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AN ENGLISH GIRL IN JAPAN

AN ENGLISH GIRL
IN JAPAN

BY

ELLA M. HART BENNETT

SECOND EDITION

Illustrated

LONDON

WELLS GARDNER, DARTON & CO., LTD.

3, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E.C.

First Edition, May, 1904

Second Edition, June, 1906

TO

MY FRIEND MARY

A SOUVENIR

OF MANY PLEASANT DAYS

‘Though wide the ocean now dividing us,

Ne’er let its waters separate our souls.’

(Japanese quotation.)

PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION

The following sketches of life in Japan and the voyage there and back are taken from a diary which I kept during my travels.

Since writing my little book of personal reminiscences, which, thanks to indulgent readers and kind friends, is now republished in a second edition, many and great changes have taken place in the Far East.

Japan has now become a great Power--not only in the East, but also in the West. It is little Japan no longer; or, rather, its greatness is now understood and acknowledged by all the world. Western civilization has taken a firm hold on the Japanese people. They have been rapidly adopting, and, in fact, improving on, Western methods, customs, and manners. The fear of the globe-trotter of to-day is whether he will be in time to see the Japan of his dreams and of romance, before this great Western wave of progress and reform has divested the Land of the Rising Sun of its quaint originality and fascinating charm.

E. H. B.

1906.

PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION

The following sketches of life in Japan and the voyage there and back are taken from a diary which I kept during my travels.

As Japan and its wonderful little people have come so much before the world during the last few years, and especially at this time are one of the chief factors in the crisis in the Far East, I thought that these reminiscences and anecdotes taken from real life might be of interest.

I am indebted to the editors of the Cornhill, Sketch, Sunday, and the Buenos Aires Standard for the reproduction of some of the following sketches.

ELLA HART BENNETT.

1904.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

An English Girl in Japan

CHAPTER I
ON THE WAY

I start on my travels--A fair Theosophist--Life on an American liner--Arrival at New York--Delmonico’s--The Hotel Waldorf--Niagara Falls--Across the Lakes--The prairies--A quiet Sunday.

The visit to the Far East, where my father had business in Japan, was taken when I was only eighteen. Being an only child, I had been his constant companion since the death of my mother nine years previously. I was never sent to school, and, after a succession of governesses, my education was put into the hands of the old bachelor Rector of our parish, whose ideas as to what a girl ought to know were somewhat peculiar. However, in other ways I had more practical knowledge of life than was usual for one of my age, as my father discussed subjects of all kinds with me freely; and I grew up to take interest in topics of the day, in animal life of all kinds, and in my garden, of which I was very proud.

Until the last moment I feared something might occur to prevent our going; and it seemed almost too good to be true to think I was actually to see the country from where my father had brought so many beautiful curios on his former visit, and which I had always heard spoken of as an earthly paradise.

However, the day of departure came at last, and after many preparations and tearful farewells from the two old servants, who were to keep house for us during our absence, we started--two planet pilgrims bound for the Land of the Rising Sun.

I have always disliked books of travel with dates describing the day and hour when the writer did this or that, and giving minute descriptions of food, climate, feelings, etc. I don’t think it is in the least amusing to read that on Monday, the 26th, the heroine was seasick, and on the 30th, at 6 p.m., was able to enjoy roast mutton and pudding. Or that she landed on such a day at such a place, and exactly how she spent each hour. I have decided only to write about the events and experiences which have most impressed me during my travels, and to describe as well as I can the characteristics of the people that I came across.

We sailed from Southampton in the Paris, a huge American liner of 12,000 tons, more like a floating hotel than a ship. My first impressions of life on board were not altogether enjoyable, as we started in a gale, and I own to more than once wishing myself back again in Old England. However, in a couple of days the weather calmed down, and I soon recovered my sea-legs, and was able once again to enjoy life.

There were a good number of passengers of every description and nationality on board--a theatrical company, Mr. Carnegie (the millionaire), the late Dr. Barnardo, Mrs. Annie Besant, a foreign Ambassador and a Colonial Governor, besides many other well-known people. Mrs. Besant was accompanied by two Indian Mahatmas, who were the objects of much interest. They spent the greater part of their time together, reclining in long deck-chairs, with pillows behind their heads, and covered up to their chins with thick rugs. Sometimes they lay for hours, hand in hand, with closed eyes; at other times they talked earnestly in low tones. One Indian was very short and fat, the other long and thin, with snake-like movements and curious piercing eyes. They had thick black hair down to their shoulders, little red caps with tassels on their heads, and long, rusty black frock-coats and white trousers--a truly remarkable pair. I overheard the fat one remark to Mrs. Besant that before they could disintegrate and assume their astral shapes it was necessary to abstain from food for twelve hours, when their bodies would be in a fit state to soar. The fat little man must evidently have made up for his abstinence at other times, judging from his portly appearance. We were told that the trio were going to lecture on Theosophy in Chicago, and, after some little persuasion, Mrs. Besant consented to give a lecture on board. Over three hundred of the passengers assembled in the saloon, and the fair Theosophist held us fascinated for more than an hour. She spoke very quietly, but with intense earnestness, in a rich, deep voice, with hardly a moment’s pause. The subject was evolution, and the manner in which the soul passes from one body to another, either getting higher and more spiritual, or deteriorating and becoming more animal.

One of the audience got up and asked for the proofs of Buddhism being superior to other religions, others followed suit, and the discussion became somewhat heated, until the chairman, Mr. Carnegie, restored order by saying that we were not at a debating society, but that Mrs. Besant having been persuaded to speak for our pleasure and entertainment, he thought the least we could do was to listen with respectful attention, if not agreeing with the subject in question. (Loud applause.)

The remainder of the voyage passed in the usual way--sports, tournaments, concerts, the daily lottery on the run--the prize number being sometimes worth between thirty and forty pounds. Various other amusements were arranged by enterprising passengers and officers of the ship.

We were fortunate in arriving at New York up to time--in five days and a half--as the week before the mails had been delayed by a severe cyclone, from the effects of which New York was still suffering. On landing at the Custom House the scene of confusion baffled description. We luckily possessed a pass, so had not to open our trunks, but it seemed hours before our thirty-five boxes and packages were collected together. Meanwhile, I sat waiting on one of my boxes until my patience was quite exhausted.

My father had engaged rooms at the Hotel Waldorf, where we found a most charming suite had been reserved for us. Each set of rooms in the hotel is furnished in a different style--one Indian, one Japanese, another Egyptian, and a special honeymoon suite, all pink, blue, and Cupids. This hotel--probably the most luxurious in the world--was built by Mr. Astor, the millionaire, costing £400,000, and £200,000 to furnish. The State-rooms, fitted up for the Prince of Wales, who never went there after all, are magnificent. The walls are hung with Gobelin tapestry, and all the dinner-service is of solid silver. I was particularly fascinated with the winter garden, which resembles a huge conservatory, with fountains, palms, and little tables dotted about. A string band played there every evening, and I saw a number of smartly-dressed American women and girls, as well as men, enjoying their favourite American drinks. I was not content until I had sampled a ‘corpse reviver,’ drinking it through a long straw, but I cannot say the result was altogether satisfactory.

Everything about New York interested me immensely after the quiet country life I had led at home. The crowds in the streets, the bustle, the electric-cars and overhead railways, were at first bewildering. We were given a box at the Opera Comique to see ‘Panjandrum,’ and there I saw several American society beauties. The girls reminded me much of Dana Gibson’s charming drawings. The men seemed insignificant in comparison; but it is said they make ideal husbands, which is an important consideration.

After the theatre we went to a ‘roof garden,’ going up by lift to the top of a large building, and through a door on to the roof. This had been converted into a Café Chantant--plants, chairs, a small stage, and a restaurant, all lit up with little coloured lamps. It was very amusing, and a delightful way of spending a hot evening, as, although the end of September, the weather in New York was still sultry.

Before returning to the hotel, my father took me to Delmonico’s, the famous New York restaurant, where we had an excellent supper, beginning with hot, soft-shell crabs--a very favourite dish in America. They are just like our crabs, but the shells are quite soft and crisp, and one eats shell, legs, and all. Mrs. Besant and her two Mahatmas were sitting at a table near us. They had evidently no immediate intention of assuming their astral shapes, to judge by the number of dishes which were placed before them and were carried away empty. A precocious little American girl of about ten was having supper with her ‘poppa’ and ‘momma’ at the table next to us. Between the intervals of eating she placed her elbows on the table, brandishing aloft her knife and fork, and made comments on the people round in a loud, nasal voice. After some especially indiscreet remark about the long, thin Indian, who turned and looked at her with a melancholy gleam in his snake-like eye, ‘momma’ exclaimed in equally strident tones: ‘I guess, Jemima, you had better keep your remarks to your own inside, and not make them public, or you’ll get yourself disliked--say?’ For a few moments Jemima remained silent, but soon began again.

The next morning I was awakened to find a negro standing by my bedside with a tray in his hands. He stood motionless in an attitude of attention, his feet well turned out, a broad grin showing his white teeth, apparently awaiting my commands. After receiving my orders, he departed with another low bow, still smiling. Most of the house-work is done in America by negroes, who are very quick and willing.

After three delightful but most fatiguing days in New York, spent in sight-seeing, we left by the night train for Niagara. I shall never forget my first impressions of those wonderful Falls, which even exceeded my expectations, they are so indescribably beautiful and impressive.

After lunch at the hotel where we were to stay the night, we walked to various points on the American side, and at each the view seemed more beautiful than the last. The Niagara River divides and forms three islands. On one side are the American Falls; on the other, over a large suspension-bridge, are the Canadian Horseshoe Falls. I persuaded my father to take me down under the latter. We were first both arrayed in a complete set of oilskins--coat, long boots, and pointed hood--and presented most comical figures. A guide led the way, as the path in places was very steep and slippery. At one spot the water poured down on us like a shower-bath, and it required some strength of mind not to turn back; but when we had once started we were determined to see all. We came to a tunnel, lighted by lanterns, where the water dripped from the roof and walls, forming deep puddles, through which we plunged; and I was glad to find myself in the daylight again, safe and sound. The sunshine on the water produced a rainbow at both Falls--a most beautiful sight on the white foam.

Almost more impressive, if possible, than the Falls are the whirlpool rapids, which we visited next morning--the place where Captain Webb was drowned, and where only lately a foolhardy woman lost her life attempting to cross in a cask. The cask reached its destination safely, after some hours’ buffeting with the current, but when opened, the woman was found dead.

I can only liken the scene to a tremendous storm on a rocky coast, as the waves dashed over the rocks, throwing up foam and spray high into the air, whilst the thunder of the water was deafening. The cliffs on either side of the river were covered with grass and trees growing to the water’s edge, calm and peaceful--a striking contrast to the Rapids and their ceaseless tumult.

From Niagara we went by train and boat to Toronto. On our arrival at the hotel we found five reporters sitting in the hall awaiting us, ready to pounce on my father, who, being well known in the literary world, was doomed to be victimized. In vain did my unfortunate parent remind them it was past nine o’clock, that we had had no dinner, and having only that evening made our first acquaintance with the delights of Canada, it was impossible fully to do justice either to himself or the country. All was of no avail; a long string of questions had to be answered before we were permitted to depart in peace, and the next morning in all the leading papers appeared wonderful and totally untrue accounts of our family history, appearance, and sentiments.

From Owen Sound we went by steamboat across Lake Huron and Lake Superior to Port William, which is in connection with the Canadian-Pacific Railway. The lake scenery is very beautiful, and was a pleasant change after the dusty train. We were three hours passing through the lock which divides the two lakes. As the steamboats are run on strictly temperance principles, and no wine or spirit of any description allowed on board--although we were fed with such dainties as frogs’ legs and soft-shell crab--the excitement was great on seeing a little shanty by the lock where home-brewed beer could be obtained. There was a frantic rush on shore, and the little inn must have reaped a harvest that day. Whilst waiting at the lock I was much interested in seeing large quantities of timber floating over the rapids, having come downstream hundreds of miles from the Canadian forests. The wood is caught by huge nets made of chains, and just by the side of the lock is a storage depot, where the timber is collected and cut into planks. We had some excellent lake trout for dinner, and in the evening watched the northern lights, which illuminated the sky far into the night.

The next morning we left Port William, a quaint little town which had only been in existence three years, but already boasted of a church and good shops and houses, and started westward on our four days’ train journey to Vancouver. During the first twenty-four hours we passed through the prairies, a vast stretch of yellow plain, with its deep purple shadows, looking terribly desolate, but yet fascinating in its loneliness. Here and there were prairie fires--some still smouldering, others which had left only their charred and blackened marks behind them. We passed many little settlements and farms--one farm was a hundred miles in size--and an immense quantity of wheat is grown in this district. At each station are huge elevators, and the grain is sucked up into them through tubes by means of compressed air at marvellous rapidity. It was harvest-time when we passed, but, being Sunday, none of the men were at work. It seemed quite pathetic to see lines of buggies and cars waiting outside some of the little settlement churches, and as we passed we saw many of the settlers riding and driving to and from service. Some must have come very long distances. At one place, far away from any dwelling, there was a little cemetery--just a dozen white stones and one little cross standing out against the sky--only divided by a rough wooden rail from the rest of the prairie. In winter the country is covered with snow to a depth of from twenty to thirty feet, and the occupants of the farms have to dig their way out, leaving only the front-door exposed. We saw large herds of cattle and horses, but the buffalo is almost extinct. He, as well as the Indian, seems to disappear as civilization advances.

There are still some Indians left, however, and we passed several encampments. Their wigwams looked more picturesque than comfortable, composed of mud and sticks. The few specimens we saw were miserable-looking creatures. The women’s cheeks were painted a bright brick-red, long matted hair hung over their shoulders, and their costumes consisted of the most extraordinary collection of old rags and finery imaginable. They seemed quite harmless, but were much alarmed when I attempted to snap-shot them, and slunk away, evidently warning the others against us. The papooses, fastened like little mummies to their mothers’ backs, had some of them quaint, almost pretty, faces, but looked horribly dirty and uncomfortable, swathed tightly in their filthy rags.

The violent rocking of the train, the dust, the heat of the cars, all combined to give me a bad attack of car-sickness, added to which I knocked my head violently against the door of our car, and was almost stunned. At each station the one thought of everyone on board was to get out for some fresh air and to stretch one’s limbs, and I was almost left behind at a little wayside station, where I had quite forgotten my troubles looking at the glorious sunset lighting up the prairie. Suddenly, to my horror, I saw the train slowly gliding off; had not the guard cleverly caught me up in his arms as the end carriage was leaving the platform, I should have been left to the tender mercies of the station-master and signalman in the middle of the prairie until the next train passed, twenty-four hours later.

After this adventure and fright I became so thoroughly upset that my father decided to break our journey at Banff for a couple of days.

CHAPTER II
IN THE ROCKIES

First sight of the Rockies--Stay at Banff--Indians and salmon--Arrival at Vancouver--The Empress of India--Chinese passengers--The missing day--A court-martial--First sight of Japan.

After leaving the prairies the scenery became more hilly and the country wooded and fertile. The maples had just turned, and their gorgeous colouring of crimson and gold made the landscape appear like a gigantic flower-garden. Ill as I felt, the beauty of the scene so fascinated me that hours passed like minutes. Gradually the distant blue mountains grew nearer and more distinct, and, almost without knowing it, we found ourselves in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, four thousand feet above the sea-level.

At sunset a mist rolled across the valley, and above towered the great Cathedral Rock, thirteen thousand feet high, tinged a lovely rose-colour which gradually faded into soft pink and gray; then all was left in shadow, with the young moon shedding her pale light upon the dark, rugged outline of rock. It was a scene never to be forgotten.

We spent three pleasant days at Banff. Oh, the joy of a quiet night’s rest, a hot bath, and being clean again! I soon felt much better, though still stiff and shaken. The hotel was very comfortable, built like a huge Swiss chalet of pine-wood, with a big veranda, and beautifully situated, overlooking lake, forest, and river, and surrounded by high peaks in the distance. The hot, iron, and sulphur springs are a great feature of the place, and I much enjoyed the warm, open-air bath, formed out of the rocks, where I had a delightful swim each morning. The air at Banff is most invigorating--so clear and pure. We spent a good deal of our time on the Vermilion Lake, paddling about in a Canadian canoe, and exploring the many little creeks, some only a few feet wide. Trout are very abundant in the lake, and my father was fortunate in catching one weighing nearly thirty-five pounds, much to the envy and admiration of the other people at the hotel.

After leaving Banff we travelled in the observation-car of the train as far as Field, a little village five thousand feet up in the mountains, where we stopped to dine. It was intensely cold, and snow was already on the ground. The train after Field makes the most extraordinary turns and twists, and is called the loop-line. In some places both ends of the train were visible from the car. The skeleton iron bridges, hung from rock to rock, shook as we passed over them, and I felt dizzy as I looked down at the yawning chasms far below.

After leaving the Rockies we passed into the Selkirk Range, and crossed and recrossed the great Frazer River, with its high rocks and great boulders. The river is full of salmon, and in a clear pool we saw at least forty or fifty big fish basking. The Indians catch them in great quantities, and we passed several little encampments where queer-looking strings of red stuff were hanging from long sticks, which we were told was the salmon.

IN THE HEART OF THE ROCKIES.

Here and there were little wigwams by the river-bank, with Indians and their papooses, forming picturesque groups, some wading in the creeks, or busy at work hanging up the salmon to dry in the sun.

The scenery as we neared Vancouver became less wild. Mount Baker, over fifteen thousand feet high, rose up solitary and grand, its snow-capped summit standing out like a white pyramid against the deep blue of the sky. We were fortunate in seeing it in all its beauty, as it is generally hidden in clouds.

Vancouver is a clean, well-built town at the mouth of the Frazer River. The harbour there is large enough for men-of-war to anchor in, and there we found our steamer, the Empress of India, awaiting us--a fine boat of 6,000 tons, painted white and built on the lines of a large yacht. We spent Sunday, the day after our arrival, in visiting the park near Vancouver, where the famous big trees are to be seen--cedars, firs, and spruce; one, perhaps the largest in the world, measures sixty feet round, and a carriage and pair of horses can go inside the trunk, which is hollow. The forest is almost tropical with its luxuriant vegetation and beautiful ferns. Wild animals are to be found there, such as deer, panthers, and a kind of lion, but the latter are rarely seen now near the town.

The voyage between Vancouver and Yokohama takes fourteen days. I was glad to find on board a very nice-looking set of passengers, mostly English. The first day or two we took each other’s measure cautiously, and limited the conversation to a few polite nothings, but before the end of the voyage many of us were firm friends.

There were about a hundred first-class passengers, and three hundred miserable-looking Chinese in the steerage. Many of them looked wretchedly ill, and we saw a number of long black boxes in the hold, which we heard afterwards were coffins. It seems that the one desire of a Chinaman is to be buried in his native land, otherwise he believes that his soul will go into some low animal instead of to Paradise. Just before sailing at midnight, I noticed a long line of Chinese passing up the gangway to the steamer. Before being admitted, they were carefully examined by the ship’s doctor. Many poor wretches were turned back, discovered to be suffering from some fatal chest disease very prevalent amongst the Chinese. As it was, I believe, there were several deaths on board, in which case the steamship company was bound under contract to convey the Chinese passenger, alive or dead, to his destination.

Our stewards on board were all Chinamen, and most quick and willing. They had all very long pigtails tied with black silk at the ends, and little black caps with red tassels on their heads. When waiting at table they wore butcher-blue garments down to their heels, white cuffs; and their funny little feet were encased in white shoes with black rosettes. They had sad, old-looking faces, but were really quite cheerful, and talked incessantly in their queer pigeon-English. I longed to send one home as a present to our old Rector, who always described our Norfolk servants as ‘the curse of the age.’

An amusement committee was soon organized on board, and by the end of the first week we were all busily engaged in Bridge, Chess, Halma, and other tournaments--cricket matches, athletic sports, and one or two dances when the weather was sufficiently calm. The Pacific Ocean rather belies its name, as typhoons and severe storms prevail at times, and we met one battered-looking sailing-ship, which reported very rough weather off the Japanese coast. However, we were most fortunate during the whole voyage in having nothing worse than a stiff breeze on one or two occasions, although that was quite sufficient to send many of the passengers, including myself, to their berths; but my fears of being ‘battened down’ were never realized.

