Rare days in Japan

by George Trumbull Ladd

Holders of the 3d and higher classes of the “Orders of Merit” have the right to request cards of invitation to certain of the Court functions, attendance at which is a much coveted privilege. To some of these a few foreigners may obtain invitations, either through the official representative of the country to which they belong, or through some influential native friend; but for certain other of these functions such a thing is very difficult or impossible. This fact is not infrequently the occasion of much heart-burning and complaining on the part of the foreign tourist; and of no small embarrassment to foreign Ambassadors and Ministers, and even to the Departments of “The Household” and of Foreign Affairs, of the Japanese Government. Perhaps the citizens of the United States are no more unreasonable in this matter than are the citizens of other countries; but I am inclined to think that they are. At any rate, it is well to remind ourselves that, while our sentiment which exalts personal worthiness above court rank is quite justifiable, both on moral and on political grounds, it is an essential effect of this very sentiment, when sincere and refined, not to wish to go where one is not desired, or where one’s presence is not in every way an appropriate part of the social or ceremonial occasion. From the point of view of those who issue the invitation it is also to be remembered that to summon everybody who might wish to attend would not only deprive the particular function of all meaning, but would be to face a physical impossibility. Besides, no one who is not either actually invited or unintentionally overlooked, can lay any slightest claim to a “right,” in the case of any similar engagement. The accredited representatives of foreign countries are, indeed, entitled to be treated, not only politically but socially, with a deference which is something more than personal; and to certain others—as has already been said—a similar social distinction has been conceded as a “right.” But as for the rest of us, I fail to see how either ethics or etiquette prescribes to courts any other obligations than those which we, ourselves, as private persons, choose to follow. We invite only those whom we, for one reason or another, want to have come; and, if we are truly self-respecting, we do not ourselves want to go where we are not wanted.

The two most conspicuous of the ceremonial occasions which are open to a selected few among the foreign residents or visitors in Japan, and to which invitations are especially coveted, are, perhaps the Court Ball given by the Japanese Minister of Foreign Affairs, on the evening of the Emperor’s birthday, and the Audience given by both Their Majesties, on New Year’s morning, in the throne-room of the Imperial Palace in Tokyo.

The annual Court Ball on the night of the third of November, 1906, was given by Viscount and Viscountess Hayashi, at the official residence of the Minister of Foreign Affairs. The daylight hours had fully justified the Japanese impression with regard to the “regulation” weather for His Majesty’s birthday. It was delightfully clear and cool, without being in the least uncomfortably chilly. We had risen at six o’clock, and had left the house soon after seven in order to reach, on time, the parade-ground, at Oyama, where the Emperor was to review about thirty thousand picked troops, of the different branches of the service. After His Majesty had once made the circuit of the large field on horseback, he sat on his horse, while the entire force,—first, the infantry, then the artillery, and, finally, the cavalry, passed in review before him. The rain of the night before had laid the dust so that it was not difficult to take in a view of the entire field at once. The order of the troops was, indeed, excellent, but they did not make at all so brilliant a display as the fifteen thousand Turkish troops which I had seen called out to guard the now dethroned Sultan, Abdul Hamid, at a Selamlik, in the Spring of 1900. Japan’s Emperor needs no guard, however, to protect him against his own subjects.

When we reached the outer gate of the residence of the Minister we found the driveway to the entrance so blocked with a crowd of carriages and jinrikishas that it was only by a succession of jerks forward and sudden stoppages that any approach whatever was possible. And when we were still several rods away, something—we were unable to ascertain just what—about the harness appeared to give way, leaving us glad to complete the journey, by dodging the jinrikishas and ducking under the horses’ heads, on foot. On entering, we found that the accommodations of the mansion, in order to provide for the more than fifteen hundred guests (of whom rather more than one hundred were foreigners), had been greatly enlarged by temporary structures built out over the nearer parts of the surrounding garden. The principal rooms added in this way were a large salon, or assembly hall, and a refreshment hall. Both these rooms were beautifully decorated, with that mixture of lavishness and reserve in which the best Japanese art of decoration so much excels, with silks, flags of the nations, artificial cherry trees in full bloom, and real pomegranate and persimmon trees loaded with fruit. All these were still further decorated and illuminated by concealed electric lights.

