Mandarins Read Online Free PDF

progress made over the preceding half century, there had been almost nothing that one could truly call spiritual advancement. Indeed, in some sense there had been degeneration. It was thus, he thought, urgently incumbent upon the nation’s contemporary thinkers to consider a remedy. He had further concluded that such could only lie in traditional bushid ō . This should not, he insisted, be viewed as simply the moral code of a blinkered island people. On the contrary, it contained elements that were consistent with the spirit of Christianity in the nations of the West. If bushid ō could provide a beacon for contemporary Japanese thought, it would not only contribute to Japan’s spiritual culture; it would also facilitate greater understanding between Western peoples and the Japanese and thereby promote the cause of international peace . . . In this respect, he often imagined himself becoming a bridge betweenEast and West. To such a scholar, it was in no way unpleasant to bear in mind that his wife, the lantern, and the Japanese civilization were all quite in harmony with one another.
    As he repeatedly savored his satisfaction, it slowly dawned on Professor Hasegawa that even as he was reading, his attention was indeed straying from Strindberg. Feeling somewhat annoyed at this, he shook his head and again single-mindedly fixed his eyes on the fine print before him. Just where he had left off, he found this passage:
    â€œWhen an actor discovers an appropriate means for conveying a perfectly ordinary emotion, one that gains him success, he comes, gradually and habitually, to resort to it, regardless of its suitability, both because of the facility he enjoys with it and because of that same success. This is what is called a Manier.” 1
    Professor Hasegawa was by nature indifferent to the arts, especially to drama. He had not even been to the Japanese theater more times than he could readily count. A student of his had once written a story in which Baik ō was mentioned. Yet for all the erudition of which the professor boasted, the name was quite unknown to him. When the opportunity arose, he took the student aside and asked him: “Who is this Baik ō ?”
    The young man, dressed in a pleated hakama , replied courteously.
    â€œBaik ō ? Why, he is currently playing the role of Misao in the tenth act of the Taik ō ki at the Marunouchi Imperial Theater.”
    Understandably then, the professor had utterly no opinion concerning the pithy criticisms that Strindberg had contributed to the discussion of dramaturgy. His interest was limited to mental associations with those few theater pieces he had seen while studying abroad. He was, so to speak, hardly different from those secondary-school English teachers who read the scripts of George Bernard Shaw for thesole purpose of finding idiomatic expressions. Yet an interest, however imperfect, is still an interest.
    Readers will readily imagine the length of that early summer afternoon when told that the Gifu lantern suspended from the ceiling on the veranda was still unlit and that Professor Hasegawa Kinz ō was still sitting in his rattan chair, reading Strindberg. This should by no means suggest that he was suffering from boredom. Any reader inclined to think so would be willfully assigning an all too cynical interpretation to the writer’s intentions.
    In any case, the professor was obliged to abandon his reading when the maid interrupted his refined pursuits by announcing a visitor. However long the day, it would seem that a professor’s work is never done.
    Professor Hasegawa laid his book down and glanced at the small calling card the maid had brought. Imprinted on ivory paper was the name Nishiyama Atsuko. She appeared to be no one he had met before, but as he associated with a wide range of people, he took the precaution, as he got up, of searching his mental name register. Even so, he could not picture a face to match a single entry.