In consequence of continually travelling westward, when we reached the meridian of 180° from Greenwich, we were told that a day would be dropped to equalize matters. Consequently, after going to bed one Sunday night, we woke up to find it was Tuesday morning, and our missing day was never recovered until, on our voyage home to England, we sailed eastward. As there was much variety of opinion as to the reason of the missing day, one of the passengers offered a prize for the best poem describing why we must lose a day, where it goes to, and what is done with it. About twenty of the passengers sent in verses, which were read aloud by the Captain in the saloon and voted for. The prize was won by an American missionary. Not that his was by any means the best poem, but the entire missionary party--there was a large gathering of them on board--all arranged beforehand to vote for their dear brother, a rather unfair proceeding.

During the voyage a stupid practical joke was played, of which I was one of the chief victims. An Australian lady and her daughter sent out invitations to a tea-party in honour of the daughter’s birthday. About a dozen of us were invited, including the Captain and my father and me. A sumptuous spread was prepared--cakes, sweets of all kinds, and a delicious-looking soufflé, which our hostess particularly begged us to try. I innocently put a spoonful into my mouth, when I discovered to my disgust it was made of nothing but beaten-up soap--the most horrible concoction imaginable. Two or three other people at the table followed suit, and our feelings can be better imagined than described. It took, indeed, some time before I recovered from the effects.

Nemesis, however, awaited the originators of this unpleasant trick. A trial by jury was decided upon. Judge, counsel, and jury were got together, and large notices were placed about the ship saying that a most cold-blooded attempt at wholesale murder by poison had been attempted, but fortunately, with no fatal results; that the police had every reason to believe that jealousy was at the bottom of it, and so on.

After this, the Australian lady and her daughter found life on board ship not altogether so delightful as they had expected, but began to realize that it is sometimes unwise to play practical jokes. The trial took place two evenings later in the saloon, which was arranged as much as possible like a court-room. The judge, an English Colonel, arrayed in a long scarlet cloak and a wig, sat at a table. The prisoners were placed in chairs on another table, guarded by a policeman. The counsel for the plaintiffs and the defendants had wigs made by the ship’s barber, a man of resource, who painted us up to represent our various characters, making the three victims who had swallowed the soap appear ghastly with white chalk. The jury was composed of seven ladies. There were also six witnesses, an usher, and a clerk of the courts.

The counsel on both sides spoke well. The defence was that soap was harmless and good to eat, and a witness was called who was really a soap manufacturer at Shanghai. After the jury had retired for some minutes, they returned with the verdict ‘Guilty,’ at which the two prisoners turned pale and dissolved into tears. The judge, looking very stern, after a short speech on the iniquity of practical jokes, sentenced the prisoners to be taken on their arrival at Yokohama to be tattooed on their wrists with the words ‘Pears’ Soap.’ Needless to say, this threat was not carried into effect; but I think the offenders were already sufficiently punished. Early the following morning my father called me to see the first glimpse of Japan--a faint outline of blue hills against the horizon, which gradually became more and more distinct until by mid-day we anchored in Japan waters, and our long, pleasant voyage was at an end.

On landing at Yokohama, we took rickshaws to the Grand Hotel, a large English building on the Bund facing the harbour. Never shall I forget my first ride in the quaint little carriage resembling a small buggy, only instead of having a horse in the shafts, there was a funny little brown grinning man, dressed in a blue cotton garment, barefooted, with a large white hat like a mushroom on his head, on which was printed his name and number. He started off at a steady trot and, after the first feeling of insecurity had passed, I thoroughly enjoyed the motion and was quite sorry when we, with our luggage, which had followed us in a long line of rickshaws, were deposited at the steps of the hotel.

I was much amused the morning after my arrival before I was dressed to receive visits from three Chinese tailors. They marched calmly into my room at various times, without waiting for me to answer their knock, bringing patterns and begging me to patronize them. The last had hardly departed when another visitor appeared, in the shape of a dealer in curios. He proceeded to strew my room with brocades, embroideries and every conceivable knick-knack. I was unable to resist a quaint little Japanese clock, a small bronze Buddha, and an embroidered silk kimono, for which treasures I afterwards found I had paid about three times their value, though I fondly imagined I had made excellent bargains.

There was a charming view from the veranda of my room. The harbour was gay with Japanese sanpans,[^[A]] little sailing-boats,--here and there a man-of-war and a couple of mail-steamers. Late that afternoon I saw the Empress of India steaming slowly out of the harbour, bound for Hongkong. It seemed rather like saying good-bye to an old friend, and I felt a little homesick as I watched my last link with the old world disappear into the dim distance.

[A]. Japanese boats.

CHAPTER III
EARLY DAYS IN JAPAN

A new friend--A Japanese dinner--Japanese temples--An earthquake--A fire in Yokohama.

The first few weeks after our arrival in Japan would have been rather dull, as my father had to leave at once for Tokio on business, had I not made the acquaintance of a girl staying in the hotel who was also travelling with her father in Japan. Pauline, as she was called, was a few years older than myself, a clever girl with very decided opinions on most subjects. She was also an only child, and her father, who was an invalid, gave way to her in everything. For some reason or other she took a great fancy to me at first sight. We soon became good friends and I was delighted to have someone to go about with as I had always longed for a girl companion. We explored the streets of Yokohama together, picking up a few words of Japanese which enabled us to make purchases and direct our rickshaw coolies. What delightful drives we had, going out sometimes far into the country with green rice-fields on either side and here and there a little tea-house where we would stop to rest and have a cup of the honourable tea!

One evening my father took us both to dine at a Japanese restaurant to have a real Japanese dinner. On arriving, we had to take off our shoes before entering the house and were then taken to a room with absolutely no furniture, but divided by screens. The floor was covered with spotless matting and some little cushions on which we sat in various attitudes. The Japanese way of sitting on one’s heels is far too fatiguing to try for long.

First a little nasan (servant) appeared bowing to the floor, bringing tea in tiny cups and some cakes made of sweet beans; then three charming little geishas (dancing girls) entered, dressed in scarlet-embroidered kimonos and bright sashes. Their faces were carefully painted, and their black hair decorated with many-coloured pins. They were the dearest little people imaginable, not more than thirteen or fourteen years old, with pretty little hands and feet and charming, graceful manners. A lacquer tray was placed before each of us on the floor with a cup of saké, the national drink--something like sherry and water, but with a burning taste, and most intoxicating. As water-drinking is dangerous in Japan we had to content ourselves with tea. Bowls of soup were first brought us with large pieces of fish and some strange-looking morsels floating in it. These we chased about with our chopsticks with little success, much to the amusement of the geishas, who sat in a row watching us, laughing merrily and evidently discussing our clothes and appearance.

The next dish was raw fish cut in slices, with some green and very nasty sauce made from seaweed; then came a course of fried fish, after which there was a dance by the two geishas--wonderfully graceful and pretty. It consisted chiefly in the waving of fans and the revolving on one leg to the melodious strains of a samisen, which resembles anything rather than what we call music. Still, it seemed to suit the dance and the strange surroundings.

Shrimps in batter was the nicest dish that we tasted, followed by a concoction of fermented turnip in slices and cabbage-stalks soaked in vinegar; and finally a bowl of rice was served, always the last course at a Japanese dinner.

Spoons and forks were given us, but we stuck manfully to our chopsticks. It was a polite way of not eating more than absolutely necessary. Two more dances finished our entertainment.

On leaving we were each presented with a fried fish in a little wooden box for good luck, and the little geishas and nasans followed us to our rickshaws, calling out as we left: ‘Tum adain soone! Sayonara!’

‘TUM ADAIN SOONE! SAYONARA!’

The Shinto and Buddhist temples round Yokohama are curious and interesting with their stone lanterns and little lacquer shrines. Most of them are built of wood painted red. Those in the town are generally crowded with people constantly coming and going, some buying prayers on rice-paper for their own particular want, price one sen (quarter of a farthing), others only gossiping and strolling about.

ONE OF THE SHINTO TEMPLES.

Outside some of the temples is to be seen the bronze or wooden figure of a god enclosed in a kind of cage covered with wire-netting. These figures are literally plastered over with little pellets of paper prayers which the people chew in their mouths and throw or spit at the image. If the paper sticks on the figure their petition is answered; if, on the other hand, it remains in the netting their prayer is not heard--a true relic of old Japanese superstitions. The great bronze Buddha at Kamakura is very wonderful, and contains a small temple. The eyes of the figure are of solid gold.

THE GREAT BRONZE BUDDHA.

At one of the temples which Pauline and I visited a sacred horse is kept in a stall, and close by small trays of corn are sold and given to the horse to do duty as prayers. Needless to say, the poor beast is almost as broad as it is long.

We had our first experience of an earthquake soon after our arrival in Yokohama. It was not a severe shock, but quite enough to alarm the visitors at the Grand Hotel, who came rushing out on the landings and corridors in the strangest and most sketchy attires. I hardly like to describe the appearance of one or two visions I met as I ran out of my room to see what had happened. One lady was tearing downstairs followed by her maid holding out a dressing-gown, which she vainly endeavoured to persuade her mistress to put on. Two old maiden ladies, who had arrived only the day before, insisted on the manager of the hotel hiring them two rickshaws, although it was nearly midnight, and in them the two agitated spinsters spent the rest of the night driving slowly up and down the Bund (parade), to be prepared in case of further alarms. I saw them the next morning looking very pale and weary, but still holding on their laps bundles of underclothing, several bags and a miserable little pet dog.

One or two cracks in the ceilings and walls of the hotel was all the damage done by the shock that night.

A fire is almost as much dreaded as an earthquake in Japan, and, unfortunately, is of common occurrence owing to the houses in the native quarters of the towns being built entirely of wood and paper.

A few nights after the earthquake scare I was awakened at about 2 a.m. by a brilliant glare in my room and the noise of many hurrying footsteps passing the hotel. Looking out of my window, I saw what was apparently the entire native quarter of Yokohama in a blaze. Flames and sparks were leaping high into the air and great clouds of smoke were pouring down the street. Quickly flinging on a few clothes, I hurried to Pauline’s room, which was next mine, and found her already half dressed. It needed but little persuasion on her part to convince me that the one and only thing to be done was to go and see what we could of the fire from a safe distance. We crept downstairs and out of a side-door into the street, which was by this time full of little figures running rapidly in the same direction, all carrying lanterns in their hands. I then remembered that our passports, which had been given us by the British Consul only a few days previously, notified that no one was to attend a fire on horseback, or without carrying a lantern. I could well understand the danger there would have been riding amongst this excited crowd of little Japs, but what were we to do without a lantern? Suddenly I remembered I had my purse in my pocket, and seeing two shabby-looking boys carrying a light just in front of me, I stopped them, and holding out a yen (dollar), pointed to their precious lantern. They understood my signals and, grinning broadly, snatched at the money, handed me the lantern and scampered off.

Pauline and I, clinging closely to each other, were swept on in the crowd, which every moment grew denser, until we found ourselves on the edge of the moat separating the native quarter from the settlement.

As it seemed hopeless to attempt to put out the fire, which every moment attacked fresh houses, figures of men could be seen jumping from roof to roof and tearing down houses still untouched to stop the flames going further. The fierce glare lit up the pale, excited faces of the thousands of little spectators swaying in one moving mass backwards and forwards, whilst the clashing of bells from every quarter of the town--one of the regulations in case of a fire--the shouts of the crowd, and the crackling of the burning wood, all added to the strangely horrible, yet fascinating sight. The heat and smoke became almost unbearable, sparks began to fall on us and one had even scorched my hair. It seemed probable, unless the wind changed, that the fire might cross the moat, in which case our lives would be in danger. I turned and asked Pauline whether we had not better try to get out of the crowd and return home. To my horror I found she was looking ghastly and ready to faint. The heat and excitement had been too much for her. I was in despair, knowing it would be impossible to help her out in such a crush. At that moment, to my intense relief, I saw my father’s head and shoulders towering above the crowd not far behind. I managed to call loud enough to attract his attention, and he soon pushed his way through to where we were standing. After some difficulty we managed to get poor Pauline safely to a cooler and less crowded spot. When she had revived a little, we returned to the hotel half dead with fatigue, our clothes ruined, and both of us thoroughly ashamed of ourselves. I think my long-suffering parent thought we had been punished sufficiently, as he did not refer to our escapade, and Pauline’s father never knew in what danger his idolized daughter had been that night.

The next day we heard that over four hundred houses had been destroyed in the fire and three lives lost. The loss of property was not great, as the Japanese keep all their valuables in ‘go-downs’--small fireproof buildings, which alone remained standing and unhurt when we visited the spot a few days later. Even before the ashes were cold the plucky little people were hard at work marking out fresh sites for new buildings, and three or four months later it was difficult to believe that a fire could ever have taken place in that neighbourhood.

Shortly after this Pauline confided to me her great desire to see something of Japanese life in the interior, far away from Treaty-port towns and European hotels. Naturally, I also became seized with a similar desire, so, after much persuasion and many entreaties, our parents gave their consent to our making a ten days’ tour, accompanied by a highly-recommended and most respectable guide and interpreter, by name Idaka. He was a most superior person, with a fair knowledge of the English language, and quite deliciously ugly. I liked that guide; he told me I was a most intelligent walker, and had a noble foot. Pauline insisted on calling him a fool--of course not to his face, as ‘bacha,’ Japanese for fool, is a terrible term to apply to anyone in Japan--but even she admitted he certainly was useful.

During our absence Pauline’s father decided to remain quietly at Yokohama, whilst mine had still much important business to do in Tokio.

CHAPTER IV
A JAPANESE HARROGATE

A trip to the Japanese Harrogate--A curious travelling companion--A Japanese inn--A mountain ride--At the sulphur springs--A sulphur bath--A night in a tea-house--Sad news.

As our passports seemed to permit us to go anywhere we liked, except to a fire on horseback, we decided, after much consultation with Idaka, to go by train to Karuizawa, and from there to visit the hot sulphur baths at Kusatzu, a place not generally known to globe-trotters, where we were told we should see much to interest us.

Accordingly the next morning we bade an affectionate farewell to our parents and also to the kind little manager of the Grand Hotel at Yokohama, and started for Kodzu in the quaint little train, which goes at the rate of, at least, ten miles an hour. Oh what a hot, steamy, journey it was! and we anything but looked forward to the five hours’ journey which lay before us. However, we rejoiced in having the carriage to ourselves, which was something to be thankful for. Idaka, very busy and important, travelled third class in charge of the luggage, clad in a marvellous costume, consisting of a scarlet and white blazer, thick homespun shooting stockings, patent-leather shoes rather the worse for wear, and a deer-stalking cap, all evidently ‘cast-offs’ of former employers. We quite regretted that we had nothing to give him to add to the collection.

Just, however, as the train was starting, much to our annoyance a stout little Japanese jumped into the carriage and took his seat at the opposite end of the compartment to where we were sitting. He was a pale-faced little man, dressed in a black frock-coat, dark trousers and a top-hat. He appeared very much oppressed with the heat, but that was not unnatural with a temperature of about 90° in the shade.

WE START FOR KODZU (p. 33.)

Finding our companion very quiet and inoffensive, we paid no further attention to him. An hour passed, Pauline was fast asleep, and I suppose I also must have closed my eyes, for presently, looking across the carriage, I saw to my astonishment, instead of the little black-coated man, a somewhat slighter figure, in a set of gray dittos and cap to match, quietly reading his Japanese papers as if nothing had happened, a neatly-folded suit of clothes on the seat beside him. I was somewhat startled at this curious transformation, and stories of disguised criminals rushed into my mind, when up jumped the little man and proceeded calmly to divest himself of his gray suit, folding up the garments he took off and placing them beside the black pile. Feeling extremely embarrassed, I gazed severely out of the window for several minutes. Pauline still slept. On hearing the rustle of a paper, I ventured to look round, and there sat our strange fellow-traveller, deep in his ‘nichi-nichi shimbun’ (Japanese newspaper), clad from head to foot in white duck and cricketing-cap to match. ‘Now,’ thought I, ‘I should hope his toilette is completed.’ No such thing. After about half an hour the little man again seemed restless and overcome with heat, and after casting a despairing and perspiring glance around him, he got up and reaching down from the rack a small black bag, he pulled out a ‘ukata’ and ‘obi’ (the national dress of a Japanese). Seeing the same performance about to begin with regard to the white suit, I coughed violently; but that having no effect and escape being impossible I feigned sleep, and, when I again ventured to open my eyes, a little thin figure sat in the corner in correct Japanese attire. Three neatly-folded bundles lay at his side,--hat, boots, and all.

Fortunately, this was the last metamorphosis that our strange companion indulged in, and soon afterwards we changed trains, leaving him in full possession of the carriage; so I shall never know whether he redressed himself before the end of his journey, or how he disposed of the remainder of his wardrobe. It was certainly a novel way of carrying luggage.

Pauline was very indignant when I told her of the occurrence. She said had she been awake it would never have happened.

At last, after crawling along for five hours across the burning plain, we reached Kodzu; and after a short rest and a few little cups of yellow tea and some peppermint sticks at the tea-house in the village, we started off again in the little mountain train for Karuizawa. Thankful enough we were, after passing through twenty-six pitch-black tunnels reeking with sulphur and smoke, to arrive at last, exhausted and half-choked, but safe and sound at our journey’s end.

Karuizawa is situated on a large plain, formed by the lava from the great volcano Asama, and is about four thousand feet above the sea-level.

It is the strangest and weirdest spot imaginable. For miles and miles in every direction as far as the eye can reach stretches a vast plain covered with pampas-grass and wild-flowers of every description, and hemmed in by long ranges of blue mountains in the far distance. In the centre of the plain rises Asamayama like a great black pyramid, absolutely bare; and from the summit a thin column of smoke can be seen and an occasional flame, as if to give warning of the fires down below.

The village of Karuizawa, some little distance from the base, is composed of a collection of hideous little wooden houses, principally the summer residences of missionaries from all parts of Japan, a small English church, only lately built, and a long, straggling village street, with a few small native shops of a primitive nature.

IDAKA, THE GUIDE.

Idaka had taken a room for us at the chief tea-house in the village, and, although the smell of the ‘daikon’ (fermented turnip) which permeated every corner was not conducive to appetite, we managed to make a fair supper of the tinned food we had brought with us, supplemented by some native rice and hot ‘saké’ (native drink).

We were escorted to our bedroom by the landlord. Either from mistaken politeness or curiosity, he declined to leave us, repeatedly bowing and apologizing for the want of comfort in his miserable establishment, and assuring us how highly he appreciated the honour of entertaining such distinguished guests. All this in the most excruciating English. Hints that we wished to retire to bed were of no avail; and at last Pauline, unable to restrain her impatience any longer, drew back the ‘shoji’ (sliding panel) and, with an imperious wave of her hand, pointed from our little tormentor to the door, and said: ‘Go, wretch!’ This had the desired effect. He departed, bowing even lower than before, still murmuring to himself ‘honourable distinction.’

‘Well,’ I said to Pauline as, closing the panel carefully, she turned towards me, ‘what about Japanese politeness? I thought it was the only thing that really was important out here. You have put your foot in it.’ Pauline’s face was a study. Notwithstanding her manner, which was most impressive, she was at heart extremely nervous and highly strung. It was some time before I could assure her that doubtless the little man was quite as glad to go as we were to get rid of him, and that there was no fear of his detaining us by force or showing any resentment.

At last, however, we settled ourselves as comfortably as we could on our ‘futons’ (Japanese mattresses) on the floor, and slept the sleep of the just. I have the impression that I saw a figure glide past the foot of my bed during the night, but I was too sleepy to rouse myself, and it may have been a dream.

The next morning we were off at sunrise. Pauline was meekness itself; and the little landlord had evidently made a very good thing out of us, as he presented us with some poisonous-looking cakes of a bright green colour to eat on the journey; the last we saw of him as we rode down the village street was a quaint little form bowing backwards and forwards repeatedly until we were well out of sight.

Our cavalcade consisted of Pauline in a rickshaw drawn by three men, two in the shafts and one pushing behind. I was on a solid-looking white pony which we had hired from the village carpenter. Idaka and the cook rode mules, and three other mules carried our provisions and baggage.

What a glorious morning it was! The sun had just risen, and the woods through which we passed for the first couple of hours of our journey seemed alive with the songs of birds and the hum of myriads of insects. The climb was a steep one, and we were glad to arrive on the open moorland, which stretched for miles around, covered with wild-flowers--poppies, marguerites, campanulas; red, yellow, and white lilies, and waving pampas-grass, all in wild profusion--a perfect blaze of colour. Certainly there is no place like Japan for wild-flowers.

