Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

It was ten years ago now, but in the autumn of Showa 11 (1936), there was a large-scale military exercise in Hokkaido, and His Majesty the Emperor made an imperial visit to Hokkaido.

During that time, there was a day when His Majesty visited Hokkaido Imperial University. In the low-temperature laboratory, I had the honor of demonstrating the artificial creation of snow crystals for His Majesty’s viewing. That marked the genesis of what would become the titled work *Snow: A Tale of Past and Present*.

Then, ten years later in this year of Showa 21 (1946), I journeyed to Tokyo to deliver an imperial lecture on *Snow* for His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince. Subsequently, I was granted the invaluable opportunity to present the same lecture on *Snow* to Their Majesties the Emperor and Empress, as well as to His Highness Prince Masahito and the Imperial Princesses.

Ten years, in an era of continuity, would be dismissed as merely a decade.
However, this past decade was one comparable to a thousand years.
On the occasion of this imperial lecture, I told a newspaper reporter that there was no steam heating in the imperial palace at all, so I had been wearing my overcoat in the waiting rooms.
The story had appeared in a Hokkaido newspaper, but recently, when I met a stationmaster in a certain city within the prefecture, I was told: "When I read that article, I couldn't help but shed tears."
The stationmaster’s story served as the impetus, and I felt compelled to write this short piece.

II

Ten years ago, when we were honored by His Majesty’s imperial visit to the low-temperature laboratory at minus twenty-five degrees Celsius, His Majesty had appeared youthful and remarkably vigorous.
When I open my diary from that time, I find an entry inserted that reads: "His Majesty’s robust form shone with a radiant complexion—long live His Majesty!"
Speaking of the autumn of Showa 11 (1936), this was four years since the founding of Manchukuo and the autumn of the year that saw the February 26 Incident.
With the outbreak of the Marco Polo Bridge Incident just a year away—a time when militarized Japan was at its zenith—the imperial security details had been no ordinary matter, and everything was enveloped in an intensely solemn atmosphere.

The matter of presenting artificial snow crystals for His Majesty’s viewing in the low-temperature laboratory was finally settled on September 10th.
However, this task was no ordinary matter under the domestic circumstances of the time.

It was an almost impossibly difficult task.
The first successful artificial production of snow crystals had occurred in March of that year—merely a single crystal formed by chance after two years of assorted attempts.
The experiments had been continued ever since; however, due to the phenomena being extremely unstable, conducting them proved exceedingly difficult, and progress stubbornly refused to advance as desired.
While repeatedly conducting experiments would eventually yield crystals of the desired form, being told to produce a crystal of a specified shape without fail in a single attempt during this experiment was an utterly impossible proposition.
Given that barely six months had passed since the first accidental success, it was only natural.

It was during this period that October 8th was set for the imperial visit to Hokkaido Imperial University, with an order issued to prepare crystals precisely by 3:30 PM—the time when His Majesty would enter the low-temperature laboratory for two minutes—so they might be presented for his viewing.
Since we had accepted this task, looking back now, it was quite a bold endeavor.

In this, the atmosphere of the times played a significant role.
It was an era when a police sergeant who had guided [the imperial procession] committed suicide for having taken a different route than planned, and when elementary school principals had to leap into flames if their Imperial Portrait Sanctuaries caught fire.
In the end, even an imperial edict was issued from the Imperial Household Ministry by His Majesty’s gracious will to put a stop to such practices, but foolish public opinion would not permit it.
It was a nightmarish era when so-called loyalty to the sovereign and love of country were coerced even against His Majesty’s will.

III

His Majesty entering a low-temperature laboratory at minus twenty-five degrees Celsius was likely an unprecedented event in history.
If the crystals had not formed at that moment, it would have been disastrous.

Therefore, we had to devise a method to create crystals of a specific form at a predetermined time, absolutely without fail.
Even in perfectly ordinary demonstration experiments, when the crucial moment arrives, unexpected malfunctions can occur, leaving one flustered and struggling before a large audience.
In ordinary times when nothing is amiss, it is precisely during such moments that mistakes tend to occur.
Professor Seiji Nakamura, founder of experimental physics in our country, taught that the secret to absolutely ensuring success in demonstration experiments was to conduct multiple trial runs beforehand exactly as they would be performed on the day itself—down to precisely determining how much water to pour into the beaker—and that one must thoroughly predetermine every detail.
In the case of demonstration experiments, even then, it was still easier on the mind.
Even if there were some failure, identifying its cause on the spot and thoroughly redoing it would instead enhance the educational effect.
However, this time was an entirely different matter—if those two minutes were missed, everything would come to an end.

