A Snow, on Cherry Blossoms - 1

A novella

I Land of Diplomacy

In some lands, the art of diplomacy is to say nothing extremely well. In the land of civilization, writing down what passed to me was as good as any to record the events. Things that eluded – there were certain things that were beyond reasoning. But still all, it is the best way to show the collegial nature of the hothouse that marked the cold turn of the year. It is enough to record the words which reached, even though they were not correct...

1

4 January 1905

Profile was her face – I was a Japanese officer looking at a white woman; the nose was long, and aristocratic - beneath the eyes whose liquid blue was strange to me, coming from the land that the people from here called "the Orient". We did not call it that - it was just home. And a woman wore white as a mark of beauty. She looked at the gathered people in the drawing room, in the year 1905 - a year when most still had to think to write 19th rather than 18th when drawing up a letter. It was also one of the last days to have Christmas ornaments up, for there was a strict provision among the upper classes of Britain to have them removed by the Twelfth Night.

Day was a spectacular day for the Empire of Japan – because the word came out that we had taken the Russian Port Arthur, subjecting its officers to either go home or be made prisoners of war. Everything was turned over to us completely intact. But to imagine the circumstances you have to draw your mind back to the early when the faint embers of a distant era were still warm. When frocks and all the other signs of horse and buggy whip were still on everyone's lips. That hordes of young Russian soldiers and sailors had been agreed to be removed marked a victory – of the leaders, of the warriors – but most importantly because of the leadership.

But it was not talked about loudly, only in soft whispers. everyone looked at the lady of the house. The woman herself seemed to stare only for a moment at every man or couple for just a moment, seemingly to reinforce that she was like everyone else – that she too was of this past moment. But looking at her eyes, the way he did, would belie this notion: because rather than a dull maneuver of cold bright eyes, hers danced with a gay remonstrance of protest, which one could see underneath her veil. She was covered with black from skull to feet with only jewels that were opalescent or viridescent. But she hid her eyes, leaving only a glance to each that those who did not know her would think she was of the patrician class which ruled Britannia.

Everyone knew better than this, not because of personal learning mind you, but because he had inside information that detailed that she was brighter than she looked – or rather, she hid how she looked to the masses, whether plebeian or patrician. It was my hope that Japan would be numbered among the great powers, and this victory over the Russians was to be part of that. But for the moment everyone stared at her, and the power which she represented. She ignored this, because, after all, just because one had breeding and status did not mean one was gifted with the keen eye or elite beau monde of intelligence. So he observed how she would only cast a glance at each individual or couple, hiding behind her shroud. The diplomatic officer, of course, would cast his eyes over the entire multitude – whispering sweet nothings that his emperor's government had selected. Because, Britain and Nippon were secretly allies, but the official line was that they were neutral. This was, of course, a lie, which she actively participated in – because she was in fact in the employ of the Foreign Office. But this was known only to a view people, of which both she and he were both members. Because while he could not hide the intelligence of his eyes, this was still a time when his countenance could easily disguise his superior intelligence. At home, he was fourth at the top of 東京帝國大學, the Imperial University of Tokyo, or as it was known to the inhabitants of the island emperor's chain. But this would not be known of in the present, Westerner's, company – because they would only see a man who was dressed in black and had nothing to suggest that he was anything out of the ordinary.

20 or so people to convey their condolences to the lady - some had left, while some were taking their time getting here and had not arrived, while it was obvious that some remembered him by well, with some reminiscence of what a fine man the recently deceased husband was. Though it was obvious from the age gap the married pair, it was probable that it was a marriage of convenience – he defined lust, and she provided and settled down with a large inheritance after he was dead. This was entirely proper for this day and age. He was married before and had two children who were almost the same age. And though no one talked about it, neither the children nor the mother talked to one another. This was also appropriate to this time and place.

