YOKOHAMA
Towards eight o’clock in the morning we saw a dark outline on the
horizon, and made such a fuss over the first lump of sand, as if we were
discovering the North Pole. The Island of Goto, precipitous and craggy,
was the first sight of Japan; as it fades into greyness behind, there
rises far away the high, jagged coast-line of Japan, with mountains in
the far distance. Above the eternal snow-line appeared the cone of the
sacred mountain Fuji-Yama, with its crown of snow. The peak was visible
for a few moments only, retiring again behind the clouds. The Fuji-Yama
is an ancient extinct volcano which sprang up in the year 862 before
Christ. At the present moment there are four active volcanoes in Japan,
which are the cause of frequent earthquakes in this country.
We are surrounded by fishing-smacks, with bronzed fishermen, who wore
nothing above the waist-line and not much below it, their whole costume
consisting only of a narrow belt. We passed two formidable-looking
British cruisers before entering the port of Yokohama, which is rather
a difficult undertaking among all this multitude of vessels encumbering
the harbour of Yokohama. Sampans, in which stood policemen in snow-white
uniform and Japanese quarantine officers scurried towards us. They came
to see if we had any ailing passengers on board.
The _Peru_ comes to anchor at Yokohama Beach. What joy to touch land
after 18 days at sea!
We are met on the quay by the Russian consul, Prince Lobanoff-Rostovski,
accompanied by Mr. Vassilieff, attached to the Russian mission at
Yokohama, and Mr. Omaio, secretary of the Japanese Embassy at St.
Petersburg, who was at home on leave. The Governor of the town has sent
five servants to take care of our luggage, and three carriages were put
at our disposal. We took our places in a victoria drawn by a pair of
ponies, and drove to the Grand Hôtel, through the European quarter of
the city with big brick houses and gay cafés and shops. I was very much
astonished to see little two-wheeled vehicles called rikshas, drawn by
men who trotted between the shafts. They wear a short blue wide-sleeved
jacket, close-fitting blue drawers reaching to the ankles, straw sandals
and a white mushroom-shaped hat, bearing their name and number; a blue
rag hangs on their shoulder to wipe their perspiration.
We occupied an apartment of two rooms with a balcony at the Grand Hôtel
for four Mexican dollars ahead = two American dollars. It is peculiar
that the Mexican dollar, though much larger, and containing therefore
more silver than the American dollar, is worth only the half. Why is it
so? A mystery of the Exchange Office, I suppose.
The damp heat of Yokohama is very trying. It is well that there are no
glasses in the windows; in the frames and above half of the door are
blinds, which let in the soft tropical air and produce an agreeable
draught.
We are besieged by tiresomely polite Japanese and Chinese furnishers,
tailors, shoe-makers and other purveyors with names almost impossible to
pronounce for European tongues. They all bowed a great deal, and thrust
their advertisements in our hands. I could not resist the temptation of
purchasing a gorgeously embroidered pink satin thing with long, wide
sleeves, which can serve as a wonderful tea-dress. I did not recognise
myself when I passed before the mirror arrayed in that costume.
We went down to dinner at table-d’hôte and entered a large hall, full
of smartly-dressed ladies in low gowns and gentlemen in evening dress.
We were served by Japanese boys dressed in kimonos, who spoke very good
English. The head-butler is a Chinaman who had his pig-tail cut off. He
told us that he could never put his foot in China again, because he would
be beheaded for having changed his national head-gear. Human life seems
to be regarded rather lightly in the Celestial Empire!
After dinner we went out on the verandah for a breath of fresh air. The
verandah, covered with straw mats and furnished with bamboo chairs, was
full of loungers, Englishmen mostly, reclining upon their seats with
their feet rather higher than their heads, their legs stretched wide
apart and resting upon the arms of their rocking-chairs, in order to feel
cooler.
28th July.—I woke up in the middle of the night with a suppressed scream
and jumped up in my bed. I had been dreaming I was at sea, and the
engines of the _Peru_ had come to a sudden stand-still. “Why are the
engines not working?” I asked Sergy in an alarmed tone. After he had
comforted me and I had pinched myself to be sure I was not dreaming, I
fell fast asleep again.
It was an agreeable surprise to wake up and find land all around me.
To-day is the birthday of His Majesty the Emperor of Japan. At daybreak
I heard the beat of the drum from an English cruiser lying on the Quay,
a warship bound to Siam where a mutiny has recently broken out. Two
American cruisers deafened us with artillery discharges. Their admiral,
who has put up at our hotel, has sent a military band to play during
tiffin. In the afternoon Sergy went to visit a military Japanese school
where the officers are taught to inculcate, by suggestion, bravery to
their soldiers, and how to vanquish, at the same time, their enemies.
