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Title: Dragons and Cherry Blossoms

Author: Alice A. Parmelee Morris

Release date: June 11, 2022 [eBook #68287]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Dodd, Mead & company, 1896

Credits: Charlie Howard and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DRAGONS AND CHERRY BLOSSOMS ***





  DRAGONS
  AND
  CHERRY-BLOSSOMS




[Illustration:

  DRAGONS
  AND
  CHERRY
  BLOSSOMS

  By
  Mrs. Robert
  C. Morris

  New York
  Dodd, Mead
  & Company
  1896
]




  _Copyright, 1896_,
  BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY.

  _All rights reserved._


  University Press:
  JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.




  TO
  MY HUSBAND.


[Illustration: Clad in native costume.]




Many have been before me, and the theme of this volume can hardly be
called new, for Japan has been viewed from every side and through all
kinds of eyes. This, however, has not deterred me from jotting down
a few observations and experiences of my own, hoping that in them my
readers may feel some rays of the Orient sunshine and beauty.

I desire to thank Mr. Burton J. Hendrick for the kind and sympathetic
aid given upon the manuscript.




CONTENTS.


                                           PAGE

  Foreign Residents                          15

  Shopping                                   49

  Our Dinner at Kioto                        81

  Miyako Odori                              109

  The Rise and Fall of the Kakemono         141

  A Glimpse of Royalty                      173

  Fin de Siècle Japan                       209

  Cho and Eba                               239




[Illustration]

FOREIGN RESIDENTS.


Your visit to Japan is likely to be a succession of surprises. Our
discovery of the country is so recent that the large amount of
literature on the subject frequently fails to change your childhood
impression of that distant land. European travellers often entertain us
with their ideas of America as an uncultivated waste with an occasional
hastily constructed town, in which the red man is still to be seen;
and my notions of the land of the Mikado were somewhat similar. I could
never think of the Orient without thinking of the mushroom hat; and for
me Japan meant a succession of bamboo huts, almond-eyed men with long
and low-hanging moustaches, an occasional china cup, and now and then a
strangely decorated fan. I was not at all sure that it was a hospitable
shore to visit; I understood that heads were removed there upon the
slightest provocation. My earliest knowledge was gained from the
paper lanterns that were the delight of Fourth-of-July celebrations,
and those remarkably adorned napkins familiar to patrons of church
fairs. I was also frequently called upon to make Sunday-School
contributions for the conversion of these abandoned souls, and have
vivid recollections of listening to many addresses by daring spirits,
who had actually returned from the dangerous soil. After such occasions
as these, I always looked upon the principal occupation of the Japanese
as the stoning of missionaries. As I grew older, I tried to educate
myself into different ideas, but all the books that I read, and even an
occasional Japanese friend that I made, did not succeed in doing away
with my childish fancies.

[Illustration]

And so, when I found myself sailing into the Port of Yokohama one
bright April morning, the ideal Japan of years gone by was what was
uppermost in my mind. At first I thought there must be some mistake,
for there was nothing to be seen in this harbour to correspond with
the strange delights of my dreams. Not a single one-storied, thatched
house, such as used to grace the pages of my geography, was visible
on the shore. Everything, as far as I could see, was the same as the
entrance to an European seaport. The long array of wharves might
perhaps be missing, but there was many a ship built on western lines,
and occasionally a small steam-tug went puffing by, the whistle blowing
as naturally as in any western harbour. And, even as I looked beyond
all this, towards the shore, there was no visible sign that I had
reached Japan. “Those people who make pictures of Japanese life do not
tell the truth,” I thought to myself, completely bewildered. When I
landed, I found large brick houses of a most occidental kind, and shops
fitted out in the regular English style. Not only were the outward
evidences of life most un-Japanese, but few of the people passing up
and down the street had the almond eyes, the short, wiry hair, or the
olive complexion that I had quitted America to see; and young nurse
girls wheeled about little carriages containing the same kind of babies
that I had left three thousand miles away. Children in little trim
English clothes, with their little English bare legs, were walking
about and occasionally disappearing behind English hedges into houses
of a distinctly Queen Anne type.

While I was surveying all this with a startled air, I was delighted and
relieved by the sight of several small Orientals who ran quickly up to
the wharf, dragging behind them peculiar two-wheeled conveyances. Yes,
after all, here was some indication of the thing for which I had been
looking; these were men of Japan, it was true, but hardly the Japanese
of whom I had dreamed. They seemed rather out of place in this
European city, and did not assume an aggressive air at all, as they
politely offered to carry us to the hotel in their strange vehicles.

The explanation of this state of affairs is, however, very
satisfactory. When you reach Yokohama, you land at what is called
the Settlement, which is the portion of the city set aside by the
Government for the foreign residents. Japan itself is situated back
of this, and there, if you jump again into your _jinrikisha_ and take
another ride, you will find that it is Japan indeed.

There is one great hotel at Yokohama,--a genuine European importation,
with large parlours, reading and sitting rooms, electric lights and
bells. Your _jinrikisha_ man immediately takes it for granted that you
wish to stop at the Grand Hotel, and without waiting for instructions,
hurries you off to Ni-jiu-ban, as it is called in the vernacular. You
will probably arrive during the season of travel, and so be enabled
to see the house at its best. If one or two of the foreign ships are
in the harbour, and the officers come ashore, a scene of unusual
attractiveness is sure to follow. A military band plays during dinner,
commonly discoursing the patriotic airs of the different nations,
though a well-known western march is frequently interspersed. The rooms
are trimmed with flowers; there are ladies in bright, pretty gowns,
men in evening dress, and Japanese “boys” in blue tights, white coats,
and stocking feet. The gathering is decidedly cosmopolitan. You can
talk with an American on stocks, an Englishman on golf, a Frenchman on
Panama, or a Russian on the Triple Alliance. If you only step out on
the piazza and take a short stroll, you will have a fine opportunity
to gratify your taste for contrast, for it will be stepping from the
Occident to the Orient. Perhaps the moon is shining--and the moon seems
to shine differently in Japan than at home. There, below you, lies the
land you thought you were being cheated out of; there are the small
one-storied houses, the narrow streets, all bathed in the silence that
so well fits your mood. A few lights are blinking below, but for the
most part you see only what the moonlight cares to reveal. Off in the
harbour are large shadowy forms which you know are western vessels, and
your spirit feels a touch of old-fashioned patriotism at the thought
that one of them is flying the American flag. The sound of the music
comes from the distance, and you know that the dancing has begun; but
you care little at the present time for such occidental diversions.

[Illustration]

In the morning the sun will probably be shining in a truly oriental
way, and you think it might be well to take a drive. Probably the
first thing you will see, will be a large number of young Japanese
girls, apparently out for a walk. Though they are clad in their
own native costumes and have a general appearance that is decidedly
Japanese, there is yet an air about them suggestive of the West. You
puzzle over the matter for some time, and at last, with a sudden
burst of intelligence, exclaim: “A boarding-school.” And you are
right; these young girls are being trained in the usages of the best
English society, and have begun to dabble in French and algebra in a
true boarding-school style. As they pass you by and you go on, you
will see many small children attended by Japanese _amahs_, and baby
carriages meet you everywhere. There are also a few shops scattered
around, and looking to the left you will see the British flag waving
above the marine hospital. A little further on, your heart gives a
bound, for you see the stars and stripes waving in the breeze, and
you think that being an American is not so bad after all, whatever
the foreigner may say of our confusion of “baggage” and “luggage” and
our use of ice-water at dinner. It is the American hospital, a large,
old-fashioned building, comfortable and home-like, with a garden
filled with flowers and tropical plants. You can look from here into
the bay, and the ship so dimly perceived the night before, you see is
the “Baltimore.” You keep in the road, pass more Queen Anne houses and
pretty green hedges, and an occasional bungalow; and further on you
meet a park that has been laid out by the foreigners. Here are more
baby carriages and bare legged children, and several prettily arranged
tennis courts in which the players are enjoying themselves in a genuine
English way.

It is probably a holiday, and the people will soon turn out for a
celebration. It is hard to find a day in Japan that is not a holiday.
It is well to know this before you visit the country, or you will be
very much inconvenienced. You will be likely to visit the bank, and be
much surprised to find it closed. “Why?” you will ask a friend, and
he will answer: “It is a holiday.” And what is the day celebrated?
Perhaps the fall of the Bastile; perhaps the discovery of the Gunpowder
Plot; perhaps Washington’s birthday, the Fourth of July, or one of the
innumerable sacred days of the Japanese. The trouble is that there
are so many different nationalities in Japan, each demanding that
certain events be respectfully observed, that only on about one-third
of the calendar days can business be transacted. It is a country of
a perennial holiday. There are a great many ways in which properly
to observe these occasions, and a large number of entertainments
are arranged. If you wish, you can attend the theatre,--not the
anciently-established institution of the country, but a genuine play,
such as you sometimes see in the Occident. I qualify the statement
because I think it seldom that you will permit yourself to attend such
execrable performances at home as draw crowded houses of intelligent
people at Yokohama. They are given by strolling players on their way
around the world, who stop at the principal Japanese cities and foist
their wares upon a diversion-craving public. They entertain you with
the misfortune of the “Forsaken Leah,” the mistakes and unavailing
repentance of “Bob Briley,” the “Ticket-of-leave-man,” or you may have
the opportunity of weeping through five acts of “East Lynne,” or “The
Elopement.” A minstrel show has been known to come ashore, and an
exhibition of French marionettes is no uncommon sight.

Perhaps your nature requires a different kind of excitement; if so,
you may attend the races. These are carried on in the true English
style, and are very generously patronised. The occasions are holidays
in themselves, and offer a sufficient excuse for the closing of the
banks and stores. A race track has been laid out back of the residence
portion of the city, and has an additional attractiveness in the fact
that it commands an excellent view of the elusive Fuji. Foreigners
turn out in full force, many coming down from Tokio. Often the Mikado
honours the affair with his presence; he is always an interesting
addition to any event, but he is an inconvenient person to have
around, owing to a peculiar phase of Japanese veneration. No one may
hold his head higher than the Mikado, else his sacredness would be
outraged; and the many attempts to make him tower above the rest of the
populace frequently produce amusing complications. Such a predicament
happened a short time ago, when the Mikado was on his way to the races.
An American with more curiosity than knowledge of Japanese religious
rites, thought it a fine opportunity to catch a glimpse of the royal
person, and so elevated himself upon a box near by and awaited the
procession. He had stood there some time, flattering himself upon the
difference between American and Oriental intelligence, when his peace
of mind was suddenly disturbed by a series of shouts, which, he divined
from the gesticulations, were directed towards himself. The constant
motions to descend he regarded with a true Yankee stoicism, and it
was not until the box was pulled from beneath his feet, that he was
induced to pay the proper respect to the Majesty of Japan. The races
themselves, with the little shaggy horses, have proved to be a very
fertile means of entertainment. The riding is done to a considerable
extent by the little Japs, who take to it quite readily, and make very
acceptable jockeys.

[Illustration: “The dainty _kimono_-clad forms.”]

One of the most delightful events in the social life of the foreign
residents of Yokohama is Regatta Day. All their pent-up enthusiasm
seems to let itself out, and the numerous visiting vessels contribute
to a most entertaining scene. The contests take place in the spring,
and preparations are made many days in advance. The vessels in the
harbour are gayly decorated with flags and streamers; the wealthier
classes turn out in their carriages, and the Bund is one mass of ladies
and children in white dresses, intermingled by the dainty _kimono_-clad
form of the Japanese. The hotel is impartially adorned with the colours
of every nation, and the piazza is a varied scene of moving gayety.
Every one does not attend the races behind the bluff, but Regatta
Day is the one event of the season, and furnishes an excuse for
considerably more than the nautical contests. The races themselves are
perhaps not of sufficient importance to justify all this excitement,
but Yokohama is very different from New York harbour. The day is bound
to be clear, the sky is always of Italian deepness, and the sun never
fails to shine down on the lively scene with a refreshing glow.

Domestic life in Japan has its inconveniences; but it has also its
more advantageous side. Do you wish to live in splendid style on a
small income? You should dwell in the land where servants cost only
four dollars a month. The life of the foreign residents in Japan is
somewhat mysterious; the position of the mistress of the household
eluded my investigations for a long time. “What do you do?” was a
question I asked many of the ladies, but never received a satisfactory
reply. After much thought I have come to the conclusion that the only
thing your position requires of you is to sit in your parlour and amuse
yourself as best you may; and when you wish anything done, simply clap
your hands and cry “Boy.”

This last word is the keynote to the situation. As soon as you
have learned the word “Boy,” you have solved the whole problem of
the European household in Japan. Everything centres around this
important dignitary, whom even foreign innovation has not succeeded
in abolishing. The “Boy” has edged his way into every foreign home
in Japan, and his position is as firmly established as the homes
themselves. He is one of the most indispensable domestic functionaries
that have figured in history. But, in the first place, an excusable
mistake must be corrected. The “Boy” is not a boy at all, but is
simply called so in deference to custom. Most of the “Boys” have
large families of their own, and I have seen many with white hair and
wrinkled faces. He never seems to resent this youthful title, and
would feel very much bewildered should you suddenly begin to call him
“Man.” He appreciates his important position very keenly; he is no
ordinary servant, but a man with thoughts of his own and the dignity of
a household resting upon his shoulders.

The whole thing is managed somewhat after this style: You receive an
intimation that a few friends will dine with you, and this intimation
is all about which you need trouble yourself. You never begin to think
what you have to offer your guests, for you are not supposed to know
anything about such things. You simply sit down, clap your hands and
shout “Boy!” In a few moments the door will open and the person who
bears this title presents himself. He approaches, bows lowly, and makes
a single ejaculation,--

“Heh!”

This simply means that he is all attention. If you are inexperienced,
you will get the idea that this word means “yes.” But you will have
many opportunities later to correct your mistake. The Japanese says
“Heh!” to signify that he is listening, and there his responsibility
ends. He never commits himself.

“I am going to have two friends to dinner,” you reply, and you give
their names.

“Heh!”

He bows again, turns around, and leaves the room. That is all you have
to do until the dinner hour arrives. Never make any suggestions; the
“Boy” would be completely mystified by such a proceeding. The way he
goes about everything is very picturesque. You understand that the man
who has just made his exit is the head “Boy” or No. 1 “Boy.” He goes
downstairs and begins to examine the possibilities for the dinner.
Very likely he finds something lacking. If so, he immediately makes
a call on No. 1 “Boy” next door, and returns with the supplementary
dish needed to make the dinner a success. There exists a kind of
free-masonry among the “Boys,” and what one cannot find in his own
domain he feels no hesitation in borrowing from a friend near by.
Your “Boy” then visits the “Boys” of the friends who are to dine
with you and makes many interesting inquiries. He asks what their
favourite wines are, and never hesitates to request a loan of their
plate and linen. He usually also demands the cooks of your friends,
and leads them off to your house in order that the dinner may be more
satisfactorily prepared. Thus it happens that when your friends arrive
they are very likely to eat your dinner cooked by their own servants
and to see their own china and linen gracing your table. More than
this, the “Boys” of your friends are usually present and attend to
their wants. The order of things will be reversed when you dine out.

You see this “Boy” is a very convenient and important person, and
as he is usually an intelligent man, everything goes smoothly on.
Occasionally a difficulty arises owing to the fact that he has not a
sufficient regard for the mistress of the house, and indeed it is a
question whether he ever looks upon her as such. Japan has not yet
learned to rate women at their true worth, and it is this sentiment
that is at the bottom of the “Boy’s” reluctance to take orders from
anyone but a man. Most of them are gradually coming around and will
obey you, but a few conservative souls still remain. I had a friend
who possessed a very worthy “Boy,” whose character was blemished
by this one defect. She told him one day to remove a plant into an
adjoining room. He bowed, said “Heh!” and departed. Some hours passed,
and the plant was still unmoved. He was called in again, again he
bowed, ejaculated the usual “Heh!” and left the room. My friend tried
this several times, and succeeded in getting more bows and more “Hehs!”
but the plant remained where it had been. She spoke to her husband
about the matter, who called in the “Boy” and told him to remove the
object of the dispute. The “Boy” bowed, said “Heh!” took the plant and
carried it into an adjoining room. When asked to explain his previous
disobedience, he said: “I will do it if master wishes it, heh!” and
with a profound obeisance he retired.

