Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 5, No. 32, June, 1860

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At length the time arrived when the reluctant Japanese were to be taught
the uselessness of further efforts to resist the advances of other
nations. In November, 1852, an expedition, long contemplated and carefully
prearranged, set sail from the United States under the command of Commodore
M.C. Perry. Although this mission was the subject of much discussion
abroad, no very general hope of its success was expressed. The opinion
appeared to be, that, under all circumstances, Japan would still continue
locked in its seclusion. The result proved how easily, by the exercise of
firmness, prudence, and energy, all of which Commodore Perry displayed in
every movement, the much desired end could be accomplished. The secret of
two hundred years was solved in a day. The path once opened, there were
plenty to follow it: Russia, England, and France were quick to share the
benefits which had in the first place been gained by the United States. But
thus far the best fruits of Japanese intercourse have fallen to the United
States, and it seems clear that only a continuance of the same ability
hitherto shown in the management of our affairs with that nation is needed
to preserve to this country the superior advantages it now holds.

On the 8th of July, 1853, Commodore Perry, with two steamers and two
sloops-of-war, entered the Bay of Yedo, having purposely avoided the port
of Nagasaki, at which all strangers had previously been accustomed to hold
communications with the government. In this, as in other movements, the
Commodore acted independently of much opposing counsel. By first visiting
the Loo-choo and Bonin islands, which are under Japanese control, and
mostly peopled by Japanese, he had acquired a considerable knowledge of the
character of those with whom he was to deal, and had been enabled to trace
for himself a policy which the result proved to be eminently just and
effective. He determined boldly to insist upon, rather than to beseech, the
privileges he had been deputed to gain. Understanding perfectly the
vexatious and embarrassing expedients by which the Japanese had been
accustomed to hamper and resist the endeavors of even the best-disposed of
their visitors, he resolved to listen to no suggestions of delay, and to
push vigorously forward with his mission, in spite of every obstacle their
wily ingenuity could oppose to him. Their assumptions of exclusiveness and
superiority he met by precisely the same sort of display, allowing no
familiarity on the part of the natives until all was definitely settled as
he desired, and intrenching himself in a mysterious seclusion which rather
exceeded even their own notions of personal dignity. Until one of the first
noblemen in the nation was sent to treat with him, the Commodore shunned
all intercourse with the people, and systematically refused to expose
himself to the profane eyes of the multitude. This unusual course took the
Japanese quite by surprise, and, not without some feeling of trepidation,
they bestirred themselves with unexampled alacrity to satisfy, so far as
they were able, his reasonable demands. Of course it was impossible for
them to set aside all their prejudices, and the record of their schemes to
impede the Commodore's progress, all of which were quietly overcome by his
firmness and decision, is equally amusing and instructive.[1] At the moment
of his entering the Bay of Yedo, he was surrounded by guard-boats, and
saluted with various warnings of peril, which might have deterred a less
resolute man. But, wholly indifferent to Japanese guard-boats, he sent out
his own for surveying purposes without hesitation, taking it for granted
that perfect fearlessness would secure the crews from molestation. In
answer to the remonstrances received at the outset, he simply pushed still
farther up the bay, until, finding it impossible to obtain compliance with
their requirements, the Japanese concluded to yield to his; and after as
much hesitation as the Commodore thought proper to give them opportunity
for, the letters from President Fillmore were received by the Emperor, or
Tycoon,[2] negotiations were opened, and, finally, a treaty, yielding all
the important points that had been asked for, was agreed upon. This treaty
proclaimed "a perfect, permanent, and universal peace, and a sincere and
cordial amity", between the two nations; designated certain ports where
American ships should obtain supplies; promised protection to American
seamen who should chance to be shipwrecked on the coast; and contained the
important stipulation, that no further privileges should be vouchsafed to
any other government except on condition of their being fully shared by the
United States.

[Footnote 1: The details are to be found in the _Narratives of the
Expedition_, by Francis L. Hawks, D.D., LL.D., published by Congress at
Washington, in 1856.]

[Footnote 2: As will be shown hereafter, the military functions of the
temporal ruler long ago ceased, and the title of Tycoon has been
substituted for that of Ziogoon.]

