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Title: Japanese Girls and Women

Revised and Enlarged Edition

Author: Alice Mabel Bacon

Release Date: May 20, 2010 [EBook #32449]

Language: English

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By Alice M. Bacon

IN THE LAND OF THE GODS. 12mo, $1.50.

JAPANESE GIRLS AND WOMEN. 16mo, $1.25.
In Riverside Library for Young People. 16mo, 75
cents.
Holiday Edition. With 12 full-page Illustrations in
color and 43 outline drawings by Japanese artists.
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A JAPANESE INTERIOR. 16mo, $1.25. In
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HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
 JAPANESE GIRLS AND
WOMEN

BY

ALICE MABEL BACON

REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION

Riverside Press Logo: Tout bien ou rien

BOSTON AND NEW YORK

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge

Copyright, 1891, 1902,

BY ALICE MABEL BACON.
All rights reserved.
 To
STEMATZ, THE MARCHIONESS OYAMA,
IN THE NAME OF OUR GIRLHOOD'S FRIENDSHIP, UNCHANGED AND
UNSHAKEN BY THE CHANGES AND SEPARATIONS OF OUR MATURER YEARS,

This Volume
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
 CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE

I. CHILDHOOD 1
II. EDUCATION 37
III. MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE 57
IV. WIFE AND MOTHER 84
V. OLD AGE 119
VI. COURT LIFE 138
VII. LIFE IN CASTLE AND YASHIKI 169
VIII. SAMURAI WOMEN 196
IX. PEASANT WOMEN 228
X. LIFE IN THE CITIES 262
XI. DOMESTIC SERVICE 299
XII. WITHIN THE HOME 327
XIII. TEN YEARS OF PROGRESS 371
APPENDIX 423
INDEX 473
 PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION.

IN offering a revised edition of a book which has been before the public for more
than ten years, there is little to say that has not been said in the original Preface.
The work as published before, however, was always, to its author's mind,
unfinished, for the reason that a chapter on household customs, which was
necessary for the completion of the plan, had to be omitted because it could not
be written in America.
This defect has now been remedied, and the chapter "Within the Home" contains
the supplementary matter necessary to complete the picture of a Japanese
woman's life. In addition to this a thorough revision has been made of the whole
book, and the subjects discussed in each chapter have been brought up to date by
means of notes in an Appendix. The reader will find these notes referred to by
asterisks in the text.
Finally, a second supplementary chapter has been added, in which an effort has
been made to analyze present conditions. From its nature, this chapter is only a
rapid survey of the progress of ten years. It is not easy to write with judgment of
conditions actually present. A little perspective is necessary to make sure that
one sees things in their proper proportions. It is therefore with some hesitation
that I offer to the public the result of two years' experience of the present state of
affairs. If subsequent events show that my observation has been incorrect, I can
only say that what I have written has been the "Thing-as-I-see-It," and does not
lay claim to being the "Thing-as-It-is."
In closing, I would thank once more the friends whose names appear in the
previous Preface, and would add to their number the names of Mr. H. Sakurai
and Mr. and Mrs. Seijiro Saito, who have rendered me valuable aid in gathering
material.
A. M. B.
NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT,
November, 1902.
 PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION.

IT seems necessary for a new author to give some excuse for her boldness in
offering to the public another volume upon a subject already so well written up
as Japan. In a field occupied by Griffis, Morse, Greey, Lowell, and Rein, what
unexplored corner can a woman hope to enter? This is the question that will be
asked, and that accordingly the author must answer.
While Japan as a whole has been closely studied, and while much and varied
information has been gathered about the country and its people, one half of the
population has been left entirely unnoticed, passed over with brief mention, or
altogether misunderstood. It is of this neglected half that I have written, in the
hope that the whole fabric of Japanese social life will be better comprehended
when the women of the country, and so the homes that they make, are better
known and understood.
The reason why Japanese home-life is so little understood by foreigners, even by
those who have lived long in Japan, is that the Japanese, under an appearance of
frankness and candor, hides an impenetrable reserve in regard to all those
personal concerns which he believes are not in the remotest degree the concerns
of his foreign guest. Only life in the home itself can show what a Japanese home
may be; and only by intimate association—such as no foreign man can ever hope
to gain—with the Japanese ladies themselves can much be learned of the
thoughts and daily lives of the best Japanese women.
I have been peculiarly fortunate in having enjoyed the privilege of long and
intimate friendship with a number of Japanese ladies, who have spoken with me
as freely, and shown the details of their lives to me as openly, as if bound by
closest ties of kindred. Through them, and only through them, I have been
enabled to study life from the point of view of the refined and intelligent
Japanese women, and have found the study so interesting and instructive that I
have felt impelled to offer to others some part of what I have received through
the aid of these friends. I have, moreover, been encouraged in my work by
reading, when it was already more than half completed, the following words
from Griffis's "Mikado's Empire:"—
"The whole question of the position of Japanese women—in history, social life,
education, employments, authorship, art, marriage, concubinage, prostitution,
benevolent labor, the ideals of literature, popular superstitions, etc.—discloses
such a wide and fascinating field of inquiry that I wonder no one has as yet
entered it."
In closing, I should say that this work is by no means entirely my own. It is, in
the first place, largely the result of the interchange of thought through many and
long conversations with Japanese ladies upon the topics herein treated. It has
also been carefully revised and criticised; and many valuable additions have
been made to it by Miss Umé Tsuda, teacher of English in the Peeresses' School
in Tōkyō, and an old and intimate friend. Miss Tsuda is at present in this country,
on a two years' leave, for purposes of further study. She has, amid her many
duties as a student at Bryn Mawr College, given much time and thought to this
work; and a large part of whatever value it may possess is due to her.
I would say, too, that in the verification of dates, names, and historical incidents,
I have relied altogether upon Griffis's "Mikado's Empire" and Rein's "Japan,"
knowing that those two authors represent the best that has been done by
foreigners in the field of Japanese history.
This work also owes much, not only to the suggestions and historical aids
contained in the "Mikado's Empire," but to Mr. Griffis himself, for his careful
reading of my manuscript, and for his criticisms and suggestions. No greater
encouragement can be given to an inexperienced author than the helpful
criticism of one who has already distinguished himself in the same field of labor;
and for just such friendly aid my warmest thanks are due to Mr. Griffis.
A. M. B.
HAMPTON, VA., February, 1891.
JAPANESE GIRLS AND WOMEN.
 CHAPTER I.

CHILDHOOD.

To the Japanese baby the beginning of life is not very different from its
beginning to babies in the Western world. Its birth, whether it be girl or boy, is
the cause of much rejoicing. As boys alone can carry on the family name and
inherit titles and estates, they are considered of more importance, but many
parents' hearts are made glad by the addition of a daughter to the family circle.
As soon as the event takes place, a special messenger is dispatched to notify
relatives and intimate friends, while formal letters of announcement are sent to
those less closely related. All persons thus notified must make an early visit to
the newcomer, in order to welcome it into the world, and must either take with
them or send before them some present. Toys, pieces of cotton, silk, or crêpe for
the baby's dress are regarded as suitable; and everything must be accompanied
by fish or eggs, for good luck. Where eggs are sent, they are neatly arranged in a
covered box, which may contain thirty, forty, or even one hundred eggs.[1] The
baby, especially if it be the first one in a family, receives many presents in the
first few weeks of its life, and at a certain time proper acknowledgment must be
made and return presents sent. This is done when the baby is about thirty days
old.
Both baby and mother have a hard time of it for the first few weeks of its life.
The baby is passed from hand to hand, fussed over, and talked to so much by the
visitors that come in, that it must think this world a trying place. The mother,
too, is denied the rest and quiet she needs, and wears herself out in the
excitement of seeing her friends, and the physical exercise of going through, so
far as possible, the ceremonious bows and salutations that etiquette prescribes.

Before the seventh day the baby receives its name.[2] There is no especial
ceremony connected with this, but the child's birth must be formally registered,
together with its name, at the district office of registration, and the household
keep holiday in honor of the event. A certain kind of rice, cooked with red beans,
a festival dish denoting good fortune, is usually partaken of by the family on the
seventh day.
The next important event in the baby's life is the miya mairi, a ceremony which
corresponds roughly with our christening. On the thirtieth day after birth,[*] the
baby is taken for its first visit to the temple. For this visit great preparations are
made, and the baby is dressed in finest silk or crêpe, gayly figured,—garments
made especially for the occasion. Upon the dress appears in various places the
crest of the family, as on all ceremonial dresses, whether for young or old, for
every Japanese family has its crest. Thus arrayed, and accompanied by members
of the family, the young baby is carried to one of the Shinto temples, and there
placed under the protection of the patron deity of the temple. This god, chosen
from a great number of Shinto deities, is supposed to become the special
guardian of the child through life. Offerings are made to the god and to the
priest, and a blessing is obtained; and the baby is thus formally placed under the
care of a special deity. This ceremony over, there is usually an entertainment of
some kind at the home of the parents, especially if the family be one of high
rank. Friends are invited, and if there are any who have not as yet sent in
presents, they may give them at this time.
It is usually on this day that the family send to their friends some
acknowledgment of the presents received. This sometimes consists of the red
bean rice, such as is prepared for the seventh day celebration, and sometimes of
cakes of mochi, or rice paste. A letter of thanks usually accompanies the return
present. If rice is sent, it is put in a handsome lacquered box, the box placed on a
lacquered tray, and the whole covered with a square of crêpe or silk, richly
decorated. The box, the tray, and the cover are of course returned, and, curious to
say, the box must be returned unwashed, as it would be very unlucky to send it
back clean. A piece of Japanese paper must be slipped into the box after its
contents have been removed, and box and tray must be given back, just as they
are, to the messenger. Sometimes a box of eggs, or a peculiar kind of dried fish,
called katsuobushi, is sent with this present, when it is desired to make an
especially handsome return. When as many as fifty or one hundred return
presents of this kind are to be sent, it is no slight tax on the mistress of the house
to see that no one is forgotten, and that all is properly done. As special
messengers are sent, a number of men are sometimes kept busy for two or three
days.
After all these festivities, a quiet, undisturbed life begins for the baby,—a life
which is neither unpleasant nor unhealthful. It is not jolted, rocked, or trotted to
sleep; it is allowed to cry if it chooses, without anybody's supposing that the
world will come to an end because of its crying; and its dress is loose and easily
put on, so that very little time is spent in the tiresome process of dressing and
undressing. Under these conditions the baby thrives and grows strong and fat;
learns to take life with some philosophy, even at a very early age; and is not
subject to fits of hysterical or passionate crying, brought on by much jolting or
trotting, or by the wearisome process of pinning, buttoning, tying of strings, and
thrusting of arms into tight sleeves.
The Japanese baby's dress, though not as pretty as that of our babies, is in many
ways much more sensible. It consists of as many wide-sleeved, straight, silk,
cotton, or flannel garments as the season of the year may require,—all cut after
nearly the same pattern, and that pattern the same in shape as the grown-up
kimono. These garments are fitted, one inside of the other, before they are put
on; then they are laid down on the floor and the baby is laid into them; a soft
belt, attached to the outer garment or dress, is tied around the waist, and the baby
is dressed without a shriek or a wail, as simply and easily as possible. The baby's
dresses, like those of our babies, are made long enough to cover the little bare
feet; and the sleeves cover the hands as well, so preventing the unmerciful
scratching that most babies give to their faces, as well as keeping the hands
warm and dry.
Babies of the lower classes, within a few weeks after birth, are carried about tied
upon the back of some member of the family, frequently an older sister or
brother, who is sometimes not more than five or six years old. The poorer the
family, the earlier is the young baby thus put on some one's back, and one
frequently sees babies not more than a month old, with bobbing heads and
blinking eyes, tied by long bands of cloth to the backs of older brothers or
sisters, and living in the streets in all weathers. When it is cold, the sister's haori,
or coat, serves as an extra covering for the baby as well; and when the sun is hot,
the sister's parasol keeps off its rays from the bobbing bald head.[*] Living in
public, as the Japanese babies do, they soon acquire an intelligent, interested
look, and seem to enjoy the games of the elder children, upon whose backs they
are carried, as much as the players themselves. Babies of the middle classes do
not live in public in this way, but ride about upon the backs of their nurses until
they are old enough to toddle by themselves, and they are not so often seen in
the streets; as few but the poorest Japanese, even in the large cities, are unable to
have a pleasant bit of garden in which the children can play and take the air. The
children of the richest families, the nobility, and the imperial family, are never
carried about in this way. The young child is borne in the arms of an attendant,
within doors and without; but as this requires the care of some one constantly,
and prevents the nurse from doing anything but care for the child, only the
richest can afford this luxury. With the baby tied to her back, a woman is able to
care for a child, and yet go on with her household labors, and baby watches over
mother's or nurse's shoulder, between naps taken at all hours, the processes of
drawing water, washing and cooking rice, and all the varied work of the house.
Imperial babies are held in the arms of some one night and day, from the
moment of birth until they have learned to walk, a custom which seems to render
the lot of the high-born infant less comfortable in some ways than that of the
plebeian child.
The flexibility of the knees, which is required for comfort in the Japanese
method of sitting, is gained in very early youth by the habit of setting a baby
down with its knees bent under it, instead of with its legs out straight before it, as
seems to us the natural way. To the Japanese, the normal way for a baby to sit is
with its knees bent under it, and so, at a very early age, the muscles and tendons
of the knees are accustomed to what seems to us a most unnatural and
uncomfortable posture.[3]
Among the lower classes, where there are few bathing facilities in the houses,
babies of a few weeks old are often taken to the public bath house and put into
the hot bath. These Japanese baths are usually heated to a temperature of a
hundred to a hundred and twenty Fahrenheit,—a temperature that most
foreigners visiting Japan find almost unbearable. To a baby's delicate skin, the
first bath or two is usually a severe trial, but it soon becomes accustomed to the
high temperature, and takes its bath, as it does everything else, placidly and in
public. Born into a country where cow's milk is never used, the Japanese baby is
wholly dependent upon its mother for milk,[4] and is not weaned entirely until it
reaches the age of three or four years, and is able to live upon the ordinary food
of the class to which it belongs. There is no intermediate stage of bread and
milk, oatmeal and milk, gruel, or pap of some kind; for the all-important factor
—milk—is absent from the bill of fare, in a land where there is neither "milk for
babes" nor "strong meat for them that are full of age."
In consequence, partly, of the lack of proper nourishment after the child is too
old to live wholly upon its mother's milk, and partly, perhaps, because of the
poor food that the mothers, even of the higher classes, live upon, many babies in
Japan are afflicted with disagreeable skin troubles, especially of the scalp and
face,—troubles which usually disappear as soon as the child becomes
accustomed to the regular food of the adult. Another consequence, as I imagine,
of the lack of proper food at the teething period, is the early loss of the child's
first teeth, which usually turn black and decay some time before the second teeth
begin to show themselves. With the exception of these two troubles, Japanese
babies seem healthy, hearty, and happy to an extraordinary degree, and show that
most of the conditions of their lives are wholesome. The constant out-of-door
life and the healthful dress serve to make up in considerable measure for the
poor food, and the Japanese baby, though small after the manner of the race, is
usually plump, and of firm, hard flesh. One striking characteristic of the
Japanese baby is, that at a very early age it learns to cling like a kitten to the
back of whoever carries it, so that it is really difficult to drop it through
carelessness, for the baby looks out for its own safety like a young monkey. The
straps that tie it to the back are sufficient for safety; but the baby, from the age of
one month, is dependent upon its own exertions to secure a comfortable position,
and it soon learns to ride its bearer with considerable skill, instead of being
merely a bundle tied to the shoulders. Any one who has ever handled a Japanese
baby can testify to the amount of intelligence shown in this direction at a very
early age; and this clinging with arms and legs is, perhaps, a valuable part of the
training which gives to the whole nation the peculiar quickness of motion and
hardness of muscle that characterize them from childhood. It is the agility and
muscular quality that belong to wild animals, that we see something of in the
Indian, but to a more marked degree in the Japanese, especially of the lower
classes.
The Japanese baby's first lessons in walking are taken under favorable
circumstances. With feet comfortably shod in the soft tabi, or mitten-like sock,
babies can tumble about as they like, with no bump nor bruise, upon the soft
matted floors of the dwelling houses. There is no furniture to fall against, and
nothing about the room to render falling a thing to be feared. After learning the
art of walking in the house, the baby's first attempts out of doors are hampered
by the zori or géta,—a light straw sandal or small wooden clog attached to the
foot by a strap passing between the toes. At the very beginning the sandal or clog
is tied to the baby's foot by bits of string fastened around the ankle, but this
provision for security is soon discarded, and the baby patters along like the
grown people, holding on the géta by the strap passing between the toes. This
somewhat cumbersome and inconvenient foot gear must cause many falls at
first, but baby's experience in the art of balancing upon people's backs now aids
in this new art of balancing upon the little wooden clogs. Babies of two or three
trot about quite comfortably in géta that seem to give most insecure footing, and
older children run, jump, hop on one foot, and play all manner of active games
upon heavy clogs that would wrench our ankles and toes out of all possibility of
usefulness. This foot gear, while producing an awkward, shuffling gait, has
certain advantages over our own, especially for children whose feet are growing
rapidly. The géta, even if outgrown, can never cramp the toes nor compress the
ankles. If the foot is too long for the clog the heel laps over behind, but the toes
do not suffer, and the use of the géta strengthens the ankles by affording no
artificial aid or support, and giving to all the muscles of foot and leg free play,
with the foot in a natural position. The toes of the Japanese retain their
prehensile qualities to a surprising degree, and are used, not only for grasping
the foot gear, but among mechanics almost like two supplementary hands, to aid
in holding the thing worked upon. Each toe knows its work and does it, and they
are not reduced to the dull uniformity of motion that characterizes the toes of a
leather-shod nation.
The distinction between the dress of the boy and the girl, that one notices from
childhood, begins in babyhood. A very young baby wears red and yellow, but
soon the boy is dressed in sober colors,—blues, grays, greens, and browns; while
the little girl still wears the most gorgeous of colors and the largest of patterns in
her garments, red being the predominant hue. The sex, even of a young baby,
may be distinguished by the color of its clothing. White, the garb of mourning in
Japan, is never used for children, but the minutest babies are dressed in bright-
colored garments, and of the same materials—wadded cotton, silk, or crêpe—as
those worn by adults of their social grade. As these dresses are not as easily
washed as our own cambric and flannel baby clothes, there is a loss among the
poorer classes in the matter of cleanliness; and the gorgeous soiled gowns are not
as attractive as the more washable white garments in which our babies are
dressed. For model clothing for a baby, I would suggest a combination of the
Japanese style with the foreign, easily washed materials,—a combination that I
have seen used in their own families by Japanese ladies educated abroad, and
one in which the objections to the Japanese style of dress are entirely obviated.
The Japanese baby begins to practice the accomplishment of talking at a very
early age, for its native language is singularly happy in easy expressions for
children; and little babies will be heard chattering away in soft, easily spoken
words long before they are able to venture alone from their perches on their
mothers' or nurses' backs. A few simple words express much, and cover all
wants. Iya expresses discontent or dislike of any kind, and is also used for "no";
mam ma means food; bé bé is the dress; ta ta is the sock, or house shoe, etc. We
find many of the same sounds as in the baby language of English, with meanings
totally different. The baby is not troubled with difficult grammatical changes, for
the Japanese language has few inflections; and it is too young to be puzzled with
the intricacies of the various expressions denoting different degrees of
politeness, which are the snare and the despair of the foreigner studying
Japanese.
As our little girl emerges from babyhood she finds the life opening before her a
bright and happy one, but one hedged about closely by the proprieties, and one
in which, from babyhood to old age, she must expect to be always under the
control of one of the stronger sex. Her position will be an honorable and
respected one only as she learns in her youth the lesson of cheerful obedience, of
pleasing manners, and of personal cleanliness and neatness. Her duties must be
always either within the house, or, if she belongs to the peasant class, on the
farm. There is no career or vocation open to her: she must be dependent always
upon either father, husband, or son, and her greatest happiness is to be gained,
not by cultivation of the intellect, but by the early acquisition of the self-control
which is expected of all Japanese women to an even greater degree than of the
men. This self-control must consist, not simply in the concealment of all the
outward signs of any disagreeable emotion,—whether of grief, anger, or pain,—
but in the assumption of a cheerful smile and agreeable manner under even the
most distressing of circumstances. The duty of self-restraint is taught to the little
girls of the family from the tenderest years; it is their great moral lesson, and is
expatiated upon at all times by their elders. The little girl must sink herself
entirely, must give up always to others, must never show emotions except such
as will be pleasing to those about her: this is the secret of true politeness, and
must be mastered if the woman wishes to be well thought of and to lead a happy
life. The effect of this teaching is seen in the attractive but dignified manners of
the Japanese women, and even of the very little girls. They are not forward nor
pushing, neither are they awkwardly bashful; there is no self-consciousness,
neither is there any lack of savoir faire; a childlike simplicity is united with a
womanly consideration for the comfort of those around them. A Japanese child
seems to be the product of a more perfect civilization than our own, for it comes
into the world with little of the savagery and barbarian bad manners that
distinguish children in this country, and the first ten or fifteen years of its life do
not seem to be passed in one long struggle to acquire a coating of good manners
that will help to render it less obnoxious in polite society. How much of the
politeness of the Japanese is the result of training, and how much is inherited
from generations of civilized ancestors, it is difficult to tell; but my impression
is, that babies are born into the world with a good start in the matter of manners,
and that the uniformly gentle and courteous treatment that they receive from
those about them, together with the continual verbal teaching of the principle of
self-restraint and thoughtfulness of others, produce with very little difficulty the
universally attractive manners of the people. One curious thing in a Japanese
household is to see the formalities that pass between brothers and sisters, and the
respect paid to age by every member of the family. The grandfather and
grandmother come first of all in everything,—no one at table must be helped
before them in any case; after them come the father and mother; and lastly, the
children according to their ages. A younger sister must always wait for the elder
and pay her due respect, even in the matter of walking into the room before her.
The wishes and convenience of the elder, rather than of the younger, are to be
consulted in everything, and this lesson must be learned early by children. The
difference in years may be slight, but the elder-born has the first right in all
cases.
Our little girl's place in the family is a pleasant one: she is the pet and plaything
of father and elder brothers, and she is never saluted by any one in the family,
except her parents, without the title of respect due to her position. If she is the
eldest daughter, to the servants she is O Jō Sama, literally, young lady; to her
own brothers and sisters, Né San, elder sister. Should she be one of the younger
ones, her given name, preceded by the honorific O and followed by San,
meaning Miss, will be the name by which she will be called by younger brothers
and sisters, and by the servants. As she passes from babyhood to girlhood, and
from girlhood to womanhood, she is the object of much love and care and
solicitude; but she does not grow up irresponsible or untrained to meet the duties
which womanhood will surely bring to her. She must learn all the duties that fall
upon the wife and mother of a Japanese household, as well as obtain the
instruction in books and mathematics that is coming to be more and more a
necessity for the women of Japan. She must take a certain responsibility in the
household; must see that tea is made for the guests who may be received by her
parents,—in all but the families of highest rank, must serve it herself. Indeed, it
is quite the custom in families of the higher classes, should a guest, whom it is
desired to receive with especial honor, dine at the house, to serve the meal, not
with the family, but separately for the father and his visitor; and it is the duty of
the wife or daughter, oftener the latter, to wait on them. This is in honor of the
guest, not on account of the lack of servants, for there may be any number of
them within call, or even in the back part of the room, ready to receive from the
hands of the young girl what she has removed. She must, therefore, know the
proper etiquette of the table, how to serve carefully and neatly, and, above all,
have the skill to ply the saké bottle, so that the house may keep up its reputation
for hospitality. Should guests arrive in the absence of her parents, she must
receive and entertain them until the master or mistress of the house returns. She
also feels a certain care about the behavior of the younger members of the
family, especially in the absence of the parents. In these various ways she is
trained for taking upon herself the cares of a household when the time comes. In
all but the very wealthiest and most aristocratic families, the daughters of the
house do a large part of the simple housework. In a house with no furniture, no
carpets, no bric-à-brac, no mirrors, picture frames or glasses to be cared for, no
stoves or furnaces, no windows to wash, a large part of the cooking to be done
outside, and no latest styles to be imitated in clothing, the amount of work to be
done by women is considerably diminished, but still there remains enough to
take a good deal of time. Every morning there are the beds to be rolled up and
stored away in the closet, the mosquito nets to be taken down, the rooms to be
swept, dusted, and aired before breakfast. Besides this, there is the washing and
polishing of the engawa, or piazza, which runs around the outside of a Japanese
house between the shoji, or paper screens that serve as windows, and the amado,
or sliding shutters, that are closed only at night, or during heavy, driving rains.
Breakfast is to be cooked and served, dishes to be washed (in cold water); and
then perhaps there is marketing to be done, either at shops outside or from the
vendors of fish and vegetables who bring their huge baskets of provisions to the
door; but after these duties are performed, it is possible to sit down quietly to the
day's work of sewing, studying, or whatever else may suit the taste or necessities
of the housewife. Of sewing there is always a good deal to be done, for many
Japanese dresses must be taken to pieces whenever they are washed, and are
turned, dyed, and made over again and again, so long as there is a shred of the
original material left to work upon. There is washing, too, to be done, although
neither with hot water nor soap; and in the place of ironing, the cotton garments,
which are usually washed without ripping, must be hung up on a bamboo pole
passed through the armholes, and pulled smooth and straight before they dry;
and the silk, always ripped into breadths before washing, must be smoothed
while wet upon a board which is set in the sun until the silk is dry.
Then there are the every day dishes which our Japanese maiden must learn to
prepare. The proper boiling of rice is in itself a study. The construction of the
various soups which form the staple in the Japanese bill of fare; the preparation
of mochi, a kind of rice dough, which is prepared at the New Year, or to send to
friends on various festival occasions: these and many other branches of the
culinary art must be mastered before the young girl is prepared to assume the
cares of married life.
But though the little girl's life is not without its duties and responsibilities, it is
also not at all lacking in simple and innocent pleasures.[*] First among the annual
festivals, and bringing with it much mirth and frolic, comes the Feast of the New
Year. At this time father, mother, and all older members of the family lay aside
their work and their dignity, and join in the fun and sports that are characteristic
of this season. Worries and anxieties are set aside with the close of the year, and
the first beams of the New Year's sun bring in a season of unlimited joy for the
children. For about one week the festival lasts, and the festal spirit remains
through the whole month, prompting to fun and amusements of all kinds. From
early morning until bedtime the children wear their prettiest clothes, in which
they play without rebuke. Guests come and go, bringing congratulations to the
family, and often gifts for all. The children's stock of toys is thus greatly
increased, and the house overflows with the good things of the season, of which
mochi, or cake made from rice dough, prepared always especially for this time,
is one of the most important articles.
The children are taken with their parents to make New Year's visits to their
friends and to offer them congratulations, and much they enjoy this, as, dressed
in their best, they ride from house to house in jinrikishas.[5]
And then, during the long, happy evenings, the whole family, including even the
old grandfather and grandmother, join in merry games; the servants, too, are
invited to join the family party, and, without seeming forward or out of place,
enter into the games with zest. One of the favorite games is "Hyaku nin isshu,"
literally "The poems of a hundred poets." It consists of two hundred cards, on
each of which is printed either the first or last half of one of the hundred famous
Japanese poems which give the name to the game. The poems are well known to
all Japanese, of whatever sort or condition. All Japanese poems are short,
containing only thirty-one syllables, and have a natural division into two parts.
The one hundred cards containing the latter halves of the poems are dealt and
laid out in rows, face upward, before the players. One person is appointed reader.
To him are given the remaining hundred cards, and he reads the beginnings of
the poems in whatever order they come from the shuffled pack. Skill in the game
consists in remembering quickly the line following the one read, and rapidly
finding the card on which it is written. Especially does the player watch his own
cards, and if he finds there the end of the poem, the beginning of which has just
been read, he must pick it up before any one sees it and lay it aside. If some one
else spies the card first, he seizes it and gives to the careless player several cards
from his own hand. Whoever first disposes of all his cards is the winner. The
players usually arrange themselves in two lines down the middle of the room,
and the two sides play against each other, the game not being ended until either
one side or the other has disposed of all its cards. The game requires great
quickness of thought and of motion, and is invaluable in giving to all young
people an education in the classical poetry of their own nation, as well as being a
source of great merriment and jollity among young and old.
Scattered throughout the year are various flower festivals, when, often with her
whole family, our little girl visits the famous gardens where the plum, the cherry,
the chrysanthemum, the iris, or the azalea attain their greatest loveliness, and
spends the day out of doors in æsthetic enjoyment of the beauties of nature
supplemented by art. And then there is the feast most loved in the whole year,
the Feast of Dolls, when on the third day of the third month the great fire-proof
storehouse gives forth its treasures of dolls,—in an old family, many of them
hundreds of years old,—and for three days, with all their belongings of tiny
furnishings in silver, lacquer, and porcelain, they reign supreme, arranged on
red-covered shelves in the finest room of the house. Most prominent among the
dolls are the effigies of the Emperor and Empress in antique court costume,
seated in dignified calm, each on a lacquered dais. Near them are the figures of
the five court musicians in their robes of office, each with his instrument. Beside
these dolls, which are always present and form the central figures at the feast,
numerous others, more plebeian, but more lovable, find places on the lower
shelves, and the array of dolls' furnishings which is brought out on these
occasions is something marvelous. It was my privilege to be present at the Feast
of Dolls in the house of one of the Tokugawa daimiōs, a house in which the old
forms and ceremonies were strictly observed, and over which the wave of
foreign innovation had passed so slightly that even the calendar still remained
unchanged, and the feast took place upon the third day of the third month of the
old Japanese year, instead of on the third day of March, which is the usual time
for it now. At this house, where the dolls had been accumulating for hundreds of
years, five or six broad, red-covered shelves, perhaps twenty feet long or more,
were completely filled with them and with their belongings. The Emperor and
Empress appeared again and again, as well as the five court musicians, and the
tiny furnishings and utensils were wonderfully costly and beautiful. Before each
Emperor and Empress was set an elegant lacquered table service,—tray, bowls,
cups, saké pots, rice buckets, etc., all complete; and in each utensil was placed
the appropriate variety of food. The saké used on this occasion is a sweet, white
liquor, brewed especially for this feast, as different from the ordinary saké as
sweet cider is from the hard cider upon which a man may drink himself into a
state of intoxication.[*] Besides the table service, everything that an imperial doll
can be expected to need or desire is placed upon the shelves. Lacquered
norimono, or palanquins; lacquered bullock carts, drawn by bow-legged black
bulls,—these were the conveyances of the great in Old Japan, and these, in
minute reproductions, are placed upon the red-covered shelves. Tiny silver and
brass hibachi, or fire boxes, are there, with their accompanying tongs and
charcoal baskets,—whole kitchens, with everything required for cooking the
finest of Japanese feasts, as finely made as if for actual use; all the necessary
toilet apparatus,—combs, mirrors, utensils for blackening the teeth, for shaving
the eyebrows, for reddening the lips and whitening the face,—all these things are
there to delight the souls of all the little girls who may have the opportunity to
behold them. For three days the imperial effigies are served sumptuously at each
meal, and the little girls of the family take pleasure in serving their imperial
majesties; but when the feast ends, the dolls and their belongings are packed
away in their boxes, and lodged in the fire-proof warehouse for another year.
The Tokugawa collection, of which I have spoken, is remarkably full and costly,
for it has been making for hundreds of years in one of the younger branches of a
family which for two and a half centuries was possessed of almost imperial
power, and lived in more than imperial luxury; but there are few households so
poor that they do not from year to year accumulate a little store of toys
wherewith to celebrate the feast, and, whether the toys are many or few, the feast
is the event of the year in the lives of the little girls of Japan.[*]
Beside the regular feasts at stated seasons, our little girl has a great variety of
toys and games, some belonging to particular seasons, some played at any time
during the year. At the New Year the popular out-of-door games are battledoor
and shuttlecock, and ball. There is no prettier sight, to my mind, than a group of
little girls in their many-colored wide-sleeved dresses playing with battledoor or
ball. The graceful, rhythmic motion of their bodies, the bright upturned eyes, the
laughing faces, are set off to perfection by the coloring of their flowing drapery;
and their agility on their high, lacquered clogs is a constant source of wonder
and admiration to any one who has ever made an effort to walk upon the clumsy
things. There are dolls, too, that are not relegated to the storehouse when the
Feast of Dolls is ended, but who are the joy and comfort of their little mothers
during the whole year; and at every kwan-ko-ba, or bazaar, an endless variety of
games, puzzles, pictures to be cut out and glued together, and amusements of all
kinds, may be purchased at extremely low rates. There is no dearth of games for
our little girl, and many pleasant hours are spent in the household sitting room
with games, or conundrums, or stories, or the simple girlish chatter that elicits
constant laughter from sheer youthful merriment.
As for fairy tales, so dear to the hearts of children in every country, the Japanese
child has her full share. Often she listens, half asleep, while cuddling under the
warm quilted cover of the kotatsu,[6] in the cold winter evenings, to the drowsy
voice of the old grandmother or nurse, who carries her away on the wings of
imagination to the wonderful palace of the sea gods, or to the haunts of the
terrible oni, monsters with red, distorted faces and fearful horns. Momotaro, the
Peach Boy, with his wonderful feats in the conquest of the oni, is her hero, until
he is supplanted by the more real ones of Japanese history.
There are occasional all-day visits to the theatre, too, where, seated on the floor
in a box, railed off from those adjoining, our little girl, in company with her
mother and sisters, enjoys, though with paroxysms of horror and fear, the heroic
historical plays which are now almost all that is left of the heroic old Japan. Here
she catches the spirit of passionate loyalty that belonged to those days, forms her
ideals of what a noble Japanese woman should be willing to do for parents or
husband, and comes away taught, as she could be by no other teaching, what the
spirit was that animated her ancestors,—what spirit must animate her, should she
wish to be a worthy descendant of the women of old.
Among these surroundings, with these duties and amusements, our little girl
grows to womanhood. The unconscious and beautiful spirit of her childhood is
not driven away at the dawn of womanhood by thoughts of beaux, of coming out
in society, of a brief career of flirtation and conquest, and at the end as fine a
marriage, either for love or money, as her imagination can picture. She takes no
thought for these things herself, and her intercourse with young men, though free
and unconstrained, has about it no grain of flirtation or romantic interest. When
the time comes for her to marry, her father will have her meet some eligible
young man, and both she and the young man will know, when they are brought
together, what is the end in view, and will make up their minds about the matter.
But until that time comes, the modest Japanese maiden carries on no flirtations,
thinks little of men except as higher beings to be deferred to and waited on, and
preserves the childlike innocence of manner, combined with a serene dignity
under all circumstances, that is so noticeable a trait in the Japanese woman from
childhood to old age.
The Japanese woman is, under this discipline, a finished product at the age of
sixteen or eighteen. She is pure, sweet, and amiable, with great power of self-
control, and a knowledge of what to do upon all occasions. The higher part of
her nature is little developed; no great religious truths have lifted her soul above
the world into a clearer and higher atmosphere; but as far as she goes, in regard
to all the little things of daily life, she is bright, industrious, sweet-tempered, and
attractive, and prepared to do well her duty, when that duty comes to her, as wife
and mother and mistress of a household. The highest principle upon which she is
taught to act is obedience, even to the point of violating all her finest feminine
instincts, at the command of father or husband; and acting under that principle,
she is capable of an entire self-abnegation such as few women of any race can
achieve.
With the close of her childhood, the happiest period in the life of a Japanese
woman closes. The discipline that she has received so far, repressive and
constant as it has often been, has been from kind and loving parents. She has
freedom, to a certain degree, such as is unknown to any other country in Asia. In
the home she is truly loved, often the pet and plaything of the household, though
not receiving the caresses and words of endearment that children in America
expect as a right, for love in Japan is undemonstrative.[7] But just at the time
when her mind broadens, and the desire for knowledge and self-improvement
develops, the restraints and checks upon her become more severe. Her sphere
seems to grow narrower, difficulties one by one increase, and the young girl,
who sees life before her as something broad and expansive, who looks to the
future with expectant joy, may become, in a few years, the weary, disheartened
woman.
 FOOTNOTES:
[1] All presents in Japan must be wrapped in white paper, although, except for
funerals, this paper must have some writing on it, and must be tied with a
peculiar red and white paper string, in which is inserted the noshi, or bit of dried
fish, daintily folded in a piece of colored paper, which is an indispensable
accompaniment of every present.
[2] A child is rarely given the name of a living member of the family, or of any
friend. The father's name, slightly modified, is frequently given to a son, and
those of ancestors long ago dead are sometimes used. One reason for this is
probably the inconvenience of similar names in the same family, and middle
names, as a way of avoiding this difficulty, are unknown. The father usually
names the child, but some friend or patron of the family may be asked to do it.
Names of beautiful objects in nature, such as Plum, Snow, Sunshine, Lotos,
Gold, are commonly used for girls, while boys of the lower classes often rejoice
in such appellations as Stone, Bear, Tiger, etc. To call a child after a person
would not be considered any especial compliment.[*]
[3] That the position of the Japanese in sitting is really unnatural and unhygienic,
is shown by recent measurements taken by the surgeons of the Japanese army.
These measurements prove that the small stature of the Japanese is due largely to
the shortness of the lower limbs, which are out of proportion to the rest of the
body. The sitting from early childhood upon the legs bent at the knee, arrests the
development of that part of the body, and produces an actual deformity in the
whole nation. This deformity is less noticeable among the peasants, who stand
and walk so much as to secure proper development of the legs; but among
merchants, literary men, and others of sedentary habits, it is most plainly to be
seen. The introduction of chairs and tables, as a necessary adjunct of Japanese
home life, would doubtless in time alter the physique of the Japanese as a
people.
[4] Sometimes, in the old days, rice water was given to babies instead of milk,
but it was nearly impossible to bring up a baby on this alone. Now both fresh
and condensed milk are used, where the mother's milk is insufficient, but only in
those parts of Japan where the foreign influence is felt.[*]
[5] Jinrikisha, or kuruma, a small, light carriage, usually with a broad top, which
is drawn by a man. The jinrikisha is the commonest of all vehicles now in use in
Japan. Jinrikisha-man and kurumaya are terms commonly used for the runner
who draws the carriage.
[6] Kotatsu, a charcoal fire in a brazier or a small fireplace in the floor, over
which a wooden frame is set and the whole covered by a quilt. The family sit
about it in cold weather with the quilt drawn up over the feet and knees.
[7] Kisses are unknown, and regarded by conservative Japanese as an animal
and disgusting way of expressing affection.
 CHAPTER II.

EDUCATION.

SO far we have spoken only of the domestic training of a Japanese girl. That part
of her education that she gains through teachers and schools must be the subject
of a separate chapter. Japan differs from most Oriental countries in the fact that
her women are considered worthy of a certain amount of the culture that comes
from the study of books; and although, until recently, schools for girls were
unknown in the empire, nevertheless every woman, except those of the lower
classes, received instruction in the ordinary written language, while some were
well versed in the Chinese classics and the poetic art. These, with some musical
accomplishment, an acquaintance with etiquette and the arts of arranging
flowers, of making the ceremonial tea, and in many cases not only of writing a
beautiful hand, but of flower-painting as well, in the old days made up the whole
of an ordinary woman's education. Among the lower classes, especially the
merchant class, instruction was sometimes given in the various pantomimic
dances which one sees most frequently presented by professional dancing girls.
The art of dancing is not usually practiced by women of the higher classes, but
among the daughters of the merchants special dances were learned for exhibition
at home, or even at the matsuri or religious festival, and their performance was
for the amusement of spectators, and not especially for the pleasure of the
dancers themselves. These dances are modest and graceful, but from the fact that
they are always learned for entertaining an audience, however small and select,
and are most frequently performed by professional dancers of questionable
character, the more refined and higher class Japanese do not care especially to
have their daughters learn them.
In the old days, little girls were not sent to school, but, going to the house of a
private teacher, received the necessary instruction in reading, and writing. The
writing and reading at the beginning, are taught simultaneously, the teacher
writing a letter upon a sheet of paper and telling the scholar its name, and the
scholar writing it over and over until, by the time she has acquired the necessary
skill in writing it, both name and form are indelibly imprinted upon her memory.
To write, with a brush dipped in India ink, upon soft paper, the hand entirely
without support, is an art that seldom can be acquired by a grown person, but
when learned in childhood it gives great deftness in whatever other art may be
subsequently studied. This is perhaps the reason why the Japanese value a good
handwriting more highly than any other accomplishment, for it denotes a manual
dexterity that is the secret of success in all the arts, and one who writes the
Chinese characters well and rapidly can quickly learn to do anything else with
the fingers.
The fault that one finds with the Japanese system—a fault that lies deeper than
the mere methods of teaching, and has its root in the ideographic character of the
written language—is that, while it cultivates the memory and powers of
observation to a remarkable extent, and while it gives great skill in the use of the
fingers, it affords little opportunity for the development of the reasoning powers.
[8] The years of study that are required for mastering the written language, so as
to be able to grasp the thoughts already given to the world, leave comparatively
little time for the conducting of any continuous thought on one's own account,
and so we find in Japanese scholars—whether boys or girls—quickness of
apprehension, retentive memories, industry and method in their study of their
lessons, but not much originality of thought. This result comes, I believe, from
the nature of the written language and the difficulties that attend the mastery of
it; as a consequence of which, an educated man or woman becomes simply a
student of other men's thoughts and sayings about things instead of being a
student of the things themselves.
Music in Japan is an accomplishment reserved almost entirely for women, for
priests, and for blind men. It seems to me quite fortunate that the musical art is
not more generally practiced, as Japanese music, as a rule, is far from agreeable
to the untrained ear of the outside barbarian.[*] The koto is the pleasantest of the
Japanese instruments, but probably on account of its large size, which makes it
inconvenient to keep in a small Japanese house, it is used most among the higher
classes, from the samurai[9] upwards. The koto is an embryo piano, a horizontal
sounding-board, some six feet long, upon which are stretched strings supported
by ivory bridges. It is played by means of ivory finger-tips fitted to the thumb,
forefinger, and middle finger of the right hand, and gives forth agreeable sounds,
not unlike those of the harp. The player sits before the koto on knees and heels,
in the ordinary Japanese attitude, and her motions are very graceful and pretty as
she touches the strings, often supplementing the strains of the instrument with
her voice. The teaching of this instrument and of the samisen, or Japanese guitar,
is almost entirely in the hands of blind men, who in Japan support themselves by
the two professions of music and massage,—all the blind, who cannot learn the
former, becoming adepts in the latter profession.
The arrangement of flowers is taught as a fine art, and much time may be spent
in learning how, by clipping, bending, and fixing in its place in the vase, each
spray and twig may be made to look as if actually growing, for flower arranging
is not merely to show the flower itself, but includes the proper arrangement of
the branches, twigs, and leaves of plants. The flower plays only a small part, and
is not used in decoration, except on the branch and stem as it is in nature, and the
art consists in the preservation of the natural bend and growth when fixed in the
vase. In every case, each branch has certain curves, which must be in harmony
with the whole. Branches of pine, bamboo, and the flowering plum are much
used.
Teachers spend much time in showing proper and improper combinations of
different flowers, as well as the arrangement of them. Many different styles have
come up, originated by the famous teachers who have founded various schools
of the art,—an art which is unique and exceedingly popular, requiring artistic
talent and a cultivated eye. One often sees, on going into the guest room of a
Japanese house, a vase containing gracefully arranged flowers set in the
tokonoma, or raised alcove of the room, under the solitary kakémono[10] that
forms the chief ornament of the apartment. As these two things, the vase of
flowers and the hanging scroll, are the only adornments, it is more necessary that
the flowers should be carefully arranged, than in our crowded rooms, where a
vase of flowers may easily escape the eye, perplexed by the multitude of objects
which surround it.
The ceremonial tea must not be confounded with the ordinary serving of tea for
refreshment. The proper making, and serving, and drinking of the ceremonial tea
is the most formal of social observances, each step in which is prescribed by a
rigid code of etiquette. The tea, instead of being the whole leaf, such as is used
for ordinary occasions, is a fine, green powder. The infusion is made, not in a
small pot, from which it is poured out into cups, but in a bowl, into which the hot
water is poured from a dipper on to the powdered tea. The mixture is stirred with
a bamboo whisk until it foams, then handed with much ceremony to the guest,
who takes it with equal ceremony and drinks it from the bowl, emptying the
receptacle at three gulps. Should there be a number of guests, tea is made for
each in turn, in the order of their rank, in the same bowl. For this ceremonial tea,
a special set of utensils is used, all of antique and severely simple style. The
charcoal used for heating the water is of a peculiar variety; and the room in
which the tea is made and served is built for that special purpose, and kept
sacred for that use. This art, which is often part of the education of women of the
higher classes, is taught by regular teachers, often by gentlewomen who have
fallen into distressed circumstances.[*] I remember with great vividness a visit
paid to an old lady living near a provincial city of Japan, who had for years
supported herself by giving lessons in this politest of arts. Her little house, of the
daintiest and neatest type, seemed filled to overflowing by three foreigners,
whom she received with the courtliest of welcomes. At the request of my friend,
an American lady engaged in missionary work in that part of the country, she
gave us a lesson in the etiquette of the tea ceremony. Every motion, from the
bringing in and arranging of the utensils to the final rinsing and wiping of the tea
bowl, was according to rules strictly laid down, and the whole ceremony had
more the solemnity of a religious ritual than the lightness and gayety of a social
occasion.
Etiquette of all kinds is not left in Japan to chance, to be learned by observation
and imitation of any model that may present itself, but is taught regularly by
teachers who make a specialty of it. Everything in the daily life has its rules, and
the etiquette teacher has them all at her fingers' ends. There have been several
famous teachers of etiquette, and they have formed systems which differ in
minor points, while agreeing in the principal rules. The etiquette of bowing, the
position of the body, the arms, and the head while saluting, the methods of
shutting and opening the door, rising and sitting down on the floor, the manner
of serving a meal, or tea, are all, with the minutest details, taught to the young
girls, who, I imagine, find it rather irksome. I know two young girls of new
Japan who find nothing so wearisome as their etiquette lesson, and would gladly
be excused from it. I have heard them, after their teacher had left, slyly make fun
of her stiff and formal manners. Such people as she will, I fear, soon belong only
to the past, though it still remains to be seen how much of European manners
will be engrafted on the old formalities of Japanese life. It is, perhaps, because of
this regular teaching in the ways of polite society, that the Japanese girl seems
never at a loss, even under unusual circumstances, but bears herself with self-
possession in places where young girls in America would be embarrassed and
awkward.
But the Japanese are rapidly finding out that this busy nineteenth century gives
little time for learning how to shut and open doors in the politest manner, and
indeed such things under the newly established school system are now relegated
entirely to the girls' schools, the boys having no lessons in etiquette.
The method of teaching flower-painting is so interesting that I must speak of it
before I leave the subject of accomplishments. I have said that the acquisition of
skill in writing the Chinese characters was the best possible preparation for skill
in all other arts. This is especially true of the art of painting, which is simply the
next step, after writing has been learned. The painting master, when he comes to
the house, brings no design as a model, but sits down on the floor before the
little desk, and on a sheet of paper paints with great rapidity the design that he
wishes the pupil to copy. It may be simply two or three blades of grass upon
which the pupil makes a beginning, but she is expected to make her picture with
exactly the same number of bold strokes that the master puts into his. Again and
again she blunders her strokes on to a sheet of paper, until at last, when sheet
after sheet has been spoiled, she begins to see some semblance of the master's
copy in her own daub. She perseveres, making copy after copy, until she is able
from memory to put upon the paper at a moment's notice the three blades of
grass to her master's satisfaction. Only then can she go on to a new copy, and
only after many such designs have been committed to memory, and the free,
dashing stroke necessary for Japanese painting has been acquired, is she allowed
to undertake any copying from nature, or original designing.[*]
I have dwelt thus far only upon the entirely Japanese education that was
permitted to women under the old régime. That it was an effective and refining
system, all can testify who have made the acquaintance of any of the charming
Japanese ladies whose schooling was finished before Commodore Perry
disturbed the repose of old Japan. As I write, the image comes before me of a
sweet-faced, bright-eyed little gentlewoman with whom it was my good fortune
to become intimately acquainted during my stay in Tōkyō. A widow, left
penniless, with one child to support, she earned the merest pittance by teaching
sewing at one of the government schools in Tōkyō; but in all the circumstances
of her life, narrow and busy as it needs must be, she proved herself a lady
through and through. Polite, cheerful, an intelligent and cultivated reader, a
thrifty housekeeper, a loving and careful mother, a true and helpful friend, her
memory is associated with many of my pleasantest hours in Japan, and she is but
one of the many who bear witness to the culture that might be acquired by
women in the old days.
But the Japan of old is not the Japan of to-day, and in the school system now
prevalent throughout the empire girls and boys are equally provided for. First the
schools established by the various missionary societies, and then the government
schools, offered to girls a broader education than the old instruction in Chinese,
in etiquette, and in accomplishments. Now, every morning, the streets of the
cities and villages are alive with boys and girls clattering along, with their books
and lunch boxes in their hands, to the kindergarten, primary, grammar, high, or
normal school. Every rank in life, every grade in learning, may find its proper
place in the new school system, and the girls eagerly grasp their opportunities,
and show themselves apt and willing students of the new learning offered to
them.
By the new system, at its present stage of development, too much is expected of
the Japanese boy or girl. The work required would be a burden to the quickest
mind. The whole of the old education in Japanese and Chinese literature and
composition—an education requiring the best years of a boy's life—is given, and
grafted upon this, our common-school and high-school studies of mathematics,
geography, history, and natural science. In addition to these, at all higher schools,
one foreign language is required, and often two, English ranking first in the
popular estimation. Many a headache do the poor, hard-working students have
over the puzzling English language, in which they have to begin at the wrong
end of the book and read across the page from left to right, instead of from top to
bottom, and from right to left, as is natural to them. But in spite of its hard work,
the new school life is cheerful and healthful, and the children enjoy it. It helps
them to be really children, and, while they are young, to be merry and playful,
not dignified and formal little ladies at all times. Upon the young girls, the
influence of the schools is to make them more independent, self-reliant, and
stronger women. In the houses of the higher classes, even now, much of the old-
time system of repression is still in force. Children are indeed "seen but not
heard," and from the time when they learn to walk they must learn to be polite
and dignified. At school, the more progressive feeling of the times predominates
among the authorities, and the children are encouraged to unbend and enjoy
themselves in games and frolics, as true children should do. Much is done for the
pleasure of the little ones, who often enjoy school better than home, and declare
that they do not like holidays.[*]
But the young girl, who has finished this pleasant school life, with all its
advantages, is not as well fitted as under the old system for the duties and trials
of married life, unless under exceptional circumstances, where the husband
chosen has advanced ideas. To those teaching the young girls of Japan to-day,
the problem of how to educate them aright is a deep one, and with each newly
trained girl sent out go many hopes, mingled with anxieties, in regard to the
training she has had as a preparation for the new life she is about to enter. The
few, the pioneers, will have to suffer for the happiness and good of the many, for
the problem of grafting the new on to the old is indeed a difficult one, to be
solved only after many experiments.
There are many difficulties which lie in the way of the new schools that must be
met, studied, and overcome. One of them is the one already referred to, the
problem of how best to combine the new and the old in the school curriculum.
That the old learning and literature, the old politeness and sweetness of manner,
must not be given up or made little of, is evident to every right-minded student
of the matter. That the newer and broader culture, with its higher morality, its
greater development of the best powers of the mind, must play a large part in the
Japan of the future, there is not a shadow of doubt, and the women must not be
left behind in the onward movement of the nation. But how to give to the young
minds the best products of the thought of two such distinct civilizations is a
question that is as yet unanswered, and cannot be satisfactorily settled until the
effect of the new education has begun to show itself in a generation or so of
graduates from the new schools. Another difficulty is in the matter of health.
Most of the new school-houses are fitted with seats and desks, such as are found
in American schools. Many of them are heated by stoves or furnaces. The
scholars in most cases wear the Japanese dress, which in winter is made warm
enough to be worn in rooms having no artificial heat. Put this warm costume into
an artificially heated room and the result is an over-heating of the body, and a
subsequent chill when the pupil goes, with no extra covering, into the keen out-
of-door air. From this cause alone, arise many colds and lung troubles, which can
be prevented when more experience has shown how the costumes of the East
and West can be combined to suit the new conditions. Another part of the health
problem lies in the fact that in many cases the parents do not understand the
proper care of a growing girl, ambitious to excel in her studies. Instead of the
regular hours, healthful food, and gentle restraint that a girl needs under those
circumstances, our little Japanese maiden is allowed to sit up to any hour of the
night, or arise at any hour in the morning, to prepare her lessons, is given food of
most indigestible quality at all hours of the day between her regular meals, and is
frequently urged to greater mental exertion than her delicate body can endure.
Another difficulty, in fitting the new school system into the customs of the
people, lies in the early age at which marriages are contracted. Before the girl
has finished her school course, her parents begin to wonder whether there is not
danger of her being left on their hands altogether, if they do not hand her over to
the first eligible young man who presents himself. Sometimes the girl makes a
brave fight, and remains in school until her course is finished; more often she
succumbs and is married off, bids a weeping farewell to her teachers and
schoolmates, and leaves the school, to become a wife at sixteen, a mother at
eighteen, and an old woman at thirty. In some cases, the breaking down of a
girl's health may be traced to threats on the part of her parents that, if she does
not take a certain rank in her studies, she will be taken from school and married
off.[*]
These are difficulties that may be overcome when a generation has been
educated who can, as parents, avoid the mistakes that now endanger the health of
a Japanese school-girl. In the mean time, boarding schools, that can attend to
matters of health and hygiene among the girls, would, if they could be conducted
with the proper admixture of Eastern and Western learning and manners, do a
great deal toward educating that generation. The missionary schools do much in
this direction, but the criticism of the Japanese upon the manners of the girls
educated in missionary schools is universally severe. To a foreigner who has
lived almost entirely among Japanese ladies of pure Japanese education, the
manners of the girls in these schools seem brusque and awkward; and though
they are many of them noble women and doing noble work, there is room for
hope that in the future of Japan the charm of manner which is the distinguishing
feature of the Japanese woman will not be lost by contact with our Western
shortness and roughness. A happy mean undoubtedly can be reached; and when
it is, the women of new Japan will be able to bear a not unfavorable comparison
with the women of the old régime.