For this, it required the same level of preparedness as observing a solar eclipse.
In June of that very year, a total solar eclipse occurred in Hokkaido, and observation teams came from countries around the world.
Among them, the most elaborate was the British team.
This was the group led by Dr. Stratton of Cambridge that had filled the newspapers at the time.
I also joined that team and spent about a week sharing living quarters and observation preparations with them.
What I felt at that time was how thoroughly this team had prepared for observation—to the point where they could be confident that, so long as the day remained clear, no matter what happened, they would absolutely not fail.
I had previously written about these details in *Impressions of the British Eclipse Team*, but dispatching a large-scale observation team all the way to a remote corner of the Far East for a mere one minute and fifty seconds of observation required that level of mental preparedness.

The experience from that time proved extremely useful in this instance.
Had I not had this experience, I might never have undertaken such an arduous responsibility.

IV

Since advancing the experiment was paramount, we decided to secure exclusive use of the low-temperature laboratory for one month.

Until that time, within the low-temperature laboratory—an eight-tatami-mat space—projects across physics, medicine, and engineering had been crammed together in about six groups.
We had been conducting artificial snow experiments in one corner of that space, but once we could secure exclusive use, our ambitions grew.
At that time, Mr. Yanagida—then an assistant—became the general supervisor; together with Kaku, the science graduate, and students Toda and Maruyama, they created three types of apparatuses and began experiments to produce six-petaled snow crystals and hexagonal plate snow crystals within these setups.

Our drive differed, and with exclusive use of the low-temperature laboratory secured, we achieved in one month what would normally require six months of progress.
Among these, since Mr. Toda's apparatus yielded the best results, we constructed three units of his design along with one each of two other types.
For the day itself, we settled on a procedure using five apparatuses in total: by slightly staggering their activation times to generate crystals, we would ensure that regardless of mishaps, at least one unit would contain properly formed crystals by the time of His Majesty's entry into the chamber.

Now, a slight problem arose: in my engrossment with these preparations, I had aggravated my hemorrhoids.
The condition gradually worsened until, when October came, the pain grew so severe I couldn't sleep through the night.
While keeping in touch with my assistants from bed, I lay there for about a week.
Professor Yanagi, deeply concerned, came to visit and personally treated me thoroughly; after two or three days of this care, I managed to rise again.

When the day before the imperial visit finally arrived and I, feeling much improved, went to the university, a dreadful order had come down.
It was an order from the university authorities stating that assistants were not to enter the low-temperature laboratory the following day.
"The reasoning went: 'Since all other viewing rooms for imperial inspections had been thoroughly disinfected and made off-limits a full week prior, the Low-Temperature Laboratory too must restrict entry on the day itself to anyone except the official demonstrator.'"
To have a room where one merely showed photographs and specimens treated in the same manner as a challenging experiment like artificial snow made the situation utterly unmanageable.
While such orders from court officials and police-related personnel were fully expected, it came as some surprise that this directive emerged from the university, which prided itself as a temple of science.

V

However, it was now impossible to decline.

Reluctantly, I began by explaining from the fundamental nature of physics experiments, detailing precisely why capturing such unstable phenomena would be impossible without constant supervision.
In the end, we had to await the university president’s decision, and when we did, the response came late that night.
The verdict arrived: “Only one person may enter up to three hours beforehand.”

Yet this “three hours prior” condition proved truly harsh.
This was because His Majesty would grant an audience to all professors at 2:30 PM that day, requiring my attendance at this gathering from 12:30 PM until 2:30 PM.
With His Majesty’s chamber entry scheduled for 3:30 PM—and assistants permitted entry only up to three hours prior—this meant precisely when I had to leave the Low-Temperature Laboratory for the audience formation at 2:30 PM, the assistant too would be compelled to exit. Thus, we faced leaving the experiment unattended during its most critical two-hour period.
For snow crystals to form under such circumstances would border on miraculous.

In my panic, I inquired whether I might be excused from tomorrow’s formal audience formation, but was told this was absolutely impermissible.
The reason was exceedingly clear: my name had already been entered on the roster.
"They said, 'We cannot leave one person missing from the roster—if we were to fill that vacancy, the numbers would not align,' making it utterly impossible to obtain permission."
For the university authorities, permitting such an exception would likely have become a major issue had it resulted in their being held responsible.
So he resigned himself and resolved to conduct the unmanned experiment.

Conducting an unmanned experiment meant he now had to alter the procedure.
However, if I had the three assistants work through the night, we could manage to have everything ready by morning.
To simply state, “On the day itself, we naturally did not permit assistants or others to enter prior to His Majesty’s arrival,” belied the considerable hardship that lay behind those words.
"The dual imperatives of 'No matter what occurs, absolutely prevent any disrespect' and 'No matter what occurs, absolutely prevent experimental failure' found themselves in direct collision."

