STRANGE CUSTOMS
We had a large stone church in our suburb which was not quite paid for,
and a society of church-women called "The Ladies' Aid" occasionally
gave a fair or concert and sometimes a play with local talent, in order
to obtain money to add to the fund.
One evening Mother, Matsuo, and I attended one of these concerts. On
the programme was a vocal solo of some classic selection. The singer
was the gifted daughter of a wealthy citizen and had received her
musical education in Europe. I knew her as a rather quiet young woman
with a gentle voice and dignified manner; therefore I was surprised,
when the music began, to see her step forward briskly and informally,
bow smilingly to the audience, right and left, and then, with much
facial expression, give a vocal exhibition of high, clear trills and
echoes that to my untrained ears was a strange and marvellous discord,
but the most wonderful thing that I had ever heard in my life.
The effect left on my mind was of brightness, quick motion, and
high-pitched sound. In strong contrast is our classic music, which
always suggests subdued colours, slow movement, and deep, mellow tones.
Also, like most Japanese art, our music requires listening eyes as well
as ears. Otherwise its appeal is lost.
Our classic stage is always the same. The entire back is one solid
board of natural cedar wood, on which is painted a gigantic dwarf
pine. The floor is of camphor wood and is bare. On this the singers,
who, of course, are always men, sit as motionless as dolls. Their
dress is the old-fashioned, soft-hued garment of ceremony. Each one,
before beginning to sing, makes a slow, deep bow, and, with studied
deliberation, places his fan horizontally before him on the floor.
Then, with his hands on his knees, palms down, and sitting very erect
and motionless, he tells in song, and with incredible elocutionary
power, some wonderful tale of war and romance; but wholly without
movement of body or change of facial expression.
At the close the singer's face is often flushed with feeling, but,
with no change of expression, he bows, then gently takes up his fan
and resumes his former impassive attitude. The audience sits in
profound silence. The listeners may be touched to tears or raised to
the highest pitch of excitement, but this can be detected only by the
sound of subdued sniffling or the catch of a quick sigh. For centuries
repression has been the keynote of everything of a high character,
and the greatest tribute that can be paid to a singer or an actor of
classic drama is to be received in deep silence.
One thing in America, to which I could not grow accustomed, was the
joking attitude in regard to women and money. From men and women of all
classes, from newspapers, novels, lecturers, and once even from the
pulpit, I heard allusions to amusing stories of women secreting money
in odd places, coaxing it from their husbands, borrowing it from a
friend, or saving it secretly for some private purpose. There was never
anything dishonourable implied in this. Perhaps the money was saved to
get new curtains for the parlour, or even a birthday present for the
husband. These jokes were a puzzle to me--and a constantly growing one;
for as time passed on, I myself saw things which made me realize that
probably a foundation of serious truth might lie beneath some of the
amusing stories.
Our suburb was small and we were all interested in each other's
affairs, so I was acquainted with almost everybody. I knew the ladies
to be women of education and culture, yet there seemed to be among them
a universal and openly confessed lack of responsibility about money.
They all dressed well and seemed to have money for specific purposes,
but no open purse to use with free and responsible judgment. Once, at a
church fair, where I had a table, several ladies, after walking around
the hall and examining the various booths, had bought some small, cheap
articles, but left the expensive ones, saying, "My husband will be here
later on and I'll get him to buy it," or "When the gentlemen come those
high-priced things will sell." I had never known a Japanese man to buy
anything for his home, or be expected to.
Once, when I was shopping with a friend, she stopped at her husband's
office to ask him for money. I thought that was strange enough, but a
still more curious thing happened when I went with Mother to a meeting
of the church ladies where they were raising a certain amount for some
unusual purpose. The Ladies' Aid had recently made a great many calls
on the husbands' purses, and so this time each member had pledged
herself to bring five dollars which she must obtain without asking her
husband for it. The meeting I attended was the one where the money was
handed in, each lady telling, as she gave it, how she had succeeded in
getting her five dollars. Most had saved it in various ways, a little
at a time. One said that she had made a real sacrifice and returned to
her milliner a new hat--paid for, but not worn--receiving in exchange
one that was five dollars less in price. Another had sold two theatre
tickets which had been given her. Still another told, in very witty
rhyme, how she, a poor Ladies' Aid lady, had spent most of her leisure
time for a week, and had pledged herself for a week longer, in darning
stockings for the children of her neighbour, a rich non-Ladies' Aid
lady.