“[THEY TOOK PART IN OUTDOOR SPORTS]”

It was a curious misnomer to speak of this assembly as a “Court Ball.” Many of the nobility of high, and some of Imperial, rank were indeed there; and the official world, both Japanese and foreign, was very fully represented. But few cared to dance; and few could have danced, if they had desired to do so. Japanese ladies, in general, do not enjoy dancing; although in olden time [they took part in out-door sports], such as polo: but they cannot dance in foreign style when dressed in the native costume, which is appropriate to them and in which many of them appear very attractive and even beautiful when judged by Occidental standards. Dressed in foreign costume, however, very few of them look well; almost all of them are uncomfortable, both because the clothing is physically irksome and also because they are conscious that they do not look well. Besides this, the ball-room was small and from the first insufferably crowded with those who, in the carefully regulated order of their court rank, were somewhat languidly and even wearisomely doing their duty solemnly, in honour of His Majesty’s birthday. But most of the men of middle age and older, the men of mark in the army and navy, in the state, and in business enterprises, still consider dancing as unmanly and unworthy of a dignified gentleman.

At the Court Ball there were none of those forms of entertainment which make the garden-parties and other less stately social functions of the Japanese so enjoyable to the foreign guest. In spite of this fact, however, the evening was far from being dull. The sight of the brilliantly lighted and beautifully decorated rooms, and of the crowd of notable persons gathered in them, afforded in itself a rare species of instructive entertainment. Besides this, it gave the opportunity of meeting many friends and of hearing kindly and encouraging words from them. Among these was Baron M——, the Minister of Education, Mr. Z——, who spoke definitely about the plans of Marquis Ito for having us visit him in Korea; and the Japanese Minister to Siam, with whom we had become well acquainted, seven years before, while on the same ship from Kobé, Japan, to Singapore.

The most interesting interview of all, however, came latest in the evening. For as the Japanese friend who had consented to be our escort on this occasion was gathering his party together for a return home, and we were in his company passing through the refreshment salon to the cloak-rooms, a party of Japanese gentlemen, seated at a table by themselves near the place of exit, called to him to bring us to them that we might be introduced. These gentlemen proved to be, Marquis Saionji, then Prime Minister, our host, Viscount Hayashi, Minister of Foreign Affairs, Minister Kosai Uchida, then of the Peking Legation, and Admiral Shimamura. The latter was jestingly introduced to us as “a very destructive man,” having sunk no fewer than thirteen Russian ships, but as being now “a man of peace.” Whereupon the Admiral gravely said: “Let us drink to peace,” a toast which was heartily responded to by all present. I take this occasion to say again, that of the greater men in the army and navy of Japan,—many of whom I have met in a friendly way, and with some of whom I have become rather intimately acquainted,—I have never seen one who gave the slightest sign of a pugnacious temper or of desire for war. Of this brave and loyal, but eminently modest and peaceful disposition, Admiral Shimamura is a conspicuous example. He was staff-officer on board the flag-ship Matsushima in the Japan-China war, and was wounded in the battle of the Yellow Sea. He was Chief Staff of the Standing Squadron at the time of the Boxer troubles in 1900. He was singled out by Admiral Togo as his chief staff officer, when the latter was appointed Commander of the Fleet at the outbreak of the war with Russia. At the time of my interview, he was President of the Naval Staff College; and soon after was ordered to represent his country at the Hague Peace Conference of 1907. In Japan, more emphatically than with us, it is not the men who would have to do the fighting who are ready to engage in loose “war-talk”; with us much more than in Japan, it is an unscrupulous, and in certain instances, a subsidised press, and a body of ignorant and selfish “promoters” of trade interests and labour unions, together with the politicians whom they control, who are chiefly responsible for propagating false impressions and stirring up feelings of strife between the two countries. Should so deplorable an event ever occur under existing conditions, I, for one, have little doubt that the ultimate verdict of history would charge us with being the principal criminal. But these are after thoughts, and quite different from those which filled our mind as we went to sleep at the end of nineteen hours of sight-seeing and of social converse in celebration of His Majesty’s birthday on November 3, 1906.

The most stately, formal, and except for a carefully selected class, unapproachable, of the regular functions of the Imperial Court of Japan, are the New Year’s Audiences. On the morning of the first of January, at the earliest hour of all, the Imperial Princes or princes of “the blood,” go to the Palace to congratulate and felicitate His Majesty, and to signify their continued and undiminished allegiance. At a somewhat later hour follow the highest ranks of the Japanese nobility; then in due succession, according to their court rank, come to the Palace the Japanese diplomats, the higher officials in the army, the navy, and the state, the holders of decorations of the Third and higher Classes, and certain of the professors in the Imperial University, and of the Shintō priests. In this way, four groups take their turns at the Imperial Audience, during the successive morning hours from nine o’clock onwards. The foreign diplomats are received in audience in the early afternoon.