Room was brightened by the fact that it had been redone just a short while ago in the new mode: in England, it was called “Art Nouveau”, but there was a myriad of different names in different countries. What is most important about it was the curve to all of the lines, and a certain jouyssance and a sense that the art style was total in its makeup, no detail whether architecture, interior design, or jewelry should be out of character. Of course, there were pieces of furniture from the 19th century, but they were relics of the past. So, from the gilt bronze adornments to the wall cabinets made in the new style, the mode was new, not old. This was to be taken as her gift to her husband, showing the modern style of his new wife. She sat on a long chair, resting beneath a very long mural composed of a satyr and a nymph squatting down while he played a tune on a lilting blend of pipes. Thus, it was odd to be decked out in an older fashion of dress, while the room said that it was modern. If this was unusual no one said anything.

Though people did not say they were broken down into two groups, this was exactly what happened. There were British, American, French, and German speakers all gathered around each other. In what could only be described as a faction, over to the side, were a trinity of Frenchmen speaking their own language, about what appeared to be a dispatch in the right-hand corner of L'Echo De Paris which openly questioned whether the United Kingdom was neutral, and that the Republic of France knew this, and was trying to attain assurances that Britain would not engage against its ally, Russia. In the Journal, it was openly suggesting a more forceful approach to His Majesty's government. Of course, at a funeral for a distinguished gentleman – the husband of the woman – it would be impolite and impolitic to raise such a because making de rigueur what was known inappropriately by glancing at a journal.

“Come now, monsieur, you must speak in English because everyone will want to know what is engaging the three French officers so delightfully. They would think it a monumental secret which they are not entitled to know.” Her face was glittering with the ornaments of the Christmas tree, and she was enrobed from his position. As was the custom, there were candles on the Christmas tree, because the use of electric lights had not gone into fashion as yet. At once the lady had made a pronouncement, while her azure eyes were fixed on the eldest French gentleman, who it was obvious was the leader of the three. And the Frenchman turned to look at her directly, as was his custom, unlike a military man who would be stiff and formal, he was more fluid.

The man who she was addressing was a trained diplomat, who had served underneath all ranges of political leaders, he was devoted to France in whatever leadership could forge a government in the turbulent Third Republic. He was tall, thin, with a mustache which was then and by this point white – and a face that oblique to what he felt. He had a full head of hair, but he Paid It No Attention as if it were normal for a man his age to have one. He was also, once known to all involved, rather fluid in his alliances – as if it was someone whose main focus was to gain loyalty for France on whatever course she had set. It was not his decision what was to be done, only to carry it out with such zeal as he could muster. While not as much as he originally felt towards his native royalist leanings, was still a great deal more than most people could have managed on any particular day.

“We are sorry, we were talking about some trivia in one of the French newspapers. We shall not be given again on these sorry tidings, where our concern is for your beloved husband.” His voice was cold and his accent betrayed only a little bit of his native language – which was proper for a diplomat, because in actuality his English was flawless, but there was a semblance to maintain, that France was a trifle superior, even if it was not the case. It was a point of pride for such a Frenchman, but it was also not truly the case. Something that the Frenchman, the lady, and the Japanese gentleman all knew too well. France was a paper tiger in fact, though not yet in the name because it was the birthplace of the last great conqueror – Napoleon – and the last great buffoon – Napoleon the Third.

“The war between Russia and Japan is going badly for Russia, n'est pas?” As you know my French is not my strong point: ”We in Japan are celebrating victory – though the is one more campaign to go.” There was more to say, but at that point, I was cut off by a diplomat, who noticed that the lady of the house was not amused by the direction of the conversation. Though he did not entirely make sense, he intended to take the stage and run with it – even if he fumbled slightly in his entrance.