FOOTNOTES:
[8] The Japanese written language is a strange combination of Chinese and
Japanese, to read which a knowledge of the Chinese characters is necessary.
Chinese literature written in the Chinese ideographs, which of course give no
clue to the sound, are read by Japanese with the Japanese rendering of the words,
and the Japanese order of words in the sentence. When there have not been exact
equivalent Japanese words, a Chinese term has come into use, so that much
corrupt Chinese is now well engrafted into the Japanese language, both written
and spoken. In the forming of new words and technical terms Chinese words are
used, as the Greek and Latin are here. There is probably no similarity in the
origin of the two languages, but the Japanese borrowed from the Chinese about
the sixth century A. D. their cleverly planned but most complex method of
expressing thought in writing. The introduction of the Chinese literature has
done much for Japan, and to master this language is one of the essentials in the
education of every boy. At least seven or eight thousand characters must be
learned for daily use, and there are several different styles of writing each of
them. For a scholar, twice as many, or even more, must be mastered in order to
read the various works in that rich literature.
The Japanese language contains a syllabary of forty-eight letters, and in books
and newspapers for the common people is printed, by the side of the Chinese
character, the rendering of it, in the letters of the kana, or Japanese alphabet.[*]
A Japanese woman is not expected to do much in the study of Chinese. She will,
of course, learn a few of the most common characters, such as are used in letter-
writing, and for the rest she will read by the help of the kana.
[9] The samurai in the feudal times were the hereditary retainers of a daimiō, or
feudal lord. They formed the military and literary class. For further information,
see chap. viii., on Samurai Women.
[10] Kakémono, a hanging scroll, upon which a picture is painted, or some poem
or sentiment written.
 CHAPTER III.

MARRIAGE AND DIVORCE.

WHEN the Japanese maiden arrives at the age of sixteen, or thereabouts, she is
expected as a matter of course to marry. She is usually allowed her choice in
regard to whether she will or will not marry a certain man, but she is expected to
marry some one, and not to take too much time in making up her mind. The
alternative of perpetual spinsterhood is never considered, either by herself or her
parents. Marriage is as much a matter of course in a woman's life as death, and is
no more to be avoided. This being the case, our young woman has only as much
liberty of choice accorded to her as is likely to provide against a great amount of
unhappiness in her married life. If she positively objects to the man who is
proposed to her, she is seldom forced to marry him, but no more cordial feeling
than simple toleration is expected of her before marriage.
The courtship is somewhat after the following manner. A young man, who finds
himself in a position to marry, speaks to some married friend, and asks him to be
on the lookout for a beautiful[11] and accomplished maiden, who would be
willing to become his wife. The friend, acting rather as advance agent, makes a
canvass of all the young maidens of his acquaintance, inquiring among his
friends; and finally decides that so-and-so (Miss Flower, let us say) will be a
very good match for his friend. Having arrived at this decision, he goes to Miss
Flower's parents and lays the case of his friend before them. Should they approve
of the suitor, a party is arranged at the house of some common friend, where the
young people may have a chance to meet each other and decide each upon the
other's merits. Should the young folks find no fault with the match, presents are
exchanged,[12] a formal betrothal is entered into, and the marriage is hastened
forward. All arrangements between the contracting parties are made by go-
betweens, or seconds, who hold themselves responsible for the success of the
marriage, and must be concerned in the divorce proceedings, should divorce
become desirable or necessary.
The marriage ceremony, which seems to be neither religious nor legal in its
nature,[*] takes place at the house of the groom, to which the bride is carried,
accompanied by her go-betweens, and, if she be of the higher classes, by her
own confidential maid, who will serve her as her personal attendant in the new
life in her husband's house. The trousseau and household goods, which the bride
is expected to bring with her, are sent before.[*] The household goods required
by custom as a part of the outfit of every bride are as follows: A bureau; a low
desk or table for writing; a work-box; two of the lacquer trays or tables on which
meals are served, together with everything required for furnishing them, even to
the chopsticks; and two or more complete sets of handsome bed furnishings. The
trousseau will contain, if the bride be of a well-to-do family, dresses for all
seasons, and handsome sashes without number; for the unchanging fashions of
Japan, together with the durable quality of the dress material, make it possible
for a woman, at the time of her marriage, to enter her husband's house with a
supply of clothing that may last her through her lifetime. The parents of the
bride, in giving up their daughter, as they do when she marries, show the
estimation in which they have held her by the beauty and completeness of the
trousseau with which they provide her. This is her very own; and in the event of
a divorce, she brings back with her to her father's house the clothing and
household goods that she carried away as a bride.
With the bride and her trousseau are sent a great number of presents from the
family of the bride to the members of the groom's household. Each member of
the family, from the aged grandfather to the youngest grandchild, receives some
remembrance of the occasion; and even the servants and retainers, down to the
jinrikisha men, and the bettō in the stables, are not forgotten by the bride's
relatives. Beside this present-giving, the friends and relatives of the bride and
groom, as in this country, send gifts to the young couple, often some article for
use in the household, or crêpe or silk for dresses.
In old times, the wedding took place in the afternoon, but it is now usually
celebrated in the evening. The ceremony consists merely in a formal drinking of
the native wine (saké) from a two-spouted cup, which is presented to the mouths
of the bride and groom alternately. This drinking from one cup is a symbol of the
equal sharing of the joys and sorrows of married life. At the ceremony no one is
present but the bride and bridegroom, their go-betweens, and a young girl,
whose duty it is to present the cup to the lips of the contracting parties. When
this is over, the wedding guests, who have been assembled in the next room
during the ceremony, join the wedding party, a grand feast is spread, and much
merriment ensues.[13]
On the third day after the wedding, the newly married couple are expected to
make a visit to the bride's family, and for this great preparations are made. A
large party is usually given by the bride's parents, either in the afternoon or
evening, in honor of this occasion, to which the friends of the bride's family are
invited. The young couple bring with them presents from the groom's family to
the bride's, in return for the presents sent on the wedding day.[*]
The festivities often begin early in the afternoon and keep up until late at night.
A fine dinner is served, and music and dancing, by professional performers, or
some other entertainment, serve to make the time pass pleasantly. The bride
appears as hostess with her mother, entertaining the company, and receiving their
congratulations, and must remain to speed the last departing guest, before
leaving the paternal roof.
Within the course of two or three months, the newly married couple are expected
to give an entertainment, or series of entertainments, to their friends, as an
announcement of the marriage. As the wedding ceremony is private, and no
notice is given, nor are cards sent out, this is sometimes the first intimation that
is received of the marriage by many of the acquaintances, though the news of a
wedding usually travels quickly. The entertainment may be a dinner party, given
at home, or at some tea-house, similar in many ways to the one given at the
bride's home by her parents. Sometimes it is a garden party, and very lately it has
become the fashion for officials and people of high rank to give a ball in foreign
style.
Besides the entertainment, presents of red rice, or mochi, are sent as a token of
thanks to all who have remembered the young couple. These are arranged even
more elaborately than the ones sent after the birth of an heir.
The young people are not, as in this country, expected to set up housekeeping by
themselves, and establish a new home. Marriages often take place early in life,
even before the husband has any means of supporting a family; and as a matter
of course, a son with his wife makes his abode with his parents, and forms
simply a new branch of the household.
The only act required to make the marriage legal is the withdrawal of the bride's
name from the list of her father's family as registered by the government, and its
entry upon the register of her husband's family. From that time forward she
severs all ties with her father's house, save those of affection, and is more closely
related by law and custom to her husband's relatives than to her own. Even this
legal recognition of her marriage is a comparatively new thing in Japan, as is any
limitation of the right of divorce on the part of the husband, or extension of that
right to the wife.[14]
At present in Japan the marriage relation is by no means a permanent one, as it is
virtually dissoluble at the will of either party, and the condition of public opinion
is such among the lower classes that it is not an unknown occurrence for a man
to marry and divorce several wives in succession; and for a woman, who has
been divorced once or twice, to be willing and able to marry well a second or
even a third time. Among the higher classes, the dread of the scandal and gossip,
that must attach themselves to troubles between man and wife, serves as a
restraint upon too free use of the power of divorce; but still, divorces among the
higher classes are so common now that one meets numerous respectable and
respected persons who have at some time in their lives gone through such an
experience.
One provision of the law, which serves to make most mothers endure any evil of
married life rather than sue for a divorce, is the fact that the children belong to
the father; and no matter how unfit a person he may be to have the care of them,
the disposal of them in case of a divorce rests absolutely with him. A divorced
woman returns childless to her father's house; and many women, in consequence
of this law or custom, will do their best to keep the family together, working the
more strenuously in this direction, the more brutal and worthless the husband
proves himself to be.
The ancestor worship, as found in Japan, the tracing of relationship in the male
line only, and the generally accepted belief that children inherit their qualities
from their father rather than from the mother, make them his children and not
hers. Thus we often see children of noble rank on the father's side, but ignoble
on the mother's, inherit the rank of their father, and not permitted even to
recognize their mother as in any way their equal. If she is plebeian, the children
are not regarded as tainted by it.
In the case of divorce, even if the law allowed the mother to keep her children, it
would be almost an impossibility for her to do so. She has no means of earning
her bread and theirs, for few occupations are open to women, and she is forced
to become a dependent on her father, or some male relative. Whatever they may
be willing to do for her, it is quite likely that they would begrudge aid to the
children of another family, with whom custom hardly recognizes any tie. The
children are the children of the man whose name they bear. If the woman is a
favorite daughter, it may happen that her father will take her and her children
under his roof, and support them all; but this is a rare exception, and only
possible when the husband first gives up all claim to the children.
There comes to my mind now a case illustrating this point, which I think I may
cite without betraying confidence. It is that of a most attractive young woman
who was married to a worthless husband, but lived faithfully with him for
several years, and became the mother of three children. The husband, who
seemed at first merely good-for-nothing, became worse as the years went by,
drank himself out of situation after situation procured for him by powerful
relatives, and at last became so violent that he even beat his wife and threatened
his children, a proceeding most unusual on the part of a Japanese husband and
father. The poor wife was at last obliged to flee from her husband's house to her
mother's, taking her children with her. She sued for a divorce and obtained it,
and is now married again; her youth, good looks, and high connections procuring
her a very good catch for her second venture in matrimony; but her children are
lost to her, and belong wholly to their worthless, drunken father.
Of the lack of permanence in the marriage relation among the lower classes, the
domestic changes of one of my servants in Tōkyō afford an amusing illustration.
The man, whom I had hired in the double capacity of jinrikisha man and bettō or
groom, was a strong, faithful, pleasant-faced fellow, recently come to Tōkyō
from the country. I inquired, when I engaged him, whether he had a wife, as I
wanted some one who could remain in his room in the stable in care of the horse
when he was pulling me about in the jinrikisha. He replied that he had a wife,
but she was now at Utsunomiya, the country town from which he had come, but
he would send for her at once, and she would be in Tōkyō in the course of a
week or two. Two or three weeks passed and no wife appeared, so I inquired of
my cook and head servant what had become of Yasaku's wife. He replied, with a
twinkle in his eye, that she had found work in Utsunomiya and did not wish to
come. A week more passed, and still no wife, and further inquiries elicited from
the cook the information that Yasaku had divorced her for disobedience, and was
on the lookout for a new and more docile helpmate. His first thought was of the
maidservant of the Japanese family who lived in the same house with me, a
broad-faced, red-cheeked country girl, of a very low grade of intelligence. He
gave this up, however, because he thought it would not be polite to put my
friends to inconvenience by taking away their servant. His next effort was by
negotiation through a Tōkyō friend; but apparently Yasaku's country manners
were not to the taste of the Tōkyō damsels, for he met with no success, and was
at last driven to write to his father in Utsunomiya asking him to select him a wife
and bring her down to Tōkyō.
The selection took a week or two, and at last my maid told me that Yasaku's wife
was coming by the next morning's train. A look into the bettō's quarters in the
stable showed great preparations for the bride. The mats, new-covered with nice
straw matting, were white and clean; the shoji were mended with new paper; the
walls covered with bright-colored pictures; and various new domestic
conveniences had nearly bankrupted Yasaku, in spite of his large salary of ten
dollars a month. He had ordered a fine feast at a neighboring tea house, had had
cards printed with his own name in English and Japanese, and had altogether
been to such great expense that he had had to put his winter clothes in pawn to
secure the necessary money.
The day chosen for the marriage was rainy, and, though Yasaku spent all his time
in going to trains, no bridal party appeared; and he came home at night
disconsolate, to smoke his good-night pipe over his solitary hibachi. He was, no
doubt, angry as well as disconsolate, for he sat down and penned a severe letter
to his father, in which he said that, if the bride did not appear on the next day
counted lucky for a wedding (no Japanese would be married on an unlucky day),
they could send her back to her father's house, for he would none of her. This
letter did its work, for on the next lucky day, about ten days later, the bride
appeared, and Yasaku was given two days of holiday on the agreement that he
should not be married again while he remained in my service. On the evening of
the second day, the bride came in to pay me her respects, and, crouching on her
hands and knees before me, literally trembled under the excitement of her first
introduction to a foreigner. She was a girl of rather unattractive exterior, fat and
heavy, and rather older than Yasaku had bargained for, I imagine; at any rate,
from the first, he seemed dissatisfied with his "pig in a poke," and after a couple
of months sent her home to her parents, and was all ready to start out again in the
hope of better luck next time.
Here is another instance, from the woman's side. Upon one occasion, when I was
visiting a Japanese lady of high rank who kept a retinue of servants, the woman
who came in with the tea bowed and smiled upon me as if greeting me after a
long absence. As I was in and out of the house nearly every day, I was a little
surprised at this demonstration, which was quite different from the formal bow
that is given by the servant to her mistress's guest upon ordinary occasions.
When she went out my friend said, "You see O Kiku has come back." As I did
not know that the woman had been away, the news of her return did not affect
me greatly until I learned the history of her departure. It seemed that about a
month before, she had left her mistress's house to be married; and the day before
my visit she had quietly presented herself, and announced that she had come
back, if they would take her in. My friend had asked her what had happened,—
whether she had found her husband unkind. No, her husband was very nice, very
kind and good, but his mother was simply unbearable; she made her work so
hard that she actually had no time to rest at all. She had known before her
marriage that her proposed mother-in-law was a hard task-mistress, but her
husband had promised that his mother should live with his older brother, and
they should have their housekeeping quite independent and separate. As the
mother was then living with her older son, it seemed unlikely that she would
care to move, and O Kiku San had married on that supposition. But it seemed
that the wife of the older brother was both lazy and bad-tempered, and the new
wife of the younger brother soon proved herself industrious and good-natured.
As the mother's main thought was to go where she would get the most comfort
and waiting upon, she moved from the elder son's house to that of her younger
son, and began leading her new daughter-in-law such a life that she soon gave up
the effort to live with her husband, sued for a divorce, obtained it, and was back
in her old place, all in a month's time from the date of her marriage.
But our readers must not suppose, from the various incidents given, that few
happy marriages take place in Japan, or that, in every rank of life, divorce is of
every-day occurrence. On the contrary, there seems cause for wonder, not that
there are so many divorces, but that there are so many happy marriages, with
wives and husbands devoted and faithful. For a nobleman in the olden times to
divorce his wife would have caused such a scandal and talk that it rarely
occurred. If the wife were disliked, he need have little or nothing to do with her,
their rooms, their meals, and their attendance being entirely separate, but he
rarely took away from her the name of wife, empty as it might be. She usually
would be from some other noble house, and great trouble would arise between
the families if he attempted to divorce her. The samurai also, with the same
loyalty which they displayed for their lords, were loyal to their wives, and many
a novel has been written, or play acted, showing the devotion of husband and
wife. The quiet, undemonstrative love, though very different from the ravings of
a lover in the nineteenth century novel, is perhaps truer to life.
Among the merchants and lower classes there has been, and is, a much lower
standard of morality, but the few years which have passed since the Revolution
of 1868 are not a fair sample of what Japan has been. Noblemen, samurai, and
merchants have had much to undergo in the great changes, and, as is the case in
all such transition periods, old customs and restraints, and old standards of
morality, have been broken down and have not been replaced. There is no doubt
that men have run to excesses of all sorts, and divorces have been much more
frequent of late years.[*]
Our little Japanese maiden knows, when she blackens her teeth, dons her
wedding dress, and starts on her bridal journey to her husband's house, that upon
her good behavior alone depend her chances of a happy life. She is to be
henceforth the property of a man of whom she probably knows little, and who
has the power, at any whim, to send her back to her father's house in disgrace,
deprived of her children, with nothing to live for or hope for, except that some
man will overlook the disgrace of her divorce, and by marrying her give her the
only opportunity that a Japanese woman can have of a home other than that of a
servant or dependent. That these evils will be remedied in time, there seems little
reason to doubt, but just now the various cooks who are engaged in brewing the
broth of the new civilization are disagreed in regard to the condiments required
for its proper flavoring. The conservatives wish to flavor strongly with the
subjection and dependence of women, believing that only by that means can
feminine virtue be preserved. The younger men, of foreign education, would
drop into the boiling pot the flavor of culture and broader outlook; for by this
means they hope to secure happier homes for all, and better mothers for their
children. The missionaries and native Christians believe that, when the whole
mixture is well impregnated with practical Christianity, the desired result will be
achieved. All are agreed on this point, that a strong public opinion is necessary
before improved legislation can produce much effect; and so, for the present,
legislation remains in the background, until the time shall come when it can be
used in the right way.
Let us examine the two remedies suggested by the reformers, and see what effect
has been produced by each so far, and what may be expected of them in the
future. Taking education first, what are the effects produced so far by educating
women to a point above the old Japanese standard? In many happy homes to-
day, we find husbands educated abroad, and knowing something of the home life
of foreign lands, who have sought out wives of broad intellectual culture, and
who make them friends and confidants, not simply housekeepers and head-
servants. In such homes the wife has freedom, not such as is enjoyed by
American women, perhaps, but equal to that of most European women. In such
homes love and equality rule, and the power of the mother-in-law grows weak.
To her is paid due respect, but she seldom has the despotic control which often
makes the beginning of married life hard to the Japanese wife. These homes are
sending out healthy influences that are daily having their effect, and raising the
position of women in Japan.
But for the young girl whose mind has been broadened by the new education,
and who marries, as the majority of Japanese girls must, not in accordance with
her own wishes, but in obedience to the will of her parents, a hard life is in store.
A woman's education, under the old régime, was one that fitted her well for the
position that she was to occupy. The higher courses of study only serve to make
her kick against the pricks, and render herself miserable where she might before
have been happy. With mind and character developed by education, she may be
obliged to enter the home of her husband's family, to be perhaps one among
many members under the same roof. In the training of her own children, in the
care of her own health and theirs, her wishes and judgment must often yield to
the prejudices of those above her, under whose authority she is, and it may not
be until many years have passed that she will be in a position to influence in any
measure the lives of those nearest and dearest to her. Then, too, her life must be
passed entirely within the home, with no opportunities to meet or to mingle with
the great world of which she has read and studied. Surely her lot is harder than
that of the woman of the olden time, whose plain duty always lay in the path of
implicit obedience to her superiors, and who never for one moment considered
obedience to the dictates of her own reason and conscience as an obligation
higher than deference to the wishes of husband and parents. Education, without
further amelioration of their lot as wives and mothers, can but result in making
the women discontented and unhappy,—in many cases injuring their health by
worry over the constant petty disappointments and baffled desires of their lives.
This to superficial observers would seem a step backward rather than forward,
and it is to this cause that the present reaction against female education may be
traced. The first generation or two of educated women must endure much for the
sake of those who come after, and by many this vicarious suffering is
misunderstood, and distaste on the part of educated girls for marriage, as it now
exists in Japan, is regarded as one of the sure signs that education is a failure.
Without some change in the position of wife and mother, this feeling will grow
into absolute repugnance, if women continue to be educated after the Western
fashion.
The second remedy that is suggested is Christianity, a remedy which is even now
at work. Wherever one finds in Japan a Christian home, there one finds the wife
and mother occupying the position that she occupies all over Christendom. The
Christian man, in choosing his wife, feels that it is not an ordinary contract,
which may be dissolved at any time at the will of the contracting parties, but that
it is a union for life. Consequently, in making his choice he is more careful, takes
more time, and thinks more of the personal qualities of the woman he is about to
marry. Thus the chances are better at the beginning for the establishment of a
happy home, and such homes form centres of influence throughout the length
and breadth of the land to-day. Christianity in the future will do much to mould
public sentiment in the right way, and can be trusted as a force that is sure to
grow in time to be a mighty power in the councils of the nation.
One more remedy might be suggested, as a preliminary to proper legislation, or a
necessary accompaniment of it, and that is, the opening of new avenues of
employment for women, and especially for women of the cultivated classes. To-
day marriage, no matter how distasteful, is the only opening for a woman; for
she can do nothing for her own support, and cannot require her father to support
her after she has reached a marriageable age. As new ways of self-support
present themselves, and a woman may look forward to making a single life
tolerable by her own labor, the intelligent girls of the middle class will no longer
accept marriage as inevitable, but will only marry when the suitor can offer a
good home, kindness, affection, and security in the tenure of these blessings. So
far, there is little employment for women, except as teachers; but even this
change in the condition of things is forming a class, as yet small, but increasing
yearly, of women who enjoy a life of independence, though accompanied by
much hard work, more than the present life of a Japanese married woman. In this
class we find some of the most intelligent and respected of the women of new
Japan; and the growth of this class is one of the surest signs that the present state
of the laws and customs concerning marriage and divorce is so unsatisfactory to
the women that it must eventually be remedied, if the educated and intelligent of
the men care to take for their wives, and for the mothers of their children, any
but the less educated and less intelligent of the women of their own nation.
 FOOTNOTES:
[11] The Japanese standard of female beauty differs in many respects from our
own, so that it is almost impossible for a foreigner visiting Japan to comprehend
the judgments of the Japanese in regard to the beauty of their own women, and
even more impossible for the untraveled Japanese to discover the reasons for a
foreigner's judgments upon either Japanese or foreign beauties. To the Japanese,
the ideal female face must be long and narrow; the forehead high and narrow in
the middle, but widening and lowering at the sides, conforming to the outline of
the beloved Fuji, the mountain that Japanese art loves to picture. The hair should
be straight and glossy black, and absolutely smooth. Japanese ladies who have
the misfortune to have any wave or ripple in their hair, as many of them do, are
at as much pains to straighten it in the dressing as American ladies are to
simulate a natural curl, when Nature has denied them that charm. The eyes
should be long and narrow, slanting upward at the outer corners; and the
eyebrows should be delicate lines, high above the eye itself. The distinctly
aquiline nose should be low at the bridge, the curve outward beginning much
lower down than upon the Caucasian face; and the eye-socket should not be
outlined at all, either by the brow, the cheek, or by the nose. It is this flatness of
the face about the eyes that gives the mildness of expression to all young people
of Mongolian type that is so noticeable a trait always in their physiognomy. The
mouth of an aristocratic Japanese lady must be small, and the lips full and red;
the neck, a conspicuous feature always when the Japanese dress is worn, should
be long and slender, and gracefully curved. The complexion should be light,—a
clear ivory-white, with little color in the cheeks. The blooming country girl style
of beauty is not admired, and everything, even to color in the cheeks, must be
sacrificed to gain the delicacy that is the sine qua non of the Japanese beauty.
The figure should be slender, the waist long, but not especially small, and the
hips narrow, to secure the best effect with the Japanese dress. The head and
shoulders should be carried slightly forward, and the body should also be bent
forward slightly at the waist, to secure the most womanly and aristocratic
carriage. In walking, the step should be short and quick, with the toes turned in,
and the foot lifted so slightly that either clog or sandal will scuff with every step.
This is necessary for modesty, with the narrow skirt of the Japanese dress.
Contrast with this type the fair, curling hair, the round blue eyes, the rosy
cheeks, the erect, slim-waisted, large-hipped figures of many foreign beauties,—
the rapid, long, clean-stepping walk, and the air of almost masculine strength
and independence, which belongs especially to English and American women,—
and one can see how the Japanese find little that they recognize as beauty among
them. Blue eyes, set into deep sockets, and with the bridge of the nose rising as a
barrier between them, impart a fierce grotesqueness to the face, that the
untraveled Japanese seldom admire. The very babies will scream with horror at
first sight of a blue-eyed, light-haired foreigner, and it is only after considerable
familiarity with such persons that they can be induced to show anything but the
wildest fright in their presence. Foreigners who have lived a great deal among
the Japanese find their standards unconsciously changing, and see, to their own
surprise, that their countrywomen look ungainly, fierce, aggressive, and
awkward among the small, mild, shrinking, and graceful Japanese ladies.
[12] The present from the groom is usually a piece of handsome silk, used for
the obi or girdle. This takes the place of the conventional engagement ring of
Europe and America.[*] From the family of the bride, silk, such as is made up
into men's dresses, is sent.
[13] Many women still blacken their teeth after marriage, after the manner
universal in the past; but this custom is, fortunately, rapidly going out of fashion.
[14] "As early as 1870 an edict was published by which official notice and
approbation were made necessary preliminaries to every matrimonial contract.
In the following year the class-limitations upon freedom of marriage were
abolished, and two years later the right of suing for a divorce was conceded to
the wife."—Rein's Japan, p. 425.
 CHAPTER IV.

WIFE AND MOTHER.[*]

THE young wife, when she enters her husband's home, is not, as in our own
country, entering upon a new life as mistress of a house, with absolute control
over all of her little domain. Should her husband's parents be living, she becomes
almost as their servant, and even her husband is unable to defend her from the
exactions of her mother-in-law, should this new relative be inclined to make full
use of the power given her by custom. Happy is the girl whose husband has no
parents. Her comfort in life is materially increased by her husband's loss, for,
instead of having to serve two masters, she will then have to serve only one, and
that one more kind and thoughtful of her strength and comfort than the mother-
in-law.
In Japan the idea of a wife's duty to her husband includes no thought of
companionship on terms of equality. The wife is simply the housekeeper, the
head of the establishment, to be honored by the servants because she is the one
who is nearest to the master, but not for one moment to be regarded as the
master's equal. She governs and directs the household, if it be a large one, and
her position is one of much care and responsibility; but she is not the intimate
friend of her husband, is in no sense his confidante or adviser, except in trivial
affairs of the household. She appears rarely with him in public, is expected
always to wait upon him and save him steps, and must bear all things from him
with smiling face and agreeable manners, even to the receiving with open arms
into the household some other woman, whom she knows to bear the relation of
concubine to her own husband.
In return for this, she has, if she be of the higher classes, much respect and honor
from those beneath her. She has, in many cases the real though often
inconsiderate affection of her husband. If she be the mother of children, she is
doubly honored, and if she be endowed with a good temper, good manners, and
tact, she can render her position not only agreeable to herself, but one of great
usefulness to those about her. It lies with her alone to make the home a pleasant
one, or to make it unpleasant. Nothing is expected of the husband in this
direction; he may do as he likes with his own, and no one will blame him; but if
his home is not happy, even through his own folly or bad temper, the blame will
fall upon his wife, who should by management do whatever is necessary to
supply the deficiencies caused by her husband's shortcomings. In all things the
husband goes first, the wife second. If the husband drops his fan or his
handkerchief the wife picks it up. The husband is served first, the wife
afterwards, and so on through the countless minutiæ of daily life. It is not the
idea of the strong man considering the weak woman, saving her exertion,
guarding and deferring to her; but it is the less important waiting upon the more
important, the servant deferring to her master.
But though the present position of a Japanese wife is that of a dependent who
owes all she has to her protector, and for whom she is bound to do all she can in
return, the dependence is in many cases a happy one. The wife's position,
especially if she be the mother of children, is often pleasant, and her chief joy
and pride lies in the proper conduct of her house and the training of her children.
The service of her parents-in-law, however, must remain her first duty during
their lifetime. She must make it her care to see that they are waited upon and
served with what they like at meals, that their clothes are carefully and nicely
made, and that countless little attentions are heaped upon them. As long as her
mother-in-law lives, the latter is the real ruler of the house; and though in many
cases the elder lady prefers freedom from responsibility to the personal
superintendence of the details of housekeeping, she will not hesitate to require of
her daughter-in-law that the house be kept to her satisfaction. If the maiden's lot
is to be the first daughter-in-law in a large family, she becomes simply the one of
the family from whom the most drudgery is expected, who obtains the fewest
favors, and who is expected to have always the pleasantest of tempers under
circumstances not altogether conducive to repose of spirit. The wife of the oldest
son has, however, the advantage that, when her mother-in-law dies or retires, she
becomes the mistress of the house and the head lady of the family, a position for
which her apprenticeship to the old lady has probably exceptionally well fitted
her.
Next to her parents-in-law, her duty is to her husband. She must herself render to
him the little services that a European expects of his valet. She must not only
take care of his clothing, but must bring it to him and help him put it on, and
must put away with care whatever he has taken off; and she often takes pride in
doing with her own hands many acts of service which might be left to servants,
and which are not actually demanded of her, unless she has no one under her to
do them. In the poorer families all the washing, sewing, and mending that is
required is always done by the wife; and even the Empress herself is not exempt
from these duties of personal service, but must wait upon her husband in various
ways.
When the earliest beams of the sun shine in at the cracks of the dark wooden
shutters which surround the house at night, the young wife in the family softly
arises, puts out the feeble light of the andon,[15] which has burned all night, and,
quietly opening one of the sliding doors, admits enough light to make her own
toilet. She dresses hastily, only putting a few touches here and there to her
elaborate coiffure, which she has not taken down for her night's rest.[16] Next she
goes to arouse the servants, if they are not already up, and with them prepares
the modest breakfast. When the little lacquer tables, with rice bowls, plates, and
chopsticks are arranged in place, she goes softly to see whether her parents and
husband are awake, and if they have hot water, charcoal fire, and whatever else
they may need for their toilet. Then with her own hands, or with the help of the
servants, she slides back the wooden shutters, opening the whole house to the
fresh morning air and sunlight. It is she, also, who directs the washing and
wiping of the polished floors, and the folding and putting away of the bedding,
so that all is in readiness before the morning meal.
When breakfast is over, the husband starts for his place of business, and the little
wife is in waiting to send him off with her sweetest smile and her lowest bow,
after having seen that his foot-gear—whether sandal, clog, or shoe—is at the
door ready for him to put on, his umbrella, book, or bundle at hand, and his
kuruma waiting for him.
Certainly a Japanese man is lucky in having all the little things in his life
attended to by his thoughtful wife,—a good, considerate, careful body-servant,
always on hand to bear for him the trifling worries and cares. There is no wonder
that there are no bachelors in Japan. To some degree, I am sure, the men
appreciate these attentions; for they often become much in love with their sweet,
helpful wives, though they do not share with them the greater things of life, the
ambitions and the hopes of men.
The husband started on his daily rounds, the wife settles down to the work of the
house. Her sphere is within her home, and though, unlike other Asiatic women,
she goes without restraint alone through the streets, she does not concern herself
with the great world, nor is she occupied with such a round of social duties as fill
the lives of society women in this country. Yet she is not barred out from all
intercourse with the outer world, for there are sometimes great dinner parties,
given perhaps at home, when she must appear as hostess, side by side with her
husband, and share with him the duty of entertaining the guests. There are,
besides, smaller gatherings of friends of her husband, when she must see that the
proper refreshments are served, if they be only the omnipresent tea and cake.
She may, perhaps, join in the number and listen to the conversation; but if there
are no ladies, she will probably not appear, except to attend to the wants of her
guests. There are also lady visitors—friends and relatives—who come to make
calls, oftentimes from a distance, and nearly always unexpectedly, whose
entertainment devolves on the wife. Owing to the great distances in many of the
cities, and the difficulties that used to attend going from place to place, it has
become a custom not to make frequent visits, but long ones at long intervals. A
guest often stays several hours, remaining to lunch or dinner, as the case may be,
and, should the distance be great, may spend the night. So rigid are the
requirements of Japanese hospitality that no guest is ever allowed to leave a
house without having been pressed to partake of food, if it be only tea and cake.
Even tradesmen or messengers who come to the house must be offered tea, and
if carpenters, gardeners, or workmen of any kind are employed about the house,
tea must be served in the middle of the afternoon with a light lunch, and tea sent
out to them often during their day's work. If a guest arrives in jinrikisha, not only
the guest, but the jinrikisha men must be supplied with refreshments. All these
things involve much thought and care on the part of the lady of the house.
In the homes of rich and influential men of wide acquaintance, there is a great
deal going on to make a pleasant variety for the ladies of the household, even
although the variety involves extra work and responsibility. The mistress of such
a household sees and hears a great deal of life; and her position requires no little
wisdom and tact, even where the housewife has the assistance of good servants,
capable, as many are, of sharing not only the work, but the responsibility as well.
Clever wives in such homes see and learn much, in an indirect way, of the
outside world in which the men live; and may become, if they possess the
natural capabilities for the work, wise advisers and sympathizers with their
husbands in many things far beyond their ordinary field of action. An intelligent
woman, with a strong will, has often been, unseen and unknown, a mighty
influence in Japan. That her power for good or bad, outside of her influence as
wife and mother, is a recognized fact, is seen in the circumstance that in novels
and plays women are frequently brought in as factors in political plots and
organized rebellions, as well as in acts of private revenge.
Still the life of the average woman is a quiet one, with little to interrupt the
monotony of her days with their never-ending round of duties; and to the most
secluded homes only an occasional guest comes to enliven the dull hours. The
principal occupation of the wife, outside of her housekeeping and the little duties
of personal service to husband and parents, is needle-work. Every Japanese
woman (excepting those of the highest rank) knows how to sew, and makes not
only her own garments and those of her children, but her husband's as well.
Sewing is one of the essentials in the education of a Japanese girl, and from
childhood the cutting and putting together of crêpe, silk, and cotton is a familiar
occupation to her. Though Japanese garments seem very simple, custom requires
that each stitch and seam be placed in just such a way; and this way is something
of a task to learn. To the uninitiated foreigner, the general effect of the loosely
worn kimono is the same, whether the garment be well or ill made; but the
skillful seamstress can easily discover that this seam is not turned just as it
should be, or that those stitches are too long or too short, or carelessly or
unevenly set.

Fancy work[17] or embroidery is not done in the house, the gorgeous

embroidered Japanese robes being the product of professional workmen. Instead
of the endless fancy work with silks, crewels, or worsteds, over which so many
American ladies spend their leisure hours, many of the Japanese ladies, even of
the highest rank, devote much time to the cultivation of the silkworm. In country
homes, and in the great cities as well, wherever spacious grounds afford room
for the growth of mulberry trees, silkworms are raised and watched with care; an
employment giving much pleasure to those engaged in it.
It is difficult for any one who has not experimented in this direction to realize
how tender these little spinners are. If a strong breeze blow upon them, they are
likely to suffer for it, and the least change in the atmosphere must be guarded
against. For forty days they must be carefully watched, and the great, shallow,
bamboo basket trays containing them changed almost daily. New leaves for their
food must be given frequently, and as the least dampness might be fatal, each
leaf, in case of rainy weather, is carefully wiped. Then, too, the different ages of
the worms must be considered in preparing their food; as, for the young worms,
the leaves should be cut up, while for the older ones it is better to serve them
whole. When, finally, the buzzing noise of the crunching leaves has ceased, and
the last worm has put himself to sleep in his precious white cocoon, the work of
the ladies is ended; for the cocoons are sent to women especially skilled in the
work, by them to be spun off, and the thread afterwards woven into the desired
fabric. When at last the silk, woven and dyed, is returned to the ladies by whose
care the worms were nourished until their work was done, it is shown with great
pride as the product of the year's labor, and if given as a present will be highly
prized by the recipient.
Among the daily tasks of the housewife, one, and by no means the least of her
duties, is to receive, duly acknowledge, and return in suitable manner, the
presents received in the family. Presents are not confined to special seasons,
although upon certain occasions etiquette is rigid in its requirements in this
matter, but they may be given and received at all times, for the Japanese are
preëminently a present-giving nation. For every present received, sooner or later,
a proper return must be sent, appropriate to the season and to the rank of the
receiver, and neatly arranged in the manner that etiquette prescribes. Presents are
not necessarily elaborate; callers bring fruit of the season, cake, or any delicacy,
and a visit to a sick person must be accompanied by something appropriate.
Children visiting in the family are always given toys, and for this purpose a
stock is kept on hand. The present-giving culminates at the close of the year,
when all friends and acquaintances exchange gifts of more or less value,
according to their feelings and means. Should there be any one who has been
especially kind, and to whom return should be made, this is the time to do so.
Tradesmen send presents to their patrons, scholars to teachers, patients to their
physicians, and, in short, it is the time when all obligations and debts are paid
off, in one way or another. On the seventh day of the seventh month, there is
another general interchange of presents, although not so universal as at the New
Year. It can easily be imagined that all this present-giving entails much care,
especially in families of influence; and it must be attended to personally by the
wife, who, in the secret recesses of her storeroom, skillfully manages to
rearrange the gifts received, so that those not needed in the house may be sent,
not back to their givers, but to some place where a present is due. The passing-
on of the presents is an economy not of course acknowledged, but frequently
practiced even in the best families, as it saves much of the otherwise ruinous
expense of this custom.
As time passes by, occasional visits are paid by the young wife to her own
parents or to other relatives. At stated times, too, she, and others of the family,
will visit the tombs of her husband's ancestors, or of her own parents, if they are
no longer living, to make offerings and prayers at the graves, to place fresh
branches of the sakaki[18] before the tombs, and to see that the priests in charge
of the cemetery have attended to all the little things which the Japanese believe
to be required by the spirits of the dead. Even these visits are often looked
forward to as enlivening the monotony of the humdrum home life. Sometimes all
the members of the family go together on a pleasure excursion, spending the day
out of doors, in beautiful gardens, when some one of the much-loved flowers of
the nation is in its glory; and the little wife may join in this pleasure with the
rest, but more often she is the one who remains at home to keep the house in the
absence of others. The theatre, too, a source of great amusement to Japanese
ladies, is often a pleasure reserved for a time later in life.
The Japanese mother takes great delight and comfort in her children, and her
constant thought and care is the right direction of their habits and manners. She
seems to govern them entirely by gentle admonition, and the severest chiding
that is given them is always in a pleasant voice, and accompanied by a smiling
face. No matter how many servants there may be, the mother's influence is
always direct and personal. No thick walls and long passageways separate the
nursery from the grown people's apartments, but the thin paper partitions make it
possible for the mother to know always what her children are doing, and whether
they are good and gentle with their nurses, or irritable and passionate. The
children never leave the house, nor return to it, without going to their mother's
room, and there making the little bows and repeating the customary phrases used
upon such occasions. In the same way, when the mother goes out, all the
servants and the children escort her to the door; and when her attendant shouts
"O kaeri," which is the signal of her return, children and servants hasten to the
gate to greet her, and do what they can to help her from her conveyance and
make her home-coming pleasant and restful.
The father has little to do with the training of his children, which is left almost
entirely to the mother, and, except for the interference of the mother-in-law, she
has her own way in their training, until they are long past childhood. The
children are taught to look to the father as the head, and to respect and obey him
as the one to whom all must defer; but the mother comes next, almost as high in
their estimation, and, if not so much feared and respected, certainly enjoys a
larger share of their love.
The Japanese mother's life is one of perfect devotion to her children; she is their
willing slave. Her days are spent in caring for them, her evenings in watching
over them; and she spares neither time nor trouble in doing anything for their
comfort and pleasure. In sickness,[19] in health, day and night, the little ones are
her one thought; and from the home of the noble to the humble cot of the
peasant, this tender mother-love may be seen in all its different phases. The
Japanese woman has so few on whom to lavish her affection, so little to live for
beside her children, and no hopes in the future except through them, that it is no
wonder that she devotes her life to their care and service, deeming the drudgery
that custom requires of her for them the easiest of all her duties. Even with
plenty of servants, the mother performs for her children nearly all the duties
often delegated to nurses in this country. Mother and babe are rarely separated,
night or day, during the first few years of the baby's life, and the mother denies
herself any entertainment or journey from home when the baby cannot
accompany her. To give the husband any share in the baby-work would be an
unheard-of thing, and a disgrace to the wife; for in public and in private the baby
is the mother's sole charge, and the husband is never asked to sit up all night
with a sick baby, or to mind it in any way at all. Nothing in all one's study of
Japanese life seems more beautiful and admirable than the influence of the
mother over her children,—an influence that is gentle and all-pervading,
bringing out all that is sweetest and noblest in the feminine character, and
affording the one almost unlimited opportunity of a Japanese woman's life. The
lot of a childless wife in Japan is a sad one. Not only is she denied the hopes and
the pleasures of a mother in her children, but she is an object of pity to her
friends, and well does she know that Confucius has laid down the law that a man
is justified in divorcing a childless wife. All feel that through her, innocent
though she is, the line has ceased; that her duty is unfulfilled; and that, though
the name be given to adopted sons, there is no heir of the blood. A man rarely
sends away his wife solely with this excuse, but children are the strongest of the
ties which bind together husband and wife, and the childless wife is far less sure
of pleasing her husband. In many cases she tries to make good her deficiencies
by her care of adopted children; in them she often finds the love which fills the
void in her heart and home, and she receives from them in after-life the respect
and care which is the crown of old age.
We have hitherto spoken of married life when the wife is received into her
husband's home. Another interesting side of Japanese marriage is when a man
enters the wife's family, taking her name and becoming entirely one of her
family, as usually the wife becomes of the husband's. When there are daughters
but no sons in a family to inherit the name, one of three things may happen: a
son may be adopted early in life and grow up as heir; or he may be adopted with
the idea of marrying one of the daughters; or, again, no one may have been
formally adopted, but on the eldest daughter's coming to a marriageable age, her
family and friends seek for her a yōshi, that is to say, some man (usually a
younger son) who is willing and able to give up his family name, and, by
marrying the daughter, become a member of her family and heir to the name. He
cuts off all ties from his own family, and becomes a member of hers, and the
young couple are expected to live with her parents. In this case the tables are
turned, and it is he who has to dread the mother-in-law; it is his turn to have to
please his new relatives and to do all he can to be agreeable. He, too, may be
sent away and divorced by the all-powerful parents, if he does not please; and
such divorces are not uncommon. Of course, in such marriages, the woman has
the greater power, and the man has to remember what he owes her; and though
the woman yields to him obediently in all respects, it is an obedience not
demanded by the husband, as under other circumstances. In such marriages the
children belong to the family whose name they bear, so that in case of divorce
they remain in the wife's family, unless some special arrangement is made about
them.
It may be wondered why young men ever care to enter a family as yōshi. There
is only one answer,—it is the attraction of wealth and rank, very rarely that of
the daughter herself. In the houses of rich daimiōs without sons, yōshi are very
common, and there are many younger sons of the nobility, themselves of high
birth, but without prospects, who are glad enough to become great lords. In
feudal times, the number of samurai families was limited. Several sons of one
family could not establish different samurai families, but all but the eldest son, if
they formed separate houses, must enroll themselves among the ranks of the
common people. Hence the younger sons were often adopted into other samurai
families as yōshi, where it was desired to secure a succession to a name that must
otherwise die out. Since the Restoration, and the breaking down of the old class
distinctions, young men care more for independence than for their rank as
samurai; and it is now quite difficult to find yōshi to enter samurai families,
unless it be because of the attractiveness and beauty of the young lady herself.
Many a young girl who could easily make a good marriage with some suitable
husband, could she enter his family, is now obliged to take some inferior man as
yōshi, because few men in these days are willing to change their names, give up
their independence, and take upon themselves the support of aged parents-in-
law; for this also is expected of the yōshi, unless the family that he enters is a
wealthy one.
From this custom of yōshi, and its effect upon the wife's position, we see that, in
certain cases, Japanese women are treated as equal with men. It is not because of
their sex that they are looked down upon and held in subjection, but it is because
of their almost universal dependence of position. The men have the right of
inheritance, the education, habits of self-reliance, and are the bread-winners.
Wherever the tables are turned, and the men are dependents of the women, and
even where the women are independent of the men,—there we find the relations
of men to women vastly changed. The women of Japan must know how to do
some definite work in the world beyond the work of the home, so that their
position will not be one of entire dependence upon father, husband, or son. If
fathers divided their estates between sons and daughters alike, and women were
given, before the law, right to hold property in their own names, much would be
accomplished towards securing them in their positions as wives and mothers;
and divorce, the great evil of Japanese home life to-day, would become simply a
last resort to preserve the purity of the home, as it is in most civilized countries
now.
The difference between the women of the lower and those of the higher classes,
in the matter of equality with their husbands, is quite noticeable. The wife of the
peasant or merchant is much nearer to her husband's level than is the wife of the
Emperor. Apparently, each step in the social scale is a little higher for the man
than it is for the woman, and lifts him a little farther above his wife. The peasant
and his wife work side by side in the field, put their shoulders to the same wheel,
eat together in the same room, at the same time, and whichever of them happens
to be the stronger in character governs the house, without regard to sex. There is
no great gulf fixed between them, and there is frequently a consideration for the
wife shown by husbands of the lower class, that is not unlike what we see in our
own country. I remember the case of a jinrikisha man employed by a friend of
mine in Tōkyō, who was much laughed at by his friends because he actually
used to spend some of his leisure moments in drawing the water required for his
household from a well some distance away, and carrying the heavy buckets to
the house, in order to save the strength of his little, delicate wife. That cases of
such devotion are rare is no doubt true, but that they occur shows that there is
here and there a recognition of the claims that feminine weakness has upon
masculine strength.
A frequent sight in the morning, in Tōkyō, is a cart heavily laden with wood,
charcoal, or some other country produce, creaking slowly along the streets,
propelled by a farmer and his family. Sometimes one will see an old man, his
son, and his son's wife with a baby on her back, all pushing or pulling with might
and main; the woman with tucked-up skirts and tight-fitting blue trousers, a blue
towel enveloping her head,—only to be distinguished from the men by her
smaller size and the baby tied to her back. But when evening comes, and the
load of produce has been disposed of, the woman and baby are seen seated upon
the cart, while the two men pull it back to their home in some neighboring
village. Here, again, is the recognition of the law that governs the position of
woman in this country,—the theory, not of inferior position, but of inferior
strength; and the sight of the women riding back in the empty carts at night,
drawn by their husbands, is the thing that strikes a student of Japanese domestic
life as nearest to the customs of our own civilization in regard to the relations of
husbands and wives.
Throughout the country districts, where the women have a large share in the
labor that is directly productive of wealth, where they not only work in the rice
fields, pick the tea crops, gather the harvests, and help draw them to market, but
where they have their own productive industries, such as caring for the
silkworms, and spinning, and weaving both silk and cotton, we find the
conventional distance between the sexes much diminished by the important
character of feminine labor; but in the cities, and among the classes who are
largely either indirect producers or non-producers, the only labor of the women
is that personal service which we account as menial. It is for this reason,
perhaps, that the gap widens as we go upward in society, and between the same
social levels as we go cityward.
The wife of the countryman, though she may work harder and grow old earlier,
is more free and independent than her city sister; and the wife of the peasant,
pushing her produce to market, is in some ways happier and more considered
than the wife of the noble, who must spend her life among her ladies-in-waiting,
in the seclusion of her great house with its beautiful garden, the plaything of her
husband in his leisure hours, but never his equal, or the sharer of his cares or of
his thoughts.
One of the causes which must be mentioned as contributing to the lowering of
the wife's position, among the higher and more wealthy classes, lies in the
system of concubinage which custom allows, and the law until quite recently has
not discouraged. From the Emperor, who was, by the old Chinese code of
morals, allowed twelve supplementary wives, to the samurai, who are permitted
two, the men of the higher classes are allowed to introduce into their families
these mékaké, who, while beneath the wife in position, are frequently more
beloved by the husband than the wife herself. It must be said, however, to the
credit of many husbands, that in spite of this privilege, which custom allows,
there are many men of the old school who are faithful to one wife, and never
introduce this discordant element into the household. Even should he keep
mékaké, it is often unknown to the wife, and she is placed in a separate
establishment of her own. And in spite of the code of morals requiring
submission in any case on the part of the woman, there are many wives of the
samurai and lower classes who have enough spirit and wit to prevent their
husbands from ever introducing a rival under the same roof. In this way the
practice is made better than the theory.
Not so with the more helpless wife of the nobleman, for wealth and leisure make
temptation greater for the husband. She submits unquestioningly to the custom
requiring that the wife treat these women with all civility. Their children she may
even have to adopt as her own. The lot of the mékaké herself is rendered the less
endurable, from the American point of view, by the fact that, should the father of
her child decide to make it his heir, the mother is thenceforth no more to it than
any other of the servants of the household. For instance, suppose a hitherto
childless noble is presented with a son by one of his concubines, and he decides
by legal adoption to make that son his heir: the child at its birth, or as soon
afterwards as is practicable, is taken from its mother and placed in other hands,
and the mother never sees her own child until, on the thirtieth day after its birth,
she goes with the other servants of the household to pay her respects to her
young master. If it were not for the habit of abject obedience to parents which
Japanese custom has exalted into the one feminine virtue, few women could be
found of respectable families who would take a position so devoid of either
honor or satisfaction of any kind as that of mékaké. That these positions are not
sought after must be said, to the honor of Japanese womanhood. A nobleman
may obtain samurai women for his "O mékaké" (literally, honorable
concubines), but they are never respected by their own class for taking such
positions. In the same way the mékaké of samurai are usually from the héimin.
No woman who has any chance of a better lot will ever take the unenviable
position of mékaké.
A law which has recently been promulgated strikes at the root of this evil, and, if
enforced, will in course of time go far toward extirpating it. Henceforth in Japan,
no child of a concubine, or of adoption from any source, can inherit a noble title.
The heir to the throne must hereafter be the son, not only of the Emperor, but of
the Empress, or the succession passes to some collateral branch of the family.
This law does not apply to Prince Haru, the present heir to the throne, as,
although he is not the son of the Empress, he was legally adopted before the
promulgation of the law; but should he die, it will apply to all future heirs.
That public opinion is moving in the right direction is shown by the fact that the
young men of the higher classes do not care to marry the daughters of mékaké,
be they ever so legally adopted by their own fathers. When the girls born of such
unions become a drug in the matrimonial market, and the boys are unable to
keep up the succession, the mékaké will go out of fashion, and the real wife will
once more assume her proper importance.[20]
Upon the 11th day of February, 1889, the day on which the Emperor, by his own
act in giving a constitution to the people, limited his own power for the sake of
putting his nation upon a level with the most civilized nations of the earth, he at
the same time, and for the first time, publicly placed his wife upon his own level.
In an imperial progress made through the streets of Tōkyō, the Emperor and
Empress, for the first time in the history of Japan, rode together in the imperial
coach.[*] Until then, the Emperor, attended by his chief gentlemen-in-waiting
and his guards, had always headed the procession, while the Empress must
follow at a distance with her own attendants. That this act on the part of the
Emperor signifies the beginning of a new and better era for the women of Japan,
we cannot but hope; for until the position of the wife and mother in Japan is
improved and made secure, little permanence can be expected in the progress of
the nation toward what is best and highest in the Western civilization. Better
laws, broader education for the women, a change in public opinion on the
subject, caused by the study, by the men educated abroad, of the homes of
Europe and America,—these are the forces which alone can bring the women of
Japan up to that place in the home which their intellectual and moral qualities fit
them to fill. That Japan is infinitely ahead of other Oriental countries in her
practices in this matter is greatly to her credit; but that she is far behind the
civilized nations of Europe and America, not only in practice but in theory, is a
fact that is incontestable, and a fact that, unless changed, must sooner or later be
a stumbling-block in the path of her progress toward the highest civilization of
which she is capable.[21] The European practice cannot be grafted upon the
Asiatic theory, but the change in the home must be a radical one, to secure
permanent good results. As long as the wife has no rights which the husband is
bound to respect, no great advance can be made, for human nature is too mean
and selfish to give in all cases to those who are entirely unprotected by law, and
entirely unable to protect themselves, those things which the moral nature
declares to be their due. In the old slave times in the South, many of the negroes
were better fed, better cared for, and happier than they are to-day; but they were
nevertheless at the mercy of men who too often thought only of themselves, and
not of the human bodies and souls over which they had unlimited power. It was a
condition of things that could not be prevented by educating the masters so as to
induce them to be kind to their slaves; it was a condition that was wrong in
theory, and so could not be righted in practice. In the same way the position of
the Japanese wife is wrong in theory, and can never be righted until legislation
has given to her rights which it still denies. Education will but aggravate the
trouble to a point beyond endurance. The giving to the wife power to obtain a
divorce will not help much, but simply tend to weaken still further the marriage
tie. Nothing can help surely and permanently but the growth of a sound public
opinion, in regard to the position of the wife, that will, sooner or later, have its
effect upon the laws of the country. Legislation once effected, all the rest will
come, and the wife, secure in her home and her children, will be at the point
where her new education can be of use to her in the administration of her
domestic affairs and the training of her children; and where she will finally
become the friend and companion of her husband, instead of his mere waitress,
seamstress, and housekeeper,—the plaything of his leisure moments, too often
the victim of his caprices.

FOOTNOTES:
[15] The andon is the standing lamp, inclosed in a paper case, used as a night
lamp in all Japanese houses. Until the introduction of kerosene lamps, the andon
was the only light used in Japanese houses. The light is produced by a pith wick
floating in a saucer of vegetable oil.
[16] The pillow used by ladies is merely a wooden rest for the head, that
supports the neck, leaving the elaborate head-dress undisturbed. The hair is
dressed by a professional hair-dresser, who comes to the house once in two or
three days. In some parts of Japan, as in Kiōto, where the hair is even more
elaborately dressed than in Tōkyō, it is much less frequently arranged. The
process takes two hours at least.
[17] The one exception to this statement, so far as I know, is the species of silk
mosaic made by the ladies in the daimiōs' houses. (See chap. vii.)
[18] Sakaki, the Cleyera Japonica, a sacred plant emblematic of purity, and
much used at funerals and in the decoration of graves.
[19] Since the introduction of the foreign system of medicine and nursing, the
Japanese realize so acutely the lack of conveniences and appliances for nursing
the sick in their own homes, that cases of severe or even serious illness are
usually sent to hospitals, where the invalids can have the comforts that even the
wealthy Japanese homes cannot furnish.
[20] It is worth while to mention in this connection the noteworthy efforts made
by the Woman's Christian Temperance Union of Japan in calling the attention of
the public to this custom, and in arousing public sentiment in favor of legislation
against not only this system, but against the licensed houses of prostitution.
Though there has not yet been any practical result, much discussion has ensued
in the newspapers and magazines, lectures have been given, and much strong
feeling aroused, which may, before long, produce radical change.
[21] Many of the thinking men of Japan, though fully recognizing the injustice
of the present position of woman in society, and the necessity of reform in the
marriage and divorce laws, refuse to see the importance of any movement to
change them. Their excuse is, that such power in the hands of the husband over
his wife might be abused, but that in fact it is not. Wrongs and injustice are rare,
they argue, and kind treatment, affection, and even respect for the wife is the
general rule; and that the keeping of the power in the hands of the husband is
better than giving too much freedom to women who are without education.
These men wish to wait until every woman is educated, before acting in a reform
movement, while many conservatives oppose the new system of education for
girls as making them unwomanly. Between these two parties, the few who really
wish for a change are utterly unable to act.
 CHAPTER V.

OLD AGE.

NO Japanese woman is ashamed to show that she is getting along in years, but all
take pains that every detail of the dress and coiffure shall show the full age of the
wearer. The baby girl is dressed in the brightest of colors and the largest of
patterns, and looks like a gay butterfly or tropical bird. As she grows older,
colors become quieter, figures smaller, stripes narrower, until in old age she
becomes a little gray moth or plain-colored sparrow. By the sophisticated eye, a
woman's age can be told with considerable accuracy by the various little things
about her costume,[22] and no woman cares to appear younger than her real age,
or hesitates to tell with entire frankness the number of years that have passed
over her head.
The reason for this lies, at least in part, in the fact that every woman looks
forward to the period of old age as the time when she will attain freedom from
her life-long service to those about her,—will be in the position of adviser of her
sons, and director of her daughters-in-law; will be a person of much
consideration in the family, privileged to amuse herself in various ways, to speak
her own mind on most subjects, and to be waited upon and cared for by children
and grandchildren, in return for her long years of faithful service in the
household. Should her sight and other bodily powers remain good, she will
doubtless perform many light tasks for the general good, will seldom sit idle by
herself, but will help about the sewing and mending, the marketing, shopping,
housework, and care of the babies, tell stories to her grandchildren after their
lessons are learned, give the benefit of her years of experience to the young
people who are still bearing the heat and burden of the day, and, by her prayers
and visits to the temple at stated seasons, will secure the favor of the gods for the
whole family, as well as make her own preparations for entry into the great
unknown toward which she is rapidly drifting. Is there wonder that the young
wife, steering her course with difficulty among the many shoals and whirlpools
of early married life, looks forward with anticipation to the period of
comparative rest and security that comes at the end of the voyage? As she bears
all things, endures all things, suffers long, and is kind, as she serves her mother-
in-law, manages her husband's household, cares for her babies, the thought that
cheers and encourages her in her busy and not too happy life is the thought of the
sunny calm of old age, when she can lay her burdens and cares on younger
shoulders, and bask in the warmth and sunshine which this Indian Summer of
her life will bring to her.
In the code of morals of the Japanese, obedience to father, husband, or son is
exalted into the chief womanly virtue, but the obedience and respect of children,
both male and female, to their parents, also occupies a prominent position in
their ethical system. Hence, in this latter stage of a woman's career, the
obedience expected of her is often only nominal, and in any case is not so
absolute and unquestioning as that of the early period; and the consideration and
respect that a son is bound to show to his mother necessitates a care of her
comfort, and a consultation of her wishes, that renders her position one of much
greater freedom than can be obtained by any woman earlier in life. She has,
besides, reached an age when she is not expected to remain at home, and she
may go out into the streets, to the theatre, or other shows, without the least
restraint or fear of losing her dignity.
A Japanese woman loses her beauty early. At thirty-five her fresh color is usually
entirely gone, her eyes have begun to sink a little in their sockets, her youthful
roundness and symmetry of figure have given place to an absolute leanness, her
abundant black hair has grown thin, and much care and anxiety have given her
face a pathetic expression of quiet endurance. One seldom sees a face that
indicates a soured temper or a cross disposition, but the lines that show
themselves as the years go by are lines that indicate suffering and
disappointment, patiently and sweetly borne. The lips never forget to smile; the
voice remains always cheerful and sympathetic, never grows peevish and
worried, as is too often the case with overworked or disappointed women in this
country. But youth with its hopeful outlook, its plans and its ambitions, gives
way to age with its peaceful waiting for the end, with only a brief struggle for its
place; and the woman of thirty-five is just at the point when she has bid good-by
to her youth, and, having little to hope for in her middle life, is doing her work
faithfully, and looking forward to an old age of privilege and authority, the
mistress of her son's house, and the ruler of the little domain of home.
But I have spoken so far only of those happy women whose sons grow to
maturity, and who manage to evade the dangerous reefs of divorce upon which
so many lives are shipwrecked. What becomes of the hundreds who have no
children to rise up and call them blessed, but who have in old age to live as
dependents upon their brothers or nephews? Even these, who in this country
often lead hard and unrewarded lives of toil among their happier relatives, find
in old age a pleasanter lot than that of youth. Many such old ladies I have met,
whose short hair or shaven heads proclaim to all who see them that the sorrow of
widowhood has taken from them the joy that falls to other women, but whose
cheerful, wrinkled faces and happy, childlike ways have given one a feeling of
pleasure that the sorrow is past, and peace and rest have come to their declining
years. Fulfilling what little household tasks they can, respected and self-
respecting members of the household, the O Bă San, or Aunty, is not far
removed in the honor and affection of the children from the O Bā San, or
Grandma, but both alike find a peaceful shelter in the homes of those nearest and
dearest to them.
One of the happiest old ladies I have ever seen was one who had had a rough and
stormy life. The mother of many children, most of whom had died in infancy,
she was at last left childless and a widow. In her children's death the last tie that
bound her to her husband's family was broken, and, rather than be a burden to
them, she made her home for many years with her own younger brother, taking
up again the many cares and duties of a mother's life in sharing with the mother
the bringing up of a large family of children. One by one, from the oldest to the
youngest, each has learned to love the old aunty, to be lulled asleep on her back,
and to go to her in trouble when mother's hands were too full of work. Many the
caress received, the drives and walks enjoyed in her company, the toys and
candies that came out unexpectedly from the depths of mysterious drawers, to
comfort many an hour of childish grief. That was years ago, and the old aunty's
hard times are nearly over. Hale and hearty at three-score years and ten, she has
seen these children grow up one by one, until now some have gone to new
homes of their own. Her bent form and wrinkled face are ever welcome to her
children,—hers by the right of years of patient care and toil for them. They now,
in their turn, enjoy giving her pleasure, and return to her all the love she has
lavished upon them. It is a joy to see her childlike pride and confidence in them
all, and to know that they have filled the place left vacant by the dead with
whom had died all her hopes of earthly happiness.
The old women of Japan,—how their withered faces, bent frames, and shrunken,
yellow hands abide in one's memory! One seldom sees among them what we
would call beauty, for the almost universal shrinking with age that takes place
among the Japanese covers the face with multitudinous wrinkles, and produces
the effect of a withered russet apple; for the skin, which in youth is usually
brightened by red cheeks and glossy black hair, in old age, when color leaves
cheek and hair, has a curiously yellow and parchment-like look. But with all
their wrinkles and ugliness, there is a peculiar charm about the old women of
Japan.
In Tōkyō, when the grass grows long upon your lawn, and you send to the
gardener to come and cut it, no boy with patent lawn-mower, nor stalwart
countryman with scythe and sickle, answers your summons, but some morning
you awake to find your lawn covered with old women. The much-washed cotton
garments are faded to a light blue, the exact match of the light blue cotton towels
in which their heads are swathed, and on hands and knees, each armed with an
enormous pair of shears, the old ladies clip and chatter cheerfully all day long,
until the lawn is as smooth as velvet under their careful cutting. An occasional
rest under a tree, for pipes and tea, is the time for much cheerful talk and gossip;
but the work, though done slowly and with due attention to the comfort of the
worker, is well done, and certainly accomplished as rapidly as any one could
expect of laborers who earn only from eight to twelve cents a day. Another
employment for this same class of laborers is the picking of moss and grass from
the crevices of the great walls that inclose the moats and embankments of the
capital. Mounted on little ladders, they pick and scrape with knives until the wall
is clear and fresh, with no insidious growth to push the great uncemented stones
out of their places.
In contrast with these humble but cheerful toilers may be mentioned another
class of women, often met with in the great cities. Dressed in rags and with
covered heads and faces, they wander about the streets playing the samisen
outside the latticed windows, and singing with cracked voices some wailing
melody. As they go from house to house, gaining a miserable pittance by their
weird music, they seem the embodiment of all that is hopeless and broken-
hearted. What they are or whence they come, I know not, but they always
remind me of the grasshopper in the fable, who danced and sang through the
brief summer, to come, wailing and wretched, seeking aid from her thriftier
neighbor when at last the winter closed in upon her.
As one rides about the streets, one often sees a little, white-haired old woman
trotting about with a yoke over her shoulders from which are suspended two
swinging baskets, filled with fresh vegetables. The fact that her hair is still
growing to its natural length shows that she is still a wife and not a widow; her
worn and patched blue cotton clothes, bleached light from much washing, show
that extreme poverty is her lot in life; and as she hobbles along with the gait
peculiar to those who carry a yoke, my thoughts are busy with her home, which,
though poor and small, is doubtless clean and comfortable, but my eye follows
her through the city's crowd, where laborer, soldier, student, and high official
jostle each other by the way. Suddenly I see her pause before the gateway of a
temple. She sets her burden down, and there in the midst of the bustling throng,
with bowed head, folded hands, and moving lips, she invokes her god, snatching
this moment from her busy life to seek a blessing for herself and her dear ones.
The throng moves busily on, making a little eddy around the burden she has laid
down, but paying no heed to the devout little figure standing there; then in a
moment the prayer is finished; she stoops, picks up her yoke, balances it on her
shoulders, and moves on with the crowd, to do her share while her strength lasts,
and to be cared for tenderly, I doubt not, by children and children's children
when her work is done.
Another picture comes to me, too, a picture of one whose memory is an inspiring
thought to the many who have the honor to call her "mother." A stately old lady,
left a widow many years ago, before the recent changes had wrought havoc
preparatory to further progress, she seemed always to me the model of a mother
of the old school. Herself a woman of thorough classical education, her example
and teaching were to both sons and daughters a constant inspiration; and in her
old age she found herself the honored head of a family well known in the arts of
war and peace, a goodly company of sons and daughters, every one of them heirs
of her spirit and of her intellect. Though conservative herself, and always
clinging to the old customs, she put no block in the path of her children's
progress, and her fine character, heroic spirit, and stanch loyalty to what she
believed were worth more to her children than anything else could have been.
Tried by war, by siege, by banishment, by danger and sufferings of all kinds, to
her was given at last an old age of prosperity among children of whom she might
well be proud. Keeping her physical vigor to the end, and dying at last, after an
illness of only two days, her spirit passed out into the great unknown, ready to
meet its dangers as bravely as she had met those of earth, or to enjoy its rest as
sweetly and appreciatively as she had enjoyed that of her old age in the house of
her oldest son.
My acquaintance with her was limited by our lack of common language, but was
a most admiring and appreciative one on my side; and I esteem it one of the
chief honors of my stay in Japan, that upon my last meeting with her, two weeks
before her death, she gave me her wrinkled but still beautiful and delicately
shaped hand at parting,—a deference to foreign customs that she only paid upon
special occasions.
Two weeks later, amid such rain as Japanese skies know all too well how to let
fall, I attended her funeral at the cemetery of Aoyama. The cemetery chapel was
crowded, but a place was reserved for me, on account of special ties that bound
me to the family, just behind the long line of white-robed mourners. In the
Buddhist faith she had lived, and by the Buddhist ceremonial she was buried,—
the chanted ritual, the gorgeously robed priests, and the heavy smell of incense
in the air reminding one of a Roman Catholic ceremony. The white wooden
coffin was placed upon a bier at the entrance to the chapel, and when the priests
had done their work, and the ecclesiastical ceremony was over, the relatives
arose, one by one, walked over to the coffin, bowed low before it, and placed a
grain of incense upon the little censer that stood on a table before the bier, then,
bowing again, retired to their places. Slowly and solemnly, from the tall soldier
son, his hair already streaked with gray, to the two-year-old grandchild, all paid
this last token of respect to a noble spirit; and after the relatives the guests, each
in the order of rank or nearness to the deceased, stepped forward and performed
the same ceremony before leaving the room. What the meaning of the rite was, I
did not know, whether a worship of strange gods or no; but to me, as I performed
the act, it only signified the honor in which I held the memory of a heroic
woman who had done well her part in the world according to the light that God
had given her.
Japanese art loves to picture the old woman with her kindly, wrinkled face,
leaving out no wrinkle of them all, but giving with equal truthfulness the charm
of expression that one finds in them. Long life is desired by all as passionately as
by ancient Hebrew poet and psalmist, and with good reason, for only by long life
can a woman attain the greatest honor and happiness. We often exclaim in
impatience at the thought of the weakness and dependence of old age, and pray
that we may die in the fullness of our powers, before the decay of advancing
years has made us a burden upon our friends. But in Japan, dependence is the lot
of woman, and the dependence of old age is that which is most respected and
considered. An aged parent is never a burden, is treated by all with the greatest
love and tenderness; and if times are hard, and food and other comforts are
scarce, the children, as a matter of course, deprive themselves and their children
to give ungrudgingly to their old father and mother. Faults there are many in the
Japanese social system, but ingratitude to parents, or disrespect to the aged, must
not be named among them; and Young America may learn a salutary lesson by
the study of the place that old people occupy in the home.
It is not only for the women of Japan, but for the men as well, that old age is a
time of peace and happiness. When a man reaches the age of fifty or thereabouts,
often while apparently in the height of his vigor, he gives up his work or
business and retires, leaving all the property and income to the care of his eldest
son, upon whom he becomes entirely dependent for his support.[23] This support
is never begrudged him, for the care of parents by their children is as much a
matter of course in Japan as the care of children by those who give them birth. A
man thus rarely makes provision for the future, and looks with scorn on foreign
customs which seem to betoken a fear lest, in old age, ungrateful children may
neglect their parents and cast them aside. The feeling, so strong in America, that
dependence is of itself irksome and a thing to be dreaded, is altogether strange to
the Japanese mind. The married son does not care to take his wife to a new and
independent home of his own, and to support her and her children by his own
labor or on his own income, but he takes her to his father's house, and thinks it
no shame that his family live upon his parents. But in return, when the parents
wish to retire from active life, the son takes upon himself ungrudgingly the
burden of their support, and the bread of dependence is never bitter to the
parents' lips, for it is given freely. To the time-honored European belief, that a
young man must be independent and enterprising in early life in order to lay by
for old age, the Japanese will answer that children in Japan are taught to love
their parents rather than ease and luxury, and that care for the future is not the
necessity that it is in Europe and America, where money is above everything
else,—even filial love. This habit of thought may account for the utter want of
provision for the future, and the disregard for things pertaining to the
accumulation of wealth, which often strikes curiously the foreigner in Japan. A
Japanese considers his provision for the future made when he has brought up and
educated for usefulness a large family of children. He invests his capital in their
support and education, secure of bountiful returns in their gratitude and care for
his old age. It is hard for the men of old Japan to understand the rush and
struggle for riches in America,—a struggle that too often leaves not a pause for
rest or quiet pleasure until sickness or death overtakes the indefatigable worker.
The go inkyo[24] of Japan is glad enough to lay down early in life the cares of the
world, to have a few years of calm and peace, undisturbed by responsibilities or
cares for outside matters. If he be an artist or a poet, he may, uninterrupted,
spend his days with his beloved art. If he is fond of the ceremonial tea, he has
whole afternoons that he may devote to this æsthetic repast; and even if he has
none of these higher tastes, he will always have congenial friends who are ready
to share the saké bottle, to join in a quiet smoke over the hibachi, or to play the
deep-engrossing game of go, or shogi, the Japanese chess. To the Japanese mind,
to be in the company of a few kindred souls, to spend the long hours of a
summer's afternoon at the ceremonial tea party, sipping tea and conversing in a
leisurely manner on various subjects, is an enjoyment second to none. A
cultivated Japanese of the old times must receive an education fitting him
especially for such pursuits. At these meetings of friends, artistically or
poetically inclined, the time is spent in making poems and exchanging wittily
turned sentiments, to be read, commented on, and responded to; or in the making
of drawings, with a few bold strokes of the brush, in illustration of some subject
given out. Such enjoyments as these, the Japanese believe, cannot be appreciated
or even understood by the practical, rush-ahead American, the product of the
wonderful but material civilization of the West.
Thus, amid enjoyments and easy labors suited to their closing years, the elder
couple spend their days with the young people, cared for and protected by them.
Sometimes there will be a separate suite of rooms provided for them; sometimes
a little house away from the noises of the household, and separated from the
main building by a well-kept little garden. In any case, as long as they live they
will spend their days in quiet and peace; and it is to this haven, the inkyo, that all
Japanese look forward, as to the time when they may carry out their own
inclinations and tastes with an income provided for the rest of their days.[*]
 FOOTNOTES:
[22] Children wear their hair on top of their heads while very young, and the
manner of arranging it is one of the distinctive marks of the age of the child. The
marumagé, the style of headdress of married ladies, consisting of a large puff of
hair on the top of the head, diminishes in size with the age of the wearer until, at
sixty or seventy, it is not more than a few inches in width. The number, size, and
variety of ornamental hairpins, and the tortoise-shell comb worn in front, all
vary with the age.
[23] It is this custom of going into early retirement that made it possible for the
nobles in old times to keep the Emperor always a child. The ruling Emperor
would be induced to retire from the throne at the age of sixteen or twenty; thus
making room for some baby, who would be in his turn the puppet of his
ambitious courtiers.
[24] Go Inkyo Sama is the title belonging to a retired old gentleman or old lady.
Inkyo is the name of the house or suite of rooms set apart for such a person, and
the title itself is made up of this word with the Chinese honorific go and the title
Sama, the same as San, used in addressing all persons except inferiors.
 CHAPTER VI.

COURT LIFE.

THE court of the Emperor was, in the early ages of Japan, the centre of whatever
culture and refinement the country could boast, and the emperors themselves
took an active part in the promotion of civilization. The earliest history of Japan
is so wrapped in the mists of legend and tradition that only here and there do we
get glimpses of heroic figures,—leaders in those early days. Demigods they
seem, children of Heaven, receiving from Heaven by special revelation the
wisdom or strength by means of which they conquered their enemies, or gave to
their subjects new arts and better laws. The traditional emperors, the early
descendants of the great Jimmu Tenno,[25] seem to have been merely conquering
chieftains, who by virtue of their descent were regarded as divine, but who lived
the simple, hardy life of the savage king, surrounded by wives and concubines,
done homage to by armed retainers and subject chiefs, but living in rude huts,
and moving in and out among the soldiers, not in the least retired into the
mysterious solitude which in later days enveloped the Son of the Gods. The first
emperors ruled not only by divine right, but by personal force and valor; and the
stories of the valiant deeds of these early rulers kept strong the faith of the
people in the divine qualities of the imperial house during the hundreds of years
when the Emperor was a mere puppet in the hands of ambitious and powerful
nobles.
Towards the end of this legendary period, a figure comes into view that for
heroic qualities cannot be excelled in the annals of any nation,—Jingo Kōgō, the
conqueror of Corea, who alone, among the nine female rulers of Japan, has made
an era in the national history. She seems to have been from the beginning, like
Jeanne D'Arc, a hearer of divine voices; and through her was conveyed to her
unbelieving husband a divine command, to take ship and sail westward to the
conquest of an unknown land. Her husband questioned the authenticity of the
message, took the earthly and practical view that, as there was no land to be seen
in the westward, there could be no land there, and refused to organize any
expedition in fulfillment of the command; but for his unbelief was sternly told
that he should never see the land, but that his wife should conquer it for the son
whom she should bear after the father's death. This message from the gods was
fulfilled. The Emperor died in battle shortly after, and the Empress, after
suppressing the rebellion in which her husband had been killed, proceeded to
organize an expedition for the conquest of the unknown land beyond the western
sea. By as many signs as those required by Gideon to assure himself of his
divine mission, the Empress tested the call that had come to her, but at last,
satisfied that the voices were from Heaven, she gave her orders for the collection
of troops and the building of a navy. I quote from Griffis the inspiring words
with which she addressed her generals: "The safety or destruction of our country
depends upon this enterprise. I intrust the details to you. It will be your fault if
they are not carried out. I am a woman and young. I shall disguise myself as a
man, and undertake this gallant expedition, trusting to the gods and to my troops
and captains. We shall acquire a wealthy country. The glory is yours, if we
succeed; if we fail, the guilt and disgrace shall be mine." What wonder that her
captains responded to such an appeal, and that the work of recruiting and
shipbuilding began with a will! It was a long preparation that was required—
sometimes, to the impatient woman, it seemed unnecessarily slow—but by
continual prayer and offerings she appealed to the gods for aid; and at last all
was ready, and the brave array of ships set sail for the unknown shore, the
Empress feeling within her the new inspiration of hope for her babe as yet
unborn. Heaven smiled upon them from the start. The clearest of skies, the most
favoring of breezes, the smoothest of seas, favored the god-sent expedition; and
tradition says that even the fishes swarmed in shoals about their keels, and
carried them on to their desired haven. The fleet ran safely across to southern
Corea, but instead of finding battles and struggles awaiting them, the king of the
country met them on the beach to receive and tender allegiance to the invaders,
whose unexpected appearance from the unexplored East had led the natives to
believe that their gods had forsaken them. The expedition returned laden with
vast wealth, not the spoil of battle, but the peaceful tribute of a bloodless victory;
and from that time forward Japan, through Corea, and later by direct contact
with China itself, began to receive and assimilate the civilization, arts, and
religions of China. Thus through a woman Japan received the start along the line
of progress which made her what she is to-day, for the sequel of Jingo Kōgō's
Corean expedition was the introduction of almost everything which we regard as
peculiar to civilized countries. With characteristic belittling of the woman and
exalting of the man, the whole martial career of the Empress is ascribed to the
influence of her son as yet unborn,—a son who by his valor and prowess has
secured for his deified spirit the position of God of War in the Japanese
pantheon. We should say that pre-natal influences and heredity produced the
heroic son; the Japanese reason from the other end, and show that all the noble
qualities of the mother were produced by the influence of the unborn babe.
With the introduction of literature, art, and Buddhism, a change took place in the
relations of the court to the people. About the Emperor's throne there gathered
not only soldiers and governors, but the learned, the accomplished, the witty, the
artistic, who found in the Emperor and the court nobles munificent patrons by
whom they were supported, and before whom they laid whatever pearls they
were able to produce. The new culture sought not the clash of arms and the shout
of soldiers, but the quiet and refinement of palaces and gardens far removed
from the noise and clamor of the world. And while emperors sought to
encourage the new learning and civilization, and to soften the warlike qualities
of the people about them, there was a frontier along which the savages still made
raids into the territory which the Japanese had wrested from them, and which it
required a strong arm and a quick hand to guard for the defense of the people.
But the Emperor gradually gave up the personal leadership in war, and passed
the duty of defending the nation into the hands of one or another of the great
noble families. The nobles were not by any means slow to see the advantage to
be gained for themselves by the possession of the military power in an age when
might made right, even more than it does to-day, and when force, used
judiciously and with proper deference to the prejudices of the people, could be
made to give to its possessor power even over the Emperor himself. And so
gradually, in the pursuit of the new culture and the new religion, the emperors
withdrew themselves more and more into seclusion, and the court became a little
world in itself,—a centre of culture and refinement into which few excitements
of war or politics ever came. While the great nobles wrangled for the possession
of the power, schemed and fought and turned the nation upside down; while the
heroes of the country rose, lived, fought, and died,—the Emperor, amid his
ladies and his courtiers, his priests and his literary men, spent his life in a world
of his own; thinking more of this pair of bright eyes, that new and charming
poem, the other witty saying of those about him, than of the kingdom that he
ruled by divine right; and retiring, after ten years or so of puppet kinghood, from
the seclusion of his court to the deeper seclusion of some Buddhist monastery.
Within the sacred precincts of the court, much time was given to such games and
pastimes as were not too rude or noisy for the refinement that the new culture
brought with it. Polo, football, hunting with falcons, archery, etc., were exercises
not unworthy of even the most refined of gentlemen, and certain noble families
were trained hereditarily in the execution of certain stately, antique dances, many
of them of Chinese or Corean origin. The ladies, in trailing garments and with
flowing hair, reaching often below the knees, played a not inconspicuous part,
not only because of their beauty and grace, but for their quickness of wit, their
learning in the classics, their skill in repartee, and their quaint fancies, which
they embodied in poetic form.[26]
Much attention was given to that harmony of art with nature that the Japanese
taste makes the sine qua non of all true artistic effort. The gorgeously
embroidered gowns must change with the changing season, so that the cherry
succeeds the plum, the wistaria the cherry, and so on through the whole calendar
of flowers, upon the silken robes of the court, as regularly as in the garden that
graces the palace grounds. And so with the confectionery, which in Japan is
made in dainty imitation of flowers and fruits. The chrysanthemum blooms in
sugar no earlier than on its own stalk; the little golden orange, with its dark green
leaves, is on the confectioner's list in winter, when the real orange is yellow on
its tree. The very decorations of the palace must be changed with the changing of
the months; and kakémono and vase are alternately stored in the kura and
brought out to decorate the room, according as their designs seem in harmony
with the mood of Nature. This effort to harmonize Nature and Art is seen to-day,
not only in the splendid furnishings of the court, but all through the decorative
art of Japan. In every house the decorations are changed to suit the changing
seasons.
Through the years when Japan was adopting the civilization of China, a danger
threatened the nation,—the same danger that threatens it to-day: it was the
danger lest the adoption of so much that was foreign should result in a servile
copying of all that was not Japanese, and lest the introduction of literature, art,
and numerous hitherto unknown luxuries should take from the people their
independence, patriotism, and manliness. But this result was happily avoided;
and at a time when the language was in danger of being swept almost out of
existence by the introduction of Chinese learning through Chinese letters, the
women of Japan, not only in their homes and conversation, but in the poetry and
lighter literature of the country, preserved a strain of pure and graceful Japanese,
and produced some of the standard works of a distinctly national literature.
Favor at court to-day, as in the olden times, is the reward, not of mere rank,
beauty, and grace of person, but must be obtained through the same intellectual
endowments, polished by years of education, that made so many women famous
in the mediæval history of Japan. Many court ladies have read much of their
national literature, so that they are able to appreciate the bonmots which contain
allusions in many cases to old poems, or plays on words; and are able to write
and present to others, at fitting times, those graceful but untranslatable turns of
phrase which form the bulk of Japanese poetry.[27] Even in this busy era of Méiji,
[28] the Emperor and his court keep up the old-time customs, and strive to
promote a love of the beautiful poetry of Japan. At each New Year some subject
appropriate to the time is chosen and publicly announced. Poems may be written
upon this subject by any one in the whole realm, and may be sent to the palace
before a certain date fixed as the time for closing the list of competitors. All the
poems thus sent are examined by competent judges, who select the best five and
send them to the Emperor, an honor more desired by the writers than the most
favorable of reviews or the largest of emoluments are desired by American
poets. Many of the other poems are published in the newspapers. It is interesting
to note that many of the prominent men and women of the country are known as
competitors, and that many of the court ladies join in the contest.
There are also, at the palace, frequent meetings of the poets and lovers of poetry
connected with the court. At these meetings poems are composed for the
entertainment of the Emperor and Empress, as well as for the amusement of the
poets themselves.
In the school recently established for the daughters of the nobles, under the
charge of the imperial household, much attention is given to the work of
thoroughly grounding the scholars in the Japanese language and literature, and
also to making them skillful in the art of composing poetry. At the head of the
school, in the highest position held by any woman in the employ of the
government, is a former court lady, who is second to none in the kingdom, not
only in her knowledge of all that belongs to court etiquette, but in her study of
the history and literature of her own people, and in her skill in the composition
of these dainty poems. A year or two ago, when one of the scholars in the school
died after a brief decline, her schoolmates, teachers, and school friends wrote
poems upon her death, which they sent to the bereaved parents.
It is difficult for any Japanese, much more so for a foreigner, to penetrate into
the seclusion of the palace and see anything of the life there, except what is
shown to the public in the occasional entertainments given at court, such as
formal receptions and dinner parties. In 1889, the new palace, built on the site of
the old Tokugawa Castle, burnt seventeen years ago, was finally completed; and
it was my privilege to see, before the removal of the court, not only the grand
reception rooms, throne-room, and dining-room, but also the private apartments
of the Emperor and Empress. The palace is built in Japanese style, surrounded
by the old castle moats, but there are many foreign additions to the palace and
grounds. It is heated and lighted in foreign style, and the larger rooms are all
furnished after the magnificent manner of European palaces; while the lacquer
work, carvings, and gorgeous paneled ceilings remind one of the finest of
Japanese temples. The private apartments of the Emperor and Empress are, on
the other hand, most simple, and in thorough Japanese style; and though the
woodwork and polished floors of the corridors are very beautiful, the paintings
and lacquer work most exquisite, there is little in this simplicity to denote the
abode of royalty. It seems that their majesties, though outwardly conforming to
many European customs, and to the European manner of dress, prefer to live in
Japanese ways, on matted, not carpeted floors, reposing on them rather than on
chairs and bedsteads.[*]
Their apartments are not large; each suite consisting of three rooms opening out
of each other, the Empress's rooms being slightly smaller than the Emperor's,
and those of the young Prince Haru, the heir apparent, again a little smaller. The
young prince has a residence of his own, and it is only on his visits that he
occupies his apartments in his father's palace. There are also rooms for the
Empress dowager to occupy on her occasional visits. All of these apartments are
quite close together in one part of the palace, and are connected by halls; but the
private rooms of the court ladies are in an entirely separate place, quite removed,
and only connected with the main building by a long, narrow passageway,
running through the garden. There, in the rooms assigned to them, each one has
her own private establishment, where she stays when she is not on duty in
attendance on the Emperor and Empress. Each lady has her own servants, and
sometimes a younger sister or a dependent may be living there with her, though
they are entirely separate from the court and the life there, and must never be
seen in any of the other parts of the building. In these rooms, which are like little
homes in themselves, cooking and housekeeping are done, entirely independent
of the other parts of the great palace; and the tradesmen find their way through
some back gate to these little establishments, supplying them with all the
necessaries of life, as well as the luxuries.
A court lady is a personage of distinction, and lives in comparative ease and
luxury, with plenty of servants to do all the necessary work. Besides her salary,
which of course varies with the rank and the duties performed, but is always
liberal enough to cover the necessary expenses of dress, the court lady receives
many presents from the Emperor and Empress, which make her position one of
much luxury.
The etiquette of the imperial household is very complicated and very strict,
though many of the formalities of the olden times have been given up. The court
ladies are models of conservatism. In order to be trained for the life there and its
duties, they usually enter the court while mere children of ten or eleven, and
serve apprenticeship to the older members. In the rigid seclusion of the palace
they are strictly, almost severely, brought up, and trained in all the details of
court etiquette. Cut off from all outside influences while young, the little court
maidens are taught to go through an endless round of formalities which they are
made to think indispensable. These details of etiquette extend not only to all that
concerns the imperial household, but to curious customs among themselves, and
in regard to their own habits. Many of these ideas have come down from one
generation to another, within the narrow limits of the court, so that the life there
is a curious world in itself, and very unlike that in ordinary Japanese homes.
But among all the ladies of Japan to-day,—charming, intellectual, refined, and
lovely as many of them are,—there is no one nobler, more accomplished, more
beautiful in life and character, than the Empress herself. The Emperor of Japan,
though he may have many concubines, may have but one wife, and she must be
chosen out of one of the five highest noble families.[29] Haru Ko, of the noble
family of Ichijō, became Empress in the year 1868, one year after her husband,
then a boy of seventeen, had ascended the throne, and the very year of the
overthrow of the Shōgunate,[30] and the restoration of the Emperor to actual
power and the leading part in the government. Reared amid the deep and
scholarly seclusion of the old court at Kyōto, the young Empress found herself
occupying a position very different from that for which she had been educated,
—a position the duties and responsibilities of which grow more multifarious as
the years go by. Instead of a life of rigid seclusion, unseeing and unseen, the
Empress has had to go forth into the world, finding there the pleasures as well as
the duties of actual leadership. With the removal of the court to Tōkyō, and the
reappearance of the Emperor, in bodily form, before his people, there came new
opportunities for the Empress, and nobly has she used them. From the time
when, in 1871, she gave audience to the five little girls of the samurai class who
were just setting forth on a journey to America, there to study and fit themselves
to play a part in the Japan of the future, on through twenty years of change and
progress, the Empress Haru Ko has done all that lay within her power to advance
the women of her country.[*] Many stories are afloat which show the lovable
character of the woman, and which have given her an abiding place in the
affections of the people.
Some years ago, when the castle in Tōkyō was burned, and the Emperor and
Empress were obliged to take refuge in an old daimiō's house, a place entirely
lacking in luxuries and considerably out of repair, some one expressed to her the
grief that all her people felt, that she should have to put up with so many
inconveniences. Her response was a graceful little poem, in which she said that
the narrowness of her abode would not limit her love for her people, and that for
them she would endeavor to explore wisely the unlimited fields of knowledge.
Upon another occasion, when Prince Iwakura, one of the leaders of Japan in the
early days of the crisis through which the country is still passing, lay dying at his
home, the Empress sent him word that she was coming to visit him. The prince,
afraid that he could not do honor to such a guest, sent her word back that he was
very ill, and unable to make proper preparation to entertain an Empress. To this
the Empress replied that he need make no preparations for her, for she was
coming, not as an Empress, but as the daughter of Ichijō, his old friend and
colleague, and as such he could receive her. And then, setting aside imperial
state and etiquette, she visited the dying statesman, and brightened his last hours
with the thought of how lovely a woman stood as an example before the women
of his beloved country.
Many of the charities and schools of new Japan are under the Empress's special
patronage; and this does not mean simply that she allows her name to be used in
connection with them, but it means that she thinks of them, studies them, asks
questions about them, and even practices little economies that she may have the
more money to give to them. There is a charity hospital in Tōkyō, having in
connection with it a training school for nurses, that is one of the special objects
of her care. Last year she gave to it, at the end of the year, the savings from her
own private allowance, and concerning this act an editorial from the "Japan
Mail" speaks as follows:—
"The life of the Empress of Japan is an unvarying routine of faithful duty-doing
and earnest charity. The public, indeed, hears with a certain listless indifference,
engendered by habit, that her Majesty has visited this school, or gone round the
wards at that hospital. Such incidents all seem to fall naturally into the routine of
the imperial day's work. Yet to the Empress the weariness of long hours spent in
classrooms or in laboratories, or by the beds of the sick, must soon become quite
intolerable did she not contrive, out of the goodness of her heart, to retain a keen
and kindly interest in everything that concerns the welfare of her subjects. That
her Majesty does feel this interest, and that it grows rather than diminishes as the
years go by, every one knows who has been present on any of the innumerable
occasions when the promoters of some charity or the directors of some
educational institution have presented, with merciless precision, all the petty
details of their projects or organizations for the examination of the imperial lady.
The latest evidence of her Majesty's benevolence is, however, more than usually
striking. Since the founding of the Tōkyō Charity Hospital, where so many poor
women and children are treated, the Empress has watched the institution closely,
has bestowed on it patronage of the most active and helpful character, and has
contributed handsomely to its funds. Little by little the hospital grew, extending
its sphere of action and enlarging its ministrations, until the need of more
capacious premises—a need familiar to such undertakings—began to be strongly
felt. The Empress, knowing this, cast about for some means of assisting this
project. To practice strict economy in her own personal expenses, and to devote
whatever money might thus be saved from her yearly income to the aid of the
hospital, appears to have suggested itself to her Majesty as the most feasible
method of procedure. The result is, that a sum of 8,446 yen, 90 sen, and 8 rin has
just been handed over to Dr. Takagi, the chief promoter and mainstay of the
hospital, by Viscount Kagawa, one of her Majesty's chamberlains. There is
something picturesque about these sen and rin. They represent an account
minutely and faithfully kept between her Majesty's unavoidable expenses and the
benevolent impulse that constantly urged her to curtail them. Such gracious acts
of sterling effort command admiration and love."
Not very long ago, on one of her visits to the hospital, the Empress visited the
children's ward, and took with her toys, which she gave with her own hand to
each child there. When we consider that this hospital is free to the poorest and
lowest person in Tōkyō, and that twenty years ago the persons of the Emperor
and Empress were so sacred in the eyes of the people that no one but the highest
nobles and the near officials of the court could come into their presence,—that
even these high nobles were received at court by the Emperor at a distance of
many feet, and his face even then could not be seen,—when we think of all this,
we can begin to appreciate what the Empress Haru has done in bridging the
distance between herself and her people so that the poorest child of a beggar may
receive a gift from her hand. In the country places to this day, there are peasants
who yet believe that no one can look on the sacred face of the Emperor and live.
The school for the daughters of the nobles, to which I have before referred, is an
institution whose welfare the Empress has very closely at heart, for she sees the
need of rightly combining the new and the old in the education of the young girls
who will so soon be filling places in the court. At the opening of the school the
Empress was present, and herself made a speech to the scholars; and her visits, at
intervals of one or two months, show her continued interest in the work that she
has begun. Upon all state occasions, the scholars, standing with bowed heads as
if in prayer, sing a little song written for them by the Empress herself; and at the
graduating exercises, the speeches and addresses are listened to by her with the
profoundest interest. The best specimens of poetry, painting, and composition
done by the scholars are sent to the palace for her inspection, and some of these
are kept by her in her own private rooms. When she visits the class-rooms, she
does not simply pass in and pass out again, as if doing a formal duty, but sits for
half an hour or so listening intently, and watching the faces of the scholars as
they recite. In sewing and cooking classes (for the daughters of the nobles are
taught to sew and cook), she sometimes speaks to the scholars, asking them
questions. Upon one occasion she observed a young princess, a newcomer in the
school, working somewhat awkwardly with needle and thimble. "The first time,
Princess, is it not?" said the Empress, smiling, and the embarrassed Princess was
obliged to confess that this was her first experience with those domestic
implements.
Sometimes in her leisure hours—and they are rare in her busy life—the Empress
amuses herself by receiving the little daughters of some imperial prince or
nobleman, or even the children of some of the high officials. In the kindness of
her heart, she takes great pleasure in seeing and talking to these little ones, some
of whom are intensely awed by being in the presence of the Empress, while
others, in their innocence, ignorant of all etiquette, prattle away unrestrainedly,
to the great entertainment of the court ladies as well as of the Empress herself.
These visits always end with some choice toy or gift, which the child takes home
and keeps among her most valued treasures in remembrance of her imperial
hostess. In this way the Empress relieves the loneliness of the great palace,
where the sound of childish voices is seldom heard, for the Emperor's children
are brought up in separate establishments, and only pay occasional visits to the
palace, until they have passed early childhood.[31]
The present life of the Empress is not very different from that of European
royalty. Her carriage and escort are frequently met with in the streets of Tōkyō as
she goes or returns on one of her numerous visits of ceremony or beneficence.
Policemen keep back the crowds of people who always gather to see the imperial
carriage, and stand respectfully, but without demonstration, while the horsemen
carrying the imperial insignia, followed closely by the carriages of the Empress
and her attendants, pass by. The official Gazette announces almost daily visits by
the Emperor, Empress, or other members of the imperial family, to different
places of interest,—sometimes to various palaces in different parts of Tōkyō, at
other times to schools, charitable institutions or exhibitions, as well as
occasional visits to the homes of high officials or nobles, for which great
preparations are made by those who have the honor of entertaining their
Majesties.
Among the amusements within the palace grounds, one lately introduced, and at
present in high favor, is that of horseback-riding, an exercise hitherto unknown
to the ladies of Japan. The Empress and her ladies are said to be very fond of this
active exercise,—an amusement forming a striking contrast to the quiet of
former years.
The grounds about the palaces in Tōkyō are most beautifully laid out and
cultivated, but not in that artificial manner, with regular flower beds and trees at
certain equal distances, which is seen so often in the highly cultivated grounds of
the rich in this country. The landscape gardening of Japan keeps unchanged the
wildness and beauty of nature, and imitates it closely. The famous flowers,
however, are, in the imperial gardens, changed by art and cultivated to their
highest perfection, blooming each season for the enjoyment of the members of
the court. Especially is attention given to the cultivation of the imperial flower of
Japan, the chrysanthemum; and some day in November, when this flower is in its
perfection, the gates of the Akasaka palace are thrown open to invited guests,
who are received in person by the Emperor and Empress. Here the rarest species
of this favorite flower, and the oddest colors and shapes, the results of much care
and cultivation, are exhibited in spacious beds, shaded by temporary roofs of
bamboo twigs and decorated with the imperial flags. This is the great
chrysanthemum party of the Emperor, and another of similar character is given
in the spring under the flower-laden boughs of the cherry trees.
In these various ways the Empress shows herself to her people,—a gracious and
lovely figure, though distant, as she needs must be, from common, every-day
life. Only by glimpses do the people know her, but those glimpses reveal enough
to excite the warmest admiration, the most tender love. Childless herself,
destined to see a child not her own, although her husband's, heir to the throne,
the Empress devotes her lonely and not too happy life to the actual, personal
study of the wants of daughters of her people, and side by side with Jingo,[32] the
majestic but shadowy Empress of the past, should be enshrined in the hearts of
the women of Japan the memory of Haru Ko, the leader of her countrywomen
into that freer and happier life that is opening to them.
Each marks the beginning of a new era,—the first, of the era of civilization and
morality founded upon the teachings of Buddha and Confucius; the second, of
the civilization and morality that have sprung from the teachings of Christ.
Buddhism and Confucianism were elevating and civilizing, but failed to place
the women of Japan upon even as high a plane as they had occupied in the old
barbaric times. To Christianity they must look for the security and happiness
which it has never failed to give to the wives and mothers of all Christian
nations.[*]

FOOTNOTES:
[25] The Japanese claim for their present Emperor direct descent from Jimmu
Tenno, the Son of the Gods; and it is for this reason that the Emperor is
supposed to be divine, and the representative of the gods on the earth. The
dynasty, for about twenty-five hundred years since Jimmu Tenno, has never been
broken. It must, however, be said in connection with this statement, that the
Japanese family is a much looser organization than that known to our Western
civilization, on account of the customs of concubinage and adoption, and that
descent through family lines is not necessarily actual descent by blood.
[26] In ancient times, before the long civil wars of the Middle Ages, much
attention was given by both men and women to poetry, and many of the classics
of Japanese literature are the works of women. Among these distinguished
writers can be mentioned Murasaki Shikibu, Seishō Nagon, and Iséno Taiyu, all
court ladies in the time of the Emperor Ichijō (about 1000 A. D.). The court at
that time was the centre of learning, and much encouragement was given by the
Emperor to literary pursuits, the cultivation of poetry, and music. The Emperor
gathered around him talented men and women, but the great works that remain
are, strange to say, mostly those of women.
[27] The court ladies in immediate contact with the Emperor and Empress are
selected from the daughters of the nobles. Only in the present reign have a few
samurai women risen to high positions at court on account of special talents.
[28] Méiji (Enlightened Rule) is the name of the era that began with the present
Emperor's accession to the throne. The year A. D. 1890 is the twenty-third year
of Méiji, and would be so designated in all Japanese dates.
[29] The Empresses of Japan are not chosen from any branch of the imperial
family, but from among the daughters of the five of the great kugé, or court
nobles, who are next in rank to the imperial princes. The choice usually rests
with the Emperor or his advisers, and would be naturally given to the most
worthy, whether in beauty or accomplishments. No doubt one reason why the
Empress is regarded as far below the Emperor is, that she is not of royal blood,
but one of the subjects of the Empire. In the old times, the daughters of the
Emperor could never marry, as all men were far beneath them in rank. These
usually devoted their lives to religion, and as Shintō priestesses or Buddhist nuns
dwelt in the retirement of temple courts or the seclusion of cloisters.
[30] Tokugawa Shōguns were the military rulers of the Tokugawa family, who
held the power in Japan for a period of two hundred and fifty years. They are
better known to Americans, perhaps, under the title of Tycoon (Great Prince), a
name assumed, or rather revived, to impress the foreigners when Commodore
Perry was negotiating in regard to treaties. The Shōgun held the daimiōs in
forced subjection,—a subjection that was shaken in 1862, and broken at last in
the year 1868, when, by the fall of the Shōgunate, the Emperor was restored to
direct power over his people.
[31] The Emperor's children are placed, from birth, in the care of some noble or
high official, who becomes the guardian of the child. Certain persons are
appointed as attendants, and the child with its retinue lives in the establishment
of the guardian, who is supposed to exercise his judgment and experience in the
physical and mental training of the child.
[32] Jingo Kōgō, like many of the heroic, half mythical figures of other nations,
has suffered somewhat under the assaults of the modern historical criticism.
Many of the best Japanese historians deny that she conquered Corea; some go so
far as to doubt whether she had right to the title of Empress; all are sure that
much of romance has gathered about the figure of this brave woman; but to the
mass of the Japanese to-day, she is still an actual historic reality, and she
represents to them in feminine form the Spirit of Japan. Whether she conquered
Corea or no, she remains the prominent female figure upon the border line where
the old barbaric life merges into the newer civilization, just as the present
Empress, Haru Ko, stands upon the border line between the Eastern and the
Western modes of thought and life.
 CHAPTER VII.

LIFE IN CASTLE AND YASHIKI.[33]

THE seclusion of the Emperors and the gathering of the reins of government into
the hands of Shōguns was a gradual process, beginning not long after the
introduction of Chinese civilization, and continuing to grow until Iyéyasŭ, the
founder of the Tokugawa dynasty, through his code of laws, took from the
Emperor the last vestige of real power, and perfected the feudal system which
maintained the sway of his house for two hundred and fifty years of peace.
The Emperor's court, with its literary and æsthetic quiet, its simplicity of life and
complexity of etiquette, was the centre of the culture and art of Japan, but never
the centre of luxury. After the growth of the Tokugawa power had secured for
that house and its retainers great hereditary possessions, the Emperor's court was
a mere shadow in the presence of the magnificence in which the Tokugawas and
the daimiōs chose to live. The wealth of the country was in the hands of those
who held the real power, and the Emperor was dependent for his support upon
his great vassal, who held the land, collected the taxes, made the laws, and gave
to his master whatever seemed necessary for his maintenance in the simple style
of the old days, keeping for himself and for his retainers enough to make Yedo,
the Tokugawa capital, the centre of a luxury far surpassing anything ever seen at
the Emperor's own court. While the kugé, the old imperial nobility, formerly the
governors of the provinces under the Emperors, lived in respectable but often
extreme poverty at Kyōto, the landed nobility, or daimiōs, brought, after many
struggles, under the sway of the Tokugawas, built for themselves palaces and
pleasure gardens in the moated city of Yedo. At Yedo with its castle, its gardens,
its yashikis, and its fortifications, was established a new court, more luxurious,
but less artistic and cultivated, than the old court of Kyōto. In the various
provinces, too, at every castle town, a little court arose about the castle, and the
daimiō became not only the feudal chief, but the patron of literature and art
among his people, as the years went by filling his kura with choice works of art,
in lacquer, bronze, silver, and pottery, to be brought out on special occasions.
These nobles, under a law of Iyémitsŭ, the third of the Tokugawa line, were
compelled to spend half of each year at the city of the Shōguns; and each had his
yashiki, or large house and garden, in the city. At this house, his family must
reside permanently, as hostages for the loyalty of their lord while away. The
annual journeys to and from Yedo were events not only in the lives of the
daimiōs and their trains of retainers, but in the lives of the country people who
lived along the roads by which they must travel. The time and style of each
journey for each daimiō were rigidly prescribed in the laws of Iyémitsŭ, as well
as the behavior of the country people who might meet the procession moving
towards Yedo, or returning therefrom. When some noble, or any member of his
family, was to pass through a certain section of the country, great preparations
were made beforehand. Not only was traffic stopped along the route, but every
door and window had to be closed. By no means was any one to show himself,
or to look in any way upon the passing procession. To do so was to commit a
profane deed, punishable by a fine. Among other things, no cooking was allowed
on that day. All the food must be prepared the day before, as the air was
supposed to become polluted by the smoke from the fires. Thus through crowded
cities, full and busy with life, the daimiō in his curtained palanquin, with
numerous retinue, would pass by; but wherever he approached, the place would
be as deserted and silent as if plague-stricken. It is hardly necessary to add that
these journeys, attended with so much ceremony and inconvenience to the
people, were not as frequent as the trips now taken, at a moment's notice, from
one city to another, by these very same men.
One story current in Tōkyō shows the narrowing effect of such seclusion. A
noble who had traveled into Yedo, across one of the large bridges built over the
Sumida River, remarked one day to his companions that he was greatly
disappointed on seeing that bridge. "From the pictures," he said, "which I have
seen, the bridge seemed alive with people, the centre of life and activity, but the
artists must exaggerate, for not a soul was on the bridge when I passed by."
The castle of the Shōgun in Yedo, with its moats and fortifications, and its fine
house and great kura, was reproduced on a small scale in the castles scattered
through the country; and as in Yedo the yashikis of the daimiōs stood next to the
inner moat of the castle, that the retainers might be ready to defend their lord at
his earliest call, so in the provinces the yashikis of the samurai occupied a
similar position about the daimiō's castle.
It is curious to see that, as the Shōgun took away the military and temporal
power of the Emperor, making of him only a figure-head without real power, so,
to a certain degree, the daimiō gave up, little by little, the personal control of his
own province, the power falling into the hands of ambitious samurai, who
became the councilors of their lord. The samurai were the learned class and the
military class; they were and are the life of Japan; and it is no wonder that the
nobles, protected and shielded from the world, and growing up without much
education, should have changed in the course of centuries from strong, brave
warriors into the delicate, effeminate, luxury-loving nobles of the present day.
Upon the loyalty and wisdom of the samurai, often upon some one man of
undoubted ability, rested the greatness of the province and the prosperity of the
master's house.
The life of the ladies in these daimiōs' houses is still a living memory to many of
the older women of Japan; but it is a memory only, and has given place to a
different state of things. The Emperor occupies the castle of the Shōgun to-day,
and every daimiō's castle throughout the country is in the hands of the imperial
government. The old pleasure gardens of the nobles are turned into arsenals,
schools, public parks, and other improvements of the new era. But here and there
one finds some conservative family of nobles still keeping up in some measure
the customs of former times; and daimiōs' houses there are still in Tōkyō, though
stripped of power and of retainers, where life goes on in many ways much as it
did in the old days. In such a house as this, one finds ladies-in-waiting, of the
samurai rank, who serve her ladyship—the daimiō's wife—in all personal
service. In the old days, the daughters of the samurai were eager for the training
in etiquette, and in all that belongs to nice housekeeping, that might be obtained
by a few years of apprenticeship in a daimiō's house, and gladly assumed the
most menial positions for the sake of the education and reputation to be gained
by such training.
The wife and daughters of a daimiō led the quietest of lives, rarely passing
beyond the four great walls that inclose the palace with its grounds. They saw
the changes of the seasons in the flowers that bloomed in their lovely gardens,
when, followed by numerous attendants, they slowly walked through the
bamboo groves or under the bloom-laden boughs of the plum or cherry trees,
forming their views of life, its pleasures, its responsibilities, and its meaning,
within the narrow limits of the daimiō's yashiki.
Their mornings were passed in the adorning of their own persons, and in the
elaborate dressing of their luxuriant hair; the afternoons were spent in the tea
ceremony, in writing poetry, or the execution of a sort of silk mosaic that is a
favorite variety of fancy work still among the ladies of Japan.
A story is told of one of the Tokugawa princesses that illustrates the amusements
of the Shōgun's daughters, and the pains that were taken to gratify their wishes,
however unreasonable. The cherry-trees of the castle gardens of Tōkyō are noted
for their beauty when in bloom during the month of April. It is said that once a
daughter of the Tokugawa house expressed a wish to give a garden party amid
the blossoming cherry-trees in the month of December, and nothing would do
but that her wishes must be carried out. Her retainers accordingly summoned to
their aid skillful artificers, who from pink and white tissue paper produced
myriads of cherry blossoms, so natural that they could hardly be distinguished
from the real ones. These they fastened upon the trees in just such places as the
real flowers would have chosen to occupy, and the happy princess gave her
garden party in December under the pink mist of cherry blooms.
The children of a daimiō's wife occupied her attention but little. They were
placed in the charge of careful attendants, and the mother, though allowed to see
them when she wished, was deprived of the pleasure of constant intercourse with
them, and had none of the mother's cares which form so large a part of life to an
ordinary Japanese woman.
When we know that the average Japanese girl is brought up strictly by her own
mother, and thoroughly drilled in obedience and in all that is proper as regards
etiquette and the duties of woman, we can imagine the narrowness of the
education of the daimiō's poor little daughter, surrounded, from early childhood,
with numerous attendants of the strictest sort, to teach her all that is proper
according to the highest and severest standards. Sometimes, by the whim or the
indulgence of parents, or through exceptional circumstances in her surroundings,
a samurai's daughter became more independent, more self-reliant, or better
educated, than others of her rank; but such opportunities never came to the more
carefully reared noble's daughter.
From her earliest childhood, she was addressed in the politest and most formal
way, so that she could not help acquiring polite manners and speech. She was
taught etiquette above all things, so that no rude action or speech would disgrace
her rank; and that she should give due reverence to her superiors, courtesy to
equals, and polite condescension to inferiors. She was taught especially to show
kindness to the families under the rule of her father, and was early told of the
noble's duty to protect and love his retainers, as a father loves and protects his
children. From childhood, presents were made in her name to those around her,
often without her previous knowledge or permission, and from them she would
receive profuse thanks,—lessons in the delights of beneficence which could not
fail to make their impression on the child princess. Even to inferiors she used the
polite language,[34] and never the rude, brusque speech of men, or the careless
phrases and expressions of the lower classes.

