A Fantasy of Far Japan; Or, Summer Dream Dialogues

by Kencho Suematsu

—'No, in that respect, there was a limit. No second revenge was recognised in any form whatever. Thus, if A. murdered B. and B.'s son killed A. in revenge, A.'s son had no claim legally or morally to avenge his fathers death. I may also add that under the new Imperial régime Kataki-uchi has been totally discountenanced by law. There is no connivance of it at all. The law promises redress to every wrong, and every possible care is taken to protect the sufferers. Therefore, nowadays, if one kills another in revenge, he would be accounted an ordinary murderer in the eyes of the law.'

—'What about the sword?' interposed the duke.

—'The sword,' I answered, 'was considered the soul of Samurai. They regarded it as the symbol,—nay, the very embodiment of noble sentiment and spirit. It has been so more or less with almost every nation, but it was especially so with us Japanese. The Japanese swords are known to be unrivalled by those of any other nation. Our sword was the envy of all the continental peoples of the Far East. There is a famous poem composed by a great Chinese statesman and scholar, in which he pays high tribute not only to the sword itself, but to the nation which produces it. Even from a merely artistic point of view, our swords deserve to rank high; but that is not all. A latter-day author writes as follows:

The sword-smith was not a mere artisan, but an inspired artist, and his workshop his sanctuary. Daily he commences his craft with prayer and purification, or, as was said, he committed his soul and spirit into the forging and tempering of the steel. Every swing of the sledge-hammer, every plunge into the water, every friction on the stone, was a religious act of no slight import. Was it the spirit of the master or his tutelary deity that cast such a spell over our sword? Perfect as a work of art, setting at defiance its Toledo and Damascus rivals, there was more than art could impart. Its cold blade collecting on its surface, the moment it is drawn, the vapours of the atmosphere: its immaculate texture, flashing light of bluish hue; its matchless edge, upon which histories and possibilities hang, the curve of its back uniting exquisite grace with utmost strength—all these fill us with mixed feelings of power and beauty, of awe and terror.

'Such was, then, the "sword" which our Samurai adored. There were two or three at least of such swords, which were heirlooms of a Samurai family. Just imagine a Samurai going forth to the battlefield and reflecting what a distinction his ancestors had made in similar battlefields, or what devotions he had displayed to his lord by that very sword, now being borne in his hand or in his girdle: why! the very thought would fire his soul and make him emulate the deeds of his ancestors and despise cowardice. No mean thought could enter his mind; the spirit of the sword radiating from the pure cold lustre of the blade handed down by his ancestors could not but thrust such thought from his mind. Such would at least be the sentiments of a real Samurai. The sword was not unsheathed wantonly, but when drawn it was a maxim that it should not be sheathed until its legitimate mission had been fulfilled. No wonder, then, that a Samurai should almost have worshipped his sword, even when undrawn from its scabbard, as the reviewer sarcastically describes. The sword of a Samurai, even when in the scabbard, was not a thing to be trifled with. A Samurai worshipped sword, but not money-bags. If they had worshipped the latter instead of the former, they might have met with the approval of the reviewer. From the utilitarian point of view, if they had done so, it might have benefited their country more materially, and, therefore, their worshipping a sword might have been the weakest point of their ideals, but we do not see cause for regret for all that. The tide of time has brought changes on all such matters. The Government has forbidden not only Samurai, but also all others who were privileged, to wear swords in their girdles. Hundreds and thousands of our best blades have left the houses of Samurai and been either exported, or turned into other implements, for mere trifling sums, often for the gold and silver used for the ornaments of the scabbard. For us, it is sad to think of, though it is of course a necessary outcome of the great changes which have passed over us. It is, however, my earnest desire that the spirit of devotion to the swords with which the Samurai was animated may always be preserved. The same feeling explains why some of our officers carry with them their heirloom swords, even in the present war, as you must have noticed now and then in the press. The traditions of the sword, I am glad to say, have not as yet died in the breasts of the Japanese. There is an association in Tokio, the members of which meet periodically, bringing their own choice swords, and offering their comments on those of others. It may be difficult to appreciate how one can enjoy oneself looking at the blades of swords, but with us it gives great pleasure, if only from an artistic point of view. There have been many different schools of swordsmiths, and even amongst the workers of one school there is some special characteristics of their work. It is the pleasure of the Japanese who are fond of good sword blades to judge of the school and maker by inspecting the blades only. It pleases me to tell you of a gentleman in England who has made the study of Japanese swords a special subject, and his attainment of knowledge in the subject has been recognised by the association in Tokio, which has cheerfully elected him its honorary member. I may add a word or two. When Port Arthur was on the brink of falling, a cartoon was published in the London Punch representing General Stoessel standing at the top of a fortified hill under a half-torn Russian flag. He was holding up a broken sword and uttering a few words of devotion to the Emperor of Russia. That cartoon took the English public very much, and was reproduced on the pages of many papers. It appealed very deeply to the imagination of the Japanese, in particular, though I am not quite sure if Stoessel deserved such sympathy at the last stage of the siege.'

—'That cartoon was very good,' said Lady Modestina. 'I have seen it.'

—'So have I too,' chimed in Lady Dulciana.

—'Let us proceed to the latter part of the review,' said the duke. 'The reviewer says of the author of the other book that "he takes rather a pessimistic view of Japan," and proceeds to say:

'Professor S. takes rather a pessimistic view of Japan. He admits to the full, as every one must, the five noble qualities of Japanese character, viz. bravery, loyalty, alertness, thoroughness, and self-control, to which list courtesy should be added.

But he goes on to quote from the author: