I
It had been intended to celebrate in spring the eleven hundredth
anniversary of the foundation of Kyōto; but the outbreak of pestilence
caused postponement of the festival to the autumn, and the celebration
began on the 15th of the tenth month. Little festival medals of nickel,
made to be pinned to the breast, like military decorations, were for
sale at half a yen each. These medals entitled the wearers to special
cheap fares on all the Japanese railroad and steamship lines, and
to other desirable privileges, such as free entrance to wonderful
palaces, gardens, and temples. On the 23d of October I found myself in
possession of a medal, and journeying to Kyoto by the first morning
train, which was over-crowded with people eager to witness the great
historical processions announced for the 24th and 25th. Many had to
travel standing, but the crowd was good-natured and merry. A number
of my fellow-passengers were Osaka geisha going to the festival. They
diverted themselves by singing songs and by playing ken with some
male acquaintances, and their kittenish pranks and funny cries kept
everybody amused. One had an extraordinary voice, with which she could
twitter like a sparrow.
You can always tell by the voices of women conversing anywhere--in
a hotel, for example--if there happen to be any geisha among them,
because the peculiar timbre given by professional training is
immediately recognizable. The wonderful character of that training,
however, is fairly manifested only when the really professional tones
of the voice are used,--falsetto tones, never touching, but often
curiously sweet. Now, the street singers, the poor blind women who sing
ballads with the natural voice only, use tones that draw tears. The
voice is generally a powerful contralto; _and the deep tones are the
tones that touch._ The falsetto tones of the geisha rise into a treble
above the natural range of the adult voice, and as penetrating as a
bird's. In a banquet-hall full of guests, you can distinctly hear,
above all the sound of drums and samisen and chatter and laughter, the
thin, sweet cry of the geisha playing ken,--
_"Futatsŭ! futatsŭ! futatsŭ!"_--
while you may be quite unable to hear the shouted response of the man
she plays with,--
_"Mitsŭ! mitsŭ! mitsŭ!"_