The education of the daimiō's daughter was conducted entirely at home.[35]

Instead of going out to masters for instruction, she was taught by some one in the
household,—one of her father's retainers, or perhaps a member of her own
private retinue. Teachers for certain branches came from outside, and these were
not expected to give the lesson within a certain time and hurry away, but they
would remain, conversing, sipping tea, and partaking of sweetmeats, until their
noble pupil was ready to receive them. Hospitality required that the teacher be
offered a meal after the lesson, and this meal etiquette would not permit him to
refuse, so that both teacher and pupil must spend much time waiting for each
other and for the lesson.
Pursued in this leisurely way, the education of the noble's daughter could not
advance very rapidly, and it usually ended with an extremely early marriage; and
the girl wife would sometimes play with her doll in the new home until the
living baby took its place to the young mother.
The samurai women, who in one position or another were close attendants on
these noble ladies, performing for them every act of service, were often women
of more than average intelligence and education. From childhood to old age, the
noble ladies were never without one or more of these maids of honor, close at
hand to help or advise. Some entered the service in the lower positions for only a
short period, leaving sooner or later to be married; for continued service in a
daimiō's household meant a single life. Many of them remained in the palace all
their days, leading lives of devotion to their mistress; the comfort and ease of
which hardly compensated for the endless formalities and the monotonous
seclusion.
Even the less responsible and more menial positions were not looked down
upon, and the higher offices in the household were exceedingly honorable.
When, once in a long while, a day's leave of absence was granted to one of these
gentlewomen, and, loaded with presents sent by the daimiō's lady, she went on
her visit to her home, she was received as a greatly honored member of her own
family. The respect which was paid to her knowledge of etiquette and dress was
never lessened because of the menial services she might have performed for
those of noble blood.
The lady who was the head attendant, and those in the higher positions, had a
great deal of power and influence in matters that concerned their mistress and
the household; just as the male retainers decided for the prince, and in their own
way, many of the affairs of the province. The few conservative old ladies, the
last relics of the numerous retainers that once filled the castle, who still remain
faithful in attendance in the homes now deprived of the grandeur of the olden
times, look with horror upon the innovations of the present day, and sigh for the
glory of old Japan. It is only upon compulsion that they give up many of the now
useless formalities, and resign themselves to seeing their once so honored lords
jostle elbow to elbow with the common citizen.
I shall never forget the horror of one old lady, attendant on a noble's daughter of
high rank, just entering the peeress' school, when it was told her that each
student must carry in her own bundle of books and arrange them herself, and that
the attendants were not allowed in the classroom. The poor old lady was
doubtless indignant at the thought that her noble-born mistress should have to
perform even so slight a task as the arranging of her own desk unaided.[*]
In the daimiōs' houses there was little of the culture or wit that graced the more
aristocratic seclusion of Kyōto, and none of the duties and responsibilities that
belonged to the samurai women, so that the life of the daimiō's lady was perhaps
more purposeless, and less stimulating to the noble qualities, than the lives of
any other of the women of Japan. Surrounded by endless restrictions of etiquette,
lacking both the stimulus that comes from physical toil and that to be derived
from intellectual exertion, the ladies of this class of the nobility simply
vegetated. There is little wonder that the nobles degenerated both mentally and
physically during the years when the Tokugawas held sway; for there was
absolutely nothing in the lives of the women to fit them to be the wives and
mothers of strong men. Delicate, dainty, refined, dexterous in all manner of little
things but helpless to act for themselves,—ladies to the inmost core of their
beings, with instincts of honor and of noblesse oblige appearing in them from
earliest childhood,—the years of seclusion, of deference from hundreds of
retainers, of constant instruction in the duties as well as the dignities of their
position, have produced an abiding effect upon the minds of the women of this
aristocracy, and to-day even the youngest and smallest of them have the virtues
as well as the failings produced by nearly three centuries of training. They are
lacking in force, in ambition, in clearness of thought, among a nation abounding
in those qualities; but the national characteristics of dignity, charming manners, a
quick sense of honor, and indomitable pride of race and nation, combined with a
personal modesty almost deprecating in its humility,—these are found among the
daughters of the nobles developed to their highest extent. With the qualities of
gentleness and delicacy possessed by these ladies, which make them shrink from
rough contact with the outer world, there are mingled the stronger qualities of
moral and physical courage. A daimiō's wife, as befitted the wife of a warrior
and the daughter of long generations of brave men, never shrank from facing
danger and death when necessary; and considered the taking of her own life an
honorable and easy escape from being captured by her enemy.
Two or three little ripples from the past broke into my life in Tōkyō, giving a
little insight into those old feudal times, and the customs that were common
then, but that are now gone forever. A story was told me in Japan by a lady who
had herself, as a child, witnessed the events narrated. It illustrates the
responsibility felt by the retainers for their lord and his house. A daimiō fell into
disgrace with the Shōgun, and was banished to his own capital,—a castle town
several days' journey from Yedo,—as a punishment for some offense. The castle
gates were closed, and no communication with the outer world allowed. During
this period of disgrace, it happened that the noble fell ill, and died quite suddenly
before his punishment was ended. His death under such circumstances was the
most terrible thing that could befall either himself or his family, as his funeral
must be without the ordinary tokens of respect; and his tombstone, instead of
bearing tribute to his virtues, and the favor in which he had been held by his
lord, must be simply the monument of his disgrace. This being the case, the
retainers felt that these evils must be averted at any cost. Knowing that the
Shōgun's anger was probably not so great as to make him wish to bring eternal
disgrace to their dead lord, they at once decided to send a messenger to the
Shōgun, begging for pardon on the plea of desperate illness, and asking the
restoration of his favor before the approach of death. The death was not
announced, but the floor of the room in which the man had died was lifted up,
and the body let down to the ground beneath; and through all the town it was
announced that the daimiō was hopelessly ill. Forty days passed before the
Shōgun sent to the retainers the token that the disgrace was removed, and during
all those forty days, in castle and barrack and village, the fiction of the daimiō's
illness was kept up. As soon as the messengers returned, the body was drawn up
again through the floor and placed on the bed; and all the retainers, from the
least unto the greatest, were summoned into the room to congratulate their
master upon his restoration to favor. One by one they entered the darkened room,
prostrated themselves before the corpse, and uttered the formal words of
congratulation. Then when all, even to the little girl who, grown to womanhood,
told me the story, had been through the horrible ceremony, it was announced that
the master was dead,—that he had died immediately after the return of the
messenger with the good tidings of pardon. All obstacles being thus removed,
the funeral was celebrated with due pomp and circumstance; and the tombstone
of the daimiō to-day gives no hint of the disgrace from which he so narrowly
escaped.
Another instance very similar, throwing some light on the custom of adoption or
yōshi, referred to in a previous chapter, was the case of a nobleman who died
without children, and without an heir appointed to inherit his title. It would never
have done, in sending in the official notice of death, to be unable to name the
legal head of the house and the successor to the title. There was also no male
relative to perform the office of chief mourner at the funeral; and so the death of
the nobleman was kept secret, and his house showed no signs of mourning
during a long period, until a son satisfactory to all the members of the household
had been adopted. When the legal notice of the adoption had been sent in, and
the son received into the family as heir, then, and only then, was the death of the
lord announced, the period of mourning begun, and the funeral ceremony
performed.
Upon one occasion I was visiting a Japanese lady, who knew the interest that I
took in seeing and procuring the old-fashioned embroidered kimonos, which are
now entirely out of style in Japan, and which can only be obtained at second-
hand clothing stores, or at private sale. My friend said that she had just been
shown an assortment of old garments which were offered at private sale by the
heirs of a lady, recently deceased, who had once been a maid of honor in a
daimiō's house. The clothes were still in the house, and were brought in, in a
great basket, for my inspection. Very beautiful garments they were, of silk,
crêpe, and linen, embroidered elaborately, and in extremely good order. Many of
them seemed not to have been worn at all, but had been kept folded away for
years, and only brought out when a fitting occasion came round at the proper
season of the year. As we turned over the beautiful fabrics, a black broadcloth
garment at the bottom of the basket aroused my curiosity, and I pulled it out and
held it up for closer inspection. A curious garment it was, bound with white, and
with a great white crest appliqué on the middle of the back. Curious white
stripes gave the coat a military look, and it seemed appropriate rather to the
wardrobe of some two-sworded warrior than to that of a gentlewoman of the old
type. To the question, How did such a coat come to be in such a place? the older
lady of the company—one to whom the old days were still the natural order and
the new customs an exotic growth—explained that the garment rightfully
belonged in the wardrobe of any lady-in-waiting in a daimiō's house, for it was
made to wear in case of fire or attack when the men were away, and the women
were expected to guard the premises. Further search among the relics of the past
brought to light the rest of the costume: silk hakama, or full kilted trousers; a
stiff, manlike black silk cap bound with a white band; and a spear cover of
broadcloth, with a great white crest upon it, like the one on the broadcloth coat.
These made up the uniform which must be donned in time of need by the ladies
of the palace or the castle, for the defense of their lord's property. They had been
folded away for twenty years among the embroidered robes, to come to light at
last for the purpose of showing to a foreigner a phase of the old life that was so
much a matter of course to the older Japanese that it never occurred to them even
to mention it to a stranger. The elder lady of the house was wonderfully amused
at my interest in these mute memorials of the past, and could never comprehend
why I was willing to expend the sum of one dollar for the sake of gaining
possession of a set of garments for which I could have no possible use. The
uniform had probably never been worn in actual warfare, but its owner had been
trained in the use of the long-handled spear, the cover of which she had kept
stored away all these years; and had regarded herself as liable to be called into
action at any time as one of the home guard, when the male retainers of her lord
were in the field.
There are in the shops of Tōkyō to-day hundreds of colored prints illustrating the
splendor of the Shōgunate; for the fine clothes, the pageants, the show and
display that ended with the fall of the house of Tokugawa, are still dear to the
popular mind. In these one sees reproduced, in more than their original brilliancy
of coloring, the daimiōs, with their trains of uniformed retainers, proceeding in
stately pageant to the palace of the Shōgun; the games, the dances, the reviews
held before the Shōgun himself; the princess, with her train of ladies and
attendants, visiting the cherry blossoms at Uyéno, or crossing some swift but
shallow river on her journey to Yedo. There one sees the fleet of red-lacquered
pleasure barges in which the Shōgun with his court sailed up the river to
Mukōjima, in the spring, to view the cherry-trees which bloom along the banks
for miles. One sees, too, the interiors of the daimiōs' houses, the intimate
domestic scenes into which no outsider could ever penetrate. One picture shows
the excitements consequent upon the advent of an heir to a noble house,—the
happy mother on her couch, surrounded by brightly dressed ladies-in-waiting;
the baby in the room adjoining; another group of brilliant beings preparing his
bath; while down the long piazza, which opens upon the little courtyard in the
centre of the house, one sees still other groups of servants, bringing the gifts with
which the great mansion is flooded at such a time. Still further away, across the
courtyard, are the doctors, holding learned consultation around a little table, and
mixing medicines to secure the health and strength of both mother and baby.
The fall of the Shōgunate, and the abolition of castle and yashiki, have made a
radical change in the fashions of dress in Japan. One sees no longer the beautiful
embroidered robes, except upon the stage, for the abolition of the great leisure
class has put the flowered kimono out of fashion. There are no courts, small and
great, scattered all through the country, where the ladies must be dressed in
changing styles for the changing seasons, and where the embroideries that
imitate most closely the natural flowers are sure of a market. When one asks, as
every foreigner is likely to ask, the Japanese ladies of one's acquaintance, "Why
have you given up the beautiful embroideries and gorgeous colors that you used
to wear?" the answer always is, "There are no daimiōs' houses now." And this is
regarded as a sufficient explanation of the change.[*]
I have in my possession to-day two dainty bits of the silk mosaic work before
mentioned, the work of the sixteen-year-old wife of one of the proudest and most
conservative of the present generation of nobles. A dainty little creature she was,
with a face upon which her two years of wifehood and one year of motherhood
had left no trace of care. Living amid her host of ladies and women servants,
most of them older and wiser than herself; having no care and no amusements
save the easy task of keeping herself pretty and well-dressed, and the amusement
of watching her baby grow, and hearing the chance rumors that might come to
her from the great new world into which her husband daily went, but with which
she herself never mingled,—her days were one pleasant, monotonous round,
unawakening alike either to soul or intellect. Into this life of remoteness from all
that belongs to the new era, imagine the excitement produced by the advent of a
foreign lady, with an educated dog, whose wonderful intelligence had been
already related to her by one of her own ladies-in-waiting. I shall always believe
that my invitation into that exclusive house was due largely to the reports of my
dog, carried to its proprietors by one of the lady servitors who had seen him
perform upon one occasion. Certain it is that the first words of the little lady of
the house to me were a question about the dog; and her last act of politeness to
our party was a warm embrace of the handsome collie, who had given
unimpeachable evidence that he understood a great deal of English,—a tongue
which the daimiō himself was painfully learning. The dainty child-wife with
both arms buried in the heavy ruff of the astonished dog is a picture that comes
to me often, and that brings up most pathetically the monotony of an existence
into which so small a thing can bring so much. The lifelike black and white silk
puppy, the creeping baby doll from Kyōto, the silk mosaic box and chopstick
case,—the work of my lady's delicate fingers,—are most agreeable reminders of
the kindness and sweetness of the little wife, whose sixteen summers have been
spent among the surroundings of thirty years ago, and who lives, like the
enchanted princess of the fairy tales, wrapped about by a spell which separates
her from the bustling world of to-day. The product of the past,—the daughter of
the last of the Shōguns,—she dwells in her enchanted house, among the relics of
a past which is still the present to her and to her household. So lovely, so
æsthetic, so dainty and charming seems the world into which one enters there,
that one would not care to break the spell that holds it as it is, and let the girl-
wife, with her gentlewomen and her kneeling servants, hurry forward into the
busy, perplexing life of to-day. May time deal gently with her and hers, nor
rudely break the enchantment that surrounds her!
 FOOTNOTES:
[33] Yashiki, or spread-out house, was the name given to the palace and grounds
of a daimiō's city residence, and also to the barracks occupied by his retainers,
both in city and country. In the city the barracks of the samurai were built as a
hollow square, in the centre of which stood the palace and grounds of their lord,
and this whole place was the daimiō's yashiki. In the castle towns the daimiō's
palace and gardens stood within the castle inclosure, surrounded by a moat,
while the yashikis of the samurai were placed without the moat. They in turn
were separated from the business part of the village sometimes by a second or
third moat. By life in castle and yashiki we mean the life of the daimiō, whether
in city or country.
[34] The Japanese language is full of expressions showing different shades of
meaning in the politeness or respect implied. There are words and expressions
which superiors in rank use to inferiors, or vice versa, and others used among
equals. Some phrases belong especially to the language of the high-born, just as
there are common expressions of the people. Some verbs in this extremely
complex language must be altered in their termination according to the degree of
honor in which the subject of the action is held in the speaker's mind.
[35] The establishment of the peeress' school, mentioned in the last chapter, is a
great innovation upon the old-time ways of many of the aristocratic families.
 CHAPTER VIII.

SAMURAI WOMEN.

SAMURAI was the name given to the military class among the Japanese,—a class
intermediate between the Emperor and his nobles and the great mass of the
common people who were engaged in agriculture, mechanical arts, or trade.
Upon the samurai rested the defense of the country from enemies at home or
abroad, as well as the preservation of literature and learning, and the conduct of
all official business. At the time of the fall of feudalism, there were, among the
thirty-four millions of Japanese, about two million samurai; and in this class, in
the broadest sense of the word, must be included the daimiōs, as well as their
two-sworded retainers. But as the greater among the samurai were distinguished
by special class names, the word as commonly used, and as used throughout this
work, applies to the military class, who served the Shōgun and the daimiōs, and
who were supported by yearly allowances from the treasuries of their lords.
These form a distinct class, actuated by motives quite different from those of the
lower classes, and filling a great place in the history of the country. As the
nobility, through long inheritance of power and wealth, became weak in body
and mind, the samurai grew to be, more and more, not only the sword, but the
brain of Japan; and to-day the great work of bringing the country out of the
middle ages into the nineteenth century is being performed by the samurai more
than by any other class.
What, it may be asked, are the traits of the samurai which distinguish them, and
make them such honored types of the perfect Japanese gentleman, so that to live
and die worthy the name of samurai was the highest ambition of the soldier? The
samurai's duty may be expressed in one word, loyalty,—loyalty to his lord and
master, and loyalty to his country,—loyalty so true and deep that for it all human
ties, hopes, and affections, wife, children, and home, must be sacrificed if
necessary. Those who have read the tale of "The Loyal Rōnins"[36]—a story
which has been so well told by Mitford, Dickins, and Greey that many readers
must be already familiar with it—will remember that the head councilor and
retainer, Oishi, in his deep desire for revenge for his lord's unjust death, divorces
his wife and sends off his children, that they may not distract his thoughts from
his plans; and performs his famous act of revenge without once seeing his wife,
only letting her know at his death his faithfulness to her and the true cause of his
seeming cruelty. And the wife, far from feeling wronged by such an act, only
glories in the loyalty of her husband, who threw aside everything to fulfill his
one great duty, even though she herself was his unhappy victim.
The true samurai is always brave, never fearing death or suffering in any form.
Life and death are alike to him, if no disgrace is attached to his name.
An incident comes into my mind which may serve as an example of the samurai
spirit,—a spirit which has filled the history of Japan with heroic deeds. It is the
story of a long siege, at the end of which the little garrison in the besieged castle
was reduced to the last stages of endurance, though hourly expecting
reinforcement. In this state of affairs, the great question is, whether to wait for
the expected aid, or to surrender immediately, and the answer to the question can
only be obtained through a knowledge of the enemy's strength. At this juncture,
one of the samurai volunteers to steal into the camp of the besiegers, inspect
their forces, and report their strength before the final decision is made. He
disguises himself, and through various chances is able to penetrate, unsuspected,
into the midst of the enemy's camp. He discovers that the besiegers are so weak
that they cannot maintain the siege much longer, but while returning to the castle
he is recognized and taken by the enemy. His captors give him one chance for
escape from the horrible death of crucifixion. He is to go to the edge of the moat,
and, standing on an elevated place, shout out to the soldiers that they must
surrender, for the forces are too strong for them. He seemingly consents to this,
and, led down to the water's edge, he sees across the moat his wife and child,
who greet him with demonstrations of joy. To her he waves his hand; then,
bravely and loudly, so that it may be heard by friend and foe, he shouts out the
true tidings, "Wait for reinforcement at any cost, for the besiegers are weak and
will soon have to give up." At these words his enraged enemies seize him and
put him to a death of horrible torture, but he smiles in their faces as he tells them
the sweetness of such a sacrifice for his master. Japanese history abounds with
heroic deeds of blood displaying the indomitable courage of the samurai. In the
reading of them, we are often reminded of the Spartan spirit of warfare, and
samurai women are in some ways very like those Spartan mothers who would
rather die than see their sons branded as cowards.
The implicit obedience which samurai gave their lords, when conflicting with
feelings of loyalty to their country, often produced two opposing forces which
had to be overcome. When the daimiō gave orders that the keener-sighted
retainer felt would not be for the good of the house, he had either to disobey his
lord, or act against his feeling of loyalty. Divided between the two duties, the
samurai would usually do as he thought right for his country or his lord,
disobeying his master's orders; write a confession of his real motives; and save
his name from disgrace by committing suicide. By this act he would atone for
his disobedience, and his loyalty would never be questioned.
The now abolished custom of hara-kiri, or the voluntary taking of one's life to
avoid disgrace, and blot out entirely or partially the stain on an honorable name,
is a curious custom which has come down from old times. The ancient heroes
stabbed themselves as calmly as they did their enemies, and women as well as
men knew how to use the short sword[37] worn always at the side of the samurai,
his last and easy escape from shame.
The young men of this class, as well as their masters, the daimiōs, were early
instructed in the method of this self-stabbing, so that it might be cleanly and
easily done, for a bloody and unseemly death would not redound to the honor of
the suicide. The fatal cut was not instantaneous in its effect, and there was
always opportunity for that display of courage—that show of disregard for death
or pain—which was expected of the brave man.
The hara-kiri was of course a last resort, but it was an honorable death. The
vulgar criminal must be put to death by the hands of others, but the nobler
samurai, who never cares to survive disgrace, was condemned to hara-kiri if
found guilty of actions worthy of death. Not to be allowed to do this, but to be
executed in the common way, was a double disgrace to a samurai. Even to this
day, when crimes such as the assassination of a minister of state are committed,
in the mistaken belief that the act is for the good of the country, the idea on the
part of the assassin is never to escape detection. He calmly gives himself up to
justice or takes his own life,[38] stating his motive for the deed; and, believing
himself justified in the act, is willing that his life should be the cost.
The old samurai was proud of his rank, his honorable vocation, his
responsibility; proud of his ignorance of trade and barter and of his disregard for
the sordid cares of the world, regarding as far beneath him all occupations but
those of arms. Wealth, as artisan or farmer, rarely tempted him to sink into the
lower ranks; and his support from the daimiō, often a mere pittance, insured to
him more respect and greater privileges than wealth as a héimin. To this day
even, this feeling exists. Preference for rank or position, rather than for mere
salary, remains strongly among the present generation, so that official positions
are more sought after than the more lucrative occupations of trade. Japan is
flooded with small officials, and yet the samurai now is obliged to lay down his
sword and devote his time to the once despised trades, and to learn how
important are the arts of peace compared with those of war.
The dislike of anything suggestive of trade or barter—of services and actions
springing, not from duty and from the heart, but from the desire of gain—has
strongly tinted many little customs of the day, often misunderstood and
misconstrued by foreigners. In old Japan, experience and knowledge could not
be bought and sold. Physicians did not charge for their services, but on the
contrary would decline to name or even receive a compensation from those in
their own clan. Patients, on their side, were too proud to accept services free, and
would send to the physicians, not as pay exactly, but more as a gift or a token of
gratitude, a sum of money which varied according to the means of the giver, as
well as to the amount of service received. Daimiōs did not send to ask a teacher
how much an hour his time was worth, and then arrange the lessons accordingly;
the teacher was not insulted by being expected to barter his knowledge for so
much filthy lucre, but was merely asked whether his time and convenience
would allow of his taking extra teaching. The request was made, not as a matter
of give and take, but a favor to be granted. Due compensation, however, would
never fail to be made,—of this the teacher could be sure,—but no agreement was
ever considered necessary.
With this feeling yet remaining in Japan,—this dislike of contracts, and exact
charges for professional services,—we can imagine the inward disgust of the
samurai at the business-like habits of the foreigners with whom he has to deal.
On the other hand, his feelings are not appreciated by the foreigner, and his
actions clash with the European and American ideas of independence and self-
respect. In Japan a present of money is more honorable than pay, whereas in
America pay is much more honorable than a present.
The samurai of to-day is rapidly imbibing new ideas, and is learning to see the
world from a Western point of view; but his thoughts and actions are still
moulded on the ideas of old Japan, and it will be a long time before the loyal,
faithful, but proud spirit of the samurai will die out. The pride of clan is now
changed to pride of race; loyalty to feudal chief has become loyalty to the
Emperor as sovereign; and the old traits of character exist under the European
costumes of to-day, as under the flowing robes of the two-sworded retainer.
It is this same spirit of loyalty that has made it hard for Christianity to get a
foothold in Japan. The Emperor was the representative of the gods of Japan. To
embrace a new religion seemed a desertion of him, and the following of the
strange gods of the foreigner. The work of the Catholic missionaries which
ended so disastrously in 1637 has left the impression that a Christian is bound to
offer allegiance to the Pope in much the same way as the Emperor now receives
it from his people; and the bitterness of such a thought has made many refuse to
hear what Christianity really is. Such words as "King" and "Lord" they have
understood as referring to temporal things, and it has taken years to undo this
prejudice; a feeling in no way surprising when we consider how the Jesuit
missionaries once interfered with political movements in Japan.
So bitter was this feeling, when Japan was first opened, that a native Christian
was at once branded as a traitor to his country, and very severe was the
persecution against all Christians. Missionaries at one time dared not
acknowledge themselves as such, and lived in danger of their lives; and the
Japanese Christian who remained faithful did so knowing that he was despised
and hated. I know of one mother who, finding command and entreaty alike
unavailing to move her son, a convert to the new religion, threatened to commit
suicide, feeling that the disgrace which had fallen on the family could only be
wiped out with her death. Happily, all this is of the past, and to-day the samurai
has found that he can reconcile the new religion with his loyalty to Japan, and
that in receiving the one he is not led to betray the other.
The women of the samurai have shared with the men the responsibilities of their
rank, and the pride that comes from hereditary positions of responsibility. A
woman's first duty in all ranks of society is obedience; but sacrifice of self, in
however horrible a way, was a duty most cheerfully and willingly performed,
when by such sacrifice father, husband, or son might be the better able to fulfill
his duty towards his feudal superior. The women in the daimiōs' castles who
were taught fencing, drilled and uniformed, and relied upon to defend the castle
in case of need, were women of this class,—women whose husbands and fathers
were soldiers, and in whose veins ran the blood of generations of fighting
ancestors. Gentle, feminine, delicate as they were, there was a possibility of
martial prowess about them when the need for it came; and the long education in
obedience and loyalty did not fail to produce the desired results. Death, and
ignominy worse than death, could be met bravely, but disgrace involving loss of
honor to husband or feudal lord was the one thing that must be avoided at all
hazards. It was my good fortune, many years ago, to make the acquaintance of a
little Japanese girl who had lived in the midst of the siege of Wakamatsu, the city
in which the Shōgun's forces made their last stand for their lord and the system
that he represented. As the Emperor's forces marched upon the castle town, moat
after moat was taken,[*] until at last men, women, and children took refuge
within the citadel itself to defend it until the last gasp. The bombs of the
besiegers fell crashing into the castle precincts, killing the women as they
worked at whatever they could do in aid of the defenders; and even the little girls
ran back and forth, amid the rain of bullets and balls, carrying cartridges, which
the women were making within the castle, to the men who were defending the
walls. "Weren't you afraid?" we asked the delicate child, when she told us of her
own share in the defense. "No," was the answer. A small but dangerous sword, of
the finest Japanese steel, was shown us as the sword that she wore in her belt
during all those days of war and tumult. "Why did you wear the sword?" we
asked. "So that I would have it if I was taken prisoner." "What would you have
done with it?" was the next question, for we could not believe that a child of
eight would undertake to defend herself against armed soldiers with that little
sword. "I would have killed myself," was the answer, with a flash of the eye that
showed her quite capable of committing the act in case of need.
In the olden times, when the spirit of warfare was strong and justice but scantily
administered, revenge for personal insult, or for the death of father or lord, fell
upon the children, or the retainers. Sometimes the bloody deed has fallen to the
lot of a woman, to some weak and feeble girl, who, in many a tale, has braved all
the difficulties that beset a woman's path, devoted her life to an act of vengeance,
and, with the courage of a man, has often successfully consummated her
revenge.
One of the tales of old Japan, and a favorite subject of theatrical representation,
is the death and revenge of a lady in a daimiō's palace. Onoyé, a daughter of the
people, child of a merchant, has by chance risen to the position of lady-in-
waiting to a daimiō's wife,—a thing so uncommon that it has roused the jealousy
of the other ladies, who are of the samurai class. Iwafuji, one of the highest and
proudest ladies at the court, takes pains on every occasion to insult and torment
the poor, unoffending Onoyé, whom she cannot bear to have as an associate. She
constantly reminds her of her inferior birth, and at last challenges her to a trial in
fencing, in which accomplishment Onoyé is not proficient, having lacked the
proper training in her early life. At last the hatred and anger of Iwafuji culminate
in a frenzy of rage; she forgets herself, and strikes the meek and gentle Onoyé
with her sandal,—the worst insult that could be offered to any one.
Onoyé, overcome by this deep disgrace offered her in public, returns from the
main palace to her own apartments, and ponders long and deeply, in the
bitterness of her soul, how to wipe out the disgrace of an insult by such an
enemy.
Her own faithful maid, seeing her disordered hair and anxious looks, perceives
some secret trouble, which her mistress will not disclose, and tries, while
performing her acts of service, to dispel the gloom by telling gayly all the gossip
of the day. This maid, O Haru, is a type of the clever faithful servant. She is
really of higher birth than her mistress, for, though she has been obliged to go
out to service, she was born of a samurai family. Onoyé, while listening to the
talk of her servant, has made up her mind that only one thing can blot out her
disgrace, and that is to commit suicide. She hastily pens a farewell to her family,
for the deed must not be delayed, and sends with the letter the token of her
disgrace,—Iwafuji's sandal, which she has kept. O Haru is sent on this errand,
and, unconscious of the ill-news she is bearing, she starts out. On the way, the
ominous croak of the ravens, who are making a dismal noise,—a presage of ill-
luck,—frightens the observant O Haru. A little further on, the strap of her clog
breaks,—a still more alarming sign. Thoroughly frightened, O Haru turns back,
and reaches her mistress' room in time to find that the fatal deed is done, and her
mistress is dying. O Haru is heart-broken, learns the whole truth, and vows
vengeance on the enemy of her loved mistress.
O Haru, unlike Onoyé, is thoroughly trained in fencing. An occasion arises when
she returns to Iwafuji in public the malicious blow, and with the same sandal,
which she has kept as a sign of her revenge. She then challenges Iwafuji, in
behalf of the dead, to a trial in fencing. The haughty Iwafuji is forced to accept,
and is thoroughly defeated and shamed before the spectators. The whole truth is
now made known, and the daimiō, who admires and appreciates the spirit of O
Haru, sends for her, and raises her from her low position to fill the post of her
dead mistress.
These stories show the spirit of the samurai women; they can suffer death
bravely, even joyfully, at their own hands or the hands of husband or father, to
avoid or wipe out any disgrace which they regard as a loss of honor; but they
will as bravely and patiently subject themselves to a life of shame and ignominy,
worse than death, for the sake of gaining for husband or father the means of
carrying out a feudal obligation. There is a pathetic scene, in one of the most
famous of the Japanese historical dramas, in which one seems to get the moral
perspective of the ideal Japanese woman, as one cannot get it in any other way.
The play is founded on the story of "The Loyal Rōnins," referred to in the
beginning of this chapter. The loyal rōnins are plotting to avenge the death of
their master upon the daimiō whose cupidity and injustice have brought it about.
As there is danger of disloyalty even in their own ranks, Oishi, the leader of the
dead daimiō's retainers, displays great caution in the selection of his fellow-
conspirators, and practices every artifice to secure absolute secrecy for his plans.
One young man, who was in disgrace with his lord at the time of his death,
applies to be admitted within the circle of conspirators; but as it is suspected that
he may not be true to the cause, a payment in money is exacted from him as a
pledge of his honorable intentions. It is thus made his first duty to redeem his
honor from all suspicion by the payment of the money, in order that he may
perform his feudal obligation of avenging the death of his lord. But the young
man is poor; he has married a poor girl, and has agreed to support not only his
wife, but her old parents as well, and the payment is impossible for him. In this
emergency, his wife, at the suggestion of her parents, proposes, as the only way,
to sell herself, for a term of two years, to the proprietor of a house of pleasure,
that she may by this vile servitude enable her husband to escape the dishonor
that must come to him if he fails to fulfill his feudal duty. Negotiations are
entered into, the contract is made, and an advance payment is given which will
furnish money enough for the pledge required by the conspirators. All this is
done without the knowledge of the husband, lest his love for his wife and his
grief for the sacrifice prevent him from accepting the only means left to prove
his loyalty. The noble wife even plans to leave her home while he is away on a
hunting expedition, and so spare him the pain of parting. His emotion upon
learning of this venture in business is not of wrath at the disgrace that has
overtaken his family, but simply of grief that his wife and her parents must make
so great a sacrifice to save his honor. It is a terrible affliction, but it is not a
disgrace in any way parallel to the disgrace of disloyalty to his lord. And the
heroic wife, when the men come to carry her away, is upheld through all the
trying farewells by the consciousness that she is making as noble a sacrifice of
herself as did the wife of Yamato Daké when she leaped into the sea to avert the
wrath of the sea-god from her husband. The Japanese, both men and women,
knowing this story and many others similar in character, can see, as we cannot
from our point of view, that, even if the body be defiled, there is no defilement of
the soul, for the woman is fulfilling her highest duty in sacrificing all, even her
dearest possession, for the honor of her husband. It is a climax of self-abnegation
that brings nothing but honor to the soul of her who reaches it. Japanese women
who read this story feel profound pity for the poor wife, and a horror of a
sacrifice that binds her to a life which outwardly, to the Japanese mind even, is
the lowest depth a woman ever reaches. But they do not despise her for the act;
nor would they refuse to receive her even were she to appear in living form to-
day in any Japanese home, where, thanks to happier fortunes, such sacrifices are
not demanded. Just at this point is the difference of moral perspective that
foreigners visiting Japan find so hard to understand, and that leads many, who
have lived in the country the longest, to believe that there is no modesty and
purity among Japanese women. It is this that makes it possible for the vilest of
stories, and those that have the least foundation in fact, to find easy belief among
foreigners, even if they be told about the purest, most high-minded, and most
honorable of Japanese women. Our maidens, as they grow to womanhood, are
taught that anything is better than personal dishonor, and their maidenly instincts
side with the teaching. With us, a virtuous woman does not mean a brave, a
heroic, an unselfish, or self-sacrificing woman, but means simply one who keeps
herself from personal dishonor. Chastity is the supreme virtue for a woman; all
other virtues are secondary compared with it. This is our point of view, and the
whole perspective is arranged with that virtue in the foreground. Dismiss this for
a moment, and consider the moral training of the Japanese maiden. From earliest
youth until she reaches maturity, she is constantly taught that obedience and
loyalty are the supreme virtues, which must be preserved even at the sacrifice of
all other and lesser virtues. She is told that for the good of father or husband she
must be willing to meet any danger, endure any dishonor, perpetrate any crime,
give up any treasure. She must consider that nothing belonging solely to herself
is of any importance compared with the good of her master, her family, or her
country. Place this thought of obedience and loyalty, to the point of absolute self-
abnegation, in the foreground, and your perspective is altered, the other virtues
occupying places of varying importance. Because a Japanese woman will
sometimes sacrifice her personal virtue for the sake of father or husband, does it
follow that all Japanese women are unchaste and impure? In many cases this
sacrifice is the noblest that she believes possible, and she goes to it, as she would
go to death in any dreadful form, for those whom she loves, and to whom she
owes the duty of obedience. The Japanese maiden grows to womanhood no less
pure and modest than our own girls, but our girls are never called upon to
sacrifice their modesty for the sake of those whom they love best; nor is it
expected of any woman in this country that she exist solely for the good of some
one else, in whatever way he chooses to use her, during all the years of her life.
Let us take this difference into our thought in forming our judgment, and let us
rather seek the causes that underlie the actions than pass judgment upon the
actions themselves. From a close study of the characters of many Japanese
women and girls, I am quite convinced that few women in any country do their
duty, as they see it, more nobly, more single-mindedly, and more satisfactorily to
those about them, than the women of Japan.
Many argue that the purity of Japanese women, as compared with the men, the
ready obedience which they yield, their sweet characters and unselfish devotion
as wives and mothers, are merely the results of the restraint under which they
live, and that they are too weak to be allowed to enjoy freedom of thought and
action. Whether this be true or no is a point which we leave for others to take up,
as time shall have provided new data for reasoning on the subject.
To me, the sense of duty seems to be strongly developed in the Japanese women,
especially in those of the samurai class. Conscience seems as active, though
often in a different manner, as the old-fashioned New England conscience,
transmitted through the bluest of Puritan blood. And when a duty has once been
recognized as such, no timidity, or mortification, or fear of ridicule will prevent
the performance of it. A case comes to my mind now of a young girl of sixteen,
who made public confession before her schoolmates of shortcomings of which
none of them knew, for the sake of easing her troubled conscience and warning
her schoolmates against similar errors. The circumstances were as follows: The
young girl had recently lost her grandmother, a most loving and affectionate old
lady, who had taken the place of a mother to the child from her earliest infancy.
In a somewhat unhappy home, the love of the old grandmother was the one
bright spot; and when she was taken away, the poor, lonely child's memory
recalled all of her own shortcomings to this beloved friend; and, too late to make
amendment to the old lady herself, she dwelt on her own undutifulness, and
decided that she must by some means do penance, or make atonement for her
fault. She might, if she made a confession before her schoolmates, warn them
against similar mistakes; and accordingly she prepared, for the literary society in
which the girls took what part they chose, a long confession, written in poetical
style, and read it before her schoolmates and teachers. It was a terrible ordeal, as
one could see by the blushing face and breaking voice, often choked with sobs;
and when at the conclusion she urged her friends to behave in such a way to their
dear ones that they need never suffer what she had had to endure since her
grandmother's death, there was not a dry eye in the room, and many of the girls
were sobbing aloud. It was a curious expiation and a touching one, but one not in
the least exceptional or uncharacteristic of the spirit of duty that actuates the best
women of the samurai class.
Here is another instance which illustrates this sense of duty, and desire of
atoning for past mistakes or sins. At the time of the overthrow of the feudal
system, the samurai, bred to loyalty to their own feudal superiors as their highest
duty, found themselves ranged on different sides in the struggle, according to the
positions in which their lords placed themselves. At the end of the struggle,
those who had followed their daimiōs to the field, in defense of the Shōgunate,
found that they had been fighting against the Emperor, the Son of Heaven
himself, who had at last emerged from the seclusion of centuries to govern his
own empire. Thus the supporters of the Shōgunate, while absolutely loyal to
their daimiōs, had been disloyal to the higher power of the Emperor; and had put
themselves in the position of traitors to their country. There was a conflict of
principles there somewhat similar to that which took place in our Civil War,
when, in the South, he who was true to his State became a traitor to his country,
and he who was true to his country became a traitor to his State. Two ladies of
the finest samurai type had, with absolute loyalty to a lost cause, aided by every
means in their power in the defense of the city of Wakamatsu against the
victorious forces of the Emperor. They had held on to the bitter end, and had
been banished, with others of their family and clan, to a remote province, for
some years after the end of the war. In 1877, eleven years after the close of the
War of the Restoration, a rebellion broke out in the south which required a
considerable expenditure of blood and money for its suppression. When the new
war began, these two ladies presented a petition to the government, in which
they begged that they might be allowed to make amends for their former position
of opposition to the Emperor, by going with the army to the field as hospital
nurses. At that time, no lady in Japan had ever gone to the front to nurse the
wounded soldiers; but to those two brave women was granted the privilege of
making atonement for past disloyalty, by the exercise of the skill and nerve that
they had gained in their experience of war against the Emperor, in the nursing of
soldiers wounded in his defense.[*]
In the old days, the women of the samurai class fulfilled most nobly the duties
that fell to their lot. As wives and mothers in time of peace, they performed their
work faithfully in the quiet of their homes; and, their time filled with household
cares, they busied themselves with the smaller duties of life. As the wives and
mothers of soldiers, they cultivated the heroic spirit befitting their position,
fearing no danger save such as involved disgrace. As the home-guard in time of
need, they stood ready to defend their master's possessions with their own lives;
as gentlewomen and ladies-in-waiting at the court of the daimiō or the Shōgun,
they cultivated the arts and accomplishments required for their position, and
veiled the martial spirit that dwelt within them under an exterior as feminine, as
gracious, as cultivated and charming, as that of any ladies of Europe or America.
To-day in the new Japan, where the samurai have no longer their yearly
allowance from their lords and their feudal duties, but, scattered through the
whole nation, are engaged in all the arts and trades, and are infusing the old
spirit into the new life, what are the women doing? As the government of the
land to-day lies in the hands of the samurai men under the Emperor, so the
progress of the women, the new ideas of work for women, are in the hands of the
samurai women, led by the Empress. Wherever there is progress among the
women, wherever they are looking about for new opportunities, entering new
occupations, elevating the home, opening hospitals, industrial schools, asylums,
there you will find the leading spirits always of the samurai class. In the recent
changes, some of this class have risen above their former state and joined the
ranks of the nobility; and there the presence of the samurai spirit infuses new life
into the aristocracy. So, too, the changes that have raised some have lowered
others, and the samurai is now to be found in the formerly despised occupations
of trade and industry, among the merchants, the farmers, the fishermen, the
artisans, and the domestic servants. But wherever his lot is cast, the old training,
the old ideals, the old pride of family, still keep him separate from his present
rank, and, instead of pulling him down to the level of those about him, tend to
raise that level by the example of honor and intelligence that he sets. The
changed fortunes were not met without a murmur. Most of the outrages, the
reactionary movements, the riots and inflammatory speeches and writings, that
characterized the long period of disquiet following the Restoration, came from
men of this class, who saw their support taken from them, leaving them unable
to dig and ashamed to beg. But the greater part of them went sturdily to work, in
government positions if they could get them, in the army, on the police force, on
the farm, in the shop, at trades, at service,—even to the humble work of
wheeling a jinrikisha, if other honest occupation could not be found; and the
women shared patiently and bravely the changed fortunes of the men, doing
whatever they could toward bettering them. The samurai women to-day are
eagerly working into the positions of teachers, interpreters, trained nurses, and
whatever other places there are which may be honorably occupied by women.
The girls' schools, both government and private, find many of their pupils among
the samurai class; and their deference and obedience to their teachers and
superiors, their ambition and keen sense of honor in the school-room, show the
influence of the samurai feeling over new Japan. To the samurai women belongs
the task—and they have already begun to perform it—of establishing upon a
broader and surer foundation the position of women in their own country. They,
as the most intelligent, will be the first to perceive the remedy for present evils,
and will, if I mistake not, move heaven and earth, at some time in the near
future, to have that remedy applied to their own case. Most of them read the
literature of the day, some of them in at least one language beside their own; a
few have had the benefit of travel abroad, and have seen what the home and the
family are in Christian lands. There is as much of the unconquerable spirit of the
samurai to-day in the women as in the men; and it will not be very long before
that spirit will begin to show itself in working for the establishment of their
homes and families upon some stronger basis than the will of the husband and
father.

FOOTNOTES:
[36] Rōnin was the term applied to a samurai who had lost his master, and owed
no feudal allegiance to any daimiō. The exact meaning of the word is wave-man,
signifying one who wanders to and fro without purpose, like a wave driven by
the wind.
[37] The samurai always wore two swords, a long one for fighting only, and a
short one for defense when possible, but, as a last resort, for hara-kiri. The
sword is the emblem of the samurai spirit, and as such is respected and honored.
A samurai took pride in keeping his swords as sharp and shining as was possible.
He was never seen without the two swords, but the longer one he removed and
left at the front door when he entered the house of a friend. To use a sword
badly, to harm or injure it, or to step over it, was considered an insult to the
owner.
[38] Kurushima, who attempted to take the life of Okuma, the late Minister of
Foreign Affairs, as recently as 1889, committed suicide immediately after
throwing the dynamite bomb which caused the minister the loss of his leg. This
was the more remarkable in that, at the time of his death, the assassin supposed
that his victim had escaped all injury.
 CHAPTER IX.

PEASANT WOMEN.

THE great héimin class includes not only the peasants of Japan, but also the
artisans and merchants; artisans ranking below farmers, and merchants below
artisans, in the social structure. It includes the whole of the common people,
except such as were in former times altogether below the level of respectability,
the éta and hinin,[39]—outcasts who lived by begging, slaughtering animals,
caring for dead bodies, tanning skins, and other employments which rendered
them unclean according to the old notions. From very early times the agricultural
class has been sharply divided from the samurai or military. Here and there one
from the peasantry mounts by force of his personal qualities into the higher
ranks, for there is no caste system that prevents the passing from one class into
another,—only a class prejudice that serves very nearly the same purpose, in
keeping samurai and héimin in their places, that the race prejudice in this
country serves in confining the negroes, North and South, to certain positions
and occupations. The first division of the military from the peasantry occurred in
the eighth century, and since then the peculiar circumstances of each class have
tended to produce quite different characteristics in persons originally of the same
stock. To the soldier class have fallen learning, skill in arms and horsemanship,
opportunities to rise to places of honor and power, lives free from sordid care in
regard to the daily rice, and in which noble ideas of duty and loyalty can spring
up and bear fruit in heroic deeds. To the peasant, tilling his little rice-field year
after year, have come the heavy burdens of taxation; the grinding toil for a mere
pittance of food for himself and his family; the patient bearing of all things
imposed by his superiors, with little hope of gain for himself, whatever change
the fortunes of war may bring to those above him in the social scale. Is there
wonder that, as the years have gone by, his wits have grown heavy under his
daily drudgery; that he knows little and understands less of the changes that are
taking place in his native land; that he is easily moved by only one thing, and
that the failure of his crops, or the shortening of his returns from his land by
heavier taxation? This is true of the héimin as a class: they are conservative,
fearing that change will but tend to make harder a lot that is none too easy; and
though peaceable and gentle usually, they may be moved to blind acts of riot and
bloodshed by any political change that seems likely to produce heavier taxation,
or even by a failure of their crops, when they see themselves and their families
starving while the military and official classes have enough and to spare. But
though, as a class, the farmers are ignorant and heavy, they are seldom entirely
illiterate; and everywhere, throughout the country, one finds men belonging to
this class who are well educated and have risen to positions of much
responsibility and power, and are able to hold their own, and think for
themselves and for their brethren. From an article in the "Tōkyō Mail," entitled
"A Memorialist of the Latter Days of the Tokugawa Government," I quote
passages which show the thoughts of one of the héimin upon the condition of his
own class about the year 1850. It is from a petition sent to the Shōgun by the
head-man of the village of Ogushi.
The first point in the petition is, that there is a growing tendency to luxury
among the military and official classes. "It is useless to issue orders commanding
peasants and others to be frugal and industrious, when those in power, whose
duty it is to show a good example to the people, are themselves steeped in luxury
and idleness." He ventures to reproach the Shōguns themselves by pointing to
the extravagance with which they have decorated the mausoleums at Nikkō and
elsewhere. "Is this," he asks, "in keeping with the intentions of the glorious
founder of your dynasty? Look at the shrines in Isé and elsewhere, and at the
sepulchres of the Emperors of successive ages. Is gold or silver used in
decorating them?" He then turns to the vassals of the Shōgun, and charges them
with being tyrannical, rapacious, and low-minded. "Samurai," he continues,
—"samurai are finely attired, but how contemptible they look in the eyes of
those peasants who know how to be contented with what they have!"
Further on in the same memorial, he points out what he regards as a grave
mistake in the policy of the Shōgun. A decree had just been issued prohibiting
the peasantry from exercising themselves with sword-play, and from wearing
swords. Of this he says: "Perhaps this decree may have been issued on the
supposition that Japan is naturally impregnable and defended on all sides. But
when she receives insult from a foreign country, it may become necessary to call
on the militia. And who knows that men of extraordinary military genius, like
Toyotomi,[40] will not again appear among the lower classes?"
He ends his memorial with this warning: "Should the Shōgun's court, and the
military class in general, persist in the present oppressive way of government,
Heaven will visit this land with still greater calamities. If this circumstance is not
clearly kept in view, the consequence may be civil disturbance. I, therefore,
beseech that the instructions of the glorious founder of the dynasty be acted
upon; that simplicity and frugality be made the guiding principle of
administration; and that a general amnesty be proclaimed, thereby complying
with the will of Heaven and placating the people. Should these humble
suggestions of mine be acted upon, prospective calamities will fly before the
light of virtue. Whether the country is to be safe or not depends upon whether
the administration is carried on with mercy or not. What I pray for is, that the
country may enjoy peace and tranquillity, that the harvest may be plentiful, and
that the people may be happy and prosperous."
One is able to see, by this rather remarkable document, that the peasants of
Japan, though frequently almost crushed by the heavy burdens of taxation, do
not, even in the most grinding poverty, lose entirely that independence of
thought and of action which is characteristic of their nation. They do not
consider themselves as a servile class, nor their military rulers as beyond
criticism or reproach, but are ready to speak boldly for their rights whenever an
opportunity occurs. There is a pathetic story, told in Mitford's "Tales of Old
Japan," of a peasant, the head-man of his village, who goes to Yedo to present to
the Shōgun a complaint, on behalf of his fellow-villagers, of the extortions and
exactions of his daimiō. He is unable to get any one to present his memorial to
the Shōgun, so at last he stops the great lord's palanquin in the street,—an act in
itself punishable with death,—and thrusts the paper forcibly into his hand. The
petition is read, and his fellow-villagers saved from further oppression, but the
head-man, for his daring, is condemned by his own daimiō to suffer death by
crucifixion,—a fate which he meets with the same heroism with which he dared
everything to save his fellows from suffering.
The peasant, though ignorant and oppressed, has not lost his manhood; has not
become a slave or a serf, but clings to his rights, so far as he knows what they
are; and is ready to hold his own against all comers, when the question in debate
is one that appeals to his mind. The rulers of Japan have always the peasantry to
reckon with when their ruling becomes unjust or oppressive. They cannot be
cowed, though they may be misled for a time, and they form a conservative
element that serves to hold in check too hasty rulers who would introduce new
measures too quickly, and would be likely to find the new wine bursting the old
bottles, as well as to prevent any rash extravagance in the way of personal
expenditure on the part of government officials. The influence of this great class
will be more and more felt as the new parliamentary institutions gain in power,
and a more close connection is established between the throne and public
opinion.
In considering this great héimin class, it is well to remember that the artisans,
who form so large a part of it, are also the artists who have made the reputation
of Japan, in Europe and America, as one of the countries where art and the love
of beauty in form and color are still instinct with life. The Japanese artisan works
with patient toil, and with the skill and originality of the artist, to produce
something that shall be individual and his own; not simply to make, after a
pattern, some utensil or ornament for which he cares nothing, so long as a
purchaser can be found for it, or an employer can be induced to pay him money
for making it. It seems as easy for the Japanese to make things pretty and in
good taste, even when they are cheap and only used by the poorer people, as it is
for American mills and workers to turn out endless varieties of attempts at
decoration,—all so hideous that a poor person must be content, either to be
surrounded by the worst possible taste, or to purchase only such furnishings and
utensils as are entirely without decoration of any kind. "Cheap" and "nasty" have
come to be almost synonymous words with us, for the reason that taste in
decoration is so rare that it commands a monopoly price, and can only be
procured by the wealthy. In Japan this is not the case, for the cheapest of things
may be found in graceful and artistic designs,—indeed can hardly be found in
any designs that are not graceful and artistic; and the poorest and commonest of
the people may have about them the little things that go to cultivate the æsthetic
part of human nature. It was not the costly art of Japan that interested me the
most, although that is, of course, the most wonderful proof of the capacity and
patience of individuals among this héimin class: but it was the common, cheap,
every-day art that meets one at every turn; the love for the beautiful, in both
nature and art, that belongs to the common coolie as well as to the nobleman.
The cheap prints, the blue and white towels, the common teacups and pots, the
great iron kettles in use over the fire in the farmhouse kitchen,—all these are
things as pretty and tasteful in their way as the rich crêpes, the silver incense
burners, the delicate porcelain, and the elegant lacquer that fill the storehouse of
the daimiō; and they show, much more conclusively than these costlier things,
the universal sense of beauty among the people.
The artisan works at his home, helped less often by hired laborers than by his
own children, who learn the trade of their father; and his house, though small, is
clean and tasteful, with its soft mats, its dainty tea service, its little hanging
scroll upon the walls, and its vase of gracefully arranged flowers in the corner;
for flowers, even in winter and in the great city of Tōkyō, are so cheap that they
are never beyond the reach of the poorest. In homes that seem to the foreign
mind utterly lacking in the comforts and even the necessities of life, one finds
the few furnishings and utensils beautiful in shape and decoration; and the
money that in this country must be spent in beds, tables, and chairs can be used
for the purchase of kakémonos, flowers, and vases, and for various gratifications
of the æsthetic taste. Hence it is that the Japanese laborer, who lives on a daily
wage which would reduce an American or European to the verge of starvation,
finds both time and money for the cultivation of that sense of beauty which is
too often crushed completely out of the lower classes by the burdens of this
nineteenth century civilization which they bear upon their shoulders. To the
Japanese, the "life is more than meat," it is beauty as well; and this love of
beauty has upon him a civilizing and refining effect, and makes him in many
ways the superior of the American day-laborer.[*]
The peasants and farmers of Japan, thrifty and hard-working as they are, are not
by any means a prosperous class. As one passes into the country districts from
the large cities, there seems to be a conspicuous dearth of neat, pleasant homes,
—a lack of the comforts and necessities of life such as are enjoyed by city
people. The rich farmers are scarce, and the laborers in the rice-fields hardly
earn, from days of hardest toil with the rudest implements, the little that will
provide for their families. In the face of heavy taxes, the incessant toil, the
frequent floods of late years, and the threatening famine, one would expect the
poor peasants to be a most discouraged and unhappy class. That all this toil and
anxiety does wear on them is no doubt true, but the laborers are always ready to
bear submissively whatever comes, and are always hopeful and prepared to
enjoy life again in happier times. The charms of the city tempt them sometimes
to exchange their daily labor for the excitement of life as jinrikisha men; but in
any case they will be perfectly independent, and ask no man for their daily
rations.
Although there is much poverty, there are few or no beggars in Japan, for both
strong and weak find each some occupation that brings the little pittance
required to keep soul and body together, and gives to all enough to make them
light-hearted, cheerful, and even happy. From the rich farmer, whose many acres
yield enough to provide for a home of luxury quite as fine as the city homes, to
the poor little vender of sticks of candy, around whose store the children flock
like bees with their rin and sen, all seem independent, contented, and satisfied
with their lot in life.
The religious beliefs of old Japan are stronger to-day among the country people
than among the dwellers in cities. And they are still willing to give of their
substance for the aid of the dying faiths to which they cling, and to undertake
toilsome pilgrimages to obtain some longed-for blessing from the gods whom
they serve. A great Buddhist temple is being built in Kyōtō to-day, from the lofty
ceiling of which hangs a striking proof of the devotion of some of the peasant
women to the Buddhist faith. The whole temple, with its immense curved roof,
its vast proportions, and its marvelous wood carvings, has been built by offerings
of labor, money, and materials made by the faithful. The great timbers were
given and brought to the spot by the countrymen; and the women, wishing to
have some part in the sacred work, cut off their abundant hair, a beauty perhaps
more prized by the Japanese women than by those of other countries, and from
the material thus obtained they twisted immense cables, to be used in drawing
the timbers from the mountains to the site of the temple. The great black cables
hang in the unfinished temple to-day, a sign of the devotion of the women who
spared not their chief ornament in the service of the gods in whom they still
believe. And a close scrutiny of these touching offerings shows that the glossy
black locks of the young women are mingled with the white hairs of those who,
by this sacrifice, hope to make sure of a quick and easy departure from a life
already near its close.
All along the Tōkaidō, the great road from Tōkyō to Kyōto, in the neighborhood
of some holy place, or in the district around the great and sacred Fuji, the
mountain so much beloved and honored in Japanese art, will be seen bands of
pilgrims slowly walking along the road, their worn and soiled white garments
telling of many days' weary march. Their large hats shield them from the sun and
the rain, and the pieces of matting slung over their backs serve them for beds to
sleep on, when they take shelter for the night in rude huts. The way up the great
mountain of Fuji is lined with these pilgrims; for to attain its summit, and
worship there the rising sun, is believed to be the means of obtaining some
special blessing. Among these religious devotees, in costumes not unlike those
of the men, under the same large hat and coarse matting, old women often are
seen, their aged faces belying their apparent vigor of body, as they walk along
through miles and miles of country, jingling their bells and holding their rosaries
until they reach the shrine, where they may ask some special blessing for their
homes, or fulfill some vow already made.[*]
Journeying through rural Japan, one is impressed by the important part played by
women in the various bread-winning industries. In the village homes, under the
heavily thatched roofs, the constant struggle against poverty and famine will not
permit the women to hold back, but they enter bravely into all the work of the
men. In the rice-field the woman works side by side with the man, standing all
day up to her knees in mud, her dress tucked up and her lower limbs encased in
tight-fitting, blue cotton trousers, planting, transplanting, weeding, and turning
over the evil-smelling mire, only to be distinguished from her husband by her
broader belt tied in a bow behind. In mountain regions we meet the women
climbing the steep mountain roads, pruning-hook in hand, after wood for winter
fires; or descending, towards night, carrying a load that a donkey need not be
ashamed of, packed on a frame attached to the shoulders, or poised lightly upon
a straw mat upon the head. There is one village near Kyōto, Yasé by name, at the
base of Hiyéi Zan, the historic Buddhist stronghold, where the women attain a
stature and muscular development quite unique among the pigmy population of
the island empire. Strong, jolly, red-cheeked women they are, showing no
evidence of the shrinking away with the advance of old age that is characteristic
of most of their countrywomen. With their tucked-up kimonos and blue cotton
trousers, they stride up and down the mountain, carrying the heaviest and most
unwieldy of burdens as lightly and easily as the ordinary woman carries her
baby. My first acquaintance with them was during a camping expedition upon
the sacred mountain. I myself was carried up the ascent by two small, nearly
naked, finely tattooed and moxa-scarred men; but my baggage, consisting of two
closely packed hampers as large as ordinary steamer trunks, was lifted lightly to
the heads of these feminine porters, and, poised on little straw pads, carried
easily up the narrow trail, made doubly difficult by low-hanging branches, to the
camp, a distance of three or four miles. From among these women of Yasé, on
account of their remarkable physical development, have been chosen frequently
the nurses for the imperial infants; an honor which the Yasé villagers duly
appreciate, and which makes them bear themselves proudly among their less
favored neighbors.
In other parts of the country, in the neighborhood of Nikkō, for instance, the care
of the horses, mild little pack-mares that do much of the burden-bearing in those
mountains, is mainly in the hands of the women. At Nikkō, when we would hire
ponies for a two days' expedition to Yumoto, a little, elderly woman was the
person with whom our bargains were made; and a close bargainer she proved to
be, taking every advantage that lay in her power. When the caravan was ready to
start, we found that, though each saddle-horse had a male groom in attendance,
the pack-ponies on which our baggage was carried were led by pretty little
country girls of twelve or fourteen, their bright black eyes and red cheeks
contrasting pleasantly with the blue handkerchiefs that adorned their heads; their
slender limbs encased in blue cotton, and only their red sashes giving any hint of
the fact that they belonged to the weaker sex. As we journeyed up the rough
mountain roads, the little girls kept along easily with the rest of the party;
leading their meek, shock-headed beasts up the slippery log steps, and passing an
occasional greeting with some returning pack-train, in which the soft black eyes
and bits of red about the costume of the little grooms showed that they, too, were
mountain maidens, returning fresh and happy after a two days' tramp through the
rocky passes.
In the districts where the silkworm is raised, and the silk spun and woven, the
women play a most important part in this productive industry. The care of the
worms and of the cocoons falls entirely upon the women, as well as the spinning
of the silk and the weaving of the cloth. It is almost safe to say that this largest
and most productive industry of Japan is in the hands of the women; and it is to
their care and skill that the silk product of the islands is due. In the silk districts
one finds the woman on terms of equality with the man, for she is an important
factor in the wealth-producing power of the family, and is thus able to make
herself felt as she cannot when her work is inferior to that of the men. As a
farmer, as a groom, or as a porter, a woman is and must remain an inferior, but in
the care of the silkworms, and all the tasks that belong to silk culture, she is the
equal of the stronger sex.
Then, again, in the tea districts, the tea plantations are filled with young girls and
old women, their long sleeves held back by a band over the shoulder, and a blue
towel gracefully fastened over their heads to keep off the sun and the dust. They
pick busily away at the green, tender leaves, which will soon be heated and
rolled by strong men over the charcoal fire. The occupation is an easy one, only
requiring care in the selection of leaves to be picked, and can be performed by
young girls and old women, who gather the glossy leaves in their big baskets,
while chatting to each other over the gossip and news of the day.
In the hotels, both in the country and the city, women play an important part. The
attendants are usually sweet-faced, prettily dressed girls, and frequently the
proprietor of the hotel is a woman. My first experience of a Japanese hotel was
at Nara, anciently the capital of Japan, and now a place of resort because of its
fine old temples, its Dai Butsu, and its beautiful deer park. The day's ride in
jinrikisha from Ōsaka had brought our party in very tired, only to find that the
hotel to which we had telegraphed for rooms was already filled to overflowing
by a daimiō and his suite. Not a room could be obtained, and we were at last
obliged to walk some distance, for we had dismissed our tired jinrikisha men, to
a hotel in the village, of which we knew nothing. What with fatigue and
disappointment, we were not prepared to view the unknown hotel in a very rosy
light; and when our guide pointed to a small gate leading into a minute, damp
courtyard, we were quite convinced that the hardships of travel in Japan were
now about to begin; but disappointment gave way to hope, when we were met at
the door by a buxom landlady, whose smile was in itself a refreshment. Although
we had little in the way of language in common, she made us feel at home at
once, took us to her best room, sent her blooming and prettily dressed daughters
to bring us tea and whatever other refreshments the mysterious appetite of a
foreigner might require, and altogether behaved toward us in such motherly
fashion that fatigue and gloom departed forthwith, leaving us refreshed and
cheerful. Soon we began to feel rested, and our kind friend, seeing this, took us
upon a tour around the house, in which room after room, spotless, empty, with
shining woodwork and softest of mats, showed the good housekeeping of our
hostess. A little garden in the centre of the house, with dwarf trees, moss-covered
stones, and running water, gave it an air of coolness on the hot July day that was
almost deceptive; and the spotless wash-room, with its great stone sink, its
polished brass basins, its stone well-curb, half in and half out of the house, was
cool and clean and refreshing merely to look at. A two days' stay in this hotel
showed that the landlady was the master of the house. Her husband was about
the house constantly, as were one or two other men, but they all worked under
the direction of the energetic head of affairs. She it was who managed
everything, from the cooking of the meals in the kitchen to the filling and
heating of the great bath-tub into which the guests were invited to enter every
afternoon, one after the other, in the order of their rank. On the second night of
my stay, at a late hour, when I supposed that the whole house had retired to rest,
I crept softly out of my room to try to soothe the plaintive wails of my dog, who
was complaining bitterly that he was made to sleep in the wood-cellar instead of
in his mistress's room, as his habit had always been. As I stole quietly along,
fearing lest I should arouse the sleeping house, I heard the inquiring voice of my
landlady sound from the bath-room, the door of which stood wide open. Afraid
that she would think me in mischief if I did not show myself, I went to the door,
to find her, after her family was safely stowed away for the night, taking her ease
in the great tub of hot water, and so preparing herself for a sound, if short, night's
sleep. She accepted my murmured Inu (dog) as an excuse, and graciously
dismissed me with a smile, and I returned to my room feeling safe under the
vigilant care that seemed to guard the house by night as well as by day. I have
seen many Japanese hotels and many careful landladies since, but no one among
them all has made such an impression as my pleasant hostess at Nara.
Not only hotels, but little tea-houses all through Japan, form openings for the
business abilities of women, both in country and city. Wherever you go, no
matter how remote the district or how rough the road, at every halting point you
find a tea-house. Sometimes it is quite an extensive restaurant, with several
rooms for the entertainment of guests, and a regular kitchen where fairly
elaborate cooking can be done; sometimes it is only a rough shelter, at one end
of which water is kept boiling over a charcoal brazier, while at the other end a
couple of seats, covered with mats or a scarlet blanket or two, serve as resting-
places for the patrons of the establishment. But whatever the place is, there will
be one woman or more in attendance; and if you sit down upon the mats, you
will be served at once with tea, and later, should you require more, with
whatever the establishment can afford,—it may be only a slice of watermelon, or
a hard pear; it may be eels on rice, vermicelli, egg soup, or a regular dinner,
should the tea-house be one of the larger and more elaborately appointed ones.
When the feast is over, the refreshments you have especially ordered are paid for
in the regular way; but for the tea and sweetmeats offered, for which no especial
charge is made, you are expected to leave a small sum as a present. In the less
aristocratic resting-places, a few cents for each person is sufficient to leave on
the waiter with the empty cups of tea, for which loud and grateful thanks will be
shouted out to the retiring party.