VI

Now, there is something I must clarify upfront: snow crystals cannot be created in advance, stored in the low-temperature laboratory, and then presented to His Majesty upon his entry.
Due to surface forces acting on the crystals, there exists a troublesome phenomenon where even when placed in air at -20 to -30 degrees with saturated water vapor pressure, their pointed parts undergo sublimation-evaporation.
At subzero temperatures, the crystals naturally do not melt; however, their sharp outlines and delicate internal structures begin deteriorating significantly within just twenty or thirty minutes due to this sublimation-evaporation.

I wanted by all means to present forms of utmost delicate beauty captured mid-growth for His Majesty's inspection.
I also wished to show two varieties: six-petaled snowflakes and hexagonal plates.
However, leaving the most critical two hours of crystal formation unattended meant that even with carefully set conditions, conventional methods offered no more than a fifty or sixty percent chance of success.
Were I to enter the low-temperature laboratory at 2:30 and find either no crystals formed or overgrown masses with misshapen ice accretions, it would already be too late for remedy.
Even in such worst-case scenarios, presenting nothing remained unthinkable.
Though their forms might have deteriorated somewhat, we had no choice but to use crystals prepared earlier as substitutes.
The crucial task became devising a preservation method that minimized sublimation-evaporation as much as possible.

For this purpose, we prepared glass jars whose entire inner walls were densely covered with frost crystals resembling branches of snow crystals.
This frost was of course also artificially created.
When a snow crystal was suspended by a fine hair at the center of a jar prepared in this manner and sealed, sublimation-evaporation became significantly reduced, allowing the crystal to barely retain its original outline for four or five hours.
By completing the crystals just before noon and storing them in these preservation jars, we became prepared for the worst-case scenario.
Naturally, we needed to account for the possibility that the experiment scheduled for completion around noon might fail.
With the technology available at that time, achieving one successful experiment out of two attempts was considered favorable.
Therefore we resolved to create an additional batch beforehand; should the noon experiment fail, we would make do with these older crystals.
To accomplish this, commencing the first experiment at four o'clock in the morning would suffice.
With this decision made, our course of action was finally settled.

Next, there was also an intermediate approach between these preserved crystals and the fully formed crystals in mid-generation.
This method entailed having the crystals nearly completed just before exiting the Low-Temperature Laboratory at 12:30 PM, then drastically reducing the water vapor supply while leaving them in place.
If mishandled, this carried the risk of either the crystals evaporating or undergoing excessive growth, but if they could be skillfully maintained in a semi-stalled state, it would prove the most effective and secure method.
Therefore, we decided to use one of the devices for this approach.

However, these methods were merely stopgap measures in case the real experiment failed; what truly mattered was the real thing itself.
Therefore, it was necessary to finalize preparations for the actual experiment.
After much discussion, they took it upon themselves to decide that entry into the Low-Temperature Laboratory would be permitted until 1:00 PM and finalized the next day's procedures.
That is to say, it was as follows.

Device No.1 A: 10:00 start; 11:00 nucleation occurred; 12:00–1:00 current 0.5A; left unattended; 2:30 inspected crystal state and adjusted current; scheduled completion at 3:30.

Device No.1 B: Preservation crystals created by 12:00; started at 12:00; nuclei appeared at 1:00; left unattended as-is; applied 0.8A current at 2:30; rapidly grew crystals by 3:30.

Device No.1 C: Create preservation crystals by 10:00; start at 10:00; crystals complete by 12:30 PM; cut current at 1:00 PM and leave unattended; inspect at 2:30 PM; if satisfactory, leave in device until 3:30 PM.

Devices No.2 and No.3 were set to conditions for creating hexagonal plates and hexagonal plates with dendritic branches respectively, and made to follow the same procedure as No.1 A.

VII

After completing all these arrangements, as my hemorrhoids were acting up, I returned home and went to bed.
When October 8 arrived, my physical condition had unexpectedly improved, so I energetically made my way to campus.
Because I had changed everything I wore—from my socks to my underwear—into new ones, I felt as if even my spirits had perked up.
And since I had borrowed in advance the silk hat that Dr. Terada had used during his lifetime for this day, I put it on and set out.

When I went to check on the Low-Temperature Laboratory at 9:30, Mr. Toda and his team remained remarkably energetic despite having pulled an all-nighter, with their work progressing exactly as we had decided the day before.
Peering into the microscope revealed two well-formed crystals already developing.
After having everyone reconfirm the arrangements up until 1 PM once more, I retreated to my quarters and spent the hours between 11 AM and noon lying across some chairs I had arranged.
This served as precaution against any unforeseen circumstances.

When I went to check the Low-Temperature Laboratory again at noon, the experiment was proceeding as planned.
Somewhat relieved, I quickly completed the 1:00 PM inspection and hurried over to the Central Auditorium.

On the wide auditorium floor，nearly a hundred standing positions were marked out individually.
He searched for his own spot and stood there waiting.
To his surprise，until two o'clock，absolutely nothing happened；he simply stood there.
Looking at my diary from that time，I found an entry：＂1：00 PM Central Auditorium—stood waiting until 2：20 PM.
This too was an utterly meaningless instance of being made to wait.
Imperial Household Agency officials would come and merely verify names and individuals，which would take about ten minutes.
That one hour was utterly meaningless.
It stated：＂To regard such conduct as loyalist spirit was...＂

The palpable anxiety over how the crystals were faring might now elicit a wry smile when seen beneath these written words—but at that time，it was no laughing matter.
However，immediately following came：'2：25 PM—His Majesty entered；during which I could directly behold His Majesty’s august visage for about one minute—a most grateful opportunity.
His Majesty’s august complexion shone radiantly.
There was a single line：'Long live His Majesty！'
It brings back how my heart raced at that time.'

VIII

The diary continued as follows.

From there I ran back to the Low-Temperature Laboratory and entered to inspect. The ones for No.2 and No.3 were no good. No.1 B and C were good. Hexagonal plates and dendritic branches—two types had formed, splendid indeed. My heart pounded. After fifty minutes of effort, when I finally managed to prepare everything and went outside to check, His Majesty’s car was already waiting in front. In a panic, I hid in the office to remove the cold-weather gear and waited in the laboratory. The full explanation (abridged).

I was awestruck by His Majesty’s fervor. I was astonished that His Majesty examined each photograph with nods and graced every pause with attentive interjections—"Ah" and "Hmm"—at each segment. In an explanation given mere three feet away from His Majesty, I showed each photograph using a pointer. A large number of attendants. Everyone fell completely silent, and my voice somehow seemed to ring out with clarity.

After concluding the explanation, I hurried back to the office, put on the cold-weather gear, entered the Low-Temperature Laboratory first, turned on the lights, completed all preparations, and waited.
His Majesty also wore similar cold-weather gear and a hood, his cheeks a vivid color.
The boots were red leather long boots.
I explained the microscope.
His Majesty showed profound interest.
After finishing, His Majesty even peered into the microscope of the device where no crystals had formed.
This was problematic.
In accordance with His Majesty’s directive to conclude within two minutes, I removed my hat and announced, “I have nothing further to explain,” offering my respects.
Finally, His Majesty took his leave.

Those who entered the room together with His Majesty were Matsudaira, Minister of the Imperial Household; Yuasa, Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal; Suzuki Kantarō, Grand Chamberlain of Military Aides; chamberlains on one side; military aides on the other—five individuals in total.
When Minister Matsudaira asked, “What is the temperature?” I replied, “It is minus twenty-five degrees Celsius,” to which he remarked, “It feels unexpectedly pleasant—not cold at all.”

I hurried outside to see His Majesty off.
His Majesty would now proceed to both the Engineering and Medical Faculties.
While waiting, I showed the snow crystals to Yanagi, Ōga, and Mr. Tashiro.
Everyone was delighted at how beautifully they had formed.
All at once, my shoulders felt lighter—what a relief.

Truly a blessing.

Yanagida, Mr. Toda, and their entire group came; commemorative photos were taken in the Low-Temperature Laboratory and Tenran Room.

For dinner there was celebration; I drank four cups of sake.

IX

Drinking four cups of sake was something I hadn’t done in six months.
Since around April, my physical condition had been poor; I experienced stomach pain after meals and had become severely emaciated.
There had been various diagnoses—stomach ulcer, duodenal ulcer, chronic peritonitis—but I had ultimately resigned myself to the necessity of long-term convalescence.
Having completed my weighty duties on the eighth, I immediately set about preparing to pack up my household and depart for Ito in Izu.
And casting aside everything, I moved to Ito by the end of the month.

The hot springs of Ito and Nankai’s small fish breathed vitality back into me.
For two years of convalescence I occasionally returned to Sapporo, muddling through by giving consolidated lectures.
During that time I witnessed the North China Incident’s outbreak, spending days hearing “cheers” from my rented villa’s window as conscripted youths departed.
Those singing voices reverberated from distant dark roads.
Then in November of Shōwa 12’s following year [1937], our homeland plunged into the Anti-Comintern Pact with Germany and Italy.
Days after this announcement, while bathing in Atami’s mild autumn sunlight amid mandarin groves, I conversed briefly with Home Minister Uehara Etsujirō.
Excluded completely from political currents at that time, he appeared desolate.
During our talk came his words: “We’ve finally reached making enemies of the world entire.”
“His Majesty must be deeply troubled”—this utterance lingered long within my mind.

I witnessed both the lantern processions celebrating the fall of Nanjing and the celebratory uproar over the Battle of Xuzhou in Ito.
The Changkufeng Incident brought me needless anxiety—this too occurred during my convalescence.
However, around that time, in the autumn of Showa 13 (1938), Dr. Takemi’s diagnosis and treatment produced remarkable results, and even my stubborn illness completely vanished.
However, as this was after an illness that had lasted over three years and secluding myself in Ito was preferable for compiling my work up to that point, I decided to continue living half in Sapporo and half in Ito for the time being.
And then I sent the papers I had written one after another to Europe and America.
It was an era when U.S.-Japan amity was vociferously debated in certain quarters, and envoys of flower arrangements and dolls frequently crossed over to America.

X

Around that time, the British journal Nature devoted four pages to introducing my work on snow.
This became the catalyst for the U.S. Science Service to widely introduce "artificial snow" across America.
They even broadcast it on the radio, I heard.
It was around the time from the end of Showa 13 to the beginning of Showa 14.

Speaking of Showa 14 (1939), it was a time when the Second Sino-Japanese War was intensifying—by July of that year, the Japan-U.S. Commercial Treaty had been terminated—and relations between the Japanese and American governments had grown considerably strained.
However, within the interconnectedness of science with science itself, there still remained warmth.
And that autumn, the Second General Assembly of the International Snow Conference was scheduled to be held in Chicago.

From its headquarters at the University of Nevada, they had urged me to attend the general meeting.
I wanted to attend, but being in post-illness recovery, was considering my options when an unexpected offer came.
Toho wished to produce a cultural film titled *Snow Crystals* and requested permission to microfilm the crystal growth process.
The idea that struck me was to create an ambitious academic film with English narration, sending it as my proxy to the conference.
When I consulted Toho, they agreed to produce it free of charge provided the Japanese version would screen domestically.
A single reel with modest embellishments reportedly cost about 20,000 yen.
At that time, 20,000 yen equated to a decade's worth of my university research funds.
Their offer to film gratis being an extraordinary boon, I resolved to commence at once.

For that purpose, I spent February and March in Sapporo.
Mr. Yoshino Keiji, who is now a director at Nichiei, worked diligently as a cameraman.
After two months in the low-temperature laboratory—during which Mr. Yoshino had reportedly lost 1 kan and 500 monme in weight—a single reel was finally completed.
With English narration added, "Snow Crystal" was finished as one reel when summer arrived.

XI

In July of that year, the annual Imperial University Presidents' Conference was held.
During the customary imperial banquet graciously hosted by His Majesty, it was reported that the university president was honored with most gracious words.
At this gathering, it was customary for each university president to present an account of their institution's research progress from that year.
It is said that the president of my university conveyed words to this effect: "The artificial snow from the Low-Temperature Laboratory that Your Majesty graciously entered some years ago has since advanced, and we are currently filming it to send to an academic conference in America."
Then came a gracious inquiry from His Majesty: "I should like to see that film."

The fact that such words came from His Majesty was unprecedented at the time, so the university proceeded with that procedure in fearful reverence.
Toho too was naturally deeply moved, paying special attention to the film development process to create one splendid English version for presentation.
It was during Minister Kawaharada's tenure that we conducted a test screening at the Ministry of Education while explaining it to the minister, then had it delivered to the Imperial Household Agency.

Two or three months later, the film was returned from the Imperial Household Agency.
A letter was attached stating that His Majesty had viewed it and appeared satisfied.
As there had been a gracious directive from His Majesty that this film should be shown widely to the general public, it was returned.
It stated that we should screen it as extensively as possible in accordance with this intention.
This occurred in autumn of Showa 14 (1939), shortly after Britain and Germany went to war.
That such considerate thoughtfulness was extended toward an English-language academic film during this period is something the public should rightfully know.

The Chicago conference was held in September of that year.
Since a declaration of war had already been made between Britain and Germany, scholars from Germany and Poland naturally did not attend.
Yet the conference was conducted with considerable grandeur, and I felt relieved to learn that "Snow Crystal" had been favorably received.
What struck me as somewhat amusing was how they had treated my film as equivalent to my personal attendance at the conference.
The conference report contained my English narration reproduced verbatim.
Moreover, appended to it were even the discussions by American scholars.
From the academic society came a resolution expressing gratitude.

XII

Two years later, our country plunged into the Pacific War.

Our snow research too had to transform to take on a more practical form.
And the issue of aviation meteorology in low temperatures came to be taken up.
The decade-long snow research had of course also been indirectly useful in that field.

Three and a half nightmarish years had passed.
During that period, while occupied with wartime research, Assistant Professor Hanashima completed the most demanding task of establishing the relationship between crystal forms and meteorological conditions.
And now it became possible to create crystals of specific shapes at designated times with almost no margin of error.
Between creating snow crystals artificially and producing desired results in specified experiments lay a span of over five years.
The arduous efforts of that day when we welcomed His Majesty the Emperor into the low-temperature laboratory had now become a tale of bygone days.
It was an auspicious tale.

