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Pas =f ; | ul ‘ fy i ‘Ts , : ie \ (ge u ig | c W ih ‘ts 74@ 6-6 ve | ei | ‘ mite = paths, | | Td, eG > d / ec ¢ “a ;. 3 | / | | ‘i i } ‘ A va om Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2022 with funding trom Princeton Theological Seminary Library https://archive.org/details/betoredawn00kaga | | a} i Wey, ‘: | | Fie iy Ltt a ae | eG ae ye ee 4 ih ® a. ae PP ica 1 eee ~ oo ) a 2 ; is iA, ) ’ ~s hes etic Gah ak Ve ee iy, © hat mic Woy roa a etait SNS iy ; ‘i Vee Site he, RUAN Pater t (ct | . tae we BEFORE THE DAWN by TOYOHIKO KAGAWA ? se eS BEFORE THE DAWN es ay > te Aa ke wgy:? SOM ae ty. eA ae « ad ar BEFORE THE DAWN by TOYOHIKO KAGAWA TRANSLATED FROM THE JAPANESE BY I. FUKUMOTO anp T. SATCHELL .-. seein ee 1 “ee pron Te) oD CO LONDON CHATTO & WINDUS 1925 COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY BEFORE THE DAWN —sB-— PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA RK OR mK HIS book was first published in Japa- nese under the title “Shisen Wo Koete” and an English version was brought out under the title “Across the Death-line? and met with a huge sale that approximated half a million copies in Japan and the East. The present text has been thoroughly revised by the same translators, and it is a faithful rendering of one of the most remarkable books of modern times. The present publishers must assume entire re- sponsibility for the change in the title. It is felt to be fully justified because of the false impression gained by many who saw the title for the first time and inferred that the book dealt with life after death, whereas nothing in recent years, unless it be the novels of Dostoievsky, concerns itself with this life and this day more passionately or more poignantly than this novel of a human spirit in search of truth. Tue PuB.isHERs. PREFACE OYOHIKO KAGAWA, the author of “Across the Death-line” (Shisen Wo Koete), was born in Kobé in 1888 and was brought up in Tokushima Prefecture in Shikoku. After attending the Middle School of Tokushima he went to Tokyo, where he studied at the Meiji Gakuin, a Chris- tian College. Later he attended a private theological seminary in Kobé, and finally completed his theological education by spend- ing two years in America, whither he went in 1914, studying at Princeton University and Princeton Theological Seminary and obtaining the degree of Bachelor of Divinity. It was in 1910, when he was only twenty-two years of age, that Mr. Kagawa went to live in the slums of Shinkawa, on what was then the eastern boundary of Kobé, and with the exception of the two years spent in America he has lived there ever since. Although the labours of his pen have now brought him fame and fortune he has announced his decision that he will continue to live in the slums till he dies. Mr. Kagawa is not merely a charity worker and Christian teacher. He takes a strong interest in the Labour movement and is at present Secretary of the Japan Labour Federation. He was also second on the list of those nominated to represent the workers of Japan at the International Labour Conference, a nomination, however, which he declined. In 1921 Mr. Kagawa took part in encouraging the men in the great strike at the Kawasaki Shipbuilding Yard at Kobé, for which he was ar- rested and detained, but released without any charge being brought against him. In regard to his political opinions, Mr. Kagawa describes himself as a “Guild Socialist,” but there is nothing militant about his Socialism. He is, to coin a conveni- ent term, a “passivist,” inasmuch as he adheres strictly to the principle of non-resistance. The Christian Socialist movement in England of the last century has his sympathies. Apart from his political opinions the regard felt for him as a practical philan- thropist always ensures for him a respectful hearing. vil Vill PREFACE “Across the Death-line” was begun some sixteen years ago, but after three-fifths of it had been written it was thrown aside for other literary labour. Later, on the request of his publisher for further works from his pen, Mr. Kagawa took up the novel again and added the section dealing with the slums. The popularity of the novel when it was published in October, 1920, Was instantaneous. A new edition was called for before the month was out, followed by eight more editions in the early months of 1921. ‘The present translation is made from the tenth edition, but since that was issued the editions have run into hundreds and the book is still selling well. A conservative esti- mate gives the number of copies sold at a hundred and fifty thousand, Since the translation of ‘Across the Death-line” was com- pleted a continuation has appeared under the sub-title of “A Shooter at the Sun” (Taiyo wo iru-mono). It carries Eiichi’s life in the slums a stage further, and from it, with the permis- sion of the author, has been taken the chapter which forms the conclusion of the present translation. It has been added, not only as of interest in itself, but as removing the suspense as to Etichi’s fate which only a perusal of the continuation could other- wise satisfy. Mr. Kagawa is now engaged on a third volume of the novel, which, it is understood, will deal chiefly with Labour questions. Mr. Kagawa, it may be added, is a prolific literary worker in other directions, his publications, including volumes of essays, poems, dramas, theological works and scientific studies of social subjects, amounting in all to about twenty in number. The translators steadily kept in view the high ideal of making the translation read to those for whom it is intended as the original reads to those for whom it is intended. Nobody can be more conscious than themselves how far they have failed. Their only consolation is that had they not maintained this ideal they might have failed still more disastrously. In translating from languages so widely removed as Japanese and English there is not only the difficulty of finding turns of expression which shall convey the tone of the original, but there is also the difficulty that the Japanese mind does not respond in just the same way as the European. The intention is the same, but the mode of ex- pression differs. In these circumstances a literal translation, even PREFACE 1X if intelligible, serves only to give an air of quaintness, and as the Japanese themselves are not sensible of any such quaintness in their language, evidently a wrong impression would be created by any attempt at literality. Many devices have