NATURALLY, the most interesting event of the winter was our audience and luncheon at Court. We started from the Embassy at half-past ten in the morning. My husband was accompanied by his immediate Staff, in full evening dress, and all wearing mourning bands on their arms—the Naval and Military AttachÉs, of course, were in full-dress uniform. L. went off in a State carriage of gold and black, sent by the Emperor, with a Court dignitary to conduct him to the palace, and an escort of the Imperial Lancers on horseback, bearing pennants of red and white, the Imperial colours. Court carriages with the Secretaries and AttachÉs were next in line, each one having a coachman with cockade and golden bands on hat and livery, and two bettos, or running footmen.

I followed this procession in the Embassy carriage, with the Naval and Military AttachÉs' wives in other vehicles behind. The coachman and the betto of the American Embassy presented quite a fine appearance in their characteristic livery—navy-blue hats, mushroom-shaped and bearing the eagle, and coats to match, with shoulder capes piped with red, white and blue.

So we started on that wonderful drive through Tokyo. Down the steep descent from the quaint, lovely garden of the Embassy we drove, the bettos holding back on the poles to help the under-sized little horses. Two mounted soldiers fell in behind the official carriages as we passed down the broad streets. The bettos ran on ahead, and shouted out warnings to the pedestrians, who always fill the roadways where they are narrow, and scatter over them where they are broad. Men and women stood still and faced the Imperial carriage as it passed, uncovering their heads, and some even prostrating themselves on the ground; others came out from the miniature shops to gaze; jinrikishas and trolley-cars stopped, and people got out of them and stood respectfully; the tiny dolls of children even looked on in wonder, and the police stood at attention at the corners. For we were going to see the mysterious Mikado, Son of Heaven, Heir of Two Thousand and Five Hundred Years of Direct Descent from the Sun-Goddess. Hidden away there in his palace behind the ramparts and moats of ancient castles, strange and far away, he is still held sacred by his millions of people!

Every view was like a picture on a fan. We went on past the walled residences of ancient feudal lords; past the torii—the "bird-rest" gates at temple entrances—through which we caught glimpses of stone lanterns and the wide-open fronts of picturesque shrines. Again we passed tea-houses from which the twang of samisen was heard; and left behind us rows on rows of shops with wares of every kind exposed in front for trade. Everywhere the men and quaint little women went stumbling along on their clicking clogs, bowing low to one another; and every moment through some opening of wall or entrance we could see delightful little gardens of tree and stone and water arranged in a way both fascinating and fanciful.

We came to the broad expanse before the first moat of the Imperial castle. Beyond rose the great stone wall, grey, moss-grown and impressive, of huge blocks like those of the Egyptian pyramids. The branches of the grotesque overhanging pine-trees bowed down to the still waters beneath, where the lovely lotus opens up its flowers in season and the great leaves lie idly on the smooth surface. At the corners of the wall rose the white, many-storied guardhouses, like pagodas with their curving roofs. We passed through the huge gateway with its heavy doors into a second wide space, which led to another moat and rampart of the ancient castle fortifications, crossed another bridge, and entered the sacred enclosure of the Imperial residence, with its imposing gate; and finally wound round a gravel road, bordered with great trees, to the palace entrance, a large covered porch, from which steps led toward the reception hall. On each side stretched the palace, built in old Japanese style, low and simple, in its wood colour and white.

Count Toda, Grand Master of Ceremonies, Count Watanabe, Minister of the Imperial Household, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and other officials and chamberlains met us at the entrance. With little delay the bowing officials conducted the party through long corridors, laid with red carpets. Here more officials in gold-braided European dress were stationed at intervals. From the corridors we caught delightful glimpses of large rooms with gorgeous decoration, and enjoyed the odour of perfumed woods. The ladies were left in one reception-room and the men gathered in another.