The story now jumped to last year—that is, the autumn of Showa 21 (1946).
A year after the war’s end—just when it seemed the chaos had finally begun to subside—the railway strike turmoil sent unease surging back.
In early September of that year, when I returned from a somewhat long trip, a letter had arrived from Professor Kotani of Tokyo University.
The Crown Prince's Household wished for me to give an imperial lecture on snow to His Highness and was inquiring about my availability.
They had added that since no specific time was being set, they wanted me to arrange an opportunity whenever I happened to come to Tokyo.
I wrote a reply expressing my profound gratitude and humble acceptance.
Even so, their gracious words—that there was no need to make a special trip and that any time I happened to come to Tokyo would suffice—left a faint shadow in the depths of my mind.
For the image of Japan’s pre-war splendor had suddenly revived in my heart.

When I promptly consulted the university president about the business trip, he said, “This is different from other matters, so you may come to Tokyo at any time without issue. You need not worry about matters such as travel expenses—the headquarters will handle it.”

All arrangements had been finalized for me to pay my visit at the end of October; however, due to unavoidable circumstances, after a delay of about one month, I finally made the trip to Tokyo at the end of November. When I stopped by the Kaributo laboratory on the way, Aunt Yoshimura, who had looked after us since the wartime research days, was overjoyed and cooked red rice for me.

XIII

His Highness the Crown Prince resided within the Crown Prince's Household in Koganei and received the same education as the students of Gakushūin. As a first-year middle school student, he received standard general education, and in addition to lectures from various individuals—beginning with Mrs. Vining’s English instruction—this appeared to impose a considerable burden upon him. Despite this, His Highness appeared to be in excellent health and growing robustly.

In a corner overlooking the vast Musashino Plain, one of the buildings used in the 2,600th Anniversary Ceremony had been relocated, with a portion of it now used for His Highness's education.

The cold, empty expanse of the lecture chamber felt vast and formal. As I waited there, His Highness the Crown Prince entered briskly in his Gakushūin school uniform, footsteps lively with youthful energy. Standing perfectly erect before his chair, he greeted me in a voice both vigorous and endearing: "You've gone to great trouble coming all this way."

To discuss snow crystals, I absolutely needed to present microscope photographs. Therefore, I decided to use a slide projector for the lecture. To provide a thorough explanation in proper sequence—from research on various natural snow crystals in Hokkaido through the process of artificial snow production to comparing completed artificial snow with natural snow—required using approximately seventy slides. That would take at least an hour. If one were to give a lecture in a darkroom for an hour, even university students would grow weary. Therefore, I decided to use a daylight projection screen to present the slides while keeping the room brightly lit.

This daylight projection screen was developed by Dr. Shimizu Takeo of Tokyo University at the Institute of Physical and Chemical Research's laboratory, being the world's first invention of its kind.
It was born entirely from Dr. Shimizu's original ideas, having finally reached completion in recent times after over a decade of painstaking efforts.
This stands as cultural Japan's finest invention—one that should be proudly presented to the world.
Though this projection screen had achieved initial completion four or five years prior, after undergoing repeated minor improvements over time and receiving a major modification recently, it now stood on the verge of being released to the world as a finished product.
That I could present this projection screen to His Highness the Crown Prince for the first time was itself a fortunate turn of events.

XIV

I had given talks on snow countless times by then.
Moreover, as it was a talk centered mainly on the research path itself, this lecture proved conveniently adaptable to a broad audience ranging from elementary school students to university physics department graduates.

I had initially prepared my lecture with His Highness in mind as a first-year middle school student and began speaking accordingly, but within about ten minutes, I realized his academic abilities were far more advanced. His Highness sat properly in formal seiza posture and listened with great enthusiasm; yet I sensed he thoroughly grasped each key technical point and held deep interest in such matters. Thus gradually raising the level, I adjusted my lecture to roughly that suitable for upper middle school students; His Highness appeared to comprehend it well.

When I explained how relatively difficult experiments—such as measuring the weight of individual snow crystals—could succeed through simple innovations, His Highness appeared thoroughly pleased and offered an adorable smile. He then turned that smile toward the attending officials, his expression seeming to seek their agreement as if saying, "How fascinating."

I became so absorbed in lecturing that it stretched to nearly ninety minutes, yet throughout this time His Highness showed no signs of weariness, listening with unwavering attention. Though I had often read about His Highness's endearing intelligence and robust health in newspapers and magazines, witnessing these qualities firsthand left me feeling more reassured and grateful than anticipated. That I could deliver such an imperial lecture at all was entirely owing to snow.

XV

It was on December 4th that I fulfilled this significant duty.
I had been thinking of returning to my post in a few days when an unexpected development arose.

