JAPANESE CUSTOMS AND HOSPITALITY.
Every nation has its customs, its way of doing things, and a
nation's customs and ways are likely to be peculiar in proportion
as the nation is isolated. In Japan, therefore, one would expect to
see many strange things, and the expectation is more than realized.
In some things their customs are exactly the opposite of ours. In
writing they place their characters in vertical lines and move from
right to left, while our letters are arranged on horizontal lines
and read from left to right. Their books begin where ours end and
end where ours begin. The Japanese carpenters pull the saw and plane
toward them, while ours push them from them. The Japanese mounts
his steed from the right, while the American mounts from the left;
Japanese turn to the left, Americans to the right. Japanese write it
"Smith John Mr.," while we say "Mr. John Smith." At dinners in Japan
wine is served hot and soup cold, and the yard is generally at the
back of the house instead of the front.
The Japanese wear white for mourning and often bury their dead in a
sitting posture. The death is sometimes announced as occurring at
the house when it actually occurred elsewhere, and the date of the
death is fixed to suit the convenience of the family. This is partly
due to the fact that the Japanese like to have the death appear
as occurring at home. Sometimes funeral services are held over a
part of the body. An American lady whose Japanese maid died while
attending her mistress in the United States, reports an incident
worth relating. The lady cabled her husband asking instructions in
regard to the disposition of the body. He conferred with the family
of the deceased and cabled back directing the wife to bring a lock
of the hair and the false teeth of the departed. The instructions
were followed and upon the delivery of these precious relics, they
were interred with the usual ceremonies.
The handshake is uncommon even among Japanese politicians, except in
their intercourse with foreigners. When Baron Komura returned from
the peace conference in which he played so important a part, I was
anxious to witness his landing, partly out of respect to the man and
partly out of curiosity to see whether the threatened manifestations
of disapproval would be made by the populace, it having been
rumored that thousands of death lanterns were being prepared for
a hostile parade. (It is needless to say that the threats did not
materialize and that no expressions of disapproval were heard after
his arrival.) I found it impossible to learn either the hour or the
landing place, and, despairing of being present, started to visit
a furniture factory to inspect some wood carving. Consul-General
Jones of Dalney (near Port Arthur), then visiting in Yokohama, was
my escort and, as good fortune would have it, we passed near the
Detached Palace. Dr. Jones, hearing that the landing might be made
there, obtained permission for us to await the peace commissioner's
coming. We found Marquis Ito there and a half dozen other officials.
As Baron Komura did not arrive for half an hour, it gave me the best
opportunity that I could have had to become acquainted with the
Marquis, who is the most influential man in Japan at present. He is
President of the Privy Council of Elder Statesmen and is credited
with being the most potent factor in the shaping of Japan's demands
at Portsmouth.
[Illustration: JAPANESE GEISHA GIRLS.]
When Baron Komura stepped from the launch upon the soil of his
native land, he was met by Marquis Ito, and each greeted the other
with a low bow. The baron then saluted the other officials in the
same manner and, turning, bowed to a group of Japanese ladies
representing the Woman's Patriotic Association. Dr. Jones and I
stood some feet in the rear of the officials and were greeted by the
baron after he had saluted his own countrymen. He extended his hand
to us. The incident is mentioned as illustrating the difference in
the manner of greeting. For who would be more apt to clasp hands, if
that were customary, than these two distinguished statesmen whose
personalities are indissolubly linked together in the conclusion of
a world renowned treaty?
A brief account of the reception of Admiral Togo may be interesting
to those who read this article. While at Tokyo I visited the city
hall, at the invitation of the mayor and city council. While there
Mayor Ozaki informed me that he, in company with the mayors of the
other cities, would tender Admiral Togo a reception on the following
Tuesday, and invited me to be present. Of course I accepted, because
it afforded a rare opportunity to observe Japanese customs as well
as to see a large concourse of people. As I witnessed the naval
review in Yokohama the day before and the illumination at night, I
did not reach Tokyo until the morning of the reception, and this led
me into considerable embarrassment. On the train I met a Japanese
gentleman who could speak English. He was kind enough to find me
a 'rikisha man and a pusher and to instruct them to take me at
once to Uyeno Park. He then left me and the 'rikisha men followed
his instructions to the letter. They had not proceeded far when I
discovered that Admiral Togo had arrived on the same train and that
a long procession had formed to conduct him to the park. Before I
knew it, I was whisked past an escort of distinguished citizens
who, clad in Prince Alberts and silk hats, followed the carriages,
and then I found my 'rikisha drawn into an open space between two
carriages. Grabbing the 'rikisha man in front of me, I told him by
word and gesture to get out of the line of the procession. He could
not understand English, and evidently thinking that I wanted to get
nearer the front, he ran past a few carriages and then dropped into
another opening. Again I got him out of the line, employing more
emphasis than before, only to be carried still nearer the front.