“There had been a brief reference to this, yes. But as we said, we shall speak no more about it – because your Majesty's Government has pleaded to be neutral.” Not a trace of any movement betrayed what he was feeling on the inside, he was reserved as was the custom among diplomats. And above all, he was a diplomat to the core – it was inbred through many years and many generations. It was also the case that a person on the other side was standing just a few feet away from her – that is the Japanese diplomat, who suddenly received a whirlwind of scrutiny from all appearances. But he betrayed nothing of what he was feeling, and other than his eyes, he seemed rather monotonous. Nor did he betray the actual thing that was questioning his mind, and that is why she makes an issue of this now? It was not the sort of thing that one would ask in polite company, on the contrary, one should have avoided this at all costs, seen as it was a formal occasion, with no hint of politics or any sort of official business. Then he spied the Japanese diplomat and realized that 4 Russian gentlemen had just left, so obviously, she had sprung a trap after the Russians left. He noted that and put it in his deep file.

“Was it something to do with the very rare picture on the front page on the 2nd of L'Echo? Of the frontline between Russia and Japan? Is there use from St. Petersburg on the Japanese capture of one of their two bases?” Her lips turned upward, though the French diplomat did not know why; until he raised an eyebrow and with an almost imperceptible nod came to realize that the one odd face in the group was the one person whom he did not know. He then guessed that the face did not belong to an individual from China, but one who was drawn from the northern part of the park – Mongolian, Korean, or Japanese. He starred at the face of this – to him – extraordinary face, and for the first time examined in detail the hues and contours which reflected deep below his features, a man. Since the French diplomat was not an ordinary man, he was not in any way in all of the yellowish cast of the skin, that being the detail which he tossed aside – unlike many of that time and place. Instead, he looked beyond any form of what people in his time called “race”, to form a deeper impression. What that impression was could not be divined by an outside observer. But what could be said was that the French gentleman gained a new respect for the Japanese diplomat because he knew that they were all on the same side – the side of gaining trust and manipulating favor through the art of words. And this was a very large thing indeed. The French gentleman would also note that the lady – while looking like the contrary – was a very astute observer because even to glance at L'Echo was a sign that she knew Parisian French quite well. He would not make that mistake again; he was here to remembrance of the dead man, but now he kept his eye on the lady because even in the feminine form an adversary was still potent. More so, because of its alluring form. This was an adaptation of those older days when most men thought nothing of the fairer sex.

Amidst the Christmas ornaments strewn around the room, a triangle was developing of the English lady, the French diplomat, and the Japanese gentleman – that would grip the three of them in a tight little bow, and how it would develop only fate would know. Because, after all, most cultures will admit that faith is also of the fairer sex. And the French diplomat knew this all too well.

My point of view - that she had arranged this conflict, but he knew that the purpose of this was to draw them together, not split them apart. But he also realized that this would be opaque to the French gentleman. He flicked his eyes over this gentleman and wondered if this would be a sound way to introduce the two of them, to all of the bystanders. But he knew that this was also part of her plan, and he knew that no one would assuage her desire. Because underneath all of the trappings, he knew that she was a woman of intense desires – both in government, in business, and bed – through the last he would have to take the word of several gentlemen who had had the attention.

Crept up on everyone involved that there was an intense clash between the lady and the French diplomat as if they were measuring each other, and trying to find out who was the dominant character. On one side the French diplomat was male, which counted for a great deal, on the other hand, the lady was both stern and in her element – this was, after all, her domain. Then gradually the French diplomat's eyes rolled down in his head as he graciously bowed to the lady. And it was not just for the sake of it, he was showing submission to her. Which she graciously accepted, with a small nod and bend of the head. All at once the rest of the gathering chimed into noise because they had seen that the French diplomat had bowed his head and made a hesitation which was all he needed to do. And everything about the conversation was about anything but the trial between the two, there would be recompense later, of course, but for now, each person would hold in their head a distinct view that was completely their own, pronounced in their particular way and in the language that they enunciated with. But each one had one thing in mind – a persistence that the lady had won the battle, but the war between them – as between the Russians and the Japanese - was as yet undecided, at least formally. It was for anyone to guess which war would be over first, one could take a fair piece of the action on both sides pitting components of them to – it would be roughly even now that the Russians were not involved. Of course, dvoryanstva would object to such a demeaning figure, and they would maintain that Russia would be the winner over the Oriental foe that had taken the field against them. But when looking at them concretely, the amount of land – their principal object of attention – was going down from a peak of 9/10 of all to roughly 6/10 of all, and seemed to be going down sequentially from there. And without land they controlled nothing. And they knew that, quite well.

