just about these lines. He had been impressed, had leaned forward intent to follow every word of the old statesman. Now he relaxed a little, leaned back in his chair, let his eye wander. Suddenly he felt as if some one had called sharply for his attention; involuntarily, mechanically, he looked past the screen. She was peering intently into the room, frankly eavesdropping, and her eyes were fixed on his as if she wished by mere force of will to compel him to look at her. Apparently that was it, for immediately the appearance of concentration vanished. She rose, gathered some envelopes and descended the stairs noiselessly in her softzori.
There had been something indefinably impressive about these quite ordinary actions. Of course, shewould probably ordinarily have called from the hall below one of the innumerable office boys to mail her letters. That she had chosen to go herself might have some slight significance; but, even beyond that, the conviction came upon him as clearly as if she had shouted it to him that she wished to speak to him. Could it be that she really wanted to see him? The interview was over. He must go, anyway. He would soon know.
He thanked the Viscount, feeling the while that, impressed as he had been while under the direct sway of the old man's magnetism, the interview would become cold, worth little, when examined in the somber light of appraisement of its worth as copy. Had he been able to quote Viscount Kikuchi, it might have had some value. But as it was, he had gained nothing, not even the slightest clew. They shook hands and he left.
Once on the street, he glanced eagerly up and down for the nearest post-box. Yes, there she was, half hidden by the red, stunted column. He went up to her eagerly. She made no pretense that she was not waiting for him. As he came close, he could see that she was excited, almost breathless.
He lifted his hat. "Adachi-san." But she was too eager to pay heed to mere matters of courtesy. "Mr. Kent," for a moment he felt the pressure of a small hand on his sleeve, "he lied to you."
He was struck utterly dumb, could but stare at her amazed. His first reaction was one of disappointment. As he had hastened down to see her, he had had no conscious thought of what he might expect. His whole mind had been concentrated on the question as to whether he had really been right in thinking that she wished to see him clandestinely, out of the hearing of the Viscount. Now he realized that he must,subconsciously, have expected something quite different, something in the lines of furtherance of purely personal intimacy. And here she was evidently not interested in him at all as an individual, but had some obscure purpose connected with the political issue. He had to wrench his mind into adjustment to this entirely new aspect of the matter, as he stood, hat still in his hand, gaping at her.
"What? Lied about what? Do tell me——"
But her eagerness had disappeared, though the excitement remained as her eyes flickered up and down the street. "No. I can't tell you, not now. I must hurry back to the office. The Viscount will miss me. Good-by."
She ran swiftly from him before he could even try to retain her.
"Well, I'll be hanged!"
Again he found the park a handy retreat where he might enter and ruminate undisturbed over the tangle of events of the last half-hour, the statement of the Viscount, the inexplicable mystery of this girl's sudden injection of herself into the game as one of the players where she should ordinarily have remained even less than a mere pawn; the bearing that her taking a hand therein might have on the solution of his problem.
As he reasoned it out, he decided that, as he had gained nothing from the interview, he might, by some chance whim of fortune, have made a still greater gain by the new element added by the girl's appearance in the play. Apparently she knew something. She might know a great deal. And evidently she wished to give him information, to put him straight. Why? It was not because she took any great personal interest in him; he was sure of that; her manner had shown no trace whatever of the element of individual attraction. Still,what her reason might be was, after all, a secondary consideration; it was what she knew, what she could tell him, evidently wished to tell him, that mattered. He must follow up this chance-sent opportunity. Of course, he must see her again. She must expect it. It might be worse. Here he had wished to enter into some closer relation with her, friendship, intimate association, and now the chance had come; although from an amazingly unexpected angle. It even fitted right in with his work—but—as he thought it over, the keenness of the feeling of good luck faded. It was too romantic, melodramatic. He looked upon his work in the cold, keen light of the professional, as a gatherer of facts, of news, prosaic, practical, disdaining the blatant injection therein of the personal element of the "trained seals." He might enjoy betimes coloring the drabness of everyday existence by trying to apply tints of romance—he had been rather inclined to do so lately; possibly it was the glamor of newness of a strange land, or a reflection from his association with Karsten,—but work and romance were inconsistent, conflicting. He did not want to mix personal relation with this girl with business, make use of her as a tool for prying into the secrets of Japanese officialdom. Such use of women might be practical, it had undoubtedly served in many cases, but it was distasteful to him, repellent. But, on the other hand, what could he do? The girl herself wished it. He was not stalking her, treacherously, with cold calculation, trying to inveigle her into an affair of affections with the intention of making her serve his purposes. It seemed rather as if she thought that, in some undiscernible way, he might serve hers. He did not know what to make of it. At one moment he would be pleased, exultant even, at this element of intense interest injected into his existence, and the next he would bemystified, perplexed, impatient at his inability to see the road before him.
