midday
July 10 , 1885 . Three days have passed since my marriage was an accomplished fact . In the lower part of the town , in one of the new cosmopolitan districts , in an ugly , pretentious building , which is a sort of registry office , the deed was signed and countersigned , with marvellous hieroglyphics , in a large book , in the presence of those absurd little creatures , formerly silken-robed Samurai , but now called policemen , dressed up in tight jackets and Russian caps . The ceremony took place in the full heat of midday ; Chrysantheme and her mother arrived together , and I alone . We seemed to have met for the purpose of ratifying some discreditable contract , and the two women trembled in the presence of these ugly little men , who , in their eyes , were the personification of the law . In the middle of their official scrawl , they made me write in French my name , Christian name , and profession . Then they gave me an extraordinary document on a sheet of rice-paper , which set forth the permission granted me by the civilian authorities of the island of Kiu-Siu , to inhabit a house situated in the suburb of Diou-djen-dji , with a person called Chrysantheme , the said permission being under the protection of the police during the whole of my stay in Japan .