After repeated changes of position, all the time employing such sign
language as I could command and attempting to convey by different
tones of voice suggestions that I could not translate into language,
I at last reached the head of the procession. And the 'rikisha men,
as if satisfied with the success of their efforts, paused to await
the starting of the line. I tried to inform them that I was not a
part of the procession; that I wanted to get on another street; that
they should take me to the park by some other route and do so at
once. They at last comprehended sufficiently to leave the carriages
and take up a rapid gait, but get off of the street they would not.
For three miles they drew me between two rows of expectant people,
whose eyes peered down the street to catch a glimpse of the great
admiral, who, as the commander of the Japanese navy, has won such
signal victories over the Russians. I saw a million people; they
represented every class, age and condition. I saw more people than
I ever saw before in a single day. Old men and old women, feeble,
but strengthened by their enthusiasm; middle aged men and women
whose sons had shared in the dangers and in the triumphs of the
navy; students from the boys' schools and students from the girls'
schools with flags and banners, little children dressed in all the
colors of the rainbow--all were there. And I could imagine that each
one of them old enough to think, was wondering why a foreigner was
intruding upon a street which the police had cleared for a triumphal
procession. If some one had angrily caught my 'rikisha men and
thrust them through the crowd to a side street I should not have
complained--I would even have felt relieved, but no one molested
them or me and I reached the park some minutes ahead of the admiral.
How glad I was to alight, and how willingly I rewarded the smiles
of the 'rikisha men with a bonus--for had they not done their duty
as they understood it? And had they not also given me, in spite of
my protests, such a view of the people of Tokyo as I could have
obtained in no other way?
[Illustration: YUKIO OZAKI--MAYOR OF TOKYO]
At the park I luckily fell in with some of the councilmen whom
I had met before and they took me in hand. I saw the procession
arrive, heard the banzais (the Japanese cheers) as they rolled along
the street, keeping pace with Togo's carriage, and I witnessed
the earnest, yet always orderly, rejoicing of the crowd that had
congregated at the end of the route. When the procession passed by
us into the park the members of the city council fell in behind
the carriages, and I with them. When we reached the stand, a seat
was tendered me on the front row from which the extraordinary
ceremonies attending the reception could be witnessed. Mayor Ozaki,
the presiding officer, escorted Admiral Togo to a raised platform,
and there the two took seats on little camp stools some ten feet
apart, facing each other, with their sides to the audience and to
those on the stand. After a moment's delay, a priest, clad in his
official robes, approached with cake and a teacup on a tray and,
kneeling, placed them before the admiral. Tea was then brought in a
long handled pot and poured into the cup. After the distinguished
guest had partaken of these refreshments, the mayor arose and read
an address of welcome. He has the reputation of being one of the
best orators in the empire, and his part was doubly interesting to
me. As he confined himself to his manuscript, I could not judge of
his delivery, but his voice was pleasing and his manner natural. The
address recited the exploits of Admiral Togo and gave expression to
the gratitude of the people. At its conclusion the hero-admiral
arose and modestly acknowledged the compliment paid to him and to
his officers. Admiral Togo is short, even for the Japanese, and has
a scanty beard. Neither in stature nor in countenance does he give
evidence of the stern courage and indomitable will which have raised
him to the pinnacle of fame.
When he sat down the mayor proposed three times three banzais, and
they were given with a will by the enormous crowd that stood in the
open place before the stand. While writing this article, I am in
receipt of information that Mayor Ozaki has secured for me one of
the little camp stools above referred to and has had made for me a
duplicate of the other. They will not only be interesting souvenirs
of an historic occasion, and prized as such, but they will be
interesting also because they contrast so sharply with the large and
richly upholstered chairs used in America on similar occasions.
From this public meeting the admiral and his officers were conducted
to a neighboring hall where an elaborate luncheon was served. With
the councilmen I went to this hall and was presented to the admiral
and his associates, one of whom had been a student at Annapolis.