Interesting was that a tall Englishman came up to speak to the Japanese diplomat, and immediately inquired what he thought of the way Englishmen dealt with tragedy. “It must be unusual for you to observe the etiquette of this for land.” It was my honor to speak with him, not yet 30, looked at his new interlocutory, and tried to remain bland – as the diplomat had been.

“Not at all it has a deep resonance with the way we commemorate the same feelings. Perhaps it is because this island and ours are separated from one each would call the continent.” He betrayed nothing of his content for this mannered display. And he thought of the ritual that would occupy the customs back and home, most particularly many warriors would be taking their own lives in a ritual of seppuku, which for men involved cutting open the gut, and with great grace turning a sword left then right and left again, and Finally, up. They would also write a poem in a classic style. It was nothing like the gathering that the lady displayed. But he was polite, and it does not say any of this to the tall English gentlemen. “I do not believe I have caught your name, while mine is long, you may call me Daichi, with the family name of Ishikawa.”

“You will forgive me if I mispronounce your name, because while I speak many languages – all of them are what we call Indo-European and thus are related in some manner, while yours is unrelated to these and I must be forgiven for taking a little bit of time to remember it.” His white mustache ebbed and dripped as said this. He then pronounced the last name rather badly – sounding something like Ishagawa – rather than Ishikawa. But he was sincerely trying, so the Japanese diplomat gave him an encouraging nod.

The Englishman then launched into his real objective: “I was wondering if you, and if possible your wife – if you have one – would like to spend an evening at the place that my wife and myself maintain here in town.” It was obvious that the Englishman maintained at least two houses, one in the Metropolitan landscape – and another in a more rural setting, being rich enough to do so in his homeland. “You can call me Earl of Lansdowne, or simply Lord Lansdowne.” By the way, the Englishman said the title, the Japanese diplomat knew it must be important, though he would have to look up just how important it was. There was a Japanese House of Lords, of course, but it had only been recently established by Ito Hirobumi, largely imitating the Great Kingdom model, thus it was not as important. But he knew that it was important in England, because he had served under both liberal and conservative governments, and was always in the mix of important people, especially in the foreign affairs sphere – he would not be a man to cross with. And the Japanese man saw beneath the façade of the men, a cold and impartial stare as if the Japanese man were a monkey. Then the realization that this man was secretary of state for foreign affairs exonerated itself, and the manners that the Japanese gentleman took on a renewed vigor since the English were both older and more senior and held in greater esteem.

Bowed, but remembered that I should only execute a flourish rather than a true deep bow because the Englishmen had a distinct set of flexion which was distinct from the Japanese way of doing things. Which would more characteristically be said to be obeisance than anything else, whereas the English manner was more in the way of genuflection – a distinct point of difference if you knew your way around different manners. And both of them did – and then promptly ignored me, seeking instead the diplomat's point of view.

While his approach had been formal, there was more than a hint of gruff gravel to his voice, which when stirred could lash out into everything but excrescence in its scope, and perhaps even that would be ordained if necessary. The Englishman was a hard man, with hard experience, and ruthless means of attaining what he wanted. And then I recognize this, though many years his junior.

Japan, not Europe – the land of the rising sun. Because we were in the diplomatic quarter of Tokyo. Over the sea upon the bay where the great waves lived.

Outside the walls of this building, the positions were completely reversed. Out there people talked of nothing else than the victory. The people were whipped up in 2 a froth about the courageous troops – likened to samurai. The Russian fleet had been annihilated over the last month, and now the Army had made strides in subduing the Russian masters. In the walls, the news would come only very slowly – whereas outside the newspapers of Japan were celebrating. This was the spirit of the age – where people received the news only in their language, and with the point of view of their government.