Another great enemy to domestic life is what is known as the “Squeeze.”
This is not peculiar to the household, but is found in every part of
the Japanese social system. The whole business of the country is run
on a commission. Every time you buy anything, you have to pay several
“squeezes,” or commissions, to the various people concerned in the
transaction. No “Boy” will run an errand without his “squeeze,” and
he uses a great deal of liberty in your domestic accounts. Should you
send him out to buy a bouquet of flowers, he would always charge you as
well as the florist a “squeeze” in the reckoning. The butcher who deals
with you has to pay him a certain amount, and of course you are the one
who suffers in the end. This is altogether independent of the profit
of the goods, and often is little more than a personal consideration.
Foreigners have made war many times against the “squeeze,” but their
efforts have been unsuccessful. It seems to be a second nature with
the Japanese; it is one of those good old customs that they will not
let die. I had an iconoclastic friend who resolved that there should
be no “squeezes” to impede her domestic calculations, and who decided
upon a reform. She thought that she would begin modestly at first, and
hit upon the lamps to experiment on. There is a very humble person
whose occupation it is to go from door to door and fill all the lamps
of his customers, but his pay is not too small to necessitate a little
“squeeze” to the head “Boy” for the privilege. The lady in question
decided to hire this boy directly, and for a time she thought the plan
was succeeding remarkably well. One day, however, she found that her
head “Boy” had a pleasing custom of making a round of the lamps every
morning and removing a certain quantity of the oil. By selling what
he procured this way, he recovered the “squeeze” of which he had been
defrauded.

The specialising tendency of the people is another thing
particularly irritating to those who live in Japan. Such a thing as
a man-of-all-work who goes around picking up odd jobs is an unknown
phenomenon. You must have a large number of servants or you will get
nothing done. A certain “Boy” puts the coal in the stove and another
cooks the dinner. But the “Boy” who does the cooking would never touch
the coal, if you had a dozen guests waiting upstairs. It is a matter
of caste, and one occupation is immeasurably superior to another; at
least, in the opinion of him who practises it. You have a “Boy” who
takes care of the horses, but he would not understand you at all should
you ask him to drive them. If a light needs turning up, and you request
your head “Boy” to do it, he would never think of obeying. He would
rather run two blocks to fetch the menial whose duties are along that
line. I was told a story of a lady on shipboard, who requested her
attending “Boy” to close an open port-hole. He answered “Heh!” and went
out to search for the servant who attended to such matters. It took him
fifteen minutes to find him, but he finally led him triumphantly in,
and the port-hole was closed. It had never occurred to the former that
he ought to do it himself; he had not been educated to that position
in society, and it would have grated harshly against his sense of
the fitness of things to suggest that he was fully qualified to close
port-holes. Every Japanese has a great pride in his task, knows his own
place, and thinks that the greatest requirement of a virtuous life is
that he does not interfere with the duties of others.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

SHOPPING.


You will have many friends who will give you a great deal of kindly
advice before you leave for Japan. On no point will their suggestions
be as plentiful as on the mooted question of shopping. With a knowledge
born of experience, they will inform you that these almond-eyed
Orientals are not the guileless souls that they may seem, and that
beneath all their gentleness of manners there lies a keen wit which
will tax your American sharpness to the utmost. They may perhaps go
further and descend to particulars, and you will have the opportunity
of learning the number of tricks you will be subjected to and the
large amount of wares that are being reserved until you land. All
this advice you will carefully note, and think that when you start
down the streets of Tokio or Yokohama you have an advantage over your
compatriots, and that you are secure from the dangers of early shopping
in a new country. You have all the words of your friend in mind, and
decide to wait several days before you make a single purchase. At
about this point of your self-congratulations you will catch sight
of a small two-story building, and for some inconceivable reason be
attracted within. Perhaps it is the dainty sign over the door; perhaps
the smiling face of the host, who looks upon you with so inviting
an air; perhaps the ever-attendant evil spirit of shopping that has
begun to work his baneful spell. At any rate, in a short time you find
yourself in a small room surrounded by a delightful collection of
bric-à-brac, with a cup of tea in your hand and the happy face of the
proprietor beaming down upon you. An hour or two slips by, and when you
leave you will suddenly discover that you have ordered a large part of
the merchant’s wares, and that you have a neat little bill smilingly
presented to you. It is not until you are in the street again, or
perhaps easefully reposing in your room at the hotel, that the whole
terrible truth flashes upon you. You have done just what you were told
not to do, and just what you had considered yourself firmly guarded
against. A horrible suspicion crosses your mind. What if all those
charming things you bought belonged to the worthless class your friend
had so conscientiously warned you of; and what if the genial smile of
the merchant were but the mask of a deceiving heart? In a day or two
your suspicion will have been confirmed. The goods that you so rashly
purchased will be given as a present to your attending “Boy,” and your
shopping henceforth will become rather a scientific than an emotional
affair.

[Illustration]

The Japanese are rapidly learning the proper use to be made of
tourists, and are always ready to receive them. You will not have been
long in your room when a gentle knock will be heard at the door, and a
most obsequious Oriental will make his entrance. He will bow with the
utmost profoundness, and present you with a card which contains his
name and crest,--usually in the form of a teacup or fan. You return his
gaze as kindly as possible. He says: “Please you come see my shop,”
makes another bow, and retires. The whole scene is not unpleasing to
you, and you are thinking it over as an interesting experience when
another knock is heard. Another Jap of the same appearance as your
former visitor now enters, makes a similar bow, gives you his card,
says: “Please you come see my shop,” and as gracefully takes his leave.
If you are wise you will now determine to receive no more callers,
for this sort of thing will be kept up all day, and you will have a
varied assortment of cards before the evening comes. Your new friends
are most scrupulously polite and have no air of bluster or eagerness;
but they are quietly persistent, and would not think of passing you by
without giving you a chance to learn of the advantages of their house.
They keep a careful watch for the arrival of every new steamer, and
trace all the passengers to the different hotels. The reputation of the
American as the generous spender of millions is as firmly fixed in the
minds of the Japanese as in those of less distant lands, and to them
they give a large amount of attention.

Indeed, it is generally assumed by everyone you meet that you have come
to Japan to shop, and the kindest favour he can do you is to show you
how and where you can do so with the best results. Even the humble
coolie, who carries you around in your _jinrikisha_, firmly believes
this, and thinks that if he is in a small measure the means of your
making a happy purchase, his way into your affections is won. If you
tell him in the morning that you wish to take a ride, he will tuck you
comfortably in and start at a rapid pace towards the main thoroughfare
of the city. You will be quietly enjoying everything you see, and will,
perhaps, be somewhat surprised when the coolie suddenly stops before
one of those two-story buildings with which you are now so familiar,
and glances up into your face with the most self-congratulating
expression. If you do not immediately descend and enter the shop, he
will suddenly become crestfallen, and wear a look that means that
you are quite unable to appreciate a favour, and do not know a good
thing when you see it. The chances are, however, that you will feel an
invisible force attracting you within the little shop, and so leave
your coolie without, a happy man.

If you are in Japan during a period of silver depression, you are a
very unfortunate person indeed. You have perhaps visited the bank
the day before and changed a thousand dollars of your gold into two
thousand dollars of silver, and this unexpected increase in your
worldly possessions is the very worst thing that could have happened to
you. For you are likely to get the idea that you can now afford to be a
little extravagant; that you have just twice as much money as you had
before, and that you would be a very stingy person, did you not scatter
a little of it about. You have probably, however, one advantage in the
fact that you have shopped before, and do not think that there is much
danger that the experience of a few days ago will be repeated. By this
time your respect for your anxious friend, who so vainly gave you his
advice, has greatly increased; and you decide that when you return you
will make a point of breathing the same gentle counsel in the ears of
all you meet who are on their way to the land of the cherry-blossom and
the almond-eyed sharper.

The street in which most of the shops are found has the delicious
local flavour that seldom fails to entice the unwary purchaser. The
thoroughfare is very narrow, and is lined by two rows of shed-like
buildings adorned in front by hanging cloth signs. Many of these signs
are inscribed with the name of the keeper, who does not confine
himself to the Japanese characters, but frequently spells himself
out in English,--a thing that you are likely to take as a personal
compliment to yourself. The cloths are also sometimes covered with
emblematic figures representative of the goods sold within. There are
grotesque and unheard of birds; armour, and paintings representing
the god of money and good luck. The lower story of the house is
probably open to the street, but it is sometimes hidden by a curtain
of blue and white, which an attendant lifts to allow you to enter.
Really, there is nothing in all this that tells you of the treasures
that lie beyond, but you have a sensation which for the time being
seems uncontrollable. Sometimes, on a holiday, the whole scene may
be changed, and by the addition of a large number of paper lanterns
and clusters of wistaria and cherry-blossoms an element of festivity
is introduced. But the grotesque methods of advertising that you are
familiar with as an American, are unknown to the Japanese, and utterly
distasteful to their sense of propriety. Even in the marking of prices
they exercise the greatest taste, using little thin strips of cloth
with the cost of the article painted in blue. This, however, you do not
see until you enter the shop. The proprietor will receive you with the
utmost politeness, but there is no sign of unpleasant aggressiveness
in his behaviour. He views your visit both from a social and business
point of view, and esteems your notice of him as a personal favour.
Even though you do not buy, he always takes pleasure in showing what
he has to sell. He likes to have you show some appreciation of his
goods; and if you have done this, you can leave without buying a
thing and be sure of as warm a welcome when you return. One demand he
will make of you, and that is, that you take plenty of time. He likes
to talk and discuss, and seems dissatisfied unless you consider the
transaction as one of great importance and worthy of much meditation.
The hurried visits that he sometimes receives from Americans, who rush
in and wish to do everything in a few moments, utterly bewilder him.
He is willing to spend a whole day with a single customer, and never
shows any impatience except when you are in a hurry. He greets you
with a profound bow, and smilingly places his shop at your disposal.
He usually has one or two assistants who keep at a respectful distance
until their services are required. The host is very quiet, and
does not begin to praise everything in the room, but calmly calls
your attention to each article, and relies upon your own good taste
to see its virtues. His first floor is usually given up to a large
display of ancient armour and swords, each piece with a history of
its own, and speaking terrible tales of the good old fighting days
of the Shoguns. There are grotesque and grinning masks that the most
stoical temperament cannot gaze at without shuddering, and frequent
representations of the Japanese conception of the Devil that make you
suddenly turn your back and become interested in something of a less
religious aspect. The weapons are what delight many a warlike spirit;
Japan has always been famous for its steel, and many of these swords
might make one think that the days of the famous blades of old had
returned. All these are now, of course, as antique to the Japanese as
to ourselves, for their usefulness, except as interesting curios, has
been replaced by the more prosaic implements of modern warfare.

[Illustration]

If you are a woman you will not be likely to buy any of these articles
of war, and you will find it a relief to escape the fiery eyes and
low-hanging tongue of that mask in the corner. The proprietor calls
your attention to a rickety staircase, and invites you to ascend
into the second story. By so doing, you will soon find yourself in
a little room which reveals altogether a different sight to the
one below. You have left the domain of war and blood, and are now
surrounded by suggestions of religion and art. There are Buddhas
of every kind,--wooden, bronze, and gold; there are dainty little
tea-pots, porcelains, candlesticks, and altar-pieces, to satisfy the
most exacting taste; there are highly-polished mirrors gracing the
walls, and another collection of swords, of a perhaps less warlike
appearance than those below. The scene has graceful touches, for the
small children of the family are huddled together on the floor, amusing
themselves with such Japanese playthings as grasshoppers and crickets.
These are their dolls, and they would never lay them aside for the
less animated toys of the Western world. The wife of the proprietor is
always at hand, who supplements the bows of her husband with dimpled
smiles of her own, and who treats you with a respect that is not too
distant to be friendly. She is sitting on the floor in front of a small
_hibachi_. You have not been in the room long before you hear that
little quiet steaming that you now know so well, and soon the little
woman rises and, with a smile and bow, leaves the room.

[Illustration: “The wife of the Proprietor.”]

All this is very delightful, and it requires all your presence of
mind and the recollections of a previous day’s experience to keep
you from falling into a snare. You know very well that all these
dazzling things about you have more glitter than gold, and that they
are manufactured expressly for unknowing foreigners, such as you are
assumed to be. You may be sure, that there are finer goods than these,
kept carefully out of sight. The merchants never display their choicest
wares on the shelves, but have them neatly tied up in boxes in an
adjoining room. In some way you hint to your suave friend that you have
shopped before, and are perfectly familiar with the peculiar tricks of
the trade. All this he receives with an intelligent smile, and asks
you to seat yourself. If you look around for a chair you will betray
yourself as less experienced than you claim, so you had better drop at
once on your heels; for by doing so, you will immediately gain a point
in the good graces of your host.

And now a delicate patter is heard on the stairs, and the little woman
who left a few moments ago returns. She has a small tray full of cups
and sweetmeats, which she deposits on the floor as she sits down in
front of you. The proprietor joins the group, and occasionally one or
two of the children forego their grasshoppers and crickets, and supply
the sole element lacking to a very pretty domestic picture. The tea
is now poured out; you are expected to drink several cups, else the
shopping that is to follow would not be a success. The host says many
pretty things, rejoices at the fact that you are an American, and
thinks your country the crowning triumph of modern civilization. He
trusts that your health is as good as your rosy cheeks and sparkling
eyes would lead one to believe, and that nothing will happen to make
your journey in Japan anything but one of the delightful memories of
your after-life. Meanwhile you sip the pale drink, nibble at the cakes
and candies, think your charming new friend not the crafty schemer you
know him to be, and are almost led to believe that you have come not so
much on business as for the sake of making a morning call.

But now the host claps his hands, and an attendant appears from a
rear room, bearing several neat-appearing boxes in his arms. The
goods that you have come to buy are in these little square affairs,
but you are almost as much interested in the boxes themselves as in
what they contain. They are daintily made of light wood, and are not
disfigured by the clumsy nails or cracks that do not annoy our less
æsthetic merchant of the West. When the attendant begins to remove
the wares your appreciation of the artistic shopkeeper increases,
for everything is daintily wrapped up in cloth of alternate red and
yellow sides. Japanese paper is of a much choicer kind than ours, but
no self-respecting merchant would ever think of using it to cover his
wares. You become very familiar with this yellow cloth before you
leave the country, for it is as generally used as our less artistic
substitute at home.

Perhaps you know what you want and perhaps you don’t, but it will make
no difference to the proprietor, who prefers that you take plenty of
time. He says very little in praise of what he puts before you, though
occasionally he will unaggressively remark on the particular qualities
of an unusually charming article of bric-à-brac or roll of silk, or
drop a word on the depth of colour and finish of a piece of gold
lacquer; nor is he willing to let an occasional piece of Satsuma pass
by without calling your attention to its delicate shade and crackle.

This goes on for some time, until your eye alights on something that
you must have, and then the most interesting feature of the performance
begins; for a Japanese merchant is entirely out of harmony with the
one-price system of the West, and would never think of asking the
actual amount for which he will really sell his wares. He has his
price, it is true, but this is only for those of small experience, and
from others he seldom hopes to get more than one-third to one-half of
what he asks. Never think, however, that you get the best of him, for
there is always a limit below which he will never go. Friends of mine
have reached this limit, and their most persistent efforts have never
succeeded in making the shopkeeper less firm. They would drop into the
shop morning after morning and renew their offer; the merchant would
smile, but remain unshaken. If you stay very long in Japan you will
become so accustomed to this haggling practice, that you will acquire a
habit you will have difficulty in shaking off. When, after I returned
home, a dry-goods-store clerk told me that the price of a certain
article was fifteen dollars, I could hardly keep from replying, “I’ll
give you ten.”

“How much will you sell me this for?” you inquire at last, perhaps
picking up a piece of delicate bric-à-brac, which in your fond
imagination you already see gracefully reposing on your library table
at home.

The shopkeeper looks at it sharply with his little eyes for some time,
then answers with a smile,--

“Sixty _yen_.”

Your hands go up in horror. “What?” you frantically exclaim; but the
merchant answers you with another smile. Your emotion, however, is as
feigned as the shopkeeper’s apparent firmness, for you know that it
will be an easy matter to make him reduce the price,--the main question
being whether your limit will be the same as his. The chances are that
he will take just about one-third what he asks, and make a handsome
profit then. So, you with the proper spirit decide to take him at an
even lower figure and reply,--

“I will give you fifteen.”

The dejected air that suddenly spreads over his face is the kind of
which a Japanese merchant is alone capable. He gives a great sigh and
gazes at you with a look that seems to ask if you were born without
a heart. His emotion is so great that he may even rise, walk around
the shop, and examine several of his dearly beloved curios that have
not been subjected to such outrageous treatment. He will soon return,
however, and, with the humblest voice in the world and a sadly withered
smile, announce his ultimatum,--

“Will give for thirty _yen_.”

You shake your head, push the rare object aside, and rise. You do not
intend to go, but you begin to look at a different line of goods. The
shopkeeper has not lost his politeness, and he takes the utmost pains
in showing a large number of things that he knows you never intend to
buy. During all this you and he occasionally cast furtive glances at
the object of your disagreement, but neither one for a long time makes
any allusion to it. Finally, the moment comes for you to go, but you
decide to make one more attempt, which you know will be effectual.
Picking up the dainty bronze, you say in an off-hand manner that you
will give him twenty _yen_.

He looks at you sadly, and then again at the object in your hands.
He casts his eyes at the ceiling, bestows a glance upon his innocent
children playing with grasshoppers and crickets, all unaware that they
are being defrauded of an inheritance, makes the bow of humiliation,
and says with a short gasp,--

“I am resigned.”

After he has expressed his emotions in this unvarying phrase, his
spirits seem once more to return. He smiles again in his old way, and
his bows have the old obsequiousness. He even gives you another cup of
tea, and in other ways betrays the secret satisfaction that he feels
on having made a very good bargain. He follows you down the stairs to
the awaiting _jinrikisha_ and bids you farewell with the most touching
“_Sayonara_” that you have yet heard. As you slowly ride away, the last
thing you see is his bowing form in the door, and you give a sigh at
the thought that all this display of friendship is but owing to the
fact that you have probably paid twice what you should for the dainty
bronze statue that is to adorn your library at home.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

OUR DINNER AT KIOTO.


Of course, it could hardly be expected that our dinner would be
Japanese in all its features, but it was not only our embarrassment at
our surroundings that prevented it from being so. The appearance of
our host himself in side-whiskers was enough to give an un-oriental
air to the ceremony, and clearly indicated the peculiar mixture of the
East and West of which his character presents a striking example. For
he had visited extensively in America, where he had performed high
diplomatic functions and carried back many of our traits, not the least
evident of which were the whiskers above referred to. It was also
unnecessary to use an interpreter when talking with him, as he spoke
our language easily and well. As far as politeness went, however, he
was entirely Japanese. I have an indefinite recollection of him as an
embodiment of smiles and bows; his manners were perfect, his voice was
of unusual sweetness. He had a keen mind and kept a watchful eye on
us during the evening, in order that the strangeness of our situation
should add rather a feeling of pleasantness than of discomfort.

He was a man far advanced in the ideas of new Japan, and he had gone
so far as to adopt the European costume. But this evening he had cast
it aside and appeared in all the splendor of a Japanese host. After we
had travelled under the direction of a little _musmee_ with a lighted
candle, through a long, arched lane, we suddenly found ourselves before
a small house and heard the most un-oriental of all words: “Good
evening.” We looked up, and there stood our host between two wicker
panels which he had thrust aside, with his handsome face smiling the
most cordial of welcomes. He wore the conventional divided skirt, and
over this a _kimono_ of dark grey, caught together in front with a
cord. His foot-gear was the customary sandals, which, however, he did
not wear during the evening. Of course he did not have his wife with
him, for even his progressive spirit had not reached the point where
he could allow any feminine supervision of his feast. The hostess is
unknown in Japan, where domesticity does not play the part it should.
We had another proof of this in the invitations we received, which did
not invite us to our host’s house, but to one of the swell restaurants
of Kioto. For a Japanese to entertain at his own house would be a
social barbarism.

The length of the Major--one of our party--was often inconvenient in
Japan, and I saw him casting troubled glances at the house before which
we found ourselves. It was very small, and when we finally entered
he found it necessary to stoop in order to get in at all. We did not
gain an entrance immediately, for we found an obstacle in our way in
the form of the little _musmee_ who had conducted us thither. Before
starting, the two ladies of the party had debated for a long time
what foot-gear they should wear, being faced by the American extreme
of shoes and the Japanese extreme of stocking feet. They congratulated
themselves that they had hit upon a happy solution, by wearing their
party slippers; but when they arrived they found that they had
miscalculated. As they stepped upon the platform and were about to
enter the room, the little _musmee’s_ hands went up in horror.

[Illustration]

We can only appreciate her feelings by imagining our own, should one
of our callers elevate his feet upon the parlor furniture. Should
they desecrate her spotless white mats with their barbarous American
slippers? Our poor host had his hands full, trying to pacify the little
enraged body, and at the same time to act towards us as though this
outburst was one of the regularly-planned features of the dinner. His
ever present smiles were still more in requisition, and he could not
bow enough in his endeavour to make us feel at ease. Suddenly, there
came a calm; the little maid withdrew, and we were bidden in a most
polite way to enter. The offended girl, however, sulked away like an
angry child, and I am convinced that if we made any enemies in our
trips in Japan, the little _musmee_ at this restaurant was one of them.

This was the first Japanese house I had ever been in, and naturally
I was interested to see what it was like. It was oriental in every
way, though by no means an example of oriental splendor. At one end
there was a platform on which incense was burning, and the walls were
entirely bare but for two paper _kakemonos_. The floor was covered
with white matting, on which were placed black velvet cushions.
These were our seats for the dinner, and each of us was supplied, in
addition, with a black lacquered candlestick. For some time we stood
there waiting for the host to begin, but as we afterwards learned,
it is customary at Japanese social functions for that dignitary to
follow. He smilingly requested us to be seated as quietly as though
he was bidding us to four hours in Paradise, and not to the physical
discomfort--almost torture--that it proved to be. The ladies seated
themselves with little trouble, but things did not go so well with
the poor Major. His legs formed a large part of a body that measured
considerably over six feet, and as those six feet had to be disposed of
picturesquely in a sitting posture, you will see that we had almost a
tragedy on hand. The Major made several spasmodic attempts, and finally
threw himself down in a lifeless heap in a way that furnished our host
new cause for smiles and bows.

[Illustration]

For all this the scene in which we found ourselves had its romantic
side. It was early in the evening of a beautiful night in April, the
Japanese June. The wicker panels of the house were thrown open, and the
warm air came through, scented with the perfume of the cherry-blossoms
and bearing delicate sounds from the garden without. We could see
the stars from where we sat, and they had that warm, melting lustre
that one sometimes sees at home, but which is characteristic of an
oriental night. In front of the house was one of those famous miniature
gardens that embody the dainty Japanese taste. A small, sparkling lake
was bordered by the sacred cherry-trees, which were in full bloom; a
passing breeze had blown many of the blossoms upon the surface of the
water. The shores were covered with dwarf trees and a few sprays of
pansies. All of this we could clearly see, for the moon gleamed down
upon the scene with just enough brightness to render all distinct
without removing any of the enchantment. From the distance we could
hear the faint tinkling of a waterfall. Even the Major’s uncomfortable
state of body could not prevent him from catching the poetic flavour
of all this. But there was more romance ahead. We all felt a
disappointment when our host dropped the oriental manner of salutation
and simply bowed profoundly; but now we were soon to have Eastern
respect at its fullest. Two _musmees_ entered, and, falling on their
hands and knees, touched their flower-bedecked heads to the floor. In
this respectful attitude they remained before us for some seconds,
while we wondered whether the occasion demanded any action on our part,
when, suddenly, they rose and presented us with handleless cups full of
tea--for every dinner in Japan begins with tea. I looked at the host
in despair. “Ah! I will explain,” he said, with a laugh, and he did
so. This is the way you do it: you place the cup in the palms of both
hands, twist the fingers into a supporting position (I do not yet fully
understand it), and drink between the thumbs. If you are well-enough
bred, you will do this with the utmost ease; but if you are not, you
may land the tea in your lap, break the china cup, and be put down as
an extremely low person. Of course, the fact that we were foreigners
warded off any harsh judgment; and besides, I really believe we all of
us did manage somehow to get through the crisis in a way that was not
entirely disgraceful.

Japanese æstheticism extends to their dinners, which are extremely
graceful affairs. Our host, for example, had divided this dinner
into four parts, each typical of a season of the year. In this was
a hidden compliment; he intended thus to express his regret that
we were unable to spend the whole year in Kioto, and his hopes that
this evening’s pleasure would offer as good a substitute as possible.
And in spite of our uncomfortable attitudes and the strangeness of
many of the dishes placed before us, I do not think he was entirely
unsuccessful. Not the least pleasant part of the dinner, for example,
was that which immediately followed the tea drinking. We had hardly
handed the cups back to the _musmees_, when they gave to each of us a
beautiful wicker basket filled with flowers,--that, at least, is what
we thought they were, until we discovered that they were without smell.
In fact, it took us some time to find out that they were not flowers
at all, but most exquisite candy imitations. They were more than
confectionery--they were true works of art.

But there were other surprises in store for us. As we sat admiring
these delicate creations, the doors at the rear suddenly opened, and a
living wave of colour came fluttering in. At first we could distinguish
nothing but a flock of miniature bats, storks, and other creatures
which figure exclusively in Japanese natural history, disporting
themselves among dainty representations of purple violets, dandelions,
and white and pink cherry-blossoms. After recovering from our first
surprise we saw that these were small pieces of embroidery on a
background of pale greys and shaded blues, and then we caught sight of
waving loops of hair in which were intertwined sprays of flowers and
fancy pins. This delicate yet somewhat confused mass drew nearer, and
we saw five little faces painted entirely white with the exception of
clearly-defined spots of red under the eyes and lips, that were made
particularly small by a skilful handling of the brush. We could but
ejaculate one word: “_Geisha!_” These were the famous dancing girls
of Japan, who lead, I fear, not too happy lives in furnishing much
of the enjoyment of Japanese social life. It is only ordinary people
who frequent the theatre in this country, and it falls upon these
little creatures to furnish the higher classes a large part of their
amusement. They dance, they sing, they joke, act as waiters, and are
generally expected to supply the element of gaiety without which no
dinner can be thought complete.

The Japanese do not walk, they flutter; they do not sit down, they
sink. Each of these delicate bits of humanity bearing a small
lacquered tray sank down before the guest she was to serve. They were
continually laughing and chattering among themselves, making naive
criticisms of our costumes and of ourselves--for the _geishas_ are
given a great deal of freedom. They were particularly inquisitive
about the ladies’ dresses, and even went so far as to ask, through
the interpreter, the cost of them. They also were anxious to know
whether the Americans made them themselves, and how long it took. These
materialistic thoughts changed when they caught sight of the ladies’
diamonds, which they romantically imagined to have grown on trees. They
made endless remarks about us which we did not understand, and from the
interpreter’s unwillingness to translate many of their speeches, I am
sure the little fault-finders saw much in us to criticise.

[Illustration]

And now the dinner began in earnest. By our sides we discovered
mysterious packages done up in paper, which we were horrified to
find contained chop-sticks. This was worse than drinking tea between
your thumbs. It was my first experience with these utensils, and I
hardly thought myself in a well-chosen place to learn their mysterious
qualities. I was greatly surprised, however, to find that it was not
so difficult as it looked, and that chop-sticks, after all, are
not the impossible things the untutored suppose. We had a hard dish
to begin on; for after we had got our chop-sticks in battle array,
the _geishas_ startled us by bringing in soup. More smiles from the
host, and more explanations. All you have to do is to eat the solid
part with the chop-sticks and drink the liquid as you drink tea. The
soup was politely christened “Congratulatory,” and was made of green
turtle, which is popularly supposed to live a thousand years--another
compliment for us. And now that I have begun the menu, I may as
well say that the succeeding dishes included fish and eels, and an
unprecedented number of soups, cooked _à la Japonaise_, particularly
one made of seaweeds, in which their taste was by no means concealed.
And there were wines, _bomei_, which the Japanese regard as a kind of
medicine to prepare the stomach for the food, and _saki_, the national
drink, not dissimilar in appearance and taste to a pale, dry sherry.

At this point we were surprised by the arrival of another guest. He
had been invited to meet us as a friend of our host, but for some
reason had been detained and had sent his excuses. He was clad in the
same costume as our host and had also adopted the occidental whiskers,
though his were grey. He was not sufficiently Europeanised, however,
to omit the Japanese salutation, and consequently prostrated himself
“on all fours” before us. He further mystified our minds by presenting
each of our party with his card. We looked at our host in despair, who
explained that it was customary on such occasions to exchange cards.
But we had failed to bring any along, and therefore had to apologise
ourselves out of the difficulty as best we could. Of course, our
excuses met with the customary smiles.

“We hope you will be able to visit our country sometime,” one of us had
inspiration enough to say through the interpreter the new arrival had
brought with him.

“I have been there already,” he replied.

“And how did he like it?”

“It is a very beautiful country, and I hope to go back again sometime.”

Though the conversation was satisfactory, the inconvenience always
occasioned by the use of an interpreter prevented it from being very
lively. The next remark I remember was from the Major, and was not of
so suave a kind.

“Say, if I have to sit here much longer, I shall never be able to use
my legs again.”

All the evening he had been attempting to gain relief by a constant
change of position, but his efforts did not seem to have been
successful. We all of us were somewhat tired, but the Major had a great
deal more to be tired than we. He had to compose himself, however, for
one of the most distinctive features of the dinner.

There was a slight pause after his remark, and we began casting glances
at one another and wondering what was to come next. The pause at an
American dinner we should consider an awkward one, but our host did
not seem to entertain any such idea. Suddenly we heard two snaps
that apparently came from stringed instruments, and at the same time
the panels in a rear room were drawn aside. We were taken somewhat
by surprise, for we were not acquainted with the fact that a small
theatrical performance is one of the usual accompaniments of a Japanese
dinner.

[Illustration]

Two of the _geishas_ began to play on the _samisen_, the Japanese
banjo, and the _koto_, a kind of elongated harp, picked with ivory
tips. At the same time one of the girls came out in the centre of the
room, and we had our first sight of Japanese dancing. While she went
through the movements of the “Reign of Spring,” the two girls with
the instruments began singing in that falsetto key which it takes an
educated taste to appreciate. They sing so shrilly and the notes they
strike are so unnatural, that it becomes a very painful exercise, and
will frequently bring tears to the performer’s eyes. And how about
the dancing? One who is accustomed to the serpentine mazes of our
occidental skirt dancers and who likes that sort of thing, may find it
hard to enter into the spirit of her Japanese contemporaries; but if
you delight in gracefulness in any form, these little _geishas_ cannot
fail to please. Their costume plays an important part in the series of
posturings that makes up the dance, and no small amount of the success
achieved depends on the proper manipulation of the fan. You can get
the best idea of what it is like, by imagining a succession of dainty
tableaux in which the changes are made before your eyes.

After sitting in a Japanese posture on American legs for four hours
at a stretch, it was with some difficulty that we finally arose and
prepared to leave. As we went out into the night we were followed by
a veritable chorus of “_Sayonara_,” which is the Japanese word for
“good-bye.” We were somewhat surprised to be followed by the little
_musmees_, bringing as gifts, neatly tied up in boxes, that portion of
the dinner we had not eaten. There is something delightfully original
in that idea. The smiles and bows of our host were succeeded by
those of his friend, whom he had sent to escort us safely home. His
courtesies did not stop here, for he called on us the next morning to
thank us for the honour we had done him in accepting his invitation to
dine,--a notable expression of the refinement of Japanese politeness.

The night had grown still more beautiful during the four hours we had
spent within, and we caught many interesting glimpses of local colour
on our way to the hotel. The air was warm, the sky clear, and the
brilliantly-lighted parks were filled by proud Japanese fathers and
mothers with their prattling children. Men and women were stopping
under the cherry-trees that were in full bloom, gazing upon the sacred
blossoms that have been dear to Japanese hearts for so many centuries.
We went by one of the temples, standing on a hill, the approach
marked by a succession of bright red gateways. Under the light of the
moon, this ancient structure, which for ages has been the heaven of
aspiration and love for so many hopeful spirits of this land, had an
air of the utmost impressiveness. The whole scene made us forget that
we had been sitting for four hours on our heels, and called to our
minds the fact that we had had one of the most enjoyable experiences of
our lives.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

MIYAKO ODORI.


We suddenly found ourselves before the entrance to an unfamiliar
by-street, and turned to our guide to inquire the meaning of what we
saw. The huge red lanterns hanging in a perpendicular row from two
high poles, evidently had a significance about which we were in the
dark, and the exhibition of haste, which we observed on the part of
these leisurely Orientals, surely was inspired by no everyday event.
The girls were looking their prettiest with their hair filled with
flowers and their pale grey _kimonos_ tied with that magical sash-knot,
which is the despair of their Western sisters. Along with them trotted
their smaller brothers in bright-coloured flowing robes, their little
heads cropped close with the exception of a solitary tuft. Fathers and
mothers of sedater age and deportment displayed an eagerness that was
equally strong, if more quietly marked.

Our attending coolie informed us that we had hit upon a festival that
has particular attractions to the foreign eye. You have probably heard
of those sacred cherry-blossoms that are so dear to the hearts of the
Japanese, and which, with the chrysanthemum, are their chief floral
pride. It is true that meddling foreigners have said that they are
not cherry-blossoms at all; but that does not seem to prevent the
delicate mingling of pink and white from being a very beautiful flower.
It is in the month of April that they are to be seen at their best,
and it is then that this æsthetic people assemble in different ways,
and touchingly illustrate the part that these flowers play in their
lives,--for the Japanese without their cherry-blossoms would not be
the Japanese at all. When, therefore, the coolie informed us that all
these people were on their way to see the famous cherry-blossom dance,
we lost no time in mingling with the throng and following it down the
lane-like street.

Everything here was a maze of Japanese forms clad in their daintiest
robes, and Japanese faces flushed with eagerness and anticipation.
Though æsthetic before everything else, the people have a keen eye for
business, and the street was lined with booths full of knicknacks and
toys of every kind. And here also were whole families picturesquely
seated on their heels, sipping the everlasting tea. Pushing our way
through the crowd, we drew up before a platform-like entrance, and
were immediately met by one of the attendants, who presented us each
with a pair of enormous white duck shoes. If you travel long in
Japan, you will become accustomed to this sort of thing, and cease
from experiencing any embarrassment or indignation at being requested
to remove your foot-gear before stepping on a Japanese floor. The
irreverent foreigner, however, unaccustomed to walking around in
stocking feet, does not always see things from the Japanese point of
view, and it has therefore been necessary at the temples and places of
public amusement to have a stock of these ungainly foot-coverings
for his benefit. The measure, of course, is a conciliatory one, and is
intended to smooth the ruffled feelings of the Westerner without at the
same time scandalising the sensibilities of the Japanese. We had had
many similar experiences, and so lost no time in incasing our feet in a
manner that would insure us entrance into the theatre, even though it
might detract a little from our dignity.

[Illustration: Japanese Forms clad in their Daintiest Robes.]

In the small lobby in which we found ourselves were a number of
Japanese enjoying the national attitude of repose, and quietly waiting
for something to turn up. The other end of the room was occupied by
a counter on which was displayed a large collection of fans made of
artificial cherry-blossoms, similar to those that were afterwards
used in the dance. These are exhibited in a large measure for the
benefit of the foreigner, who is expected to make generous purchases.
All the while we could hear notes of that unmistakable Japanese music
coming from beyond a small wooden door, mingled with weird voices
and unclassifiable sounds. We began to fear that the dance had begun
before our arrival, and that we might miss the best part of the show.
We signified our wish to enter by pounding on the small door; but it
was securely locked, and those on the other side treated our emphatic
demands with oriental disdain. As we had paid our admission fee, we
began to get indignant at this kind of treatment; but it is better not
to get indignant at such things in Japan. Besides, the explanation
was quite satisfactory, as one of the attendants told us that it was
a fixed rule never to interrupt the performance by the entrance of
new spectators, and, therefore, any one who came late must wait until
all was finished. We were pacified when we learned that the dance was
now nearly over and would shortly be repeated, and that we would lose
nothing by waiting. But we were not the only ones who were impatient.
There was one little Jap accompanied by his mother, who, after a
careful search finally succeeded in discovering a small crack near the
floor, to which he applied his eye in much the same fashion that his
penniless occidental cousin watches the progress of a game of baseball;
and evidently with the same emotions, if the glances of delight which
he occasionally threw towards his mother might serve as indications.

Suddenly the music ceased, and the crowd began to push in. Japanese
crowds are particularly noted for their good nature, and our progress
into the theatre was the occasion of many sprightly jokes from the
local wits, which were evidently very good, for they were received with
bursts of laughter. We soon found ourselves in a front seat of a small
gallery, with a three-sided stage before us. This gallery was reserved
for those from over the seas and for those of the higher classes of
Japan. Below in the pit sat those of humbler station, making themselves
as comfortable as possible with their cushions spread out on the floor.
Spectators who had already seen the performance were leaving the
theatre from the two entrances under either end of the gallery, but the
eager crowd from without was rapidly filling their places. The faces
seemed the same that we had parted with a few minutes before, and they
had the same appearance of expectant happiness. Here and there was a
father and mother, followed by five or six wee ones, hurriedly rushing
around to find the most convenient place. Apparently satisfied, they
would finally sit down, begin to chatter and laugh, until suddenly
one would notice what he thought a more advantageous place, when up
they would all scramble again and hurry on in fear that some one might
forestall them. It sometimes took more than two trials before they were
satisfied, and so, while we were waiting for the curtain to rise, the
gay mass below us was constantly changing about in the eagerness of the
spectators to gain as comprehensive a view of the stage as possible.
Each little group was provided with that indispensable adjunct to
happiness,--the tobacco-box. The occasion meant far more to them than
what took place on the stage; it was a general holiday, and they were
there to get as much out of it as possible. There was a continual
buzz as the conversation went on, and occasionally from some animated
group there would rise a loud shout of laughter, whence we could infer
that an oriental funny man had made another appreciated hit. Indeed,
the sight below us was so interesting and brought us so in touch with
the people themselves, that we almost forgot that there was a more
pretentious display to follow, and gazed at the curtain before us in
total disregard of the glories that lay beyond.

Suddenly our attention was aroused by the loud clapping together of
two pieces of wood; and as suddenly every chattering tongue quietly
ceased, and every laughing face assumed an expression of the utmost
interest. It was the Japanese substitute for the prompter’s bell. The
curtain obediently rose, and we settled ourselves for the enjoyment
of an oriental performance. Even at the beginning we could see that
the Japanese prefer to manage these things in a way of their own, for
the orchestra with them is not a mere incident of the performance
with which to appease the impatience of the audience between the acts
or to drown the weak portions of a faltering tenor’s solo. In Japan
the orchestra is kept behind the curtain as the chief performer, and
comes in as generously for its share of applause. The first thing that
caught our gaze, therefore, were two rows of _geishas_, picturesquely
ranged on either side of the stage, with _koto_ and drums ready for the
opening overture. They were all painted and plastered after the usual
_geisha_ style, their little red and white faces surmounted by towering
head-dresses of the ever-present cherry-blossom and wistaria. Dainty
is a word that one constantly finds one’s self using while speaking
of the _geisha_, and none other seems to serve the purpose so well.
Those on the left, in their bright _kimonos_, with their little drums
shaped like hour-glasses, were in the full daintiness of _geisha_ life,
while those picking the _koto_ opposite, though still very young,
could not but bring the pathetic thought that that strange life is
a brief one. The whole audience observed the strictest silence all
through the opening selection, which was not without its charms, even
to unaccustomed ears. Occasionally a small shrill voice would be heard
above the steady thrumming of the instruments, and though this could
not perhaps be called singing, it had charms for those receptive souls
in the pit.

[Illustration]

But in the mean while our attention had been attracted to the stage.
It had been prettily arranged as a garden scene, in a way far more
realistic and beautiful than the painted trees and urns which pass for
such in our own theatres. Here we had a profusion of cherry-blossoms
to serve as a background to the equally pretty and delicate girls, who
now began to enter from the two doors that had been previously used by
the spectators. They were in two files, one in which pale blue and pink
predominated, while the _kimonos_ of the others were of bright red.
The faces and headgear had been arranged in the same way as those of
the musicians, and each held in her hand a cherry-blossom fan. Their
entering motion was very slow, consisting of a step forward and a step
backward, the time of the music being scrupulously observed. In this
way they proceeded up the middle of the stage, where they parted and
formed in line on the sides, meeting again in the centre. They were now
ready for the dance to begin.

The word “dancing,” in its western interpretation, can hardly be
applied to the graceful body-motions which satisfy the more subdued
taste of the Japanese. The nearest thing that our stage can offer for
comparison is the march, more spectacular than artistic, in which
glistening helmets and emblazoned shields and swords play so large
a part. In place of the knightly helmet these Japanese use their
cherry-blossom head-dresses to good effect, while their less aspiring
minds are satisfied with a fan instead of a sword. They have large
flowing sleeves which they are constantly waving with a motion not too
slow to be picturesque, and they can bend their little bodies in a way
that their Western rivals have yet to learn. They toss their heads
backwards and forwards in a very graceful and captivating way, and
make any number of gesticulations with their sleeves, holding them in
all conceivable positions in front of the face, back of the head, or
stretching them out at arm’s length as a bat does its wings. At times
the marching and counter-marching becomes delightfully confusing, the
stage being a mass of slowly-waving colour, from the midst of which a
large number of cherry-blossomed crests can be seen and an occasional
smiling white-plastered face. The dancers do not show the slightest
traces of fatigue, and when the curtain is rung, or to be more precise,
clapped down at the conclusion of this first act, they seem as fresh as
when it began, and a little disappointed that they are obliged to pause
for a short time.

Another clap, and up went the curtain again. The scene-shifters had
been working hard during the interval, and produced a charming change
for the second act. We thought at first that we were to have an
oriental version of a well-known scene of Italian love-making, for
here was a Japanese house with bow-windows and balconies that would
have delighted the eye of the most fastidious Romeo. But there were
only Juliets in this play, and they made, after all, a satisfactory
use of the windows and piazza, though they relied simply upon their
own charms for their success. Now one tiny form would appear in a
window, now one would step upon a balcony, and another somewhere amid
the trees would smilingly gaze upon her sister above. There were no
carefully memorised speeches of blank verse, but the scene was full of
that clever _geisha_ sentiment that can be so charming. Each little
actor became her own poet, yet there was no need of words to make us
feel the happy spirit of romance inspiring her unrestrained heart.
The atmosphere of gayety was not confined to the stage but found its
way into the delighted souls in the pit, and scarcely had the curtain
descended when they seemed to feel it their duty to give a performance
of their own. The children began to run about, pull each other by
the sleeves, roll around on the floor,--all to the accompaniment of
ceaseless tittering and all with the utmost good nature. A wrestling
match formed the diversion of one group gathered around two diminutive
athletes of local reputation, who were tugging savagely at each other
with the utmost disregard of usual athletic rules. The pit was not
without gymnasts of its own, who turned somersaults and handsprings
in a way that must have shocked the more refined taste of the gliding
_geishas_. While all this was going on, the more dignified members
of the family were sitting on their heels, smoking their pipes in a
stately manner, and occasionally bringing forth materials for a light
lunch. This would have a greater attraction than the trials of athletic
skill, and even one or two of the most successful turners of the
somersault made a pause in their gyrations to watch the progress of the
meal.

[Illustration]

My attention was so occupied by the busy throng below, that it was
not until I felt a gentle tug at my elbow that I was aware that I had
a visitor at hand. I turned and saw a smiling white-plastered face,
surmounted by tall sprays of cherry-blossoms, gazing up into mine. It
was one of the _geishas_, who had left the stage and who had quickly
selected a foreigner on whom to bestow her favours. And yet, I like to
think her attentions were not merely of a perfunctory kind, and that
she was drawn towards me for other reasons than because it was the way
in which she had been trained. Her actions surely had not an artificial
air, and the continued smiles which she showered upon me seemed to be
sincere. She did not feel the least embarrassment, and kept talking on
in her sweet little voice as though I understood everything that she
said. And a great deal of it was perfectly plain. When, for example,
she glanced up into my eyes in such a meaning way and let drop a few
dulcet words, could my woman’s nature refuse to understand the little
flatterer? She was amused by the ornaments on my hat, and smoothed my
hair in a most caressing manner. When she tired of this, she called my
attention to a small tray at my side, which I had not noticed before.
From this she took a cup of tea in her delicate little hands and
offered it to me. I drank it with the utmost readiness, and did not
stop to think that it was the bitterest thing that had ever passed my
lips. This was the real object of her visit, and with another smile
she gathered up her tray and passed on. I gave a sigh as I saw her go
through the same thing with another lady not far away, and apparently
with the same sincerity and feeling. With an equal tenderness would she
clasp her hands, and--crushing stroke to feminine vanity--gaze into her
eyes with the same admiration as she had into mine.

And now, for the first time, I noticed that there were several
_geishas_ in the back part of the gallery engaged in making the bitter
potion I had tasted under such romantic circumstances. This is no
every-day occurrence, and it has a long history that gives it a far
from vulgar interest. Perhaps you think that our “teas” are of native
origin, and that they are an invention of modern times; but you are
mistaken. In the sixteenth century there lived a mighty man in Japan,
named Hideyoshi, and he it is who must bear the burden of those social
functions about which the men say so many unkind things. For in his
effort to lighten the cares of state and lessen the tedium of his life,
Hideyoshi, after much careful thought, decided on the following plan.
He gathered to himself several of the choicest spirits of the realm,
to whom conversation was a developed art and wit a perennially flowing
spring, and said: “I hereby establish an entirely new form of social
diversion to be known as ‘tea.’ In so doing, I have a careful eye on
those who shall follow, and particularly those of other lands, who
shall shower their blessings upon me to the end of time. So come, my
friends, gather around, and in the words of an unborn poet: giggle,
gobble, gabble, and git.” Probably this last allusion was a mere
pleasantry on his part, and had reference to the degenerate forms
in which we should receive the ceremony. Hideyoshi had no feminine
hands to assist him,--Japan at that period of its history not kindly
favouring budding _débutantes_. He went about it himself in this way.
He took a piece of purple silk and carefully cleaned each article to be
used, folding and refolding the fabric in a most deliberate manner. He
then heated a bowl with hot water and placed in it a spoonful of the
green powder that the Japanese call tea. Nothing remained but to put in
the boiling water and to serve the bitter result. With a most profound
bow he passed this around to his guests, giving each at the same
time a small cake with a taste rather suggestive of dry ginger. The
affair was a great success, and was taken up with readily by the most
exclusive sets of Japan, and passed into modern times. It is called the
“_cha-no-yu_,” and the Japanese regard it with a reverence that makes
it almost sacred.

[Illustration]

The day was now drawing to a close, and the theatre was gradually
becoming dark. The informality of the performance was continued at
the next rise of the curtain, when the scene-shifters came out and
prepared to arrange things for the last act. They were not visible
to the spectator, however, because they had on black gowns and black
masks,--and because the Japanese have a very lively imagination. But
to us, not so happily endowed, these men’s sombre costumes did not
prevent them from being seen, and we watched them with considerable
amusement and interest as they solemnly went around, preparing the
stage for the finale. Everything was darkened, and when the _geishas_
again appeared, they each held a candle in one hand and a spray of
cherry-blossoms in the other. Enormous clusters of this flower seemed
to fall from the wings in one mass, barely leaving room beneath for
the little girls to go through the concluding steps. The dance that
followed was even slower than the former, and was accompanied by a
still weirder music, the finest we had yet heard in Japan. Everything
had an air of strangeness and unreality, and we felt indeed that we
were in a different atmosphere than that in which we had spent our
lives. Slowly the brightly-clad _geishas_ moved around the stage, the
white blossoms gracefully waving in the air, and still more weirdly
rose the threatening tones of the _koto_.

We were aroused from our enchantment by the gradual descent of
the curtain. The spectators for the next performance were already
entering, the conversational jabber once more began, and to the
accompaniment of the same laughing voices and probably the same jokes,
we made our way to the street.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

THE RISE AND FALL OF THE _KAKEMONO_.


It was our last night in Kioto. We had spent the day in the temples,
and though we were somewhat tired, we still managed to keep up a
desultory conversation upon the interesting things we had seen.
Suddenly we were interrupted by a shy knock. Before any one had time
to prevent it, a handsome Japanese face thrust itself through the
gradually opening door; it was immediately followed by the handsome
figure of a young man. Perhaps it was because of the good looks that
the intrusion was not resented. The new-comer possessed large brown
eyes, bushy black hair, and beautiful white teeth, and in addition to
this spoke English.

“Can look see some of goods. Have very beautiful things.”

This is the way they teach it--or, at least, learn it--at the mission
schools.

The speaker continued: Would Madame be so kind as to glance at the
charming wares at present gracefully reposing in a pack on his
shoulders? They were something out of the usual run, and he had brought
them especially for her inspection. To tell the truth, Madame was very
tired, and murmured an objection; but a beautiful face has always
touched her artistic sensibilities, and here was one of the finest
she had yet seen in Japan. The new-comer seemed to notice this, for
he entered without more ado. He immediately dropped to the floor and
began to unpack his bundles. We were all soon interested in other
things than our visitor’s face, for he had hardly begun to display his
wares, before we saw something novel ahead. Japanese peddlers usually
have an innumerable collection of small boxes, but our friend’s were
larger and heavier and of a much richer kind. With the usual number
of bows and smiles he began to reveal his treasures to our gaze, when
we were honoured by the entrance of a small counterpart of himself,
who had evidently been waiting outside until the coast was clear.
Apparently they were brothers, and together they began to arrange their
merchandise in a way to catch the American eye most temptingly.

We had already seen many of those hanging pictures which figure so
prominently in Japanese art, but nothing of so delicate a texture
as those our visitor now laid before us. They were for the most
part representations of religious emblems, but there was one of a
more secular kind of which the young man was particularly proud. It
was rather large, with a dark background on which was exquisitely
embroidered a tall, white cock with head erect, crowing to his heart’s
content, and strutting about in all the majesty of a flaming red comb.

But this was only a beginning. Evidently our friend had brought these
merely to see whether we were people of taste and could properly
appreciate the untold treasures he had at his command. In his
Mikado’s English he informed us that our artistic eye had touched
him profoundly and had caused him to call to mind a _kakemono_ of
unparalleled beauty, that would delight us still more. Whereupon, he
ruthlessly folded up the cock with the flaming comb, placed it with the
rest on the floor, and set the boy down upon the pile to guard matters
until his return. It did not seem to occur to him that this latter act
was a slur at our honesty--things are different in Japan, you know.

“Have got house very beautiful _kakemono_. Priest won’t sell.” So he
said, and so we understood him; giving him credit for grammatical
correctness, when really he meant “want to sell.” Here, we thought, is
a touching example of Japanese politeness! Our visitor is so impressed
by our appreciation of his embroideries that he is about to show us one
of the treasures of the temple, for the sole purpose of gratifying
our taste for art. Soon this obliging Oriental returned, bearing a
large bundle over his shoulder, which he immediately spread before our
astonished gaze, all the while murmuring, as we thought, a repetition
of the fact that the priest would not sell. We were further mystified
by an occasional reference to a tea-house that seemed to disturb the
young man’s peace of mind.

[Illustration]

However much we may have been puzzled by this, there was no doubt that
we had before us one of the most delicate creations of art. Could it be
possible that all this was the result of man’s labour, using what many
of us find so clumsy an instrument as a needle? I have thought long
how to give an idea of the skill, the patience, the taste displayed in
this piece of tapestry; but who can tell a blind man what a rainbow is
like? Besides, I do not yet myself thoroughly appreciate what it all
means, for, though I have owned the tapestry for some time, I never
look at it without finding something I have not seen before. It seems
such an inadequate thing to say, that it was about eight feet long and
three wide, and that the figures were worked upon a grey background
surrounded by a border of black. If you could only have seen it as it
first flashed upon me that evening, a glorious mingling of the bright
Japanese colours of red, black, and white, as yet totally undimmed
by the nearly two centuries that it had lain, a holy thing, in the
Daitokuji Temple at Kioto! There seemed to be some historical scene
portrayed, evidently a naval battle, for there were castles and boats
and water, and in the distance the sacred mountain of Fujiyama, worked
in a rich gold. Over all, with outspread wings, were flying storks, and
in the sea were strange fish and monsters. And there were royal crests,
sailors, warriors, birds of many kinds, the colours as finely blended
in this piece of needlework as in an artist’s painting. Later I have
had the opportunity to examine it more in detail, and to discover that
the castles on the shore are undergoing a siege, the date of the events
being that of the ascendency of Hideyoshi. We are sure of this because
Hideyoshi himself is there in red armour, and though his face is not
more than a quarter of an inch in diameter, the features are easily
distinguishable. I have the names of the other officers and castles,
with a full description of the event written in choice Japanese by the
priest of whom the purchase was made.

For he would sell, after all. As we stood admiring this monument of
skill and patience, little thinking that it might be ours, the young
man kept up his story about the refusal of the priest to sell, and also
his pathetic allusions to the mysterious tea-house. Suddenly, however,
he cleared up everything by turning to us despairingly with the words,--

“Please buy!”

Then we at last learned that the priest “wanted” to sell, and that
he was driven to this strait by the necessity of raising money for
a tea-house adjoining the temple. And we gladly bought. It was with
reluctance that the priest gave us this Japanese treasure in return for
our American dollars, for behind the act there is a pathetic story that
touches the very heartstrings of the faithful followers of Buddha. It
might not be inaptly styled “The rise and fall of the _Kakemono_.”

[Illustration]

In those good old times when the Mikado was only a picturesque ornament
of the community, subject himself to the dictates of some powerful
_shogun_ or warrior like our friend Hideyoshi; before the barbarous
West with its parliaments and trousers and sense of art-perspective had
begun to intrude, a great being ruled in the hearts of the Japanese
and filled them with longing and hope and love. He was not a native,
it is true; but the fact that he came from India did not seem to make
him any less national, and he was as much at home in this sunny island
as in his own snowy Himalayas. To tell the truth, the poor Japanese
peasant was not the happiest of mortals in those days; for we have many
stories of the little regard in which he was held by those above him,
and the insignificant part he played in the social system. It is not
altogether strange, therefore, that this wanderer from the south should
have met with a hearty welcome; for his lessons were those of kindness
and hope. More than this, he taught the down-trodden serf that life
was not a mere matter of unrewarded toil and undeserved suffering, but
that it had a gleam of greatness even for him, and that besides there
was something beyond. This bearer of glad tidings dwelt in the temples
on the hills, and his name was Buddha. It is true that the ungodly
Japanese had little stone images of him of which they thought a great
deal, and so his religion was an idolatrous one; but for all that they
might have done a great deal worse.

For many centuries, therefore, they loved great Buddha, and loved him
with all their souls. Every one, from the haughty _shogun_ to the
little white-faced _geisha_, found in his spirit a something which he
could find nowhere else, and which resulted in a stronger and purer
life. There was one, however, who remained proudly aloof from all this,
and regarded Buddha with a somewhat doubting eye. This was no less a
personage than the Mikado himself, who, after all, could not be greatly
blamed for the way he looked upon the new-comer. For Buddha was not
only a foreigner but a revolutionary character, and expelled a former
visionary something very dear to the Mikado’s vanity. This was the
creed of Shintoism. Now I hope you will not embarrass me by asking what
Shintoism is, for I assure you, that though I have given the matter
some attention I have not yet a clearly defined idea as to what it all
means. It does, however, teach us something indefinite about listening
to the dictates of our hearts, and something definite about following
the decrees of the Mikado. It treats this dignitary even more kindly
than this, for it goes on to say that he is not a man at all, but a
great god moving here among us,--a sacred thing to be worshipped. It
supports this claim by a very long and highly respectable pedigree,
proving him to be descended in the direct line, without twist or turn,
from one Amaterasu, who was a sun-goddess before Buddha came. For
Buddha did not trouble himself about the Mikado’s genealogical tree,
and so the good man had little use for him. During many centuries he
treasured up his ill-feeling; but things worked slowly in Japan in
those days, and it was a long time before disobliging history gave the
Mikado a chance to get even with this iconoclast of the south.

To tell the truth, through all these years the Mikado was not the
important personage his ancestry would lead you to suppose. His main
occupation was posing gracefully as the head of the state, and for
ages this descendant of the sun-goddess was kept in golden chains, a
practical prisoner in his own castle. But he still kept his hold on the
people, who, by some peculiar inconsistency very noticeable in their
religious faiths, firmly believed that story about Amaterasu. This,
however, did not in the least affect their warm love for Buddha, of
which they gave evidence in many ways. They built many temples, which
were approached by a series of handsome _torii_, or stone gateways,
and which were regularly attended by priests. But by far the best
thing they did was to make these embroidered pictures, one of which
I have described at length. Those were emphatically the days of
the _kakemonos_, and they are the most telling expressions of the
deep-rooted affection with which the Japanese regarded their divine
teacher. The works are deeply religious in the most profound sense of
the word, and fill the same place in Japanese art that the works of
Raphael and Michael Angelo do in Christian painting.

[Illustration: Handsome _torii_, or Stone Gateways.]

And these old masters had their counterparts in Japan, though but few
are known to fame. I fancy, for example, that not many have heard of
a certain genius named Tosa Mytzeoki; but he it was who flourished at
the middle of the last century and spent three years of his life in
making the beautiful tapestry that I now possess. The makers of these
_kakemonos_ formed a separate class of society, and spent their whole
lives in the practice of the delicate art. They had no instrument
but the needle, and no material but Japanese silk with which to produce
these wonderful results. They worked year after year at the beck of
grosser spirits than themselves, and of course were poor and unhappy.
They did not have the hope of fame that inspires so many artistic
souls; for when a _kakemono_ was completed it was immediately laid away
in the temple, far from vulgar eyes. Poor Tosa Mytzeoki never dreamed
that the result of his delicate toil would some day grace an American
drawing-room! It is true that on days of religious festivals the
_kakemonos_ would sometimes be brought out and used in decorations for
the walls, but these occasional exhibitions were a sorry foundation for
future fame.

When some nobleman--for the higher classes alone could afford such
a sacrifice--wished to gain the favour of Buddha, he would go to one
of these humble artists and give him an order for a _kakemono_. There
were two kinds from which he might select, those that were embroidered
and those made of paper. The latter were especially abundant, and of
all kinds and sizes. Many of them contained merely an autograph done
with the brush,--the national pen; for the Japanese have always had
a liking for fine handwriting, esteeming excellence in that line a
separate art. The figures with which a large number of these paper
_kakemonos_ are covered are splendid examples of Japanese painting,
the scenes being mostly of a historical and religious kind. Buddha and
Confucius are the special favourites. The backgrounds are often filled
with a host of figures; I remember one at Kioto, that contains nearly
as many faces as Tintoretto’s painting in the Doge’s Palace at Venice.
This _kakemono_ is remarkable for other reasons than this, for the
work is lifelike and vigorous, and though five hundred years old is
well preserved. It is called the “Death of Buddha,” and represents the
expiring prophet surrounded by worshippers with grief-stricken faces,
so vividly depicted that the very air seems filled with lamentation.

For many centuries these _kakemonos_ were being collected in the
Buddhist temples all over Japan. Then came the memorable year 1868,--a
year that marked the close of the Japanese middle ages. The feudal
system was abolished, and the whole scheme of government renovated. Now
the Mikado emerged from his obscure position as a public official, and
began to play more than a sentimental part in Japanese life. The days
of the _shoguns_ were over, and the Mikado was the Mikado indeed. From
this time the misfortunes of the _kakemonos_ began. The long-awaited
opportunity of the Mikado had arrived. He solemnly sent forth an edict
that Buddha had outlived his usefulness, and that the day of his
great-great-grandmother, the sun-goddess, had come; the sole religion
of the Japanese henceforth was to follow the teachings of his heart,
but above all those of the Mikado. So Buddha’s occupation was gone.
The Japanese were already on that downward path, which was to end in
their wearing European trousers under Japanese _kimonos_, and they
began to find the Indian prophet a little out of date. And besides, the
missionaries had impressed upon their minds that those little stone
images were things no self-respecting man would have about him. Many,
therefore, decided to do away with these abominations, and follow the
teachings of their hearts.

But, though the government was persistent, Buddha was even more
so, and was very loath to give up the sway he had secured over the
affections of the Japanese. The humbler classes were also blind to the
superior virtues of the Shinto Temple, and therefore an interesting
struggle began, to see which was the fitter to survive. The struggle
is not ended yet, nor is there any great indication that it soon will
be. The Mikado himself has confessed the weakness of his own cause,
for he has found that the mere listening to the teachings of one’s
heart and obeying the decrees of the sovereign does not constitute a
religion. He has therefore been obliged to borrow a great deal from
his antagonist, and it so happens that the state religion of Japan is
a tangled problem. But the masses of the people are still faithful to
Buddha, whose temples are increasing every day.

[Illustration: The Mendicant Priests.]

In the midst of all these reforms there was one class on whom the
burden rested with a peculiar weight. What was to become of the
priests? The Mikado cared no more for these than he did for Buddha
himself, and so, while a large part of Japan was listening to the
teachings of its heart, these priests wandered in a melancholy way
about the temples, at a loss as to what it all meant. Not only this,
but they were hungry men, as the governmental supplies had suddenly
ceased. The temples were beginning to show the evils of the sentimental
tendency of the people, and it was evident that something must
be done, or Buddha would have to limp back to India with a lessened
appreciation of Japanese hospitality. Thus it was that some one more
daring than the rest bethought him of the _kakemonos_. Here were
treasures indeed, and moreover here were wealthy foreigners beginning
to swarm anxiously to lay sacrilegious hands on everything. You see
it was a simple case of sentiment _versus_ necessity, and as usual
necessity came out on top. The priests must be fed, tea-houses must
be built, the temples preserved; the government frowned upon them
all. Every time, therefore, that the needs became too pressing to be
resisted, a _kakemono_ was aroused from its rest of ages, and converted
into cash. Buddha was thus given a lease of life once more, while his
sacred _kakemonos_ were transported to do service in the drawing-rooms
of Europe and America.

Many of them were bought up by the Japanese themselves. They are a
source of entertainment at dinner parties, where they are brought out
for the inspection of the guests in much the same fashion that we
display our bric-à-brac or collection of paintings. A careful history
of each is kept, which always accompanies it. The more _kakemonos_
the Japanese has, and the greater the antiquity of them, the prouder
man he is. But the demand for them has occasioned many imitations
which are reserved for the benefit of the unsuspecting foreigner. The
connoisseur, however, can detect the difference as easily as he can
distinguish between a copy and an original.

But the problem is not solved yet. The government has issued another
decree, obliging the priests to make an inventory of the treasures
of the temple, and to see that no more _kakemonos_ are sold. He that
has secured one of these works of art, therefore, has great cause for
congratulation. But one still wonders what is to become of the hungry
priests, and the shamefully-treated prophet of India. The question is
made more interesting because Buddha shows about as much indication of
returning to his native land as the priests do to begin listening to
the teachings of their hearts.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

A GLIMPSE OF ROYALTY.


“You must go to Nara,” they told us, as soon as we had landed in Japan.
“It is one of the oldest and most sacred cities of the Empire. Though
now politically of little importance, there are many interesting things
to be seen. There are beautiful groves of cryptomerias, shadowy roads,
crumbling stone lanterns, tame deer, and many an ancient Shinto
temple. If you do not see Nara, you do not see Japan.”

And so on a certain April morning we found ourselves on our way to the
southern part of the island.

You have heard much of the sunshine and the flowers, the tea-drinking,
and the various æsthetic touches of Japanese life, so it may be
somewhat disillusioning to learn that there are other points of view.
This thought forces itself upon my mind whenever I think of our watery
journey to Nara,--for it rains in Japan. The days can be cold and dark,
hotel accommodations can be scanty, and foreigners can take a long and
hungry railroad ride, and have impressions that they do not care to put
down in a book of travels. We had heard the praises of the journey so
rapturously sung, that the rainy mountains, the swollen streams, the
dripping trees, the cold, wet, and uncomfortable passengers, struck us
with a painful sense of the reality of things. As yet I had experienced
only the warm and sunshiny side of the climate, and so, as I stepped
from the train that afternoon, and gazed about on the various signs of
general discomfort, I could but ask myself, “Is this Japan?”