My husband was conducted alone to the Phoenix Hall, where he was to be received in audience by the Emperor. Taking a few steps along the gallery, which looked out into another delightful garden, he faced into a square, simple Japanese room, in the middle of which stood His Imperial Majesty, with his interpreter beside him, while at a distance behind and on either side were gentlemen-in-waiting. Etiquette required a low bow at the threshold and two others while approaching. The Emperor extended his hand, and made some inquiries through his interpreter. L. read a short speech, which was afterward translated by the interpreter, and handed his credentials and the letter of recall of his predecessor to the Emperor, who passed them to an aide at one side, and replied in a very low voice through the interpreter with a few words of welcome and assurances of the maintenance of happy relations. Then it was indicated that the Staff might be presented. They entered, making their three bows as they approached the Emperor, who shook the hand of each one, then they retired backward out of the room. After they had disappeared, His Majesty again gave his hand in token that the audience was over, and my husband made his bows and withdrew.

After this he joined me, and we were both received by the Empress in the Peony Hall, a small room with hardwood floors, wood carvings, beautifully decorated walls and ceiling, but no furniture. I followed L., courtesying at the door as he bowed, and again as the Empress gave me her hand. The ladies with me followed in our train, also courtesying.

Her Majesty talked through an interpreter, the conversation consisting principally of questions, such as—"How did you stand the journey across Siberia?" "Do you not find it very cold in Japan?" "Do you enjoy flowers?" The Empress is young, bright and very pretty. She was dressed in deep mourning, in European style, and her hair was done in the Western fashion. After she had spoken a few words to each one of us we courtesied and backed to the door. Their Majesties were kind enough to say they remembered us from our former luncheon at the palace during the reign of the late Emperor.

In the interval between the audience and the luncheon, the latter not occurring till half-past twelve, we drove back to the Embassy. Our "head boy" told us it was customary to have a glass of champagne upon returning from such a function, so we had some wine and biscuit, which the Master of Ceremonies and the officer in command of the escort were invited to share with us. Then we all went out and were photographed by all kinds of cameras levelled by an army of photographers—as that seemed to be the custom, too.

When we returned to the palace, we were conducted into the vast Room of One Thousand Seeds, which, like the Peony Hall, had no chairs; but the ceiling was magnificently carved and there were beautiful panels and vases of flowers. Different members of the Imperial family came in, the men in uniform, the ladies in black European gowns and hats. As the luncheon was to be informal, frock coats were worn by the men of the Embassy in place of evening clothes. I was then presented to the Emperor, who was in khaki uniform, and seemed alert and interested in everything, and we followed Their Majesties into the large dining-room near-by.

This room was also vast and spacious, with glass on one side through which we looked out into the garden. The table was set in handsome European style for thirty or forty persons, and a number of servants in European liveries stood in impressive line behind. Their Majesties sat together in the centre of the table, with Prince and Princess Kan-in on their right and left.

Prince Kan-in, who was on one side of me, is a cousin of the Emperor, young and quite good looking. Having lived in France for nine years, he spoke French well. On the other side was Prince Katsura, who was at that time Prime Minister and one of the strongest and best-known men in Japan. Prince Katsura spoke a little English, but preferred German. His German was not much better than mine, so we did not have so much interesting conversation as we otherwise might have had. Prince Fushimi, now quite an old man, whom we had met years ago in Boston, was there, besides many others.

The luncheon was in European style and delicious. The table ornaments were exquisite orchids in silver dishes. During the meal the Emperor sent me several messages through one of the gentlemen-in-waiting, who acted as interpreter: "Do you have orchids in America?" "Are you going to Nikko this summer!" To my answer that I had been at Nikko, His Majesty replied, that his Summer Palace was at Nikko, and that he hoped we might go there again, as he felt sure we would each time see even more beautiful things. The Emperor proposed my husband's health by lifting his glass and drinking, and L. rose, lifted his, and drank to the Emperor. Then His Majesty pledged me, and I rose, and drank to him in return. At the close of the luncheon charming silver bonbon boxes in old Japanese designs, such as the hibachi and the kago, or sedan-chair, and bearing the Imperial crest, were offered us as souvenirs. We were each delighted to select one of these attractive mementoes.

