FOUR WOMEN THAT I KNEW IN TOKIO
_Mrs. Keutako_
THREE of them were Japanese. One was the Anglo-Saxon wife of a Japanese
gentleman. Two of them I had known in America. Two of them I met for the
first time in Japan.
The two girls whom I knew at Vassar College as Stamatz Yamakawa and
Shige Nagai had become the Countess Oyama and Mrs. Uriu. My new
acquaintances were Mrs. Keutako and Madame Sannomiya. Mrs. Keutako was a
dear bit of Japanese femininity whom I always longed to seize upon and
cuddle. We were really very good friends, though our conversation was
very limited. She knew two words of English. I had the advantage of her
inasmuch as I knew three words of Japanese.
Madame Sannomiya was one of the most powerful personalities of the
Japanese Court; she was English, but her husband was a high functionary
of the Mikado’s household. I called upon her with no vouchment but that
of a few common acquaintances. I went to ask her kindly offices for a
performance of the _Merchant of Venice_ we were ambitious to give before
the Emperor. The attempt upon the life of the Tsarevitz threw the
Japanese Court into a trembling, mortified state of chagrin that doomed
our little plan. But I gained the acquaintance of one of the most
uniquely interesting women I ever met.
The four women of whom I am writing were, I believe, rather familiarly
acquainted, because they were all, more or less, habitués of the
Imperial palace. The differentiation of their individualities could
scarcely have been sharper.
We reached Yokohama one night after dark. When I woke in the early
morning I dressed quickly and went out for a ramble alone,—as I love to
do in a new place. I felt as if I had fallen asleep and dreamed of a
fairy land peopled by the figures off my best tea-cups and off my summer
fans. Japan is perpetually blessed with an atmosphere as clear as
crystal, as soft as down, and as sweet as incense. Nature loves Japan
with the tender, yearning love of a mother for a favourite child. On
Japan Nature lavishes her most fragrant verdure and her utmost
picturesqueness of life. And, to end, she touches the picture she has
made with some delicate trail of graceful vine, some matchless slope of
hillside. She adds to the figures on the canvas the seductive witchery
of unrivalled eyes, the grace of perfect manner; and the people of her
favourite country echo her. The Japanese peasant, who sits upon the
floor to suck his meal of raw eggs, has a handful of superb flowers in a
graceful vase; and the floor upon which he sits is white and clean. But,
as I was to learn, Yokohama is nothing to Tokio. You meet Europeans in
almost every street in Yokohama. I have been days in Tokio without
seeing a European. There are, I believe, only six European ladies
resident in Tokio, and proportionately few European men.
It was in Yokohama that I first met Mrs. Keutako. My husband had mailed
a letter of introduction to Mr. Keutako only that morning, and had added
a line, saying, “My wife and I are coming to Tokio for a few days next
week, and I shall give myself the pleasure of calling upon you.” The
response was very prompt and very Japanese. It was this: a basket of
beautiful roses was brought to my dressing-room that night, with a card
on which was written in English, “With Mrs. Henrico Keutako’s
compliments and welcome.” When the curtain rose we saw in the front row
a Japanese gentleman in European evening dress; beside him sat a
breathing Japanese doll, with glancing, dancing eyes, and brave with
exquisite Japanese raiment.
We sent out a note begging them to have supper with us after the play.
When the curtain fell Mr. Paulding brought them on to the stage. How the
dear little woman bowed; then she laughed and patted my hand, put her
dainty finger on her lips, and shook her head. I bore her off in triumph
to my room. Mr. Keutako was a Harvard graduate, and had spent some years
in England. We could hear him and my husband talking in the next room.
But I don’t believe they enjoyed themselves as much as we did. My guest
took a wild, childish delight in everything. She tried on my rings and
made me try on hers; she tried on several pairs of my slippers; she was
greatly amused at my hare’s foot; she pantomimed to me to “make her up”;
she was in an ecstasy over my blonde wig. The only English she knew was
“Thank you,” but she said it over and over. While she was investigating
all my little belongings, I looked at her. She was dainty and little, of
course. Her skin was a few shades darker than mine; her black hair was
dressed with extreme Japanese elaborateness; she was clad in robes of
pale-blue and pale-pink crêpe, and an outer robe of rich brown satin
dotted sparsely with pale-blue flowers and lined with pale-pink silk.
Her obi was of black and silver, and was fastened in front with three or
four flashing diamonds. She wore four or five more fine diamonds on her
pretty hands, and a big turquoise, that must have felt very heavy on the
wee finger. She wore a deep-red rose at her throat. On the shoulder of
her kimono was embroidered her coat-of-arms; that is a custom with the
Japanese of gentle birth on state or semi-state occasions. She had paid
me the compliment of wearing one of her Court kimonos, though I didn’t
know it at the time. She wore segregated white-silk stockings. She had
thrown off her shoes before she would come into my untidy little den.