been resorted to in order to overcome this difficulty, even to the rendering of an expression by its value rather than its form, although this has been done as sparingly as possible. ‘The dialect which gives so much flavour to the original has been indicated, although no special consistency has been aimed at. In conclusion the translators have the hope that they have made the Japanese appear a natural, human people, and Japan a country where babies cry as much as anywhere else—where old people are as garrulous, young people as foolish, rich men as acquisitive, and poor men as patient as in any other quarter of the globe. It only remains for me to record the untimely death in July, 1923, of my friend and collaborator Mr. I. Fukumoto, but for whose encouragement and valuable assistance this translation would never have been attempted. Whatever there is of ac- curacy in it must be ascribed to him; its faults I must bear myself. It is my melancholy privilege to have his name associated with mine on the title page. Acknowledgments are due to the proprietors of the “Japan Chronicle” of Kobé, in the columns of which the translation first appeared. THomas SATCHELL. TRANSLATORS’? NOTE le those not familiar with Japan a few remarks on the mode of life will make the novel more understandable. The Japanese live in houses made of wood and plaster. In the better class house there is a small entrance-hall and three rooms, the front room or guest-chamber, looking on to what garden there may be, an inner or middle room, and a back room opening on to the kitchen, the last being the sanctum of the housewife. All three rooms communicate with each other by sliding doors. ‘The floors are covered with mats of some two to three inches in thickness, of the regular size of six feet long and three feet wide, and the rooms are planned to contain so many mats. It is therefore convenient to state the size of the room by the number of mats it contains. ‘The doors are all sliding doors, those for admitting light (screens) being covered with a white translucent paper. A kind of narrow verandah or gangway con- nects the rooms from outside, so it is not necessary to pass through the rooms to get from one to another. On the outer edge of the verandah are sliding wooden shutters. ‘These are all packed away in the daytime, but are shut at night, enclosing the house like a box. Some of the better class houses now have both glass and wooden shutters, the glass shutters serving to keep out the cold winds in the daytime. There are no chairs or tables. Cushions take the place of chairs, and where the food is not served directly on the mats a very low table is used. Writing desks are also made low. Warmth is obtained by means of charcoal burnt in a brazier, the airy nature of the house preventing the fumes collecting to the danger point. Cooking is also done on charcoal braziers of another kind, which may be likened to stoves. The kitchen has generally only one or two mats, the larger proportion of the space being boarded. Moreover in the kitchen the flooring does not occupy the whole of the room, there being an unfloored part (described as “basement” xi xil TRANSLATORS’ NOTE in the translation in default of a better term) where the less cleanly part of the house duties is performed. In the guest-room the only ornament is an alcove, where gen-— erally a picture is hung and a vase placed. ‘There are no bedsteads, but quilts (wadded with cotton-wool) are spread on the mats to sleep on. ‘The coverlets are thinner quilts of the same kind. In the daytime the quilts are stored in cupboards built into the house. In regard to apparel, a kimono, with clogs or sandals, is gen- erally worn, though European clothes, with boots or shoes, are de rigueur among students, officials of all ranks, and office clerks with any pretensions to gentility. Women almost invariably wear kimonos, with clogs or sandals, although girl students are now tak- ing to shoes. ‘The kimono is too well known to need description. For male use there are two varieties, the long-sleeved and the tight or narrow-sleeved, the latter being chiefly worn by work- men and students. “The workman, however, has his own proper garb, which is a kind of short coat with the crest or trade- mark of his employer on the back, and very tight trousers or pantaloons. With the growth of the large factories the distinc- tive workers’ dress tends to disappear, however, dungaree’ and overalls taking its place. In regard to the pronunciation of Japanese, the consonants are pronounced as in English, except that “g” is always hard as in “oo” and “ch” always soft as in “‘each,” and the vowels as in Italian, “i” being sounded as in “pique,” “e” as in “‘ten,” etc. “Ei” is pronounced as in “‘vein,” and “‘ai” and “‘ae” as in “‘die.” Final “e’’ is always pronounced as in “‘saké,” ‘‘Kobé,” ‘‘Kat- sunosuké” (sounded almost like “Katsnoské’’), etc. ‘The endings “machi,” “dori,” “cho,” and “michi’? correspond to the English “road,” “street,”’ etc. As it is sometimes difficult to separate them from the word to which they are suffixed, it has been thought best to leave them untranslated. The Japanese yen is roughly equivalent to the American fifty cents or the English two shillings. A hundred sen make one yen. XXI XXIT XXIII XXIV XXV XXVI XXVII XXVIII XXIX CONTENTS At Merjr University, 17 A LrETTreR FRomM Home, 26 RETURNING HomgE, 37 THE House oF Numi, 44 FATHER AND Son, 50 His STEPMOTHER’s Home, 60 BROTHER AND SISTER, 70 Oxtp Memories, 82 At THE MEETING Housg, 87 Love AND Puitosopuy, 93 A Vistr To THE Sums, 100 AT THE Gate, 108 THE Beccar Woman, 116 A Love Scene, 125 In THE AssEMBLY Hari, 132 Encurs Mapness, 139 DovupstTs AND Fears, 154 Emr’ Fuicut, 160 TsuruKo’s Departure, 175 THE BepcLoTHEs, 178 INCENDIARISM, 183 Encut Leaves Home, 200 In THE Deptus, 205 In Busrness, 212 A By-Exection, 218 At THE GetsHa House, 221 In DirFIcuttTigEs, 226 A Loan, 229 THe New Year, 236 Xili XIV XXX XXXI XXXII XX XIII XXXIV XXXV XXXVI XXXVII XXXVIII XXXIX XL XDI XLII XLIII XLIV XLV XLVI XLVII XLVIII D4 50D, CONTENTS ConveERsION, 240 THE CaPirAList, 248 At Degatn’s Door, 257 BLACKMAIL, 270 Basy Kivxuine, 276 MisERY IN THE SLuMs, 280 SUFFERINGS OF THE Poor, 284 “FIGHTING Yasu,” 287 SANKO, 290 AT THE OFFICE, 292 CHILDREN OF THE SLUMS, 294 © SOME RouGH CHARACTERS, 298 Tue Deatu oF SHrpatTa, 303 LonELINEss, 309 THE STEPMOTHER, 311 Tsuruko Tamiya, 314 Emrs Return, 317 SUMMER IN THE Siums, 319 Emr’s SECRET, 326 Inari Worsuip, 330 SOME CoNnvVERTs, 339 KonuipE, 344 KoHIDE IN THE