After luncheon we returned again to the Hall of One Thousand Seeds, followed by the high officials of the Imperial Household. Here my husband and I conversed more intimately with Their Majesties. Conversation was carried on in a whisper through the interpreter, for Japanese Court etiquette requires that the voice be never raised while talking with the Emperor and Empress. Then the Imperial party withdrew, and the rest of us were left to pass out at leisure and view with interest and pleasure the rooms through which we were conducted, visiting the large, simple Throne Room on the way. So this extraordinary experience came to an end, and remains a dream, wonderful, seemingly unreal. The day after the audience we went over to the palace, and signed our names in the Imperial books.

The reigning Emperor is the one hundred and twenty-fourth of his line. It is said that he wishes to travel beyond his kingdom, but although the Japanese people themselves seek to be up to date and familiar with the ways of the Western world, many of them do not wish their ruler to be so, and therefore do not quite approve of his taking so much interest in foreigners. In his boyhood the Emperor went to school and seemed quite well and strong; it is said, however, that he is rather delicate now. Even then he was astonishingly democratic in his ideas. They tell a story that, when a boy, while out driving one day, he saw a man on the corner of a street selling cookies, and said that he wished to have some. Other cookies were made like them and given to him, but he refused them. Nothing would do but he must have those sold by the old man on the corner. In vain the attendants argued that those cookies were only made for common people, for human beings—members of the Imperial family are supposed to be divine—the boy said that if human beings and the common people could eat them, he could eat them, too. So the cakes were finally bought, and no doubt he enjoyed them.

The beautiful new palace on the edge of the city, at Akasaka, is a fine building in good European style, much like the palace in Brussels. Here the garden parties take place. The present Emperor has never lived in it, preferring his Japanese palace on the same grounds, which he considers more wholesome, and where he lived as Crown Prince. Audiences are still held, as in his father's time, in the old palace, which has been done over somewhat since the death of the late Emperor.

After our audience and luncheon at Court, we were received also by several of the Imperial Princes and Princesses at their palaces. To these visits we went in our own automobile, our chauffeur and footman wearing caps with the American eagle and gold braid on the visor, and little shoulder-straps of gold that made them look suitably ambassadorial. Sometimes we took Osame on the box instead of the footman, so that he might straighten matters out in case of difficulty, as the footman and the chauffeur did not speak a word but Japanese. In his frock coat and top hat he looked quite properly funereal. My husband went in his evening dress, and I wore black. The houses were usually quite European, but were somewhat bare inside, with a little old-fashioned European furniture. As we entered, we were greeted by several officials-in-waiting in fine uniforms, and then were almost immediately received, quite in the same fashion as by the Emperor and Empress, except that we were asked to sit down.

One day the Prince and Princess Kan-in received us. The Nagasakis were in attendance and acted as interpreters. They spoke excellent English. We had known them before, and had found them especially agreeable. Mr. Nagasaki is Court Councillor and Master of Ceremonies, as well as Lord Steward to His Imperial Highness, Prince Kan-in. Prince Kan-in's palace is a large modern house with fine grounds, surrounded by a splendid old-fashioned wall and entered by a great old-time gate. It was rather cold and bare inside, but the Aide and the Master of Ceremonies in their gold regalia gave bright touches of colour.

The second princess who received us was the wife of Prince Asaka and daughter of the late Emperor. Again the officer in attendance had been educated in England and was a man of the world. As at Court, the women were in European dress and in deep mourning with jet jewelry. The conversation, as usual, was more or less about flowers, the weather and the journey.

Later, we were received at Prince Higashi Fushimi's, whose house we found Japanese in style and especially charming. The room where we were received, however, had been arranged for the comfort of foreigners, as it contained a sofa, a table and chairs. Prince Fushimi, who is an admiral in the navy, was in London with the Princess at the time of the Coronation. Both spoke English very well. A card was sent to us as a return visit within half an hour after each diplomatic audience, as is required by Japanese etiquette.