The communications between Commodore Perry and the Japanese were carried on
in the most friendly manner. While the Commodore allowed no interference
with what he regarded as his own rights in the case, he was careful to
check any disposition on the part of his officers to defy those of the
islanders. Thus the utmost cordiality was preserved throughout. The
Japanese received the presents from the American government with delight,
and were quite overcome at the sight of the steam-engine and the magnetic
telegraph. A series of agreeable entertainments followed the signing of the
treaty, in which the Japanese showed themselves especially alive to the
civilizing influences of foreign cookery, and appreciation of such
refinements as whiskey and Champagne, to whose beneficent influences they
gave themselves up with ardor. Commodore Perry, on his departure, after
freely visiting various Japanese ports, was intrusted with a number of
presents for the American government, and entreated to bear with him the
assurance of entire confidence and amity.

In August, 1853, subsequently to the arrival of Commodore Perry, a Russian
squadron visited Nagasaki, but, after protracted negotiations, departed
without obtaining a treaty. In September, 1854, Admiral James Stirling, on
behalf of the English government, effected a treaty at Nagasaki, the terms
of which were rather less liberal and advantageous than those granted to
the United States. But the inevitable result of Commodore Perry's success
could not long be delayed. Since the time of his mission, the governments
of France, England, Holland, and Russia have secured treaties guarantying
important privileges. It appears, however, that the superiority of
influence remains with the United States, owing, in a measure, no doubt, to
the excellent abilities of the Consul-General, Mr. Townsend Harris, who has
permitted no opportunity to escape of pressing the claims of his
government. As early as July, 1858, he negotiated a fair commercial
treaty. Mr. Harris is the only foreigner who was ever permitted to enter
the palace of the Tycoon of Japan without the degrading forms of submission
formerly exacted from the Dutch. He was received there with every
testimonial of respect. At a time when Mr. Harris was seriously ill, the
Tycoon despatched his own physician to attend him, while her Majesty
continually sent him the most delicate preparations of food, the work of
her own imperial hands. The ease with which the missions of Lord Elgin and
Baron Gros,[1] in 1858, were accomplished, may fairly be attributed to the
effects already produced by American influences. It was through
Mr. Harris's exertions that the Japanese embassy to this government was
secured. The English government endeavored to obtain first this important
mark of recognition, but, as it appears, unsuccessfully.

[Footnote 1: Mr. Oliphant's account of Lord Elgin's expedition (_Narrative
of the Earl of Elgin's Mission_, etc., by Lawrence Oliphant, Esq.) is one
of the most valuable contributions from Japan. His observations, which at
Yedo were more extended and unimpeded than those of any preceding visitor,
are recorded in the most lively and charming manner. The history of the
embassy of Baron Gros (_Souvenirs d'une Ambassade en Chine et au Japon_,
par le Marquis de Moges) is less complete and entertaining, but by no means
destitute of interest.]

At the present moment, all seems favorable for the development of the long
hidden resources of the Empire. But there are still difficulties in the
way; for a powerful class of nobles, those who trace their descent from the
ancient spiritual dynasty, are strongly opposed to the overthrow of the old
system. It is only by constant struggles that the more progressive class
can make way against them. The arrival of this embassy, and the recent
visit of a Japanese ship to California, are hopeful signs; for these could
have been permitted only on the abrogation of the old law of seclusion,
proclaimed at the time of the Portuguese expulsion; and such are the
peculiar principles of the Japanese government, that, as will hereafter be
shown, an important law like this cannot be revoked without a general
change of its policy. Within the city of Yedo are now the representatives
of three powerful nations, England, France, and the United States; others
are seeking admission; and the period when Japan shall mingle freely with
the world it has so long affected to contemn can hardly be long deferred.

In a future number we shall speak of the present condition of Japan, the
forms of government, so far as known, its social state and prospects, and
the character of the people, as represented in the embassy which is now
receiving the hospitalities of our own government.

* * * * *

THE VINEYARD-SAINT.

She, pacing down the vineyard walks,
Put back the branches, one by one,
Stripped the dry foliage from the stalks,
And gave their bunches to the sun.

On fairer hill-sides, looking south,
The vines were brown with cankerous rust,
The earth was hot with summer drouth,
And all the grapes were dim with dust.

Yet here some blessed influence rained
From kinder skies, the season through;
On every bunch the bloom remained,
And every leaf was washed in dew.

