April 15, 1919

In the early days of the Conference, on one of my walks with Colonel House, I told him that during the years I spent in Tokyo as secretary of our legation I had enjoyed rather close relations with both Count Makino and Prince Saionji.

Colonel House said nothing, but, as is now apparent, stowed this information away in his capacious mental archives to be used later if a favorable occasion should be presented. And the occasion came some weeks later, when the French press raised the question of whether or not Prince Saionji was really in Paris.

The incident did not surprise me as much as it did those less familiar with Far Eastern diplomatic procedure. I was well aware that the Prince had never been at any of the Plenary sessions nor had he put in an appearance at the more intimate meetings of the League of Nations Commission where the solemn Covenant that was to reform a distracted world came under discussion. But these facts did not convince me that the Prince, often spoken of as the last of the Genro, or elder statesmen, was not in Paris. I argued that like all the “boss” men of the East, he preferred to remain “behind the curtain.” Wiser than Mr. Wilson, who with his “open covenants openly arrived at” threw himself into the vortex of conflicting world interests, the Prince would remain in seclusion and from this vantage point pull the wires that make the manikins dance.

Spurred on by Colonel House, who thought, as the Shantung and the race-equality problems loomed darkly on the troubled horizon, that the contact might prove useful, I now mentioned to Count Makino my former acquaintance with his “invisible” chief. On the following day, the Count assured me that the Prince retained a pleasant and an even grateful memory of our meeting long ago, and particularly of the often tried and always proved friendship for Japan of my distinguished chief and the United States minister, Edwin Dun. I was further assured that at the first moment he was restored to some measure of health, the Prince would seek an opportunity to renew a friendship which had left with him such happy memories.

Yet days, indeed many days, passed and the desired contact was not established. However, we of the American delegation were not idle and we neglected no opportunity of letting the Japanese know that we were not forgetful of the important contribution their army and navy had made to the common victory. I even slipped to the Colonel the slogan Prince Saionji had pronounced in 1916, and on the following day he passed it on to Makino in his very best dramatic manner.

“If England and France fail to destroy German militarism,” said Saionji—and after him my Colonel—“their prestige and power as the leaders of western civilization is at an end.”

“And those words,” added the Colonel, “are as true today as when they were first spoken. We need you now as we did then, perhaps the need is even greater. The emergency is not passed and we must stand together in making the peace as we did in waging war.”

Upon hearing these sentiments Makino’s inscrutable face flushed with pleasure and he hastened away, doubtless to report them to his chief, who still remained so steadfastly behind the honorific curtain.

On the following day, Sadao Saburi, the charming secretary of the Japanese delegation, appeared. I felt he had an important communication to make, but at first we talked of this and that. At last the communication came out. The Prince was almost restored to health and he would be delighted to receive me on the following Monday to talk about the old days in Japan and also about the equally interesting present.

An hour before I was to start, under the guidance of Saburi, on my pilgrimage to the shrine of the last of Japan’s elder statesmen, the Colonel summoned me to his private study and gave me rather more definite instructions as to what my attitude should be than was his wont.

“Of course,” he said, “we want to detach the Prince from the position which Makino, much as I like him in other ways, so stubbornly maintains. If the opportunity presents, we want to start a fire behind Makino and Chinda [ambassador to London, a conference delegate] and smoke them out—of course, in the nicest way possible. But do not mention Shantung or the race-equality matter unless the Prince does. Deal in generalities—‘old days in Japan’—but if he broaches these contentious matters I would suggest that you should be indiscreet enough to say that in the opinion of the President it is wise and indeed indispensable to have the Treaty and the Covenant as concise and as compact as possible—that the spirit that inspires these great documents is more important than the mere number of the articles they contain. There is a French saying that expresses our thought—”

“Qui trop embrasse, mal étreint,” I suggested. “Grasp all, lose all.”

“That’s it, exactly,” said the Colonel. “We must, of course, settle the great problems in a big way, but the details which take so much time and lead to such passionate discussions we should put aside for a more tranquil moment, and for those who come after. The passing of time will iron out many a problem that defies the most eloquent appeals today. I have no doubt that, just as Makino says, Japan will do the honorable thing in regard to Shantung, but I can well understand that Japan does not wish it to appear she is doing this under compulsion or even pressure. And then, race equality: of course, we admit it, indeed, we proclaim it, but there are national traditions, local prejudices, and labor conflicts that unhappily have to be taken into consideration.”

At the appointed hour Saburi appeared and escorted me to the piano nobile of a very modem and commodious apartment house in the Parc Monceau quarter. Two Japanese detectives, rough-looking customers they were, rose as we entered the antechamber. I should say they were heavily armed, though their weapons were not as apparent as they would have been had they been guarding the great man at the gate of his yashiki in Akasaka. Decorously they drew in their breath, Nippon fashion, as they ushered us through a number of empty rooms. In the last we were detained for a moment, and then a secretary appeared, dressed to the nines, foreign-devil style. He urged us through another door and then closed it behind us.

A subdued, an almost religious light pervaded this room and some seconds elapsed before I caught sight of a tall, slim, and rather emaciated figure in Japanese dress advancing with outstretched hands toward me. His coal-black hair had turned snow white and what there was left of it was closely cropped, but his face and forehead were as smooth and unwrinkled as they had been twenty-three years before when he was merely vice-minister in Marquis Ito’s cabinet. His countenance was as serene as that of the Great Buddha at Kamakura looking out to sea. And yet, he who greeted me in this friendly way was one of the few men who, uncrippled, had survived the turbulent political battles of the last three decades in Japan.