We halted at a little rest-house far away from any other habitation. The air was very keen, and we sat round the open fire, built in the ground, whilst we ate our breakfasts. Our coolies kept up an incessant chatter the whole time as they gobbled up their little bowls of rice with their chopsticks. I think Pauline rather regretted having chosen a rickshaw instead of a pony, as the path was rough, and the springs of the ‘kurama’ had seen their best days; but after all, as I told her, a rickshaw was far more Japanese, so she could not complain.

After a few hours’ ride through a park-like country--quite different from anything else we had as yet seen in Japan--we arrived at a curious little village, and halted for tiffin in what is called the Town Hall of the place--a wooden hut built on long posts over a deep ravine. Three sides were open, except for a little balcony; the posts and the one wall were covered with Japanese advertisements--such strange-looking hieroglyphics. Here we rested an hour. Another steep climb, through scenery which gradually became wilder and more and more desolate, brought us about sunset to the village of Kusatzu (pronounced ‘Koosats’)--a place which has been noted for centuries for its mineral springs and baths, and where thousands of sick little Japanese come every year to try to get cured of various complaints. Foreigners rarely come to Kusatzu, and, as we passed down the village street, half the population turned out to look at us, staring with open eyes and mouths at the mad Englishwomen.

The village is built in a hollow and surrounded by bare and desolate hills, on which no vegetation of any kind or description grows. In the centre of the village a large enclosure is railed in, inside which is a seething, steaming mass of sulphur rocks and water at boiling heat. Round this enclosure are large open bath-houses, with water at different temperatures and with different mineral properties, as all sorts of diseases are treated here. The patients spend their entire day either in the water or standing just outside awaiting their turn. From time to time the most unearthly groans are to be heard proceeding from the baths--a chorus of long-drawn ‘Ohs!’ as the master of the ceremonies, the doctor of the bath-house, gives the word of command for the patients to enter the water. Then a tremendous splashing ensues, which is caused by the bathers beating the water to cool it. We were told that each bather has to beat the water over a hundred times before entering or leaving the bath. The temperature of the water in some of the baths is almost incredible, and the poor creatures must suffer torments. In the bath-house we passed, we saw rows of heads, each tied round with a blue handkerchief, rising out of the steaming, yellow water, and weird-looking figures were scrambling in and out, each holding a ‘beating board.’ It was a most depressing sight, and we were both glad to pass to the outskirts of the village, where Idaka had taken rooms for us.

I understand there are about two thousand patients generally under treatment in Kusatzu, chiefly for rheumatism and beri-beri. The lepers are separately treated at some baths two miles away.

Pauline was rather anxious to pay a visit to the lepers, as she remarked, ‘When one is in for a thing it is best to miss nothing.’ But I stoutly refused to go. The memory of the poor crippled, deformed and suffering creatures I had seen in the streets of Kusatzu was quite enough. In fact, I found sleep almost impossible that night. The groans of the unfortunate bathers rang in my ears, and my dreams were peopled with visions of horrors of every description.

We were lodged in a quaint little cardboard house, innocent of furniture, but, fortunately, comparatively clean, and we made ourselves fairly comfortable on a couple of ‘futons’ which Idaka secured for us; and we were too tired after our long day to find fault with our quarters.

The next morning I thought I would try the effects of a warm sulphur swimming-bath attached to the house. Milky-looking water bubbled up out of the white rocks, and the sensation as I plunged in was rather pleasant. After swimming and floating about for a few minutes, I heard a splash, and looking round, I saw, to my horror, a dark head rising out of the water at the other end of the bath. What on earth to do I knew not. As long as I was in the water at my end of the bath it was all very well, but, unfortunately, I had left my clothes hanging on a nail on the door at the other end! I waited, hoping the intruder might recognise my predicament and have the grace to depart. On the contrary, he seemed prepared to spend hours at his morning ablutions. Apparently he paid not the smallest attention to poor me, but went through strange contortions in the water, accompanying his movements with a weird incantation I suppose he considered music. Feeling desperate, as the strong sulphur water was rapidly making me faint, I waved my arms frantically in his direction and pointed to my garments on the door. Then my companion evidently grasped the situation, and a wide grin spread over his countenance as he dived down into the water. I waited a moment, but, as he did not reappear, I scrambled as fast as I could on to the rocks, rushed to the door, tore on my clothes, and vanished. Whether the grinning little face ever appeared again on the surface I know not, but when I reached my room, breathless and exhausted, I vowed that nothing on earth would again tempt me to take a sulphur bath.

After breakfast, although still feeling very sleepy and tired from the effects of my prolonged swim, Pauline and I started for a walk, escorted by Idaka, to the ‘Valley of the Iced Winds.’ What a desolate spot it was! The rocks were of every conceivable shade and colour--some orange, some green, others bright yellow and red, encrusted with the mineral deposit from the little streams with which they were intersected. Some of the streams were boiling hot, others icy cold, but all had a strong sulphurous smell; and we were surprised to see vegetation growing almost to the edge of the water. In one place, however, the fumes of sulphur were so strong that no bird could pass above without being killed, and we were glad enough to get away, feeling half suffocated.

During the rest of the day we explored the village and made friends with some of the patient sufferers, who live most of their time when not at the baths sitting on the rocks in the sun. Some come every year to Kusatzu, spending all their hard-earned savings in the hope of deriving benefit by the treatment; but many looked far too weak and feeble for such drastic remedies.

The following morning we left at 7 a.m. for the Shibu Pass, a stiff bit of riding; and the cold at the summit was very piercing--a height of over seven thousand feet. We were very glad of our tiffin in a little rest-house, seated close to a peat fire. Pauline and I had at last accomplished the trick of eating rice with chopsticks--not an easy matter to the uninitiated. With that and some hard-boiled eggs and sandwiches we managed to fortify ourselves for our downward journey.

PREPARED FOR THE NIGHT (p. 49).

After a brisk tramp of about three hours, we reached Shibu, a pretty little town situated in a valley, surrounded by mountains. We found the tea-house so full, on account of the arrival of a party of pilgrims on their way to Asamayama, the great sacred volcano, that we had to do with very small accommodation--in fact, a large blue mosquito-like cage only separated us from the rest of the lady visitors at the tea-house. There being only two spare rooms, one was reserved for the ladies and the other for the gentlemen of the party.

How we laughed as we lay in our blue cage and watched the little ladies preparing for the night! Sleep was practically impossible, owing to the mosquitos and other lively inhabitants of the room and the incessant tap-tap of the little Japanese pipes which, even in her slumbers, a Japanese lady seems to require.

However, as Pauline said, such an experience of the inner life of the Japanese was worth a little discomfort, and in the abstract I fully agreed with her.

We were glad to be up betimes the next morning, and started off again--all in rickshaws--for a pretty, though hot, ride down to Nagano, where we took the train. The heat in the plains was intense, but fortunately, ice was obtainable at all the stations, and by putting pieces on our heads and in our mouths we managed to keep alive.

It was evening again before we reached Yokohama, travel-stained, brown and weary, but very well pleased with ourselves and our trip to the Japanese Harrogate.

Soon after our return Pauline and her father left Yokohama for Shanghai. I missed my friend terribly, and at first felt quite lost without her. We parted with many promises to write every week to each other and made numerous plans as to our future meetings in England. But, alas, how little we can foresee or direct the future! After three or four long and cheery letters from my friend, she suddenly ceased writing, and my letters to her remained unanswered. Some time afterwards we learnt that she had caught typhoid fever in Shanghai, and died after a week’s illness. I suppose her poor old father had not the heart to write and tell us the sad news, but we heard that he had left for England almost immediately after his daughter’s death.

CHAPTER V
AN IMPERIAL GARDEN-PARTY

Silk dresses and frock-coats--A disappointed Colonel--The Royal procession--The chrysanthemums--I am presented--A Japanese play--Japanese royal sport--The Mikado and his subjects.

We had been in Japan nearly three months when we were invited to attend the chrysanthemum garden-party given by the Emperor and Empress each November in honour of His Majesty’s birthday. Invitations are sent but a few days beforehand, as the date of the party depends on the state of the chrysanthemums. Only the Corps Diplomatique, Government officials, and a few globe-trotters are invited; the latter obtain their invitations through their own Legations. As it is almost the only occasion when Their Imperial Majesties are seen in public, I was delighted at the idea of going.

Our invitation-cards were very large and thick, with the Imperial crest at the top and a gold border of chrysanthemums. The writing was in Japanese characters, but enclosed in the same envelope was a slip of paper in French, saying that ladies were to appear in silk dresses and gentlemen in frock-coats and top-hats. Not possessing a suitable garment, I was puzzled at first to know what to wear, but I eventually succeeded, with the assistance of one of the little Chinese tailors, in converting a blue silk evening frock into one suitable for the garden-party.

The day was fortunately fine and exceptionally warm for November. We started from the Imperial Hotel in Tokio, where we were staying, at about half-past one, Colonel S. and his wife from Hongkong sharing a carriage with us.

Japanese horses are willing little beasts, not much larger than ponies. Our coachman drove full gallop through the streets, and the ‘betto,’ or footman, ran along in front shouting at the crowds to get out of the way. How an accident was avoided I do not know, as the streets seem to be the playground of all the children in Tokio; and I thought several of the little doll-like figures must have been run over. Our driver and betto wore dark blue linen with a crest embroidered on their backs, and large white pith hats fastened under the chin with a strap.

OUR INVITATION-CARDS WERE VERY LARGE AND THICK (p. 52).

Colonel S., who was only passing through Japan on his way to England, had no frock-coat with him, but in his well-cut dark suit and top-hat we all thought he could not fail to pass muster. We were mistaken, however. On our arrival at the palace, we were ushered into a large hall where a row of officials in blue-and-gold uniforms were waiting to inspect us. As the gallant Colonel passed up the room, two of the officials stepped up to him, pointed to his frockless coat, began gesticulating wildly and talking rapidly in Japanese, of which the Colonel did not understand a word. My father, who speaks Japanese, attempted to explain matters, but without success. The discomfited and disappointed officer had to retire, leaving his wife, who fortunately had on the required silk dress, to go on with us alone.

After walking about half a mile through the grounds, which are very beautiful, over little bridges and up little winding paths, we arrived at some large tents, where the chrysanthemums were on show. Numerous groups of people were dotted about--Japanese officers and officials in uniform; others in grotesquely-cut frock-coats and opera-hats; their wives and daughters in European dress; also members of the different legations and consulates. I could not help thinking how far better the little Japanese ladies would have looked in their own national costume, but European dress is the strict order at Court. The scene was a very picturesque and animated one, and great excitement prevailed when, about half-past two, the Emperor and Empress were announced to be coming. The Corps Diplomatique arranged themselves in line--first the French Minister as doyen, with his wife, daughters, secretaries, and Belgian staff; then followed the English, German, American, Spanish, Dutch, Italian, Russian, Chinese and Korean diplomats, the two latter looking very picturesque in their quaint head-dresses and long robes. The remainder of the guests stood in a group a little apart.