Women! It seemed as if one must ever become entangled, somehow, in the insinuating meshes of their ubiquitous activities.
For days he went about in a state of irritating uncertainty. What should be his next step? There was no good reason for seeking further speech with the Viscount for the present. Obviously the alternative was to contrive to meet her on her way to or from the office, but this method was distasteful to him, savored too much of lying in wait for her, stalking her, as might a roué bent on philanderous enterprise. On the other hand, his conscience troubled him. Here it was possible, even likely that this girl might hold the key to his story, might give him the starting point which he needed. He owed loyalty to his paper. He felt that he was caught in a dilemma from which he might not extricate himself entirely honorably.
One morning, at the Foreign Office, young Kikuchi dropped a chance remark that his father had gone to Odawara for a few days. The idea struck Kent that here lay the way out. Fate seemed deliberately to have thrown the solution in his way, so he might see her without resorting to slinking contrivances. He looked at his watch. It was half-past eleven; this was Saturday and quite likely she would leave at noon. He hurried to her office. She was evidently about to leave.
"I am sorry. The Viscount has gone to the country." He thought he detected a hint of mischief in her eyes. Did she suspect him?
Would he have some tea? She came to his rescue before he had bethought himself of the next step. What a blessing that eternal tea-drinking ceremonialcould prove at times. Why, of course, he should like it very much.
So again he found himself in one of the Viscount's great chairs, alone with her. She brought the tray with tea and cigarettes. His success made him bolder. "Have some with me, please do."
It startled her a little. "Why, of course not."
"Why not? It is the custom in foreign countries, and I am a foreigner. Please?"
She smiled at his earnestness and gave in. Presently they were sipping tea together. The scene assumed an air of intimacy. They chatted pleasantly. The light silk shawl about her shoulders gave him a cue. "You're about to go out, are you not. I really shouldn't keep you, but——"
"No, it's all right. It is Saturday, and I was thinking of going to the pictures."
The pictures! So she was another of Japan's millions of movie worshipers who form their ideas of Western civilization from the frenzied life of the cinema, Wild West pictures of cowboys rescuing lovely heroines from Indians and bandits, dainty damsels abducted in madly racing automobiles, passionate love scenes in lavishly upholstered abodes of plutocracy, gun-play and murder in city streets—all the wildly gyrating, delirious melodrama which ingenuous Japan seriously believes to be representative of life on the other side of the ocean. The thought of the discomfort of most of the Tokyo movie theaters, ramshackle fire-traps crowded with squirming, perspiring humanity, stifling in the afternoon heat, repelled him; still, it would not matter.
"I like the pictures very much too," he lied. "I wish you would let me go with you."
But she shook her head determinedly. No, a foreigner and a Japanese girl! It was too unusual.
"But are you then so old-fashioned?" He noted her quick frown. He had gained a little. "Are you then one of these Japanese who, like the old shoguns, want to hold Japan apart from the rest of civilization?" Now he knew he had the right argument.
She flashed at him. "I am not old-fashioned." Her tone softened a little. "But, of course, you know it is a little unusual for a Japanese girl and a foreign man to go on the street together."
He sensed that he had won and made no further argument, only rose and waited while she took away the tray. Together they went down the steps.
"And now where?" he asked.
"Why, Uyeno, of course, the art exhibition. I thought you——"
He hastened to cut her short. "Yes, I know. But it is far. Let us have tiffin first. Where? What do you prefer, Japanese or foreign food."
He knew she would prefer the rare experience of a foreign restaurant, as Japanese girls almost invariably do. They went to one of the best in Tokyo, a large, airy place thoroughly modern, a hot, wet towel in a small wicker tray, for wiping the face after the meal, being the sole concession to Japanese custom. As he sat facing her, he watched appreciatively the dainty grace with which her slim fingers, long practiced in agile manipulation of chopsticks, managed easily the unfamiliar silver. She was enjoying it, flushed a little, happily. He knew he would gain pleasure from this germinating friendship.
He wished to call a taxi, but she restrained him. "No, Uyeno is not so far. We will go by tram."
But why bother about a crowded tram? Taxis were not such a luxury.
"But they are a luxury. Why should we spendmoney needlessly when the masses of the people must ride in trams or even walk. It is wrong." Her earnestness amused him. The deep seriousness of her expression lent her a charm as that of a child artlessly philosophizing. What odd surprises they held, the minds of these Japanese girls, ideas shaped from impressions gained God knows where. They compromised on an auto-bus.
The exhibition was crowded. It had always pleased him to note the character of the people who thronged such places, art galleries, concerts, theaters, high and low, rich and poor, a great number, in fact, persons to whom even the smallest fee must mean sacrifice of some material need. And here they were, as usual, small merchants, poorly paid artisans, some even fairly close to the coolie type, solemnly, seriously viewing the pictures, saying but little, absorbing, gratifying a natural, spontaneous love of beauty. What would happen to a New York bricklayer should he suggest to his mate that they go to see the Metropolitan Art Gallery? The grotesque contrast of the idea amused him.