I saw her blue eyes, clear and calm;
I saw the aureole of her hair;
I heard her chant some unknown psalm,
In triumph half, and half in prayer.

"Hail, maiden of the vines!" I cried:
"Hail, Oread of the purple hill!
For vineyard fauns too fair a bride,
For me thy cup of welcome fill!

"Unlatch the wicket; let me in,
And, sharing, make thy toil more dear:
No riper vintage holds the bin
Than that our feet shall trample here.

"Beneath thy beauty's light I glow,
As in the sun those grapes of thine:
Touch thou my heart with love, and lo!
The foaming must is turned to wine!"

She, pausing, stayed her careful task,
And, lifting eyes of steady ray,
Blew, as a wind the mountain's mask
Of mist, my cloudy words away.

No troubled flush o'erran her cheek;
But when her quiet lips did stir,
My heart knelt down to hear her speak,
And mine the blush I sought in her.

"Oh, not for me," she said, "the vow
So lightly breathed, to break erelong;
The vintage-garland on the brow;
The revels of the dancing throng!

"To maiden love I shut my heart,
Yet none the less a stainless bride;
I work alone, I dwell apart,
Because my work is sanctified.

"A virgin hand must tend the vine,
By virgin feet the vat be trod,
Whose consecrated gush of wine
Becomes the blessed blood of God!

"No sinful purple here shall stain,
Nor juice profane these grapes afford;
But reverent lips their sweetness drain
Around the table of the Lord.

"The cup I fill, of chaster gold,
Upon the lighted altar stands;
There, when the gates of heaven unfold,
The priest exalts it in his hands.

"The censer yields adoring breath,
The awful anthem sinks and dies,
While God, who suffered life and death,
Renews His ancient sacrifice.

"O sacred garden of the vine!
And blessed she, ordained to press
God's chosen vintage, for the wine
Of pardon and of holiness!"

* * * * *

THE PROFESSOR'S STORY.

CHAPTER XI.

COUSIN RICHARD'S VISIT.

The Doctor was roused from his reverie by the clatter of approaching
hoofs. He looked forward and saw a young fellow galloping rapidly towards
him.

A common New-England rider with his toes turned out, his elbows jerking and
the daylight showing under him at every step, bestriding a cantering beast
of the plebeian breed, thick at every point where he should be thin, and
thin at every point where he should be thick, is not one of those noble
objects that bewitch the world. The best horsemen outside of the cities are
the unshod country-boys, who ride "bare-backed," with only a halter round
the horse's neck, digging their brown heels into his ribs, and slanting
over backwards, but sticking on like leeches, and taking the hardest trot
as if they loved it. This was a different sight on which the Doctor was
looking. The streaming mane and tail of the unshorn, savage-looking, black
horse, the dashing grace with which the young fellow in the shadowy
_sombrero_, and armed with the huge spurs, sat in his high-peaked saddle,
could belong only to the mustang of the Pampas and his master. This bold
rider was a young man whose sudden apparition in the quiet inland town had
reminded some of the good people of a bright, curly-haired boy they had
known some eight or ten years before as little Dick Venner.

This boy had passed several of his early years at the Dudley mansion, the
playmate of Elsie, being her cousin, two or three years older than herself,
the son of Captain Richard Venner, a South American trader, who, as he
changed his residence often, was glad to leave the boy in his brother's
charge. The Captain's wife, this boy's mother, was a lady of Buenos Ayres,
of Spanish descent, and had died while the child was in his cradle. These
two motherless children were as strange a pair as one roof could well
cover. Both handsome, wild, impetuous, unmanageable, they played and fought
together like two young leopards, beautiful, but dangerous, their lawless
instincts showing through all their graceful movements.

The boy was little else than a young _Gaucho_ when he first came to
Rockland; for he had learned to ride almost as soon as to walk, and could
jump on his pony and trip up a runaway pig with the _bolas_ or noose him
with his miniature _lasso_ at an age when some city-children would hardly
be trusted out of sight of a nursery-maid. It makes men imperious to sit a
horse; no man governs his fellows so well as from this living throne. And
so, from Marcus Aurelius in Roman bronze, down to the "man on horseback" in
General Cushing's prophetic speech, the saddle has always been the true
seat of empire. The absolute tyranny of the human will over a noble and
powerful beast develops the instinct of personal prevalence and dominion;
so that horse-subduer and hero were almost synonymous in simpler times, and
are closely related still. An ancestry of wild riders naturally enough
bequeathes also those other tendencies which we see in the Tartars, the
Cossacks, and our own Indian Centaurs,--and as well, perhaps, in the
old-fashioned fox-hunting squire as in any of these. Sharp alternations of
violent action and self-indulgent repose; a hard run, and a long revel
after it: this is what over-much horse tends to animalize a man into. Such
antecedents may have helped to make little Dick Venner a self-willed,
capricious boy, and a rough playmate for Elsie.