SLums, 355 Miss Hicucui, 367 Kone AcaIin, 372 Tue New Year, 375 (DHE ISTRIBE on At THE Matcu Works, 382 ConcLusion—Eucurs ExaMINATION, 393 BEFORE THE DAWN CHAPTER 1 At Meiji University RRRRRRRRRKRRKRKHK [Cee is a place near Shirokané in Shiba, ‘Tokyo, where three valleys meet. ‘There everything is fresh and green; only in the dank places of the ravine, where last year’s rice-stubs have not been ploughed up, is the ground bare. In the depth of the valley nearest to Osaki, where grow innumerable cryptomerias, whose tops seem to reach above the clouds, stands Marquis Ikeda’s mansion. On the hill nearest Shirokané there are one or two temples, but on the middle hill there are neither houses nor temples; only slender chestnuts and oaks grow in great profusion. ‘ On a glorious day at the beginning of May, a youth was lying in the shade on the grass on the middle hill reading a book. He looked above the medium height,—a slender figure, dressed! in a well-fitting black woollen uniform, the brass buttons of which were all marked with the letters ““M.G.” His face was: dreadfully pale, his nose high, and his cheek bones a little promi-- nent. His eyes were rather large and keen, and their shape showed their owner to be high-spirited. He was in the habit of coming to this place at intervals and opening a book, though of late not reading it very attentively. Rather he would shut his eyes and fall into a muse,—not of long duration, for he soon became sleepy. His dream over he would quickly turn to his book again, repeat some three or four lines, and then hasten back towards Shirokané along the field paths, 17 18 BEFORE THE DAWN To-day he had come again and opened his book according to custom. As he lay there, by a path above his head there descended leisurely a youth of about twenty, neatly dressed in Japanese clothes, with a cap, and carrying a stick. He was not tall, but he was stoutly built, with thick eyebrows, a hairy chin, and a ruddy face. He was returning that way from a walk, when catching sight of the uniformed student lying on his side reading a book, he stopped suddenly and called to him. “Halloa, Niimi, what are you doing there? Drop it, drop it!” “Oh, is that you, Suzuki,” called out the reader. “Where have you been?” “I? Qh, D’ve been in the direction of the Akara temple at Meguro. How can you read your old books or whatever they are in this glorious spring weather? If I had known you were idling away your time in this place I'd have taken you with me to Meguro. Melancholia again?” “Nonsense!” ““What’s that book? Philosophy? Drop it, drop it!” and coming nearer Suzuki squatted down on the grass at Niimi?’s side and picked up the fallen volume. ‘What’s all this? Upanishads —is that the way you pronounce it? Hm! “The Sacred. Books of the East.? What is it?” “They are the Sacred Books of the East, which were probably written between 1300 and 600 3.c. Don’t you know them? The Rig Veda—didn’t you hear Mr. Kamimura refer to it yes- terday in his lecture on the history of Buddhism?” “Well, what about it?” “These developed from that.” “What funny things you read. I haven’t got time to read such books; I’m too busy preparing my lessons. You are a wonder. What’s it all about inside?” and he opened the book, which up to now he had only been looking at from the outside, and passing over the preface, which ran to about thirty pages, he began to read the text, which was printed in big type. “ ‘All is Brahma. We should meditate that in this universe everything begins, ends, and exists in Brahma.’ Aha, pantheism, eh? i It's; rather interesting though. But, Niimi,” he added, as he closed the book, “you don’t really believe in the mythical pantheism de- scribed in this book?” “You’ve got as much understanding as a child,” returned AT MEIJI UNIVERSITY 19 Niimi. ‘Read just one book of Indian philosophy and then ask me that question again. Students who haven’t read a line of Indian philosophy have got into the habit nowadays of treating it very contemptuously. As long as you are on an inferior level that is mere folly. When you have reached a higher level then you can begin to call it pantheism or anything else you like.” Suzuki was in the class below Niimi’s. “Looking at the thing from the common sense point of view,” said Suzuki, “the law of cause and effect and matter are not one and the same thing. If the law which brings all things into unison becomes disjointed, how is it possible to get unison?” Niimi was nonplussed for a moment. “You should study the works of Spinoza,” he said. ‘‘What scientist with any training would believe the silly story of crea- tion and the rest? But you are an earnest Christian and came here to prepare for the ministry, and though I don’t pretend to be a Spinoza, I’m not going to persecute you for your faith. Create what gods you like. The indestructibility of matter, the conservation of energy, evolution,—how can 20th century civilisation, believing these things, credit such foolish stories about the creation of heaven and earth.” Niimi argued earnestly. “Yes,” answered Suzuki, “‘but the indestructibility of matter, and the conservation of energy, and evolution,—these are only suppositions,—matters of faith. I don’t know much about it, but they seem to be subjective deductions, not inductions. I have read something like that in logic.” “But Haeckel—have you read Haeckel? Monism, you know; ‘the theory that mind and matter are the same thing seen from two different sides,—that we continue our evolution for ever, that is that we are becoming God.” ‘The discussion had become a very earnest one. “Then what becomes of mankind when they die?” asked Suzuki. “They become atoms. ‘There’s nothing extraordinary about that, is there?” “What nonsense! Does God renew himself again from atoms? So I suppose evolution becomes devolution, and mo-= rality and the arts are only a dream.” “T can’t argue with you when you don’t understand.” 