The only European detail of her attire (except the fashion of her rings)
was a sheer white handkerchief edged with Valenciennes. I think it was
rather an innovation, for she kept drawing it across her little scarlet
lips, and every time she did so she looked at me and laughed. She was
evidently very puzzled to find that I had joss sticks burning in my
room. She moved like a bird; she laughed like a child. She had gleaming
white teeth, and that indescribable charm of person and manner which is
the great birthright of every Japanese woman.
Japanese courtesy is infectious. When we were ready to go, I took up her
little shoes and tried to put them on her. She snatched them from me
with a pretty little cry of affected horror; she wiped my hands with her
handkerchief. She laughed and bowed, and bowed and laughed, and said
“Thank you, thank you.”
When she saw where the two gentlemen stood waiting for us she skimmed
across the stage like a humming-bird. Seizing her husband by the arm,
she spoke rapidly in Japanese. He translated, “My wife asks, have you
any children?” When he told her, “Yes, I had two,” she made him tell me
that she had two. And then she danced back to me and threw her arms
about me, and laughed so softly. Bless it! What a womanly little person
it was! We couldn’t speak together. Considering that we were both
civilised, our methods of life could scarcely have been more different.
But our babies had made us friends. We went to our ’rickshaws with her
arm still about me; and I felt as if I were again a schoolgirl, whom
some younger child had singled out and favoured with a caress.
It is pleasant to ride at midnight in a ’rickshaw through the streets of
Yokohama. We seemed to be the only living things awake. We glided almost
noiselessly along the silent streets. The naked feet of the coolies who
drew our quaint two-wheeled carriages fell almost without a sound upon
the soft roads. Whenever Mrs. Keutako’s ’rickshaw ran near mine, she
waved her hand and laughed, and laughed and waved her hand.
[Illustration: MRS. KEUTAKO’S DAUGHTER. _Page 242._]
Our hotel was run on European lines. It was very late, and I was unable
to make any radical change in the menu of our supper. Mr. Keutako we
found pleasant and intelligent. He was a prominent member of the
Japanese Parliament. He was evidently familiar with all our viands, but
our supper-table was palpably a _mensa incognita_ to his pretty little
wife. She watched her husband with shy slyness, and tried to do what he
did; but I could see that she didn’t like our food. I managed to get a
tin of salmon, for I knew that the Japanese are as invariably fond of
fish as cats are. She ate the salmon readily enough, though it was new
to her, and she nibbled a few vanilla wafers as she sipped her
champagne, with which she seemed to have a dainty acquaintance. When we
had left the table I asked her (through her husband) if the gentlemen
might smoke. She nodded and laughed, and drew from her obi a microscopic
silver pipe; she filled it with half a thimbleful of tobacco, mild as
corn silk, which she carried in a silken pouch slung from her obi. She
lit it, using a match with difficulty. She was accustomed to a small box
filled with glowing coals. She handed her pipe to me; I found that one
breath exhausted it. Among many other things typical of this interesting
people, I afterwards learned that all Japanese women of fashion carry
their pipe and pouch when they pay a visit. Their smoking together is an
interchange of courtesy. The tobacco is almost tasteless, and one puff
marks the length of the prescribed smoke. Our husbands talked, and, at
her request, I showed her my baby clothes, and took her upstairs to see
my sleeping children. When we came back to our sitting-room, she
suggested, through her husband, that we should smoke cigarettes. I had
been in the habit of smoking, semi-occasionally, one or two cigarettes
in the strictest conjugal seclusion. I never had smoked before but one
gentleman; but I thought the circumstances demanded any possible
deviation from my usual customs. The gentlemen found a great deal to say
to each other; while they talked we smoked. The next morning I had the
almost unknown affliction of a headache. I learned from Mr. Keutako that
his wife suffered sooner and less pleasantly. She had suggested, as _I_
supposed, a Japanese custom. On _her_ part, _she_ thought that she was
proposing a custom universal with European women. I have often wondered
which of the ladies of the European Legations in Tokio was indirectly
responsible for the _maladresse_ from which we both suffered. I often
reflect how much better it always is to be natural if one can do so
without _gaucherie_.
A few days later we went to Tokio. I used often to wonder how it was
that people were content to live and die in the gray Occident and never
look upon the picture of the Orient. I never wondered more than when we
were in Tokio. I know of no capital in Europe so comfortably and
generously planned, except Vienna. The cities remind me of each other in
many ways. The streets of both are broad and clean. Both are rich in
parks, in drives, in trees, and in places of refreshment. Both are
peopled by a pleasure-loving, pleasure-seeking race. Tokio is very
beautiful, and it would be ungrateful of me not to mention that Tokio
has one of the best hotels in the world.