In the regular inn, the chadai[41] amounts to several dollars, for a party
remaining any time, and it is supposed to pay for all the extra services and
attention bestowed on guests by the polite host and hostess and the servants in
attendance. The chadai, done up neatly in paper, with the words On chadai
written on it, is given with as much formality as any present in Japan. The guest
claps his hands to summon the maid. When it is heard, for the thin paper walls of
a Japanese house let through every noise, voices from all sides will shout out Hē
´-hē´, or Hai, which means that you have been heard, and understood. Presently
a maid will softly open your door, and with head low down will ask what you
wish. You tell her to summon the landlord. In a few moments he appears, and
you push the chadai to him, making some conventional self-depreciating speech,
as, "You have done a great deal for our comfort, and we wish to give you this
chadai, though it is only a trifle." The landlord, with every expression of
surprise, will bow down to the ground with thanks, raising the small package to
his head in token of acceptance and gratitude, and will murmur in low tones how
little he has done for the comfort of his guests; and then, the self-depreciation
and formal words of thanks on his side being ended, he will finally go down
stairs to see how much he has gotten. But, whether more or less than he had
expected, nothing but extreme gratitude and politeness appears on his face as he
presents a fan, confectionery, or some trifle, as a return for the chadai, and
speeds the parting guests with his lowest bow and kindliest smile, after having
seen to every want that could be attended to.
Once, at Nikkō, I started with a friend for a morning walk to a place described in
the guide-book. The day was hot and the guide-book hazy, and we lost the road
to the place for which we had set out, but found ourselves at last in a beautiful
garden, with a pretty lake in its centre, a little red-lacquered shrine reflected in
the lake, and a tea-house hospitably open at one side. The teakettle was boiling
over the little charcoal fire; melons, eggs, and various unknown comestibles
were on the little counter; but no voice bade us welcome as we approached, and
when we sat down on the edge of the piazza, we could see no one within the
house. We waited, however, for the day was hot, and time is not worth much in
rural Japan. Pretty soon a small, wizened figure made its appearance in the
distance, hurrying and talking excitedly as it came near enough to see two
foreign ladies seated upon the piazza. Many bows and profuse apologies were
made by the little old woman, who seemed to be the solitary occupant of the
pretty garden, and who had for the moment deserted her post to do the day's
marketing in the neighboring village. The apologies having been smilingly
received, the old lady set herself to the task of making her guests comfortable.
First she brought two tumblers of water, cold as ice, from the spring that gushed
out of a great rock in the middle of the little lake. Then she retired behind a
screen and changed her dress, returning speedily to bring us tea. Then she
retreated to her diminutive kitchen, and presently came back smiling, bearing
eight large raw potatoes on a tray. These she presented to us with a deep bow,
apparently satisfied that she had at last brought us something we would be sure
to like. We left the potatoes behind us when we went away, and undoubtedly the
old lady is wondering still over the mysterious ways of the foreigners, as we are
over those of the Japanese tea-house keepers.
One summer, when I was spending a week at a Japanese hotel at quite a
fashionable seaside resort, I became interested in a little old woman who visited
the hotel daily, carrying, suspended by a yoke from her shoulders, two baskets of
fruit, which she sold to the guests of the hotel. As I was on the ground floor, and
my room was, in the daytime, absolutely without walls on two sides, she was my
frequent visitor, and, for the sake of her pleasant ways and cheerful smiles, I
bought enough hard pears of her to have given the colic to an elephant. One day,
after her visit to me, as I was sitting upon the matted and roofed square that
served me for a room, my eye wandered idly toward the bathing beach, and,
under the slight shelter where the bathers were in the habit of depositing their
sandals and towels, I spied the well-known yoke and fruit baskets, as well as a
small heap of blue cotton garments that I knew to be the clothing of the little
fruit-vender. She had evidently taken a moment when trade was slack to enjoy a
dip in the soft, blue, summer sea. Hardly had I made up my mind as to the
meaning of the fruit baskets and the clothing, when our little friend herself
emerged from the sea and, sitting down on a bench, proceeded to rub herself off
with the small but artistically decorated blue towel that every peasant in Japan
has always with him, however lacking he may be in all other appurtenances of
the toilet. As she sat there, placidly rubbing away, a friend of the opposite sex
made his appearance on the scene. I watched to see what she would do, for the
Japanese code of etiquette is quite different from ours in such a predicament. She
continued her employment until he was quite close, showing no unseemly haste,
but continuing her polishing off in the same leisurely manner in which she had
begun it; then at the proper moment she rose from her seat, bowed profoundly,
and smilingly exchanged the greetings proper for the occasion, both parties
apparently unconscious of any lack in the toilet of the lady. The male friend then
passed on about his business; the little woman completed her toilet without
further interruptions, shouldered her yoke, and jogged cheerfully on to her home
in the little village, a couple of miles away.
As one travels through rural Japan in summer and sees the half-naked men,
women, and children that pour out from every village on one's route and
surround the kuruma at every stopping place, one sometimes wonders whether
there is in the country any real civilization, whether these half-naked people are
not more savage than civilized; but when one finds everywhere good hotels,
scrupulous cleanliness in all the appointments of toilet and table, polite and
careful service, honest and willing performance of labor bargained for, together
with the gentlest and pleasantest of manners, even on the part of the gaping
crowd that shut out light and air from the traveling foreigner who rests for a
moment at the village inn, one is forced to reconsider a judgment formed only
upon one peculiarity of the national life, and to conclude that there is certainly a
high type of civilization in Japan, though differing in many important particulars
from our own. A careful study of the Japanese ideas of decency, and frequent
conversation with refined and intelligent Japanese ladies upon this subject, has
led me to the following conclusion. According to the Japanese standard, any
exposure of the person that is merely incidental to health, cleanliness, or
convenience in doing necessary work, is perfectly modest and allowable; but an
exposure, no matter how slight, that is simply for show, is in the highest degree
indelicate. In illustration of the first part of this conclusion, I would refer to the
open bath-houses, the naked laborers, the exposure of the lower limbs in wet
weather by the turning up of the kimono, the entirely nude condition of the
country children in summer, and the very slight clothing that even adults regard
as necessary about the house or in the country during the hot season. In
illustration of the last part, I would mention the horror with which many
Japanese ladies regard that style of foreign dress which, while covering the
figure completely, reveals every detail of the form above the waist, and, as we
say, shows off to advantage a pretty figure. To the Japanese mind it is immodest
to want to show off a pretty figure. As for the ball-room costumes, where neck
and arms are freely exposed to the gaze of multitudes, the Japanese woman, who
would with entire composure take her bath in the presence of others, would be in
an agony of shame at the thought of appearing in public in a costume so indecent
as that worn by many respectable American and European women. Our
judgment would indeed be a hasty one, should we conclude that the sense of
decency is wanting in the Japanese as a race, or that the women are at all lacking
in the womanly instinct of modesty. When the point of view from which they
regard these matters is once obtained, the apparent inconsistencies and
incongruities are fully explained, and we can do justice to our Japanese sister in
a matter in regard to which she is too often cruelly misjudged.
There seems no doubt at all that among the peasantry of Japan one finds the
women who have the most freedom and independence. Among this class, all
through the country, the women, though hard-worked and possessing few
comforts, lead lives of intelligent, independent labor, and have in the family
positions as respected and honored as those held by women in America. Their
lives are fuller and happier than those of the women of the higher classes, for
they are themselves bread-winners, contributing an important part of the family
revenue, and they are obeyed and respected accordingly. The Japanese lady, at
her marriage, lays aside her independent existence to become the subordinate
and servant of her husband and parents-in-law, and her face, as the years go by,
shows how much she has given up, how completely she has sacrificed herself to
those about her. The Japanese peasant woman, when she marries, works side by
side with her husband, finds life full of interest outside of the simple household
work, and, as the years go by, her face shows more individuality, more pleasure
in life, less suffering and disappointment, than that of her wealthier and less
hard-working sister.

FOOTNOTES:
[39] The laws against the éta and hinin, making of them a distinct, unclean class,
and forbidding their intermarriage with any of the higher classes, have recently
been abolished. There is now no rank distinction of any practical value, except
that between noble and common people. Héimin and samurai are now
indiscriminately mingled.
[40] Toyotomi Hidéyoshi, a peasant boy, rose from the position of a groom to be
the actual ruler of Japan during the Middle Ages. He it was who in 1587 issued a
decree of banishment against the Christian missionaries in Japan. He is called
Faxiba in the writings of these missionaries, and in Japan he is frequently spoken
of as Taiko Sama, a title, not a name; but a title that, used alone, refers always to
him. For further account of his life, see Griffis, Mikado's Empire, book i., chap.
xxiv.
[41] Chadai is, literally, "money for tea," and is equivalent to our tips to the
waiters and porters at hotels. The chadai varies with the wealth and rank of the
guests, the duration of the stay, and the attention which has been bestowed. On is
the honorific placed before the word in writing.
 CHAPTER X.

LIFE IN THE CITIES.

THE great cities of Japan afford remarkable opportunities for seeing the life of
the common people, for the little houses and shops, with their open fronts, reveal
the penetralia in a way not known in our more secluded homes. The
employment of the merchant being formerly the lowest of respectable callings,
one does not find even yet in Japan many great stores or a very high standard of
business morality, for the business of the country was left in the hands of those
who were too stupid or too unambitious to raise themselves above that social
class. Hence English and American merchants, who only see Japan from the
business side, continually speak of the Japanese as dishonest, tricky, and
altogether unreliable, and greatly prefer to deal with the Chinese, who have
much of the business virtue that is characteristic of the English as a nation. Only
within a few years have the samurai, or indeed any one who was capable of
figuring in any higher occupation in life, been willing to adopt the calling of the
merchant; but many of the abler Japanese of to-day have begun to see that trade
is one of the most important factors of a nation's well-being, and that the
business of buying and selling, if wisely and honestly done, is an employment
that nobody need be ashamed to enter. There are in Japan a few great merchants
whose word may be trusted, and whose obligations will be fulfilled with
absolute honesty; but a large part of the buying and selling is still in the hands of
mercantile freebooters, who will take an advantage wherever it is possible to get
one, in whose morality honesty has no place, and who have not yet discovered
the efficacy of that virtue simply as a matter of policy. Their trade, conducted in
a small way upon small means, is more of the nature of a game, in which one
person is the winner and the other the loser, than a fair exchange, in which both
parties obtain what they want. It is the mediæval, not the modern idea of
business, that is still held among Japanese merchants. With them, trade is a
warfare between buyer and seller, in which every man must take all possible
advantage for himself, and it is the lookout of the other party if he is cheated.
In Tōkyō, the greatest and most modernized of the cities of the empire, the shops
are not the large city stores that one sees in European and American cities, but
little open-fronted rooms, on the edge of which one sits to make one's purchases,
while the proprietor smiles and bows and dickers; setting his price by the style of
his customer's dress, or her apparent ignorance of the value of the desired article.
Some few large dry-goods stores there are, where prices are set and dickering is
unnecessary;[*] and in the kwankoba, or bazaars, one may buy almost anything
needed by Japanese of all classes, from house furnishings to foreign hats, at
prices plainly marked upon them, and from which there is no variation. But one's
impression of the state of trade in Japan is, that it is still in a very primitive and
undeveloped condition, and is surprisingly behind the other parts of Japanese
civilization.
The shopping of the ladies of the large yashikis and of wealthy families is done
mostly in the home; for all the stores are willing at any time, on receiving an
order, to send up a clerk with a bale of crêpes, silks, and cottons tied to his back,
and frequently towering high above his head as he walks, making him look like
the proverbial ant with a grain of wheat. He sets his great bundle carefully down
on the floor, opens the enormous furushiki, or bundle handkerchief, in which it is
enveloped, and takes out roll after roll of silk or chintz, neatly done up in paper
or yellow cotton. With infinite patience, he waits while the merits of each piece
are examined and discussed, and if none of his stock proves satisfactory, he is
willing to come again with a new set of wares, knowing that in the end purchases
will be made sufficient to cover all his trouble.
The less aristocratic people are content to go to the stores themselves; and the
business streets of a Japanese city, such as the Ginza in Tōkyō, are full of
women, young and old, as well as merry children, who enjoy the life and bustle
of the stores. Like all things else in Japan, shopping takes plenty of time. At
Mitsui's, the largest silk store in Tōkyō, one will see crowds of clerks sitting
upon the matted floors, each with his soroban, or adding machine, by his side;
and innumerable small boys, who rush to and fro, carrying armfuls of fabrics to
the different clerks, or picking up the same fabrics after the customer who has
called for them has departed. The store appears, to the foreign eye, to be simply
a roofed and matted platform upon which both clerks and customers sit. This
platform is screened from the street by dark blue cotton curtains or awnings
hung from the low projecting eaves of the heavy roof. As the customers take
their seats, either on the edge of the platform, or, if they have come on an
extended shopping bout, upon the straw mat of the platform itself, a small boy
appears with tea for the party; an obsequious clerk greets them with the
customary salutations of welcome, pushes the charcoal brazier toward them, that
they may smoke, or warm their hands, before proceeding to business, and then
waits expectantly for the name of the goods that his customers desire to see.
When this is given, the work begins; the little boys are summoned, and are soon
sent off to the great fire-proof warehouse, which stands with heavy doors thrown
open, on the other side of the platform, away from the street. Through the
doorway one can see endless piles of costly stuffs stored safely away, and from
these piles the boys select the required fabric, loading themselves down with
them so that they can barely stagger under the weights that they carry. As the
right goods are not always brought the first time, and as, moreover, there is an
endless variety in the colors and patterns in even one kind of silk, there is always
plenty of time for watching the busy scene,—for sipping tea, or smoking a few
whiffs from the tiny pipes that so many Japanese, both men and women, carry
always with them. When the purchase is at last made, there is still some time to
be spent by the customer in waiting until the clerk has made an abstruse
calculation upon his soroban, the transaction has been entered in the books of
the firm, and a long bill has been written and stamped, and handed to her with
the bundle. During her stay in the store, the foreign customer, making her first
visit to the place, is frequently startled by loud shouts from the whole staff of
clerks and small boys,—outcries so sudden, so simultaneous, and so stentorian,
that she cannot rid herself of the idea that something terrible is happening every
time that they occur. She soon learns, however, that these manifestations of
energy are but the way in which the Japanese merchant speeds the departing
purchaser, and that the apparently inarticulate shouts are but the formal phrase,
"Thanks for your continued favors," which is repeated in a loud tone by every
employee in the store whenever a customer departs. When she herself is at last
ready to leave, a chorus of yells arises, this time for her benefit; and as she skips
into the jinrikisha and is whirled away, she hears continued the busy hum of
voices, the clattering of sorobans, the thumping of the bare feet of the heavily
laden boys, and the loud shouts of thanks with which departing guests are
honored.
There is less pomp and circumstance about the smaller stores, for all the goods
are within easy reach, and the shops for household utensils and chinaware seem
to have nearly the whole stock in trade piled up in front, or even in the street
itself. Many such little places are the homes of the people who keep them. And
at the back are rooms, which serve for dwelling rooms, opening upon well-kept
gardens. The whole work of the store is often attended to by the proprietor,
assisted by his wife and family, and perhaps one or two apprentices. Each of the
workers, in turn, takes an occasional holiday, for there is no day in the Japanese
calendar when the shops are all closed; and even New Year's Day, the great
festival of the year, finds most of the stores open. Yet the dwellers in these little
homes, living almost in the street, and in the midst of the bustle and crowd and
dust of Tōkyō, have still time to enjoy their holidays and their little gardens, and
have more pleasure and less hard work than those under similar circumstances in
our own country.
The stranger visiting any of the great Japanese cities is surprised by the lack of
large stores and manufactories, and often wonders where the beautiful lacquer
work and porcelains are made, and where the gay silks and crêpes are woven.
There are no large establishments where such things are turned out by wholesale.
The delicate vases, the bronzes, and the silks are often made in humblest homes,
the work of one or two laborers with rudest tools. There are no great
manufactories to be seen, and the bane of so many cities, the polluting factory
smoke, never rises over the cities of Japan. The hard, confining factory life, with
its never-ceasing roar of machinery, bewildering the minds and intellects of the
men who come under its deadening influences, until they become scarcely more
than machines themselves, is a thing as yet almost unknown in Japan. The life of
the jinrikisha man even, hard and comfortless as it may seem to run all day like a
horse through the crowded city streets, is one that keeps him in the fresh air,
under the open sky, and quickens his powers both of body and mind. To the poor
in Japanese cities is never denied the fresh air and sunshine, green trees and
grass; and the beautiful parks and gardens are found everywhere, for the
enjoyment of even the meanest and lowest.
On certain days in the month, in different sections of the city, are held night
festivals near temples, and many shopkeepers take the opportunity to erect
temporary booths, in which they so arrange their wares as to tempt the passers-
by as they go to and fro. Very often there is a magnificent display of young trees,
potted plants, and flowers, brought in from the country and ranged on both sides
of the street. Here the gardeners make lively sales, as the displays are often fine
in themselves, and show to a special advantage in the flaring torchlight. The
eager venders, who do all they can to call the attention of the crowd to their
wares, make many good bargains. The purchase requires skill on both sides, for
flower men are proverbial in their high charges, asking often five and ten times
the real value of a plant, but coming down in price almost immediately on
remonstrance. You ask the price of a dwarf wistaria growing in a pot. The man
answers at once, "Two dollars." "Two dollars!" you answer in surprise, "it is not
worth more than thirty or forty cents." "Seventy-five, then," he will respond; and
thus the buyer and seller approach nearer in price, until the bargain is struck
somewhere near the first price offered. Price another plant and there would be
the same process to go over again; but as the evening passes, prices go lower and
lower, for the distances that the plants have been brought are great, and the labor
of loading up and carrying back the heavy pots is a weary one, and when the last
customer has departed the merchants must work late into the night to get their
wares safely home again.
But beside the flower shows, there are long rows of booths, which, with the
many visitors who throng the streets, make a gay and lively scene. So dense is
the crowd that it is with difficulty one can push through on foot or in jinrikisha.
The darkness is illuminated by torches, whose weird flames flare and smoke in
the wind, and shine down upon the little sheds which line both sides of the road,
and contain so tempting a display of cheap toys and trinkets that not only the
children, but their elders, are attracted by them. Some of the booths are devoted
to dolls; others to toys of various kinds; still others to birds in cages, goldfish in
globes, queer chirping insects in wicker baskets, pretty ornaments for the hair,
fans, candies, and cakes of all sorts, roasted beans and peanuts, and other things
too numerous to mention. The long line of stalls ends with booths, or tents, in
which shows of dancing, jugglery, educated animals, and monstrosities, natural
or artificial, may be seen for the moderate admission fee of two sen. Each of
these shows is well advertised by the beating of drums, by the shouting of
doorkeepers, by wonderful pictures on the outside to entice the passer-by, or
even by an occasional brief lifting of the curtains which veil the scene from the
crowd without, just long enough to afford a tantalizing glimpse of the wonders
within. Great is the fascination to the children in all these things, and the little
feet are never weary until the last booth is passed, and the quiet of neighboring
streets, lighted only by wandering lanterns, strikes the home-returning party by
its contrast with the light and noise of the festival. The supposed object of the
expedition, the visit to the temple, has occupied but a small share of time and
attention, and the little hands are filled with the amusing toys and trifles bought,
and the little minds with the merry sights seen. Nor are those who remain at
home forgotten, but the pleasure-seekers who visit the fair carry away with them
little gifts for each member of the family, and the O miagé, or present given on
the return, is a regular institution of Japanese home life.[42]
By ten o'clock, when the crowds have dispersed and the purchasers have all gone
home and gone to bed, the busy booth-keepers take down their stalls, pack up
their wares, and disappear, leaving no trace of the night's gayeties to greet the
morning sun.
Beside these evening shows, which occur monthly or oftener, there are also great
festivals of the various gods, some celebrated annually, others at intervals of
some years. These matsuri last for several days, and during that time the quarter
of the city in which they occur seems entirely given over to festivity. The streets
are gayly decorated with flags, and bright lanterns—all alike in design and color
—are hung in rows from the low eaves of the houses. Young bamboo-trees set
along the street, and decorated with bits of bright-colored tissue paper, are a
frequent and effective accompaniment of these festivals, and here and there
throughout the district are set up high stands, on the tops of which musicians
with squeaky flutes, and drums of varying calibre, keep up a din more festive
than harmonious. It takes a day or two for the rejoicings to get fully under way,
but by the second or third day the fun is at its height, and the streets are thronged
with merrymakers. A great deal of labor and strength, as well as ingenuity, is
spent in the construction of enormous floats, or dashi, lofty platforms of two
stories, either set on wheels and drawn by black bullocks or crowds of shouting
men, or carried by poles on men's shoulders. Upon the first floor of these great
floats is usually a company of dancers, or mummers, who dance, attitudinize, or
make faces for the amusement of the crowds that gather along their route; while
up above, an effigy of some hero in Japanese history, or the figure of some
animal or monster, looks down unmoved upon the absurdities below. Each dashi
is attended, not only by the men who draw it, but by companies of others in
some uniform costume; and sometimes graceful professional dancing-girls are
hired to march in the matsuri procession, or to dance upon the lofty dashi. At the
time of the festivities which accompanied the promulgation of the Constitution,
three days of jollification were held in Tōkyō, days of such universal fun and
frolic that it will be known among the common people, to all succeeding
generations, as the "Emperor's big matsuri." Every quarter of the city vied with
every other in the production of gorgeous dashi, and the streets were gay with
every conceivable variety of decoration, from the little red-and-white paper
lanterns, that even the poorest hung before their houses, to the great evergreen
arches, set with electric lights, with which the great business streets were
spanned thickly from end to end. An evening walk through one of these
thoroughfares was a sight to be remembered for a lifetime. The magnificent
dashi represented all manner of quaint conceits. A great bivalve drawn by
yelling crowds—which halted occasionally—opened and displayed between its
shells a group of beautifully dressed girls, who danced one of the pantomimic
dances of the country, accompanied by the twanging melodies of the samisen.
Then slowly the great shell closed, once more the shouting crowds seized hold of
the straining ropes, and the great bivalve with its fair freight was drawn slowly
along through the gayly illuminated streets. Jimmu Tenno and other heroes of
Japanese legend or history, each upon its lofty platform, a white elephant, and
countless other subjects were represented in the festival cars sent forth by all the
districts of the city to celebrate the great event.
Upon such festival occasions the shopkeeper does not put up his shutters and
leave his place of business, but the open shop-fronts add much to the gay
appearance of the street. There are no signs of business about, but the floor of
the shop is covered with bright-red blankets; magnificent gilded screens form an
imposing background to the little room; and seated on the floor are the
shopkeeper, his family, and guests, eating, drinking tea, and smoking, as cosily
as if all the world and his wife were not gazing upon the gay and homelike
interior. Sometimes companies of dancers, or other entertainments furnished by
the wealthier shopkeepers, will attract gaping crowds, who watch and block the
street until the advance guard of some approaching dashi scatters them for a
moment.
In Japan, as in other parts of the world, the country people are rather looked
down upon by the dwellers in the city for their slowness of intellect, dowdiness
of dress, and boorishness of manners; while the country people make fun of the
fads and fashions of the city, and rejoice that they are not themselves the slaves
of novelty, and especially of the foreign innovations that play so prominent a
part in Japanese city life to-day. "The frog in the well knows not the great
ocean," is the snub with which the Japanese cockney sets down Farmer Rice-
Field's expressions of opinion; while the conservative countryman laughs at the
foreign affectations of the Tōkyō man, and returns to his village with tales of the
cookery of the capital: so extravagant is it that sugar is used in everything; it is
even rumored that the Tōkyōites put sugar in their tea.
But while the country laughs and wonders at the city, nevertheless, in Japan as
elsewhere, there is a constant crowding of the young life of the country into the
livelier and more entertaining city. Tōkyō especially is the goal of every young
countryman's ambition, and thither he goes to seek his fortune, finding, alas! too
often, only the hard lot of the jinrikisha man, instead of the wealth and power
that his country dreams had shown him.
The lower class women of the cities are in many respects like their sisters of the
rural districts, except that they have less freedom than the country women in
what the economists call "direct production." The wells and water tanks that
stand at convenient distances along the streets of Tōkyō are frequently
surrounded by crowds of women, drawing water, washing rice, and chattering
merrily over their occupations. They meet and exchange ideas freely with each
other and with the men, but they have not the diversity of labor that country life
affords, confining themselves more closely to indoor and domestic work, and
leaving the bread-winning more entirely to the men.
There are, however, occupations in the city for women, by which they may
support themselves or their families. A good hair-dresser may make a handsome
living; indeed, she does so well that it is proverbial among the Japanese that a
hair-dresser's husband has nothing to do. Though professional tailors are mostly
men, many women earn a small pittance in taking in sewing and in giving
sewing lessons; and as instructors in the ceremonial tea, etiquette, music,
painting, and flower arrangement, many women of the old school are able to
earn an independence, though none of these occupations are confined to the
women alone.
The business of hotel-keeping we have referred to in a previous chapter, and it is
a well-known fact that unless a hotel-keeper has a capable wife, his business will
not succeed. At present, all over Tōkyō, small restaurants, where food is served
in the foreign style, are springing up, and these are usually conducted by a man
and his wife who have at some time served as cook and waitress in a foreign
family, and who conduct the business cöoperatively and on terms of good-
fellowship and equality. In these little eating-houses, where a well-cooked
foreign dinner of from three to six courses is served for the moderate sum of
thirty or forty cents, the man usually does the cooking, the woman the serving
and handling of the money, until the time arrives when the profits of the business
are sufficient to justify the hiring of more help. When this time comes, the labor
is redistributed, the woman frequently taking upon herself the reception of the
guests and the keeping of the accounts, while the hired help waits on the tables.
One important calling, in the eyes of many persons, especially those of the lower
classes, is that of fortune-telling; and these guides in all matters of life, both
great and small, are to be found in every section of the city. They are consulted
on every important step by believing ones of all classes. An impending marriage,
an illness, the loss of any valuable article, a journey about to be taken,—these
are all subjects for the fortune-teller. He tells the right day of marriage, and says
whether the fates of the two parties will combine well; gives clues to the causes
of sudden illness, and information as to what has become of lost articles, and
whether they will be recovered or not. Warned thus by the fortune-teller against
evils that may happen, many ingenious expedients are resorted to, to avoid the ill
foretold.
A man and his family were about to move from their residence to another part of
the city. They sent to know if the fates were propitious to the change for all the
family. The day and year of birth of each was told, and then the fortune-teller
hunted up the various signs, and sent word that the direction of the new home
was excellent for the good luck of the family as a whole, and the move a good
one for each member of it except one of the sons; the next year the same move
would be bad for the father. As the family could not wait two years before
moving, it was decided that the change of residence should be made at once, but
that the son should live with his uncle until the next year. The uncle's home was,
however, inconveniently remote, and so the young man stayed as a visitor at his
father's house for the remaining months of the year, after which he became once
more a member of the household. Thus the inconvenience and the evil were both
avoided.[*]
Another story comes to my mind now of a dear old lady, the Go Inkyo Sama of a
house of high rank, who late in life came to Tōkyō to live with her brother and
his young and somewhat foreignized wife. The brother himself, while not a
Christian, had little belief in the old superstitions of his people; his wife was a
professing Christian. Soon after the old lady's arrival in Tōkyō, her sister-in-law
fell ill, and before she had recovered her strength the children, one after another,
came down with various diseases, which, though in no case fatal, kept the family
in a state of anxiety for more than a year. The old lady was quite sure that there
was some witchcraft or art-magic at work among her dear ones, and, after
consulting the servants (for she knew that she could expect no sympathy in her
plans from either her brother or his wife), she betook herself to a fortune-teller to
discover through his means the causes of the illness in the family. The fortune-
teller revealed to her the fact that two occult forces were at work bringing evil
upon the house. One was the evil spirit of a spring or well that had been choked
with stones, or otherwise obstructed in its flow, and that chose this way of
bringing its afflictions to the attention of mortals. The other was the spirit of a
horse that had once belonged in the family, and that after death revenged itself
upon its former masters for the hard service wherewith it had been made to
serve. The only way in which these two powers could be appeased would be by
finding the well, and removing the obstructions that choked it, and by erecting
an image of the horse and offering to it cakes and other meat-offerings. The
fortune-teller hinted, moreover, that for a consideration he might be able to
afford material aid in the search for the well.
At this information Go Inkyo Sama was much perturbed, for further aid for her
afflicted family seemed to require the use of money, and of that commodity she
had very little, being mainly dependent upon her brother for support. She
returned to her home and consulted the servants upon the matter; but though they
quite agreed with her that something should be done, they had little capital to
invest in the enterprises suggested by the fortune-teller. At last, the old lady went
to her brother, but he only laughed at her well-meant attempts to help his family,
and refused to give her money for such a purpose. She retired discouraged, but,
urged by the servants, she decided to make a last appeal, this time to her sister-
in-law, who must surely be moved by the evil that was threatening herself and
her children. Taking some of the head servants with her, she went to her sister
and presented the case. This was her last resort, and she clung to her forlorn
hope longer than many would have done, the servants adding their arguments to
her impassioned appeals, only to find out after all that the steadfast sister could
not be moved, and that she would not propitiate the horse's spirit, or allow
money to be used for such a purpose. She gave it up then, and sat down to await
the fate of her doomed house, doubtless wondering much and sighing often over
the foolish skepticism of her near relatives, and wishing that the rationalistic
tendencies of the time would take a less dangerous form than the neglecting of
the plainest precautions for life and health. The fate has not yet come, and now
at last Go Inkyo Sama seems to have resigned herself to the belief that it has
been averted from the heads of the dear ones by a power unknown to the
fortune-teller.
Beside these callings, there are other employments which are not regarded as
wholly respectable by either Japanese or foreigners. The géisha ya, or
establishments where dancing-girls are trained, and let out by the day or evening
to tea-houses or private parties, are usually managed by women. At these
establishments little girls are taken, sometimes by contract with their parents,
sometimes adopted by the proprietors of the house, and from very early youth
are trained not only in the art of dancing, but are taught singing and samisen-
playing, all the etiquette of serving and entertaining guests, and whatever else
goes to make a girl charming to the opposite sex. When thoroughly taught, they
form a valuable investment, and well repay the labor spent upon them, for a
popular géisha commands a good price everywhere, and has her time
overcrowded with engagements. A Japanese entertainment is hardly regarded as
complete without géishas in attendance, and their dancing, music, and graceful
service at supper form a charming addition to an evening of enjoyment at a tea-
house. It is these géishas, too, who at matsuri are hired to march in quaint
uniforms in the procession, or, borne aloft on great dashi, dance for the benefit
of the admiring crowds.
The Japanese dances are charmingly graceful and modest; the swaying of the
body and limbs, the artistic management of the flowing draperies, the variety of
themes and costumes of the different dances, all go to make an entertainment by
géishas one of the pleasantest of Japanese enjoyments. Sometimes, in scarlet and
yellow robes, the dainty maidens imitate, with their supple bodies, the dance of
the maple leaves as they are driven hither and thither in the autumn wind;
sometimes, with tucked-up kimonos and jaunty red petticoats, they play the part
of little country girls carrying their eggs to market in the neighboring village.
Again, clad in armor, they simulate the warlike gestures and martial stamp of
some of the old-time heroes; or, with whitened faces and hoary locks, they
perform with rake and broom the dance of the good old man and old woman
who play so prominent a part in Japanese pictures. And then, when the dance is
over, and all are bewitched with their grace and beauty, they descend to the
supper-room and ply their temporary employers with the saké bottle, laughing
and jesting the while, until there is little wonder if the young men at the
entertainment drink more than is good for them, and leave the tea-house at last
thoroughly tipsy, and enslaved by the bright eyes and merry wits of some of the
Hebes who have beguiled them through the evening.
The géishas unfortunately, though fair, are frail. In their system of education,
manners stand higher than morals, and many a géisha gladly leaves the dancing
in the tea-houses to become the concubine of some wealthy Japanese or
foreigner, thinking none the worse of herself for such a business arrangement,
and going cheerfully back to her regular work, should her contract be
unexpectedly ended. The géisha is not necessarily bad, but there is in her life
much temptation to evil, and little stimulus to do right, so that, where one lives
blameless, many go wrong, and drop below the margin of respectability
altogether. Yet so fascinating, bright, and lively are these géishas that many of
them have been taken by men of good position as wives, and are now the heads
of the most respectable homes. Without true education or morals, but trained
thoroughly in all the arts and accomplishments that please,—witty, quick at
repartee, pretty, and always well dressed,—the géisha has proved a formidable
rival for the demure, quiet maiden of good family, who can only give her
husband an unsullied name, silent obedience, and faithful service all her life. The
freedom of the present age, as shown in the chapter on "Marriage and Divorce,"
and as seen in the choice of such wives, has presented this great problem to the
thinking women of Japan. If the wives of the leaders in Japan are to come from
among such a class of women, something must be done, and done quickly, for
the sake of the future of Japan; either to raise the standards of the men in regard
to women, or to change the old system of education for girls. A liberal education,
and more freedom in early life for women, has been suggested, and is now being
tried, but the problem of the géisha and her fascination is a deep one in Japan.
Below the géisha in respectability stands the jōrō, or licensed prostitute. Every
city in Japan has its disreputable quarter, where the various jōrōya, or licensed
houses of prostitution, are situated. The supervision that the government
exercises over these places is extremely rigid; the effort is made, by licensing
and regulating them, to minimize the evils that must flow from them. The
proprietors of the jōrōya do everything in their power to make their houses,
grounds, and employees attractive, and, to the unsuspecting foreigner, this
portion of the city seems often the pleasantest and most respectable. A jōrō need
never be taken for a respectable woman, for her dress is distinctive, and a stay of
a short time in Japan is long enough to teach even the most obtuse that the obi,
or sash, tied in front instead of behind, is one of the badges of shame. But though
the occupation of the jōrō is altogether disreputable,—though the prostitute
quarter is the spot to which the police turn for information in regard to criminals
and law-breakers, a sort of a trap into which, sooner or later, the offender against
the law is sure to fall,—Japanese public opinion, though recognizing the evil as a
great one, does not look upon the professional prostitute with the loathing which
she inspires in Christian countries. The reason for this lies, not solely in the
lower moral standards although it is true that sins of this character are regarded
much more leniently in Japan than in England or America. The reason lies very
largely in the fact that these women are seldom free agents. Many of them are
virtually slaves, sold in childhood to the keepers of the houses in which they
work, and trained, amid the surroundings of the jōrōya, for the life which is the
only life they have ever known. A few may have sacrificed themselves freely but
reluctantly for those whom they love, and by their revolting slavery may be
earning the means to keep their dear ones from starvation or disgrace. Many are
the Japanese romances that are woven about the virtuous jōrō, who is eventually
rewarded by finding, even in the jōrōya, a lover who is willing to raise her again
to a life of respectability, and make her a happy wife and the mother of children.
Such stories must necessarily lower the standard of morals in regard to chastity,
but in a country in which innocent romance has little room for development, the
imagination must find its materials where it can. These jōrōya give employment
to thousands of women throughout the country, but in few cases do the women
seek that employment, and more openings in respectable directions, together
with a change in public opinion securing to every woman the right to her own
person, would tend to diminish the number of victims that these institutions
yearly draw into their devouring current.
Innocent and reputable amusements are many and varied in the cities. We have
already mentioned incidentally the theatre as one of the favorite diversions of the
people; and though it has never been regarded as a very refined amusement, it
has done and is doing much for the education of the lower classes in the history
and spirit of former times. Regular plays were never performed in the presence
of the Emperor and his court, or the Shōgun and his nobles, but the No dance
was the only dramatic amusement of the nobility. This No is an ancient Japanese
theatrical performance, more, perhaps, like the Greek drama than anything in our
modern life. All the movements of the actors are measured and
conventionalized, speech is a poetical recitative, the costumes are stiff and
antique, masks are much used, and a chorus seated upon the stage chants audible
comments upon the various situations. This alone, the most ancient and classical
of Japanese theatrical performances, is considered worthy of the attention of the
Emperor and the nobility, and takes the place with them of the more vulgar and
realistic plays which delight common people.
The regular theatre preserves in many ways the life and costumes of old Japan,
and the details of dress and scenery are most carefully studied. The actors are
usually men, though there are "women theatres" in which all the parts are
performed by women. In no case are the rôles taken by both sexes upon one
stage. As the performances last all day, from ten or eleven in the forenoon until
eight or nine in the evening, going to the theatre means much more than a few
hours of entertainment after the day's work is over. A lunch and dinner, with
innumerable light edibles between, go to make up the usual bill of fare for a day
at the play, and tea-houses in the neighborhood of the theatre provide the
necessary meals, a room to take them in, a resting-place between the acts, and
whatever tea, cakes, and other refreshments may be ordered. These latter
eatables are served by the attendants of the tea-house in the theatre boxes while
the play is in progress, and the playgoers eat and smoke all day long through
roaring farce or goriest tragedy.
Similar to the theatre in many ways are the public halls, where professional
story-tellers, the hanashika, night after night, relate long stories to crowded
audiences, as powerfully and vividly as the best trained elocutionist. Each
gesture, and each modulation of the voice, is studied as carefully as are those of
the actors. Many charming tales are told of old Japan, and even Western stories
have found their way to these assemblies. A long story is often continued from
night to night until finished. Unfortunately, the class of people who patronize
these places is low, and the moral tone of some of the stories is pitched
accordingly; but the best of the story-tellers—those who have talent and
reputation—are often invited to come to entertainments given at private houses,
to amuse a large company by their eloquence or mimicry.
This is a very favorite entertainment, and the hanashika has so perfected the art
of imitation that he can change in a moment from the tones of a child to those of
an old woman. Solemn and sad subjects are touched upon, as well as merry and
bright things, and he never fails to make his audience weep or laugh, according
to his theme, and well merits the applause he always receives at the end.
The hanami, or picnic to famous places to view certain flowers as they bloom in
their season, though not belonging strictly to city life, forms one of the greatest
of the pleasures of city people. The river Sumida, on which Tōkyō is situated,
has lining its eastern shore for some miles the famous cherry-trees of Japan, with
their large, double pink blossoms, and when, in April and May, these flowers are
in their perfection, great crowds of sightseers flock to Mukōjima to enjoy the
blossoms under the trees. The river is crowded with picnic parties in boats.
Every tea-house along the banks is full of guests, and the little stalls and resting-
places on the way find a quick sale for fruit, confectionery, and light lunches.
Saké is often too freely imbibed by the merrymakers, whose flushed faces show,
when returning homeward, how their day was spent. There is much quiet
enjoyment, too, of the lovely blossoms, the broad, calm river, and the gayly
dressed crowds. Hundreds and thousands of visitors crowd to the suburban
places about Tōkyō,—to Uyéno Park for its cherry and peach blossoms,
Kaméido for the plum and wistaria, Oji for its famous maple-trees, and many
others, each noted for some special beauty. Dango Zaka has its own peculiar
attraction, the famous chrysanthemum dolls. These ingenious figures are
arranged so as to form tableaux,—scenes from history or fiction well known to
all the people. They are of life size, and the faces, hands, and feet are made of
some composition, and closely resemble life in every detail. But the curious
thing in these tableaux is that the scenery, whether it be the representation of a
waterfall, rocks, or bushes, the animals, and the dresses of the figures are made
entirely of chrysanthemum twigs, leaves, and flowers, not cut and woven in, as
at the first glance they seem to be,—so closely are the leaves and flowers bound
together to make the flat surface of different objects,—but alive and growing on
the plants. It is impossible to tell where the roots and stems are hidden, for
nothing is visible but (for example) the white spray and greenish shadows of a
waterfall, or the parti-colored figures in a young girl's dress. But, should it be the
visitor's good fortune to watch the repairing of one of these lifelike images, he
will find that the entire body is a frame woven of split bamboo, within which the
plants are placed, their roots packed in damp earth and bound about with straw,
while their leaves and flowers are pulled through the basket frame and woven
into whatsoever pattern the artistic eye and skillful fingers of the gardener may
select. A roof of matting shields each group from the sun by day, and a slight
sprinkling every night serves to keep the plants fresh for nearly a month, and the
flowers continue their blooming during that time, as calmly as if in perfectly
natural positions. Each of the gardeners of the neighborhood has his own little
show, containing several tableaux, the entrance to which is guarded by an
officious gate-keeper, who shouts out the merits of his particular groups of
figures, and forces his show-bills upon the passer-by, in the hope of securing the
two sen admission fee which is required for each exhibit.
And so, amid the shopping, the festivals, the amusements of the great cities, the
women find their lives varied in many ways. Their holidays from home duties
are spent amid these enjoyments; and if they have not the out-of-door
employments, the long walks up the mountains, the days spent in tea-picking, in
harvesting, in all the varied work that comes to the country woman, the dwellers
in the city have no lack of sights and sounds to amuse and interest them, and
would not often care to exchange their lot for the freer and hardier life of the
rustic.

FOOTNOTES:
[42] O miagé must be given, not only on the return from an evening of pleasure,
but also on the return from a journey or pleasure trip of any kind. As a rule, the
longer the absence, the finer and more costly must be the presents given on
returning.
 CHAPTER XI.

DOMESTIC SERVICE.