I sat by the window awaiting my husband’s return, and looked through
the chinks of a blind, whence I could see without being seen. Life over
here is all new and strange to me. Everything seems elfish—men, trees,
houses. Flat-faced aborigines patter along noisily upon wooden clogs,
dressed in the garments of old Japan. They seem all alike; when you’ve
seen one, you’ve seen all. The women are clad in gaily flowered kimonos,
girded by a wide sash tied into a gigantic bow, their hair beautifully
dressed with mock-flowers and combs and pins, their feet placed on small
planes with two little pieces of white wood, in front and behind, just
like small stilts. The married women are recognised by their shaved
eyebrows and blackened teeth with oxide of iron. They indulge in this
fearful custom in the view of alienating all masculine admiration, and
remaining faithful to their husbands. But do their husbands remain
faithful to their wives, their virtue being so unattractive? That is
the question! The Japanese girls grow fast under the Southern sun, and
many of them, at the age when little girls in Europe play at dolls,
are married materfamilias. I see philosophical-looking babies, with a
button of hair at the top of their head, strapped on their mother’s back
by a scarf, their bald heads falling backwards as though they would
drop off. I am unable to recall any single occasion on which I saw a
Japanese baby smile. Little children straddle astride on the hip of
bigger children, who run after the passers-by with unencumbered hand
outstretched. Artisans and tradesmen in blue cotton tunics, with the
description of their trades printed in white on their backs, were setting
their wares on the pavement, where they thought themselves most sure of
attention. Vendors of green cocoa-nuts, slices of melon and sweetmeats,
and victual merchants expose for sale in the streets along the walls,
on planks, grasshoppers fried in oil and other nasty things. Just in
front of our windows is the stand of the rikshas. I see a porter, his
face hidden under an immense straw hat, advance towards the riksha-men,
stooping under the burden of two cases, at the bottom of which very hot
cinders keep the dishes hot. The portions, put into small saucers, are
microscopic. The riksha-men, sitting on their heels on the ground, thrust
their food into their mouth by the aid of two little sticks.
After lunch we got into rikshas and went for a ride through the streets
of Yokohama. The first sensation of having a human being for a horse
is not agreeable, but one soon gets accustomed to it. There was a place
for one person only in each riksha. Our riksha-men moved briskly in
files towards the native quarters of the town, through narrow and dark
streets. On each hand was a row of toy-houses mostly unpainted, with the
first storeys all open to the street, each standing in a little square
of a toy-like garden. We hurried on between two long lines of painted
paper lanterns, a festoon of blazing rubies in the intense darkness that
surrounds them, suspended before low-thatched shops, constructed chiefly
of bamboo, the front wall all doorway with hanging draperies, blue and
white, covered with Japanese lettering, before which stood platforms
heaped high with tropical fruit. The air was full of that sweet and
subtle odour which one has long learned to associate with things imported
from Japan. My runner trotted as fast as a horse; I was rather frightened
at first and tried in fantastical language to moderate his ardour. Our
riksha-men stopped before a fountain surrounded by dwarf-trees, and
after having quenched their thirst, my man-horse began to run with such
a frenzy that I began to cry out for help, fearing to be upset. After
a quarter of an hour of such mad driving, we arrived at the door of a
native theatre lit up with pink and yellow lamps. Our drivers set the
shafts of their vehicles on the ground and mopped their faces with a blue
towel; their clothing was drenched with perspiration. We entered a long
narrow corridor, and came into a hall lighted by a few oil lamps. The
audience consisted of whole families: grand-parents, parents and children
of all ages, sitting on the floor on mats. All had their dinners with
them, laid on little trays. Each place is separated by a bamboo stick
that must be stepped over. A boy rang the bell which was to announce the
signal for the beginning of the performance. The musicians began to play
upon strange instruments, which made uncanny noises of a sort to make
one’s flesh creep. We seated ourselves on the floor of our so-called
box. The whole representation consisted of a troupe of acrobats who went
energetically through their performance and rolled about the stage upon
big india-rubber balls.
In a theatre on the opposite side of the street, a parody was played on
the ancient Japanese sovereigns. The theatre had no walls; it was simply
supported by columns, and all around was a large crowd struggling to see
what took place without paying for the sight. The walls were covered with
pictures representing different war scenes between Japs and Chinamen, in
which the Chinese were running away and the Japs triumphed all along the
line. In Japan the plays have usually fourteen, fifteen acts, and last
sometimes two days. The men assume all the female parts.
We ended our nocturnal rambles in rather a fickle manner. We were trotted
briskly up to a tea-house, where we were received with many bows by
pretty musumés (waiting-girls). After having removed our shoes at the
entrance hall, we were conducted up a steep and creaking staircase to
the room where the “geishas” dance, and where mats and carpets were
the only furniture. We seated ourselves with our feet tucked under us
on cushions that the musumés had set in a half circle on the mats, and
waited patiently for the appearance of the geishas—dancing girls—who were
occupied elsewhere just then. Presently a musumé slipped in, bearing
a tray with all sorts of eatables, and set it before us. There were
lobsters and raw-fish, and evil-looking vegetables, and nasty sweetmeats,
and green tea in microscopic cups, and unspeakable horror, very strong
and salt. The little musumés waited upon us silently and swiftly. The tea
that one of them handed me made me feel sick, and after one disgusting
mouthful, when I felt myself unobserved, I poured the contents of my cup
outside the window on the neighbouring roof. I had cramps, being obliged
to sit so long cross-legged, like the rest of the company, expecting the
geishas. It was getting late, and having no more patience to wait for
them we returned to our hotel.
The next morning Sergy went with the first train to Tokio, the metropolis
of Japan, which is three-quarters of an hour’s drive by railway from
Yokohama, to call upon Mr. Khitrovo, the Russian Ambassador to Japan.
Three days later we left for Tokio, where my husband went to pay his
respects to the Emperor of Japan. We called for rikshas and drove off
full gallop to the railway station. In the waiting-room we saw a placard
stuck up on one side of the wall, bearing the inscription in English
“First-Class,” and on the opposite wall was written “Second-Class,”
without any partition at all. All the passengers were Japs, sitting
shoeless on their heels on the sofas in monkey-poses.
We took seats in a large car of American pattern, with wooden benches
around and a door at each end, and tore through the country with few
pauses. The road from Yokohama to Tokio is very picturesque, the shrubs
are very green and dense, and the mimosa in full bloom. It is not for
nothing that Japan is called “The Garden of Asia.” But everything is
Lilliputian. We see on our right tiny groves and dwarfed trees. We roll
now through maize and rice plantations. Cottages with rush-cane roofs
peep out from between the rich vegetation.