Rare days in Japan

by George Trumbull Ladd

After the two Secretaries had been presented, to both of whom these conventional sentences were said: “Have you been before in Japan?”; and “I am glad to see you,”—we all withdrew backward, bowing in the customary fashion. We were then taken at once to the audience-room of the Empress, before the door of which we were asked to wait a moment. Here, too, the same order of precedence was observed. On taking my hand, Her Majesty said, with an air of great kindness, that Minister Makino had told of my work for the moral education of Japanese young men, and that it would be of great value to the country. Her Majesty also asked concerning my plans; where I was going and how long I was expecting to stay. After she had taken my hand again to dismiss me, the other two gentlemen were presented, and the same two sentences said to them which the Emperor had said. The ladies had already been presented; and on rejoining them, we were all immediately ushered out of the Palace. (I have always had a sly suspicion that the gentlemen in waiting, at least, consider—and not altogether unnaturally!—this sort of service toward foreigners to be something of a bore.)

The last of my audiences with His Imperial Majesty of Japan was by far the most notable, and, indeed, unique. At a “farewell meeting,” held on Friday evening of the week preceding the date of my sailing home, in September of 1907, I was confidentially informed to expect a private audience on the following Monday. The more formal summons, which came the next day through the private secretary of the Minister of Education, was couched in the following quaint language:

“Dear Sir:

“I have the honour to inform you that on the 30th at half-past ten o’clock A. M. His Majesty, the Emperor, will be graciously pleased to receive you in audience at the Palace.

“On that day you are required to be present before that hour, wearing swallow-tailed coat.”

(It should be explained that this sobriquet for the upper garment of evening dress is a literal translation back into English of a Japanese word which is itself derived by the same literal rendering of its English original.)

The anxiety of my escort, who was the same person as the writer of the letter, lest we might be unpardonably late in keeping the appointment, was so great that our carriage arrived at the designated gate (a comparatively private one) of the Palace, a full half-hour before the time. But, leaving my Japanese friend at the entrance room of the Department of the Household, I was conducted along what seemed like endless corridors, by the state rooms of the palace, whose elegant beauty of proportion and reserve in decoration I thus had an excellent opportunity for admiring, to a waiting-room at the other end of the Palace, which I at once recognised as the one customarily assigned to those who were to have an audience with the Emperor. Soon both the doors of this room were closed and the occupant was left to his reflections in the completest possible in-door solitude. The silence was impressive, profound. At rare intervals, the distant cawing of a crow somewhere in the Imperial grounds, or muffled footsteps in some far-off corridor, were the only sounds to be heard. As I strove to occupy my mind with recalling the memorable experiences of the past year, in Korea as well as in Japan, my imagination persisted in dwelling upon the comical problem: “What should I do; how explain my presence, with my scanty knowledge of Japanese, to persons who know no English; how escape from the Palace,—in case there should have been any misunderstanding about the matter?”

Quite promptly at 10.25, however, the door of the waiting-room was thrown open and I was motioned to follow the Palace attendant who stood in front of it. Not a word was spoken by either of us. On reaching the corridor in front of the audience chamber, two gentlemen-in-waiting, dressed in frock coats, were there,—one in front of the entrance and one in the corner nearest the waiting-room. The latter motioned me to stand by his side. In a minute or two a slight rustle announced the entrance of the Emperor into the audience chamber; the gentleman-in-waiting who stood before its entrance bowed low and drew back, beckoning me to come forward; and I then first became aware that, this time, no one was expecting to present me. Doubtless, it saved the chance of no little embarrassment that previous experiences had left me precisely informed as to what I ought to do. The Emperor was standing in his accustomed place, in military undress; his interpreter was on his right hand; and two gentlemen were standing in the farthest corner at the back of the room.

As he reached out his hand, His Majesty began to express, in simple but sincere fashion, his satisfaction at the instruction and advice which had been given to his people, and added renewed assurances of his gratitude for the service. In few words, he was assured by me of the great pleasure which had been taken in the work of the year, and of the debt of gratitude which was felt for the opportunity to be of service to Japan. His Majesty then said that he had heard of my intention soon to depart for home, wished me a safe and prosperous journey, and expressed the hope that my family and friends would be found in health and prosperity on my arrival. He then dismissed me by extending his hand again for me to take.

I have spoken of the four audiences which I have had the honour to enjoy, with His Majesty, the Emperor of Japan, with some detail and with all the frankness within the limits of a courteous reserve, because they seem to me to throw light upon his personality as a man and as a ruler of men. There has never been any diplomatic reason or political motive for noticing me or my work in any distinctive way. I am only a teacher; and I have had no ambition for any higher title than that of “teacher,” no desire for any more imposing kind of service. But His Majesty’s painstaking to recognise, and to signalise with his favour before the nation, his appreciation for any services rendered to the “moral education” of his people, has been as unmistakably sincere as it has been distinctive. And there is abundant reason to believe that this painstaking regard for the moral and other welfare of his people, irrespective of considerations of diplomatic policy, or rank, or expectation of similar favours in return, characterises throughout the Imperial rule of the present Emperor of Japan. One would have to search hard among the world’s present day rulers to find another so affectionate, so solicitous, so self-sacrificing, where the interests of his people are concerned, as Mutsu-hito, His Imperial Japanese Majesty.