The Prince began by giving me later news than any I had of my former chief, Edwin Dun. Yes, he was living in Japan, in dignified— and, to him, very welcome—retirement near Oiso. His return to America after twenty-five years of tranquility in Japan had been a failure. Now he was back in the land he loved so well and where he was beloved. He has a simple country villa, a lotus pond, and a rock garden.

“Of course, the death of his friend, Henry Denison, was a great blow to him,” concluded the Prince, “but we do what we can to replace the one who has gone with our friendship. He delights us all with his wisdom and philosophy.”

Slyly the Prince made me trot out fragments of my wayfaring Japanese. It was disastrous. I then retaliated and insisted on his English being exercised. It was baffling, and then we had the good sense to place ourselves, unreservedly, in the hands of Saburi, who spoke our language better than any Japanese I ever knew.

“It’s a pity,” said the Prince, “we make such a mess of our respective languages, for, after all, language is the key to the soul.”

He spoke now of Ito, his former political chief and mentor, and I asked him if he recalled a famous lunch given by Mr. Dun at our legation at which all the surviving Genro appeared.

“It was at that feast of reason I had my first personal contact with Ito and Inouye, with Matsukata, and with you.”

With a deprecating wave of a small almost transparent hand the Prince said:

“You do me too much honor, classing me with the founders of modern Japan. Even my most indulgent friends speak of me only as half-Genro.”

We continued to discuss old days in old Japan, and the princely Buddha became so much like common clay during our gossipy talk that I now ventured an inquiry that had, it is true, political implications.

“I remember the dwarf pine tree from the sacred shrine of Ise in Mr. Mutsu’s office at the Gaimasho (foreign office), where we used to discuss foreign affairs and the future of Asia. I would like to know the result of the grafting operations in which he took such a keen interest?”

“They still continue,” admitted the Prince, “though Mr. Mutsu has gone. He grafted on the sacred stem shafts and cuttings of pines from Norway and from Scotland, from Russia and from California. As a result of these shocks there were temporary setbacks, but soon the noble Shinto type of pine from Ise prevailed.”

Then, thinking, doubtless, that his story was symbolic of unchanging Japan, he added quickly: “But we are getting parliamentary government in Japan now—or almost.”

When at last we got away from old days in old Japan, in view of my instructions and other attending circumstances, it was fortunate that Prince Saionji mentioned neither Shantung nor the race-equality clause. He announced that he was in complete agreement with the American point of view on the state of the world as expressed by me. Suddenly, speaking in excellent French, he said we must not let the trees hide the view of the forest, and yet the task of the delegates must not be oversimplified.

“There are vital problems that cannot be ignored,” he continued. “One of these problems, and not the least important, is Russia. We should ignore the ephemeral government that today seems to be in control of that great country. That government will disappear I have no doubt, but the expanding genius of the Russian people will remain. To this people we must keep the word, the promise we gave in the stress of war to the Tsar, even though they have disowned him.

“To Japan, to all our people, I am not speaking merely for myself, the Conference will have failed of one of its high purposes unless the Russians are placed in control of Constantinople and the Dardanelles. They must have a base there that will give them free access to the warm waters of the Mediterranean. I do not say this merely in recognition of our pledges to the Russian people. I have also in mind the interests of Europe. I am of the opinion that Russia’s agricultural produce and her increasing industrial output will revive the devastated economy of Europe as nothing else can, and it is to the advantage of us all to facilitate in all possible ways and by every legitimate means this revival. Please tell Colonel House my thought on this matter. I am sure he will see its importance and I am confident that I can rely on his co-operation.

I did so and I think my report was letter perfect. What the Prince had said filled the Colonel with admiration.

“What a wise old boy he is,” was his comment. “Certainly, the outlet on the Mediterranean would keep Russia busy in Europe for decades to come and give Japan for the same period a free hand in Manchuria, in Siberia, and indeed in the whole of Asia. What a boon that would be for Japan—and what disaster for China.”

I naturally expressed regret that my interview with Prince Saionji had yielded such a meager harvest, but the Colonel would not agree.

“Not at all, not at all,” were the words with which he consoled me. “You have established the fact, beyond the peradventure of a doubt, that the Prince is in Paris, and from ‘behind the curtain’ is pulling the wires that control the dance of his puppets. To me it seems clear that he and those who think with him are contemplating a general advance on the continent of Asia away from the uneasy islands. And how easy that will be if Russia is engaged elsewhere. No, I think the fair inference from what the Prince said is very important, although not very helpful in easing our present difficulties. Japan is going continental.”

[Throughout March the debate between the white and the yellow men continued. Deft penman that he was, the Colonel could not draft a race-equality clause that failed to throw Hughes of Australia into a berserker rage of uncontrolled fury. But when the Monroe Doctrine reservation was inserted in the Covenant at the insistent demand of President Wilson, the Japanese delegation became inactive, and well they might; for now the way was paved for a renewal of the Okuma-Ishii doctrine, and the recognition of their regional ambitions and rights on the east coast of Asia was implicit in the great charter of a new and as we hoped a more peaceful world that was being fashioned.]