Elsie was the wilder of the two. Old Sophy, who used to watch them with
those quick, animal-looking eyes of hers,--she was said to the the
granddaughter of a cannibal chief, and inherited the keen senses belonging
to all creatures which are hunted as game,--Old Sophy, who watched them in
their play and their quarrels, always seemed to be more afraid for the boy
than the girl. "Massa Dick! Massa Dick! don' you be too rough wi' dat gal!
She scratch you las' week, 'n' some day she bite you; 'n' if she bite you,
Massa Dick!"--Old Sophy nodded her head ominously, as if she could say a
great deal more; while, in grateful acknowledgment of her caution, Master
Dick put his two little fingers in the angles of his mouth, and his
forefingers on his lower eyelids, drawing upon these features until his
expression reminded her of something she vaguely recollected in her
infancy,--the face of a favorite deity executed in wood by an African
artist for her grandfather, brought over by her mother, and burned when she
became a Christian.

These two wild children had much in common. They loved to ramble together,
to build huts, to climb trees for nests, to ride the colts, to dance, to
race, and to play at boys' rude games as if both were boys. But wherever
two natures have a great deal in common, the conditions of a first-rate
quarrel are furnished ready-made. Relations are very apt to hate each other
just because they are too much alike. It is so frightful to be in an
atmosphere of family idiosyncrasies; to see all the hereditary uncomeliness
or infirmity of body, all the defects of speech, all the failings of
temper, intensified by concentration, so that every fault of our own finds
itself multiplied by reflections, like our images in a saloon lined with
mirrors! Nature knows what she is about. The centrifugal principle which
grows out of the antipathy of like to like is only the repetition in
character of the arrangement we see expressed materially in certain
seed-capsules, which burst and throw the seed to all points of the compass.
A house is a large pod with a human germ or two in each of its cells or
chambers; it opens by dehiscence of the frontdoor by-and-by, and projects
one of its germs to Kansas, another to San Francisco, another to Chicago,
and so on; and this that Smith may not be Smithed to death and Brown be
Browned into a mad-house, but mix in with the world again and struggle back
to average humanity.

Elsie's father, whose fault was to indulge her in everything, found that it
would never do to let these children grow up together. They would either
love each other as they got older, and pair like wild creatures, or take
some fierce antipathy, which might end nobody could tell where. It was not
safe to try. The boy must be sent away. A sharper quarrel than common
decided this point. Master Dick forgot Old Sophy's caution, and vexed the
girl into a paroxysm of wrath, in which she sprang at him and bit his
arm. Perhaps they made too much of it; for they sent for the old Doctor,
who came at once when he heard what had happened. He had a good deal to say
about the danger there was from the teeth of animals or human beings when
enraged; and as he emphasized his remarks by the application of a pencil of
lunar caustic to each of the marks left by the sharp white teeth, they were
like to be remembered by at least one of his hearers.

So Master Dick went off on his travels, which led him into strange places
and stranger company. Elsie was half pleased and half sorry to have him go;
the children had a kind of mingled liking and hate for each other, just
such as is very common among relations. Whether the girl had most
satisfaction in the plays they shared, or in teasing him, or taking her
small revenge upon him for teasing her, it would have been hard to say. At
any rate, she was lonely without him. She had more fondness for the old
black woman than anybody; but Sophy could not follow her far beyond her own
old rocking-chair. As for her father, she had made him afraid of her, not
for his sake, but for her own. Sometimes she would seem, to be fond of him,
and the parent's heart would yearn within him as she twined her supple arms
about him; and then some look she gave him, some half-articulated
expression, would turn his cheek pale and almost make him shiver, and he
would say kindly, "Now go, Elsie, dear," and smile upon her as she went,
and close and lock the door softly after her. Then his forehead would knot
and furrow itself, and the drops of anguish stand thick upon it. He would
go to the western window of his study and look at the solitary mound with
the marble slab for its head-stone. After his grief had had its way, he
would kneel down and pray for his child as one who has no hope save in that
special grace which can bring the most rebellious spirit into sweet
subjection. All this might seem like weakness in a parent having the charge
of one sole daughter of his house and heart; but he had tried authority and
tenderness by turns so long without any good effect, that be had become
sore perplexed, and, surrounding her with cautious watchfulness as he best
might, left her in the main to her own guidance and the merciful influences
which Heaven might send down to direct her footsteps.

