The Overseas Club Puts Up Its Collective Nose
Scornfully When It Hears Of The New And Regenerate Japan Sprung To Life
Since The 'seventies.
It grins, with shame be it written, at an Imperial
Diet modelled on the German plan and a Code Napoleon a la Japonaise.
It
is so far behind the New Era as to doubt that an Oriental country,
ridden by etiquette of the sternest, and social distinctions almost as
hard as those of caste, can be turned out to Western gauge in the
compass of a very young man's fife. And it must be prejudiced, because
it is daily and hourly in contact with the Japanese, except when it can
do business with the Chinaman whom it prefers. Was there ever so
disgraceful a club!
Just at present, a crisis, full blown as a chrysanthemum, has developed
in the Imperial Diet. Both Houses accuse the Government of improper
interference - this Japanese for 'plenty stick and some bank-note' - at
the recent elections. They then did what was equivalent to passing a
vote of censure on the Ministry and refusing to vote government
measures. So far the wildest advocate of representative government could
have desired nothing better. Afterwards, things took a distinctly
Oriental turn. The Ministry refused to resign, and the Mikado prorogued
the Diet for a week to think things over. The Japanese papers are now at
issue over the event. Some say that representative government implies
party government, and others swear at large. The Overseas Club says for
the most part - 'Skittles!'
It is a picturesque situation - one that suggests romances and
extravaganzas. Thus, imagine a dreaming Court intrenched behind a triple
line of moats where the lotus blooms in summer - a Court whose outer
fringe is aggressively European, but whose heart is Japan of long ago,
where a dreaming King sits among some wives or other things, amused from
time to time with magic-lantern shows and performing fleas - a holy King
whose sanctity is used to conjure with, and who twice a year gives
garden-parties where every one must come in top-hat and frock coat.
Round this Court, wavering between the splendours of the sleeping and
the variety shows of the Crystal Palace, place in furious but
carefully-veiled antagonism the fragments of newly shattered castes,
their natural Oriental eccentricities overlaid with borrowed Western
notions. Imagine now, a large and hungry bureaucracy, French in its
fretful insistence on detail where detail is of no earthly moment,
Oriental in its stress on etiquette and punctillo, recruited from a
military caste accustomed for ages past to despise alike farmer and
trader. This caste, we will suppose, is more or less imperfectly
controlled by a syndicate of three clans, which supply their own
nominees to the Ministry. These are adroit, versatile, and unscrupulous
men, hampered by no western prejudice in favour of carrying any plan to
completion. Through and at the bidding of these men, the holy Monarch
acts; and the acts are wonderful. To criticise these acts exists a
wild-cat Press, liable to suppression at any moment, as morbidly
sensitive to outside criticism as the American, and almost as childishly
untruthful, fungoid in the swiftness of its growth, and pitiable in its
unseasoned rashness. Backers of this press in its wilder moments,
lawless, ignorant, sensitive and vain, are the student class, educated
in the main at Government expense, and a thorn in the side of the State.
Judges without training handle laws without precedents, and new measures
are passed and abandoned with almost inconceivable levity. Out of the
welter of classes and interests that are not those of the common folk is
evolved the thing called Japanese policy that has the proportion and the
perspective of a Japanese picture.
Finality and stability are absent from its councils. To-day, for reasons
none can explain, it is pro-foreign to the verge of servility.
To-morrow, for reasons equally obscure, the pendulum swings back,
and - the students are heaving mud at the foreigners in the streets.
Vexatious, irresponsible, incoherent, and, above all, cheaply
mysterious, is the rule of the land - stultified by intrigue and
counter-intrigue, chequered with futile reforms begun on European lines
and light-heartedly thrown aside; studded, as a bower-bird's run is
studded with shells and shining pebbles, with plagiarisms from half the
world - an operetta of administration, wherein the shadow of the King
among his wives, Samurai policemen, doctors who have studied under
Pasteur, kid-gloved cavalry officers from St. Cyr, judges with
University degrees, harlots with fiddles, newspaper correspondents,
masters of the ancient ceremonies of the land, paid members of the Diet,
secret societies that borrow the knife and the dynamite of the Irish,
sons of dispossessed Daimios returned from Europe and waiting for what
may turn up, with ministers of the syndicate who have wrenched Japan
from her repose of twenty years ago, circle, flicker, shift, and reform,
in bewildering rings, round the foreign resident. Is the extravaganza
complete?
Somewhere in the background of the stage are the people of the land - of
whom a very limited proportion enjoy the privileges of representative
government. Whether in the past few years they have learned what the
thing means, or, learning, have the least intention of making any use of
it, is not clear. Meantime, the game of government goes forward as
merrily as a game of puss-in-the-corner, with the additional joy that
not more than half-a-dozen men know who is controlling it or what in
the wide world it intends to do. In Tokio live the steadily-diminishing
staff of Europeans employed by the Emperor as engineers, railway
experts, professors in the colleges and so forth. Before many years they
will all be dispensed with, and the country will set forth among the
nations alone and on its own responsibility.
In fifty years then, from the time that the intrusive American first
broke her peace, Japan will experience her new birth and, reorganised
from sandal to top-knot, play the samisen in the march of modern
progress.
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