TOKIO
On arriving at Tokio we drove in a splendid landau sent to meet us by the
Japanese minister of Foreign Affairs, to the Oriental Hotel, where we
took an apartment of several rooms. We had barely time to take a little
rest, when we received the visit of our Ambassador and the Japanese Naval
Minister.
After dinner we sat on the verandah. The city lay in utter darkness
before us; the streets were only lighted here and there with paper
lanterns carried by the passers-by.
Our Ambassador invited us to his beautiful house close to Tokio, to show
us geishas, whose dancing was held to have no equal in Japan. We drove
in rikshas through a lovely avenue of cherry trees. When we arrived at
the Ambassador’s residence we were shown into a large hall hung with many
rows of weapons of every description, rifles, revolvers, yataghans, etc.,
etc. Against the walls stood suits of armour. After having admired the
beautiful collection, we entered another hall where four geishas awaited
us. They were bare-legged, bare-armed, and with very much painted faces,
dressed in bright-coloured kimonos. These little bits of womanhood looked
as if they wanted to play at dolls; the eldest of the geishas was barely
fifteen. Three musician-girls, arrayed in dark-blue kimonos, were seated
cross-legged on the matting. They began to sing melodies resembling
the mewing of enamoured cats on the roofs, to the accompaniment of the
samissen, a kind of guitar of three strings. The dancing-girls had no
more space than an ordinary square rug to dance upon. They were sitting
in a circle; one of them rose, and saluting us to the ground, crossed
her arms across her chest and began to act a mimic of a blind girl. Her
performance could scarcely be called a dance, groping about the matting
with her eyes closed. I found her companion’s dances rather disappointing
also. Their arms twisted and they glided without their body making any
movement; a few shuffling steps to-and-fro, a wave of shapely olive
bangled arms, all to the nasal twangling of a hideous accompaniment. I
began to yawn behind my hand and looked longingly at the clock, and did
all I could to keep awake. I should have dropped off to sleep certainly
if tea and cakes hadn’t come to my rescue. The geishas gathered in a
group round us and sat at our feet. They looked at Mrs. Serebriakoff and
me as at some object of extraordinary interest. Opening wide their little
eyes they examined and tried on bracelets and rings, uttering funny
little cries. It was nearly daylight when we returned to Tokio.
The next day my husband, in full military uniform, drove to the Imperial
Palace, accompanied by his suite, to be presented to the Emperor of
Japan. He returned delighted with his visit to the Taushi-Sama, the Son
of Heaven. The word Mikado, by which the Emperor is known in Europe, is
never used in Japan. Mikado is an ancient designation which has passed
out of date in remote antiquity. The Emperor wore a uniform of European
cut, with a Russian order on it, and the Empress was resplendent in a
dress that she had ordered from Paris, with the Russian order of St.
Catherine worn across her shoulder. The Imperial couple presented my
husband with their portraits and their autographs.
On the following day my husband was invited to lunch with the Emperor’s
uncle, Prince Arissougava. In the afternoon we went to visit the Buddhist
Temple of Shiba, to see the tombs of the “shioguns,” the ancient Emperors
of Japan. Two bonzes (Buddhist priests), enveloped in black gauze,
followed by a big dog, served as guides to us. The Temple is surrounded
by a magnificent shady park of camphor and other aromatic trees. We
inhaled with delight the perfume of myrtle and orange blossoms. We found
our way into a courtyard open to the sky, where a fountain played over
a marble basin. Beyond is a long, low building, the sides are simple
wooden screens. It is the Temple. Men and women kneel and pray before
the entrance of the Temple. On each side stand two monster figures,
demoniac, with eyes of fury, the guardians of holy things. The custom of
offerings is very peculiar in Japan; pilgrims cast their offerings in a
box destined for the purpose, placed before the threshold, consisting
of sheets of gilt paper or small coloured incensed tapers. The very
poorest throw only a handful of rice into the box. I saw piles of straw
sandals thrown at the feet of a huge marble Buddha, seated cross-legged
on a bronze pedestal, and was told that it was the modest offering of
riksha-men, begging Buddha to grant them strong legs. At the door of the
Temple we slipped off our shoes and put on a pair of sandals, for in
Japan one may not enter the House of God with shoes on. A white-robed
priest with a shaven head appeared and motioned us, with a bow, to
enter. The screens slide open and an immense hall is before us, full
of unfamiliar sweet smell of Japanese incense, produced by strings of
incensed paper which pilgrims burn before their idols. We pass through a
great red gateway of the sacred enclosure and enter the mortuary shrines
of Setsugu, one of the Shioguns, full of bronze lanterns, which are
offerings to the dead from their royal relatives.