The meeting was intensely interesting. It reminded me of our
poem-making parties, only of course this was gayer and these stories
were on an undignified subject. I enjoyed it all until a pretty,
bright, and beautifully dressed woman rose and said that she didn't
know how to save money and she didn't know how to earn it. She had
promised not to cheat in her charge account at the store, and she had
promised not to ask her husband for the five dollars, so she had done
the only thing that was left for her to do: she had stolen it from her
husband's pocket when he was asleep.
This report caused a great deal of merriment, but I was saddened. All
the reports seemed tragic after she said, "That was the only thing
left to do." It seemed incredible, here in America, where women are
free and commanding, that a woman of dignity and culture, the mistress
of a home, the mother of children, should be forced either to ask her
husband for money, or be placed in a humiliating position.
When I left home, Japan, at large, was still following the old custom
of educating a girl to be responsible for the well-being of her entire
family--husband included. The husband was the lord of the family; but
the wife was mistress of the home and, according to her own judgment,
controlled all its expenses--the house, the food, the children's
clothing and education; all social and charitable responsibilities, and
her own dress, the material and style of which were expected to conform
to her husband's position.
Where did she get the money? The husband's income was for his family,
and his wife was the banker. When he wanted money for himself he asked
her for it, and it was her pride to manage so that she could allow
him the amount suitable for a man of his standing. As to what the
requirements of his position might be, there was little question, for
to know this was part of the wife's education. The husband might shrug
his shoulders and say, "It's very inconvenient," but the entire house
and its standing were his pride, and any disarrangement that would mar
the whole was his loss. Therefore the needs of the home came first. A
man married, primarily, as a duty to the gods and to his ancestors;
secondarily, to obtain a mistress for his home who would guide it in
such a manner that it and his family might be a credit to him. If she
managed well, he was complimented by his friends. If she failed, he was
pitied.
This was true of all classes except lords of large estates or financial
kings of business. In these cases there was a home treasurer, but he
was at the call of the mistress, and her judgment as to her needs was
supreme. The treasurer's only power of protest lay in the right to say,
with many apologies, "The Honourable Mistress is about to overdraw her
account." The hint was generally sufficient, for a Japanese woman, like
everyone in a responsible position, desired to do her duty creditably.
Conventional forms are losing in rigidity year by year, but even yet
the people are considerably influenced by rules which in the past were
uniform and recognized by all. Any marked deviation from these is still
considered bad form.
The standards of my own and my adopted country differed so widely in
some ways, and my love for both lands was so sincere, that sometimes I
had an odd feeling of standing upon a cloud in space, and gazing with
measuring eyes upon two separate worlds. At first I was continually
trying to explain, by Japanese standards, all the queer things that
came every day before my surprised eyes; for no one seemed to know
the origin or significance of even the most familiar customs, nor why
they existed and were followed. To me, coming from a land where there
is an unforgotten reason for every fashion of dress, for every motion
in etiquette--indeed, for almost every trivial act of life--this
indifference of Americans seemed very singular.
Mother was a wonderful source of information, but I felt a hesitation
about asking too many questions, for my curiosity was so frequently
about odd, trifling, unimportant things, such as why ladies kept on
their hats in church while men took theirs off; what was the use of the
china plates which I saw hanging on the walls of some beautiful houses;
why guests are taken to the privacy of a bedroom and asked to put their
hats and cloaks on the _bed_--a place that suggested sleep or sickness;
why people make social calls in the _evening_--the time of leisure in
Japan; what originated the merriment and nonsense of Hallowe'en and
April Fool's days, and why such a curious custom exists as the putting
of gifts in stockings--_stockings_, the very humblest of all the
garments that are worn.
It seemed strange to me that there should never be any hint or allusion
to these customs in conversation, in books, or in newspapers. In Japan,
tradition, folklore, and symbolism are before one all the time. The
dress of the people on the streets; the trade-mark on the swinging
curtains of the shops; the decorations on chinaware; the call of
the street vender; the cap of the soldier; the pleated skirt of the
schoolgirl: each points back to some well-known tale of how or why.
Even the narrow blue-and-white towel of the jinrikisha man and the
layer lunch-box of the workman bear designs suggesting an ancient poem
or a bit of folklore, as familiar to every Japanese child as are the
melodies of Mother Goose to the children of America.
One afternoon, at a small reception, a lady spoke pleasantly to me
of the healthfulness to the foot of a shoe like my sandal and then
referred with disapproval to the high heels and pointed toes then in
vogue.
"Why are these shapes worn?" I asked. "What started them?"
"Oh, for no reason," she replied. "Just a fashion; like--well, like
your folding your dress over left-handed."
"But there is a reason for that," I said. "It is only on a corpse that
the kimono is folded over from the right."
That interested her, and we had a short talk on the peculiarity of
Japanese always honouring the left above the right in everything, from
the Imperial throne to the tying of a knot. Then, lightly touching the
back of my sash, she asked, "Would you mind telling me what this bundle
is for? Is it to carry the babies on?"
"Oh, no," I replied, "it is my sash, and is only an ornament. A baby is
carried in a hammock-like scarf swung from the nurse's shoulders."
"This material of your sash is very beautiful," she said. "May I ask
why you arrange it in that flat pad instead of spreading it out, so
that the design can be seen?"
Since she seemed really interested, I willingly explained the various
styles of tying a sash for persons differing in rank, age, and
occupation; and for different occasions. Then came the final question,
"Why do you have so much goods in it?"
That pleased me, for to a Japanese the material beauty of an article is
always secondary to its symbolism. I told her of the original meaning
of the twelve-inch width and twelve-foot length, and explained how it
represented much of the mythology and astrology of ancient Oriental
belief.
"This is very interesting," she said as she turned to go, "especially
about the signs of the zodiac and all that; but it's a shame to hide
so much of that magnificent brocade by folding it in. And don't you
think, yourself, little lady," and she gave me a merry smile, "that
it's positively wicked to buy so many yards of lovely goods just to be
wasted and useless?"
And she walked away with a long train of expensive velvet trailing
behind her on the floor.
Mother's furniture, which was of beautiful wood and some of it carved,
at first made me feel as if I were in a museum; but when I went into
other homes, I found that none were simple and plain. Many reminded me
of godowns, so crowded were they with, not only chairs, tables, and
pictures, but numbers of little things--small statues, empty vases,
shells, and framed photographs, as well as really rare and costly
ornaments; all scattered about with utter disregard, according to
Japanese standards, of order or appropriateness. It was several months
before I could overcome the impression that the disarranged profusion
of articles was a temporary convenience, and that very soon they would
be returned to the godown. Most of these objects were beautiful, but
some of them were the shape of a shoe or of the sole of the foot. This
seemed to be a favourite design, or else my unwilling eyes always
spied it out, for in almost every house I entered I would see it in a
paper-weight, a vase, or some other small article. Once I even saw a
little wooden shoe used as a holder for toothpicks.
Generations of prejudice made this very objectionable to me, for in
Japan the feet are the least honoured part of the body; and the most
beautiful or costly gift would lose all value if it had the shape of
footwear.
And Japanese curios! They were everywhere, and in the most
astonishingly inappropriate surroundings. Lunch boxes and rice-bowls on
parlour tables, cheap roll pictures hanging on elegant walls; shrine
gongs used for dining-room table bells; sword-guards for paper-weights;
ink-boxes for handkerchiefs and letter-boxes for gloves; marriage-cups
for pin-trays, and even little bamboo spittoons I have seen used to
hold flowers.
In time my stubborn mind learned, to some extent, to separate an
article from its surroundings; and then I began to see its artistic
worth with the eyes of an American. Also I acquired the habit, whenever
I saw absurd things here which evidently arose from little knowledge
of Japan, of trying to recall a similar absurdity in Japan regarding
foreign things. And I never failed to find more than one to offset
each single instance here. One time a recollection was forced upon me
by an innocent question from a young lady who told me, in a tone of
disbelief, that she had heard in a lecture on Japan that elegantly
dressed Japanese ladies sometimes wore ordinary, cheap chenille table
covers around their shoulders in place of scarfs. I could only laugh
and acknowledge that, a few years before, that had been a popular
fashion. Imported articles were rare and expensive, and since we never
used table covers ourselves, we had no thought of their being anything
but beautiful shawls. I had not the courage to tell her that I had worn
one myself, but I did tell her, however, of something that occurred at
my home in Nagaoka when I was a child.
On my father's return from one of his visits to the capital he brought
Ishi and Kin each a large turkish towel with a coloured border and
a deep fringe. The maids, their hearts swelling with pride, went to
temple service wearing the towels around their shoulders. I can see
them yet as they walked proudly out of the gateway, the white lengths
spread evenly over their best dresses and the fringe dangling in its
stiff newness above their long Japanese sleeves. It would be a funny
sight to me now, but then I was lost in admiration; and it seemed
perfectly natural that they should be, as they were, the envy of all
beholders.