20 BEFORE THE DAWN “However, it’s four o’clock,” said Suzuki, looking at his watch, “and supper will be ready in another half hour, so we'd better be getting back. We've had a good discussion to-day.” “Yes,” said Niimi, “‘let’s go back,” and he stood up and brushed the dust from his clothes. So, Suzuki leading, they both went along the narrow field paths, round the hill, up by the water-wheel, and along the fence surrounding the grove. “TDoesn’t Buddhism teach the same principles as modern science?” asked Suzuki. ‘Why did you enter the Meiji Gakuin?. You ought to have gone to the Buddhist University.” “Yes, from the philosophical point of view Buddhism is sound. But it is really worthless. From the time I was seventeen or eighteen I was attracted to philosophic questions and suffered great distress of mind. I attended the middle school in my native place for three years and when I was fifteen came up to Tokyo and drifted about from one school to another. I hardly ever took up my school books at that time, but spent my time from morning to night in reading poetry and philosophy and the magazines. I was in great distress of mind. I went to the Takanawa Buddhist Middle School. Did any one tell you?” “No, I didn’t know. So you’ve been fond of philosophy since you were a little boy. Whatever made you so fond of philos- ophy?” “Well, for one thing I lost my mother when I was ten years old, and was brought up by my stepmother, and the reason why I left home was because of the death of my elder sister. Natu- rally my heart seemed to turn to philosophy. I have heard that you became a Christian in ‘much the same way,—that you lost all your people in a tidal wave, and that if it had not been for that you would never have had any doubts about life, or thought about religion and God.” “Yes, it’s true. So you went to the Takanawa Middle School. What a funny place to go to! Buddhism’s worthless, is it?” “Yes, I went there to be relieved of my doubts, but it was useless. On the contrary my troubles increased, because I saw things from the inside.” “Vege? “T also became a disciple at the Kencho Temple at Kamakura, AT MEIJI UNIVERSITY 21 but it was all foolishness. Zen, too. Nowadays Zen has become very popular, but Buddhism generally is like Zen,—only the out- line is left; the colouring is all gone, and all the dozens of temples at Kamakura have become mere lodging-houses. You probably saw in the paper the other day how they were going to sell the chief image of Buddha at the Raiko ‘Temple. It’s a masterpiece of Unkei, the famous sculptor, and is greatly ad- mired. Buddhism is a mere negation of morality and character, and then they humbug the uneducated by their talk. It’s use- less; it isn’t a thing that flesh and blood can believe in.” “Yes, that’s true. The Hongwanji scandals and so on have covered it with ridicule. But how was it that you came to a place like the Meiji Gakuin?” “My father forced me to study law and sent me to the First High School, but in the first term of the third year I was suddenly taken ill with hemorrhage of the lungs—my mother and elder sister, you know, both died of consumption,—and the doctor told me my lungs were affected. So I spent a year at Chikasaki and another year at Hachijo Island. After that I had lost all heart for the study of the law. I felt specially drawn towards religion, but as I was tired of Buddhism I thought I would spend a year or two at the Meiji Gakuin. So I came here in September last year.” “What do you think of the Meiji Gakuin?” and Suzuki looked in Niimi’s face. “T certainly thought that Christianity would be fuller of love than it is,”? answered Niimi. “Yes, I felt that too, especially when I first came here. But, Niimi, if you think the Christians in the country and the Chris- tians in Tokyo are the same you are making a mistake. ‘The true Christian is a Nathaniel who sits under his fig-tree in a corner in the country and dreams of the kingdom of God.” “T don’t think that the ancient fervour of Christianity wells up in the hearts of believers nowadays.” “Yes, I’m strongly of that opinion too. See how the Chris- tians nowadays form associations and such like during war time.” “Yes, and where have the dreams of the times of the apostles gone? ‘The fervour and fire which could brave the terrors of crucifixion have all disappeared.” “’That’s true. J’ve been praying for their return.” f / 22 BEFORE THE DAWN “But it all resolves itself into the economic question. You heard the argument I had with Hirano the other day,—at the Literary Society?” “You were scolded by the recorder, weren’t you?” / “Yes, I caught it. But if you don’t put the spiritual world ‘in the terms of the flesh you don’t get any response from people, do you? What would be the use of a Christianity which could ly make empires like that of China and not commonwealths like those of America and Britain? Isn’t that so? Our modern ideas of Socialism are a development from Christianity. Saint- Simon and Fourier, for instance, wanted to make the world as it was at the time of the apostles. Yes, if Christianity were not symbolised by the idea of Socialism . . . That’s why I told the recorder, “You can teach your school imperialism, but that’ s not Christianity, you know.’ ” “What did the recorder say to that?” “Well, he said that, at any rate, the Ministry of Education demands that any one propagating Sauialien among the students shall be kept under strict control, and I mustn’t deliver such vio- lent, destructive doctrines from the lecture platform before the students while I was in the school.” “"“T certainly don’t think that Christianity and our national system can be harmonised. I can’t altogether accept Socialism, but it’s very funny to hear Japanese believers going about saying hat Christianity and the national system do not clash.” “What fools! These worldly Christians are afraid of such sycophantic prostitutors of learning as Tetsujiro Inoué and Hiro- yuki Kato. But in spite of all their explanations why Christian- ity and nationalism do not clash, they do clashe How much better would it be for them to say positively that they do clash.” Going from subject to subject the two passed along by the side of the slaughter-house into a road planted on both sides with cryptomerias, proceeding in the direction of Shirokané. ‘There was a long pause in the conversation, and then Suzuki half mur- mured, ‘“‘What strange experiences you have had.” While they were still among the trees, just where the road turns to the right, they heard somebody calling after them, “Suzuki!” “Niimi!” Suzuki and Niimi stopped abruptly to see who it was and found it was the members of the Gluttons’ Club,—Tamura, Inoué, AT MEIJI UNIVERSITY 23, Matsuda, and Sanda, four high-spirited youths who were first=: year students in the higher school, having passed up from the lower school. Tamura occupied a room next to the dining-hall in the Harris Hall. He was of medium height, with his hair cut short, and still wore the cap of black cloth that he had worn for full four years from the time that he was in the lower school, although it was now very discoloured. He