Yes, it was Japan, and more than that, it was Nara. If I had any
reasonable doubt, before me stood the everlasting symbol of things
Japanese,--the _jinrikisha_ man. He had a melancholy and rainy-weather
look, which was increased by the freedom with which he had discarded
his usual costume and appeared wrapped in a covering of straw. Such a
picturesque equipage and ingenuous attendant look well in a photograph,
and can even afford a certain amount of pleasure in a busy city with
plenty of daylight and interesting objects as a background; but as I
stood there, facing the downpour and a two-mile ride, I began to wonder
whether the ancient capital of Japan was such a fascinating study as my
friends had promised.

For all that, I crawled in, and my stoical friend began to arrange me
with a tenderness of which his face betrayed no sign. He drew a leather
robe over my lap, tucked it in to keep out the least intruding drop
of rain, drew the top of the carriage completely over and shut me in,
much after the way in which my grandmother used to draw her sunbonnet
over her face. Everything was dark and mysterious, and had I been of
a nervous temperament there would have been much to terrify. I began
to wonder how the rest of the party was getting on; but the blind
faith that there was a _jinrikisha_ somewhere back of me could not be
confirmed until I had reached the end.

[Illustration]

I could feel small streams of water trickling down my neck, and pools
gathered in the bottom of the carriage. It began to splash into my
face and hands; the wind came pouring in, and a blast occasionally
unloosened my lap robe. I was surrounded by impenetrable darkness,
with the exception of a small aperture below, where I caught sight of
a pair of uncovered legs automatically moving. I divined that these
were the property of the gentleman who had arranged me in my present
position with such extreme solicitude, and whose spirit would have been
keenly pained had he known that so large a portion of the storm was
finding its way into the carriage. His utter disregard of himself had
a suggestion of the sublime; for, though the day was cold, he had on
hardly more than a covering of straw, and his bare feet went through
the mud and pools with the utmost indifference. I learned afterward
that his limited wardrobe was not so real as apparent, and that his
appearance that afternoon was caused not so much by poverty as by
pride; for this _jinrikisha_ man occupied an enviable position among
his fellows, and had reason to consider himself a favourite of fortune.
This is all explained when I tell you that he was the haughty possessor
of a pair of European trousers. It mattered little to him that these
might have been thrown aside by some more fastidious American, or that
the style might have been a little behind the time. They were the chief
glory of his life,--and the chief torment too. No one can say how much
his melancholy aspect was caused by the fact that fate had heaped such
bountiful favours and grave responsibilities on his head,--for he lived
under the constant fear that some day he might wear these trousers out.
And so, with the true Japanese spirit of economy, he had hit upon an
excellent plan against such a contingency,--he resolved not to wear
them at all.

[Illustration]

This unconscious humourist furnished the only diversion of the ride.
Doubtless I passed through many delightful scenes, and might have
caught many charming bits of Japanese rural life. I shall never know
how those tea-fields looked in that pouring rain, and the plodding
Orientals that must have passed are a sealed picture. I could
occasionally hear the tall trees swaying and scraping together in the
cold breeze, but they were not for the eye. All that I could see was
a small square of mud and water, and the mournful movement of the
untrousered legs below. These were very instructive as object-lessons
in domestic economy, but I would have preferred to have enough
landscape to set them off to better advantage. Such an interesting
thing, however, was enough in itself to keep my spirit up, and I
thoroughly enjoyed the ride, in spite of the many things I could not
see. My faithful friend unconsciously kept up a stock of that good
humour which was soon to be called into play; for when we had reached
the hotel where we were to spend the night, the guide came gloomily
towards us and made the announcement that the house was full, and that
we would be obliged to find some other place. He said that he had
succeeded in finding a small Japanese house near by, and that this was
the best that could be done.

It was still raining hard, the night was getting dark, and there was
nothing for us to do but to take what we could get; and I do not know
that we regretted it after all. The approach to the house was not
convenient, but the place itself was of the true Japanese daintiness:
a tiny affair, with but one story, the earthquakes having been duly
considered in its erection. It contained but two rooms, and resembled
more a child’s play-house than a dwelling. It was furnished with the
ever-present white mats that are so prominent a feature of Japanese
domestic life. We decided to conform ourselves to our surroundings, and
be distinctively Japanese. So, carefully removing our shoes, we sat
down on our heels, while the guide departed to see what could be found
to eat. This oriental posture is very interesting as an experiment,
but I would not advise you to let your enthusiasm carry you too far.
If you have spent hours on the floor with a child playing with paper
dolls, you can get a good idea of what it is like. Our first intention
was to spend the whole evening in this way, and in other respects to
do as the Japanese did, but we soon found that the effect was mainly
valuable as furnishing a few jokes to enliven the conversation. And
when we thought of eating our dinner after the fashion of the best
Japanese society, we again became irresolute, and were greatly relieved
when one of the little _musmees_ returned with American dishes and
American chairs. Thereafter we let our attendants look after the honour
of Japan. They amused us during the progress of the meal by tying and
untying their sashes,--their chief feminine vanity,--and by indulging
in the endless capers and familiarities permitted to the _musmee_
alone. The evening passed rapidly and gaily, and the wind and rain were
forgotten in the Japanese dreams that followed the artless speeches and
childish pranks of our little entertainers.

[Illustration: Tying and untying their Sashes.]

A soft, grey light came streaming through the paper panes, and in my
drowsy ears I heard the chatter of the _musmees_, telling us that it
was morning, and time to be on our way. The storm was not entirely
over, though it was indulging in a momentary pause. The water was
dripping from the trees, only waiting for the sunlight to pierce
through the heavy clouds to clothe every leaf with sparkling gems.
The sky had an air of indefiniteness and unconcern, in doubt whether
to repeat its performance of the day before, or to burst forth into
that splendour with which we were more familiar. There was nothing
lacking but this for a perfect day; the wind had worn itself out
during the night, the atmosphere was assuming a more oriental
gentleness, the flowers were fresh and bright, and our hearts were full
of gay anticipation. We had little time during the day and evening
previous to think of one great predominant fact: that we were at the
far-famed city of Southern Japan, warm with tradition and beauty, its
history alive with the early tales of a struggling people, its temples
and shrines aglow with much that is finest in human sentiment.

[Illustration]

We were surprised at our breakfast by the hurried entrance of our
guide. He was a man of considerable refinement and composure, and we
were therefore taken aback at the excitement that he now displayed.
With bated breath he explained to us that the unforeseen had happened,
though whether this was a matter of congratulation his demeanour
did not make clear. If you are familiar enough with the mixture of
reverence and love with which the Japanese regard their dowager
Empress, you will readily understand the agitation of our guide. She
is an exalted being, the wife of one Mikado and the mother of another,
and is besides a most estimable woman with lovable qualities of her
own. So when the guide learned that she was at the present time at Nara
and would be there for the rest of the day, his emotions of loyalty
and awe had a sudden inspiration, and there was nothing for him to
do but to try to communicate them to us. After we had satisfied him
that we were duly impressed by the situation, he consented to descend
to particulars. One of the most ancient ceremonies at Nara is the
sacred dance which is yearly given in the adjoining grounds of one of
the temples, and at which some member of the royal family is expected
to be present. That her Majesty should select the very day that we
had appointed to visit the place can only be considered as a happy
coincidence of fate. Preparations had been going on for many days, and
everything was ready for a most elaborate performance. At this point
the guide became somewhat mysterious, and began to hint that possibly
after the royal party had finished we might persuade the priests to
repeat the dance for our benefit. Of course we were duly shocked
that any such thing should be done, but we smothered our reverential
emotions, and decided to make the attempt. I all along suspected that
our friend had completed arrangements before he had spoken to us, but
he betrayed no evidence of this in his anxiety lest his plan should
fail. To confess the truth, I did not feel quite at ease over the
matter, for the Empress had been painted to me in a rather unpleasant
light, and I was very much afraid of offending her royal pride. I had
been told that she regarded foreigners with an unfriendly eye, and was
jealous of the innovations that were creeping in from the West, and
gradually making the real Japan a thing of the past. It was said that
she looked upon the European costume as a thing to be abhorred, and the
silk hat as a sign of barbarism. Particularly, my friends had been kind
enough to inform me that she regarded the American race as a peculiarly
unpleasant growth, and one to be tolerated by no respectable Japanese.
Though I discovered later that my information was wrong, the thought
sufficed to make me uncomfortable, and I felt that to intrude upon a
ceremony intended only for the royal eye, was audacious and indelicate.
The assurance of the guide that this had been done before did not mend
the matter, and I had some twinges of conscience as I stepped into the
_jinrikisha_ awaiting to conduct me to the temple grounds.

As we rode out of the court-yard, we observed an interested throng
gathered around an equipage of a kind somewhat difficult to classify.
Had we seen it in an American city we should have taken it for a
dilapidated victoria; but it was hard to determine what connection such
a disreputable affair could have with the mother of the Mikado. The
whole thing, from the ragged upholstering to the rickety wheels, had a
most unroyal appearance. The small, shaggy horse may have been having a
good time, but he failed to reveal it by any expression of contentment.
The coachman, however, managed to extract much satisfaction from the
situation. He had the bristling, black hair so characteristic of the
people, and on the back of this he wore a small, low-crowned derby hat,
gracefully cocked on one side, with an air of great self-satisfaction.
His dress was the not uncommon combination of Japanese _kimono_ and
European trousers, the latter being carefully creased, and turned up to
display his American shoes. His studied attempt to appear dignified was
made the more amusing by the shortness of his stature; but the crowd
was not amused. The Japanese take this sort of thing seriously, and the
only emotions their faces displayed before this cosmopolitan outburst
were those of envy and admiration. When my attendant informed me that
this was the equipage provided for the first lady of Japan, I began to
suspect that her reported dislike of western civilisation was unreal.
I told the _jinrikisha_ man to hurry on before she came out, as I was
anxious to escape her observation.

[Illustration]

We entered the temple-grounds by a long avenue arched over by tall
cryptomerias, which extended in a tangled forest on either side.
Through the wistaria vines, almost as dense as a jungle, occasional
glimpses of the sky could be seen. There was little sunshine, and the
morning had the air of twilight. The avenue extended in a long and
regular line ahead, and seemed a fitting entrance to the most sacred
shrine of Japan. A gentle touch was given the whole scene by a number
of tame deer that find safe abode in these forests, where the hunter
is unknown. As they came up to us and looked into our faces with their
large, confiding eyes, they were followed by a troop of little girls
who had cakes to sell, of which the animals were very fond. Little was
said, for we all felt that we were in a sacred atmosphere, and the
quieting influence of the past was beginning to steal over us. The
endless array of those famous stone lanterns, ranged on both sides of
the avenue, was a fitting suggestion of former glory; the days of many
of these had long gone by, and they were slowly crumbling in ruins. We
were told by our guide that occasionally one was lighted, but most of
them had been extinct for years. Before us we could see the pavilion
where the dance was to take place. It was a simple roof supported by
columns, its floor the mat-covered earth. The priests were walking
around in their stately white robes and fly-screen shaped hats, with
little priestesses by their side. We had abandoned our _jinrikishas_ on
entering the grove, and now walked slowly along, thinking of nothing
but the trees, the stone lanterns, the deer, and the general beauty of
the scene. Even the Empress had been forgotten, until, happening to
glance back, I was startled to see the royal carriage with the sedate
coachman on the seat, ambling along at a leisurely Japanese gait. A few
seconds later it stopped, and the Empress and her retinue alighted,
with the apparent intention of doing the rest of the journey on foot.
Wishing to avoid observation, we quickly stepped behind one of the
stone lanterns at a turn of the road. Unfortunately we were not quick
enough, or the glance of her Majesty was too keen, for our presence and
hurried movement did not escape her. As she slowly passed we had a good
opportunity to observe her closely, and in spite of the disagreeable
stories we had heard, the impression was not an unfavourable one. She
was apparently seventy years of age, with an intelligent and kindly
face, having by no means the severe demeanour we had been led to
expect. She was dressed in the old-time Japanese style, with bright
red skirt and white satin _kimono_. Her hair was arranged in a kind
of a halo, falling down her shoulders in the back. All the ladies in
her train were dressed in a similar style, but the men were attired
after the European fashion,--in the prevailing court costume. The
chamberlain of the household department, an elderly man, was in charge
of affairs. As the procession neared our place of vantage, it turned
to the right in the direction of the Temple-grounds. We were about to
congratulate ourselves that we were to escape unseen, when her Majesty
turned completely around and subjected us to a scrutiny that was
embarrassing, however kindly meant. I bowed with a reverence that would
have done credit to the most obsequious Oriental, and at the same time
the men of the party lifted their hats in approved occidental style.
The ladies and gentlemen of the royal retinue returned our greetings
with a politeness that rivalled our own, but the Empress did not
incline her body in the least. She continued gazing at us with the same
puzzled expression, yet with no indication of displeasure. Apparently
satisfied with what she had seen, she presently passed on. The few
moments had been embarrassing for us, for we did not know of how many
breaches of propriety we might have been guilty; and our salutations
had not been without a touch of penitence as well as respect.

The Empress had hardly disappeared when one of the priests, with
long robes waving in the wind, came running towards us. We were now
confident that he had some message from the Empress, and were fearful
that the long-expected dislike of foreigners was to be shown. This
idea could hardly have been gained from the priest’s face, however, as
it betrayed no evidence of offended dignity, though there were signs
of anxiety and surprise. He paid no attention to us, but immediately
engaged our guide in an earnest conversation, the conclusion of which
we waited with some apprehension. Finally our attendant turned and
spoke to us in the following surprising terms,--

“Her Majesty has learned with pleasure that you have come so far to see
the sacred dance, and is very glad that you have happened here the
same day as herself. She is very unwilling, however, that you should be
kept standing while she witnesses the performance, but thinks that you
should be treated with all the kindness and hospitality of Japan. She
has therefore sent one of the priests to bid you greeting, and offers
you the seats that have been prepared for herself and party; and she
will feel very much offended if you do not accept.”

These words affected us with mingled feelings of astonishment,
flattery, and embarrassment. We had heard much of the politeness of
the Japanese, but here was a unique expression of it; one could hardly
receive more. And what had become of the dislike for foreigners which
I had been told was so prominent a trait in her character? We were
somewhat in doubt as to what was the right thing to do, and stood
there gazing at each other for a few moments, waiting for some one to
take the initiative.

“I hope you will thank her Majesty for us,” I finally answered, “but
we could not think of taking her place at the dance. We can just as
conveniently wait until she has finished. We all, however, very deeply
feel her kindness.”

“Oh, but you must come--you must come,” hurriedly returned the guide,
dropping a little of his formality in his fear that we would not
accept. “The Empress would not like it at all if you refused her
invitation. She says that she can see it at any time, but you have come
from far over the seas, and must see it to-day or never. You cannot
decline,--it would never do.”

Without considering the possibility of our refusal any further, he
and the priest immediately led the way. There was nothing for us to
do but to follow; and the faces of our Japanese friends were wreathed
in smiles as they saw that we had overcome our scruples. We were much
relieved on our arrival to find that the Empress and her train had gone
to the northern part of the temple to perform their devotions. However
much we would have liked to thank her in person, our acquaintance with
Japanese court etiquette was not such that we could know just how it
should be done. With a genuine oriental awe we seated ourselves in the
chairs that had been destined for the venerable Empress, and from the
cups made for nobler hands drank the tea that was meant for royal lips.
We soon found ourselves in a more comfortable frame of mind, and by the
time the dance had begun, we were in a condition to enjoy it.

There is not much variety in Japanese dancing, and that which we saw
on this occasion differed little from many similar performances we had
attended. There were five little girls, ranging from nine to twelve
years of age, dressed in the old imperial costume of red silk, with
divided skirts, the white _kimono_ being covered by another of gauze,
painted with purple wistaria. As usual, their faces were covered with
white plaster, their lips were of a bright carmine, and their eyebrows
shaved. Their hair, tied in gold paper, hung down their backs, and on
their foreheads were clusters of wistaria and white camellias. The
accompaniment was furnished by two priests, one performing on a kind
of fife, the other provided with two small sticks of wood, which he
struck together, at the same time that the chief priest delivered, in
a high-pitched voice, notes very suggestive of the Midway Plaisance.
The dancing consisted of the slow posturing that the Orientals so much
prefer to the agile movements of the West, and we had begun to catch
the spirit of it, and were able to enjoy it after the true Japanese
style.