Meantime the boy grew up to youth and early manhood through a strange
succession of adventures. He had been at school at Buenos Ayres,--had
quarrelled with his mother's relatives,--had run off to the Pampas, and
lived with the _Cauchos_,--had made friends with the Indians, and ridden
with them, it was rumored, in some of their savage forays,--had returned
and made up his quarrel,--had got money by inheritance or otherwise,--had
troubled I he peace of certain magistrates,--had found it convenient to
leave the City of Wholesome Breezes for a time, and had galloped off on a
fast horse of his, (so it was said,) with some officers riding after him,
who took good care (but this was only the popular story) not to catch
him. A few days after this he was taking his ice on the Alameda of Mendoza,
and a week or two later sailed from Valparaiso for New York, carrying with
him the horse with which he had scampered over the Plains, a trunk or two
with his newly purchased outfit of clothing and other conveniences, and a
belt heavy with gold and with a few Brazilian diamonds sewed in it, enough
in value to serve him for a long journey.

Dick Venner had seen life enough to wear out the earlier sensibilities of
adolescence. He was tired of worshipping or tyrannizing over the bistred or
umbered beauties of mingled blood among whom he had been living. Even that
piquant exhibition which the Rio de Mendoza presents to the amateur of
breathing sculpture failed to interest him. He was thinking of a far-off
village on the other side of the equator, and of the wild girl with whom he
used to play and quarrel, a creature of a different race from these
degenerate mongrels.

"A game little devil she was, sure enough!"--and as Dick spoke, he bared
his wrist to look for the marks she had left on it: two small white scars,
where the two small sharp upper teeth had struck when she flashed at him
with her eyes sparkling as bright as those glittering stones sewed up in
the belt he wore.--"That's a filly worth noosing!" said Dick to himself, as
he looked in admiration at the sign of her spirit and passion. "I wonder if
she will bite at eighteen as she did at eight! She shall have a chance to
try, at any rate!"

Such was the self-sacrificing disposition with which Richard Venner, Esq.,
a passenger by the Condor from Valparaiso, set foot upon his native shore,
and turned his face in the direction of Rockland, The Mountain, and the
mansion-house. He had heard something, from time to time, of his
New-England relatives, and knew that they were living together as he left
them. And so he heralded himself to "My dear Uncle" by a letter signed
"Your loving nephew, Richard Venner," in which letter he told a very frank
story of travel and mercantile adventure, expressed much gratitude for the
excellent counsel and example which had helped to form his character and
preserve him in the midst of temptation, inquired affectionately after his
uncle's health, was much interested to know whether his lively cousin who
used to be his playmate had grown up as handsome as she promised to be, and
announced his intention of paying his respects to them both at
Rockland. Not long after this came the trunks marked R.V. which he had sent
before him, forerunners of his advent: he was not going to wait for a reply
or an invitation.

What a sound that is,--the banging down of the preliminary trunk, without
its claimant to give it the life which is borrowed by all personal
appendages, so long as the owner's hand or eye is on them! If it announce
the coming of one loved and longed for, how we delight to look at it, to
sit down on it, to caress it in our fancies, as a lone exile walking out on
a windy pier yearns towards the merchantman lying along-side, with the
colors of his own native land at her peak, and the name of the port he
sailed from long ago upon her stern! But if it tell the near approach of
the undesired, inevitable guest, what sound short of the muffled noises
made by the undertakers as they turn the corners in the dim-lighted house,
with low shuffle of feet and whispered cautions, carries such a sense of
knocking-kneed collapse with it as the thumping down in the front entry of
the heavy portmanteau, rammed with the changes of uncounted coming weeks?

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