As the Royal procession appeared in sight, walking slowly up the winding paths, the band played the Japanese National Anthem and there was dead silence amongst the crowd.

The Emperor walked first in full General’s uniform, quite alone. He is a tall man for a Japanese, stout and extremely plain. He had a stern, somewhat forbidding expression, which he always wore in public; and as Sir Edwin Arnold says, ‘The slightest bend of his brow in salutation appears to be the result of superhuman effort of reluctant will.’ Yet he is idolized by his people; it is said that his power is enormous, while no one knows how he controls and rules the Empire from the privacy of his walled-in palace.

Behind him walked the Empress, quite alone also, dressed in crimson brocaded satin with a little Paris bonnet to match, followed by her ladies-in-waiting and the Court officials and Ministers of State--amongst them the Marquess Ito, Count Oyama, and General Yamagata, all well-known names in Europe at the present time.

They bowed low as they passed us, and we kept up a succession of bobs and curtsies until we joined into line and followed the procession into the flower-tents.

THE GARDENS ARE VERY BEAUTIFUL (p. 55).

Apparently the great feature at a chrysanthemum show, from a Japanese point of view, is not the size and shape of each flower, but the number of blossoms on a plant flowering at the same time. Three of the tents contained but one enormous plant in each; with from one to two thousand blooms all the same size and colour. We were told that one of these plants alone requires a gardener’s entire time to look after it, as the difficulty is to get all the flowers to perfection at once. In other tents, chrysanthemums with small, different-coloured flowers had been trained over wires to represent figures of people and animals, more curious than beautiful.

After the flowers had been inspected, the Emperor and Empress entered a large tent, where the presentations were made. Each Legation went in turn to felicitate the Emperor on his birthday and to bow to the Empress. All had to walk backwards out of the tent past the Court ladies and officials--not an easy task. With some the Emperor said a few words. His face when smiling lighted up, changing his morose expression to one of almost benevolence. I own to feeling horribly nervous when my turn came to be presented by our Minister’s wife, and breathed a sigh of relief when I returned safe and sound from the Royal tent without having utterly disgraced myself by tumbling over my train, or knocking down one of the little officials who were stationed at every available corner.

Small tables were placed about on the grass, and we were offered sandwiches of foie-gras, caviare and chicken, creams, ices, and champagne.

It was amusing to watch some of the Japanese guests, not only partaking of a hearty meal, but quietly secreting sweetmeats and cakes in their pockets, probably for some little child at home.

The royal party, after having some light refreshment at a table a little apart from the rest, then rose to leave. The National Anthem was again played, and we all followed as we liked.

At one end of the gardens a play was going on. No stage, only a ring of chairs and a big sheet. The actors were being made up and dressed in sight of everyone. Men clothed in black, with masks, arranged the scenes, and were supposed to be invisible. The play was ‘The Forty-seven Ronins.’ All the Japanese in the audience held handkerchiefs to their eyes and wept copiously, although I failed to see anything at all pathetic in the wild gesticulations of the actors. The famous Danjiro was there--the Irving of Japan. Amongst the audience the poetess of the Empress was pointed out to us, a curiously shrivelled-up little lady in a stiff green-and-white brocade, with a large bustle, green shoes and stockings, and a wonderful erection of flowers and feathers on her head. This costume must have done duty on these occasions for many years, to judge by its antique style; but the little lady was evidently very proud of her toilette. Three of the young Princesses, pretty little girls, with round, merry faces and bright dark eyes, were also spectators. We did not see the Crown Prince, a delicate, consumptive youth, already married and a father. The Empress is not his mother. She is childless, but the Japanese law has sanctioned the adoption of this boy, the son of one of the Emperor’s unofficial wives, as heir to the throne. I am told, however, that the Crown Prince looks upon the Empress as his mother.

The Emperor has five unofficial wives, all ladies of good family, who have separate establishments in the palace grounds, but are never seen in public; in fact, of the private life of the palace the outside world knows nothing. Japan is one of the oldest dynasties in the world, and the Japanese were living very much as they do now, except for electric light and European dress, when we Westerners were savages in blue paint and feathers.

In another part of the palace grounds are the duck-ponds and decoys. The killing of these wild duck, which come in great quantities every winter to the moat and decoys, is held to be a royal sport in Japan, and they are considered more or less sacred. The official who showed us the decoy begged us to keep quite silent, and we walked on tiptoe, in single file, up a narrow path to a small wooden hut, where we were allowed to peep at the sacred birds through little slits in the wood. There were already great numbers of them collected together, all apparently quite tame. The ‘sport’ is this: There are long dykes, with a high net at the end. The ‘sportsmen’ stand on either side with large hand-nets, and the duck are driven into the dykes from the pond, and, not being able to get out, rise, when they are caught in the nets and their necks wrung. It is supposed to be a great disgrace to miss a bird.

We were afterwards taken to the aviaries, where we saw a collection of birds of every description, from a Cochin-China hen to an eagle. There was a parrot there which is known to be a hundred and twenty years old, possibly more. They were all beautifully kept and cared for. One of the attendants amused us by saying: ‘Is it not a sign of the Emperor’s good heart to have so many birds?’ But when we asked him how often His Majesty came to see them, he said: ‘Oh, he never comes here.’

The Imperial Palace is an enormous building of wood surrounded by a moat. The rooms are decorated with valuable paintings, the walls hung with ‘kakimomos’ by celebrated Japanese artists, and old embroideries; the Emperor also possesses a priceless collection of gold lacquer and ivories. The palace is fitted up with electric light, but the Emperor considers it dangerous, so the rooms are lighted by thousands of candles.

The palace grounds cover many acres in the centre of Tokio--the highest position in the city. Imperial etiquette forbids that the ruler of the Land of the Rising Sun should be looked down upon from any point of view; therefore from his palace windows he can look down upon every part of the city. For the same reason, on the rare occasions when His Majesty passes through the streets of the city, orders are given for all the upstair window-blinds to be lowered.

BUTCHER’S.

UMBRELLA SHOP.
QUAINT SIGNBOARDS IN SOME OF THE STREETS, TOKIO.

Formerly men, women, and children fell on their faces as the royal carriage passed by; now they only bow low, in token of their awe and respect.

POULTRY AND EGG SHOP.

JAPANESE TAILOR.
QUAINT SIGNBOARDS IN SOME OF THE STREETS, TOKIO.

Soon after our arrival in Tokio I had a rather startling experience. I was standing in one of the streets to watch the Emperor drive past in his carriage, when suddenly my hat was wrenched off my head, and I was pushed forward violently by some heavy hand. On looking round, I saw an officious little policeman glaring at me, my poor hat in his clutches. Not until the procession had disappeared from view could I understand what had happened, but remained meek and hatless. It seems the little man considered my attitude towards his Sovereign was not sufficiently humble, and took this somewhat drastic way of correcting me. I must say this was the only occasion when I have experienced the slightest rudeness or incivility in the streets of a Japanese town, although I do not consider that foreigners are altogether beloved in Japan.

An artist who painted the portraits of the Emperor and Empress told me that he had been obliged to do them almost entirely from photographs, as their Imperial Majesties are far too sacred to pose as models. On one occasion he persuaded one of the Court officials to allow him to stand behind a curtain at a Royal banquet. Through the curtain he made a little hole, and was thus enabled to get a glimpse at the Emperor. Another time he waited patiently for hours at some place where the Empress was to pass; but on her arrival all present were obliged to bow their heads in obeisance, and the poor man could see nothing. However, the likenesses were considered good, and the artist received three thousand dollars for each picture, as well as a large medal, of which he is very proud.

CHAPTER VI
JAPANESE LADIES

Their habits and ways--Home life--The Honourable Bath--Count Ito and his wife--Old Japan--Loyalty to husbands--A mixed marriage--Curious customs--Japanese sayings.

The fair sex in Japan are the most simple and, at the same time, the most complicated creatures imaginable. In their general ideas and knowledge of the world they are like children--delightful children, too--and in their love of enjoyment and simple pleasures they retain their youthful simplicity all their lives.

But, on the other hand, it is almost impossible for a foreigner really to understand their natures. Up to a certain point a Japanese lady is apparently friendly, as she greets one on meeting with that easy grace and courtesy which is one of her peculiar charms. But one seldom becomes more intimate. There seems to be a wall of reserve, beyond which it is impossible to penetrate. I have often attempted to fathom the cause of this barrier, but without success; and I find it is the general experience of those who, like myself, have lived amongst the Japanese and known them well.

Perhaps the natural antipathy which has so long existed between the Eastern and Western races may somewhat account for this want of intimacy; and also, I fear, we Europeans have often wounded the delicate susceptibilities of our Eastern cousins by our want of tact, and our tendency to treat their manners and customs with ridicule, if not contempt.

I am speaking more particularly of the ladies of the upper classes. The little ‘musmee,’ generally considered by the ordinary globe-trotter to be the recognised type of a Japanese woman, is no more so than is the grisette the typical Frenchwoman, or the English ballet-girl the typical Englishwoman.

Nowhere, perhaps, in the world does one find a more ideal ‘lady’ than amongst the wives and daughters in fair Japonica.

A Japanese lady reminds me of a delicate sea-anemone, which at the first approach of a rough hand shrinks into itself, avoiding contact with the practical hardness of everyday life.

She is almost morbidly sensitive, but her natural pride and politeness forbid her in any way to retaliate. How little we understand her feelings! A Japanese never forgets. Sometimes revenge is impossible, but I have heard of more than one case when a foreigner’s official position has been lost owing to his wife’s indiscretion, though he and his wife also may be entirely ignorant of the cause of his dismissal.

In appearance, a Japanese woman is smaller and of slighter build than a European. Many are distinctly pretty when young, but they age very quickly, and with their youth every vestige of good looks departs. Their complexions are very sallow, but their faces are generally thickly painted and powdered, a hard line round the neck showing the point where art stops and Nature begins.

‘MANY ARE DISTINCTLY PRETTY WHEN YOUNG.’