They went through the Japanese art section first. He always enjoyed this part the best, for while he had small technical knowledge of art, he sensed a subtle gratification from the consummate perfection which the artists of Nippon had attained in this field of their own where century after century of painstakingly striving lovers of beauty had succeeded in gradually climbing higher and higher towards fashioning in concrete form the mirages of their vision. The eye rested, filled itself with the wealth of delicate beauty of pure, surely drawn lines, marvelously blended symphonies of color, almost imperceptible nuances of shade and tint, a myriad of infinitely carefully elaborated details which the makers contrived to weld into perfectlybalanced, full-toned consonance. There were the tremendous six-leafed screen paintings, incidents from legend or history of feudal Japan, knights in armor with long two-handed swords, archers with bow and quiver, women in scintillating kimono and elaborate coiffure, or, of even more ancient period, in simple flowing robes and with hair falling loose over their shoulders, reminiscent of the art of China, the original inspiration whence Japan had worked out that which was now her glorious own. There were landscapes on screen or scroll, serrated crag and cliff with gnarled pines overhanging foaming stream or glittering waterfall; quaint and charming bits of life of old, or still existing but ever disappearing Japan,—dancers in graceful postures, young girls in boats, slender lily hands lying languidly in limpid waters, brown old men, sickle in hand, garnering the rice, each ear of hundreds drawn with veritable botanical accuracy of detail, still retaining the free, swaying grace of nature.
It always cost him an effort to leave this section to enter that devoted to art after Western fashion, which was constantly, year after year, encroaching on, elbowing out of the way that fashioned after the ideals of old Japan. A few years ago there had been only a couple of these modern rooms; now those of the old and the new were almost even; soon the latter would predominate entirely. It seemed such a pity; it irritated him, the relentlessness of this march of progress? Still, it was in its way more instructive than the other, gave concrete, graphic illustration of the ideas and ideals of the young generation, what it was seeking, striving for, more or less uncertainly, but always coming nearer to the goal ever shimmering before it, mastery of the modern, the new culture.
They were improving. Every year the exhibitions showed more certain mastery of technique, better graspof the spirit of the French art which seemed to be the almost universally accepted school. Kent admitted it to himself grudgingly; every step in advance in this direction meant defeat of the old. What would it all amount to, after all? Even if, with their amazing facility for copying, for imitation, they might produce work which was creditable, which might pass muster even in Europe, as, in fact, some of the things he saw before him might, they would probably never climb out beyond the mediocre, would never attain original achievement. There were some very good portraits, excellent flower pieces, though, of course, this was but natural, considering that this subject was a preëminent favorite with the Japanese schools. Even some of the landscapes were undeniably fine, though, he noted, this was the case especially where some Oriental subject had been chosen, great, carved junks with blood-red sails glaring in the sunlight against a faint blue sky; mountain scenes following largely the composition ofkakemonosubjects, the delicacy of the latter being replaced by the more massive boldness made possible by the medium of canvas and oils.
He felt that he was ungenerous; still it irritated him that they should be making such headway in their apostacy. Only the nudes gave him an incongruous sense of satisfaction. They were atrocious and the exhibit was cluttered with them. In the old art of Japan,kakemono, color-print and screen, they were virtually unknown, but during the last few years the craze for them had swept over the moderns like an obsession; the very fact that they were utterly new to Japan, the sense that they were unconventional, modern, outré, was undoubtedly the reason. So there they were, scores of them, clumsy masses of female flesh, blatantly brazen, in all sorts of absurd andcontorted attitudes—and all these women were not nude, they were naked. The conception of the spirit, the idea of their French masters, the verve, theélan, they had missed it all. The paintings were bad, and the sculpture, with which the rooms were filled, was worse. Evidently these young enthusiasts had rushed forth fanatically intent to place on canvas something naked; almost anything would do. The clumsy, paunchy forms, shapeless limbs, invariably thick ankles, all seemed to indicate that they had found their models where best they might, among country wenches and servant maids, bringing forth on canvas or from clay mere lumps of flesh, utterly soulless reproductions of female kind.
Did they really wish to convey the idea that Japanese women looked like that? Did they wish, barbarously, to slaughter the conception of themusume, delicate, graceful, beautiful, and to substitute therefor as the ideal mere worship of flesh of the flesh? Damn them, it seemed such stupid, wanton brutality, brutishness even; a grossly sensuous libel on the womanhood of Japan. He glanced at Adachi-san, slender, dainty, flower-like. How was such a grotesque misconception possible?