was the President of the Glut- tons’ Club. ‘Three times a day, towards meal times, before the dining-hall was opened, he would go and look through the key- hole to see what they were going to have to eat. One student had made a rhyme about Tamura, which ran:— When he gets up or is studying There’s a frown upon his face; But when he’s in the dining-hall It’s quite another case. Inoué, who was called “The Flesh,” was an amusing fellow who made a special study of love. He had curly hair and wore spectacles. After he had got into the higher school he let his hair grow long and parted it in the middle, and it was said that for the sake of making his hair flat he kept his hat on when he was studying in his room and even when he went to bed. Matsuda was called the “Fortune-teller.” He was of low stature and had a face like Daikoku, the god of luck. Sanda was tall and thin and laughed from morning till night over the most trivial matters, such as the width of a person’s nostrils or a dog slipping on some dirt in the road. Niimi and Suzuki stopped and waited while the four, laughing continually, came along together to where they were standing. They were all laughing as loud as they could, holding their sides and swaying backwards and forwards, and Niimi and Suzuki looked on in astonishment as the four, staring at Niimi, burst into laughter again and again, as though they were making game of him. Niimi felt as if he were being bewitched by evil spirits. “What do you mean by making fools of people?” he asked. Matsuda was the first to speak. “Oh, Niimi,” he said, “shall I tell you?” and he gave him a nudge. 24 BEFORE THE DAWN ‘Then Tamura joined in. ‘‘Ha-ha-ha! You said you were never going to get married, you are such a pessimist. And you didn’t attend school yesterday, but spent the day in bed.” “And then last night,” added Matsuda, “‘you went out with your hair nicely parted in the middle and without a hat, to Nihon-enoki, to: get something nice to eat in the street. What’s our philosopher been thinking of lately?” “What stuff you’re talking,” said Niimi, and he laughed feebly. ! Inoué followed Matsuda. “You looked awfully glum when you were eating those nice things,” he said. Sanda turned to Suzuki. ‘‘You live next door to the philos- opher,” he said. ‘Did he treat you last night?” _ “No,” said Suzuki, with a slight laugh. “I saw Niimi buying some sweet potatoes last night. He must have followed imperial principles and eaten them all himself, eh?” and Sanda laughed. As the six went walking on Niimi began to defend himself. “Last night, there was nothing very nice for supper,” he said, “so I went out to buy some potatoes.” “Really?” said Matsuda. “You are all always so full of spirits,” said Suzuki. ““That’s because we eat two or three times as much as you do and so develop our energy,’’ replied President ‘Tamura, as repre- sentative of the others. ‘‘Hear, hear,” cried the other three. Niimi went on silently. He was trying to be as lively as the members of the Gluttons’ Club, but he had a heavy heart within his breast and was in no mood for joking. ‘There came into his head an article that he had'read four or five days before in the Literary Digest about how everything turns to comedy in modern times. But in his heart he felt that the writer of that article could not guess the depths of his misery. Just then they were passing by a place where some houses were being built. A cart full of stones was standing there and the horse had his head in a feeding bucket, which was hung round his neck. When Niimi saw this he turned to Tamura. “Tamura,” he said, “that horse is cleverer than you. Look at him. You can’t eat like that without chopsticks.” All the others burst into laughter, but Tamura, with a very AT MEIJI UNIVERSITY, 25 earnest face, said, ““Niimi, I don’t know much about Socialism, but isn’t it the same as gluttony?” and he kept a solemn face as he delivered his argument. “Bravo, bravo,” called out Sanda. “They cry, ‘Give us plenty to eat,’ don’t they?” went on Tamura, “and we are not behind them in demanding plenty to eat. Isn’t that so, Sanda?” “Certainly,” replied Sanda. Niimi only laughed. He was thinking how he could escape from their chaff. “What do you say to three cheers for the Meiji Gakuin Glut- tons’ Club?” cried Matsuda, looking at his companions. But Suzuki sniggered. ‘“The motion’s too previous, Matsuda,” he said. “If you’re going to change the name of the Gluttons’ Club to the Meiji Gakuin Socialist Party you’ll have to make Niimi president.” “All right; I agree,” said President Tamura. “I vote for the philosopher president, the love letter presi- dent,” called Matsuda. “T vote for him too,” said Sanda. “The fashionable president,” added Matsuda. ‘“The president with his hair parted, the president who stands and eats things in the street, the president who eats sweet potatoes all by himself.” While they were thus chaffing they had mounted the hill and had come to the gates of the Meiji Gakuin, where, at the call of Tamura, three cheers were given for President Nimi. Just then the bell at the boarding-house began to ring, summoning them to supper, at which they all burst into meaningless laughter. CHAPTER II A Letter from Home KM KMMK KKK KRKRRRAR FTER supper and a bath Niimi thought of going to his A room. He lingered awhile at the entrance to Harris Hall, however, though not for any particular reason. In one of the rooms the gas was burning. Probably the Juniors’ Asso- ciation was holding a meeting. The gas was also alight in the hall of President Yamakawa’s house. Between the hall and the President’s residence he could see the top of a steeple on which there was a cross, but in the twilight it was obscured by the leaves of the trees and could only be seen faintly, reminding one of a monastery ina wood. ‘The trees planted every year by the gradu- ates had become so dense that in the gloaming it seemed as if all the trees, branches and leaves were joined together. It was impossible to count them. Now the gaslight began to shine brighter. ‘The recreation ground was deserted. No lights could be seen in the Divinity School, but from Dr. Imbrié’s house small rays of light filtered through the surrounding trees. Hep- burn Hall seemed very vast and high and to occupy a large space. There the gaslight was shining from every room, and from some- where at the back came the monotonous sound of a piano. Some one was coming out of Hepburn Hall towards the place where he was standing. He was dressed in Japanese clothes with