The Imperial Palace is surrounded by three beautiful moats, all strictly
guarded. It is impossible to look upon, much less to pass into, the holy
of holies, the home of the Mikado, unless your presence is desired
there. Even the members of the Legations know the palace very
superficially, and enter even its outer rooms but rarely. I believe
Madame Sannomiya to be the only European who has really seen the
interior in anything like its entirety.
The architecture of Tokio varies from humble to elaborate; but it is all
picturesque, and, in the heart of the city, all Japanese. Many of the
nobles, who chiefly live in the suburbs, build very Western-looking
houses. The width of the principal streets is almost unequalled. In the
great parks blossoming vine strives with blossoming vine, and flowering
tree crowds flowering tree. Amid them stand quaint statues of quaint
gods, and carved and gilded figures. The distances in Tokio are immense;
but I soon grew glad that it was so,—every inch of the long way was so
thick with interest. The bazaars have not been robbed of their native
colour by travelling multitudes of Europeans. Around Tokio are her
hundred temples; many famous, all marvellous, and not to be indicated by
a few hasty lines. The air blows softly through the carved portals, and
gently sways the golden bells that hang from the jewelled ceiling; and
that air is unpolluted by the breath of many Europeans.
We visited the Keutakos. The father dressed as a European. The mother,
the children, and the servants wore the national costume. The customs of
the house were Japanese; but I was surprised to find the rooms furnished
in the European mode. There was a bust of Scott in the library, and an
engraving of the Coliseum in the dining-room. When I coaxed Mrs. Keutako
to take me upstairs I found everything different. She seemed afraid I
would not like it; and I think she never believed that I thought it
infinitely prettier than the reception rooms downstairs. But it was! The
floors of the long, shady rooms were covered with cool, quaint mattings.
One room pleased me particularly. A long, low screen stood near one end
of the room; an inviting cushion was thrown near it. At the other end of
the room was a tall blue vase, filled with chrysanthemums and
_fleur-de-lis_. There were not a dozen articles in the room; but each
thing in it was perfect. The Japanese always give a work of art the
advantage of being framed in ample space. This is one reason why a
Japanese interior is so effective; another reason is that they are very
loath to give house-room to anything that is not a work of art.
Mrs. Keutako was always at ease. We spent long hours together alone. We
could not speak to each other, but she never let it embarrass her or me.
She let me amuse myself as freely as she had amused herself in my
dressing-room. She understood how glad I was to quietly watch ordinary
Japanese home-life. She had a hundred ways of entertaining me. Sometimes
she would beckon me into the kitchen that I might see what was being
cooked, and how. She sent for her hairdresser that I might see his
wonderful methods. Sometimes she would steal behind me as I sat reading,
and drop a rose on to my book. Sometimes it was her soft ball of a pet
kitten; often it was her soft ball of a baby. One day she made her amah
undress her, and dress her again, that I might see just what a Japanese
woman wore, and how it was put on. She emptied her chests of clothing
for my diversion. It was a wonderful collection. She was very fond of
dress, and her husband delighted in gratifying her; besides, she had
many garments that had been in her family for generations. She showed me
her wedding-dress, she kept it in a sandal-wood box, and touched it
reverently.
She was devoted to her two little girls. They were pretty, and oh, so
quaint! They were well-behaved, but not painfully so. They climbed over
their parents and begged for sweets for all the world like my bairns.
The elder spoke a little English.
Their mother never was guilty of the stupidity of speaking to me in
Japanese; but she would take a fantastic little instrument (I forget its
name) and sing sweet, tinkling Japanese songs as she played upon it for
me.
She had been brought up in luxury. She was the wife of a rich man. She
had plenty of servants; still, she sewed a little, a very little. But
she supervised her house perfectly; and she helped her husband a great
deal in his political working. I have known her to copy notes for him,
and write from his dictation, by the hour, when his secretary and he
were over busy. And I know that he often consulted her about the turn of
a sentence or a fact of history.
The last time I was in Tokio I was alone. I was there on business, and I
was hurried. I only found time to call upon the Keutakos. She received
me with the warm affection of an old friend and all the ceremony of
Japanese etiquette. She gave me clear tea (no milk or sugar) in rare
cups, without handles, and about the size of big thimbles. Then she gave
me sweetmeats from a small lacquered chest of drawers. Each drawer
contained a different kind of sweet; they were all made of sugar, tinted
and shaped in imitation of some flower or leaf.
When I had to go she gave me a silver pipe she had bought for me. It was
in a satin case, and the case matched a pouch which was filled with
Japanese tobacco. A little white box held the whole. I made her write
her name upon it, and mine. We often handle it, and speak of her and her
husband, and I set great store by the excellent photographs she gave me
of her two babies.