Part 3

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.