_Commercialized Vice--The Yoshiwara--An Establishment
Therein--Famous Old Geisha--A "Male Geisha"--The Stately
Shogi--They Show Us Courtesy--The Merits of the Shogi--Kyoto's
Shimabara--The Shogi in Romance--The Tale of the Fair Yoshino_
Some Americans are horrified because commercialized vice is officially
recognized in Japan. The thought is unpleasant. But I am by no means
sure that, since this form of vice does exist everywhere in the world,
the policy of recognizing and regulating it is not the best policy.
The Japanese work, apparently, upon the theory that, as this evil cannot
be stamped out of existence, the next best thing is to stamp it as far
as possible out of the public consciousness. This is done by segregating
the women called _shogi_ in certain specified districts, and keeping
them off the city streets.
Whatever may be urged for or against this system it enables me to say of
Japan what I am not able to say of my own country or any other country I
have visited: namely, that in Japan I never saw a street-walker.
The Tokyo district called the Yoshiwara is entered by a wide road
spanned by an arch. Within, the streets look much like other Japanese
streets, save that they are brightly lighted and that some of the
buildings are large and rather ornate. First we went to a teahouse of
the Yoshiwara, and I was readily able to perceive that the geisha in
this teahouse were of a lower grade than those I had hitherto seen.
Their faces were less intelligent, and they lacked the perfect grace and
charm of their more successful sisters.
From the sounds about us it was apparent that a Yoshiwara teahouse is a
place for drinking and more or less wild merrymaking.
Proceeding down the street from this teahouse we passed through orderly
crowds and presently came to the district's most elaborate
establishment. It was a large three-story building of white glazed
brick, with an inner courtyard containing a pretty garden. To enter this
place was like entering a very fine Japanese hotel.
In the corridor hung a row of lacquered sticks each bearing a number in
the Chinese character. There were, I think, about thirty of these
sticks, and each represented a shogi. The number-one shogi was the most
sought-after; number two ranked next, and so on. We were shown by the
proprietress and some maids to a large matted room on the second floor,
where saké, cakes and fruit were served to us. Then there appeared three
geisha of a most unusual kind. They were women fifty-five or sixty years
of age, rather large, with faces genial, amusing, and respectable. These
I was told were geisha with a great local reputation for boisterous wit.
My Japanese friends were thereafter kept in a continual state of mirth,
and though I could not understand what the old geisha were saying, their
droll manner was so infectious that I, too, was amused. Presently they
were joined by a man with the face of a comedian. He was described to me
as a "male geisha." That is, he was an entertainer. He sang, told comic
stories and showed real ability as a mimic.
This entertainment lasted for the better part of an hour. Then the
mistress of the house came in with the air of one having something
important to reveal. At a word from her the entertainers drew back and
seated themselves on cushions at one side of the room. There was an
impressive silence. Slowly, a sliding screen door of black lacquer and
gold paper slipped back, moved by an unseen hand. We watched the open
doorway.
Presently appeared the figure of a woman. She did not look in our
direction, but moved out into the room as if it had been a stage and she
an actress. Her step was slow and stately, and she was arrayed in a
brilliant robe of red satin, heavily quilted, and embroidered with large
elaborate designs. This was the number-one shogi. Her costume and
bearing were magnificent, but her face was expressionless and not at all
beautiful.
When she was well within the room the number-two shogi, dressed in the
same style, moved in behind her, and followed with the same stately
tread. In procession they walked across the room, turned slowly, trailed
the hems of their wadded kimonos back across the matting, and made an
exit by the door at which they had entered. Then the door slipped shut.
The chatter began once more, but after a few minutes we were again
silenced. For the second time the door opened and the two women
appeared. They were now arrayed in purple kimonos, quilted and
embroidered like the first. Again they made a dignified progress across
the room and back; again they disappeared.
That was the end of the inspection. By now we should, in theory, have
been entranced with one or the other of the shogi we had seen. It was
time to go. But as the Japanese gentleman whom I had asked to bring me
to this place was a man of consequence, an especial courtesy was shown
us ere we departed. In ordinary circumstances we should not have seen
the two women again, but now they unbent so far as to come in and kneel
upon the floor beside us--for we had checked our shoes at the entrance,
and were seated Japanese-fashion upon silk cushions.
My Japanese friends attempted to chat with the shogi, but evidently the
latter did not shine in the arts of conversation. The talk was grave and
unmistakably perfunctory, and after a little while the two arose, bowed
profoundly, with a sort of grandeur, and trailed their wondrous robes
out of the room. It was like seeing in the life a pair of courtesans
from a colour-print by Utamaro. As they went I wondered whether, in the
beginning, they had striven to be geisha instead of shogi, but had been
forced to the Yoshiwara by reason of their lack of talent for music and
conversation.
Before we left I was shown some of the other rooms of this huge house,
including those of several of the women. The woodwork was like light
brown satin and the matting glistened almost as though it were
lacquered. There were some kakemono and fine painted screens with
old-gold backgrounds, and in the women's rooms were cabinets and
dressing-stands lacquered red and gold. The dressing-stands were of a
height to suit one squatting on the floor. It was as though the top
section of one of our dressing tables were set upon the floor--a mirror
with small drawers at either side.
The mistress and her maids accompanied us to the street door when we
departed. They made profound obeisances, and the mistress declared her
appreciation of the great honour we had paid her by visiting her
establishment. My Japanese friends replied in kind. The whole affair was
conducted with a fine sense of ceremony.
As for the three elderly geisha, they took another way of complimenting
us. Instead of making ceremonious speeches they continued to be gay and
amusing, but they did something which, when geisha do it, is considered
a mark of high respect. They left the place with us, accompanying us as
far as the gate of the Yoshiwara. One of them, a jolly old creature,
with a fine, strong humorous face, linked arms with me as we walked
along, and conversed with me in English. Perhaps the word "conversed"
implies too much. Her entire English vocabulary consisted of the words:
"All right," but she repeated the expression frequently and with
changing intonations which gave a sort of variety.
It was a strange evening, and the strangest part of it was the absence
of vulgarity. I had seen nothing that the most fastidious woman could
not have seen.
As to what treatment is accorded the shogi themselves I cannot say.
Certainly they did not have the air of being happy. Almost all of them
are there because of poverty, and it is said that all live in the hope
that some man will become fond of them and buy them out of the life of
the _joroya_. This I believe occasionally happens. It should be added
that, under the Japanese law, contracts by which women sell themselves,
or are sold by others into this life, are not valid. It may further be
added that all authorities on Japan seem to be in accord with
Chamberlain who says that "the fallen women of Japan are, as a class,
much less vicious than their representatives in Western lands, being
neither drunken nor foul-mouthed." They also have a high reputation for
honesty.
The name Yoshiwara is not a generic term, though strangers sometimes use
it as if it were, speaking of "a Yoshiwara." Similar districts in other
cities are known by other names--as, for example, the historic
Shimabara, in Kyoto, which dates back about four centuries.
Like the Yoshiwara, the Shimabara has been moved from time to time, with
a view to keeping it away from the heart of the city. History records
that Hideyoshi caused the district to be uprooted and transplanted, and
Ieyasu, the first Tokugawa shogun, did the same, on the ground that it
was too near the palace and the business centre.
I find some odd items in a book giving the history of the Shimabara. It
is said that in the old days only ronin--samurai acknowledging no
overlord--were given charters to operate resorts in the Shimabara, and
that court gentlemen visiting this quarter were required to wear white
garments. There is also the story of a city official who used to meet
now and then upon the streets of Kyoto a beautiful woman riding in a
palanquin. It was his custom to salute her respectfully, for he thought
her a court lady. But one day, upon inquiry, he learned that she was a
courtesan, whereupon he became indignant, and caused the Shimabara
quarter to be again removed, placing it still farther away from the
city's heart.
There is some evidence that in feudal Japan the most admired courtesans
were persons of more consequence than those of to-day. In olden times,
for example, the Shimabara women were considered to rank above geisha,
whereas now the situation is decidedly the reverse.
The stories of certain famous women of the ancient Shimabara are still
remembered, and are favourites with writers of romances. One quaint tale
tells of a beautiful girl named Tokuko, the daughter of a ronin. When
her father and her mother died, leaving her penniless, she went into the
Shimabara. Here, because of her grace, she became known as _Uki-fune_
"floating ship." But she wrote a poem about the cherry blossoms at Mt.
Yoshino, in Yamato Province, a place which for more than ten centuries
has been noted for these blooms, and her poem was so much admired that
she herself came to be called Yoshino.
A rich man's son fell in love with this girl and married her, but when
his father learned what had been her occupation he disowned the youth.
The young couple were however courageous. In a tiny cottage they lived a
happy and romantic life.
One day it happened that the father, caught in a heavy rainstorm, asked
shelter in a little house at the roadside. Here he found a beautiful
young woman playing exquisitely upon the harp-like musical instrument
called the _koto_. She welcomed him charmingly, made him comfortable,
served him tea. When the storm had passed the old man thanked her for
her hospitality and departed. But he had been so struck with her beauty
and grace that he made inquiries about her.
"Ah," exclaimed the one of whom he asked, "she is none other than
Yoshino, wife of your disinherited son!"
Upon hearing this the father relented. He sent for the young couple,
took them to live in his own mansion, and directed the daughter-in-law
to resume her original name, Tokuko--which means "virtue."
However, I have noticed that in Japan and all other lands, romantic
stories making heroines of courtesans have to be dated pretty far back.
The living courtesan is but rarely regarded as a romantic figure. She is
like a piece of common glass.
But a piece of common glass, buried long enough in certain kinds of
soil, acquires iridescence. This iridescence is not actually in the
glass, but exists in a patine which gradually adheres to it. Under a
little handling it will flake off.
I suspect that it is much the same with famous courtesans the world
over. When, after having been buried for a hundred years or so, they
are, so to speak, dug up by novelists and playwrights, there adheres to
them a beautiful iridescent patine.
It is best, perhaps, to refrain from scratching the patine lest we find
out what is really underneath.
[Illustration: It takes two hours to do a geisha's hair, but the
coiffure, once accomplished, lasts several days]