Beauty, from a Japanese standpoint, consists in a long, oval face, regular features, almond-shaped eyes sloping slightly upwards, a high, narrow forehead, and abundance of smooth, black hair.

Their movements are graceful, although the style of their dress prevents them walking with ease; their feet and hands are delicately formed, and their manners unquestionably charming.

A JAPANESE LADY OF THE UPPER CLASS (p. 68).

They take hardly any exercise, and one wonders sometimes how the little ladies employ their time. There seems so little to be done in a Japanese house. To begin with, there are no regular meals. The shops near at hand supply daily numberless minute dishes, which seem to be eaten at all hours of the day and night, a few pecks with those impossible chopsticks at a time. Nothing is kept in the larder except some slices of ‘daikon’ (fermented turnip), some rice, and sweet biscuits.

‘The honourable live fish’ is sold by men who carry round large water-tubs from house to house, and cut off as much as is required from the unfortunate fish, replacing the sadly mutilated but still struggling remains in the tub.

Eggs are cheap and plentiful. Bread is never used, so there is no necessity for an oven.

The great stand-by is tea. A Japanese lady is seldom seen in her home without the quaint little tea-tray by her side and the inevitable pipe, containing one whiff of tobacco, which is in constant requisition.

There is practically no furniture in a Japanese house. The beds consist of large quilted rugs called ‘futons,’ which are rolled up every morning and put in the cupboards concealed behind the ‘shoji,’ or panels, in the walls. There are no carpets, curtains, tables, or chairs, only the straw ‘tatami,’ and a few small, flat cushions on the floor.

Instead of our European fireplace, a brass or wooden ‘hibatchi’ (fire-box) is substituted, containing charcoal. The boxes can be moved about a room as desired.

Everything is spotlessly clean. No muddy shoes are allowed inside a house, and one can generally judge of the number of inmates by the row of wooden clogs placed in a row outside the front-door.

A TEA-HOUSE VERANDA.

It is all very quaint and strange in Japan, and the longer one lives in the country, the more fascinated one becomes with the little people, whose manners and customs differ so greatly from our own.

Before the Chino-Japanese War broke out there was quite a revival of cordiality between the Japanese and foreigners in the capital. Dinners and garden fêtes were given and returned, and the wives of the Japanese Ministers and officials had their ‘At Home’ days during the winter, when nothing could have exceeded their dainty politeness and the apparent interest they took in our European houses and dress--especially dress, I remember. Sometimes, when conversation became rather strained, the introduction of a Lady’s Pictorial or Queen would quite revive flagging interest, and many a time have I been consulted in the choice of some important item in their ‘toilette.’ I am glad to say there has been a reaction the last year or two in favour of the national dress, the long flowing kimonos and quaint obis being infinitely more becoming to their slender little figures than the madly complicated and ever-changing fashions of the West.

But everyone must appear at Court in European dress, and many have been the dilemmas of the little ladies when called upon to appear at some function at the palace.

It has been said that foreign clothes make a difference in a man’s behaviour to his wife: ‘European dress, European manners.’ How far this is correct I cannot say, but there may be some truth in it. As I mentioned before, we were congratulating ourselves on the progress we were making in our friendly relations with the little ladies. But when the war broke out, the Japanese Ministers left in the Emperor’s train for the headquarters of the army at Shimonoseki, the officers joined their regiments and ships, leaving their wives behind, and for the next eighteen months no Japanese lady crossed our thresholds, nor was to be seen at home or abroad.

Now, this was most disappointing. In vain we called at their houses. ‘“Arimazen” (‘Not at home’), said a smiling, and I fear untruthful, nasan.

The nearest approach we had to success was one afternoon, calling on the wife of one of the Ministers of State. In answer to our inquiries if the Countess was at home, the doors were drawn back--they don’t open in Japan--and we were admitted, feeling very triumphant. We removed our shoes, and were ushered down long corridors to a room evidently kept to receive foreigners, having as its only furniture one small table and four chairs. After waiting about ten minutes we heard a shuffling of feet and much suppressed laughter; one of the panels of the room was drawn aside, and to our great surprise our own Japanese coachman appeared, followed by two nasans, who seemed immensely amused about something. After some difficulty--for our coachman’s vocabulary in English was extremely limited--we were given to understand that the ‘oksama’ (honourable lady of the house) was engaged in having her bath, and unable to receive us. We beat a hasty and discomfited retreat, and after that resisted our desire to renew the acquaintance of the mysterious little people, who for some reason best known to themselves had so completely given us the cold-shoulder.

Some months later, the war being ended and the husbands having returned, their wives reappeared in public as friendly and as smiling as before. We asked them the reason of their apparent desertion, but all we could gather was that their husbands had forbidden them to enter society during their absence; I fancy, however, their own inclination had a good deal to do with their retirement from European society.

A Japanese lady is noted for her courage, her strength of mind and self-possession. It is wonderful to think what physical trials and dangers these fragile, delicate little creatures will undergo in an emergency. The Prime Minister’s life was once saved by the courage and presence of mind of his wife.

Many years ago, when quite a young man, during a rebellion, Count Ito was hiding from his enemies, who, having tracked him to his house, sent a band of ‘soshis’ to assassinate him. On hearing his enemies approaching, and trapped like a rat in its hole, the Count drew his sword and prepared to die; but the Countess whispered, ‘Do not die; there is hope still’; and removing the hibatchi, or fire-box, and lifting up the mats and the planks beneath, she induced her husband to conceal himself in the hollow space which exists under the floor of all Japanese houses. The murderers broke into the room just as the fire-box had been replaced, and demanded of the Countess their victim. In vain they threatened and cruelly ill-treated her, dragging her about the room by her long black hair. But it was of no avail; they could not shake her resolute fidelity. Thanks to her courage Count Ito escaped, and has lived to give to his country a new Constitution, and become one of the greatest statesmen of modern Japan.[^[B]] I often wondered when I saw the Countess, now a delicate, gray-haired little lady, at the courage and presence of mind that she displayed at that critical moment of her life.

[B]. Sir Edwin Arnold.

Another instance of the high spirit of Japanese women and their pride is shown in the following anecdote, described by a German writer, entitled ‘A Japanese Lucretia’:

In 1646 a nobleman named Jacatai was ordered to present himself before the Mikado, and was obliged to leave his wife behind. During his absence a former rejected suitor of the lady’s, taking advantage of his successful rival’s absence, came, with his retinue, and by force carried off the unfortunate bride to his castle. She, however, eventually managed to escape, and instantly determined to be revenged. Holding out distant hopes of pardon to the offender, she induced him to remain in the neighbourhood of Saccai until her husband’s return, when she gave an entertainment to all her relations and friends to welcome him back. In the middle of the banquet, which was held on the housetop, Lucretia suddenly rose up and stated what had occurred, saying: ‘I pray you to take my life now that I have been dishonoured, for I do not care to live.’ All present protested against the idea of punishing her for another’s crime, and her husband assured her he loved her none the less for what had happened. But her high sense of honour was not satisfied. ‘Will no one punish me?’ she said. ‘Then must I do it myself; but I pray you to avenge me.’ With these words she flung herself head foremost from the housetop and broke her neck. The culprit was instantly pursued, but escaped, only, however, to commit ‘hara-kiri’--the honourable despatch--by the dead body of the unfortunate lady whom he had wronged, but did not desire to survive.

From her youth a Japanese lady is taught to control her feelings, and the strange immobility that is so noticeable in the Empress is considered, from a Japanese point of view, the very highest mark of good breeding. During the war, when one of the Japanese Princes was away fighting in China, and exposed to every possible peril in that deadly country, his wife was asked if she was not terribly anxious as to her husband’s safety. ‘Oh no,’ she replied; ‘I am proud that my husband should be fighting for his country. If he is killed in the service of His Majesty, I should feel he was honoured above others who have not had the opportunity of showing their loyalty.’

The Prince, however, returned in safety, and he and his wife are living happily together; and one trusts the brave officer may have other ways of showing his valour than by his death.

Much has been said about mixed marriages in Japan. On rare occasions they are a success, but this is not generally the case, especially if the wife be the foreigner.

I was much interested in a European lady I knew who had married a Japanese officer. They were a very united couple, and, had it not been for the husband’s mother, all might have been well. But in Japan a wife is still entirely in subjection to her mother-in-law, who makes the most of this authority, in some cases reducing her son’s wife into a sort of upper servant. In the present instance, as long as her husband remained at home his wife was able to do pretty much as she pleased. When, however, the war broke out and he joined his regiment in China, the mother-in-law entirely regained the upper hand. The unfortunate daughter had to abandon her European customs, adopt Japanese dress for herself and her child, sit on the floor, and live principally on Japanese food. Nor was this all. During her husband’s absence the elder lady absolutely forbade her victim to accept any invitations or to receive any visitors except her Japanese relations and a few of their friends.

I managed, however, to gain admittance one day, and found my friend very miserable, shivering over a wretched charcoal ‘hibatchi,’ and without a single book or paper to distract her thoughts from her anxiety as to her husband’s safety. So great was the old lady’s power and influence that the Western woman did not dare to disobey, but had to submit in silence until her husband’s return home, when, I am glad to say, life once more became bearable to her.

The case is somewhat different when it is the wife who is Japanese. To begin with, no Japanese lady of gentle birth would ever think of marrying a foreigner. She would consider it a mésalliance of the very worst description. Therefore the Japanese wives whom one meets in society are of very humble origin, and generally know no language but their own. They are charming little creatures when young, pretty and gentle; but they have nothing in common with their husbands, and are looked upon more in the light of playthings than anything else. They have often, though, great influence with their husbands in their household, and succeed in bringing up their children as much like Japanese and as little like foreigners as possible. I fancy it is chiefly owing to the Japanese parent’s jealousy and the negligence of the foreigner that this is the case.

The social position of Japanese women has very much changed for the better during the last few years, chiefly owing to foreign influence and the spread of Christianity in the country.

The Empress, too, has done much by promoting charitable work of all kinds in the country, and through her influence the horrible custom of blackening the teeth and shaving the eyebrows of married women has been abolished. Her personal interest in the Red-Cross Society was especially noticeable during the last war, when she and the wives of many of the nobles visited, and some even nursed, the sick in hospital, and employed their days making lint and bandages for the use of the wounded.

A Japanese courtship and wedding are both very curious ceremonies, and still somewhat savour of barbarism.