TO the foreigner, upon his arrival in Japan, the status of household servants is at
first a source of much perplexity. There is a freedom in their relations with the
families that they serve, that in this country would be regarded as impudence,
and an independence of action that, in many cases, seems to take the form of
direct disobedience to orders. From the steward of your household, who keeps
your accounts, makes your purchases, and manages your affairs, to your
jinrikisha man or groom, every servant in your establishment does what is right
in his own eyes, and after the manner that he thinks best. Mere blind obedience
to orders is not regarded as a virtue in a Japanese servant; he must do his own
thinking, and, if he cannot grasp the reason for your order, that order will not be
carried out. Housekeeping in Japan is frequently the despair of the thrifty
American housewife, who has been accustomed in her own country to be the
head of every detail of household work, leaving to her servants only the
mechanical labor of the hands. She begins by showing her Oriental help the
work to be done, and just the way in which she is accustomed to having it done
at home, and the chances are about one in a hundred that her servant will carry
out her instructions. In the ninety-nine other cases, he will accomplish the
desired result, but by means totally different from those to which the American
housekeeper is accustomed. If the housewife is one of the worrying kind, who
cares as much about the way in which the thing is done as about the
accomplished result, the chances are that she will wear herself out in a fruitless
endeavor to make her servants do things in her own way, and will, when she
returns to America, assure you that Japanese servants are the most idle, stupid,
and altogether worthless lot that it was ever her bad fortune to have to do with.
But on the other hand, if the lady of the house is one who is willing to give
general orders, and then sit down and wait until the work is done before
criticising it, she will find that by some means or other the work will be
accomplished and her desire will be carried out, provided only that her servants
see a reason for getting the thing done. And as she finds that her domestics will
take responsibility upon themselves, and will work, not only with their hands,
but with the will and intellect in her service, she soon yields to their protecting
and thoughtful care for herself and her interests, and, when she returns to
America, is loud in her praises of the competence and devotion of her Japanese
servants. Even in the treaty ports, where contact with foreigners has given to the
Japanese attendants the silent and repressed air that we regard as the standard
manner for a servant, they have not resigned their right of private judgment, but,
if faithful and honest, seek the best good of their employer, even if his best good
involves disobedience of his orders. This characteristic of the Japanese servant is
aggravated when he is in the employment of foreigners, for the simple reason
that he is apt to regard the foreigner as a species of imbecile, who must be cared
for tenderly because he is quite incompetent to care for himself, but whose
fancies must not be too much regarded. Of the relations of foreign employers
and Japanese servants much might be said, but our business is with the position
of the servants in a Japanese household.
Under the old feudal system, the servants of every family were its hereditary
retainers, and from generation to generation desired no higher lot than personal
service in the family to which they belonged. The principle of loyalty to the
family interests was the leading principle in the lives of the servants, just as
loyalty to the daimiō was the highest duty of the samurai. Long and intimate
knowledge of the family history and traits of character rendered it possible for
the retainer to work intelligently for his master, and do independently for him
many things without orders. The servant in many cases knew his master and his
master's interests as well as the master himself, or even better, and must act by
the light of his own knowledge in cases where his master was ignorant or
misinformed. One can easily see how ties of good-fellowship and sympathy
would arise between masters and servants, how a community of interest would
exist, so that the good of the master and his family would be the condition for
the good of the servant and his family. In America, where the relation between
servant and employer is usually a simple business arrangement, each giving
certain specified considerations and nothing more, the relation of servant to
master is shorn of all sentiment and affection; the servant's interests are quite
apart from those of his employer, and his main object is to get the specified work
done and obtain more time for himself, and sooner or later to leave the despised
occupation of domestic service for some higher and more independent calling. In
Japan, where faithful service of a master was regarded as a calling worthy of
absorbing any one's highest abilities through a lifetime, the position of a servant
was not menial or degrading, but might be higher than that of the farmer,
merchant, or artisan. Whether the position was a high or a low one depended, not
so much on the work done, as the person for whom it was done, and the servant
of a daimiō or high rank samurai was worthy of more honor, and might be of far
better birth, than the independent merchant or artisan. As the former feudal
system is yet within the memory of many of the present generation, and its
feelings still alive in Japan, much of the old sentiment remains, even with the
merely hired domestics in a household of the present day. The servant, by his
own master, is addressed by name, with no title of respect, is treated as an
inferior, and spoken to in the language used toward inferiors; but to all others he
is a person to be treated with respect,—to be bowed to profoundly, addressed by
the title San, and spoken to in the politest of language. You make a call upon a
Japanese household, and the servant who admits you will expect to exchange the
formal salutations with you. When you are ushered into the reception-room,
should the lady of the house be absent, the head servants will not only serve you
with tea and refreshments and offer you hospitalities in their mistress's name, but
may, if no one else be there, sit with you in the parlor, entertaining you with
conversation until the return of the hostess. The servants of the household are by
no means ignored socially, as they are with us, but are always recognized and
saluted by visitors as they pass into and out of the room, and are free to join in
the conversation of their betters, should they see any place where it is possible
that they may shed light on the subject discussed. But though given this liberty
of speech, treated with much consideration, and having sometimes much
responsibility, servants do not forget their places in the household, and do not
seem to be bold or out of place. Indeed, the manners of some of them would
seem, to any one but a Japanese, to denote a lack of proper self-respect,—an
excess of humility, or an affectation of it.
In explaining to my scholars, who were reading "Little Lord Fauntleroy" in
English, a passage where a footman is spoken of as having nearly disgraced
himself by laughing at some quaint saying of the young lord, my little peeresses
were amazed beyond measure to learn that in Europe and America a servant is
expected never to show any interest in, or knowledge of, the conversation of his
betters, never to speak unless addressed, and never to smile under any
circumstances. Doubtless, in their shrewd little brains, they formed their opinion
of a civilization imposing such barbarous restraints upon one class of persons.
The women servants in a family are in position more like the self-respecting,
old-fashioned New England "help" than they are like the modern "girl." They do
not work all day while the mistress sits in the parlor doing nothing, and then,
when their day's work is done, go out, anxious to forget, in the society of their
friends, the drudgery which only the necessity for self-support and the high
wages to be earned render tolerable. As has been explained in a previous chapter,
the mistress of the house—be she princess or peasant—is herself the head
servant, and only gives up to her helpers the part of the labor which she has not
the time or strength to perform. Certain menial duties toward her husband and
children, every Japanese wife and mother must do herself, and would scorn to
delegate to any other woman except in case of absolute necessity. Thus there is
not that gap between mistress and maid that exists in our days among the women
of this country. The servants work with their mistress, helping her in every
possible way, and are treated as responsible members of the household, if not of
the family itself.
At evening, when the wooden shutters are slid into their places around the porch
and the lamps are lighted, the family gather together in the sitting-room around
the hibachi to talk, free from interruption, for no visitor comes at such an hour to
disturb the family circle. The mother will have her sewing or work, the children
will study their lessons, and the others will talk or amuse themselves in various
ways. Then, perhaps, the maidservants, having finished their tasks about the
house, will join the circle,—always at a respectful distance,—will do their
sewing and listen to the talk, and often join in the conversation, but in the most
humble manner. Perhaps, at times, some one more ambitious than the others will
bring in a book, and ask the meaning of a word or a phrase she has met in
studying, and little helps of this kind are given most willingly.
We have seen that the ladies-in-waiting in the houses of the nobles are daughters
of samurai, who gladly serve in these positions for the sake of the honor of such
service, and the training they receive in noble houses. In a somewhat similar
way, places in the homes of those of distinction or skill in any art or profession
are held in great demand among the Japanese; and a prominent poet, scholar,
physician, or professional man of any kind is often asked by anxious parents to
take their sons under his own roof, so that they may be under his influence, and
receive the benefits of stay in such an honorable house. The parents who thus
send their children may not be of low rank at all, but are usually not sufficiently
well-to-do to spend much money in the education of their children. The position
that such boys occupy in the household is a curious one. They are called Sho-séi,
meaning students, and students they usually are, spending all their leisure
moments and their evenings in study. They are never treated as inferiors, except
in age and experience; they may or may not eat with the family, and are always
addressed with respect. On the other hand, they always feel themselves to be
dependents, and must be willing without wages to work in any capacity about
the house, for the sake of picking up what crumbs of knowledge may fall to them
from their master's table. Service is not absolutely demanded of them, but they
are expected to do what will pay for their board, and do not regard menial work
as below them, performing cheerfully all that the master may require of them.
In this way, a man of moderate means can help along many poor young men in
whom he may feel interested, and in return be saved expense about his
household work; and the students, while always considerately treated, are able
without great expense to study,—often even to prepare for college, or get a start
in one of the professions, for they have many leisure moments to devote to their
books. Many prominent men of the present day have been students of this class,
and are now in their turn helping the younger generation.
The boys that one sees in shops, or, with workmen of all kinds, helping in many
little ways, are not hirelings, but apprentices, who hope some day to hold just as
good positions as their masters, and expect to know as much, if not a great deal
more. At the shop or in the home, they not only help in the trades or occupations
they are learning, but are willing to do any kind of menial work for their master
or his family in return for what they receive from him; for they do not pay for
their board nor for what they are taught. Even when the age of education is
already past, grown men and women are willing to leave quite independent
positions to shine with reflected glory as servants of persons of high rank or
distinction. "The servant is not greater than his master" in Japan; but if the
master is great, the servant is considerably greater than the man without a
master.
In a country like Japan, where one finds but few wealthy people, there may be
cause for wonder at the large households, where there are so many servants.
There will be often as many as ten or more servants in a home where, in other
ways, luxury and wealth are not displayed. In the oku, or the part of the house
where the lady of the house stays, are found her own maid, and women who help
in the work about the house, sew in their leisure moments, and are the higher
servants of the family; there are also the children's attendants, often one for each
child, as well as the waiting women for the Go Inkyo Sama. In the kitchen are
the cooks and their assistants, the lower servants, and usually one or more
jinrikisha men, who belong to the house, and, if this be the home of an official
who keeps horses, a bettō for each animal. There are also gardeners, errand-
boys, and gate-keepers to guard the large yashikis. Such a retinue would seem a
great deal to maintain; but servants' wages are so low, and the cost of living is so
small, that in this matter Japanese can afford to be luxurious. Three or four
dollars will cover the cost of food for a month for one person, and women
servants expect only a few dollars in wages for that time. The men receive much
higher pay, but at the most it is less than what a good cook receives in many
homes here. The wages do not include occasional presents, especially those
given semi-annually,—a small sum of money, or dress material of some kind,—
which servants expect, and which, of course, are no small item in the family
expense.
Homes which maintain a great deal of style need many servants, for they expect
to work less than the American servant, and are less able to hurry and rush
through their work; and they do not desire, if they could, to take life so hard,
even to earn greater pay. The family, too, in many cases are used to having
plenty of hands to do the work; the ladies are much less independent, and life has
more formalities and red tape in Japan than in America. A great deal of the
shopping is done by servants, who are sent out on errands and often do important
business. Maids accompany their mistresses to make visits; servants go with
parties to the theatre, to picnics, or on journeys, and these expeditions are as
heartily enjoyed by them as by their masters. It is expected, especially of ladies
and persons of high rank, that the details of the journey, the bargaining with
coolies, the hiring of vehicles, and paying of bills, be left in charge of some
manservant, who is entirely responsible, and who makes all the bargains,
arranges the journey for his employer, and takes charge of everything,—even to
the amount of fees given along the way.
Perhaps the highest positions of service now—positions honorable anywhere in
Japan—are held by those who remain of the old retainers of daimiōs, and who
regulate the households of the nobles. Such men must have good education, and
good judgment; for much is left in their hands, and they are usually gentlemen,
who would be known as such anywhere. They are the stewards of the household,
the secretaries of their masters; keep all accounts, for which they are responsible,
and attend to the minor affairs of etiquette,—the latter no trifling duty in a
noble's home. It is they who accompany the nobles on their journeys,—regulate,
advise, and attend to the little affairs of life, of which the master may be ignorant
and cares not to learn. They are the last of the crowds of feudal retainers, who
once filled castle and yashiki, and are now scattered throughout the length and
breadth of the kingdom.
The higher servants in the household must be always more or less trained in
etiquette, and are expected to look neat and tidy; to serve guests with tea and
refreshments, without any orders to that effect; and to use their judgment in little
household affairs, and thus help the lady of the house. They are usually clever
with their fingers, and can sew neatly. When their mistress goes out they assist
her to dress, and only a few words from her will be necessary for them to have
everything in readiness, from her sash and dress to all the little belongings of a
lady's costume. Many a bright, quick servant is found who will understand and
guess her mistress's wants without being told each detail, and these not only
serve with their hands, but think for their employers.
Much less is expected of the lower servants, who belong to the kitchen, and have
less to do with the family in general, and little or no personal contact with their
masters. They perform their round of duties with little responsibility, and are
regarded as much lower in the social scale of servants, of which we have seen
there are many degrees.
The little gozen-taki, or rice-cook, who works all day in the kitchen, may be a
fat, red-cheeked, frowsy-haired country girl,—patient, hard-working, and
humble-minded,—willing to pother about all day with her kettles and pans, and
sit up half the night over her own sewing, or the study of the often unfamiliar art
of reading and writing; but entirely unacquainted with the details of etiquette, a
knowledge of which is a necessity to the higher servants,—sometimes even
thrown into an agony of diffidence should it become necessary to appear before
master or mistress.
Some of the customs of the household, in regard to servants, are quite striking to
a foreigner. When the master of the house starts out each morning, besides the
wife and children who see him off, all the servants who are not especially
occupied—a goodly number, sometimes—come to the front door and bow down
to bid him good-by. On his return, also, when the noise of the kuruma is heard,
and the shout of the men, who call out "O kaeri!" when near the house, the
servants go out to greet him, and bowing low speak the customary words of
salutation. To a greater or less degree, the same is done to every member of the
family, the younger members, however, receiving a smaller share of the attention
than their elders.
When, as very often happens, a guest staying for any length of time in a family,
or a frequent visitor, gives a servant a present of money or any trifle, the servant,
after thanking the donor, takes the white paper bundle to the mistress of the
house, and shows it to her, expressing his gratitude to her for the gift, and also
asking her to thank the giver. This, of course, is always done, for a gift to a
servant is as much of a favor to the mistress as a present to a child is to its
mother.
When a servant wishes to leave a family, she rarely goes to her mistress and
states that she is dissatisfied with her position, and that some better chance has
been offered her. Such a natural excuse never occurs to the Japanese servant,
unless he be a jinrikisha man or bettō, who may not know how to do better; for it
is a very rude way of leaving service. The high-minded maid will proceed very
differently.
A few days' leave of absence to visit home will be asked and usually granted, for
Japanese servants never have any settled time to take holiday. At the end of the
given time the mistress will begin to wonder what has become of the girl, who
has failed to return; and the lady will make up her mind she will not let her go
again so readily. Just when she has a sharp reproof ready, a messenger or letter
will arrive, with some good excuse, couched in most polite and humble terms.
Sometimes it will be that she has found herself too weak for service, or that work
at home, or the illness of some member of the family, detains her, so that she is
not able to come back at present. The excuse is understood and accepted as final,
and another servant is sought for and obtained. After several weeks have passed,
very likely after entering a new place, the old servant will turn up some day,
express her thanks for all past kindnesses and regrets at not returning in time,
will take her pay and her bundles, and disappear forever.
Even when servants come on trial for a few days, they often go away nominally
to fetch their belongings, or make arrangements to return, but the lady of the
house does not know whether the woman is satisfied or not. If she is not, her
refusal is always brought by a third person. If the mistress, on her side, does not
wish to hire the girl, she will not tell her so to her face, but will send word at this
time to prevent her coming. Such is the etiquette in these matters of mistress and
maid.[*]
Only by a multiplicity of details is it possible to give much idea of the position
of servants in a Japanese house, and even then the result arrived at is that the
positions of what we would call domestic servants vary so greatly in honor and
responsibility that it is almost impossible to draw any general conclusions upon
this subject. We have seen that there is no distinct servile class in Japan, and that
a person's social status is not altered by the fact that he serves in a menial
capacity, provided that service be of one above him in rank and not below him.
This is largely the result of the grading of society upon other lines than those on
which our social distinctions are founded, and partly the result of the fact that
women, of whatever class, are servants so far as persons of the opposite sex in
their own class are concerned. The women of Japan to-day form the great servile
class, and, as they are also the wives and mothers of those whom they serve, they
are treated, of course, with a certain consideration and respect never given to a
mere servant; and through them, all domestic service is elevated.[*]
There are two employments which I have mentioned among those of domestic
servants because they would be so classed by us, but which in Japan rank among
the trades. The jinrikisha man and the groom belong, as a rule, to a certain class
at the bottom of the social ladder, and no samurai would think of entering either
of these occupations, except under stress of severest poverty. The bettōs, or
grooms, are a hereditary class and a regular guild, and have a reputation, among
both Japanese and foreigners, as a betting, gambling, cheating, good-for-nothing
lot. An honest bettō is a rare phenomenon. The jinrikisha men are, many of
them, sons of peasants, who come to the cities for the sake of earning more
money, or leading a livelier life than can be found in the little thatched cottage
among the rice-fields. Few of them are married, or have homes of their own.
Many of them drink and gamble, and sow their wild oats in all possible ways;
but they are a well-meaning, fairly honest, happy-go-lucky set, who lead hard
lives of exhausting labor, and endure long hours of exposure to heat and cold,
rain, snow, and blinding sunshine, not only with little complaint or grumbling,
but with absolute cheerfulness and hilarity. A strong, fast jinrikisha man takes
great pride in his strength and speed. It is a point of honor with him to pull his
passenger up the steepest and most slippery of hills, and never to heed him if he
expresses a desire to walk in order to save his man. I have had my kurumaya
stoutly refuse, again and again, my offers to walk up a steep hill, even when the
snow was so soft and slippery under his bare feet that he fell three times in
making the ascent. "Dai jobu" (safe) would be his smiling response to all my
protestations; and, once in a jinrikisha, the passenger is entirely at the mercy of
his man in all matters of getting into and out of the vehicle. But though the
jinrikisha man is, for the time being, the autocrat and controlling power over his
passenger, and though he will not obey the behests of his employer, except so far
as they seem reasonable and in accordance with the best interests of all
concerned, he constitutes himself the protector and assistant, the adviser and
counselor, of him whom he serves, and gives his best thought and intelligence, as
well as his speed and strength, to the service in which he is engaged. If he thinks
it safe, he will tear like an unbroken colt through the business portions of the
city, knocking bundles out of the hands of foot passengers, or even hitting the
wayfarers themselves in a fierce dash through their midst, laughing gayly at their
protests, and at threats of wrath to come from his helpless passenger; but should
hint of insult or injury against kuruma, passenger, or passenger's dog fall upon
his ears, he will drop the jinrikisha shafts, and administer condign punishment to
the offender, unchecked by thoughts of the ever-present police, or by any terrors
that his employer may hold over his head. In no other country in the world,
perhaps, can a lady place more entire confidence in the honor and loyalty of her
servant than she can in Japan in her kurumaya, whether he be her private servant,
or one from a respectable stand. He may not do what she bids him, but that is
quite a secondary matter. He will study her interests; will remember her likes and
dislikes; will take a mental inventory of the various accessories or bundles that
she carries with her, and will never permit her to lose or forget one of them; will
run his legs off in her service, and defend her and her property valiantly in case
of need. Of course, as in all classes there are different grades, so there are
jinrikisha men who seem to have sunk so low in their calling that they have lost
all feeling of loyalty to their employer, and only care selfishly for the pittance
they gain. Such men are often found in the treaty ports, eagerly seeking for the
rich foreigner, from whom they can get an extra fee, and whom they regard as
outside of their code of morals, and hence as their natural prey. Travelers, and
even residents of Japan, have often complained of such treatment; and it is only
after long stay in Japan, among the Japanese themselves, that one can tell what a
jinrikisha man is capable of.[*]
If you employ one kurumaya for any length of time, you come to have a real
affection for him on account of his loyal, faithful, cheerful service, such as we
seldom find in this country except when inspired by personal feeling. When you
have ridden miles and miles, by night and by day, through rain and sleet and
hottest sunshine, behind a man who has used every power of body and mind in
your service, you cannot but have a strong feeling of affection toward him, and
of pride in him as well. It is something the feeling that one has for a good saddle-
horse, but more developed. You rejoice, not only in his strength and speed, put
forth so willingly in your service; in his picturesque, dark blue costume with
your monogram embroidered on the back; in his handsomely turned ankles; in
his black, wavy hair; in his delicate hands and trim waist,—though these are
often a source of pride to you,—but his skill in divining your wants; his use of
his tongue in your service; his helping out of your faltering Japanese with
explanations which, if not elegant, have the merit of being easily understood; his
combats with extortionate shopkeepers in your behalf; his interest in all your
doings and concerns,—remain as a pleasant memory, upon your return to a land
where no man would so far forget his manhood as to give himself so completely
and without reserve to the service of any master save Mammon.
As old Japan, with its quaintness, its mediæval flavor, its feudalism, its loyalty,
its sense of honor, and its transcendental contempt for money and luxury, recedes
into the past, and as the memories of my life there grow dim, two figures stand
out more and more boldly from the fading background,—both, the figures of
faithful servants. One, Yasaku, the kurumaya, a very Hercules, who could keep
close to a pair of coach horses through miles of city streets, and who never
suffered mortal jinrikisha man to pass him. My champion in all times of danger
and alarm, but a very autocrat in all minor matters,—his cheery face, his broad
shoulders with their blue draperies, his jolly, boyish voice, and his dainty,
delicate hands come before me as I write, and I wonder to what fortunate person
he is now giving the intelligent service that he once gave so whole-heartedly to
me. The other, O Kaio, my maid, her plain little face, with its upturned eyes,
growing, as the days went by, absolutely beautiful in the light of pure goodness
that beamed from it. A Japanese Christian, with all the Christian virtues well
developed, she became to me not only a good servant, doing her work with
conscientious fidelity, but a sympathetic friend, to whom I turned for help in
time of need; and whom I left, when I returned to America, with a sincere
sorrow in my heart at parting with one who had grown to fill so large a place in
my thoughts. Her little, half-shy, half-motherly ways toward her big foreign
mistress had a charm all their own. Her pride and delight over my progress in the
language; her patient efforts to make me understand new words, or to understand
my uncouth foreign idioms; her joy, when at last I reached the point where a
story told by her lips could be comprehended and enjoyed,—gave a continual
encouragement in a task too often completely disheartening.
During the last summer of my stay in Japan, cutting loose from all foreigners
and foreign associations, I traveled alone with her through the heart of the
country, stopping only at Japanese hotels, and carrying with me no supplies to
eke out the simple Japanese fare. Through floods and typhoons we journeyed.
Long days of scorching heat or driving rain in no way abated her cheerfulness,
or lessened her desire to do all that she could for my aid and comfort. Not one
sad look nor impatient word showed a flaw in her perfect temper; and if she
privately made up her mind that I was crazy, she never by word or look gave a
hint of her thought. Jinrikisha men grumbled and gave out; hotel-keepers
resented the presence of my dog, or presented extortionate bills; but O Kaio's
good temper and tact never failed her. Difficulties were smoothed away; bills
were compromised and reduced; the dog slept securely by my side on a red
blanket in the best rooms of the best hotels; and O Kaio smiled, told her quaint
stories, amused me and ministered to me, as if I were her one object in life,
though husband and children were far away in distant Tōkyō, and her mother's
heart yearned for her little ones.
 CHAPTER XII.

WITHIN THE HOME.

INTO the life of a Japanese home enter many customs and observances that have
not been dwelt upon in the preceding pages, but without some understanding of
which our knowledge of the life of Japanese women is by no means complete. In
Japan the woman's place is so entirely in the home that all the ceremonies and
superstitions that gather about the conduct of every-day affairs are more to her
than they are to the freer and broader-minded man. The household worship, the
yearly round of festivals, each with its special food to be prepared, the
observances connected with birth and marriage and death; what is to be done in
time of illness, of earthquake, of fire, or of the frequent flittings that render life
in Japan one succession of packings and unpackings,—all these are matters of
high importance to the wife and mother, and their proper observance is left
largely in her hands.
Every well-ordered Japanese home of the old-fashioned kind has its little shrine,
which is the centre of the religious life of the house. If the household is of the
Shintō faith, this shrine is called the kami-dana, or god shelf, and contains the
symbols of the gods, gohei in vases, receptacles for food and drink, and a
primitive lamp,—only a saucer of oil in which a bit of pith serves for a wick.
Daily offerings must be made before this shrine, and reverence paid by the
clapping of hands; while on feast days special offerings and invocations are
required. In Buddhist families, the Butsudan, or Buddha shelf, takes the place of
the kami-dana, and the worship is slightly more complicated. Greater variety of
food is offered, and the simple clapping of the hands and bowing of the head that
is the form of prayer in the Shintō religion is replaced by the burning of incense
and by actual verbal invocation of Buddha. These religious ceremonies must be
attended to by the mother or wife. She it is who sets the rice and wine before the
ancestral tablets, who lights the little lamp each night, and who sees that at each
feast day and anniversary season the proper food is prepared and set out for the
household gods.
Upon the wife, and her attention to minute and apparently trifling details,
depends much of the well-being of the family. Each child, as it grows toward
maturity, gathers from various sources a collection of amulets, which, while
worn always when the child is in full dress, are frequently too precious for
ordinary play times and the risks and perils of every-day life. These must be kept
carefully by the mother as a safeguard against the many evils that beset child-
life. I have spoken of the amulets given at the times of the miya mairi,—both the
first, when the name is given to the baby, and the subsequent visits made to the
temple by the children as they pass certain stated points in their progress toward
maturity. These amulets are simply written papers or slips of wood with the seal
of the temple from which they are issued stamped upon them. Visits to noted
temples by relatives and friends often result in additions to the child's collection.
One kind of charm is good to keep the eyes strong; another will help its
possessor to that much-prized accomplishment, a good handwriting; another acts
as an assurance against accident and saves the child from harm in case of a fall.
All these are put together by the careful mother and preserved as jealously as
Queen Althea kept the charred stick that governed the destiny of her son. As the
children arrive at years of discretion, these treasures pass out of the mother's
faithful keeping into the hands of their actual owners, and they are usually kept
stored away in some little-used drawer or cabinet until death removes the
necessity for any further safeguards over life. Perhaps of all the curious things
that go to make up these intimate personal belongings of a Japanese man or
woman, there is none more curious than the small white parcel containing a
portion of the umbilical cord,—saved at birth and preserved until death that it
may be buried with its possessor and furnish him the means of a new birth.
These little paper packages, each marked with the name of the child to whom it
belongs, are kept by the mother.
Upon the mother of the family rests very largely the determining of lucky and
unlucky days for the beginning or transaction of different kinds of business. A
fortune-teller is consulted for important things, such as removals or marriages,
but in every-day life one cannot be running to a fortune-teller about everything;
and yet there is bad luck lurking in the background that may baffle all our plans
if we do not observe the proper times and seasons for our undertakings. Just as
the Japanese calendar divides time into cycles of twelve years, each year named
for a different animal, so also the days and hours are divided into twelves and
bear the names of the same twelve animals,—the Chinese signs of the zodiac.
These animals are as follows: the rat, the bull, the tiger, the hare, the dragon, the
snake, the horse, the goat, the monkey, the cock, the dog, and the boar. Each
animal brings its own kind of good or bad luck into the hour, day, or year over
which it presides, and only a skillful balancer of pros and cons can read aright
the combinations, and understand what the luck of any particular hour in any
particular day of any particular year will be. For instance, the rat, which is the
companion of Daikoku, the money god, is a lucky animal so far as money is
concerned. A person born in the year of the rat will never need money, and will
be economical, possibly miserly; and in one born on the day of the rat in the year
of the rat these chances and qualities will be doubled. But the luck of the rat may
be very seriously interfered with by the bad luck of the monkey or of the
proverbially unlucky dog, when their days and hours occur in the rat year. On the
other hand, their bad luck may be counteracted by the good luck of the tiger or
hare, for as a rule three animals of different portent are presiding over human
prospects every hour. This makes prophecy a ticklish business, requiring a wise
head, but it also leaves much room for the subsequent explanation of failures by
the superior and unusual influence of one or another of the animals, as the case
may require. Momentous questions of this kind have frequently to be settled by
the Japanese wife and mother, and she gains dignity and value in her home and
neighborhood according to her skill in interpreting the portents of the day and
hour.
For the greater events of family life the home prophecies are felt to be too
uncertain, and the services of the fortune-teller must be called in. No well-
managed family would think of building a new house without finding in what
direction to face the front door. In an American city this necessity would cause
considerable inconvenience, as the position of the front door is usually
determined by the relation of the building-lot to the street; but in a Japanese city,
where, in all but the business quarters, every house is concealed by a high board
fence, and where the gate that admits one within the fence is the only sign by
which any one in the street can judge of the worldly condition of the dwellers
within, the houses are faced about any and every way, and the position of each is
determined by the good luck that it will bring its owner. After this matter has
been settled and the house is fairly begun, there are occasional crises in its
construction upon which much depends. Of these the most important is the day
when the roof is raised. The roof timbers, which are unsquared logs, often rather
crooked, after being carefully fitted and framed in some convenient vacant lot,
are brought on carts to the site of the new building, and when all is ready, the
head carpenter sends word to the house-owner that he is about to set the roof in
place. The house-owner then decides whether the day set by the builder is a
lucky one for himself and his family. If it is not, a delay in the building is always
preferable to any danger of incurring the displeasure of the luck gods. This crisis
safely passed, and the last of the roof beams secured in its place, the men take a
holiday, and are feasted on saké and spaghetti by the house-owner. A present of
money to each workman is also in order, and will conduce to the rapid and
faithful execution of the job in hand. When, at last, the house is finished, and
carpenters and plasterers are ready to leave it, the local firemen, who have
assisted all along in the building as unskilled laborers, often ascend to the roof,
and from the ridge-pole cast down cakes, for which the children of the
neighborhood scramble joyfully.
When the builders have left, and the house is ready for occupation, even to the
soft, thick mats on the floor and the white paper windows, the family will move
in on the first day thereafter that is both lucky and pleasant. So far as possible,
everything in the old house will be packed and ready the day before, and very
early in the morning the relatives and friends of the mover will begin to rally
around him. All come who can, and those who cannot come send servants or
provisions. Every tradesman or kurumaya who has had or who hopes to have the
patronage of the moving household sends a representative to help along the
work, so that there is always a sufficient force to carry the household belongings
into the new home and settle them in place before the day is over. All these
visiting helpers must be fed and provided with tea and cakes at proper intervals,
and the presents of cooked food that pour in at such times are highly acceptable
and of great practical usefulness. When the long day is ended and the visitors
return one by one to their homes, it is the mistress of the house who must see
that every servant and representative of a business firm receives, neatly done up
in white paper, a present of money properly proportioned to his services, and the
style and circumstances of the family he has been aiding. And when all are gone,
the shutters closed, and the family left alone in their new home, the little wife
must make a list of all who have helped in any way during the day, and to all,
within a short time, make some acknowledgment of their kindness by either a
call or a present. It is upon the wife, too, that the duty falls of sending to each of
the near neighbors soba, a kind of macaroni, as an announcement of the family's
arrival. The number of neighbors to whom this gift is sent is determined
differently according to circumstances. If the house is one of several in a
compound, soba will be sent to all within the gate; but if the compound is very
large, so that the sending to all would be too great an expense, the five nearest
houses will be selected to receive the gift, or all who draw water from the same
well. A very late fashion in Tōkyō, but one that is gaining ground because of its
convenience, is to send, not the macaroni itself, but an order on the nearest
restaurant at which that delicacy is sold.
As I have already said, much of a woman's time and thought must be given to
the proper distribution of presents among friends and dependents. The subject of
what to give, when to give, to whom to give, and how to do up the gift
acceptably, is one the thorough understanding of which requires the study of
years. No foreigner can hope to do more than dabble in the shallows of it.
Presents seem to be used more for the purpose of keeping those persons whose
services you may need, or whose enmity you dread, under a sense of obligation,
than they are as expressions of sentiment. Every housekeeper, for instance, must
need the occasional services of a carpenter or a gardener, and in a large city like
Tōkyō the chances are that she will some day need, and need very badly, the
services of a fireman. A wise woman—one who is not penny wise and pound
foolish—will by timely presents keep herself constantly in the minds of such
persons, so that when she sends for them, they may feel under sufficient
obligation to her to come at once. So will her house be quickly put in repair after
earthquake or other accident; her garden show for only the briefest interval the
ravages of the typhoon which has gullied out her lawn and leveled her choicest
trees; and when some night "the flower of Yedo" blooms suddenly by her side,
she will have the speedy assistance of the firemen, who will seal her storehouse
securely with clay, wet her roof and walls thoroughly with water, and light at her
gates the great alarm lanterns to tell her friends that her house is in danger and
summon them to her assistance. No friend can disregard such a signal, but all
will rally round her once more to help in this less orderly and cheerful moving,
—will pack and cord and carry out her goods, and if at last the fire consumes her
dwelling, will gather her household and belongings into their hospitable homes.
But the foolish woman, who neglects or forgets her dependents when she does
not need them, finds some day that her roof is leaking, but all the carpenters are
too busy to mend it, her garden is destroyed because the gardener had an
important engagement elsewhere just when she needed him, and her property is
burned up or ruined by water and smoke because the firemen attended to her
house last when the fire swept over her compound.
When death enters a house in Japan, there are no undertakers to relieve the
family of the painful duty of caring for the dead body and placing it in the coffin.
There are coffin-makers and funeral managers who supply the great white bier
and lanterns and the bunches of paper flowers that adorn every funeral
procession, but within the house the preparations are all made by the family and
friends, and the heaviest and most painful part of the work falls, as usual, on the
women of the family. As soon as the breath finally leaves the body, it is wrapped
in a quilt, laid with its head to the north, and an inverted screen placed around it.
On one corner of the screen is hung a sword or knife to keep off any evil spirit
that may wander into the room in the shape of a cat and disturb the dead.
Etiquette requires that relatives and intimate friends of the family call
immediately on learning of the death. To receive these calls the mourners, in full
ceremonial dress, must sit in the death chamber and remove for each guest the
covering from the face of the dead. The visitors then offer the ceremonial bows
to the corpse, as if it were alive. During this time, too, presents to the spirit of the
dead are pouring in. The proper offerings are flowers, cake, vegetables, candles,
incense, or small gifts of money for the purchase of incense. If the deceased is a
person of rank or distinction, the house is flooded with cumbersome and useless
offerings. This custom has become so great an addition to the trials necessarily
incident to a bereavement that one occasionally sees in the newspaper
announcements of deaths a request that no offerings to the dead be sent.
On the day after the death, often in the evening, the body must be placed in the
cask-shaped coffin that until recently was the style commonly in use in Japan.
Now, among the wealthier classes, the long coffin has superseded the small
square or round one, but the smaller expense connected with burial in the old
way makes the survival of the old type a necessity for the majority of Japanese.
At an appointed time all the relatives assemble in the death chamber, and
preparations are made for the bathing of the corpse. Two of the tatami, or floor
mats, are turned over, and upon them are placed a new tub, a new pail, and a new
dipper. These utensils must have no metal of any kind about them. In the
washing of the body none but members of the family must assist, and respect for
the dead absolutely requires that all the relatives of the deceased who are below
him in rank must have a hand in these final ablutions. In Japan, the mourning for
the dead is the duty of inferiors, never of superiors. There is no official,
ceremonial mourning of parents for their children, nor does custom require them
to perform any of the last rites, or attend the funeral. Upon the younger brothers
and sisters falls the duty of attending to all the last sad ministrations. If the wife
dies, her husband does not mourn for her, though her children do; but if the
husband dies, the wife must mourn the rest of her life, cutting off her hair and
placing it in the coffin as a sign of her perpetual faithfulness.
When the body has been washed, it is dressed in white, in silk habutai whenever
the family can afford it. The dress, which must be appropriate to the season, in
the making of which all the women of the family must assist, is the plain,
straight kimono, but must be folded from right to left, instead of from left to
right as in life. The body, to be placed in the coffin, must be folded into a sitting
posture, the chin resting upon the knees,—the position of the mummies found in
many aboriginal American tombs. This difficult, to us apparently impossible
feat, safely accomplished, there are placed in the coffin a number of small things
that the dead takes with him to the next world. Some of these have been already
mentioned, the others are little keepsakes, or perhaps tokens of the tastes and
employments of the dead,—dice, cards, saké bottles, the image of a horse, toy
weapons,—anything, provided only that it be not of metal, may be used for this
purpose. The single exception to this rule about metal is that small copper coins
may be put in, to fee the old hag who guards the bank of the river of death. Last
of all, the vacant spaces in the coffin are filled in with bags of tea. Then the
coffin is closed and nailed up, wrapped with a white silk cloth fastened with a
white silk or cotton cord, and placed on a high stand, and food and incense are
placed before it.
So long as the coffin is in the house, it must be watched over continually. To aid
in this protracted vigil, which must be kept up day and night until the burial, the
relatives, friends, and retainers of the dead assemble at the house in large
numbers. In the case of a person of wealth and influence, there will often be a
hundred or more of these watchers, who must be fed and cared for; and who take
turns in watching, eating, and sleeping. It is their duty to see that the incense
burning before the coffin is never allowed to go out, while the food for the dead
is renewed at regular intervals by the mourners themselves.
This somewhat detailed description of the duties to be performed by the
members of a bereaved family in the house of mourning is sufficient to show
that the presence of death in the home is made as terrible as possible by the
painful ceremonies, the continual bustle and excitement, and the strain upon the
resources and executive ability of the housekeeper and her assistants. There are
few enlightened Japanese who will defend the present system of cruelty to the
afflicted, or who do not long for some change, but so great is the force of
conservatism in this regard, so haunting the fear that any change may indicate a
lack of respect for the dead, that reform advances slowly.
Individual instances occur in which some of the worst features of these customs
are modified. A case in point is that of the late Mr. Fukuzawa, a man whose life
was devoted to the advancement of his countrymen in modern ways, and who in
his death continued his teaching. In his will he provided that his body was to be
buried, without washing, in the clothing in which he died. This provision would
seem in most countries to be mere eccentricity, but when one has seen or heard
of the gruesome ceremony that follows immediately after death, and the burden
of which falls, not on the old and hardened, but on the young and tender,
suffering, in many cases, under the weight of a first and crushing affliction, one
can see that only through such means as this can the burden ever be lifted from
the shoulders of those who mourn. There are young and enlightened mothers in
Japan to-day who have felt, in minds awakened to thought and action, the
horrors of the system, and who will not allow their children to suffer for them
what they have suffered in paying respect to their dead parents. Through this
growing feeling and the unselfishness of maternal affection may come in time
the release from these mournful ceremonies.
While the body remains in the house, a priest comes from time to time to offer
prayers, longer or shorter according to the wealth of the family employing him;
and when the funeral cortège sets out on its way to the cemetery, the priests in
their professional robes form an imposing part of the spectacle. The day of the
burial is selected with due respect to the calendar, for, though there may be little
good luck about a funeral, there is a chance of extremely bad luck growing out
of it unless every precaution is taken. Just before the procession starts, a
religious ceremony is held at the house, which is attended by the friends of the
deceased, and which is substantially the same as that performed at the cemetery.
On the day of the burial, great bunches of natural flowers are sent to the dead,
each bunch so large as to require the services of one man to carry it. Sometimes
with the gift a man is sent to take part in the procession, but if the giver feels too
poor to hire a man, this burden, too, falls upon the bereaved household, for
etiquette requires that all flowers sent be borne to the grave by uniformed
coolies, who march in the funeral train. Another favorite present at this time,
among Buddhists, is a cage of living birds, to be borne to the grave and released
thereon. This act of mercy is counted to the deceased for righteousness, and is
believed to aid in rendering his next incarnation a happy one.
A funeral procession is an imposing spectacle, and, to the uninstructed foreigner,
a cheerful one; for there is nothing sad or sombre in the white, or bright-colored,
robes of the priests, the white, tinsel-decorated bier, the red and white flags
borne aloft, the enormous bunches of gay-colored flowers;—the very mourners
in white silk, and with faces apparently unmoved by grief, bring no thought of
the object of the procession to the Western mind. It seems more like a bridal than
a burial. But if you follow the cortège to the cemetery and there listen to the
wailing of the wind instruments, and the droning of the priests as they perform
the last rites, and watch the silent company that one by one go forward to bow
before the coffin and place upon it a branch of sakaki or burn a bit of incense,
the trappings of woe in Japan will impress themselves strongly upon your mind,
and the gayly appareled funeral processions will seem to you ever afterward as
mournful and hopeless a spectacle as you can find in any country.
The house of death remains a place of mourning for forty-nine days after the
funeral. During this period the spirit of the deceased is supposed to be still
inhabiting the house, and a tablet or shrine is set up in the death chamber before
which food and flowers are renewed daily. Visitors are expected to make
obeisance to the dead. At the end of this time, some acknowledgment must be
sent to every friend who has sent anything to the house at the funeral. For a time
after death has come into the family the relatives of the dead are regarded as
ceremonially unclean. The period of defilement varies with the nearness of
relationship. In the old days, no one thus defiled was allowed to go about his
regular business or to mingle with other men; but busy modern Japan does not
find it convenient to pause long in its work, so that government officials and
school-children are now sent written papers excusing them for coming back to
their tasks even while ceremonially unclean. Thus the old custom is passing
away. In the first year after death, certain days are observed with special honors
before the memorial tablet, and later, certain anniversaries of the death must be
kept, until, at last, at the end of fifty or one hundred years, the personality of the
spirit seems to become merged with that of the other ancestral spirits, and no
offerings are made to it except at the general feasts of the dead.
With the coming in of the last month of the year begin the preparations for the
great New Year's festival, and the housekeeper finds herself occupied through
every moment of the brief days. A woman who is at the head of a large
household has upon her hands in the month of December spring house-cleaning
and preparations for Christmas, New Year's, Thanksgiving, and Easter, all at
once. The work of getting the family wardrobe ready for the festival must begin
very early in the month, for every man, woman, and child in the household must
be provided with new clothes, and the thrifty housewife sends no sewing out. In
the old days, it was ordained that the eighth day of the twelfth month should be a
needle festival,—a day on which all women rest from their sewing and amuse
themselves by indulging their own fancies instead of their husbands', as is their
duty on other days. This day was supposed to mark the dividing line between the
old year's and the new year's sewing, but, as a matter of fact, the forehanded
woman will finish up the old and begin the new even earlier in the month, so as
to have this part of her work well out of the way before the house-cleaning,
which should be begun not later than the fifteenth.
This house-cleaning, even with the small amount of furniture found in a
Japanese house, is an elaborate affair. Every box and closet and rubbish-hole in
the house is turned out and put in order, the tatami are taken up and brushed and
beaten, the woodwork from ceiling to floor is carefully washed, the plaster and
paper walls flicked with the paper flapper that takes the place in Japan of our
feather duster. All the quilts and clothing must be sunned and aired, the
kakémonos and curios belonging to the family unpacked, carefully dusted, and
put back into their wrappings and boxes, and the house and garden put into
perfect repair. This work, if thoroughly done, takes about a week. When all is
finished, even to the final purification by beating everything in the house with a
fresh bamboo, games and festivities and soba are in order. In the old daimiō
houses, where great numbers of men and women were employed, and where the
women's quarters were in a distinct part of the house, it was considered a great
joke to catch a man on the women's side any time between the close of the
cleaning and the beginning of the new year. The intruder was promptly seized
and shouldered by the women, who carried him about the house in triumph,
finally returning him to his own quarters. If, by any chance, they could catch the
chief steward, they sang as they carried him about:—
"This is the great pillar of the house!
May he be happy till the stone foundations rot!"

The week following the house-cleaning is devoted to the preparation of food for
the festival. Of this, the most characteristic is mochi, a sort of dumpling made of
rice steamed and pounded, the preparation of which is so difficult and protracted
a process that it is not lightly undertaken. It is so distinctively the festival food of
Japan that if you find mochi in a friend's house at any time except the new year,
you immediately ask what has happened, and are pretty sure to be told that it is a
present received in celebration of a birth or a marriage, or some other domestic
festival. It is, to Japanese children, what turkey and cranberry sauce are to
American children, not only a delight to the palate, but a dish the very smell of
which brings back the most cheerful occasions in the year.
When the mochi is made and set away to await the festal day, the matter of
decoration must be attended to. At every gate is erected some token of the
season, if it be only a bit of pine stuck into the ground, or a wisp of straw rope
decorated with white paper gohei. The great black gates that indicate the homes
of the wealthier classes are almost concealed by structures of pine and bamboo,
on which oranges, lobsters, straw rope, straw fringe, white paper, and images of
the good luck gods are used as decorations. All these things are either efficacious
in keeping off evil spirits, or are symbols of good luck. Within the house, in the
tokonoma, or place of honor, in the best room, great cakes of mochi, two, three,
five, or seven in number, are set one upon another in a dish covered with fern
leaves, and the structure surrounded by seaweed.
Before the new year comes in the capable housewife will have sent out presents
to every one who has during the year been of service to her husband, her
children, or herself in any way. Her own servants will be remembered with gifts
of clothing, something will be sent to the servants of friends at whose houses any
of the family have visited often, and every dependent, poor relation, employee,
and employee's child must be given a present, large or small, according to the
amount of obligation felt by the giver. To persons of greater wealth and
importance, to whom the family are grateful for past favors or from whom they
are hoping for something in the future, gifts, often quite out of proportion to the
resources of the givers, are sent,—a method of investing capital that is a little
risky, though it sometimes yields prompt and bountiful returns. On the other
hand, all the merchants and marketmen who supply the house send presents to
the mistress and frequently to the head servants as well, and furushiki (bundle
handkerchiefs), cooking utensils, packages of sugar, boxes of eggs, dried fish,
etc., flow in at the kitchen; while crêpe, silk, cotton cloth, money, toys, curios,
and other valuables flow out of the parlor. All this present-giving is a severe tax
upon the strength and resources of the housekeeper, and adds heavily to the
burden that the last month of the year imposes upon her.
By the twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth of the month the trades-people begin to send
in their bills, for every man expects to square up all his accounts by the last night
of the old year, and early payments are expected and made, so that all may begin
the new year out of debt. So universal is this custom that the man who finds at
the eleventh hour that he cannot clear off all his debts is likely to offer his
property at a heavy sacrifice in order to secure the necessary cash. For any one
with ready money extraordinary bargains are to be met with in Japanese shops
during the last week of the year. In case this resource fails, suicide is still a short
and honorable way out of a world that has become too difficult to live in.
The Japanese housewife must feel, when December has been successfully
passed, like the Yankee who had noticed that if he lived through the month of
March he generally lived through the rest of the year. The observances of
January, for which December has been one long preparation, begin with the
rising of the New Year's sun, and continue in one form or another for about two
weeks. Almost every day has its special food and its special festival duty. For the
first three days the very best clothes in the wardrobe are worn by everybody,
then till the seventh the second best, and from the seventh to the end of the
month new clothes, though not the very best, must be worn. Within the first
seven days every man in Japan is expected to call on all his friends and
acquaintances, but the women, probably out of consideration for the many duties
that the festival season puts upon them, are given until March to finish up their
New Year's calls.
The streets of the cities, and even of the small villages, are full of life and
interest for a week or two. Kurumayas in their new winter liveries trundle around
fathers and mothers and happy children. All manner of mummers, musicians,
and dancers go from house to house in search of custom. The manzai, who, with
dances and songs and strange grimaces, undertake to drive out from your house
for the new year all the devils who may have been residing there hitherto, are a
special feature of this season. In every garden and in the public streets little girls,
their faces freshly covered with white paint, their shining black hair newly
dressed, their wing-sleeved kimonos gorgeous with many colors, play battledore
and shuttlecock, toss small bags half filled with rice, or pat balls wound with
shining silk to the accompaniment of a weird little chant. For the boys there are
kites of many shapes and colors, or tops that they spin under every one's feet,
well knowing that no one in Japan is too busy to turn aside for a child's pleasure.
The very horses—small, shock-headed, evil-tempered beasts, who drag
tremendous loads with many snorts and snaps at their masters—are decked out
with gay streamers that reach nearly to the ground, at the ends of which are
tinkling bells. The festival season closes on the fifteenth and sixteenth with a
visit to the temple of Yemma, the god of hell, and with a holiday for all the
apprentices.
Next to the New Year's holiday, perhaps the most important festival of the
Japanese year is O Bon, the Feast of the Dead. This is, in its present form, a
Buddhist institution, but in spirit it fitted so exactly into the ancient Japanese
ideas of the tastes and habits of departed spirits that it merely supplanted the old
Shintō feasts of the dead, and it is a little difficult to-day to determine whether its
observance is more Buddhist or Shintō in its character. To find the O Bon
ceremonies in their most perfect form, it is necessary now to go into the more
remote country villages, for though, even in Tōkyō, this feast is still one of the
most important in the whole year, it seems to be more distinctly itself in a small
village, where all the old forms are still kept up.
In Tōkyō, the three days' festival is kept by the new calendar, and occurs on the
fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth of July. At O Bon, as at New Year's time, it is
customary to square off all obligations by a general giving of presents. This,
while not quite as important a matter as at the beginning of the year, is still a
severe tax upon the time, purse, and memory of the wife and mother in any large
family. At this time, too, as at New Year's, mochi or some other festival dish
must be provided, but at this point the resemblance between the two occasions
ceases. In accordance with its character as a feast of departed spirits, the
observance of O Bon is distinctively religious. On the twelfth, the family go to
the graveyard and clean and put in order the graves and tombstones, so that the
returning spirits may find all properly cared for. Fresh water and flowers are
placed before each stone, and sometimes rice and fresh vegetables. At home, the
ancestral tablets in the Butsudan form the centre of the ceremonies. Before the
shrine are placed, on the thirteenth, offerings of food of any kind that can be
made without fish or meat. Great balls of mochi, saké, flowers, and choice new
varieties of vegetables are appropriate offerings. All are tastefully arranged, the
lamps are carefully lighted every night, and special services are held before the
shrine. For the three days of the feast, the souls of the dead are believed to be
visiting their old haunts, and to need light and food and all the conveniences that
their descendants can spare them. Each house is decorated with lanterns, that the
spirits may be able to find their way. It is from this custom that the feast is often
called by foreigners the Feast of Lanterns.
As I have already said, in Tōkyō and other modernized places, this feast is not
seen at its best. Only the soft glow of the lanterns swinging from every house,
and the decorations in the graveyards and at the household shrines, indicate to
the traveler that anything unusual is going on. But in the country regions it is
quite another matter, and the welcoming, entertainment, and proper dismissal of
the visiting spirits form the entire business of the community for three days.
Usually the middle of August is the time for the country celebration. On the
twelfth, bands of children carrying red lanterns march singing through the
village on their way to the graveyard, where the annual cleaning is taking place.
That night bonfires in the cemetery and before the houses light the pathway of
the wanderers. Then for three nights all the young people of the village gather in
the temple court in grotesque disguises and with towels over their faces, and
dance all night long in the moonlight, to primitive music produced by a drum
and the monotonous chant of the dancers themselves. These three dance-nights
are the great occasion of the year to the young peasants, for this is the only time
when persons of both sexes meet together in a social way, and it is long looked
forward to and enjoyed intensely. Of late years, the government, fearing the
abuses that grow out of this exceptional social event, has endeavored to suppress
the dancing, but it continues in full vigor throughout most of rural Japan, though
conducted with more decorum than formerly on account of the standing dread of
police interference. The object of the dance is to amuse the spirits of the
ancestors, who must be imagined as hovering in the background, viewing with
approval the antics of their descendants.
Other amusements are going on in the village on the O Bon evenings. At a
summer resort every hotel-keeper will have a professional story-teller, a
company of musicians, or some other entertainment to which the guests of the
hotel are invited, and at which as many of the villagers as can crowd to the open
house fronts stare until the dance drum in the temple court draws their feet in
that direction. And then, on the last night of the feast, bonfires are once more
kindled at every house, so that the spirits may find their way safely back to the
land whence they came, and not stay to haunt their descendants at improper
seasons.
No account of life in a Japanese home would be complete without a little space
devoted to the special delights of the small boy. Although this book deals mainly
with feminine concerns, the small boy in Japan, as in America, is the life and fun
of the home, and one cannot fail to notice his times of surpassing enjoyment. He
rules the house and his mother and his grandmother and his sisters, at all times,
and his activity and enterprise secure for him a good share in any fun that is
going on; but there are certain seasons that appeal to the boyish heart with a
special message and of which he is the central figure.
As the Feast of Dolls is to the girls, so is the Feast of Flags to the boys,—their
own special day, set apart for them out of the whole year. It comes on the fifth
day of the fifth month (now May fifth), and for long before its arrival the shops
are gay with all manner of tempting toys, while in every yard rises a great
bamboo pole, from which, when the time comes, will float an enormous carp, its
body inflated by the strong spring wind, its great mouth wide open, and its eyes
glaring hideously, as it fights its way against the air currents. Sometimes there
will be half a dozen such poles in one yard,—signs either that the household is
blessed with many boys, or that the way to its heart is through gifts of toys to its
son and heir. When the great day at last arrives, the feast within the home is
conducted in much the same way as the Feast of Dolls. There are the same red-
covered shelves, the same offerings of food and drink; but instead of the placid
images of the Emperor and Empress and the five court musicians, the household
furnishings and toilet articles, there are effigies of the heroes of history and
folklore: Jingo, the warrior Empress; Takenouchi, her white-haired prime
minister, holding in his arms her son, the infant war-god; Benkei, the giant
retainer of Yoshitsune; Yoshitsune himself, the marvelous fencer and general;
Kintaro, the fat, hairy, red boy, who was born and grew up in the mountains, and
even in his babyhood fought with bears; Shoki Sama, the strong man who could
conquer oni;—these are some of the characters to be found on the shelves at the
boys' feast. Behind each figure stands a flag with the crest of the hero that it
represents, and before them are set all manner of weapons in miniature. The food
offered is mochi wrapped in oak leaves, because the oak is among trees what the
carp is among fishes, the emblem of strength and endurance. The flower of this
day is the iris or flag, because of its sword-shaped leaves,—hence the name,
Shobu Matsuri, feast of iris or flag.
Another feast, which, while not founded for the boys, seems to have been
adopted by them as a great occasion, is what is known as Buddha's birthday,
celebrated on April eighth. On this day in every Buddhist temple a temporary
platform is erected, the roof of which is covered with flowers. Upon this
platform, in a great tub filled with licorice tea, is set a small image of the infant
Buddha. Hither flock the small boys with bamboo dippers, and spend the day
ladling up the tea and pouring it over the image, and then ladling it out into small
bamboo buckets. This licorice tea, through contact with the image, acquires
miraculous healing properties, and the devout, after making offerings of money
twisted up in white paper, carry away the little buckets. The tea is good for the
eyes and the throat, and if some of it be used in mixing ink, and then, with the
ink thus mixed, a charm be written and placed about the house, it will keep away
all vermin. It is not easy to see exactly what the fascination of this feast is to the
boys, but I am told that many of them like it even better than their own specially
appointed day.
But of all the delights that come into the year, there is nothing to compare for
joyous excitement with the great matsuri of the parish temple. For at least a
week beforehand there are enough interesting things going on in every house and
shop along the street to keep every small boy in the parish agog from morning
till night. Here are lanterns being made with the mon of the gods on one side and
the rising sun of the Japanese flag on the other. There a dancing platform is
being erected, and at every stage of its development it is swarming with active
youngsters, who shin up its poles, turn somersaults on the platform, and sit in
rows on its edge, with bare legs swinging high over the heads of the passers-by;
and when it is done, and the drums installed, they take turns all day and far into
the night in keeping them going. Then, too, there are the dashi, or floats, on one
of which each street in the parish spends its money and its ingenuity. How the
boys haunt the shops in which they are being made! How they watch the
wondrous changes of paper into flowers, and of bamboo and cotton cloth into
sea waves, or castle walls, or monsters of earth or sea or air! How they chatter
and wriggle and push and squirm for front places, when at last the great cars are
built up in the open street, the marvelous edifices erected upon them, and at the
top of all the heroic figures of well-known mythological or historical characters
rise majestic in flowing robes! Then, when the black bullocks, resplendent in
collars and halters of red rope, are yoked to the triumphal car, and the structure
moves slowly down the shouting street, how the boys crawl into every joint and
cranny of the dashi, how they hang from every beam, how they yell from before
and behind in sheer abandon of joy! And at last, when the procession forms, and
with fantastically garbed men marching in front and wild-eyed singers yelling
just behind them, with dancing-girls on moving platforms and jugglers and
tumblers on the dashi themselves, the twenty or more festal cars move, with
frequent stops, down to the temple, to escort the sacred symbols on their annual
pilgrimage through the parish, who so noisy or so ubiquitous as these same
bullet-headed, blue-gowned boys? They bob up at every turn, ooze out at every
pore of the procession, and enjoy, as only boys can enjoy, the noise and
confusion, the barbaric splendor, the dancing and tumbling, the mumming and
drumming, the excruciating howls of the singers, the jingling of the marshals'
iron-ringed staves, the clapping of the great wooden clappers that time the
movement and the stops of the pageant.
Better than all, perhaps, is the evening, when the streets, lighted by many
lanterns, are filled with throngs of holiday-makers,—now stopping to stare in at
some shop where the devout worshiper has established a beautiful shrine, has set
out mochi and other offerings before some image, or has arranged a landscape
garden in a box, or constructed a matsuri procession just entering the court of a
miniature temple; now haggling with the ever-present booth-keepers for lanterns
or cakes or hairpins to take back to the friends left at home. Suddenly there is a
joyous, rhythmic shout of many excited boyish voices, there is a gleaming of
square red lanterns, a whirl and a rush through the crowd. Now is the time to get
out of the way, for the boys move quickly and are too excited to turn aside for
anything. On they come at a sharp trot, each little round head bound about with a
fillet of blue and white toweling, each lithe, active body more or less covered by
a blue and white gown, all shouting in unison and bearing on their shoulders a
miniature dashi, made most often of a saké tub mounted on a frame, and
decorated with lanterns and white paper. They charge through the crowd, which
makes way quickly at their approach, until the pace, the weight of their burden,
and the frantic shouting exhaust their breath. Then they plunge down a side
street, rest for a few moments, gather themselves together, and charge once more
into the crowd. There must be some pretty tired little boys in the parish when the
fun is all over, for these performances are kept up far into the night; but for
absolute and perfect enjoyment there is nothing I have yet seen that seems to me
to compare with the enjoyment that a Japanese boy gets out of a matsuri. It is
worth being tired for!
There is no space in this work for a more detailed picture of life in a Japanese
home. Enough has been said in this chapter to show that it is made up of many
little things,—of cares and sorrows and pleasures,—just as is life in any
American home, and it is the little things we care about that make the oneness of
the family, and the nation, and the oneness, too, of humanity, if we can only
understand one another.
 CHAPTER XIII.