Of all my experiences in trying to see Japanese things with American
eyes, one particularly inharmonious combination was a foolishly
annoying trial to me for many months. The first time I called on
Mrs. Hoyt, the hostess of an especially beautiful home, my eyes
were drawn to a lovely carved _magonote_--"hand of grandchild,"
it is called in Japan, but in America it has the practical name,
"scratch-my-back"--which was hanging by its silk cord on the cover of
an ebony cabinet. Beside it, thrown carelessly over the same cord, was
a rosary of crystal and coral beads. The little ivory finger-rake was
exquisitely carved, and the rosary was of rare pink coral and flawless
crystal; but to the eye of an Oriental all beauty was ruined by the
strange arrangement. It was like putting the Bible and a toothbrush
side by side on a parlour table.
I did not criticize the judgment of the hostess. Her superior taste in
all things artistic was beyond question, and in America the _magonote_
was an object of art only. From that viewpoint it was properly placed.
I realized this, and yet, whenever afterward I entered that room, I
persistently kept my eyes turned away from the ebony cabinet. It was
only after two years of close friendship with the hostess that I had
the courage to tell her of my shocked first visit to her home. She
laughs at me even yet, and I laugh too; but there is a warm feeling of
satisfaction in my heart this moment as I remember that the rosary and
the _magonote_ no longer hang side by side.
There was another thing in Mrs. Hoyt's home which was removed at the
same time the rosary and the "hand of grandchild" parted company. It
was a large coloured photograph of a scene in Japan--not an ancient
print, but a modern photograph. It was an attractive picture in
graceful arrangement and delicate colouring, and my hostess had placed
it in a conspicuous place. Her ignorant eyes beheld only its artistic
beauty, but my heart turned sick with shame. That picture would never
have been allowed in any respectable house in Japan, for it was the
photograph of a well-known courtesan of Tokyo taken at the door of
her professional home. "Oh, why do Japanese sell those things?" I
shudderingly asked myself; but immediately came the puzzling response,
"Why do Americans want to buy?"
One day I went into the city with a friend to do some shopping. We
were on a street car when my attention was attracted by a little girl
sitting opposite us who was eating something. Children in Japan do not
eat on the street or in a public place, and I did not know then that it
is not the custom in America as it is with us never to eat except at a
table.
My friend and I were busy talking, so for a while I did not notice the
child, but when I chanced to glance at her again, I was surprised to
see that she was still eating. Two or three times afterward I looked at
her, and finally I turned to my friend.
"I wonder what that child is eating," I said.
"She is not eating anything," my friend replied. "She is chewing gum."
Again I looked at the child. She was sitting, drooped and weary, her
loose hands lying in her lap, and her feet spread around her bundle in
a very awkward and difficult position. As I watched her tired face,
suddenly I remembered something that had happened on the train on my
trip across the continent.
"Is she sick?" I asked.
"No, I think not. Why do you ask?"
"I think I took that medicine on the train," I replied.
"Oh, no!" my friend said, laughing. "Chewing gum is not medicine. It's
a sort of wax, just to chew."
"Why does she do it?" I asked.
"Oh, most children of her class chew gum, more or less. It's not an
elegant thing to do. I don't allow my children to touch it."
I said nothing more, but a partial light began to dawn upon my
experience on the train. I had been uncomfortably car-sick, and Mrs.
Holmes had given me a small, flat block of fragrant medicine which
she said would cure nausea. I put it in my mouth and chewed a long
time, but I could not swallow it. After a while I got tired, but Mrs.
Holmes was still eating hers, so, concluding that it must be a medicine
possessing wonderful merit, as it would not dissolve, I wrapped it
carefully in a piece of white tissue paper and put it in the little
mirror case that I wore in my sash.
I never heard what originated this peculiar custom, but I think I never
found anything odd in America for which I could not find an equivalent
in Japan. Gum-chewing reminded me of _hodzuki_-blowing, a habit common
among some Japanese children; and also much practised by teahouse girls
and women of humble class. The _hodzuki_ is made from a little red
berry having a smooth, tough peeling. The core is very soft and with
proper care can be squeezed out leaving the unbroken peeling in the
shape of a tiny round lantern. This little ball is elastic and though
it has no special taste, children love to hold it in the mouth and by
gently blowing the hollow shell make what they call "mouth music."
It sounds somewhat like the soft, distant croaking of a pond frog.
_Hodzuki_-blowing is not beautiful music, nor is it a pretty custom,
but it is neither harmful nor unclean. The worst that can be said of it
is what many a nurse calls to her charge:
"Take that squeaky thing out of your mouth. It will make your lips
pouty and ugly."