An important function, which the Diplomatic Corps missed on account of the mourning for the late Emperor, was the New Year reception at Court. At this the ladies wear beautiful long court trains hung from the shoulders, such as are worn at the Court of St. James. I was told that the diplomats are first conducted to the Throne Room, a large hall, where two chairs are arranged upon a raised dais, much as at European courts. Here they march in the precedence of embassies and legations past the Emperor and Empress on their thrones, then past all the Imperial Highnesses, bowing and courtesying to each one. After this, in a smaller room they are served with tea, coffee and cakes, and receive lovely gifts as souvenirs. Finally, in still another room, they are received by Their Majesties and the other Imperial personages in a more special way.

Among Court recreations in which the Diplomatic Corps are invited to join, is the Imperial duck-catching party, held in gardens near Tokyo in the spring. By decoy ducks the wild birds are lured into little canals, on either side of which stand those who take part in the sport, holding large nets with long handles high in the air. All are silent and alert, and as soon as a duck takes flight, the netter dashes forward and, if expert, entangles a bird in the net. This sport is a combination of snaring and hawking, for if a bird escapes the hunter, it is likely to be killed by the hawk chained to the hunter's wrist, which is then set free. Afterward luncheon is served, a delicious duck stew being the principal feature, and the guests return home laden with the birds they have succeeded in catching.

The official celebration of the Emperor's birthday includes several imposing Court functions. When my husband was in Japan in 1889, earthquakes, reviews and events of all kinds were provided for His Imperial Majesty's thirty-sixth anniversary. First, they were treated to three seismic shocks within twenty-four hours, and of quite perceptible violence. Then there was the Grand Review of troops by the Emperor at the cheerful hour of half after eight in the morning.

My husband thus describes it: "Aoyama, the 'Champ de Mars' of Tokyo, is a tremendously large parade ground, which was simply walled in by the mass of plebeians that had turned out to do honour to the occasion. For the foreigners the 'high seats' had been reserved in the diplomatic tent next to the Imperial stand. The Emperor, followed by the Lancers and a gorgeous Staff, made a tour of the field, and then the troops passed in review before him. They were about ten thousand in number, and made a really excellent appearance; the marching and order were good, at times very good. The cavalry appeared rather awkward, but this was due to the brutish little horses more than anything else."

"In the evening there was the grand ball at the 'Rokumeikan,' given by Count Okuma, then Minister of Foreign Affairs, in honour of the Emperor's anniversary, which starts the social whirl of the capital for the season. It was an elegant affair, and from the good taste and good management, it might well have been in Paris. The grounds were beautifully decorated with lanterns and coloured lights, and the building was superb inside with bunting and flowers, the national chrysanthemum being used with excellent effect. The uniforms and decorations of the guests added brilliancy and movement. There were almost as many foreigners as Japanese, and nearly all the latter were in European dress, only a few ladies wearing the native costume. Those in European gowns carried them off exceedingly well, and danced waltzes and quadrilles in most approved Western manner."

The present Emperor's anniversary, as I have learned from a letter, was celebrated in 1913 in much the same way as his predecessor's more than twenty years ago—with one important exception, the three earthquake shocks were omitted! The day began with the review of the soldiers at Aoyama, after which congratulatory poems were presented to His Majesty by the Empress and the Empress Dowager. [4] The Emperor then received the Imperial Princes and Princesses, and entertained them at luncheon.

The birthday dinner in the evening was followed by the ball given by the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Baron Makino, at his official residence. Here were princesses of the blood in white gowns and superb jewels, Japanese ladies in kimonos, ladies of the Corps Diplomatique in European costume, priests in their varied robes, and diplomats and attaches in gorgeous uniforms. It was a brilliant scene. The rooms were lighted by electricity and decorated with a profusion of chrysanthemums and the Imperial crest in gold. Long clusters of wisteria depending from the ceiling sparkled with electric bulbs, and in the supper-room the guests were seated at tables under the branches of artificial cherry-trees blossoming in the Emperor's honour.

Some account of our previous reception at Court by the late Emperor and Empress may be of interest. It took place when we passed through Japan in the company of the American Secretary of War, Mr. Dickinson, on the way to the Philippines in 1910. At that time we crossed the Pacific to the Land of the Rising Sun.