‘When a young man has fixed his affections upon a maiden of suitable standing, he declares his love by fastening a branch of a certain shrub to the house of the damsel’s parents. If the branch be neglected, the suit is rejected; if it be accepted, so is the suitor’ (Siebold).

At the time of the marriage the bridegroom sends presents to his bride as costly as his means will allow, which she immediately offers to her parents, in acknowledgment of their kindness in infancy and of the pains bestowed upon her education. The wedding takes place in the evening. The bride is dressed in a long white silk kimono and white veil, and she and her future husband sit facing each other on the floor. Two tables are placed close by. On the one is a kettle with two spouts, a bottle of saké, and cups; on the other table a miniature fir-tree, signifying strength of the bridegroom; a plum-tree, signifying the beauty of the bride; and lastly a stork, standing on a tortoise, representing long life and happiness, desired by them both.

At the marriage feast each guest in turn drinks three cups of the saké, and the two-spouted kettle, also containing saké, is put to the mouths of the bride and bridegroom alternately by two attendants, signifying that they are to share together joys and sorrows. The bride keeps her veil all her life, and at her death it is buried with her as her shroud. The chief duty of a Japanese woman is obedience--whilst unmarried, to her parents; when married, to her husband and his parents; when widowed, to her son.

In the ‘Greater Learning of Women’ we read: ‘A woman should look upon her husband as if he were heaven itself, and thus escape celestial punishment.... The five worst maladies that afflict the female mind are indocility, discontent, slander, jealousy, and silliness. Without any doubt these five maladies afflict seven or eight out of every ten women, and from them arises the inferiority of women to men. A woman should cure them by self-inspection and self-reproach. The worst of them all and the parent of the other four is silliness.’

The above extract shows us very clearly the position which women have until quite recently taken in Japan. As a German writer says, ‘Her condition is the intermediate link between the European and the Asiatic.’ On the one hand, Japanese women are subjected to no seclusion, and are as carefully educated as the men, and take their own place in society; but, on the other hand, they have absolutely no independence, and are in complete subjection to their husbands, sons, and other relations. They are without legal rights, and under no circumstances can a wife obtain a divorce or separation from her husband, however great his offence. Notwithstanding this, in no country does one find a higher standard of morality than amongst the married women of Japan. Faithlessness is practically unknown, although the poor little wives must often have much to put up with from their autocratic lords and masters. They bear all, however, silently and uncomplainingly, their characteristic pride and reserve forbidding them show to the outer world what they suffer. I read the other day that a Japanese poet has called a Japanese wife ‘social glue,’ meaning, I suppose, that she had to cement the happiness of everyone in the house together.

We Europeans might well in many respects imitate, and have still much to learn from, our little cousins in the Far East.

CHAPTER VII
JAPANESE CHILDREN

Boys and girls--Games--The Feast of Dolls--School life--The ‘Hina Matsuri’--The Feast of the Carp--The ‘Bon Matsuri,’ the festival for dead children.

There is nothing more delightful in Japan than the children. Japan has been called ‘the Paradise for Babies,’ and the Japanese ‘a nation at play.’ Certainly these titles seemed to me appropriate as I took my first drive through the narrow Japanese streets, and saw at every turn the crowds of happy-faced little beings, either flying huge kites--whose long strings got sadly in the way of our rickshaws, though no one seemed to care--or spinning tops on the pavement, a fatal practice to short-sighted pedestrians.

How picturesque they looked toddling about in their bright-coloured kimonos and high wooden clogs, with a baby almost as big as themselves firmly secured on their backs, the rider and ridden sometimes so near of an age that one almost fancied they must be taking turns and carrying one another!

‘HOW PICTURESQUE THEY LOOKED!’

The babies, too, appeared to enjoy the fun as much as anyone, which was fortunate, as, willing or unwilling, they had to join in all the games of their elder brothers and sisters, and one wondered how on earth it was their little heads didn’t roll off as they rocked backwards and forwards, and up and down, in time to the rapid movements of the game their elders were playing.

Little girls, too small to carry real babies, had big dolls strapped on their backs, and it was really difficult to distinguish the live article from the imitation. No wonder their backs become bent nearly double by the time they are old women--they age very quickly do the women in the Far East--but they are wonderfully fascinating when young, with their curious, old-fashioned manners, their marvellous self-possession, and the politeness and dignity with which they comport themselves on every occasion. They have but one drawback, and that I must confess is a very serious one--namely, the total absence of pocket-handkerchiefs; and somehow they always seem to have colds! I think I need say no more.

There are many strange and original customs relating to the management and bringing up of children in Japan. Boys are the most thought of, as is universally the case all over the East, but not to the same extent as in other Eastern countries.

‘On the birth of a son there is great rejoicing in a family. Two fans are presented to the infant by his godparent, representing courage. When he is thirty days old he is taken to a temple to receive his name. Three names are written on separate bits of paper and given to a priest, who, asking the gods to direct the choice, throws the slips into the air, and the first falling to earth is supposed to contain the name the gods approve of, and is consequently given to the child.

‘Other names are added during the boy’s life--on his fifteenth birthday, on his marriage, and one is given to him after death by his relations.

‘A boy’s head is clean-shaven until he is five years old, with the exception of four little tufts of hair--one in front, one behind, and one at each side of his head. On his fifth birthday the function of the “hakama” takes place--the child, in other words, goes into trousers. A godparent is appointed for this important event, who presents his godson with three gifts--a false sword, a wooden spear, and a ceremonial dress embroidered with storks, tortoises, branches of fir, bamboo-twigs, and cherry-blossom--all emblems of good luck and long life. From that date his hair is allowed to grow, though it is generally very closely cropped in French fashion.

‘On his fifteenth birthday the last and most important function is celebrated--"the Ceremony of the Cap"--when a new godparent is chosen, the boy receives his second name, and he attains his majority.’[^[C]]

[C]. Siebold.

JAPANESE CHILDREN.

We are also told by Siebold that it was the custom of the ancients, on the birth of a female child, to let it lie on the floor for the space of three days, and in this way to show the likening of the man to heaven and the woman to earth. This custom has fortunately been abolished, with many other cruel and barbarous practices, and female children are no longer neglected.

When a daughter is born in a house, a godparent is chosen, who presents the baby with a shell of paint, implying beauty. A pair of ‘hina,’ or images, are also purchased for the little girl, which she plays with until she is grown up. When she is married her hina are taken with her to her husband’s house, and she gives them to her children, adding to the stock as her family increases.

Dolls occupy a very important part in the life of a little girl. They are not merely playthings to be thrown away and discarded at will; on the contrary, they are considered ‘heirlooms’ in a family, and carefully guarded and treasured for generations. I really think an ‘ichi ban,’ or best doll, receives much more care and attention than the real baby, who from its earliest infancy, as I have before remarked, is made to share in all the work and play of its elders, with no regard to its own feelings or wishes.

The ‘Hina Matsuri,’ or the Feast of Dolls, takes place annually on March 3, and lasts about a week. I remember paying a very interesting visit to the wife of the late Japanese Minister of Marines in Tokio, when I was invited to see her little girl’s show of dolls.

O Haru San--the Honourable Miss Spring--who was an only child, and adored by her parents, greeted me with charming politeness and dignity, placing her tiny white hands on her knees and bowing her head down to the ground. She was a delightful little creature of eight years of age, very small and slender, with manners quite equal to the Countess, her mother, who is one of the most charming women I have met in the East. O Haru San was dressed in a fascinating gray silk crape kimono, with a fold of scarlet crape round the neck and a gold brocaded obi. Her face and throat were much whitened, the paint terminating in three points at the back of the neck; her lips were reddened and slightly touched with gold. Her hair was drawn back, raised in front and gathered into a double loop, into which a band of scarlet crape was twisted. On her feet she wore ‘tabi,’ little white linen socks hooked up at the side, with a separate place for the great toe, and I noticed her little lacquered ‘geta’ (clogs) were placed neatly together just outside the door. The whole effect reminded me of an exquisite wax model, and it was impossible to imagine that tiny delicate being capable of any mental or physical exertion.

To my surprise, however, she tripped gaily in front of me up the wooden staircase and down a long corridor to a large room where the Hina Matsuri was being held. She appeared perfectly at her ease, and chatted away, asking me many intelligent questions, through the interpreter, about little English girls, their games, dolls, etc.

On the landing a dolls’ garden was arranged, with small houses, bridges, miniature fir-trees--the latter a great speciality in Japan--a river with real water, even a minute pond with three gold-fish--the whole arrangement very artistically planned and set out. As O Haru San drew back the lacquered panels of her room, she looked at me anxiously to see how I should be impressed. I certainly had no cause to feign surprise. The sight was a most unusual one. The room was literally packed with dolls of every sort and description; almost every nationality was represented, some nearly life-size, others the length of one’s little finger; all were arranged in groups, standing, sitting, propped up against cushions, in every conceivable attitude.

On a kind of daïs were two dolls on thrones, representing the Emperor and Empress of Japan. As far as I could see every doll was in perfect order, every detail of their costumes correct--no broken noses, arms, or legs--no pins! Even in the hospital, where several pale-faced dolls were lying in bed, I noticed the splints and bandages were not to hide, but to represent, injuries.

My small hostess darted hither and thither, pointing out special favourites, rearranging some of the groups with her delicate little white hands with great care and precision. I thought of my favourite rag-doll Sally, with no features and destitute of legs, that I used to hug in my arms as a child when I went to sleep; and I wondered what O Haru San’s feelings would have been if I had suggested adding that mutilated remnant to her collection. What havoc a few English children would have made in that room! But a Japanese child is perfectly content to look and admire; and I imagine such a thing as breaking a doll would be considered almost a crime. Many of these toys, I was told, were over two hundred years old; some represented warriors and ‘samuri’ of the seventeenth century--uniforms, weapons, complete. I must not forget the dinner-service which was spread on one of the tables, and from which every day during the Matsuri food was served to the more important of the dolls by their young mistress.

How comic it all seemed, and yet how real and serious it was to little Miss Spring! She told me that at the end of the week every doll was carefully wrapped in paper and locked away until the following year, although one or two special favourites were occasionally brought out for change of air.

Before leaving O Haru San presented me with about a thimbleful of tea in a tiny transparent cup of white and gold, saying in her pretty little way: ‘This tea is worthless indeed, and green, but deign to moisten your honourable lips with it.’ I did as she requested, assuring her that never before had I tasted its equal in delicious fragrance.

One must be polite to avoid hopelessly disgracing one’s self in Japanese society.