He felt that she should have resented all this; but she was interested, far more absorbed in the moderns than she had been in the exhibits after the ancient mode. This was the section which young Japan enjoyed. Here the art students thronged, proud of their achievements or those of their fellows, young men with velvet jackets and baggy trousers, flowing ties and broad-brimmed, flapping hats. Their coarse, black hair flowed loosely down to their shoulders; those who could manage it had painstakingly cultivated little Van Dyke beards. Nearly all wore enormous, horn-rimmed spectacles. Here they were in theirelement, prideful, self-certain in their assurance that they had advanced far beyond thehoi polloi, that they were the leaders. Conspicuously they would form groups, point out, discuss, criticize or go into raptures.
Evidently Adachi-san was quite well known here. Young fellows would bow to her, some would even address a few short remarks. She was plainly enjoying it all; she tried to communicate some of her enthusiasm to Kent, called his attention to work which she thought was well done. She even used some of the technical patter of the students. He wished he had been better informed in art, that he might have placed in convincing form the criticism which craved for expression. He was relieved when they left the exposition and began their return through Uyeno Park.
They found a seat at the edge of an abrupt slope where they had a wide view of the city. "You didn't care for it, Kent-san?" Her voice conveyed her disappointment.
"But I did. I like the truly Japanese things immensely; but that's just it, even though much of the modern stuff is very good—I won't deny it—it seems to me such a pity that Japan should sacrifice the wondrous values of her own art merely to trade them for imitations of that of the West which the other countries can do better than she can; just as Japan in all other things is throwing away her own which suit her,—her dress, her architecture, her manners, only to replace them with shoddy foreign clothes that don't suit Japanese figures; ramshackle hodgepodge buildings after no style at all; and all the rest. And then these student fellows. Can't you see that with most of them it is all pose?"
A couple of the artists passed, bowed courteously. He raised his hat to them.
"But it isn't pose, at least with only a few of them.If you only knew how some of them slave and toil for the ideals they have, you wouldn't talk like that. They may seem absurd to you, or funny even, but I tell you, you would have a different idea of them, if you only knew them."
"Yes, I daresay they must be interesting to know." Throughout the afternoon he had sensed an indefinite resentment that she seemed to be so familiar with them. How did she come to know them so well? It was not jealousy, still, honestly, it might be something fairly close to that. But the whole thing irritated him. He wanted to get away from it, to some other subject. "It is getting quite late, Adachi-san. Let us have dinner somewhere."
But she would not get away from it. "Thank you very much, Kent-san. You're too good to me. But if you really think they may be interesting, why shouldn't we go to one of the places where they eat, right near here. Kent-san, you are the only foreigner whom I know, and you seem to be such, such a reactionary, and I want you to see our side of it. You foreigners ought to be the ones to help us, you know. I want you to, please." The slim, white hand was on his sleeve. She was looking at him earnestly, appealingly almost.
Hang it, the power which these eyes had over him; they could make him do anything, he felt. Of course, in a way, that was what he wanted, to allow himself complete abandon, inertly drifting, dreaming under the spell of that glorious, pervasive beauty, to let himself go under the hypnotism of her charm. But this was something entirely different; the injection of the element of intellect spoiled the whole thing. It was her beauty, not her brain he wished to enjoy, as one might be dreamily soothed by the spell of a picture, unheeding the mechanics to which it owed being. Thatwas her function, beauty. Why should she disrupt the harmony by bringing in thought, this crass, clamorous new thought that seemed like a plague of fever obsessing the new generation? "Our" side of it, she said. He wanted her to be Japan of droning temple bell, slender pagoda, rich, flaunting silks, not the Japan of steam, electricity and new thought. But her earnestness softened him. He would make the best of it. To-day, they had fallen into the wrong setting. He would contrive, next time, one more congruous with the idea which he had in mind.
"All right, Adachi-san, you shall be the guide."
She was radiant. "Kent-san, you are so good. I want you to be pleased, and I feel that you are not pleased, but I want you to know us too, me and my friends, and to like us, if you can."
They passed down the broad stone steps into a vast space of clanging street cars and jostling crowds. Then down a side street, a few blocks. She pointed to a sign, a gaudy female, presumably symbolically representing art or some such abstraction, holding in one hand a palm leaf and in the other a paintbrush. Over it was the inscription, inkata-kanacharacters, "kafue montomarutoru"; of course, that meant "café Montmartre."
He knew scores of the queer new cafés of Tokyo, but this one was of a type new to him. There were the same rickety tables and chairs, but crowding the walls, leaving scarcely an inch of clear space, were vast oil paintings, tremendous stretches of canvas, all depicting nudes, in every possible position and surrounding, in bath houses and by mountain pools, posing in front of mirrors or just standing upright vacantly, without apparent intention at all; huge figures, clumsy, ill-formed, a mass of light-brown or pink, indelicate flesh pervading and dominating the entire room.