TEN YEARS OF PROGRESS.

THE woman question in Japan is at the present moment a matter of much

consideration. There seems to be an uneasy feeling in the minds of even the
more conservative men that some change in the status of woman is inevitable, if
the nation wishes to keep the pace it has set for itself. The Japanese women of
the past and of the present are exactly suited to the position accorded them in
society, and any attempt to alter them without changing their status only results
in making square pegs for round holes. If the pegs hereafter are to be cut square,
the holes must be enlarged and squared to fit them. The Japanese woman stands
in no need of alteration unless her place in life is somehow enlarged, nor, on the
other hand, can she fill a larger place without additional training. The men of
New Japan, to whom the opinions and customs of the Western world are
becoming daily more familiar, while they shrink aghast, in many cases, at the
thought that their women may ever become like the forward, self-assertive, half-
masculine women of the West, show a growing tendency to dissatisfaction with
the smallness and narrowness of the lives of their wives and daughters,—a
growing belief that better educated women would make better homes, and that
the ideal home of Europe and America is the product of a more advanced
civilization than that of Japan. Reluctantly in many cases, but still almost
universally, it is admitted that in the interest of the homes and for the sake of
future generations, something must be done to carry the women forward into a
position more in harmony with what the nation is reaching for in other
directions. This desire shows itself in individual efforts to improve by more
advanced education daughters of exceptional promise, and in general efforts for
the improvement of the condition of women. Well-to-do fathers are willing to
spend more money on the education of their daughters, to send them abroad, if
possible, to complete their studies, or to postpone the time of marriage so that
plans for higher education may be carried through. Where, ten years ago, the
number of women who had been abroad for study might be counted on the
fingers of one hand, there are now three or four times that number in Tōkyō
alone. Another sign of the times is the fact that husbands going abroad on
business or for pleasure are more inclined to take their wives with them, even if
it be only for a few months. There are now to be found, in all the larger cities,
women who have spent a longer or shorter time in some foreign country, whose
minds have been opened and whose horizons have been enlarged by contact with
new ideas. All this cannot fail to have its effect, sooner or later, upon the country
at large.
The efforts for the improvement of women in general may be grouped into four
classes: by legislation, by education, through the press, and by means of
societies for mutual improvement.
Of the recent legislation concerning marriage and divorce and its effect on the
family, I have spoken in a preceding chapter. The latest statistics show that,
while before the new laws were enacted divorces were one to every three
marriages, they have now been reduced to one in five. It must be said, however,
that the law is still somewhat in advance of public opinion. While the chance of
permanence in marriage is better now than it was before the new code came into
force, custom is still stronger than the law, and marriage is too often a temporary
arrangement. In many cases the wife knows little or nothing of her new rights,
and even when she does know, she has seldom the self-assertion to make a stand
for them, but meekly submits to the dictates of those whom she is bound by
custom, if not by law, to respect and obey without question. But the fact that the
laws have actually been improved means, in a country like Japan, in which the
government is the moulder of public opinion, that the custom will some day
conform to the law.
In the matter of property owning, women, under the new code, are fairly
independent. As I have already stated, every woman in Japan is expected to
become a wife, and as a matter of fact, the number of unmarried women is so
small that it is hardly necessary to mention them. Wives, under Japanese law, are
divided into two classes: the wife who enters her husband's family, and the wife
whose husband becomes a member of her family. In the latter case the wife is the
head of the family, is responsible for the debts of the family, and has the right to
use and profit by the husband's property. In the former case (and as I have
already stated, the great majority of wives enter their husband's families), the
husband is responsible, and has, consequently, the right to use and profit by his
wife's property. In all cases, unless the husband is physically or mentally unfit,
he has the management of his wife's wealth. In case of the husband's disability
the woman takes care of her own. A wife may, by application to a court, cause
the husband to furnish security for the property that she has intrusted to him; and
she may, with her husband's consent, engage in independent business. The
property that she thus acquires is her own and not the husband's. Any property in
the family, the ownership of which is not perfectly established, belongs to the
head of the family, whether male or female. We thus see that the law of Japan
fully recognizes the right of married women to hold property, although only in
exceptional cases are they allowed the management of their own holdings. The
law also regards the wife, in household matters, as her husband's agent.
In actual practice, it is not uncommon for the wife to manage the entire income
of the family, receiving it from her husband and acting as his treasurer. The
wife's own earnings are seldom given to the husband, and her position is one of
entire independence in the disposal of whatever she adds to the family revenue.
But should the wife bring into the family at marriage property which passes into
the husband's management, the chances are that, unless a divorce should occur,
she will never lay any claim to the principal, or think of it again as her own.
While her husband cannot actually dispose of it without her consent, she is pretty
certain to give her consent should he ask it, and he may do very nearly anything
that he chooses with it. We thus see that the tendency is to give the management
of the income, as a part of the management of the household, to the woman, and
leave the disposal of the principal, as a part of the outside business, to the care of
the man. This system of domestic finance seems not unlike the common practice
in thrifty and well-managed homes in America, and shows that a spirit of mutual
confidence between husband and wife belongs to Japan as to Western nations.
As the result of my own observation in a number of homes, I should say that the
judgment of the wife in money matters is quite as much trusted in Japan as in
America, and that, in this one respect at least, her place in the home is as
responsible a one as that of the Western housekeeper. One instance may be cited
of a woman whose business ability is so well known as to have a national
reputation. By birth a member of a family which is remarkable for its success in
all financial undertakings, she has inherited a large share of the family
characteristic, and is credited with the personal management of a large bank, as
well as other successful business undertakings. Her husband's name and not her
own appears on the prospectuses and in the newspapers, but unless report is very
far astray, she is the business man of the family, and her sound sense and good
judgment have built up the fortune which is their common possession.
In the educational system of Japan, schools for girls are provided by the
government, but no provision for studies more advanced than those of the
middle schools for boys is included in the scheme, with the single exception of
the Higher Normal School in Tōkyō, in which a limited number of young
women are trained to take positions as teachers in the ordinary normal schools
for girls. To quote from the Annual Report of the Minister of Education for the
year 1898, the latest to which I have access, "Higher female schools are
institutions designed to give instruction in such higher subjects of general
education as are necessary for females." This shows with considerable
completeness the idea that dominates all government and much private effort for
the education of women in Japan. The schools are to teach simply such subjects
as are necessary for females; anything more would be superfluous, possibly
dangerous. The thought of women as individuals, with minds and souls to be
trained and developed to their highest possibilities, is still somewhat foreign to
the mind of the average Japanese man. In its stead is the idea that females must
be instructed in such subjects as are necessary for a proper understanding of their
duties as wives and mothers. But if Japan to-day is where England and America
were in the first half of the nineteenth century, the country is certainly moving
forward, as the statistics in regard to education for the three successive years
1896, 1897, and 1898 show. Great efforts are being made to increase the
attendance of girls at the common schools, and with gratifying results.[43]
As we advance into the higher schools, the discrepancy in numbers between the
two sexes grows greater. In the kindergartens the attendance of girls is nearly
equal to that of boys; in the elementary schools there are three boys to two girls;
in the higher elementary schools, seven boys to two girls. The boys' middle
schools, which are equivalent in grade to the girls' high schools, have fourteen
boys taking their courses to every two girls in the high schools. In the apprentice
and technical schools, there are fifteen men to every two women. Even the
normal schools, which in our own country are almost given over to women, in
Japan have six male students to every female. The "special schools," mainly
professional, have, to 11,069 men, 73 women, all enrolled in private schools, and
presumably taking medical courses. Beyond this point women have no
opportunities offered to them. In the higher schools, equivalent to the college
and graduate courses given by universities in America, 7,224 young men are
given opportunities that women must go abroad to obtain.
These figures are, as I have said, for the year 1898. The year 1901 sees two
hopeful movements well begun. One of these is the opening of an institution
bearing the title of "Female University," endowed and supported by Japanese,
through the strenuous efforts of Mr. Jinzo Naruse, a prominent Christian who has
spent some time in America. At its opening, five hundred girls were glad to
enter, but of these very few are ready for college work. Mr. Naruse, however,
believes that in time he will be able to enlarge his college department and
diminish the preparatory, which is now almost the whole of the school. He has
the support and encouragement of many wealthy and influential Japanese,
among them Count Okuma, the well-known progressive statesman. On the day
of the opening of the school, Count Okuma, in a speech from the platform, said
that the nation would be twice as strong if its women were well educated. This
he called "setting up a double standard." He pointed out that Turkey, Egypt,
Persia, and China were countries which had tried to get along with a "single
standard," and which had fallen conspicuously behind. He called attention to the
fact that Japan's primitive religion had for its central figure the Goddess of Light,
but that, unfortunately for the well-being of the state, woman had been gradually
dethroned and thrust down into a low place. After speaking of the debt that
Japan owed to China for the civilization and the ethical system that had stood her
so long in good stead, the veteran statesman went on to say that society in Japan
was disfigured by abuses which were beyond any simple remedy. The only
effective medicine was to be found in a radical reform of the ideals of family
life, and this could only be effected by an improvement in the status of woman,
—an improvement which such institutions as the one that day opened would
greatly aid in bringing about.
These words from one of the most honored leaders of Japanese thought voice the
feeling that is prevalent throughout Japan in this thirty-fourth year of Méiji. That
it is actually moving both government and people is shown by the words of Mr.
Kikuchi, Minister of Education, to the Council of Provincial Governors held in
Tōkyō in June, 1901. In speaking of the progress of education throughout the
country, he stated his intention to push forward the work of secondary education
for girls, saying that a prefecture which refused to make provision for such
education by 1903 might be compelled to do so by the government.
The other hopeful educational effort to which I have alluded is a school started
on a small scale, but with a high standard, by a Japanese woman whose name is
almost as well known in America as in Japan, as an educator of great ability and
earnestness of purpose. After many years of work as a teacher in the Peeresses'
School, a place of great honor from the Japanese standpoint, she has resigned her
position to carry out a long-cherished plan. With the pecuniary aid of friends in
America, she has founded a school for the preparation of young women who
have finished the courses heretofore open to them, and who wish to become
teachers of English in the Government schools. The examinations for such
positions have always been open to women, but, because of the difficulty in
securing proper preparation, there are few who pass them. Since its opening in
September, 1900, the school has been crowded with promising pupils, and the
small accommodations with which it began, although already once enlarged, are
stretched to the uttermost. The girls come from the government high schools and
from the mission schools, and the course offered to them of three years of study
in English literature, composition, translation, and methods of teaching has
proved a strong attraction. In recognition, perhaps, of this effort on behalf of her
countrywomen, certainly, of her position at the head of her profession, this same
woman has this year been appointed on the examining committee for the
government English examinations, an honor never before given to one of her
sex,—in itself a sign of the change in thought that the last few years have
wrought.
There can be no doubt that the education of women is moving forward, pushed
by the leading men of the country and aided by the earnest work of the women
themselves. It is still far behind the education offered to men, and the ideal of
most of its promoters is limited to the purely utilitarian; but as long as it moves
forward and not backward, and as long as the years of work show an increased
number of women fitted to meet the changing conditions of the time, we do well
to approve rather than criticise, remembering that the problem is an exceedingly
intricate one, and one of which even the best-instructed foreigner can see only a
small part of the difficulty.
The year 1901 sees the printing-press almost as much of a power in Japan as in
the Western world, and it is interesting to notice that among the innumerable
newspapers and magazines now published in the country there are some twenty
or more devoted exclusively to the interests of women. To be sure, these
women's magazines do not undertake to furnish the loftiest intellectual pabulum,
the best of them covering, perhaps, the same range of subjects that is included in
"Woman's Journals" in the United States. They devote themselves largely to
lectures on morals and manners, and instruction as to how best to perform the
duties of the home. These magazines are for the most part written and edited by
men, many of them very young men, and serve to show rather what men desire
that women should think and do, than to give any insight into the minds of the
women themselves. With a combined circulation of perhaps 40,000, they enter
many homes, and do something, at least, toward the general enlightening and
quickening of the feminine mind that is so noticeable in the Japan of to-day. In
regard to the general reading of Japanese women who have had the new
education, my own observation leads me to believe that they keep themselves
well informed of what is going on in their own country, and of the outside world
so far as it affects their own country; but that their interest in the world at large is
less than that of American women, and only in exceptional cases do they care
much for the sayings or doings of foreigners. In this respect they differ widely
from the men, whose minds are reaching continually for new things to graft upon
the old civilization.
In the whole list of publications on the woman question, nothing has ever come
out in Japan that compares for outspokenness and radical sentiments with a book
published within a year or two by Mr. Fukuzawa, the most influential teacher
that Japan has seen in this era of enlightenment. It is in two parts, the first an
attack, conducted with much skill and humor, upon Kaibara's "Great Learning of
Woman," a book which for nearly four hundred years has been supposed to
contain all that a woman should know. The last part of Mr. Fukuzawa's work is a
constructive essay upon the "New Great Learning of Woman." So revolutionary
are the sentiments expressed in the book that many Japanese men hesitate about
allowing their wives and daughters to read it, and in at least one modern
Christian school it has been ruled out from the school library as too advanced for
the reading of the girls. A brief survey of the sentiments and ideas thus boldly set
forth will show how far is the attitude of the Japanese from that of the American
public on the woman question. We find in Mr. Fukuzawa's book the lofty ideal
that belongs to the most advanced modern thought, but its promulgation as a
practical working ideal in Japan was of the nature of a thunderclap. Among less
tolerant races, men have been lynched, or burned at the stake, for slighter
departures from the average code of thought and morals.
Mr. Fukuzawa starts out with the proposition that women are quite equal to men,
and should hold equal position and influence. Although he allows that woman's
work in the world is quite distinct from that of man, he holds that it is as
important, and that she should have the same property-holding privileges and
rights. The greatest stress is laid on the point that the same moral obligation for
purity of life rests on the husband as on the wife. He goes into the details of the
unhappiness resulting from concubinage, putting the duty of the husband in this
respect as equal to that of the wife to preserve her chastity, and as this is, next to
obedience, the virtue of virtues for a Japanese wife, his argument is as strong as
it could well be made. He insists that women should demand as a right from their
husbands and families the same privileges and opportunities that men have in
society.
Such sentiments are a matter of course in America, and they have been held by a
few advanced thinkers in Japan, but no one hitherto has dared in so vigorous and
positive a way, and with arguments that come so near home, to try to break the
chain of custom that holds women down as inferior beings. Kaibara says that if a
woman finds her husband doing wrong, she should gently plead with him,
choosing a time when he is most inclined to listen. If he refuses, she should not
insist on his hearing her, but wait until he is willing to listen, and though she may
try two or three times, she should never anger or irritate him. Fukuzawa says that
if this applies to the woman, it should also to the man,—that is to say, if a man
finds his wife unfaithful, he is to wait for an opportunity when she is in good
humor before he remonstrates with her. Fukuzawa also throws new light on the
duty of husbands and fathers to their wives and children in another respect. He
says that no man should let the sole responsibility for the happiness of the home
fall upon his wife; that a man is responsible for the peace of the home as well as
the woman. This view of the matter is entirely new in Japan, as the responsibility
for an unhappy home is laid as a matter of course upon the wife. The duty of a
wife to her parents-in-law is also treated after the same revolutionary manner. Is
it to be wondered at that many men fear the influence of such a book upon their
gentle, submissive wives? In this connection it is interesting, however, to note
that at a recent Shintō wedding, after the religious ceremony, which in itself
marks a great step forward in the Japanese ideal of marriage, the priest who
united the couple presented to the bride a copy each of the Kaibara and
Fukuzawa books, perhaps with a view to letting her take her choice between the
old style and the new, perhaps that she might instruct her husband out of the
Fukuzawa book while she put in practice herself the time-honored precepts of
Kaibara.

One feature of the times in Tōkyō, that is perhaps worthy of passing notice, is
the tendency of women to form themselves into societies and clubs for the
attainment of some common object. Of these women's clubs, the greater
proportion are perhaps educational, the members meeting once a month or once
a fortnight to listen to a lecture upon some subject that helps to keep them up
with the times. There is also a patriotic society, that concerns itself with raising
money for sending supplies to soldiers in the field, or for widows and orphans of
soldiers, or to help along some other patriotic enterprise. There are societies, too,
for general benevolence, or to help in carrying on the work of some one
institution. A glance at the membership lists of these associations shows that the
motive power is, in almost all cases, the same group of earnest, educated
women, who are, in this way and in countless others, doing their utmost to
broaden the horizons of their countrywomen, and lead them out into a larger life.
This is probably true in the other cities in which a movement of women into
clubs and societies is noticeable.
It is when the active women of the new way of thinking, whose lives and
thoughts are devoted to work and endeavor rather than to the passive submission
and self-abnegation of the old days, find themselves suddenly placed among the
surroundings of thirty years ago, that the change of conditions becomes most
evident. I cannot think of a better way to illustrate this than to tell the story of
one of my Japanese friends and her visit to her husband's relatives in a distant
provincial city. The lady who told me the story is a stirring, capable young
matron, educated after the modern ways, who has spent most of her happy
married life of some fifteen or sixteen years entirely in Tōkyō, except for a visit
of a year to America. She bears a closer resemblance to many kind-hearted,
strong, energetic young American women than to the old-time Japanese lady
portrayed in these pages. She rises every morning at five, attends to every detail
of her housekeeping, watches carefully and with educated common sense over
her family of young children, believes in good food, fresh air, and exercise, for
boys and girls alike, and is a helpful friend and good neighbor, filling to the full
the position of work and influence in which she is placed. Her husband is a
successful business man, whom frequent journeys across the Pacific have made
thoroughly cosmopolitan, and their children are accustomed to a freedom from
conventional restraints and a healthful diet and regimen such as old Japan never
knew.
Last year the plan of spending the summer with the husband's relatives, which
had been long projected, was actually carried out, and the whole family migrated
to the provincial city from which the husband had sprung. The aged mother, a
gentlewoman of the old type, was delighted to meet and entertain her daughter-
in-law and grandchildren, and did her best, with all old-fashioned courtesy, to
make the visit a pleasant one. The house was clean and spacious, the mats soft
and white, the bows of the lowest, the voices and speech the politest that Japan
could furnish, but the healthy, restless children found the conventional restraints
irksome, and the old-fashioned diet of rice and pickles, with hardly a variation
from morning till night and from week to week, was quite different from the
bountiful table to which they had been accustomed. The younger woman could
not criticise her mother-in-law's arrangements, neither could she bear to see her
children growing thin and pale before her eyes. She consulted her husband, who,
in accordance with the antique ideas of propriety, was served his meals at a
different time and in a different room from his wife and family. To his food his
mother had always added various delicacies which her old-time Spartan spirit
would not allow her to set before her daughter-in-law and grandchildren. It
would have been quite contrary to her ideas of rank and etiquette for her to make
any modification of her ordinary fare for them. As the son was already supplying
the funds for carrying on his mother's establishment, it occurred to him that he
might increase her allowance on the plea that her summer expenses must be
heavy with so large an addition to her household. But the old lady was sure that
nothing more was necessary, and would not think of burdening her son with any
larger expenses, and could not be induced to accept the offered increase.
Another effort was made to get along upon the meagre fare, but the youngest boy
fell ill and had to be taken to a hospital, and the mother decided that something
must be done if all the family did not wish to follow him. The happy thought
occurred to her of buying something that would be an addition to their scanty
menu, and giving it as a present to her mother-in-law. Now a present in Japan
can never be refused, so it seemed to the younger woman that she must have
found a way of escape from her difficulties. Of course, the present was accepted
with many thanks and expressions of unworthiness, and when the meal-hour
arrived, each member of the family found an infinitesimal quantity of the
delicacy in a small plate at his side. But as soon as the meal was over, the dear
old lady, who had by strict economy managed to leave the greater part of the gift
untouched, sent out to all the neighbors presents from what had been intended to
feed the hungry children at home. The experiment was tried again and again, but
always with the same result. No present could be kept for family use alone. Of
everything but the barest necessaries, the greater part must be sent out in gifts to
others.
At last the husband and wife put their heads together to decide on some course
of action that, without hurting the feelings of the older lady, would secure
sufficient nourishment for the children, and forthwith began a series of all-day
picnics to the noted places in the vicinity,—picnics that included always a good
meal at some well-kept restaurant before the return to the old-fashioned fare of
the grandmother's house. In this way the summer was passed without further
illness, though the poor mother on her return to Tōkyō spent several weeks in
bed,—what with starvation and worry and the effort to bear heroically, and with
a smiling face, the hard life and scanty fare that were the life and fare of most of
Japan only a few years ago.
In the changes that the past few years have wrought, perhaps nothing is more
striking than the new openings for work that Japan now offers to women. The
growth of the public school system has made a demand for women as teachers
that is steadily increasing. Although in the normal schools the proportion of
women to men is still only one to six, and while teaching, even in the primary
schools, is not yet mainly in feminine hands as it is with us, there is still a good
showing of women employed as teachers. From the figures of the school report
of 1898, we find over 10,000 women as teachers and assistants in the public and
private schools. The profession of nursing, too, which ten years ago was just
opening, has already drawn many women into its ranks. In the Red Cross
hospitals alone there are this year nearly a thousand nurses taking the course, and
a thousand graduates scattered throughout the country hold themselves ready to
answer the call of the society in the time of need, in the mean time practicing
their profession wherever they may chance to be. The quality of the Red Cross
graduates has been tested now in two wars, and they show the soldierly virtues
of their nation, as well as the more womanly qualities of tenderness and
gentleness; and a self-respect that has kept them pure and free from stain in the
midst of severe temptation. It is impossible for me to gather statistics of the work
done by other institutions for the training of nurses, but the figures given above
may, I think, be doubled with absolute safety in making an estimate of the total
number of nurses trained and in training throughout the empire.
The growth of commerce and industry has greatly increased the demand for
feminine labor outside the home. In the old days the two most important
industries of the country, tea and silk, were mainly carried on by women in their
homes, but the use of modern machinery is rapidly taking the weaving industries
out of the homes and making factory hands of the women and children.[44]
One of the most noticeable effects of this new demand for female labor is the
extreme scarcity of servants. Although wages are nearly double what they were
ten years ago, it is extremely difficult for Japanese housekeepers now to find
servants to replace the old ones as they drop out of the ranks, and the women
who apply for positions are apt to be far inferior to those who came to the same
families to do the same work ten years ago.
In other ways, too, women are learning to fill new places in the world. The
telephone, which now connects towns and cities and villages in Japan, employs
girls in large numbers. In the printing-offices we find women at work, not as
compositors, but as compositors' assistants, darting from case to case about the
room and selecting for the compositor the ideographs that he needs in his work.
Inasmuch as a small printing-office cannot get along with less than four
thousand characters, and as larger ones may have several times that number, the
need of quick-witted and quick-footed assistants to each compositor may be
easily recognized. As the schools turn out each year more girls fitted by
education to do this kind of work, and as the number of newspapers and other
printed matter is continually on the increase, the demand for and supply of this
special variety of labor are likely to increase proportionately for some time to
come.
A few women are now making their way as reporters on the daily papers, a few
more are engaged in literary work. One of the best of modern Japanese novelists
was a woman, but she died several years ago at so early an age that her work was
a promise rather than a fulfillment. Artists, too, there are, who are making names
for themselves, as well as a living, in a country where art is so common that
success in that line means hard work and special talent. A few young women
support themselves by stenography, a few more as clerks and secretaries in
business offices. Until a writing-machine has been invented that will write four
thousand characters, there will not be much demand for typewriter girls in Japan
outside of the treaty ports, where a few are now employed. The Japanese
government has found, as Uncle Sam discovered some time ago, that for the
counting of paper money women's fingers are more deft than those of men, and
it consequently gives employment to a few women in that work. One railroad
has recently begun to employ women as ticket-sellers, and three medical schools
have already graduated some women physicians, though it is still doubtful
whether there is any great opening for them in the country. These are some of the
ways in which women now find themselves able to gain a little more
independence of life. The whole matter is so new that no statistics are available
that will show the exact extent of the demand for labor in these directions, but
from my own observation I am inclined to think that there is little change in the
employments of women except in the neighborhood of the larger cities, and that
the new occupations as yet have a very slight effect upon the conditions in this
country at large.
It is not possible to understand the actual progress made in Japan in improving
the condition of women, without some consideration of the effect that Christian
thought and Christian lives have had on the thought and lives of the modern
Japanese. If Japanese women are ever to be raised to the measure of opportunity
accorded to women in Christian countries, it can only be through the growth of
Christianity in their own country, and for that reason a study of that growth is
pertinent to a study of their condition.
The past ten years in Japan have been discouraging to the missionaries in many
ways, and it is not unusual to hear from the less hopeful of them the statement
that their work has been at a standstill, or even going backward, during that time.
The statistics of missionary effort show a steady, though slight, increase in the
number of professing Christians, but if the sum total of the results of missionary
effort were the number of converts made, it might, perhaps, be doubtful whether
the money spent on missions in Japan might not be better turned to other
purposes. There are now in Japan, of Christians of all sects, Protestant, and
Roman and Greek Catholic, 121,000, or about one half of one per cent. of the
total population of the country; but the influence of these Christians as leaders of
thought is out of all proportion to their number. Christian men are found in the
Diet, in the army and navy, in the universities and colleges, and in the newspaper
offices, in a proportion far beyond their ratio to the total population, exerting
their influence in many ways for the uplifting of the nation to loftier moral
ideals. The proportion of Christian men and women in the government schools
with which I have been connected is rather surprising. In the Higher Normal
School, training young women to go out into the whole country as teachers, the
proportion of professing Christians upon the teaching staff is striking; and in the
Peeresses' School, which is as conservative and anti-foreign as any educational
institution in Japan, there are five professing Christians among the thirty-five
teachers. While, on the one hand, the Japanese Christians are not all models of
all the virtues, while there is with many of them a tendency to modify their
Christianity so as to accommodate a considerable amount of worldly wisdom, it
is true, on the other hand, that the most active workers in the cause of
philanthropy are men who have accepted the Christian faith, and who are
striving in all earnestness to model their lives after the life of Jesus of Nazareth.
The Christian Church in Japan to-day has its heroes and its back-sliders, and has
between these two extremes a rank and file of every-day, commonplace men and
women, who amidst frequent failures and in the midst of many temptations are
making the name of Christian stand for a certain kind of life and a certain
standard of virtue quite above and beyond the lives and standards of their
countrymen. It is largely because of them that a Christian public opinion is
growing up among non-Christian Japanese. Men to-day who have no special
leanings toward Christianity shake their heads over vices and sins which a few
years ago were not even thought of as wrong. There is a great deal of talk about
the growth of moral depravity in the country, but as a matter of fact, the
standards of virtue have never been so high since Japan was opened as they are
to-day: it is only that Christian thought has held up a mirror to an un-Christian
society, in which it views all too clearly its own defects. There is, to my mind, no
more hopeful sign of the times than the growing discouragement over the present
condition of morals. When there is added to this a steadily increasing respect for
the honesty and strength of character of Christian men and women, it must mean
that a great and lasting impression has been made. To-day banks, business
offices, and other places requiring trustworthy clerks and employees, prefer,
other things being equal, Christian young men, for it is generally known that
they are more worthy of confidence than the majority of applicants for such
places.
One instance of this increased moral sensitiveness may be cited in the recent
successful efforts to limit the power of the brothel-keepers over their victims and
virtual slaves, the jōrō or licensed prostitutes. As I have stated in a previous
chapter, the women who carry on this business in Japan are, many of them,
unwilling victims of a system which allows parents to sell their children to a life
of shame; and they enter upon that life so young that they can hardly be regarded
as morally responsible for their condition. Even after the actual sale of girls was
forbidden by an imperial ordinance in 1872, the purchase price was called a loan
to the parents of the girl, and subsequent loans for clothing entered upon the
books of the establishment kept the unfortunates so continually in debt to their
masters that they could never escape from the bondage in which they were held
except through death, or by purchase by some infatuated admirer. Public
opinion, while it indulged in some sentimental pity for the hard lot of the jōrō,
did little or nothing to aid any one who desired to help them, regarding the
profession as a necessary one, and caring not at all for the injustice to which the
girls were subjected. Ten or twelve years ago, a movement started by some
prominent Japanese Christians against the jōroya fell flat for want of a public
opinion behind it. Speeches on the subject were hissed down by audiences of
young men, and nothing could be done to help even the most innocent and
unhappy of the girls to a better life. In the new code, perhaps as an effect of this
movement, a new law provided that the jōrō might leave her calling by giving
notice to the police. A police regulation, however, forbade any girl to cease her
employment, or to leave the house in which she was kept, unless her official
notice of cessation was countersigned by the keeper of the jōroya, so that by her
own effort she could not free herself.
In the year 1900, one of these girls in a provincial city appealed to an American
missionary for help in getting her liberty. Through his aid, and that of his
Japanese helpers, her case came before the court, which decided that the contract
under which she was held was opposed to the public welfare and good morals,
and that the keeper must affix his seal to her notice without regard to her debt.
Although the local police refused to act in the matter, and although the
missionary and his helpers were subjected to personal violence by the employees
of the jōroya, an appeal to the authorities at Tōkyō resulted in an enforcement of
the court's decision, and the girl was freed.
At this juncture the Salvation Army, which has a valiant contingent in Tōkyō,
and which was actually spoiling for a good fight with the world, the flesh, and
the Devil, in any form, took up the cause of the oppressed jōrō. A special edition
of the "War Cry" containing appeals to the girls to leave their lives of shame, and
offering aid to any one who might apply to the Army, was published and hawked
through the Yoshiwara. When the keepers and their employees found out what
the strangely costumed news-venders were about, they charged down upon them,
and after a street fight, drove them out of the quarter. Thus the war began, but
the Tōkyō police took up the matter, the Tōkyō press joined hands with the
Salvationists, and in the end the whole country was stirred to aid in the attack. In
return, the brothel-keepers and their employees, feeling that the profits of their
business were at stake, made it extremely warm for any Salvationists or
newspaper reporters who dared set foot in the disreputable quarters, and in their
zeal sometimes made mistakes and drove out their would-be patrons. The office
of one newspaper was wrecked by sympathetic roughs, and it took a squad of
fifty or sixty police to escort Army officers when they had occasion to visit any
of the houses to secure the release of a girl. No lives were lost, though some hard
knocks were received, and the work was kept up with unabated noise on both
sides, until every girl held in unwilling bondage knew how she might escape and
to whom she could go for aid.
During the month of September, 1900, as a direct result of the attacks of and
upon the Army, the number of visitors to these houses in Tōkyō was decreased
by about 2,000 a night. On October 2, a government ordinance was issued that at
one stroke removed all obstacles in the way of a girl's securing her freedom at
any moment when she wanted to leave the business. The new regulations made
the descent to Avernus as difficult as possible, and the return to the upper world
a mere step. In Tōkyō alone, in the first four months after the promulgation of
this order, 1,100 out of the 6,335 girls who were licensed as prostitutes left the
houses in which they were employed, most of them returning to their homes and
families, and as many as applied being cared for in the Rescue Home of the
Salvation Army. The places thus vacated are not easy to fill, because the keepers
will not advance money to the parents of a girl, now that they can no longer hold
her as security for the debt. In consequence, too, of the revelations of the evils of
the system, the business has fallen off alarmingly. Thus many of the houses have
been obliged to close, owing to lack of custom and to inability to pay the heavy
taxes.
We have here the story of a successful attack on a system which has existed in
Japan for three hundred years, by a Christian agency acting with the support of
so strong a public opinion that police and government have felt bound to obey its
behests. There has been no more striking example of the effect of Christian
thought upon public sentiment in any country than this crusade against the
brothels in Japan. When we remember that ten years ago it was not possible for a
speaker to attack the institution before an audience of students without being
silenced by hisses, it is interesting to note that this year, the students of that same
school greeted with applause and respectful attention an address on this very
subject.
It seems to me rather striking that in the year 1900 fifty thousand copies of the
Bible were sold in Japan—more than of any other book. Although the present
translation is regarded as far from perfect, and much of it is unintelligible to the
average Japanese without instruction, whether directly or indirectly, by mission
workers, it is still sought after and read for the sake of its literature, and because
of the reputation that has been gained for it throughout the country. There are
few missionaries of any experience in Japan who cannot tell stories of men
coming to them from country villages, who, through the reading of a copy of the
Bible in some way fallen into their hands, have been brought by the beauty and
nobility of the parts that they could understand to seek additional explanation
from some teacher or preacher. One case that is amusing, but at the same time
striking, I have heard vouched for from a number of sources:—
Two thieves, one night, broke into the dormitory of a girls' school in search of
booty, and by chance awakened two of the girls. As they sat up in their beds,
wondering what was best to do under the circumstances, one zealous damsel
reached for the Bible in which she had been reading before she went to sleep,
and handed it to one of the thieves, saying, "If you read this book, you will not
want to steal any more." The other girl followed her companion's example and
gave her Bible to the other thief. That was all, so far as the girls knew, and it was
some years before the sequel came to light.
There is one place in Japan to which released convicts who are trying to get back
to respectability again drift from all parts of the empire. It is a prisoners' home in
Tōkyō, where one man, aided by his capable and devoted wife, receives into his
own family and gives aid and succor to hundreds of society's outcasts. To this
place came one day an ex-convict who told a remarkable story of his conversion,
and of his desire to lead a new life. He had received a Bible from a little girl one
night in a house that he was robbing, but was too full of professional
engagements at the time to follow her advice and read it. Later, however, as he
was resting from his labors in the enforced seclusion of a prison, he began to
read, and spelled out enough to make up his mind that he did not want to steal
any more. Accordingly, as soon as his term was ended, he made his way to the
prisoners' refuge, and by the aid of its founder and head, and his good wife,
settled down to steady habits of industry. Later, when the prison look had worn
off from his face and the prison gait from his walk, he returned to his family and
friends, where he is now a respectable member of the society upon which he
formerly preyed.
There are other stories showing as deep impressions made on men of culture and
respectability, not so striking and amusing as this one, but meaning as much, or
even more, for the future of Japan. Such things are hardly possible in Christian
countries to-day, for there is little or no novelty in the message that the old book
brings to us; but to the Japanese mind the thoughts are absolutely new in many
ways, and the reading alone will often change the whole life, because it lifts up
the nature to a higher set of ideals.
As a direct effect of Christian thought upon the thought of the Japanese nation, it
is interesting to notice the change in meaning of one word. In the teachings of
Confucius the highest virtue is benevolence, rendered into Japanese by the word
jin; in the teachings of Buddhism the highest virtue is mercy, or jishi. When the
Christian missionaries first came to Japan, there was no term in the language that
covered the thought of love as it is taught by Christ. For lack of anything better,
the word ai, which indicated the love of a superior for an inferior, was made to
do duty for the greater thought; and now the old word ai, throughout the length
and breadth of Japan, is accepted and understood in its new meaning, a continual
witness to the effect of Christianity upon the national mind. Is this a little thing
in the education of a race that has shown in the past so great a capacity for living
up to its ideals?
One more direct effect of Christian teaching upon Japanese society is the great
quickening of philanthropic and benevolent effort. Scattered throughout the
country are benevolent or educational societies, orphanages, hospitals, free
kindergartens, reform schools, and other evidences of a desire on the part of the
more fortunate to help the unfortunate by some means or other; and if you study
into the history of any of these efforts, you will usually find that some Japanese
Christian, or some man who has come home impressed with the philanthropies
of Christian countries, has started the scheme, and has created a society, and a
public opinion behind the society, which carries on the work. Even in the
government institutions there is no difficulty in tracing the influence of
Christians and Christianity. The Red Cross Society, with its seven thousand
members, and its hospitals in every prefecture of the empire, bears the sign of
Christendom upon all its property and employees. It seems to me quite safe to
say that but for the Christian influences of the past forty years, there would be
very little altruistic work done in Japan to-day; but by means of the Christians
and their teachings, the latest and best thought of the world is working its way
out in practical service for humanity in Japan, and this service is ascribed by
enlightened Buddhist and Shintō believers alike to the spirit of Christianity,
which will not let the fortunate rest while their less fortunate brothers are in want
or sin.
No one who studies the religious question in Japan at all can fail to notice the
extraordinary revivifying of Buddhism for what it feels to be a life and death
struggle with an alien faith. The disestablishment of the Buddhist church by the
government at the time of the restoration must be credited with its share of the
awakening process; for the priests, finding their own support and that of the
temples dependent upon the voluntary contributions of worshipers, were forced
to bestir themselves as they had not done since the old missionary days, when
they were working for a foothold in the country. But without the competition of
Christianity, it is extremely doubtful whether their efforts would have been
turned so largely along educational and philanthropic lines, whether the standard
of intelligence among the priesthood would have been so quickly raised, whether
they would have sent young men abroad to study Sanskrit and history with a
view to a better understanding of their own scriptures, or whether they would not
rather have relied on less radical methods of quickening the religious life within
their body. Certain it is that Buddhism, which upon its introduction into Japan
actually lowered the status of women, is now making a bid for public favor by
holding meetings and founding societies especially for women, and is doing its
best to increase their self-respect and the respect in which they are held by
society.
An interesting story which throws some light upon the new influence that is at
work among the Buddhists came to me not long ago through a Japanese friend.
There were two brothers living in a poor little village on the northern coast of
Japan, who were joint heirs to a small piece of property. As the land was not
enough for the support of two families, the elder brother, a gentle, thoughtful
youth, gave up all title to his share of the inheritance and entered a Buddhist
monastery. In the quiet of this retreat, amid the beautiful surroundings, the daily
services, the chanting of priests, and the mellow booming of the great monastery
bell, his thoughts went out to the poor and the sinful among his own people. He
began to feel that a life which seeks merely spiritual uplift for itself is not the
highest life, and that only as spiritual gain is shared with others is it real and
lasting. Forthwith he began a life of helpfulness to the poor about him,—of
teaching and preaching and good deeds that won him many humble friends.
Within the monastery, however, his work was not approved. His ideas and
actions were not in harmony with the teachings of the sect. He was first
disciplined and then expelled, and found his way back at last, penniless, to his
native village.
Now, in northern Japan the winters are long and hard, and the most industrious
of farmers and fisher-folk can wring only a bare subsistence from the conditions
of their toil. It is from these villages, perhaps, more than from any other sources,
that the girls are obtained to supply the jōroya of the great cities. At any rate, in
this particular village, the only hope that any girl possessed of escaping from the
hard home toil was by the sale of her person, and the thought of seeing the great
cities, of wearing beautiful dresses, of being admired and petted, and perhaps at
last of marrying some rich lover and becoming a great lady, was a tempting bait
to these poor peasant girls. To this young man, whose soul had been awakened to
a new sensitiveness during his absence, the full horror of the conditions that
could so warp and dwarf the souls of women appealed as it had never done
before. He must do something to help them, but what to do his previous
experience did not help him to know. He sought for aid and sympathy in his
native place, among his friends and co-religionists; but the state of affairs was
too old and too familiar to excite interest, and at last he worked his way to the
capital, feeling that somewhere in that great city he would find light on the
question that perplexed him. It was a mere question of ways and means—how to
begin a work which he felt driven from within to do. In Tōkyō, as he inquired
among his friends, he was told that Christians knew all about the kind of work
that he wished to begin, that he must go to them and study their methods, if he
would help the people of his native village. So the devout young Buddhist, who
had found in his own faith the divine impulse, turned to the study of what
Christians had done and were doing for the unfortunate. The story is not finished
yet. We cannot tell whether in the end it will result in another addition to the
ranks of the Japanese Christians, or whether it will aid in the quickening that has
come to Buddhism, but, whatever way it ends, it shows in a concrete example
what Christianity is now doing for Japan, and especially for the women of the
country.

FOOTNOTES:
[43] The following in the report for 1898 may be of interest:—
Percentage of pupils of school age receiving instruction:—

Year. Girls. Boys.

1896 47.54 79.00
1897 50.86 80.67
1898 53.73 82.42
The total number of girls of school age not receiving instruction is 1,552,601; of
boys, 662,985; while the total number of girls of school age is 3,642,263, and of
boys, 4,067,161.
[44] In the Japan Mail of July 8, 1901, the following statistics of women
employees in factories in Japan were given:—

Manufacture. No. of Women. No. to 100 Men.

Raw Silk 107,348 93
Cotton Spinning 53,053 79
Matches 11,385 69
Cotton Fabrics 10,656 86
Tobacco 7,874 72
Matting 1,641 59
 APPENDIX.
The following Notes refer to passages marked by asterisks in the foregoing
pages.

Page 3.

THE father, or the head of the family, usually names the children, but some friend
or patron may be asked to do it. As, until recently, the name given a child in
infancy was not the one that he was expected to bear through life, the choice of a
name was not a matter of as much importance as it is with us. In some families
the boys are called by names indicating their position in the family, the words
Taro, "Big one," Jiro, "Second one," Saburo, "Third one," Shiro, "Fourth one,"
Goro, "Fifth one," etc., being used alone, or placed after adjectives indicating
some quality that it is hoped the child may possess. Such combinations are,
Eitaro, "Glorious big one," Seijiro, "Pure second one," Tomisaburo, "Rich third
one," and so on.

Page 4.

To speak with greater exactness, the miya mairi of a boy is on the thirty-first day
of his life,—of a girl, on the thirty-third.

Page 8.

Tōkyō just now shows a tendency to change this national custom. Gayly painted
wicker baby carriages with cotton awnings are seen in large quantities in the
shops, and one meets mothers and little sisters of the lower classes, propelling
the baby in a little four-wheeled wagon instead of wearing it on the back, as
formerly. These carriages are, of course, the exception, and may prove to be but
a passing Tōkyō fashion, but they seem to me to mark another step in the
modernizing of Japan, and may prove of value in the physical development of
the common people.

Page 11.
In the Tōkyō of 1891 butchers and milkmen were very little in evidence, as the
demand for their wares came mainly from the few foreigners and foreign
restaurants in the city. In 1901 a walk of half a mile or so in the neighborhood of
Kojimachi, one of the principal business streets in a purely Japanese section of
the city, shows five meat shops; and milkmen, in westernized shirts and
knickerbockers, with golf-stockings and straw sandals, draw their gay-colored
carts everywhere through the city, and call at a large proportion of the houses.
Condensed milk, too, is to be found on the shelves of every provision store,
together with canned and dried meats, and the restaurants where foreign food is
served are distributed throughout the entire city, and do a thriving business on
Japanese patronage. The less extravagant country people declare that Tōkyō is
"eating itself up," but so far no terrible increase of indebtedness seems to follow
the change in the standard of living. It is interesting to note that the scalp
troubles referred to on page 11 seem to have greatly lessened in the last ten
years, whether because of the change in the food or for other reasons, I cannot
determine.

Page 24.

Twice, after the miya mairi of her babyhood, does our little maid repair to the
temple to seek the blessing of her patron god upon a step forward in her short
life: once, when at the age of three, the hair on her small head, which until then
has been shaved in fancy patterns, is allowed to begin its growth toward the
coiffure of womanhood; and once, when she has attained her seventh year, and
exchanges the soft, narrow sash of infancy for the stiff, wide obi which is the
pride of every well-dressed Japanese woman. Her little brother, too, though now
no longer destined to wear the hammer-shaped queue of the old-time Japanese
warrior, and whose fuzzy black head is now usually left unshaven in his
babyhood, still goes to the temple at the age of three to give thanks, and when he
comes to be five years old, the little boy again goes up to the temple, this time
wearing for the first time the manly hakama, or kilt-pleated trousers, and makes
offerings to the god who has protected him thus far.
The day set for these ceremonies is the 15th of November, and there is no
prettier sight in all Japan than a popular temple on that day. All the streets that
converge on the shrine are crowded with gayly dressed children hurrying along
to make their offerings, accompanied by parents brimming with pride and
pleasure.
 "Small feet are pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering:"

three-year-old tots of both sexes trudging sturdily along on their clogs: square
little red-cheeked boys, their black eyes shining with pride in their rustling new
silk hakama, feeling that they are big boys and no longer to be confused with the
babies that they were yesterday: here, too, are the graceful seven-year-old
maidens, their many-colored garments and their gorgeous new obi setting off to
advantage their shining black hair and sparkling eyes. The children are so many,
so happy, and so impressed with the fun that it is to be older than they were, that
the grown folks who accompany them seem like shadows; the only real thing is
the children.
Within the temple precincts all the candy-sellers and toy-merchants who can find
standing-room for a stall are doing a brisk trade. Flags are flying, drums are
beating, a kagura dance is going on in the pavilion, about which stands a crowd
of youngsters twittering like sparrows, and the steps that lead to the temple itself
are as thronged as Jacob's ladder with little ones ascending and descending.
Within the shrine the white-robed priests are hard at work from morning to night.
A little company forms in the vestibule, goes to the priest in the first room,
where they bow and make their offerings, and wait until there is space for them
in the inner sanctuary. From within comes the sound of a droning chant, which
ends at last, and then a party that has finished its worship issues forth, and those
who have been waiting without go in; and when the few minutes of worship are
over, and the amulet that rewards the due observance of the day has been
received, there are the dances to be seen, and the o miyagé to be purchased, and
at last the happy party returns, feeling that one more milestone on the journey of
life has been passed propitiously.

Page 30.

The shirōzaké (white saké) used for this occasion is a curious drink, thick and
white, made from pounded rice, and brewed especially for this feast. Some
antiquarians believe that it is simply the earliest form of saké, the national
beverage, which has been preserved in this ancient observance as the fly is
preserved in amber.

Page 31.

The keeping of a feast on the third day of the third month is a custom that has
come down from very ancient times. At first the day was set apart for the
purification of the people, and a part of the ceremony was the rubbing of the
body with bits of white paper, roughly cut into the semblance of a white-robed
priest. These paper dolls were believed to take away the sins of the year. When
they had been used for purification, they were inscribed with the sex and birth-
year of the user and thrown into the river. The third month was also, in early
times, the season for cock-fighting among the men, and for doll-playing among
the women. The special name by which the dolls of the Doll Feast are called is O
Hina Sama. Now hina in modern Japanese means a chicken or other young bird,
and is never used to mean anything else except the dolls; thus the dolls are
shown to be associated with the ancient cock-fighting, an amusement which has
now almost gone out, except in the province of Tosa on the island of Shikoku.
The oldest dolls did not represent the Emperor and Empress, but simply a man
and a woman, and were modeled closely after the old white paper dolls of the
religious ceremony. When the Tokugawa Shōguns had firmly established their
splendid court at Yedo, a decree was issued designating the five feast days upon
which the daimiōs were to present themselves at the Shōgun's palace and offer
their congratulations. One of the days thus appointed was the third day of the
third month. It is believed that the giving of the chief place at the feast to effigies
of the Emperor and Empress was a part of the policy of the Shōgunate,—a
policy which aimed to keep alive the spirit of loyalty to the throne, while at the
same time the occupant of the throne remained a puppet in the hands of his vice-
gerent.
Each girl born into a family has a pair of O Hina Sama placed for her upon the
red-covered shelf, on the first Feast of Dolls that comes after her birth. When, as
a bride, she goes to her husband's house, she carries the dolls with her, and the
first feast after her marriage she observes with special ceremonies. Until she has
a daughter old enough to carry out the observance, she must keep up the
ceremony. The feast, as it exists to-day, is said by the Japanese to serve three
purposes: it makes the children of both sexes loyal to the imperial family, it
interests the girls in housekeeping, and it trains them in ceremonial etiquette.

Page 40.

Because of the complexity of the Chinese language and the time needed for its
mastery, there has been a movement to lessen the study of pure Chinese in the
government schools, or abolish it altogether, and with this to simplify the use of
the ideographs in the Sinico-Japanese. The educational department is requiring
that text-books be limited in their use of ideographs; that those used be written in
only one way and that the simplest, and that the kana (the Japanese syllabary) be
substituted wherever possible. Several plans for reform in this matter are being
agitated, one of which is to limit the use of ideographs to nouns and verbs only.

Page 41.

No one who has been in Japan can have failed to notice the peculiarly strident
quality of the Japanese voice in singing, a quality that is gained by professional
singers through much labor and actual physical suffering. That this is not a
natural characteristic of the Japanese voice is shown by the fact that in speaking,
the voices, both of children and adults, are low and sweet. It seems to me to be
brought about by the pursuit of a wrong musical ideal, or at least, of a musical
ideal quite distinct from that of the Western world. In Japan one seldom finds
singing birds kept in cages, but instead crickets, grasshoppers, katydids, and
other noisy members of the insect family may be seen exposed for sale in the
daintiest of cages any summer night in the Tōkyō streets. These insects delight
the ears of the Japanese with their melody, and it seems to me that the voices of
singers throughout the empire are modeled after the shrill, rattling chirp of the
insect, rather than after the fuller notes of the bird's song.
The introduction of European music by the schools and churches has already
begun to show in the songs of the children in the streets, and where ten years ago
one might live in Tōkyō for a year, and never hear a note of music except the
semi-musical cries of the workmen, when they are pulling or striking in concert,
now there are few days when some strain of song from some passing school-
child does not come in at the window of one's house in any quarter of the city.
The progress made in catching foreign ideas of time and tune is quite surprising,
but the singing will never be acceptable to the foreign ear until the voice is
modulated according to the foreign standards.

Page 45.

It is said by Japanese versed in the most refined ways that a woman who has
learned the tea ceremony thoroughly is easily known by her superior bearing and
manner on all occasions.

Page 49.
Whatever plant she begins with is taken up in a series of studies,—leaves,
flowers, roots, and stalks being shown in every possible position and
combination,—until not only the stroke is mastered, but the plant is thoroughly
known. In the book that lies before me as I write, a book used as a copy-book by
a young lady beginning the practice of the art, the teacher has devoted six large
pages to studies of one small and simple flower and the pupil has covered
hundreds of sheets of paper with efforts to imitate the designs. She has now
finished that part of the course, and can, at a moment's notice, reproduce with
just the right strokes any of the designs or any part of the plant. The next step
forward will be a similar series of bamboo.

Page 52.

In the government schools for girls, much attention is paid just now to physical
culture. The gymnastic exercises rank with the Chinese and English and
mathematics as important parts of the course, and the girls are encouraged to
spend their recesses out-of-doors, engaging in all kinds of athletic sports. Races,
ball games, tugs-of-war, marches, and quadrilles are entered into with zest and
enjoyment, and the girls in their dark red hakama are as well able to move
quickly and freely as girls of the same age in America. If it were not for the
queer pigeon-toed gait, acquired by years of walking in narrow kimono and on
high clogs, the Japanese girls would be fully abreast of the American in all these
sports. So strongly has the idea of the necessity for physical strength seized upon
the nation, that a girl of delicate physique has less chance of marriage than one
who is robust and strong.

Page 55.

It is in the mistakes and failures made in adapting the education given in the
schools to the exact conditions that present themselves in the constantly
changing Japan of to-day, that the opponents of all alteration in the education of
women find their strongest arguments. The conservatives point with scorn to this
girl whose new ideas have led her into folly or trouble, or to that one whose
health has been broken down by the adverse conditions surrounding her student
life, and say, "This will be the case with all our women if we continue this insane
practice of educating them along new lines." Advance in female education, as in
all other lines of progress in Japan, is a series of violent actions and reactions. In
1889, partly through ill-advised conduct on the part of supporters of the cause,
one of the most serious reverses that has come in the progress of Western
education for women began to show itself. The reaction was helped along by a
paper read before some of the most influential men of Japan, and subsequently
reported and discussed in the newspapers, by a German professor in the medical
department of the imperial University in Tōkyō. The paper was a serious
warning to the men of the country that no women could be good wives, mothers,
and housekeepers and at the same time have undergone a thorough literary
education. The arguments were reinforced by statistics showing that American
college women either did not marry, or that if they married they had very few
children. All Japan took fright at this alarming showing, and for several years the
education of girls in anything more than the primary studies was not encouraged
by the government. The lowest depth of this reaction was reached during or soon
after the Japan-China war, when the growth of national vanity resulted in a
temporary disdain for all foreign ideas. The tide has turned again now, girls'
schools that have been closed for years are being reopened, young men who are
thinking of marrying are looking for educated wives, and among the women
themselves there is a strong desire for self-improvement. Under this impulse a
new generation of educated women will be added to those already exerting an
influence in the country, and it is to be hoped that the forward movement will be
more difficult to set back when the next reactionary wave strikes the Japanese
coast.

Page 60.

The obi is supposed to express by its length the hope that the marriage may be an
enduring one. Among the more modernized Japanese a ring is now often given
in place of, or, in the wealthier classes, in addition to the obi.

Page 61, line 6.

It is interesting, however, as a sign of the times, to notice that for the wedding of
the Crown Prince, in May, 1900, the Shinto high priest, who is master of
ceremonies at the Imperial Court, instituted a solemn religious ceremony within
the sanctuary of the palace. Following the example set in so high a quarter, a
number of couples, during the winter of 1900-1901, have repaired to Shinto
temples in various parts of the empire, to secure the sanction of the ancient
national faith upon their union. But still, for the great majority of the Japanese,
the wedding ceremony is what it has always been.
 Page 61, line 15.

Although new methods of transportation have come into use now in most of the
Japanese cities, and wheeled carts drawn by men or horses are used for carrying
all other kinds of luggage, the wedding outfit, wrapped in great cloths on which
the crest of the bride's family is conspicuous, is borne on men's shoulders to the
bridegroom's home, the length of the baggage train and the number and size of
the burdens showing the wealth and importance of the bride's family. The bride
who goes to her husband's house well provided by her own family, will carry, not
only a full wardrobe and the house-furnishings already mentioned, but will be
supplied, so far as foresight can manage it, with all the little things that she can
need for months in advance. Paper, pens, ink, postage stamps, needles, thread,
and sewing materials of all kinds, a store of dress materials and other things to
be given as presents to any and all who may do her favors, and pocket money
with which she may make good any deficiencies, or meet any unforeseen
emergency. When she goes from her father's house, she should be so thoroughly
fitted out that she will not have to ask her husband for the smallest thing for a
number of months. The parents of the bride, in giving up their daughter, as they
do when she marries, show the estimation in which they have held her by the
beauty and completeness of the trousseau with which they provide her. The
expense of this wedding outfit is often very great, persons even in the most
moderate circumstances spending as much as one thousand yen upon the
necessary purchases, and among the wealthy, four thousand to five thousand yen
is not extravagant. As material wealth increases in Japan, there is a marked
tendency to increase the style and cost of the trousseau, and the marriage of a
daughter has come to be, in many cases, a severe strain on the family finances.
But this outfit is of the nature of a dowry, for it is her very own; and in the event
of a divorce, she brings back with her to her father's house the clothing and
household goods that she carried away as a bride.