News had been received while at sea by aerogram from the Embassy that the Imperial Mikado and the Empress would grant an audience and entertain at luncheon at the palace, but there was much doubt as to what this really meant, for the audience might be only for the Secretary and Mrs. Dickinson. So the pleasure and surprise were all the greater when, on arrival, it was found that those accompanying the Secretary were to be included in both functions.

The invitations, in Japanese characters, were handed to us with many others on our arrival, but had already been formally answered at the American Embassy. The instructions were the same then as they are to-day as to costume and etiquette. They indicated that the ladies were to wear high-necked dresses with trains and hats, and the men were to be in uniform or full dress. On the morning of the sixteenth (of July), we all met at the Embassy at eleven o'clock—as the audience was due at noon—and placed ourselves in the hands of the Ambassador.

Two Imperial carriages conveyed the important official members of the party to the palace, and the rest proceeded in vehicles hired for the occasion.

After the men of the party were presented to the Emperor, in the manner already described, they rejoined the ladies, and all were introduced to the lady-in-waiting, Countess Kagawa, and then conducted to Her Majesty's audience hall. Mrs. O'Brien, the wife of the Ambassador, preceded, making low courtesies; the ladies followed.

The Emperor, who was in uniform, appeared older than we had expected. Her Majesty was several years older than the Emperor, and had charming manners, but she did not smile. Expression, we were informed, is not considered aristocratic. Her hair and dress were in European fashion, and she wore beautiful pearls. She had no children—the present Mikado is the only son of Emperor Meiji by another wife.

Some stories that are told of the late Emperor show how much real strength of character he possessed. A few years ago, it is said, when a plot against His Majesty's life was discovered, the Prime Minister went to him and offered his resignation, saying that as this plot had been brought to light while he was in office (the first plot against any Mikado in the history of Japan), he felt that perhaps his administration had not been good. The Emperor, however, would not accept his resignation, saying that if the people wished to take his life, it must be his fault—it must show that he had not been a good ruler. Accordingly, he ordered only twelve of the twenty-four offenders to be put to death.

In his last illness, owing to the old belief that his person was too sacred to be touched, even the doctors were not allowed to come in contact with him, his pulse being counted by a silken cord about his wrist. The Empress was at his bedside when he died. The only person who ever entered his apartment, I was told, was Prince Ito, who came on some urgent affair of state in response to a telephone message from the Emperor himself. The Prince was admitted before the Mikado was dressed in the morning. Even on the greatest occasions, however, he was never really well dressed, because no one was permitted to fit his clothes, lest a mere human being should touch his person.

Yet the life of the late Emperor, secluded though he was within his palace walls, was freedom itself in comparison with that of the ancient rulers. In olden times, so Hearn writes, "His (the Mikado's) feet were never permitted to touch the ground out of doors, nor was he allowed to cut his hair, beard or nails, or to expose himself to the rays of the sun." His only excursions outside the walls of his palace were made in a large norimono, or palanquin, borne by fourteen men, in which, behind the latticed windows, he was able to catch glimpses of the outer world while himself invisible. Even if he granted an audience, he was never seen, his person being completely hidden by bamboo screens.

The emperors of ancient days were allowed to have three consorts besides the Empress, also nine maids of high rank and twenty-seven maids of lower rank, all of whom were known as wives. In addition to these, he was at liberty to have eighty-one concubines. Only one of the wives ranked as empress, but the twelve next below her had each a palace near that of the Emperor. By way of contrast, it is said that the present Emperor has never loved any woman but the Empress. The Mikado's eldest daughter was in olden times appointed chief priestess of the Temple of the Sun, at Ise.

Somewhat in contrast with my husband's experiences were those of America's first Ambassador to Japan, Mr. Townsend Harris, as he has related them in his journal. After his arrival in Japan and many weary months of waiting at Shimoda, he wrote September 25th, 1857, "I am to go to Yedo (now Tokyo) in the most honourable manner; and after my arrival I am to have an audience of the Shogun, and then present the letter of the President!!"

"The manner in which I am to salute the Shogun," he adds, "is to be the same as in the courts of Europe, that is, three bows. They made a faint request that I would prostrate myself and 'knock-head,' but I told them the mentioning such a thing was offensive to me."