About an hour from Tokio stands an Orthodox Cathedral built on a hill.
The archbishop, who was by birth Prince Kassatkin Rostovski before he
turned monk, has for thirty years already propagated Christianity in
this country. He has converted a great number of Japs and has built
many schools. In one of these schools Japanese girls are taught the
art of painting Russian ikons (holy images). We went to vespers to the
cathedral, and all got into rikshas, each with two men, one to pull and
the other to push. The road rises steeply to the church porch and our
riksha-men had a very fatiguing ascent, perspiration was pouring down
their faces. From afar we heard church bells ringing. When we entered the
large cathedral, we saw a great number of natives; the men stood grouped
on the right side and the women on the left. The priest, a converted
Jap, in orthodox clerical attire, officiated in Japanese language. The
scholars of the Orthodox school sang in chorus; I could make out only one
word, “Amen.” When the service was over the archbishop asked us to come
and have a cup of tea in his drawing-room.
Next day was Sunday, we went again to the cathedral to hear mass. It was
the archbishop who officiated this time and also in Japanese. During the
Holy Sacrament he said a few words in Russian to us. The baptised natives
were sitting on the floor on their heels. I saw women suckling their
babies, and was very much astonished when a little Jap came running to
his mother, and springing suddenly on her lap, began to suck her with
great appetite. We invited the archbishop to dine with us at the hotel.
He was not a bit a bigot, he ate meat and listened with pleasure to the
sounds of a waltz played by an orchestra during dinner-time.
Mr. Vassilieff put himself at our disposal during our stay at Tokio.
He had been present at the attempt on the life of our Emperor during
his voyage to Japan when he was heir to the throne. He was driving in a
riksha with the Prince of Greece and a numerous suite in the outskirts
of Kioto. Mr. Vassilieff, who was of the party, saw a native policeman
rush sword in hand towards the Grand-Duke, at which his riksha-man gave
him a kick behind, and the next moment the ruffian was sprawling on the
ground. The Prince of Greece fell on him with his stick and struck him
full and square on the head. The man died in prison a year after, and the
riksha-man who had defended the Grand-Duke has received a medal and a
life annuity of a thousand roubles from the Russian Government.
On the day that my husband and his companions had gone to Nikko, we
ladies went out shopping. We stared into the shop windows, being in
search of curios, and bought right and left with reckless extravagance.
The merchants greeted us with a number of quick, jerky little bows. We
returned laden with parcels, and the result of our struggle in the curio
shops were strewn all over our saloon. Sergy, on returning from Nikko,
had to pay great quantities of bills. The merchants, having received
their money, bowed so low that it seemed as though they were crawling on
all fours.
We were beginning to be tired of Tokio, and on the 5th August we started
to Kobe. The weather was grey and dull, the crows croaked over us
foretelling rain. The road to Kobe reminded me of the Caucasus by its
grand and wild landscape. We entered continually into tunnels. From afar
we heard the splashing of the ocean, and in a short time our train ran
along the shore. Suddenly we were caught in a terrible storm; the ocean
beat violently against the beach. We were told that the typhoon, that
terror of seamen, had just passed over. When a ship is caught in the
centre of the furious whirlwind, she is lost for ever. Our train fought
courageously with the hurricane. The wind rattled the windows and seemed
to threaten to overturn our car. It won’t be agreeable on sea to-morrow!
There was nothing to be got to eat at the stations during the whole run.
At one of the stoppages we bought from an ambulant vendor an earthen cup
and a teapot with hot water, the whole for one cent. At every stoppage we
thought it was Kobe and that we had to get out.