Page 64.

For this visit the bride wears for the first time a dress made for her by her
husband's family and bearing its crest, as a sign that she is now a member of that
family and only a guest in her father's house.

Page 76.
Since the adoption of the new code, the conditions of marriage and of divorce
have been altered for the better. At present no divorce is possible except through
the courts or through mutual consent; the simple change of registration by one
party or the other does not constitute a legal divorce. Even a divorce by mutual
consent cannot be arranged without the consent of the parents or head of the
family of a married person who is under twenty-five years of age. The grounds
upon which judicial divorce may be granted seem very trivial measured by
European standards, but, on the other hand, they are a distinct gain over the
former practice. The wife is no longer dependent for her position simply upon
the whim of her husband, but, unless he can secure her consent to the separation,
he must formulate charges of immorality or conviction of crime, or of cruel
treatment or grave insult on the part of the wife or of her relatives, or of
desertion, or of disappearance for a period of three years or more. Only when
some such charge has been made and proved before a court can a husband send
away his wife. In the case of a separation by mutual consent, though the law still
gives the care of the children to the father in case no previous agreement has
been made, if a woman sees her way clear to supporting them, she may stipulate
for the custody of one or more of them as a condition of her consent to the
divorce. In a judicial divorce, the judge may, in the interests of the children, take
them away from their father and assign them to the care of some other person.
In these changes we can see a distinct advance toward permanence of the family
tie; and we can see, too, that the wife has gained a new power to hold her own
against injustice and wrong. That when the people have become used to these
changes, other and more binding laws will be enacted, we can feel pretty sure,
for the drift of enlightened public opinion seems to be in favor of securing better
and more firmly established homes just as fast as "the hardness of their hearts"
will permit.

Page 84.

It is difficult for us in America, who live under customs and laws in which the
individual is the social unit and the family a union of individuals, to understand a
system of society in which the individual is little or nothing and the family the
social unit recognized both by law and custom. In Japan, a man is simply a
member of some family, and his daily affairs, his marrying and giving in
marriage, are more or less under the control of the head of his family, or of the
family council. Only in case he is the head of the family is he able to marry
without securing some one's consent, and then his responsibilities in regard to
the headship may in themselves hamper him. If this is the case with the more
independent man, it may be imagined how completely the woman is submerged
under family influence. She may, under exceptional circumstances, become the
head of a family, but this is usually only a temporary expedient, and even then
she must subordinate herself more completely to the family and its interests than
when she occupies a lowlier place.
The headship of an unmarried woman lasts only until a husband has been
selected for her, and the headship of a widow lasts during her guardianship of the
rightful heir to the position. By Japanese law a widow is always the guardian of
her minor children.
The only way in which individuality before the law can be obtained by man or
woman in Japan is through cutting the tie that binds to the family, and starting
out in life afresh as the head of a new family. This new family must always be
héimin, or plebeian, no matter how high in rank may have been the family from
which the founder has gone out, but there is a continually increasing number of
young men and women who prefer the freedom that comes from the headship of
a small and new family, even if of low rank, to the state of tutelage or of
hampering responsibility which must accompany connection with a larger and
older social group. It seems likely that through this means an evolution from the
family to the individual system will be effected, as the nation grows more and
more modernized in its way of looking at things.
For the Japanese woman, as I have already said, marriage is in most cases the
entrance into a new family. She is cut off from the old ways and interests, in
which she has until now had her part, and she has begun life anew as the latest
addition to and therefore the lowest and most ignorant member of another social
group. It is her duty simply to learn the ways and obey the will of those above
her, and it is the duty of those above her, and especially of her husband's mother,
to fit her by training and discipline for her new surroundings. The physical
strength of the young wife, her sweetness of temper, her manners, her morals,
her way of looking at life, are all put to the test by this sharp-eyed guardian of
the family interests, and woe to the younger woman if she fail to come up to the
standard set. She may be a good woman and a faithful wife, but if, under the
training given her, she does not adapt herself readily to the traditions and
customs of the family she enters, it is more than likely, even under the new laws,
that she may be sent back to her father's house as persona non grata, and even
her husband's love cannot save her. It is because of this predominance of the
family over the individual that the young wife, when she enters her husband's
home, is not, as in our own country, entering upon a new life as mistress of a
house, with absolute control over all of her little domain.

Page 115.

At the time of the celebration of his silver wedding, in 1895, the Emperor came
into the Audience Room with the Empress on his arm, an example which was
followed by the Imperial Princes.
With the engagement and marriage of the Crown Prince, in May, 1900, an
entirely new precedent was established in the relations of the Imperial couple.
The Western idea of marriage between equals has never existed in the Japanese
mind in its thought of the union between their Emperor and Empress. The
Empress, though of noble family, was chosen from among the subjects of the
Emperor, and the marriage was of the nature of an appointment by the Emperor
to the position of Imperial Consort, just as any other appointment might have
been made of a subject to fill an important position in the government. In the
marriage of the Crown Prince a very different course was pursued. While no
departure was made from the old precedents in the selection of a Princess from
one of the five families that trace their descent from Jimmu Tenno, the whole
manner of obtaining the bride was different from anything that Japan had before
known. The Prince asked the father of the young lady to give her to him just as a
common man might have done, and everything in the preliminary arrangements
was carried out with the idea that by the marriage she was to be raised to his
rank and position. Reference has already been made to the religious ceremony
that was devised for the occasion, an act that in itself altered the meaning of
marriage for the whole nation.
Since the wedding, rumors have floated to the world outside of the palace gates,
of the kindness and consideration with which the young wife is treated by her
husband. To the scandal of some of the more old-fashioned of the Prince's
attendants, the heir to the throne insists on observing toward his wife, in private
as well as in public, all the minutiæ of Western etiquette. She enters the carriage
ahead of him when they drive together, they habitually take their meals together,
and he finds in her a cheerful companion and friend, and not simply a devoted
and humble servant. In this way, by the highest example that can be set to them,
the Japanese people are learning a new lesson.
All these things have a deep significance in showing that the sacredness of the
marriage tie is gradually being recognized.
 Page 137.

Something, indeed, may be said on the other side in regard to this system, which
I seem to have painted as ideal. If in America we find the burden of expensive
grown-up sons and daughters sometimes too heavy upon parents whose powers
are on the wane, we must remember that in Japan a young man is often seriously
handicapped at the beginning of his active life by the early retirement of his
father from self-supporting labor, and that the young wife entering the home of
her parents-in-law often finds a happy married life rendered impossible by the
fact that she must please an elderly couple thoroughly fixed in their ways,—the
rulers of the household and with little to do but rule. With this custom, as with all
human customs, everything in the long run depends upon how it is used, and
without deep affection between parents and children there seems to be as much
danger from the serious handicapping of the rising generation by selfish and
inconsiderate parents in Japan, as there is in America of the wearing out of the
older people's lives and strength in the service of ungrateful and lazy children.

Page 152.

The bed on which the Empress sleeps is made of heavy futons, or quilts, of white
habutai wadded with silk wadding. The bedclothing consists of as many similar
futons as the state of the weather may require. Every month new futons are
provided for Her Majesty, and the discarded ones are given to one of her
attendants. The happy recipient is thus provided with wadding enough for all her
winter dresses for the rest of her life, as well as with a good supply of dress
material.

Page 157.

Only those who have seen the inner life of the court can realize the difficulties
which have attended every step of the Empress Haru's way, for the court has
been the scene of great struggles between the conservative and radical elements.
Mean and petty jealousies have moved those surrounding the throne. The
slightest word or token from the Empress would be used as a weapon for private
ends. To move among these varied and discordant factions, and to move for
progress, without causing undue friction, has been a task more difficult than the
conquest of armies, and to do so successfully has required almost infinite
patience, sympathy, and love.
 Page 168.

And now, after thirty-three years of the enlightened rule of the present Emperor,
and of the beneficent life and example of the Empress Haru, is there any
assurance that the progress made during their occupation of the throne will be
continued in the lives of Japan's future rulers?
Prince Haru, or Yoshihito, is now a man twenty-two years of age, with character
sufficiently developed to be used as the basis for a guess at what his qualities as
a sovereign may prove to be. "As far as the East is from the West" have his life
and education been from the life and education of his illustrious father. Instead
of the curtained seclusion, the quiet and calm of the old palace in the old capital,
the present Crown Prince has known from babyhood the sights and sounds of the
stirring city of Tōkyō. He has driven in an open carriage or walked through its
streets; he has been to school with boys of his own age, taking the school work
and the drill and the games with the other boys, learning to know men and things
and himself too, in a way in which none of his ancestors, since the days when
they were simply savage chiefs, have had opportunity of knowing. As he grew
toward manhood, his delicate health required that he leave the school and pursue
his studies as his strength permitted, under masters; but he has retained his love
for all athletic exercises, for dogs and horses and guns and bicycles, and he is as
expert in outdoor sports as any youth of Western training. His mind is quick and
eager, interested especially in foreign ways and thoughts, and seeking most of all
to understand how other people think and feel and live. Though he has been
emancipated to a wonderful degree from the state and ceremony that surrounded
his ancestors, he is nevertheless impatient of what remains, and would gladly
dispense with many forms that his conservative guardians regard as necessary;
and these same guardians at times find their young eaglet difficult to manage. He
has views and ideas of his own, and acts occasionally upon his own initiative in
a way that fairly scandalizes his advisers. He wishes to visit his future subjects
upon something like equal terms. The rôle of Son of Heaven seems to him less
interesting at times than some smaller and more human part. When he walks, he
wants to lead his own dog, not have him led by some one else; to stop in the
street and watch the common people at their work; to drop in on his friends in a
neighborly way and see how they live when they are not expecting a visit from
royalty. Provided he does not go too fast or too far, when his turn comes to
ascend the throne, he cannot but make a better emperor for the intimate personal
knowledge that he is seeking and gaining of the lives and feelings of his people.
The Crown Princess Sada, who has now been for one year in the line of
succession to the present beloved Empress, shows in her training and character
the influence of the new impulse that is driving Japan forward. The
circumstances that led to her selection as the bride of the Prince are in
themselves curious enough to be worth recording. The Kujo family is one of the
five families from which alone can the wife of the Crown Prince be chosen, and
the present Prince Kujo is blessed with many daughters. Of these, the oldest is
about the age of Prince Haru, and at one time it was hoped that she might be
selected as his consort, but at last that hope was given up, and she was married to
another prince. The second daughter was as bright and charming as the first, but
she was just enough younger than the Prince to make her marriage with him so
dangerous a matter according to all the rules that govern good and bad luck in
Japan, that no hope was entertained for her, and she was married, when her time
came, with no reference to the greatest match that any Japanese princess can
make. The third daughter was six years younger than the Prince, so much
younger that it was thought that he would be married long before she grew up, so
no special care or attention was given to her. In her babyhood, like most
Japanese babies of high rank, she was sent out into the country to be nursed. Her
foster parents were plain farmer folk, who loved her and cared for her as their
own child. She played bareheaded and barefooted in the sun and wind, tumbled
about, jolly and happy, with the village children, and lived and grew like a kitten
or a puppy rather than like a future empress until she was old enough for the
kindergarten. Then she came back to Tōkyō, to her father's house, and from there
she attended the Peeresses' School, going backward and forward every day with
her bundle of books, and taking her share of the work and play with the other
children. In her school-days she was noticeable for her great physical activity
and her hearty enjoyment of the outdoor sports which form so important a part of
the training in Japanese schools for girls at present; and for her strength of will
and character among a class of students upon whom self-repression amounting
almost to self-abnegation has been inculcated from earliest childhood.
When this little princess reached the age of fifteen, the Crown Prince's marriage,
which had been somewhat deferred on account of his ill-health, was pressed
forward, and to the extreme surprise of her own family, and of many others as
well, the Princess Sada was chosen, largely on account of her great physical
vigor. Then began a great change in her life. From being one of the lowest and
least considered in her family, she was suddenly raised high above all the rest,
even her father addressing her as a superior. The merry, romping school-girl was
transformed in a few days into the great lady, too grand to associate on equal
terms with any but the imperial family. Small cause was there for wonder if she
shrank from the change and begged that the honor might be bestowed on some
one else. The old free life was gone forever, and she dreaded the heavy
responsibility that was to fall upon her slender shoulders.
The choice was made in August, 1899, and from the moment that the
engagement was entered into, the Princess Sada became an honored guest in her
father's house. She could no longer play with her brothers and sisters, or take a
meal with any member of her own family. A new and handsome suite of rooms
was built for her, her old wardrobe was discarded and an entirely new one
provided for her, all her table service was new and distinct from that of the rest
of the family, and she was addressed by all as if she were already Empress. Her
studies were not given up, but masters were chosen for her who came to her and
instructed her, with due deference to her high station, in the subjects that she had
been studying at school. So passed the nine months of her engagement, and on
May 8, 1900, she became one of the principals in a state wedding such as Japan
had never before seen. Through all the show and ceremony she acquitted herself
decorously and bravely, and since her marriage no word save of approval of the
young wife has come out from the palace gates. Her little sisters-in-law, the four
small daughters of the Emperor, enjoy nothing so much as to go and spend the
day with her, for she is so amusing, and her life has been such a busy and happy
one, that she comes like a breath of fresh air into the seclusion of the Court. Her
young husband, too, finds in her congenial society, and his frail health seems to
be daily strengthening with the brightness that has come into his home.
Great was the joy in the empire when, on April 29, 1901, this happy union was
rendered still happier by the birth of a strong little prince to carry on the ancient
line. By an auspicious coincidence, his birth came just at the time of the annual
boys' feast, or Feast of Flags, and his naming day was appointed for May 5, the
great day of the feast, when all Japan is decorated with giant carp swinging from
tall poles outside of every house, and swimming vigorously at the ends of their
tethers in the strong spring wind. The carp is to the Japanese mind the emblem of
courage and perseverance, for he swims up the strongest current, leaping the
waterfalls that oppose his progress. The baby was named by his grandfather, and
will have the personal name of Hirohito, and the title Prince Michi. With this
new little prince there are no polite fictions to maintain, nor conventional
relationships to be established. He is the son of his father's lawful wife, as well
as of his father. There is to be no breaking off of natural ties, and his own mother
will nurse and care for him, a fortune that never falls to the lot of the imperial
son of a mékaké. If he lives, he will be a standing argument in favor of
monogamy, even in noble families, and his birth bodes well for family life
throughout the country.
 Page 182.

A pretty, but most shocking sight, if seen through the eyes of some of these old-
fashioned attendants, is the semi-annual undo kai, or exercise day of the
Peeresses' School. The large playground is, for this occasion, surrounded by
seats divided off to accommodate invited guests of various ranks, who spend the
day watching the entertainment. In the most honorable place, surrounded by her
ladies-in-waiting, sits the Empress herself, for the education of the daughters of
the nobles is a matter of the liveliest interest to her; and the parents and friends
and teachers of the girls fill up all available seats after the school itself has been
accommodated.
The programme is usually a long one, occupying the greater part of the morning
and afternoon, with an interval for lunch. Most of the ordinary English field
games—tennis, basket-ball, etc.—are played with skill and vigor, and in addition
to these there are races of various kinds, devised to show, not simply fleetness of
foot, but quickness of hand and wit as well. These races vary from year to year,
as the ingenuity of the directors of the sports may be able to devise new forms of
exercise. One extremely pretty contest is as follows: On the playground between
the starting-point and the goal are set at equal distances four upright sticks for
each runner. Four branches of cherry blossoms and four bright-colored ribbons
for each contestant are laid on the ground at the starting-point. At the signal,
each girl picks up a cherry branch and a ribbon, and runs to one of the upright
sticks, tying the flowers firmly thereto; then she runs back for a second branch,
and so on until all four have been fastened in place. The race is won by the child
who first reaches the goal leaving behind her four blooming trees where before
there were bare poles. This seems to be the æsthetic Japanese equivalent for our
prosaic potato race. Another contest is after this manner: Along the course of
each runner are laid at certain intervals bright-colored balls,—a different color
for each contestant. The object of the race is, within a certain time, to pick up all
the balls and throw them into the nearly closed mouth of a great net at the far
end of the grounds. The contest is not decided until the balls have been counted,
when the girl who has succeeded in getting the greatest number of balls of her
color into the net is declared the winner. Another and extremely pretty race,
calling for great steadiness of hand and body, is the running from one end of the
ground to the other with a ball balanced on a battledore. The Japanese battledore
is made of light but hard wood, and is long and narrow in shape. If one had not
seen it done, it would be well-nigh impossible to believe that any child could
carry a ball upon it for more than a few slow steps: but these children run at a
smart trot, keeping the ball immovable upon its small and smooth surface.
Beside the games and races, there are calisthenic exhibitions, in which great
precision of motion and flexibility of body are manifested. One of the most
graceful and attractive of these is the fan drill shown on this occasion, when
some twenty or thirty girls, with their bright-colored dresses, long, waving
sleeves, and red hakama, posture in perfect rhythm, with fans opened or closed,
waving above the head, held before the face, changed from position to position,
with the performers' changes of attitude, each new figure seemingly more
graceful than the last.
In these and many other ways the nobility of new Japan are being fitted for the
new part that they have to play in the world. No wonder that the education now
given, awakening the mind, toughening the body, arousing ambition and
individuality, is regarded by many of the ultra-conservatives as a dangerous
innovation, and one likely to bring the nobility down to the level of the common
people. Whether this new education is better or worse than the old, we can
hardly tell as yet, but there are no signs of the immediate breakdown of the old
spirit of the nobility, and the better health and stronger characters of the young
women who have received the modern training promise much for the next
generation.

Page 192.

While this was entirely true in 1890, it is interesting to observe that after ten
years of commercial and industrial progress there are signs that the embroidered
kimono is coming back into fashion. With the growth of large fortunes and of
luxury that has marked the past decade, has come the custom of providing
wedding garments as magnificently embroidered as were the robes of the
daimiōs' ladies, and even the montsuki or ceremonial dress, which was severely
plain in 1890, now has little delicate embroidery about the bottom. It will not be
surprising if some day, when the present growing commercial and industrial
enterprise has reaped a more abundant harvest, Japan blooms forth again in the
beautiful garments that went out of fashion when the great political upheaval cut
off the revenues of the old nobility.

Page 209.
At each encroachment of the enemy those of the population who could not find
refuge at once within the inner defenses were driven to choose between
surrender and self-inflicted death. The unconquerable samurai spirit flamed out
in the choice of hundreds of women and children as well as men, and whole
families were wiped out of existence at once, the little ones, who were too young
to understand the proper method of hara-kiri, kneeling calmly with bowed heads
for the death-stroke from father or brother which should free them from the
disgrace of defeat.

Page 223.

That the spirit of the samurai women is still a living force in Japan, no one can
doubt who listens to the stories of what the women did and bore in the Japan-
China war of 1895. The old self-sacrifice and devotion showed itself throughout
the country in deeds of real, if sometimes mistaken, heroism. Husbands, sons,
and brothers were sent out to danger and death with smiles and cheerful words,
by women dependent upon them for everything in a way that can hardly be
understood by Americans. Even tears of grief for the dear ones offered in the
country's cause were suppressed as disloyal, and women learned with unmoved
countenances of the death of those they loved best, and found the courage to
express, in the first shock of bereavement, their sense of the honor conferred on
the family by the death of one of its members in the cause of his country.
A few incidents quoted from an article by Miss Umé Tsuda that appeared in the
New York "Independent" in 1895 will give my readers an idea of the forms that
this devotion assumed:—
"One instance comes into my mind of an old lady who sent out cheerfully and
with a smiling face her young and only son, the sole stay of her old age. Left a
widow while young, she had lived a life of much sorrow and trouble, and had
with almost superhuman efforts managed to give her son an education that
would start him in life. It was only a few years ago that the son had begun to
help in the family support, and to be able to repay to the mother her tender care
of him. Her pride in her son and his young wife was a pleasure to see, and the
little home they had together seemed a safe haven for the coming years of old
age. Now, in a moment all this was changed,—the son must start off for the
wars. Yet not for one instant was a cloud seen on the mother's face, as, smilingly
and cheerfully, she assisted in the preparations for his departure. Not in public or
in secret did one sigh or regret escape her; not even to the son did a word of
anxiety pass her lips. Her face, beaming with joy, looked with pride on the manly
strength of the young soldier as he started to fight for his country and win honor
for himself,—honor which would surely come to him whether he lived or died.
"Another woman who is well on in years, and whose eldest son is a naval officer,
furnishes an interesting example of mother love. Though never showing her
anxiety on his account, or grief at his danger, she has taken upon herself, in spite
of her old age and by no means vigorous health, to go on foot every morning to
one of the temples and worship there before daylight, in order to propitiate the
gods, that they may protect her son. She arises at four o'clock in the morning on
the coldest of cold days, washes and purifies herself with ice-cold water, and
then starts out before daylight for her three-mile walk to the temple. Thus
through wind and storm and cold have the faith and love of this old woman
upheld her, and one is happy to add that so far her prayers have been heard and
no harm has come to the one she has called on her gods to protect.
"A touching story is told of the aged mother of Sakamoto, commander of the
warship Akagi, who was killed in the thickest of the fight during the great naval
battle of the Yellow Sea. Commander Sakamoto left an aged mother, a wife, and
three children. As soon as his death was officially ascertained, a messenger was
dispatched from the naval department to convey the sad tidings to his family.
The communication was made duly to his wife, and before the messenger had
left the house it reached the ears of the old mother, who, tottering into the room
where the officer was, saluted and greeted him duly, and then, with dry eyes and
a clear voice, said, 'So it seems by your tidings that my son has been of some
service this time.'
"One reads pathetic stories in the newspapers daily in connection with the war.
Not long ago a sad account was given of a young woman, just past her twentieth
year, and only recently married to an army officer. She had belonged by birth to
a military family, and, as befitted the wife and daughter of a soldier, she
resolved, on hearing of the death of her husband, that she would not survive him,
but would follow him to the great unknown. Sending away her servant on some
excuse, she remained alone in her home, which she put into perfect order. Then
she arranged all her papers, wrote a number of letters, and made her last
preparations for death. She dressed herself in full ceremonial dress as she had
been dressed for her bridal, and seated herself before a large portrait of her
husband. Then, with a short dirk, such as is owned by every samurai woman, she
stabbed herself. In her last letters she gives as the reason for her death that,
having no ties in the world, she would not survive her husband, but wished to
remain faithful to him in death as she had been in life.
"Many such stories might be cited, but enough has been given to show the spirit
that exists in Japan. With such women and such teachings in their homes, can it
be wondered at that Japan is a brave nation, and that her soldiers are winning
battles? Certainly some of the honor and credit must be given to these wives and
mothers scattered throughout Japan, who are surely, in some cases, the inspirers
of that courage and spirit which is just now surprising the world."

Page 239.

Much surprise is evinced by foreigners visiting Japan at the lack of taste shown
by the Japanese in the imitation of foreign styles. And yet, for these same
foreigners, who condemn so patronizingly the Japanese lack of taste in foreign
things, the Japanese manufacture pottery, fans, scrolls, screens, etc., that are
most excruciating to their sense of beauty, and export them to markets in which
they find a ready sale, their manufacturers wondering, the while, why foreigners
want such ugly things. The fact is that neither civilization has as yet come into
any understanding of the other's æsthetic side, and the sense of beauty of the one
is a sealed book to the other. The Japanese nation, in its efforts to adopt foreign
ways, has been, up to the present time, blindly imitating, with little or no
comprehension of underlying principles. As a result there is an absolute
crudeness in foreign things as attempted in Japan that grates on the nerves of
travelers fresh from the best to be found in Europe or America.
There are signs, however, that the stage of imitation is past and that adaptation
has begun. Here and there in Tōkyō may be seen buildings in which the solidity
of foreign architecture has been grafted upon the Japanese type. Ten years ago,
Japanese men who adopted foreign dress went about in misfitting garments,
soiled linen, untidy shoes, and hats that had been discarded by the civilization
for which they were made many seasons before they reached Japan. They wore
Turkish towels about their necks and red blankets over their shoulders at the
desire of unscrupulous importers, who persuaded them that towels for neck-
cloths and blankets for overcoats were the latest styles of London and Paris. To-
day one sees no such eccentricities of costume in the purely Japanese city of
Tōkyō. Men who wear foreign dress wear it made correctly in every particular
by Japanese tailors, shoemakers, and hatters. The standard has been attained, for
men at least, and in foreign dress as well as in Japanese, the natural good taste of
the people has begun to assert itself. So it will be in time with other new things
adopted. As no single element of the Chinese civilization secured a permanent
footing in Japan except such as could be adapted, not only to the national life,
but to the national taste as well, so it will be with European things. All things
that are adopted will be adapted, and whatever is adapted is likely in time to be
improved and made more beautiful by the national instinct for beauty. During the
transition, enormities are omitted and monstrosities are constructed, but when
the standard is at last attained, we may expect that the genius of the race will
triumph over the difficulties that it is now encountering. Individual Japanese
who have lived long in Europe or America show the same nice discrimination in
regard to foreign things that they do in their Japanese surroundings, and are
rarely at fault in their taste. What is true of the individual now will be true of the
nation when European standards have become common property.

Page 242.

In the remote mountain regions, where the majesty and uncertainty of the great
natural forces impress themselves constantly upon the minds of the peasantry,
one finds a simple nature worship, and a desire to propitiate all the unseen
powers, that is not so evident in the daily life of the dwellers in more populous
and progressive parts of the country. As the mountains close in about the road
that runs up from the plains below, a great stone, on which is deeply carved "To
the God of the Mountains," calls the attention of the traveler to the fact that the
supernatural is a recognized power among the mountaineers. In such regions one
finds the stated offerings at the shrines which stand near the wayside kept
constantly renewed. Nearly every house is protected by some slip of paper
pasted above the door, a charm obtained by toilsome pilgrimage to some noted
temple. Behind or near the village temple one may see rude wigwams of straw,
each sheltering a gohei,[45]—witnesses to the vows of devotees who hope,
sooner or later, to erect small wooden shrines and so win favor from the
unknown rulers of human destinies. In places where pack-horses form a large
part of the wealth of the people, stones to the horses' spirits are erected, and the
halters of all the horses that die are left upon these stones. Prayers, too, are
offered to the guardian spirits of the living horses, before stones on which are
carved sometimes the image of a horse bearing a gohei on his back, sometimes a
rough figure of the horse-headed Kwannon. To such stones or shrines are
brought horses suffering from sickness of any kind, and the hand is rubbed first
on the stone and then on the part of the animal supposed to be affected. In one
district, when a horse epidemic broke out, its rapid spread was attributed by the
authorities to this custom, and all persons were warned of the danger, with what
effect in breaking up the ancient habit the newspaper reports failed to say. It is in
such regions as this that the oni and the tengu[46] still live in the every-day
thought of the people; it is here, too, that the old custom of offering flowers and
fruit to the spirits of the dead at the midsummer festival is most conscientiously
kept up. All possible spirits are included in these offerings, so that even by the
roadside one finds bunches of flowers set up in the clefts of the rock, to the
spirits of travelers who have died on the way.
In one little mountain resort, far from the railroad but in touch with the outside
world through the hundreds of visitors that seek its hot baths during the summer,
it was my good fortune to spend a few weeks recently. Our walks were rather
limited in variety, as the village lay in an almost inaccessible mountain valley
through which a carefully engineered road ran along the edge of the river gorge.
About half a mile out of the village, close to the road and overhanging the waters
of the river at a spot where the rocks were so worn and carved by the rushing
torrent as to have gained the appropriate title of the "Screen Rocks," was a little
shop and a tea-house. It was a pleasant resting-place after a warm and dusty
walk, and almost daily we would halt there for a cup of tea and a slice of yokan,
or bean marmalade, before returning to our rooms in the hotel. The managers of
the place were an old man and his wife, who divided their labor between the
shop and the tea-house. The old man was an artist in roots. His life was devoted
to searching out grotesquely shaped roots on the forest-covered hills, and
whittling, turning, and trimming them into the semblance of animal or human
forms. Tengu and goblins, long-legged birds and short-legged beasts, all manner
of weird products of his imagination and his handiwork, peopled the interior of
the little shop, and he was always ready to welcome us and show us his latest
work, with the pride of an artist in his masterpiece.
His wife, a cheery old woman, attended to the tea-house, and as soon as we had
seated ourselves, bustled about to bring us cool water from the spring that
bubbled out of the rocks across the road, and to set before us the tiny cups of
straw-colored tea and the delicious slices of yokan which we soon learned was
the specialty of the place. She was glad to have a little gossip as we sipped and
nibbled, telling us many interesting bits of folklore about the immediate locality.
It was from her that we learned that the pinnacle of rock that dominated the
village was built by tengu long ago, though now they were all gone from the
woods, for she had looked for them often at night when she went out to shut the
house, but she had never seen one,—and even the monkeys were becoming
scarce. She it was, too, who sent us to look for the mysterious draught of cold air
that crossed the road near the base of the great rock, colder on hot days than on
cool ones, and at all times astonishing,—the "Tengu's Wind Hole." We learned
through her about the snakes to be found in the woods, and of the wonderful
tonic virtues of the mamushi (the one poisonous snake of Japan), if caught and
bottled with a sufficient quantity of saké. The saké may be renewed again and
again, and the longer the snake has been bottled the more medicinal does it
become, so that one mamushi may, if used perseveringly, medicate several casks
of saké. We had opportunity later to verify her statements, for we found at a
small grocery store, where we stopped to add a few delicacies to our somewhat
scanty bill of fare, two snakes, neatly coiled in quart bottles and pickled in saké,
one of which could be obtained for the sum of seventy-five sen, though the other,
who in his rage at being bottled had buried his fangs in his own body,
commanded a higher price because of his courage. We did not feel in need of a
tonic that day, so left the mamushi on the grocery shelves, but it is probable that
their disintegrating remains are being industriously quaffed to-day by some
elderly Japanese whose failing strength demands an unfailing remedy.
When our little friend had learned of our interest in snakes, she was on the
lookout for snake stories of all kinds. One day she stopped us as we came by
rather later than usual, hurrying home before a threatening shower, to tell us that
we ought to have come a little sooner, for the great black snake who was the
messenger of the god that lived on the mountain had just been by, and we might
have been interested to see him. She had seen him before, herself, so he was no
novelty to her, but she was sure that the matter would interest us. Poor little old
lady, with her kindly face and pleasant ways, and her friendly cracked voice. Her
firm belief in all the uncanny and supernatural things that wiser people have
outgrown brought us face to face with the childhood of our race, and drew us
into sympathy with a phase of culture in which all nature is wrapped in
inscrutable mystery.

Page 264.

Each year that passes sees a few more stores adopting the habit of fixed prices,
not to be altered by haggling.

Page 282.

On another occasion the good offices of the fortune-teller were sought

concerning a marriage, and the powerful arranger of human destinies discovered
that though everything else was favorable, the bride contracted for was to come
from a quarter quite opposed to the luck of the bridegroom. This was no
laughing matter, as the bride was of a noble family and the breaking of the
engagement would be attended with much talk and trouble on both sides; but, on
the other hand, the family of the bridegroom dared not face the danger so
mysteriously prophesied by the fortune-teller. In this predicament, there was
nothing to do but to pull the wool over the eyes of the gods as best they might.
For this purpose the bride with all her belongings was sent the day before the
wedding from her father's house to that of an uncle living in another part of the
city, and on the morning of the wedding-day she came to her husband from a
quarter quite favorable to his fortunes. It seems quite probable that the gods were
taken in by this somewhat transparent subterfuge, for no serious evil has befallen
the young couple in three years of married life.

Page 317.

To the American mind this method of terminating relations is always irritating

and frequently embarrassing, but in Japan any discomfort is to be endured rather
than the slightest suspicion of bad manners. If the foreign visitor is trying to
learn to be a good Japanese, she must submit patiently when the servant
solemnly engaged fails to appear at the appointed hour, sending a letter instead
to say that she is ill; or when the woman upon whom she is depending to travel
with her the next day to the country receives a telegram calling her to the
bedside of a mythical son, and departs, bag and baggage, at a moment's notice,
leaving her quondam mistress to shift for herself as best she may.

Page 318.

Among the many changes that have come over Japan in the transition from
feudalism to the conditions of modern life, there is none that Japanese ladies
regard with greater regret than the change in the servant question. As the years
go by and new employments open to women, it becomes increasingly difficult to
engage and keep servants of the old-time, faithful, intelligent sort.
Notwithstanding increased pay, and the still existing conditions of considerate
treatment, comfortable homes, and light work, it is hard to fill places vacated,
even in noble households: and there is almost as much shaking of heads and
despondent talk over the servant question in Japan to-day as there is in America.
 Page 322.

It is interesting to note that it is to the quickness and courage of a jinrikisha man

who interposed between him and his would-be assassin that the present Czar of
Russia owes his escape from death at Otsu, near Kyōtō, in 1891.

FOOTNOTES:
[45] Gohei, a piece of white paper, cut and folded in a peculiar manner, one of
the sacred symbols of the Shintō faith.
[46] Tengu, a winged, long-nosed or beak-mouthed monster, supposed to inhabit
the mountain regions of Japan. It was from a tengu that Yoshitsune, one of the
greatest of Japanese heroes, learned to fence, and so became a swordsman of
almost miraculous expertness. Oni, a demon or goblin.
 EPILOGUE.
MY task is ended. One half of Japan, with its virtues and its frailties, its
privileges and its wrongs, has been brought, so far as my pen can bring it, within
the knowledge of the American public. If, through this work, one person setting
forth for the Land of the Rising Sun goes better prepared to comprehend the
thoughts, the needs, and the virtues of the noble, gentle, self-sacrificing women
who make up one half the population of the Island Empire, my labor will not
have been in vain.
 INDEX.

Adoption, 103, 112, 187.

Agility of Japanese, 13.
Ai, love, 415.
Amado, sliding wooden shutters used to inclose a Japanese house at night,
23.
Amulets, 329.
Andon, a standing lamp inclosed in a paper case, 89.
Ané San, or Né San, elder sister (San the honorific), a title used by the
younger children in a family in speaking to their eldest sister, 20.
Aoyama, 131.
Apprentices, 309, 310.
Art in common things, 237-239, 462, 463.
Artisans, 235-239, 270.

Babies, 1-17;
bathing, 10;
conditions of life, 6, 7;
dress, 6, 15;
food, 10, 11;
imperial babies, 8, 9;
learning to talk, 16;
learning to walk, 13, 14;
of lower classes, 7;
of middle classes, 8;
of nobility, 8;
skin troubles, 11;
teething, 12;
tied to the back, 7, 8, 12.
Baby carriages, 424.
Baths, public, 10.
Beauty, Japanese standard of, 58;
early loss of, 122.
Bé bé, a child's word for dress, 16.
Bed, the Empress's, 446.
Betrothal, 60.
Bettō, a groom or footman who cares for the horse in the stable and runs
ahead of it on the road, 62, 71, 311, 316, 319.
Bible, circulation of, in Japan, 412-414.
Birth, 1.
Boys, amusements of, 362-370.
Breakfast, 89.
Brothels. See Jōroya.
Buddha's birthday, 365.
Buddhism, 168, 240;
affected by Christianity, 417-421;
introduction of, 143-145.
Buddhist funerals, 131, 132, 347.
Buddhist nuns, 155.
Buddhist priest, story of a, 418-421.
Building, 333-335.
Butsudan, the household shrine used by Buddhists, 323.

Castles, 151, 157, 169, 171, 173, 174, 185, 186, 192.
Chadai, literally "tea money," the fee given at an inn, 251-253.
Cherry blossoms, 28, 146, 166, 176, 177, 191, 295, 296.
Childhood. See Girlhood.
Children, intellectual characteristics of Japanese, 41;
Japanese compared with American, 19.
Chinese characters, 40.
Chinese civilization introduced, 142.
Chinese code of morals, 103, 111.
Christian ideas, progress of, 402-421.
Christianity, 77, 81, 168, 206, 207.
Christians, Japanese, 404.
Chrysanthemum, 166, 296-298.
Civilization, new, 77.
Clubs, women's, 391.
Concubinage, 85, 111.
Confectionery, 146.
Confucius, 103, 168.
Constitution, promulgation of the, 114, 276.
Corea, conquest of, 139-143.
Country and city, 278, 279.
Court, after conquest of Corea, 143-146;
amusements of, 145;
costumes, 146;
in early times, 138, 139;
ladies, 145, 148, 152-154;
life, 138-168;
of daimiō, 171;
of Shōgun, 170, 171;
removal to Tōkyō, 156.
Courtship, 58.
Crown Prince's wedding, the, 434, 442-445, 449-453.
Crucifixion, 199, 234.

Daikoku, the money god, 332.

Dai jobu, "Safe," "All right," 320.
Daimiō, a member of the landed nobility under the feudal system, 169-195;
his castles, 169;
his courts, 17;
his daughters, 175, 177, 180, 182-184, 191, 192-195;
his journeys to Yedo, 171-173;
his retainers, 169, 171, 173, 175, 177-179, 181, 183, 185, 186;
his wife, 175, 177, 182, 192-195;
seclusion of, 172-174.
Dancing, 38, 287, 288.
Dancing girls. See Géisha.
Dango Zaka, 296.
Dashi, a float used in festival processions, 275-278, 366-369.
Days, lucky and unlucky, 331.
Decency, Japanese standard of, 255-260.
Deformity, caused by position in sitting, 9.
Diet, changes in, 424.
Divorce, among lower classes, 66, 69, 73;
among higher classes, 66, 68;
effect of recent legislation on, 374, 439;
new laws, 438, 439;
right to children in case of, 67, 105, 439.
Dolls, Feast of, 28-31, 428-430;
 origin of, 428;
present meaning of, 430.
Dress, baby, 6, 15;
court, 145, 146;
in daimiōs' houses, 187, 192;
military, of samurai women, 188;
of lower classes, 126-128;
of pilgrims, 243;
present tendencies, 457;
showing age of wearer, 119.

Education, higher, a doubtful help, 79;

effect on home life, 77;
producing repugnance to marriage, 80.
Education of daimiō's daughter, 177-180.
Education of girls, 37-56;
action and reaction in, 433, 434;
difficulties in new system, 52-56;
fault in Japanese system, 39;
in old times, 37.
Embroidered robes, 95, 146, 188, 192, 456.
Emperor, 111, 114, 134, 151-153, 155-157, 161, 164-166, 292.
Emperors, after introduction of Chinese civilization, 143-145;
children of, 164;
daughters of, 155;
early retirement of, 134;
in early times, 138;
seclusion of, 143-145, 155, 156, 161, 169.
Empress, 88, 115, 140, 150-168.
Empress, Dowager, 152.
Engawa, the piazza that runs around a Japanese house, 23.
Etiquette, court, 153;
in daimiōs' houses, 177-179;
in the home, 19, 20;
instruction in, 46, 47;
of leaving service, 316, 317;
towards servants, 304, 305.

Factory workers, women, 399 note.

Fairy tales, 32.
Family, organization of, 139, 439-442.
Fancy work, 95.
Father's relation to children, 100.
Feast of Flags, 363, 364;
of Lanterns, 358-362;
of the Dead, 358-362;
of Dolls, 28-31, 428-430.
Festivals, of flowers, 27, 99, 295-297;
of the New Year, 25, 349-358;
temple, 270-278, 364-370.
Feudal system, 169.
Feudal times, pictures of, 190-192;
stories of, 184-187.
Firemen, 335, 338, 339.
Flirtation, unknown to Japanese girls, 34.
Flower arrangement, 42.
Flower painting, 47, 432.
Flower shows, 270-272.
Fortune-telling, 281-285, 331-333, 470.
Fuji, 58, 242.
Fukuzawa, his book on the woman question, 387-391;
his will, 345.
Funeral customs, 131, 132, 339-349.
Furushiki, a square of cloth used for wrapping up a bundle, 354.

Games, battledore and shuttlecock, 31, 32;

at court, 145;
go, 136;
hyaku nin isshu, 26, 27;
shogi, 136.
Géisha, a professional dancing and singing girl, 286-289.
Géisha ya, an establishment where géishas may be hired, 286.
Géta, a wooden clog, 13, 14.
Ginza, 265.
Girlhood, 17-34.
Gohei, a piece of white paper folded and cut in a peculiar manner, one of
the sacred symbols of the Shintō faith, 464.
Hakama, the kilt-pleated trousers that formed a part of the dress of every
Japanese gentleman, also the skirt worn by school-girls over the kimono,
433, 456.
Haori, a coat of cotton, silk, or crêpe, worn over the kimono, 8.
Hara-kiri, suicide by stabbing in the abdomen, 201, 202.
Haru, Prince, 113, 152, 442-444, 446-452.
Haru, Empress, 155-168.
Héimin, the class of farmers, artisans, and merchants, 203, 228, 229;
class characteristics of, 229-240, 464-468.
Hibachi, a brazier for burning charcoal, 30, 72, 136, 307.
Hidéyoshi. See Toyotomi.
Hinin, a class of paupers, 228.
Hiyéi Zan, 243.
Holidays, 269.
Hotel-keepers, 280, 281.
Hotels, 247-250.
Household duties, training for, 21.
Household worship, 328.
Hyaku nin isshu, "Poems of a Hundred Poets," the name of a game, 26.

Inkyo, a place of retirement, the home of a person who has retired from
active life, 136.
Instruction, in etiquette, 46;
in flower arranging, 42;
in music, 41, 431;
in painting, 47, 432;
in reading and writing, 38;
in tea ceremony, 44.
Inu, a dog, 250.
Isé, 231.
Iwafuji, 210-213.
Iwakura, Prince, 157.
Iya, a child's word, denoting dislike or negation, 16.
Iyémitsŭ, 171, 172.
Iyéyasŭ, 169.

Japan-China war, 458-462.

Japanese language, 16, 40, 179.
Japanese literature, 147-150.
Jimmu Tenno, 138.
Jin, benevolence, 415.
Jingo Kōgō, 139-143, 147.
Jinrikisha, a light carriage drawn by one or more men, and which will hold
one or two persons, 26, 70, 92, 268, 272, 320, 321.
Jinrikisha man, 26, 62, 69, 92, 108, 270, 279, 299, 316, 319-324, 473.
Jishi, mercy, 415.
Jōrō, a prostitute, 289-292, 406-411.
Jōroya, a house of prostitution, 290-292, 406-411.

Kaibara's "Great Learning of Women," 387, 389, 391.

Kakémono, a hanging scroll, 44, 147, 238.
Kaméido, 296.
Kami-dana, "god-shelf," the household shrine used by Shintō worshippers,
328.
Kana, Japanese phonetic characters, 40 note, 430.
Katsuobushi, a kind of dried fish, 5.
Kimono, a long gown with wide sleeves and open in front, worn by
Japanese of all classes, 7, 94, 188, 192, 287.
Kisses, 36.
Knees, flexibility of, 9.
Kotatsu, a charcoal fire in a brazier or small fireplace in the floor, over
which a wooden frame is set, and the whole covered by a quilt, 33.
Koto, a musical instrument, 42.
Kugé, the court nobility, 155, 170.
Kura, a fire-proof storehouse, 147, 171, 173.
Kuruma, a wheeled vehicle of any kind, used as synonymous with
jinrikisha.
Kurumaya, one who pulls a kuruma. See Jinrikisha man.
Kurushima, 203.
Kyōtō, 156, 171, 240, 241.

Ladies, court, 145, 148, 152-154;

of daimiōs' families, 175-180, 182-184.
Loyalty, 33, 75, 197, 206-208, 217, 302-304.

Mam ma, a baby's word for rice or food, 16.

Mamushi, a poisonous snake, 467, 468.
Manners of children, 18.
Manzai, exorcists who drive devils out of the houses at New Year's time,
357.
Marriage, 57-83;
ceremony, 61, 63, 435, 436;
feast, 63;
festivities after, 63, 64, 437;
guests, 63;
presents, 62, 435;
registration, 65;
to yōshi, 104;
trousseau, 61, 436.
Marumagé, a style of arranging the hair of married ladies, 119.
Matsuri, a festival, usually in honor of some god, 274-278, 366-370.
Matsuri, Shobu, feast of flags, 363, 364.
Méiji (Enlightened Rule), the name of the era that began with the accession
of the present Emperor in 1868, 149.
Mékaké, a concubine, 111-114.
Men, old, dependence of, 133;
amusements of, 136.
Merchants, 262-269, 469.
Military service of women, 188-190, 208, 223.
Missionary schools, 56.
Miya mairi, the presentation of the child at the temple when it is a month
old. The term is also used to describe the visits to the temple at the ages of
three, five, and seven, 3-6, 425-427.
Mochi, a kind of rice dumpling, 4, 24, 25, 65, 352, 353.
Momotaro, 33.
Mon, a family crest, 366.
Montsuki, a kimono bearing the crest of the wearer, 457.
Morality, standards of, 76.
Mother, her relation to her children, 99-102.
Mother-in-law, 84, 87;
O Kiku's, 74.
Moving, 335-337.
Mukōjima, 191, 295.
Music, 41, 42, 430-432.

Names, 3, 423.
Nara, 247.
Né San. See Ané San.
New Year, preparation for, 349-356;
festival of, 25-27, 356-358.
Nikkō, 231, 245.
No, a pantomimic dance, 292, 293.
Norimono, a palanquin, 30.
Noshi, a bit of dried fish, usually folded in colored paper, given with a
present for good luck, 2.
Nurses, trained, 398.
Nursing the sick, 101.
O, an honorific used before many nouns, and before most names of women,
20.
O Bā San, grandmother, 124.
O Bă San, aunt, 124.
Obi, a girdle or sash, 60, 435.
O Bon, the feast of the dead, 358-362.
Occupations, of the blind, 42;
of the court, 143-150;
of the daimiōs' ladies, 175-180;
of the Empress, 156-160;
of old people, 120-122, 124-128, 136;
of samurai women, 223, 224;
of servants, 299, 304, 306, 308-315, 318;
of women, 85-103, 108-110, 242-256, 279-292, 306, 307, 310-318,
397-402;
of young girls, 21-34, 38-47.
O Haru, 211-213.
Oishi, 198, 214.
Oji, 296.
O Jō Sama, young lady, 20.
O kaeri, "Honorable return," a greeting shouted by the attendant upon the
master's or mistress's return to the house, 100, 315.
O Kaio, 324-326.
O Kiku's marriage and divorce, 73, 74.
Okuma, Count, 203;
his speech on education, 382.
Old age, privileges of, 120, 122, 123;
provision for, 134.
Old men, 133, 136.
O miyagé, a present given on returning from a journey or pleasure
excursion, 274.
Oni, a devil or goblin, 33, 466.
Onoyé, 210, 213.

Palace, new, 151-153.

Parents, duties to, 134;
respect for, 133;
disadvantages in Japanese system, 445.
Parents-in-law, 84, 87.
Peasant women, 108, 240-261.
Peasantry, 228-240.
Philanthropic efforts, 415-417, 418-421.
Physical culture in schools, 433, 453-456.
Physicians' fees, 204.
Pilgrims, 241, 242.
Pillow, 89.
Pleasure excursions, 99.
"Poems of a hundred poets," 26.
Poetry, 26, 148-150.
Presents, 96;
after a wedding, 65;
at betrothal, 60, 435;
at miya mairi, 4;
at New Year's, 353-355;
at O Bon, 358;
at weddings, 62;
how wrapped, 2;
in honor of a birth, 1;
of eggs, 2, 5;
of money, 204, 205;
on returning from a journey, 274;
to servants, 311, 315.
Prisoners' Home in Tōkyō, 413.
Prostitutes. See Jōrō.
Prostitution, houses of. See Jōroya.
Purity of Japanese women, 216-219.

Reading of women, 385-387.

Red Cross Society, 398, 416.
Religion of peasantry, 464-466.
Retirement from business, 133.
Retirement of Emperors, 134.
Revenge, 198, 210-214.
Revolution of 1868, 76, 221.
Rice, red bean, 3, 5, 65.
Rin, one tenth of a sen, or about one half mill, 240.
Rōnin, a samurai who had lost his master and owed no allegiance to any
daimiō, 198, 213.

Sada, Princess, 449-453.

Sakaki, the Cleyera Japonica, 98.
Saké, wine made from rice, 22, 63, 136, 296;
white, 29.
Salvation Army's attack on jōroya, 408-411.
Sama, or San, an honorific placed after names, equivalent to Mr., Mrs., or
Miss, 20, 73, 124, 136, 232, 283, 284, 304.
Samisen, a musical instrument, 42, 127, 277, 286.
Samurai, the military class, 42, 75, 76, 105, 169, 174, 175, 180, 196-227,
232, 263, 302, 303, 307, 319;
character of, 197-207.
Samurai girls in school, 226.
Samurai women, character of, 207-223, 458-460;
present work, 223-327.
Satsuma rebellion, 222.
School system, 50, 378-381;
object of, 379;
statistics of, 380.
School, Girls', for Higher English, 383-385;
Mr. Naruse's Female University, 381-383.
Schools, missionary, 56.
Self-possession of Japanese girls, 47.
Self-sacrifice, 214-219.
Sen, one hundredth part of a yen, value about five mills, 240, 273, 298.
Servants, characteristics of, 209-302;
duties of, 302-315;
in employ of foreigners, 299-302;
number employed, 310, 311;
position of, 302-310;
wages, 311.
Sewing, 23, 94.
Shirōzaké, a sweet white saké used at the feast of dolls, 427.
Shogi, Japanese chess, 136.
Shōgun, or Tycoon, the Viceroy or so-called temporal ruler of Japan under
the feudal system, 155, 169, 171, 173, 176, 185, 186, 191, 194, 197, 208,
224, 231-234, 292;
daughter of, 176, 194.
Shōgunate, 155, 190, 192, 221, 222.
Shoji, sliding windows covered with white paper, 23, 71.
Shopping, 264-268.
Sho-séi, a student, 308.
Silk mosaic, 95, 192.
Silkworms, 95, 246.
Soba, a kind of macaroni made of buckwheat, 336.
Soroban, an abacus, 266-268.
Sumida River, 173, 295.

Tabi, a mitten-like sock, 13.

Ta ta, a baby's word for sock or tabi, 16.
Taiko Sama. See Toyotomi.
Tea, 91, 92;
ceremonial, 44, 136, 176, 432.
Tea-gardens, 247.
Tea-houses, 250-255.
Teachers, pay of, 204;
women as, 398.
Teaching. See Instruction.
Teeth, blackened after marriage, 63.
Temple, 4, 120, 129, 240.
Tengu, a monster in Japanese folklore, 466, 468.
Theatre, 33, 99, 292-294.
Titles used in families, 20.
Toes, prehensile, 15.
Toilet apparatus, 30.
Tōkaidō, 241.
Tokonoma, the raised alcove in a Japanese room, 44.
Tokugawa, 29, 151, 155, 231.
Tōkyō, 49, 69-71, 108, 115.
Tōkyō Mail, 231.
Tombs, 98.
Toyotomi Hidéyoshi, 232.
Training-schools for nurses, 158, 398.
Trousseau, 61, 436.
Tsuda, Miss Umé, viii, 458.

Utsunomiya, 70, 71.

Uyéno Park, 296.

Virtue, Japanese and Western ideas of, 215-219.

Visits, after marriage, 63;
in honor of a birth, 1, 2;
New Year's, 25;
to a house of mourning, 340;
to parents, 98;
to tombs, 98, 359.
Voice in singing, 430-432.

Wakamatsu, 208, 222, 457.

Wedding. See Marriage.
Widows, childless, 123.
Wife, childless, 102;
duties of, 85-99;
in great houses, 92;
relation to husband, 84;
relation to parents-in-law, 84;
social relations, 91.
Woman question, new feeling about, 371-373.
Women, general reading of, 386;
in the city, 279-298;
new openings for, 397-402;
occupations of, 85-103, 108-110, 242-256, 279-292, 306, 307, 310-
318, 397-402;
position of, 17-22, 35, 36, 57, 65-68, 76-88, 90, 91, 93, 99-118, 120-
124, 132, 133, 139, 143, 145, 146, 148, 168, 189, 190, 208, 216-219,
223-227, 242-247, 260, 261, 279, 292, 298, 306, 318, 371-378, 438-
440;
property rights of, 374-378;
publications for, 385-391;
purity of, 216-219;
the new woman in old surroundings, 392-397.
Women, old, appearance of, 119;
examples of, 124, 126-129, 467-469;
in Japanese pictures, 132.
Written language, proposed reforms in, 430.
Yamato Daké, 215.
Yasaku, 324;
marriage and divorce of, 69-73.
Yasé, 243, 244.
Yashiki, a daimiō's mansion and grounds, 169, 171, 173, 311, 313.
Yedo. See Tōkyō.
Yōshi, an adopted son, 104.
Yoshiwara, a district in Tōkyō given over to disreputable houses, 409.

Zodiac, Chinese signs of the, 331.

Zori, a straw sandal, 13.
 Transcriber's Note:
Except where index entries and the body of the text did not match, irregularities in
hyphenation (e.g. kwankoba and kwan-ko-ba), italics, and spellings (e.g. vendors
and venders) have not been changed. Except where noted below, inconsistent
accents (e.g. jōroya vs. jōrōya) have been retained.
The following corrections and changes were made:

p. 120: marumage to marumagé (The marumagé, the style of headdress of

married ladies)
p. 175: daimios' to daimiōs' (and daimiōs' houses)
p. 351: kakemonos to kakémonos (the kakémonos and curios)
p. 383: Meiji to Méiji (thirty-fourth year of Méiji)
p. 427: miyage to miyagé (the o miyagé to be purchased)
p. 428: shirozaké to shirōzaké (The shirōzaké (white saké))
p. 429: accents added to Shōguns, Shōgun's, and Shōgunate
p. 437: oufit to outfit (But this outfit)
p. 440: heimin to héimin (héimin, or plebeian)
p. 473: Bé-bé to Bé bé (Index entry)
p. 475: Index entry for "Girlhood, 17-34." added (Index entry "Childhood.
See Girlhood." originally pointed to non-existent entry)
p. 475: Iyemitsŭ to Iyémitsŭ (Index entry)
p. 475: Iyeyasŭ to Iyéyasŭ (Index entry)
p. 476: fireproof to fire-proof (Index: Kura, a fire-proof storehouse)
p. 476: Jo to Jō (Index: O Jō Sama, young lady)
p. 477: Onouyé to Onoyé (Index entry)
p. 478: folk-lore to folklore (Index: Tengu, a monster in Japanese folklore)
End of Project Gutenberg's Japanese Girls and Women, by Alice Mabel Bacon

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