a cap, and Niimi soon recognised him as ‘Tsukamoto. When he was a short distance away Niimi called to him, but Tsukamoto went on despondently and did not answer till he was beginning to mount the steps to the entrance, when he saw Niimi. “Ah, Niimi, I’m awfully sorry. I was coming to see you yesterday, but I was busy all day. To-day, as I had to go to the Warden’s room I thought of calling in on you.” “Yes? Well, let’s go up to my room now,” and Niimi and he went up the stairs. They had gone up four steps and come to the landing when Niimi turned round for a moment. A LETTER FROM HOME 27 “No good?” he asked. “That? No, it’s no good. The place was taken long ago by a Higher Commercial School student. And they say they don’t pay very well.” Niimi was not a little disappointed at this answer, but he did not betray his feelings and showed Tsukamoto into his room. At the top of the stairs on the left there was an opening, facing which was Suzuki’s room, with Niimi’s next door. Suzuki had gone out for a walk again after supper, and as his gas was not alight apparently he had not yet returned. Niimi entered his room and lit the gas, which shone into every corner and made the room look very cheerful. It was about eleven feet by nine feet, the walls white, with the lower part covered with panels painted a mixture of brown and sepia, which was a reminder that it had once been an old class-room. ‘There were two windows opening to the west and north, and on the south side there were sliding screens separating it from the next room. A table stood in the northwest corner and there was a large bookcase facing the door. “Please sit down,” said Niimi, pulling the gas down as far as it would go. It shone brilliantly over the desk and you could read the gold lettering on the backs of the books in the bookcase. Of class-books, there was only Williams’ Outline of Politics; all the others were theological books. The big red one was Flint’s Philosophy of History, and the thin blue book in four volumes was Pfleiderer’s Philosophy of Religion. Then there was a copy of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, which had apparently been well studied, and also books on Kant by Miiller and Caird. In the corner, in a yellow cover, was the Zend Avesta, and an open volume, apparently just thrown aside, of the Upanishads. ‘There was also a Bible. “Thank you,” said Tsukamoto, and entering he went across the room to look at a picture by Leloir, which was hung above the bookcase. “The more one looks at this the better it is,” he said. “I’m awfully fond of it.” “Are you fond of it too? The female figure, clasping a little boy in her arms, with that pensive background, seems to touch my heart for some reason or other and pleases me greatly.” 28 BEFORE THE DAWN Tsukamoto began to laugh when Niimi spoke of the “female figure.” “Tt may sound a funny thing to ask,” he said, “but tell me, didn’t you receive a letter from a girl recently? ‘They say it made you blue.” “Where did you hear that?” “They were talking about it just now in Hepburn Hall. It all came from your being dispirited yesterday and not attending classes. Takada began it by discovering that you had received a letter from a girl four or five days ago, and he went about telling every one. And yesterday morning you said that you’d never get married, and you shut yourself up in your room. Is it true?” “No, all false. Five days ago I got a letter from my younger sister. “That was the letter that Takada was telling every one about.” “But Takada said that if it was a letter from your young sister you would be able to show it, but you didn’t show it to any one.” “T wasn’t able to show it to any one because there were some private matters in it. Fellows of that kind like making a fuss, and so he went about telling every one that tne philosopher had got a letter from a girl. Because this is the only time that I have received a letter from my sister since Pve been attending the Meiji Gakuin, and I haven’t got any girl friend, he makes a fuss, of course, about my having a sweetheart.” While Niimi was speaking the contents of his sister’s letter came back into his memory, causing his heart to sink. “Tsuka- moto was still standing, but Niimi sat down. “What about that matter?” he asked. Tsukamoto turned a little towards Niimi and glanced at his face while he fingered the bow of his Japanese cloak. “I’m in awful trouble,” he said. ‘I’ve just been to the Warden’s room to ask and he says it’s no good. I’ve decided to leave the school,” and ‘Tsukamoto hung his head. “Leave? Have you decided? I’m awfully sorry. But I suppose it can’t be helped. But if you ‘leave the school what are you going to do? If you could carry on for another two years you would be able to graduate in the high school and then you would have some social standing and be able to increase your A LETTER FROM HOME 29 knowledge of foreign languages, which would be awfully con- venient. Still, you have received some benefit from the three years you have spent in the Meiji Gakuin.” “Yes, I certainly won’t forget the three years I have spent here. I can’t forget them. Still, I don’t want any more favours shown me. It is true I sell things to the fellows in the dormi- tory, but nevertheless I feel as if I were squeezing money out of them, showing them my cakes. I have thought many times that I would give up selling cakes.” “No, no, that’s not so. It isn’t a bad thing to sell cakes. If you didn’t sell them cakes they would all go outside to buy them, so it’s the same thing. What did the Warden say?” “The Warden? Oh, he said that he couldn’t square his ac- counts because my board was three months in arrears, and as I couldn’t settle up, although I promised yesterday that I would pay up one month at least, there was nothing to be done. ‘They couldn’t keep students on charity, so for the present I had better leave the boarding-house. I was in the wrong and I hadn’t any excuse, so I simply said ‘Yes’ and came away.” “That was a funny thing for the Warden to say.” “He spoke the truth.” “Well, I should call it rather impudent. They couldn’t provide board on charity so you’d better get out. It would have been all right if they had waited for the month to elapse.” “But really, when a fellow’s late with his board as I am it gives trouble, doesn’t it?” “Yes, but the Warden’s a Christian, isn’t he? He knows your circumstances. Even if it does give trouble not to pay up just now, he ought to make an effort to meet your expenses for the sake of your education. But, I