By the courtesy of Hon. Lloyd Griscom, the American minister, I had
an audience with the emperor, these audiences being arranged through
the minister representing the country from which the caller comes.
Our minister, to whom I am indebted for much assistance and many
kindnesses during my stay at the capital, accompanied me to the
palace and instructed me, as they say in the fraternities, "in the
secret work of the order." Except where the caller wears a uniform,
he is expected to appear in evening dress, although the hour fixed
is in the day time. At the outer door stand men in livery, one of
whom conducts the callers through long halls, beautifully decorated
on ceilings and walls, to a spacious reception room where a halt is
made until the summons comes from the emperor's room. The emperor
stands in the middle of the receiving room with an interpreter
at his side. The caller on reaching the threshold bows; he then
advances half way to the emperor, pauses and bows again; he then
proceeds and bows a third time as he takes the extended hand of the
sovereign.
The conversation is brief and formal, consisting of answers to the
questions asked by his majesty. The emperor is fifty-three years
old, about five feet six inches in height, well built and wears a
beard, although, as is the case with most Japanese, the growth is
not heavy. On retiring the caller repeats the three bows.
[Illustration: IN COUNT OKUMA'S CONSERVATORY]
We were shown through the palace, and having seen the old palace
at Kyoto, which was the capital until the date of the restoration
(1868), I was struck with the difference. The former was severely
plain; the latter represents the best that Japanese art can produce.
[Illustration: MARQUIS ITO.]
No discussion of Japanese customs would be complete without mention
of the tea ceremonial. One meets tea on his arrival; it is his
constant companion during his stay and it is mingled with the
farewells that speed him on his departure. Whenever he enters a
house he is offered tea and cake and they are never refused. This
custom prevails in the larger stores and is scrupulously observed at
public buildings and colleges. The tea is served in dainty cups and
taken without sugar or cream. The tea drinking habit is universal
here, the kettle of hot water sitting on the coals in the brazier
most of the time. At each railroad station the boys sing out, "Cha!
Cha!" (the Japanese word for tea) and for less than two cents in our
money they will furnish the traveler with an earthen pot of hot tea,
with pot and cup thrown in.
[Illustration: COUNT OKUMA.]
The use of tea at social gatherings dates back at least six hundred
years, when a tea ceremonial was instituted by a Buddhist priest
to soften the manners of the warriors. It partook of a religious
character at first, but soon became a social form, and different
schools of tea drinkers vied with each other in suggesting rules
and methods of procedure. About three hundred years ago Hideyoshi,
one of the greatest of the military rulers of Japan, gave what is
described as the largest tea party on record; the invitations being
in the form of an imperial edict. All lovers of tea were summoned to
assemble at a given date in a pine grove near Kyoto, and they seem
to have done so. The tea party lasted ten days and the emperor drank
at every booth.
According to Chamberlain, tea drinking had reached the luxurious
stage before the middle of the fourteenth century. The lords took
part in the daily gatherings, reclining on tiger skins, the walls of
the guest chamber being richly ornamented. One of the popular games
of that day was the offering of a number of varieties of tea, the
guests being required to guess where each variety was produced, the
best guess winning a handsome prize. The tea ceremony answered at
least one useful purpose--it furnished an innocent way of killing
time, and the lords of that day seem to have had an abundance
of time on their hands. The daughters of the upper classes were
trained to perform the ceremony and displayed much skill therein.
Even to this day it is regarded as one of the accomplishments, and
young ladies perfect themselves in it, much as our daughters learn
music and singing. At Kagoshima, Governor Chikami, one of the most
scholarly men whom I have met here, had his daughter perform for my
instruction a part of the ceremony, time not permitting more. With
charming grace she prepared, poured and served this Japanese nectar,
each motion being according to the rules of the most approved sect,
for there are sects among tea drinkers.
The theatre is an ancient institution here, although until recently
the actors were considered beneath even the mercantile class. Their
social standing has been somewhat improved since the advent of
western ideas. The theatre building is very plain as compared with
ours or even with the better class of homes here. They are always
on the ground floor and have a circular, revolving stage within the
larger stage which makes it possible to change the scenes instantly.
The plays are divided into two kinds--historical ones reproducing
old Japan, and modern plays. The performance often lasts through
the entire day and evening, some of the audience bringing their tea
kettles and food. Lunches, fruit, cigarettes and tea are also on
sale in the theatre. The people sit on the floor as they do in their
homes and at public meetings. One of the side aisles is raised to
the level of the stage and the actors use it for entrance and exit.