I had informed Mr. Takemi that I had brought slide plates for this imperial lecture along with an English-language film for imperial viewing to Tokyo.
This was conveyed to Prime Minister Yoshida, leading to the suggestion that we take this opportunity to show it to those at MacArthur’s headquarters as well.
As this too was a great honor, I promptly accepted.
And so on the evening of December 9th, we had it shown to everyone at the Foreign Minister’s official residence.

The guests were Major General O’Brien，Dr．Kelly，and four other key members from the Economic Science Bureau （GHQ）．
From the Japanese side，in addition to the Prime Minister，Grand Chamberlain Ōgane，Vice-Minister of Education Yamazaki，Dr．Nishina，science advisory professors from the Economic Stabilization Board，Mr．Takemi，and others were in attendance．
The daylight projection screen was brought into the splendid reception room of the Foreign Minister’s official residence，and “Snow Crystals” was projected under brilliant electric lights．
The American guests also seemed greatly astonished by this projection screen and were remarking that it was an astonishing invention．
After that，photographs of artificial snow were shown via slide projector for about thirty minutes，and then dinner commenced．
At that gathering as well，Dr．Kelly praised Japanese science for having aspects that had progressed beyond expectations．
The Prime Minister also seemed to be in very high spirits．

However, when that gathering concluded and I was about to take my leave, the Grand Chamberlain approached me with a request: Would it be possible to use this projection screen and slides to deliver an Imperial Lecture to Their Majesties the Emperor and Empress on this occasion as well?
As this was an utterly unexpected and gracious request, I humbly decided to accept it.
Ten years had now passed since I last had the honor of showing Their Majesties the snow crystals we had barely managed to create in the low-temperature laboratory.
Over those ten years, the country's appearance had completely changed, and a terrible storm had raged over our heads.
There were many arduous detours along the way, but throughout it all, this snow research continued steadily until today, and considerable progress had been achieved.
Regarding this opportunity I was granted to present the fruits of our research during that period once again to His Majesty, I suddenly recalled the term 'myōga'—divine serendipity.

XVI

I was scheduled to deliver the imperial lecture to Their Majesties on the afternoon of December 11th in the Hall of Audience at the Imperial Palace.
In the morning, I moved the slide projector and projection screen into the Hall of Audience and conducted a test.
Performing work resembling that of an electrician before Their Majesties' chairs struck an odd discord with the surrounding atmosphere.

It was said to be the very first time such apparatus had ever been brought into this room.
Since this concerned the Imperial Household, I had assumed adequate voltage would be maintained, but upon measurement found it had fallen to nearly ninety volts.
Though a small electric stove had been installed in the audience chamber specifically for this occasion, the cold remained severe.
We took lunch in an anteroom where no steam heating circulated whatsoever, leaving every corner bitterly cold.
When a chamberlain advised, "Please keep your coat on without hesitation," I gratefully wrapped myself in scarf and overcoat.
In December's Tokyo chill within an unheated concrete structure, such measures became inevitable.

The lunch we were served was extremely simple.
Every aspect proved exceedingly modest, likely surpassing what ordinary citizens might have imagined.
It was said that the Imperial Household had always maintained such modesty from its very origins.
When I received the Japan Academy Prize in May 1941 for my artificial snow research and attended an imperial banquet in the Chigusa Room, I had already deeply felt this impression.
This occurred half a year before the Pacific War erupted—a time when Japan’s national prestige was considered at its zenith.
Even during that era, the dinner I attended that evening at a certain marquis’s residence surpassed the imperial luncheon banquet by about tenfold in both culinary splendor and furnishings.
Yet even that marquis’s dinner merely equaled an ordinary meal at London’s Savoy Hotel—hardly anything particularly astonishing.

While having tea with the chamberlains, I mentioned that there had been a place along my journey to Tokyo this time where they cooked celebratory red rice for me, and remarked that if I told those people about this, they would surely be astonished.
“In rural areas, do such people still exist, I wonder?” one of them murmured pensively.
In that tone, there was a somber resonance that struck me as unexpectedly profound.

XVII

The imperial lecture commenced at two o'clock in the afternoon.
His Majesty the Emperor wore a brown suit, while Her Majesty the Empress appeared in the traditional attire I had frequently observed in newspaper photographs.
Their Majesties took their seats side by side.
Though it was a clear and sunny day, the daylight projection screen showed remarkably vivid images.
Having used all seventy slides to elaborate on my decade-long research findings, I felt deeply grateful that Their Majesties maintained keen interest throughout until the conclusion.

Following the lecture's conclusion, while partaking of tea and biscuits in that same chamber alongside the Minister of the Imperial Household and Grand Chamberlain, I provided additional explanations.
His Majesty posed numerous questions concerning matters such as the correlation between dendritic crystal growth and supersaturated humidity levels, distinctions between Hokkaido snow and mainland snow formations, and Doi Toshitsura's research methodologies documented in *Illustrated Guide to Snow Crystals*.
Her Majesty inquired about the differences between hail and graupel.