say, if you were to pay up for one month would they let you stay on temporarily?” “I suppose so,” Tsukamoto spoke sadly, in a low voice. “Well, I say, Tsukamoto. If there’s . . .” and Niimi reso- lutely stretched out his hand and took from the drawer of his desk a five-yen note. ‘Here, Pll advance you this,” he said. “Go and pay the Warden. ‘Then you’ll be able to go on studying if only for a little while. You needn’t trouble about giving it back to me. Tl lend it to you in perpetuity.” “But, I say, I haven’t paid you the four yen I borrowed last month and it would be a shame to take this too. You’ll want 30 BEFORE THE DAWN it to buy some books. I can’t take it. On the contrary it is you who ought to have four yen from me,” and shamefacedly ‘T'suka- moto refused to take the money. “But look here, you know my motives. Rather than read another book I’d like you to study for another month. You know I would, don’t you?” Niimi had become very earnest. “T know your good intentions, but . . .” The sentence trailed off into nothingness. “Tsukamoto,” said Niimi, “look here. As a matter of fact I received this from my sister. I only changed the postal order to-day. I haven’t got overmuch to meet my school expenses, as you may have guessed from the fact that I asked you to find me some work in translating. I haven’t got very much, but it only means that I won’t be able to buy more books, so if you take it as a gift it will be all right.” . The explanation was given sympathetically and with kindly common sense. “Well, Pll accept it temporarily,” said Tsukamoto, peeping into the next room to assure himself that no one was there. “Tt isn’t a question of borrowing,” said Niimi. “Thank you,” said Tsukamoto, and was silent. Niimi was also silent for a time. Then he asked, “Are you going to attend the school all the same?” “Well, after the way the Warden’s treated me I think I will leave the boarding-house for a little time and try to get a posi- tion as private tutor in English, so as to save money for my school expenses. That was what I was thinking of doing. What do you think?” “But will you be able to get back into the school again?” “T don’t know, but I think Ill try.” “The world doesn’t always go as we want it to, does it?” Tsukamoto looked down and was silent. ‘The glaring gas- light glittered upon the pomade on his curly hair. “When you go out into the world you want faith. I don’t know what trouble I wouldn’t go to to get faith.” Tsukamoto, leaning with his arm on the window-sill, gazed at the gaslight. “But I don’t understand God and Christ,” he said. “I look upon Christianity as superstition,” and he ‘smiled slightly. “But it is not. I am not a Christian, but whatever you may A LETTER FROM HOME 31 think you can’t say that there is no truth in its religious aspira- tions as they have flowed on through four thousand years of his= tory. I have not yet fully grasped the meaning of the Cross myself, but there can be no doubt as to the greatness of Christ’s character.” | “Well, I know something about His greatness, but I don’t understand it. Don’t those who believe in Him and those who don’t, go about their daily lives in the same way? It sometimes happens that those who don’t believe behave better than those who do.” Tsukamoto ventured on strong opposition. “Youre always saying that,” said Niimi, “but see if you are able to get on in society without faith?” Niimi was thinking of his young sister and his native place. “But life is a tragedy, isn’t it?” he added. Tsukamoto merely smiled again slightly. ‘“You’re always talking about things being tragedies or comedies, aren’t you? Life is neither a tragedy nor a comedy to me. I really don’t know what anything is.” Niimi lent on the desk with his cheek on his hand and was silent. ‘T’sukamoto’s words found an echo in his own heart. In a little time Tsukamoto departed and Niimi took his sis- ter’s letter out of the drawer of his desk and read it again. It was written with a queer mixture of literary phrases and collo- quialisms which made it difficult to read. “T take my pen in my hand to write you a line. Dear brother, T hope you are well. I must apologise for not having written to you for along time. I am very well, so do not be anxious about me. I am crying every day, Sometimes I think I would rather die. My stepmother in the country works me hard and is scold- ing me about something or other every day from morning till \ night. She says, “You’re Mrs. Kamé’s child, ain’t you? What makes you so stupid?’ That is the way she scolds me tei) And she doesn’t give me enough to eat. She treats me worse than the servant. I can’t bear it. I ran away to my. father’s house some forty days ago. But father doesn’t love me a bit. And father’s new mistress, she does indeed treat me badly. Since I came here I have been crying every day. Please save me, dear brother. I have only you, brother, to trust to. And father is so angry with you, brother. He said he would not send you any 32 BEFORE THE DAWN more school money from this month. Please take this five yen to help pay yourischool expenses though it is only a trifle. I am thinking if I can run away to Tokyo to you, for you to keep me. Rather than work for my stepmother in the country or for Umé +t would be much better to go to Tokyo and work as a servant. Dear brother, if you can think of anything good, please let me know quickly. It is so dreadful that I can’t write for tears. I have a lot more to tell you, but I can’t do it now. Please take care of yourself. “PS. Please send an answer quickly.” Reading it, Niimi felt great sympathy with his sister. He read it twice and his tears began to flow. They were not only for his sister; he wept also for the hard fate of ‘I'sukamoto and him- self. Bending over the desk and holding his head in his hands, he had fallen into deep thought, when he heard a sound of foot- steps in the next room, and Tsukamoto say, “Well, look here, I’ve got five or six yen, but there were some other expenses I was obliged to meet and I’ve already spent a yen of ity? iy, DREN he heard some one politely answer “Thank you,” and Tsuka- moto’s farewell as he went out and tramped down the stairs without pulling the sliding door to after him. | “There, again,” Niimi heard another voice say, and then it added, “I say, Tanaka, isn’t Tsukamoto a rotter?”’ “Awful. He sells cakes to the fellows and then doesn’t pay his own board bill but spends the money in eating, and his ex- cuses are all lies. When he goes to another fellow’s room he always goes away leaving the door open after him.” The voice was that of the student who had spoken politely to Tsukamoto. Niimi was startled when he heard this and, wiping away his tears, he called out “Tanaka,” trying to conceal his own grief by making his voice big. He was calling to the student who lived in the next room. “Yes, what is it?” replied a rather startled voice. “Does Tsukamoto tell lies?” asked Niimi. Tanaka was still more startled. “I say,” he said, “I wouldn’t worry about that.” “Yes, but mayn’t I ask?” A younger voice joined in. “It-t-t was nothing.” This was Kasuga. — ee eee a A LETTER FROM HOME 33 “T say, Kasuga, what lies did Tsukamoto tell you?” “Do you know Shoda of the lower school?” “Yes, I know him. What about him?” “Well, it’s reported that he gave Tsukamoto a thrashing the other day.” “A thrashing? Why?” “Well . . . but perhaps I’d better not tell him, eh, Tanaka?” “Tell me,” said Niimi. “Do you want to hear so very much?” said Tanaka. “You're very inquisitive,” and he gave a satirical laugh. “No, I’m not inquisitive, but I’m rather intimate with T’suka- moto, and it’s necessary that I should know.” ““N-N-Niimi, Tsukamoto’s a bad lot. He sells cakes to buy things to eat. That’s become his practice. He spends quite a lot of money in eating outside, and then he can’t pay his board bill. Shoda heard about this and got angry. He said that it was necessary to punish Tsukamoto, and the night before last, they say, he gave Tsukamoto a thrashing behind the Theological College. Tsukamoto says he can’t pay for his board because he has to give such a lot of credit. But that’s only his excuse. ‘The fact is that he eats it all up in apples and cake.” Niimi was surprised when he heard this, but still he thought it was a shame that poor Tsukamoto should have been thrashed. “T think Shoda was really in the wrong,” he said. “Why?” It was Tanaka who was asking. “Well,” said Niimi, “you know that Tsukamoto only gets eight yen a month, and out of that he has to give a yen’s credit and his lodging costs him another yen, so he has only six yen left. If he pays six yen for his board and gets his tuition fees remitted he hasn’t got a penny left for himself. Moreover, in return for the remission of his tuition fees he has to work one or two hours after school, and on the top of that he has to study and take exercise. It’s a pretty cruel state of affairs that doesn’t allow Tsukamoto any pleasures, isn’t it? I wonder whether it is nec- essary for mankind ¢o exist without any pleasures.” Certainly Tsukamoto showed a lack of will-power. Repeat- edly he had come to Niimi to borrow money to buy the cakes he sold, but had never returned it. Still, Niimi had never condemned him for that, and even now his attitude was unchanged. Up to now the conversation had been carried on through the 34 BEFORE THE DAWN sliding screens which separated the two rooms and kept the dis- putants from seeing each other. ‘This seemed somehow to hamper the discussion, and Tanaka now pulled back the screen and came into Niimi’s room with “That’s all right what you say, but you know. .. .” Kasuga followed him. Tanaka was about twenty- two or twenty-three years of age. He was tall and had a com- manding look, but there seemed to be something \vanting about him. He was in the same class as Tsukamoto, which was one below Niimi’s. He also had to work for his school expenses, lending a hand in the boarding-house in collecting the board money, for doing which his own board money was remitted. Kasuga was about sixteen or seventeen,—a fine-looking fellow in the first-year class of the higher school. The two were bosom friends,—whether at study or at play, at exercise or on a journey or at church, they were never apart. This was because they had certain characteristics in common,—a great love of adventure and of nature. In the middle of the night, even, they were some- times to be seen standing in the middle of the recreation ground,—Kasuga carrying a book on astronomy and ‘Tanaka carrying a lantern to enable them to read, while they studied the constellations. They stood by Niimi’s desk to hear his explanation about Tsu- kamoto. ‘Tanaka had his hand on Kasuga’s shoulder, and was looking down on the desk. He began speaking very quietly. “Your arguments are too extreme,” he said. “I think ‘T’suka- moto’s punishment was quiet proper. Tsukamoto’s studying at other people’s expense, isn’t he? Therefore he has no right to claim any enjoyment. In the first place he is wrong to rely upon other people for money. , It’s a great favour to be allowed to work one’s way through school, isn’t it? If on top of that you want to have enjoyment as well, then you'd better leave the school.” Bale The sensitive Niimi\ felt as if he wanted to cry when he heard Tanaka’s cruel arguments. /“Tanaka,” he said, “I don’t like to hear such colourless argu- ‘ments from an upright Christian like you. If you Christians are satisfied with such shallow morality then you ought to desert all the churches throughout Tokyo and go to hear the sermons at the Zojo temple. It is certainly_the heartlessness of you Christians which is expelling Tsukamoto from the dormitory and thus caus- A LETTER FROM HOME kis ing him to suspend his studies. The Warden has no sympathy for him; you have no sympathy for him; it seems that there is nothing for ‘T'sukamoto to do but to abandon his studies. Chris- tianity thus appears to be only a set of doctrines. Really if you say ‘Amen’ with your lips, oughtn’t you to sell your clothes and’ your books and help Tsukamoto? Remember that it is you Christians that have already made him an outcast.” Niimi spoke excitedly, with tears flooding his eyes. “Then suppose you try it to begin with.” “I, at least, am confident that I am doing something for him.” ut I doubt whether you can put your views into practice.” “But what did Christ say? Christ is not in your hearts. The Churches are the enemies of Christ,”? and Niimi tried to wipe away his tears unobserved. room. ‘Then, after some talk in an undertone, they turned out the gas and both went off somewhere. Niimi was left weeping. His tears continued. to.fall as he thought of the low morality of the Christians and their churches; cf how he himself, by the end of the month, would be among those who had to earn their board and tuition; of poor Tsukamoto’s fate; and of his stupid little sister. He sobbed when he thought of the unfortunate cir- cumstances in which he and his sister were placed. Suddenly Niimi came toa decision. It might seem a com-