"There's a great deal," I answered, remembering Sir Roger, of blessed memory,—"a great deal to be said on both sides. The American Revision Treaty—h'm—demands an enormous amount of matured consideration and may safely be referred—"
"But we of Japan are now civilised."
Japan says that she is now civilised. That is the crux of the whole matter so far as I understand it. "Let us have done with the idiotic system of treaty–ports and passports for the foreigner who steps beyond them," says Japan in effect. "Give us our place among the civilised nations of the earth, come among us, trade with us, hold land in our midst. Only be subject to our jurisdiction and submit to our—tariffs." Now since one or two of the foreign nations have won special tariffs for their goods in the usual way, they are not over–anxious to become just ordinary folk. The effect of accepting Japan's views would be excellent for the individual who wanted to go up–country and make his money, but bad for the nation. For Our nation in particular.
All the same I was not prepared to have my ignorance of a burning question put down in any note–book save my own. I Gladstoned about the matter with the longest words I could. My friend recorded them much after the manner of Count Smorltork. Then I attacked him on the subject of civilisation—speaking very slowly because he had a knack of running two words of mine together, and turning them into something new.
"You are right," said he. "We are becoming civilised. But not too quick, for that is bad. Now there are two parties in the State—the Liberal and the Radicaclass="underline" one Count he lead one, one Count lead the other. The Radical say that we should swiftly become all English. The Liberal he says not so quick, because that nation which too swiftly adopt other people's customs he decay. That question of civilisation and the American Revision Treaty he occupied our chief attentions. Now we are not so zealous to become civilised as we were two—three years gone. Not so quick—that is our watchword. Yes."
If matured deliberation be the wholesale adoption of imperfectly understood arrangements, I should dearly like to see Japan in a hurry. We discussed comparative civilisations for a short time, and I protested feebly against the defilement of the streets of Tokio by rows of houses built after glaring European models. Surely there is no need to discard your own architecture, I said.
"Ha," snorted the chief of the Public Opinion. "You call it picturesque. I call it too. Wait till he light up—incendiate. A Japanese house then is one only fire box. That is why we think good to build in European fashion. I tell you, and you must believe, that we take up no change without thinking upon it. Truth, indeed, it is not because we are curious children, wanting new things, as some people have said. We have done with that season of picking up things and throwing them down again. You see?"
"Where did you pick up your Constitution, then?"
I did not know what the question would bring forth, yet I ought to have been wise. The first question that a Japanese on the railway asks an Englishman is: "Have you got the English translation of our Constitution?" All the book–stalls sell it in English and Japanese, and all the papers discuss it. The child is not yet three months old.
"Our Constitution?—That was promised to us—promised twenty years ago. Fourteen years ago the provinces they have been allowed to elect their big men—their heads. Three years ago they have been allowed to have assemblies, and thus Civil Liberty was assured."
I was baffled here for some time. In the end I thought I made out that the municipalities had been given certain control over police funds and the appointment of district officials. I may have been entirely wrong, but the editor bore me along on a torrent of words, his body rocking and his arms waving with the double agony of twisting a foreign tongue to his service and explaining the to–be–taken–seriouslyness of Japan. Whack come the little hand on the little table, and the little tea–cups jumped again.
"Truly, and indeed, this Constitution of ours has not come too soon. It proceeded step–by. You understand that? Now your Constitution, the Constitutions of the foreign nations, are all bloody—bloody Constitutions. Ours has come step–by. We did not fight as the barons fought with King John at Runnymede."
This was a quotation from a speech delivered at Otsu, a few days previously, by a member of the Government. I grinned at the brotherhood of editors all the world over. Up went the hand anew.
"We shall be happy with this Constitution and a people civilised among civilisations."
"Of course. But what will you actually do with it? A Constitution is rather a monotonous thing to work after the fun of sending members to Parliament has died out. You have a Parliament, have you not?"
"Oh yes, with parties—Liberal and Radical."
"Then they will both tell lies to you and to each other. Then they will pass bills, and spend their time fighting each other. Then all the foreign governments will discover that you have no fixed policy."
"Ah, yes. But the Constitution." The little hands were crossed in his lap. The cigarette hung limply from his mouth.
"No fixed policy. Then, when you have sufficiently disgusted the foreign Powers, they will wait until the Liberals and Radicals are fighting very hard, and then they will blow you out of the water."
"You are not making fun? I do not quite understand," said he. "Your Constitutions are all so bloody."
"Yes. That is exactly what they are. You are very much in earnest about yours, are you not?"
"Oh yes, we all talk politics now."
"And write politics, of course. By the way, under what—h'm, arrangements with the Government is a Japanese paper published? I mean, must you pay anything before starting a press?"
"Literary, scientific, and religious papers—no. Quite free. All purely political papers pay five hundred yen—give to the Government to keep, or else some man says he will pay."
"You must give security, you mean?"
"I do not know, but sometimes the Government can keep the money. We are purely political."
Then he asked questions about India, and appeared astonished to find that the natives there possessed considerable political power, and controlled districts.
"But have you a Constitution in India?"
"I am afraid that we have not."
"Ah!"
He crushed me there, and I left very humbly, but cheered by the promise that the Tokio Public Opinion would contain an account of my words. Mercifully, that respectable journal is printed in Japanese, so the hash will not be served up to a large table. I would give a good deal to discover what meaning he attached to my forecast of Constitutional government in Japan.
"We all talk politics now." That was the sentence which remained to me. It was true talk. Men of the Educational Department in Tokio told me that the students would "talk politics" by the hour if you allowed them. At present they were talking in the abstract about their new plaything, the Constitution, with its Upper House and its Lower House, its committees, its questions of supply, its rules of procedure, and all the other skittles we have played with for six hundred years.
Japan is the second Oriental country which has made it impossible for a strong man to govern alone. This she has done of her own free will. India, on the other hand, has been forcibly ravished by the Secretary of State and the English M. P.
Japan is luckier than India.
No. XXI
Shows the Similarity Between the Babu and the Japanese. Contains the Earnest Outcry of an Unbeliever. the Explanation of Mr. Smith of California and Elsewhere. Takes Me on Board Ship After Due Warning to Those Who Follow - Very Sadly Did We Leave It, but We Gave Our Hearts in Pledge to the Pine Above the City, to the Blossoms by the Hedge, to the Cherry and the Maple and the Plum Tree and the Peach, and the Babies--oh, the Babies!--romping Fatly Under Each. Eastward Ho! Across the Water See the Black Bow Drives and Swings From the Land of Little Children, Where the Babies Are the Kings