I felt as though I were beholding before my very eyes His Majesty the Emperor as a scientist passionate about biology and Her Majesty the Empress supporting him.
The Grand Chamberlain remarked, “Whether it be this daylight projection screen or artificial snow production, why aren’t they doing such things in America and other countries?”
“Both require manual dexterity, so I believe these are areas of research particularly suited to Japanese people,” I answered, whereupon His Majesty laughed aloud—a rare occurrence.

When I stated that artificial snow had not yet been produced abroad, I had been unaware at the time that the November 25th issue of Newsweek carried an article reporting similar artificial snow had recently been created in America—something I only learned after returning to Sapporo from this Tokyo trip.
As it was a newspaper article, the detailed experimental methods remained unclear, but since it stated they were "using the same method as Japanese scholars," their approach was likely similar.

XVIII

Having safely concluded the imperial lecture, while I was organizing the slides in the waiting room, the Grand Chamberlain appeared and conveyed another unexpectedly gracious message from Their Majesties. It concerned Their Majesties' kind wish that Prince Masahito at Kuretake-ryō and the Princesses might also view these slides. As there were likely arrangements to be made regarding my return to duty, the gracious proposal was to hold this as soon as tomorrow.

On the following day, the 12th, at 3:00 PM—after waiting for everyone to return from Gakushūin—I proceeded to Kuretake-ryō.

A simple single-story wooden building was Kuretake-ryō.
The lecture was scheduled to be delivered in a spacious wooden-floored room—what seemed to be the playroom for Prince Masahito and the Princesses.
It was a simple room, no different from kindergartens in Sapporo and elsewhere, containing only a piano, a small organ, and an electric phonograph—a plain space devoid of any special decorations.
Outside the glass door was a lawn, and warm sunlight streamed in.

After asking them to wait briefly while I prepared the slides, I heard the voices of Their Highnesses playing rock-paper-scissors on the lawn.
The Takeya Chief Lady-in-Waiting appeared and said, “Since this will be Prince Masahito’s first time viewing a slide presentation, he has been asking repeatedly since earlier what exactly a slide projector entails.”
“His Highness has been looking forward to it with great anticipation,” she said.
“As His Highness previously viewed a newsreel once before, I have been explaining that this is akin to a stationary version of that,” the Chief Lady-in-Waiting added with a smile.

XIX

When everything was ready and I was waiting, Their Highnesses entered cheerfully—Prince Masahito leading the way, followed by Princess Takako, Princess Yuriko, and Princess Shigeko—all four in perfect attendance.
I had been informed Prince Masahito was a fifth-grade elementary student, and before taking his seat, he greeted me in an endearing voice, saying, “Thank you for your efforts today.”
Princess Yuriko, a fourth-year junior high student, took out her notebook and prepared to take notes.
Princess Takako, now a first-year high school student, acted precisely as befitting an elder sister princess—adjusting the chair for Princess Shigeko, still a second-year elementary student and much younger—and seated her right beside herself.

While using the slide projector from the beginning, I spoke for about an hour.
The content was sufficiently comprehensible to Princess Takako and Princess Yuriko.
However, I had been worried that Prince Masahito—still in elementary school—and especially the much younger Princess Shigeko might grow bored, but judging by their attentive demeanor as they listened, they seemed deeply interested.
Thus reassured, I proceeded as planned and spoke for over an hour.
I was thoroughly impressed that Princess Shigeko—still only a second-year elementary student—sat properly in her chair and listened with perfect decorum from beginning to end.
Before the lecture, being somewhat concerned about that point, I inquired with an attendant and was told: “Though still young, Princess Shigeko is quite bright and will likely understand”—and indeed that proved true.

After concluding my talk, while partaking of the evening meal in the waiting room, the Chief Lady-in-Waiting appeared and said, “Their Highnesses all appeared most satisfied.” “Prince Masahito said he couldn’t quite follow the newsreel as it moved too quickly, but remarked that the slide projector was truly splendid,” she reported.

I had previously had the honor of showing Princess Teru photographs of snow and explaining them in Sapporo.

During this visit to Tokyo, I came to know that the members of the imperial family—beginning with Their Majesties—all held a deep understanding of and profound interest in science, which filled me with immense gratitude and moved me profoundly.

XX

Japanese scientists have been placed in dire adversity, both in the past and in the present.
They are cold-shouldered while being kept at an appropriate distance by both the government and the public.
Or rather, it might be more accurate to say they are being ignored.
As for someone like me among them—though I count myself exceedingly fortunate, having often received honors and glories beyond my due—upon reflection, I feel these originated from the goodwill of scholars in both America and Britain and the imperial family's patronage.
(Shōwa 22 [January 1947])