About an hour from Tokio stands an Orthodox Cathedral built on a hill. The archbishop, who was by birth Prince Kassatkin Rostovski before he turned monk, has for thirty years already propagated Christianity in this country. He has converted a great number of Japs and has built many schools. In one of these schools Japanese girls are taught the art of painting Russian ikons (holy images). We went to vespers to the cathedral, and all got into rikshas, each with two men, one to pull and the other to push. The road rises steeply to the church porch and our riksha-men had a very fatiguing ascent, perspiration was pouring down their faces. From afar we heard church bells ringing. When we entered the large cathedral, we saw a great number of natives; the men stood grouped on the right side and the women on the left. The priest, a converted Jap, in orthodox clerical attire, officiated in Japanese language. The scholars of the Orthodox school sang in chorus; I could make out only one word, “Amen.” When the service was over the archbishop asked us to come and have a cup of tea in his drawing-room.
Next day was Sunday, we went again to the cathedral to hear mass. It was the archbishop who officiated this time and also in Japanese. During the Holy Sacrament he said a few words in Russian to us. The baptised natives were sitting on the floor on their heels. I saw women suckling their babies, and was very much astonished when a little Jap came running to his mother, and springing suddenly on her lap, began to suck her with great appetite. We invited the archbishop to dine with us at the hotel. He was not a bit a bigot, he ate meat and listened with pleasure to the sounds of a waltz played by an orchestra during dinner-time.
Mr. Vassilieff put himself at our disposal during our stay at Tokio. He had been present at the attempt on the life of our Emperor during his voyage to Japan when he was heir to the throne. He was driving in a riksha with the Prince of Greece and a numerous suite in the outskirts of Kioto. Mr. Vassilieff, who was of the party, saw a native policeman rush sword in hand towards the Grand-Duke, at which his riksha-man gave him a kick behind, and the next moment the ruffian was sprawling on the ground. The Prince of Greece fell on him with his stick and struck him full and square on the head. The man died in prison a year after, and the riksha-man who had defended the Grand-Duke has received a medal and a life annuity of a thousand roubles from the Russian Government.
On the day that my husband and his companions had gone to Nikko, we ladies went out shopping. We stared into the shop windows, being in search of curios, and bought right and left with reckless extravagance. The merchants greeted us with a number of quick, jerky little bows. We returned laden with parcels, and the result of our struggle in the curio shops were strewn all over our saloon. Sergy, on returning from Nikko, had to pay great quantities of bills. The merchants, having received their money, bowed so low that it seemed as though they were crawling on all fours.
We were beginning to be tired of Tokio, and on the 5th August we started to Kobe. The weather was grey and dull, the crows croaked over us foretelling rain. The road to Kobe reminded me of the Caucasus by its grand and wild landscape. We entered continually into tunnels. From afar we heard the splashing of the ocean, and in a short time our train ran along the shore. Suddenly we were caught in a terrible storm; the ocean beat violently against the beach. We were told that the typhoon, that terror of seamen, had just passed over. When a ship is caught in the centre of the furious whirlwind, she is lost for ever. Our train fought courageously with the hurricane. The wind rattled the windows and seemed to threaten to overturn our car. It won’t be agreeable on sea to-morrow!
There was nothing to be got to eat at the stations during the whole run. At one of the stoppages we bought from an ambulant vendor an earthen cup and a teapot with hot water, the whole for one cent. At every stoppage we thought it was Kobe and that we had to get out.
CHAPTER LXVII
KOBE
The train ran into a station illuminated by electricity; it was Kobe at last! The Russian Consul’s interpreter came to meet us at the railway station, but we didn’t hear the words through the noise of the gale. The only thing we made out was that we couldn’t start for Nagasaki to-morrow on account of the weather. We’ll have to wait here until the sea gets calmer. A French ship which had left Kobe in the morning had to return, being unable to continue her voyage.