We saw no more of the Empress who so disliked foreigners, but who could
treat them with such delicacy. We had another indication of her kindly
disposition, however, after we had left the pavilion at the conclusion
of the dance. Outside stood the sacred white horse always to be found
near these ancient temples, and one of the little girl attendants stood
by, selling the peculiar mixture which forms his only food. After I had
done my duty by the divine animal, I took the hand of the little girl,
who looked up into my eyes and said,--

“Her Majesty has just gone by. She was very gentle to me, and gave the
sacred horse many measures of grain.”

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

FIN DE SIÈCLE JAPAN.


You must not think that you are a person of no consequence if you do
not receive an invitation to the Mikado’s garden-party, for there are
a great many important people not always on his Majesty’s list. I
cannot tell you just what are the necessary qualifications to the royal
favour, for the presence of the entire diplomatic corps is not always
requested, the pride of many a native noble receives a fall, and no one
knows what anguish of mind the majority of the democratic Americans
in Yokohama experience at not receiving a card. Perhaps the most
fortunate thing connected with the party is the delicate flower that
is its most prominent feature; everything in Japan connected with the
cherry-blossom is sacred, and this probably accounts, to some extent,
for the chariness with which the Mikado distributes his favours. In
October the advent of the chrysanthemum is similarly observed, but this
function is not as important as that held in April. Everything depends
on the capriciousness of the cherry-blossom, and the party is given
early or late as the pink and white deign to display themselves to the
worshipping Japanese. Invitations, therefore, are issued only a few
days in advance, and are then subject to recall should circumstances
happen to prevent the spring-time flower from looking its daintiest.

[Illustration]

The invitation is written in highly-refined Japanese with a
sixteen-petaled chrysanthemum crest in gold. The party is held in the
royal Asakusa garden, and the Mikado is always present with his slim,
pretty little wife at his side. The guests are usually very punctual in
assembling; the national anthem is played with a royal sonorousness;
the Emperor and Empress, with a dignified suite, pass through the
garden with the genuine stolidity of ceremonial Japan. Presentations
are seldom made, and when there is a person of sufficient dignity and
importance for this honour, the ceremony is more stately than cordial.
The larger part of the time is spent in admiring the cherry-blossoms,
which are everywhere, and which in their early glow are of singular
beauty. All this is very well; yet it is not the Mikado or the flowers
that are likely to attract the greater part of your attention. There
is a feature of the party of more surpassing interest than these: this
is the high hat. It is this picturesque head-piece which redeems the
sombreness of the gathering, and makes it an event unique in social
life. You are probably somewhat surprised that our occidental high
hat and the delicate white and pink cherry-blossom of Japan should
have anything in common, but they do have a great deal. Several years
ago the Japanese saw that this article of dress was the very thing
needed to crown gracefully their _kimono_-clad forms, and they eagerly
took it. They borrowed it of course from western foreigners, for the
Japanese imagination is not capable of such wild flights as this.
It has so become the fashion that they now regard it with a kind of
reverence, and require its appearance on the most sacred occasions. It
is therefore specially stipulated in the Mikado’s invitations to his
parties that the gentlemen shall wear frock coats and high hats. The
ladies are left to their own judgment, and generally appear in light
calling dresses.

But this stipulation has been the cause of no end of dismay to those
foreigners so ambitious of social advancement in Japan. The American
is more likely to suffer in this respect than his European cousins. At
any rate it not unfrequently happens that when sailing for the land
of the _kimono_ you leave your high hat on western shores. And so an
invitation to the Mikado’s party affects you with mingled feelings of
apprehension and tickled vanity. It is a case where a beaver hat can
be quite a serious affair. At first you give up in despair, and decide
that the invitation must be declined, but on second thought you think
it might be well to consult your confidential Japanese friend. You
are somewhat relieved when this gentleman assures you that everything
can be arranged, and that there is nothing to prevent your attending
the party,--and in a high hat too. The Japanese friend now murmurs
something about “The Beaver Pound,” and you immediately recall certain
institutions at home where stray animals are gathered from their
wanderings, and protectingly held until the requirements of the law
are fulfilled. You are a much puzzled man; but after you have been
conducted to the place mentioned, this state of mind is likely to give
place to another. With the utmost gravity your friend discloses to you
the treasures of the place, and politely invites you to help yourself.
For here are high hats, both silk and beaver, of all sizes, ages, and
countries, and you must be a very fastidious person indeed if you find
nothing to your taste. Every time a westerner leaves a high hat behind
him it is immediately spirited away by mysterious hands, and it is
seen no more until it graces the head of a careless foreigner at some
social occasion of more than common import. By this time there is quite
a collection, ragged and marred as the coins and stamps that are a
frequent hobby with us.

[Illustration]

You had better visit the Pound early, as the hats are in great demand,
and you may have difficulty in fitting your head. You finally make a
choice; the likelihood being at best that you will have a size too
large or small, but this is only the simplest of the complications. You
are by no means the first man that has worn this hat, and it shows the
effects of many cherry-blossom parties. Occasionally a new sleek hat
finds its way into the Pound, and there is considerable competition as
to who shall secure the prize. You had better in some way exhaust all
the humour that the idea gives you before you attend the party, else
you will not have sufficient command over yourself to view the occasion
with the stoical eye of the Japanese; for the hats show off to a better
advantage from a comparative point of view. You must place a neat,
decorous, low crown of the latest style beside the parabolic curve of
several years ago to see really how funny it all is. There is the white
and drab head-piece, suggestive of the gentleman of sporting tastes,
and an occasional shaggy something that we now see only in pictorial
representations of Uncle Sam. All this is very amusing; but it is a
graver matter when a young man of eighteen has to parade around in a
widower’s weed, or a staid clergyman or pompous Member of Congress is
obliged to hide behind the trees in order to conceal the fact that his
head is adorned by one of the little peaked affairs in vogue a long
time ago. Nor are these the only things in the same line. The ladies
of the court have caught that disease which is spreading so rapidly in
Japan, -- Europamania, -- and have cast aside their beautiful native
costumes for a western dress. Their success at best is doubtful, but
there is one who seems to have managed things with a greater skill. You
will likely wonder how the Mikado’s wife can look so well when you have
heard of the difficulties she has to undergo in her desire to dress
like a European lady. Her person is too sacred to be touched by vulgar
hands, and this unfortunate fact interfered with her progressive plans
for some time, until the problem was solved by fitting her dresses upon
one of her attendants of similar height and figure. In spite of this
inconvenience, the Empress appears very well, and is one of the few
Japanese ladies who wears the European costume with dignity and grace.

Yet all this is only a fair example of what you may see in any part of
Japan. The changes that have been sweeping over the country have not
been confined to political institutions, but have affected the most
trifling details of Japanese life. It makes no matter where you go,
or the people you meet, everything bears the traces of the new lands
and peoples that have found such favour in their eyes. To any one
who has a taste for the picturesque, the attempts of the Japanese at
cosmopolitanism are an interesting field of study. The background of
their life is, of course, the Japan of ages gone by, with its Mikado,
its flowers, its sunshine, and its tea; but upon this are sprinkled the
innumerable foreign traits that make everything grotesquely amusing.
With their Mikado they have parliamentary government, and though they
are perhaps as fond of their tea as ever, they can occasionally lay it
aside for the champagne of the West, and beer flows almost as freely as
in Germany itself.

[Illustration]

We Americans may take a pride in all this, and may feel delighted
that the Japanese will christen themselves with such names as George
Washington and Abraham Lincoln; yet I have my doubts whether it is not
a mistaken idea of development that persuades us to dignify it by the
name of progress. The Japanese are extremely quick and imitative, but
like most imitative people, they are likely to perceive only what is
most obvious, and so become grotesque. They can see that there are many
attractive things about the feminine attire of the West; they fail to
see that it is not suitable to themselves. It is a question, after all,
whether it is the preferable qualities of the new things which they
meet that leads them to adopt them, or whether it is a mania simply for
what is new. At the best they are in a stage of transition. The East
is constantly touching the West, and the average Japanese to-day is
an interesting combination of the inherited traits and emotions of a
remote civilisation, and an environment too powerful to be resisted.

You will understand all this immediately, should you take a short walk
in one of the streets of a representative Japanese city. The appearance
of the people will strike you as un-Japanese. The women, as a rule, do
not now blacken their teeth, or shave their eyebrows, as you have been
brought up to suppose. There are still, it is true, many who do not
like to see these usages die out; but most of them live in the country
districts, which have naturally not been affected by the changes in
the same way that the cities have. The old women still go around with
blackened teeth, but it is because they were disfigured this way before
the innovation was introduced. The Empress adopted the new idea a few
years ago, and the people have rapidly followed. Most of the women
still wear the dress of their ancestors, yet it is doubtful whether
this is by inclination or necessity; anything in a foreign line is a
luxury, and only the higher classes can afford to follow the style.
They still retain their peculiar ambling walk, which is like a slow
run, but there are many little indications that this will be abandoned
soon.

It is in the dress of the men, however, that the greatest changes are
to be seen. The number of combinations that the average Japanese can
ring upon _kimono_ and coat and trousers, I have never yet tried to
count, but you cannot go into a city street without seeing a new one.
It is sometimes the _kimono_ and trousers, sometimes the trousers
without the _kimono_, or the _kimono_ without the trousers. They view
the derby hat with great favour, and some wear their hair long, like
an American football player. They have caught the infection of creased
trousers, and take satisfaction in rolling up the ends of them in
the clearest weather. I once saw an enthusiastic and progressive Jap
walking stolidly through the streets with a small stiff hat perched
on the back of his head, with his _kimono_ turned up in the back,
disclosing a pair of flannel underdrawers, white stockings, and laced
American shoes, the whole gracefully consummated by a cane, which he
swung jauntily as he marched along. The conscious pride that he took
in this outfit was something delightful to see, and the serious and
possibly envious glances showered upon him by his friends showed that
he was a centre of admiration.

I was surprised one day by a vehicle that I saw slowly creeping up one
of the streets of Tokio. It was a small affair, with a single horse in
front, the approach of which was announced by the mournful jingle of a
bell. At a distance the equipage looked like a little yellow box, and
it was some time before I could convince myself that it was a sorry
specimen of that most American of institutions,--a horse-car. I learned
later that it was only Tokio that could boast of such an incongruity,
and the contented and proud air of the driver was in itself an
indication that his position was an unusual one. It was rather the idea
of the thing that was so delightful, for so far as convenience was
concerned, the slow motion of the car could not be thought much of an
improvement over the _jinrikisha_.

I have a Japanese friend who had been educated in America and had
adopted our ways, who relates an amusing experience he had in
connection with this strange innovation. The cars have bells and
conductors after the American plan; but, unlike our custom, they
are used for the purpose for which they are designed. My friend did
not know this, and so when he wished to alight he walked out to the
platform and jumped off while the car was in motion. He had not gone
far, however, when he saw the conductor running frantically after him,
with an air of the utmost consternation. The car was stopped, and quite
a crowd collected to watch the outcome of the dispute. My friend was
astonished, and completely in the dark as to what it all meant, when
the conductor in angry tones asked him how he dared to disregard the
law by alighting from a horse-car while it was going at full speed?
The accused man protested his ignorance of such a statute; but the
conductor was unpacified, and threatened to call a policeman. It was
only when he learned that his unruly passenger had lately returned
from America, where they do all kinds of barbarous things, and where he
had learned to disregard the conductor, that he consented to let him
go. My friend received a solemn warning never to repeat the act, and on
so promising was reluctantly released.

Many other things in the streets will remind you of home. It is nothing
strange to see a bicycle come leisurely down the street, perched upon
by a Jap clad in the combination of trousers and _kimono_ that most
strikes his fancy. The electric light is rapidly being introduced. The
Japanese have their policeman, and they dress him after the European
style. He has a blue uniform, a small peaked hat, and a club,--but here
the comparison must cease. He does not exactly know what to do with
all the power bestowed upon him, and he will never arrest a man except
on extreme provocation. When he does decide to enforce the dignity of
the law, he calmly goes up to his prisoner, ties his hands together
with a hempen rope, and leads him off with the utmost gentleness.

The English language suffers at the hands of our commercial friends,
and their attempts to catch the American trade in this way reveal many
startling things. One shop informs us that “cakes and infections” are
found within; but the best thing in this line I have seen, is the
following business card of a Yokohama firm: “Jewelry maker, a finest
in town, Whiskey Boy. Our shop is best and obliging worker that have
everybody known, and having articles genuine Japanese crystal and
all kinds of Curious Stones, Shells, Ivory Cats-eyes--work own name
on monograms or any design according to orders. We can works how much
difficult Job with lowest price insure, please try, once try. Don’t
forget name Whisky.”

[Illustration]

English, however, is spoken fairly well, and with what Japanese he will
pick up, the average foreigner gets along without much trouble. There
has been lately introduced that ever-present travelling companion, the
phrase-book, in which we are told how to ask the time of day, what we
want for dinner, and other needful questions; but the language is so
strange in its construction, that few have courage to try anything very
elaborate, and for more intricate matters must rely upon the guide, who
usually speaks our language with fluency. One of the men of our party
tried on a certain occasion to show a little gallantry to his attending
_geisha_, and began to tell her, by the aid of a phrase-book, that she
had very beautiful eyes. He thought that he had succeeded so well in
this that he would go one step further, and presumed to inform her that
they shone like the stars. You will see that this latter is not only
a more delicate compliment, but that it is a more involved sentence,
and requires knowledge of grammatical construction not essential to the
more simple statement. The little _geisha_ did not understand him at
all, but he kept at it persistingly almost the entire evening. Finally
the interpreter was called in, and the puzzling speech was rendered
into Japanese. The girl glanced coyly up and replied: “Oh, but there
are a great many favoured in the same way.” After that our friend gave
up the phrase-book, and conducted his future gallantries by means of an
interpreter.

The Japanese have learned more things from the visits of foreigners
than a change of costume and the art of war. Perhaps the spirit of
trickery is inborn, but the numerous signs we saw of this were of an
order that would do credit to the shrewdest Yankee. One of our party
was always a little sensitive to any reference to ducks, and I myself
had an experience with certain artistic representations of dragons of
which I was frequently reminded by my friends. Our companion, while
taking an evening walk in Kioto, had been attracted by a certain
individual carrying, by means of shoulder straps, a miniature pond,
in which there were very dainty images of ducks swimming around as
naturally as you could wish. He paused to watch the proceeding, and
became deeply interested. His enthusiasm reached its height when he saw
the fowls occasionally dive under the water and reappear, apparently
greatly refreshed by the plunge. My friend excitedly asked the price of
these phenomenal birds, paid down a large sum with great willingness,
received a paper with instructions as to the way to produce the
desired effect, and started for the hotel. Arriving there, he began
to read the paper in order to prepare for the first exhibition. He was
somewhat chagrined by being advised therein to buy a few sprightly gold
fish, attach them to the ducks, place both on the water, and await
developments.

[Illustration]

And now, I suppose, it would be only fair to tell you how I was
victimised by a similar piece of roguery. I had not been in Japan
long enough to distinguish the good shops from the bad, nor to know
the proper methods of collecting curios. I was attracted one morning
by a graphic representation of a woman sitting on a dragon, the whole
evidently the work of a Japanese sculptor. The colour of the image, a
rich dark brown, was what particularly struck my fancy. The keeper of
the shop informed me that it was a rare piece of art, that it was made
of a certain sacred wood, and that the price was thirty dollars. I did
not buy that morning. In the evening we took a walk through one of the
busy streets, and lo! here was an itinerant merchant with my dragon at
his side, anxiously looking for a customer. I quickly stepped up to
him, and listened to the same tale I had heard in the morning, with
one important exception,--the price was now eighty-five cents. Perhaps
because I thought I was getting a bargain, perhaps out of curiosity,
I purchased the statue, had it done up in paper, and departed with my
treasure. Before I showed it to my friends I thought I would wash it a
little, as it had a very dusty look, and would be improved by a bath. I
was somewhat startled to see the rich dark brown colour fade away and
leave me a pure white dragon of a cheap Japanese material resembling
plaster-of-paris. I called in the guide, who gave a broad grin as he
surveyed the melancholy object before me. He kindly told me that it had
been “dipped in medicine,” and I made him a present of the curiosity
for his information. He bore it away with a satisfied air, and that was
the last I saw of my dark brown dragon,--though by no means the last I
heard of it.

These are only a few of the ways in which the influence of the West can
be traced in Japan. It will be interesting to watch what the next few
years will bring about; whether the _kimono_ will triumph over the
trousers, the tea over the beer, or whether there will be a gradual
mingling into a new type. The whole thing may be but a temporary mania,
a passing aberration of a quickly assimilative people; and perhaps in a
few years the progressive Japanese will see the folly of his ways, and
learn that he can best advance after a manner of his own.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

CHO AND EBA.