After two months spent in preparation for the journey, Mr. Harris with an imposing retinue started for Yedo, about one hundred miles away.

As a part of the preparation for his journey, "Bridges had been built over every stream," he tells us, "the pathway mended, and all the bushes cut away so as to leave the path clear." At one place the road had actually been swept only a few hours before the procession passed over it. All along the way the people stood motionless in front of their houses, and all the shops but the cook shops were closed. The magistrates of each village conducted Mr. Harris to the borders of the next, prostrating themselves in salute as they left. The Government had also ordered that there should be no travel over the Tokaido, the Eastern Sea Road, during his journey.

In Yedo the American Envoy was domiciled in the "Court" section of the city, and eight daimyos were appointed as "Commissioners of the voyage of the American Ambassador to Yedo." Another week was passed in receiving and paying visits of ceremony, and in arranging matters of detail. Mr. Harris received as a present from the Shogun seventy pounds of Japanese bonbons beautifully arranged in four trays.

On December 7th, at ten o'clock in the morning, our Ambassador set out for his audience of the Shogun. "My dress," he says, "was a coat embroidered with gold after the pattern furnished by the State Department, blue pantaloons with a broad gold band running down each leg, cocked hat with gold tassels, and a pearl-handled dress sword." He was escorted by the same retinue that he had had during the journey. He was carried in his norimono up to the last bridge in front of the audience hall, and before entering this building he put on a new pair of patent leather shoes. The Japanese, of course, went in their tabis. After a time he was led to the audience hall, past a number of daimyos, seated in Japanese fashion, who saluted by touching their foreheads to the mat. The Prince of Shinano, Master of Ceremonies, then threw himself on his hands and knees, and Mr. Harris stood behind him, with Mr. Heusken in the rear bearing the President's letter.

At a given signal, the Prince crawled forward on hands and knees, and as Mr. Harris followed and entered the hall of audience, a chamberlain called out, "Embassador Merican!" With the prescribed three bows at intervals, he advanced toward the throne, before which the members of the Great Council lay prostrate on their faces. Pausing a few seconds, Mr. Harris then addressed the Tai-kun—as he had been instructed to call the Shogun—expressing the good wishes of the President.

"After a short silence," says Mr. Harris, "the Tai-kun began to jerk his head backward over his left shoulder, at the same time stamping with his right foot. This was repeated three or four times. [5] After this he spoke audibly and in a pleasant and firm voice," expressing his pleasure in the Ambassador's speech, and graciously adding, "Intercourse shall be continued for ever."

Mr. Harris then presented the President's letter, after which he withdrew, as he had entered, with three bows.

Mr. Harris' description of the Shogun himself is of interest: "The Tai-kun was seated in a chair placed on a platform raised about two feet from the floor, and from the ceiling in front of him a grass curtain was hung; when unrolled, it would reach the floor, but it was now rolled up, and was kept in its place by large silk cords with heavy tassels. By an error in their calculation, the curtain was not rolled up high enough to enable me to see his headdress, as the roll formed by the curtain cut through the centre of his forehead, so that I cannot fully describe his 'crown,' as the Japanese called it. The dress of the Tai-kun was made of silk, and the material had some little gold wove in with it, but it was as distant from anything like regal splendour as could be conceived; no rich jewels, no elaborate gold ornaments; no diamond-hilted weapon appeared.... The Japanese told me his crown is a black lacquered cap, of an inverted bell shape."

Two years later Mr. Heusken, Mr. Harris' secretary, was assassinated, and his own house was burned. But Mr. Harris never wavered. Dignified, firm, self-respecting, he was always the kind, patient teacher of the Japanese in the ways of the outside world, winning from them the title which they love to give him—"the nation's friend." He was a great diplomat, but his was a strikingly human and Christian diplomacy. He laid the foundations for America's subsequent dealings with Japan so deep in the bedrock of justice and mutual forbearance that the superstructure has never yet been shaken. Our own personal experiences were pleasanter because Townsend Harris had led the way.