In this connection a word should be said in regard to the Geisha
girls who have furnished such ample material for the artist and the
decorator. They are selected for their beauty and trained in what is
called a dance, although it differs so much from the American dance
as scarcely to be describable by that term. It is rather a series
of graceful poses in which gay costumes, dainty fans, flags, scarfs
and sometimes parasols, play a part. The faces of the dancers are
expressionless and there is no exposure of the limbs. The Geisha
girls are often called in to entertain guests at a private dinner,
the performance being before, not after, the meal.
Our first introduction to this national amusement was at the Maple
Club dinner given at Tokyo by a society composed of Japanese men
who had studied in the United States. The name of the society is
a Japanese phrase which means the "Friends of America." The Maple
Club is the most famous restaurant in Japan, and the Geisha girls
employed there stand at the head of their profession. During the
dancing there is music on stringed instruments, which resembles the
banjo in tone, and sometimes singing. At the Maple Club the Geisha
girls displayed American and Japanese flags. We saw the dancing
again at an elaborate dinner given by Mr. Fukuzawa, editor of the
Jiji Shimpo. Here also the flags of both nations were used.
In what words can I adequately describe the hospitality of the
Japanese? I have read, and even heard, that among the more ignorant
classes there is a decided anti-foreign feeling, and it is not
unnatural that those who refuse to reconcile themselves to Japan's
new attitude should blame the foreigner for the change, but we did
not encounter this sentiment anywhere. Never in our own country
have we been the recipients of more constant kindness or more
considerate attention. From Marquis Ito down through all the ranks
of official life we found everyone friendly to America, and to us
as representatives of America. At the dinner given by Minister
Griscom there were present, besides Marquis Ito, the leader of the
liberal party, Count Okuma, the leader of the progressive party
(the opposition party), and a number of other prominent Japanese
politicians.
At the dinner given by Consul General Miller at Yokohama, Governor
Sufu and Mayor Ichihara were present. The state and city officials
wherever we have been have done everything possible to make our
stay pleasant. The college and school authorities have opened their
institutions to us and many without official position have in
unmistakable ways shown themselves friendly. We will carry away
with us a number of handsome presents bestowed by municipalities,
colleges, societies and individuals.
We were entertained by Count Okuma soon after our arrival and
met there, among others, Mr. Kato of the state department, and
President Hatoyama of the Waseda University, and their wives. The
count's house is half European and half Japanese, and his garden is
celebrated for its beauty. At Viscount Kana's we saw a delightful
bit of home life. He is one of the few daimios, or feudal lords,
who has become conspicuous in the politics of Japan, and we soon
discovered the secret of his success. He has devoted himself to
the interests of agriculture and spent his time in an earnest and
intelligent effort to improve the condition of the rural population.
He is known as "The Farmer's Friend." His house is at the top of
a beautifully terraced hill, which was once a part of his feudal
estate. He and his wife and six children met us at the bottom of the
hill on our arrival and escorted us to the bottom on our departure.
The children assisted in serving the dinner and afterward sang for
us the American national air as well as their own national hymn.
The hospitality was so genuine and so heartily entered into by all
the family that we could hardly realize that we were in a foreign
land and entertained by hosts to whom we had to speak through an
interpreter.
In the country, fifteen miles from Kagoshima, I was a guest at the
home of Mr. Yamashita, the father of the young man, who, when a
student in America, made his home with us for more than five years.
Mr. Yamashita was of the samurai class and since the abolition of
feudalism has been engaged in farming. He had invited his relatives
and also the postmaster and the principal of the district school to
the noon meal. He could not have been more thoughtful of my comfort
or more kindly in his manner. The little country school which stood
near by turned out to bid us welcome. The children were massed at
a bridge over which large flags of the two nations floated from
bamboo poles. Each child also held a flag, the Japanese and American
flags alternating. As young Yamashita and I rode between the lines
they waved their flags and shouted "Banzai." And so it was at
other schools. Older people may be diplomatic and feign good will,
but children speak from their hearts. There is no mistaking their
meaning, and in my memory the echo of the voices of the children,
mingling with the assurances of the men and women, convinces me that
Japan entertains nothing but good will toward our nation. Steam has
narrowed the Pacific and made us neighbors; let Justice keep us
friends.