They were surely not the most distinguished friends we made while we
were in Japan. As far as worldly considerations went, they were very
humble indeed; but they possessed other qualifications which entitled
them to our favour, and the youthful Eba particularly has left a
lasting impression on our minds. Throughout our stay they were our
companions; we could never visit a temple without their aid, nor climb
a mountain without their words of advice and encouragement. On many
a shopping expedition did they faithfully act as our guides, and many
a quiet hint would they give us as to the commercial wiles of their
countrymen.

[Illustration]

Cho and Eba belonged to the most insignificant class of oriental
society. In a land where caste is of such importance, I know that any
of our aristocratic Japanese friends would be horrified to learn that
we entertain so kindly a remembrance of these paltry creatures, to whom
the haughty noblemen of the East would hardly deign to give a passing
glance. Perhaps it was because we treated them differently that they
repaid us with such tender regard and would apparently sacrifice
any happiness of their own to give us a momentary satisfaction.
For our humble friends were _jinrikisha_ men, and, more than that,
they belonged to the despised class of the coolies. Before you have
travelled long in Japan you will become very familiar with the
two-wheeled conveyance which has become an institution of the country,
and will take a patriotic interest in it, for it is reported to be the
invention of an American. It is a low carriage with shafts, in which
a toiling coolie acceptably fills the place of a horse, and it is
preferred by the Japanese to the most elaborate coach-and-four of the
West. It was for this position in the world that Cho and Eba were born,
and in this capacity they proved indispensable to us.

It was at our landing that we met them for the first time, and had our
first _jinrikisha_ ride. As you step upon the soil of Japan, you will
see a long row of these carriages with shafts resting on the ground,
and at the same time a corresponding row of unobtrusive natives who
accost you with a most respectful air. They have been sitting between
the shafts, with their hands around their knees, patiently awaiting the
landing of the boat, when they know their services will be required to
conduct the passengers to the Grand Hotel. They have spent the time in
laughing at each other and cracking Japanese jokes, for the amount of
merriment they can get out of life seems without end. If the air is
cold, they will be wrapped up in blankets, and will remind you of our
western Indians; but oftener their covering consists of the simple blue
tights which will become so familiar to you in the days to come. If you
are so unfortunate as to land on a rainy day, they will throw this
aside for a covering of straw with bare feet and legs; but the weather
will not affect their spirits at all, and they will sit with the water
pouring down upon them, and crack the same old jokes, and laugh with
an appreciation to which the sunshine can add nothing. They wear the
regulation mushroom hat, with their name and number inscribed across
the front.

[Illustration]

You will, of course, immediately call to mind the hackmen of the West,
but more by way of contrast than comparison. The duties of each are
in a large measure the same, but here they are exercised in a way
that is entirely different. The Japs have none of the disagreeable
aggressiveness of their western contemporaries; they are quiet and
polite, preferring, indeed, that you should take the initiative in
the transaction. It is very interesting to watch the outcome of a
rivalry that sometimes occurs when two of the coolies hit upon the same
patron. The angry dispute to which many of us are accustomed never
takes place; they treat each other to smiles instead of scowls, and the
unsuccessful aspirant leaves with a laugh to find a more appreciative
customer. During my stay in Japan I hardly ever saw a discontented or
angry _jinrikisha_ man, and if a genial smile and gentle manners are
an indication of inward happiness, they are the happiest mortals it has
been my lot to meet.

All this is very well, and yet it is with some hesitation that you
decide to surrender yourself into the care of one of those unpromising
equipages, and it was my first impulse to look around and see if
something less oriental could not be had; but I quickly reproved
myself, and remembered that I was in Japan. Meanwhile, my companion had
arranged the matter, and I saw a little old man smilingly approaching,
dragging the dreaded _jinrikisha_ behind him. His face was sadly
wrinkled, his moustache was small and grizzled, and when he lifted his
hat I saw that his hair was white. His spirit, however, seemed very
buoyant, and not to have suffered from the many years of toil that
would occasionally make his step a little unsteady. I felt a natural
hesitation about permitting this little old man to drag me about the
city; but the almost paternal air with which he assisted me into the
carriage made me feel more at ease. Glancing at his cap, I saw that my
new acquaintance bore the name of “Cho.”

I had hardly been comfortably seated when I saw my companion ride
past, borne by much nimbler and more youthful legs than those of my
poor old Cho. Riding in Japan is the most unsocial thing in the world.
Each traveller has a _jinrikisha_ to himself, and the carriages are
compelled by law to move in single file, so that the streets may not
be blockaded. It is true that they will sometimes hold more than one
person; but these conveyances are meant for the Japanese alone, who
are so light that two can be carried by one man. The constant parade
of the _jinrikishas_, therefore, through a large thoroughfare, is very
interesting. It makes no difference how many people there may be in
your party; one must follow another in regular order, or your offending
coolie may find himself in the lock-up before the day is over. You
can easily see the disadvantages of this state of affairs; it makes
conversation almost impossible,--and who can travel with pleasure if he
cannot talk?

Both for this reason and for another, which I afterwards learned,
I soon lost sight of my companion, whose more sprightly attendant
speedily left my veteran in the background. Cho made little effort to
gain a position ahead of his fellows, but leisurely fell into line,
and trotted along with the contentment of old age. As I knew that my
forerunner was looking for rooms, I was not greatly annoyed.

I arrived at last, bringing up the rear; and as we stood there
congratulating ourselves, the younger man slowly approached us. Eba
had a face of unusual intelligence, and his eyes sparkled in a way
that contrasted forcibly with the dreamy blinking of Cho. His whole
appearance was less conservative. Under his _kimono_ he wore something
that had a resemblance to western trousers, and he had discarded the
mushroom-hat for a peaked cap like that of a college student. His every
feature bore evidence of a keen though kindly disposition; his hair was
thick and wiry, his eyebrows heavy, his mouth large and firm. He had a
way of darting sharp glances at you that immediately let you know that
here was a man who was not likely to bring up last in a _’rikisha_ or
any other race.

He bowed profoundly, with a smile, and said,--

“Please you have me to-morrow.”

My companion murmured that he might if he was a good man.

“Oh, yes; me very good man. Can run fast.”

“What is your name?”

“My name Eba; can run very fast.”

He had already given evidence of this, and he was told to be on
hand the next morning. He bowed again, and moved on. But he had
an unsatisfied air, and in a hesitating way he turned around and
approached us once more.

“Cho, you know,” he said, with an anxious though somewhat downcast
face, “Cho very good man too.”

And he looked at me appealingly.

“Yes,” I returned, “Cho is a very good man.”

“Cho not quick like me,” he returned, somewhat reassured; “but a very
good man. Cho old.”

After he had given us this information he waited for a few moments,
meditatively digging his bare toes into the sand. Finally he came to
the point.

“Me bring Cho to-morrow? Very good man. My friend.”

We told him that we would be very glad to see Cho also; and with a face
beaming with smiles, and the most exaggerated of bows, Eba took his
leave.

This was the beginning of our acquaintance with these two friends, and
we grew to be very fond of them during the weeks that followed. They
were most assiduous in their attentions, devoting to us all their
time. The first thing we saw every morning as we glanced out of the
window, were the forms of our coolies gracefully reposing in their
shafts, waiting until it was our pleasure to take a ride. Eba was of a
light-hearted temperament, and was always laughing and joking with Cho,
who received his advances with a sedate air more suited to his greater
age. We had already had a touching example of the filial care with
which the younger looked after the older man, and this was only one of
many. I tried several times to learn whether there was any particular
relationship which necessitated this attention, but never discovered
that there was anything beyond a congenial sense of comradeship. We may
be sure that Cho was not the only one who profited by this, for Eba
was of a more impulsive nature, which might have done many foolish
things had it not been for the sage advice of his senior. He always
treated him with the utmost respect, and his attentions were those of
an affectionate son.

[Illustration]

I had been frequently told that the Japanese were a people of little
natural emotion, and that their extreme expression of respect and
affection was merely the national idea of politeness. When I think of
this I always call to mind our two humble friends, and the genuine
attachment I am confident they still have for us. The two men’s
natures were as widely different as their ages; Cho was the practical
man, and thought that the best way he could manifest his affection
was by polishing up the _jinrikisha_ wheels to a dazzling brightness,
or by running up a difficult hill with unusual rapidity; but Eba more
romantically permitted himself little attentions in the way of Japanese
nosegays, and in pointing out unusual and attractive features of the
scene. Cho kept a careful eye on our business affairs, would drop
many a quiet hint on the practices of the shopmen, and thought that
the greatest kindness he could do us was to prevent the impositions
of his crafty countrymen. It was evident that he despised the more
artistic nature of his companion, and at one time I feared that their
friendship might suffer from the little rivalry that was going on. As
Eba’s nosegays increased in size, our carriage wheels grew brighter and
brighter, and when Eba was spending a large part of his time pointing
out new and interesting scenes, Cho seemed to be seeking unknown curio
shops from which to warn us to keep away.

Eba was more intelligent than Cho, and was always ready to talk. He
told me that he could read and write Japanese, having attended school
between the ages of eight and twelve. He was twenty-two years old,
and had dragged _’rikishas_ for about six years. He now worked for a
company at three yen a month, but he was working hard, and in time
hoped to save up enough money to buy his own carriage and be his own
master. In addition to his business capacity, he had a quick eye
for what was really fine, and always used the utmost taste in the
selection of his bouquets.

On one occasion he was delightfully æsthetic. We had been riding in
a suburban district, and the roads were lined with wild-flowers. We
paused a moment for a little rest, and lounged around in the grass in
various attitudes of ease. I grieve to record that Cho leaned his head
against a tree and went to sleep, but I have a better tale to tell of
Eba. I could see him wandering around at a short distance, picking now
and then a flower, which he arranged with the utmost care. He seemed
to bestow a large amount of thought on every fresh addition, rejecting
many a posy that he had selected, and starting on a new search for
something he had not yet found. Finally satisfied, he returned and
presented me with the result. It was a little bouquet not as large as
your thumb, but perfect in every detail. It was surrounded by a thin
border of green, and the flowers were the tiniest I had yet seen in
this land of tiny things. The production was a real work of art, and
could never have been accomplished but by a man of inherent delicacy.
It seemed almost a sacrilege after this that my tasteful friend should
be subjected to the indignity of lifting the _’rikisha_ shafts, and
toiling up the steep hills like an ordinary soul.

Eba’s attachment was a kind that manifested itself in smiles. The
profoundness of his bow was also an excellent gauge of his devotion;
had anything happened the day before to jar upon his sensitive nature,
his body would be sure to incline itself a little more stiffly
than usual. These little congelations would occur when the spray
of cherry-blossoms that he had laid on our sitting-room table had
remained unnoticed, or when we had declined an offer to take a sunset
ride. When all was sailing smoothly on, however, his bow was a thing
in which his whole body played a part, and his smile would often
degenerate into a grin. I was curious to know something about his
home-life; but my questions elicited no confidences. I often wondered
where he stole away in the night-time, and what his own domestic ties
might be. But I never learned; whenever the morning came, there he sat
between the shafts of his _jinrikisha_, with the sleepy Cho at his
side, and this was the only glance I could get into the manner of his
life.

[Illustration]

In other more tangible ways, however, did Eba display his kindly
spirit. He early learned my admiration for the mountain of Fujiyama,
and the desire I felt to view it under the most promising
circumstances. It is not the easiest thing in the world to see this
capricious peak, owing to the dense mist that almost constantly
envelops it; you have to await your chance, which is not likely to
come many times. Eba took it upon himself to keep a careful watch of
affairs, and spent a large part of his time with his eyes towards
the West. One day he ran into my room in the utmost excitement, and
going to the window pulled the curtain aside, with the air of a
long-nourished wish fulfilled.

“Come, Mississy, quick,” he exclaimed. “See Fuji!”

And there was Fuji indeed, towering in the golden sunset, its outlines
clearly marked against the sky, and its summit wrapped in glistening
snow.

But his attachment still expressed itself most touchingly in flowers.
I know he kept a careful eye upon me to see what I did with his
offerings, and when I occasionally wore one of his bouquets, his smiles
and bows reached their highest extravagance. One morning he appeared
early at the door with a beaming face, though it bore evidence of some
anxiety, as if he had formed a plan of the success of which he was
doubtful.

“Come, Mississy,” he said, pointing to the awaiting _jinrikisha_.

But I was too busy that day, and told him I could not go. He seemed
almost ready to cry, and looked up to me again appealingly.

“Some other day, Eba,” I returned.

“No, no,--to-day. Cannot see to-morrow.”

After a little further conversation, I decided to spend a few moments
this way, and so stepped into the _jinrikisha_. He started off in high
glee, and ran at a pace that would have terrified me had any other than
Eba held the shafts. One or two small children who were so unfortunate
as to be in his way were overturned with a single thrust of his arm and
went rolling over into the gutter. Eba laughed loudly at his little
joke, and shouted lustily to Cho, who passed us with a perplexed and
disapproving shake of the head. Finally we drew up before a florist’s
shop, and Eba proudly led the way to the shrine of his peculiar
pilgrimage.

[Illustration]

He stopped before a small potted plant, and pointed at it with a
smile. I was amazed to see a tiny pine-tree not over six inches high,
but perfectly formed in the smallest detail. I had seen many other
Japanese experiments in minuteness, but this surpassed them all. Eba
was delighted with my satisfaction, and informed me that this thrifty
dwarf had been growing for many years. It was to be on exhibition for
that day only, and this explained his anxiety that I should visit the
shop that morning.

When I told my two friends that we were to leave Yokohama, and spend
a few weeks in China, their faces suddenly fell, and only brightened
when I added that our journey would be a short one, and that we should
expect to see them on our return. They carefully inquired when we were
to go, and the exact time we were to stay. We thought little of this
until, after having spent the allotted number of days in the land of
the pig-tail, we rode into the station at Yokohama. During my absence
I had given many a thought to the two friends, and wondered whether
their thoughts of us had vanished when we ourselves left their sight.
I was somewhat surprised, as well as pleased, as the train drew in, to
see two familiar figures enjoying the old-time repose between the same
_jinrikisha_ shafts. They were Cho and Eba, who eagerly came forward
as the train drew to a stop, and scanned the passengers. One or two
of those alighting tried to engage their services, but in vain. Eba
first caught sight of us, and came up bowing, smilingly followed by the
less demonstrative Cho, whose face, however, disclosed that he was a
delighted man. Eba later informed us that they had carefully counted
the days and the trains, and had hit upon the exact time that we should
return.

And now there were more bouquets, more smiles and bows, and more
polishing of _jinrikisha_ wheels. Again did Eba keep a watchful eye
upon Fuji, and many a glimpse of the majestic mountain did I owe to
him. But the time came when all this had to end, and when we must sail
away from Japan for home. They realised this with regret at least,
and during the last few days were more attentive than ever before.
Steamer-day came at last, when we should have to bid farewell to our
friends, perhaps forever. Eba and Cho were not the only ones to regret
the parting. They had become such familiar companions, and had served
us so faithfully, that we disliked to think that we should see them no
more.

Early in the morning of the day of separation I heard a gentle knock
at the door. When I opened it I could see nothing at first but a huge
bouquet of beautiful Japanese roses. Presently the roses bowed up
and down, and I heard a familiar voice come from behind them. “For
Mississy.” It was Eba’s farewell present!

Cho, softened a little at the thought of parting, was also without, and
both came into the room and helped us pack our trunks, and performed
various little acts of kindness. The ride along the Bund was the
slowest we ever took; Eba had lost much of his sprightliness, and Cho’s
poor old legs lagged more than ever. They insisted on going aboard the
boat with us, and tried to find pretext after pretext for remaining,
long after their usefulness was over. Finally the last blast of the
steam whistle was heard, and Cho and Eba reluctantly moved away.

“Good-bye, Eba! Good-bye, Cho! Perhaps we shall return some day.”

“Good-bye, Mississy.”

I offered Eba my hand. It was probably the first experience of the kind
he had ever had, and he looked at it with a puzzled air. Finally he
just touched it with the tips of his copper fingers, and sadly bowed
himself away.

[Illustration: SAYONARA]




Transcriber’s Notes


Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
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were not changed.

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marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left
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