quent information throws a curious light on the misleading characteristics of the Gilbert and Sullivan opera, enabling me to acquit the producers of ignorance, but not of mystification. I learn that the Japanese representative accredited to the Court of St. James's very naturally objected to the slight implied in attaching the name of his imperial master to a frivolous and ridiculous extravaganza. One would have thought that the most obvious obligations of courtesy dictated a change of title and of rank in the leading character. Instead, pains were taken to make the action and demeanour of the performers so exaggerated that no Japanese would recognise in them his fellow-countrymen, while the British public, not being in the secret, was encouraged to suppose the local colour as correct as was compatible with the exigencies of such a piece.
Eleven years later came "The Geisha." By this time Mr. Arthur Diósy had founded the Japan Society, and gladly brought special knowledge to the help of the management. The result was a very charming and realistic picture, so far as externals were concerned. The rickshaw-man and dapper policeman, the wistaria and chrysanthemum, the frolicsome teahouse girls, might have been imported from Yokohama. This author, too, had picked up a real native song ("Jon kina, jon kina"), of which the associations were fortunately not explained to the audience. But the plot of "The Geisha" was as farcically untrue to life as that of "The Mikado." And this time some one was found to say so. An indignant Tōkyō journalist, who happened to see the opera, thus commented on its import:
"The idea of Japan prevalent in foreign countries is thus reflected:
