AMUSEMENTS
As the traveller's first idea on reaching land after a long voyage is to
enjoy himself, I am going to suggest several forms of amusement. Perhaps
I had better begin by trying to answer what is sure to be his first
question--"Where is the best tea-house with the prettiest _geisha_
girls?"
We found that the most celebrated _geishas_ were in Kyoto, where the
dancing is classic, a model for the rest of the country. Here were also
the best-trained _maikos_, or little dancers. The Ichiriki, or
One-Power, Tea-house, which we visited, is one of the most famous in the
country, for here in the long-ago Oishi, leader of the Forty-Seven
Ronins, resorted in order to mislead the emissaries sent out to watch
him by pretending dissipation and cowardliness. There is a shrine in the
tea-house to the revered hero.
The place is very typical, with its clean-matted rooms and its tiny
garden with miniature features of rock and water, its lanterns and
stepping-stones, its gnarled trees and clumped bamboo. At the entrance
to this tea-house we removed our shoes and passed over the soft mats
into the simple, pretty rooms, open to the air and overlooking the
lovely garden.
It took some time for the little entertainers to gather, for they are
not used to haste. In the meantime we sat on mats while tea and _saké_
were served by the _naisan_, or maids, who shave off their eyebrows in
order to make themselves plainer and so set off the beauty of the
dancers. They came slipping in and falling upon their knees before us,
bowing low and presenting the tiny cups for drinking--all a matter of
much ceremony and etiquette when politely done.
[Illustration: GEISHA GIRLS AT THE ICHIRIKI TEA-HOUSE, KYOTO.
(In the corner is inserted a geisha girl's visiting-card, _actual
size_.)]
Finally some wee _maikos_ came shuffling in with their quaint dress and
hair make-up, their whitened faces and painted lips, and knelt among us
in picturesque attitudes. These _maikos_ are girls of from ten to
thirteen years of age who are learning to be _geishas_. Following them
came the _geishas_ themselves--the older dancers--and then the musicians
began to tune and twang their instruments, and to chant the monotonous
songs that tell the stories of the dancing.
Our eyes grew big with wonder and delight as the figures were taken up
in turn, one after another--movements grotesque, but oh, so dainty and
quaint! Such posturing in adorably awkward attitudes! Such sliding with
tiny feet turned inward, heads and hands at all angles, eyes askew! To
one to whom their dancing has become familiar, it is all so fascinating
and fanciful, so full of delight and grace and meaning!
Tomiji and Kanoko, both _maikos_--dear tiny figures in gay garments and
huge _obis_--danced the Story of the Stone Bridge. One of them was a
peony, and the other was a lion! Then a _geisha_, Harikiku, or the
Spring Chrysanthemum, danced the Story of the Spring Rain, which has a
theme like that of Romeo and Juliet, as old as the hills--only now one
of the lovers was a nightingale while the other was a plum.
So they postured and made picture after picture, and when it was over,
came and sat among us to help pass the tea and _saké_ and cake and
fruits that had been so daintily prepared. After that there was more
dancing, and we took our leave amid much laughter and many _sayonaras_
and wishes for a speedy return from our cheery little entertainers.
The _geishas_ of Kyoto dress in more subdued colors than they do
elsewhere. An American woman would be impressed by the cost of some of
the kimonos, for no expense is spared in making them as beautiful as
possible. The designs are carefully thought out, and an artist is
selected to execute them. After the work is completed the stencils are
usually destroyed, so that the pattern may never be duplicated.
These girls are the professional entertainers of Japan. They can be
called to private houses, as well as to tea-houses, to help pass the
time with their dancing and singing, and are cultivated in all the arts
and graces that may add to their ability to please. Thus a _geisha_ not
only sings and dances attractively, but she is a trained
conversationalist as well. She is not necessarily immoral, as Westerners
often imagine. It is not uncommon even to-day for a girl to die by her
own hand because she loves a man who, for some reason, cannot marry her.
Many Japanese believe, however, that _geishas_ are dangerous, designing
and hard-hearted creatures, related to fox-women--a kind of goblin-ghost
believed in by the ignorant.
The _geisha's_ songs are usually of love, the universal theme, and are
sung to the notes of the _samisen_. They correspond to our classic love
songs, but are much more popular among the lower classes than any music
is with us, unless it be rag-time! The sentiment and phrasing are often
fairy-like in their delicacy and charm, but, of course, much of this is
lost in translation. The following is one of the chief favourites--it
depicts "a lover, when the landscape is white with snow, going to the
window to look out before he takes his departure." His lady-love seeks
to delay his going, and this is the song:
"In vain thy cloak do I hide, Love,
And in vain to thy sleeve do I cling;
Wilt thou no longer abide, Love,
Nor give me for Winter, fond Spring?
I push back the window so slightly,
And point to the snow-burdened land:
O Love, wilt thou leave me thus lightly,
And choose the cold snow for my hand?"
The little quip at the end which turns this one from a love song to a
tribute to the moon has doubtless teased many an ardent wooer:
"In the wide, wide world
Of woes and tears,
Let us find a narrow spot
To live together,
You and I,
Until the world
Is quite forgot,
O my sweet--
Moon that shines
In my little window!"
Perhaps the best known tea-house in Tokyo is the Maple-Leaf Club. We
dined there one evening when there was a fine full moon, and the lovely,
mysterious little garden was like a dream in the glorious night. The
meal was served on the lacquer service by dainty _geishas_ as we sat on
the soft mats, while delightful dances were performed before us. Our
favourite was the spider dance, in spite of its name, but we enjoyed
them all, and even the music of the _samisen_ and _koto_, which many
foreigners do not care for. This house is famous for its excellent
dancing and its pretty girls.
One feature of the meal which is characteristic of a Japanese dinner we
could have easily dispensed with--that was the live fish, which was
served to us still breathing, with a knife in its side, to show that it
was perfectly fresh.
Theatre-going in Japan is a source of endless enjoyment. There is a big
and quite beautiful opera house in Tokyo where the national plays, both
old and new, as well as European opera with Japanese words, are given.
Here the combination of East and West is very interesting. The audience,
although for the most part wearing Japanese clothes, sits in seats
instead of on mats. It is said that when the first European opera
company came to Tokyo and the leading lady took her high notes, the
audience was so convulsed with laughter that the manager had to pull
down the curtain.
The English plays and the light operas given by the Japanese strike one
as amusing. It always seems strange to see Orientals in European dress,
and one never gets used to their ballet on account of their queerly
shaped legs, which have been made crooked by ages of sitting upon them.
A sample program of a performance given at the Imperial Theatre in
Tokyo, "Daily from 5th January, 1913," at 4.30 P.M., names five plays:
1. "The Soga Vendetta," a musical drama in one act, laid in the twelfth
century; 2. "Muneto," an historical drama in four scenes, representing
Kyoto in the eleventh century; 3. "Maria de Cronville," a musical
pantomime in four scenes, Paris in the reign of Louis XIV; 4. "The Woman
Hater," a modern farce in two acts, the settings representing the garden
of a hotel in Kamakura and a room in a "hospital for mental diseases;"
and 5. "The Merry Ferry," a musical drama in one scene, representing a
ferry landing in Yedo in the eighteenth century. It would be an exacting
taste which did not find something to satisfy it in a generous bill like
this!
Most of the theatres are still quite Japanese. They are built of wood
and so flimsily as to be full of draughts. The stage extends across one
side of the square auditorium, whose sloping floor is divided into boxes
two yards wide by low railings, which can be used as bridges by patrons
arriving late or departing early. There is one gallery with boxes in
front and room behind where the lower classes may stand. The actors
enter the stage by means of two long raised platforms called
"flower-paths," which extend across the auditorium--they receive their
name from the custom of strewing the way of a popular actor with
blossoms when he appears. These paths have been given up in the Imperial
Theatre, as have also in some cases the little "supers," dressed in
black in order that they may be considered invisible, who were of great
service in perfecting the details of a stage-picture. But the old
methods are still used in most of the theatres.
When an actor wishes to disappear from the audience he may leave the
stage by the flower-paths, he may vanish into the wings, or--more simply
still--he may hold up a small curtain in front of him and so accomplish
the desired effect.
The revolving stage is used oftener in Japan than it is in Europe, to
say nothing of America, where it is practically unknown. It allows quick
changes of scene, for one setting may be arranged out of sight in the
rear of the stage while another is in use before the audience. Instead
of having the curtains lowered between the acts, the audience is often
allowed to see the stage turn, which is interesting.
The plays usually begin at half-past four in the afternoon and last
until eleven in the evening. A play may run for several days, or there
may be three or four at one performance. During the intermissions the
audience goes out and gets dinner at one of the score of restaurants in
the building.
Although stage people are looked up to a little more than formerly, they
are still regarded as a rather low class. Madame Sada Yakko is perhaps
the best known actress of the new school, for she met with great
success, not only on the Parisian stage in 1900, but later in America as
well. Danjuro, Kikugoro, and Sadanji, the greatest actors of the
Japanese stage, are all dead. To-day the best are Sojuro and Sawamura,
who take women's parts, and Koshiro Matsumoto, who takes men's.
On a previous visit we spent a day at the Theatre Nakamuraza, which was
then the finest in Tokyo. Danjuro, who was playing there, "supported by
a strong company, including the great comedian Tsuruzo," was the
favourite actor of the time and delighted a large audience. I do not
feel competent to judge his acting, as I saw him only once, but critics
say that he was much like Henry Irving, and one of the world's greatest
artists of the old school. There is a marked difference between good
Japanese acting and the inferior article, the former is so much more
natural, with less that is grotesque and ranting.
[Illustration: AN ACTOR OF THE PRESENT DAY.]
The founder of the Japanese drama is supposed to have been a woman--O
Kuni, a priestess of the temple at Kitzuki. She was as beautiful as she
was pure, and was skilled in the dances which are supposed to delight
the gods. One day, however, she fell in love with a "wave-man"--a
_ronin_--and fled with him to Tokyo. Here her dancing and her beauty
soon made her famous. Not satisfied with this, she and her lover--who
was also her devoted pupil--became actors, and were the first to put
secular plays on the stage. While still quite young the "wave-man" died,
and O Kuni left the stage for ever. She cut off her wonderful long hair
and became a Buddhist nun, spending the rest of her life writing poems.
From her day until recent times women have not been allowed to appear on
the stage, men taking all the parts as in the plays of ancient Greece
and old England. To-day, however, women often take part with the men, as
with us.
The old plays are very interesting and well done, the costumes being
superb and the scenery excellent. The characters consist for the most
part of _samurai_ and _daimyos_, two or three of whom are either killed
or commit _hara-kiri_ during the performance. While their postures mean
little to our eyes, to a Japanese every movement has its significance.
When the actors pose and stamp around and finally kill themselves, the
audience weeps in sympathy. The speeches are in the scholarly language,
which only the better educated (very few of whom are women) can
understand. This fact accounts for the large amount of sensational
action which is considered necessary to hold the attention of the common
people. One result of the many historical dramas given in the theatres
is that the lower classes know and revere their national heroes.
In the early days of the theatre masks were much used. They were made to
express sadness, hatred or amusement, and the actors chose them to fit
the part they had to play. Often they portrayed the faces of well-known
persons, and these were especially popular. If the actors wished to
represent divinities or devils they had masks coloured black, red,
green, or gold, often with real hair on them. The custom of masking on
the stage was given up at the end of the seventeenth century.
One day we went to a native theatre and sat cross-legged in a box for
over three hours, watching with real interest the exciting legendary
romance of the famous Forty-Seven Ronins, whose story is told in another
chapter. This was a very long play which had already taken twenty days,
from eight in the morning till five in the afternoon, and would require
three days more to finish it. The dialogue was, of course, quite
unintelligible, but the play was nevertheless very interesting, for
there was always a lot of action. The hero was truly superb--by a glance
of his eye or a threatened blow he could knock down a whole stage-full
of men! There was a very realistic suicide, with spurting blood and many
gurglings. The acting was a trifle exaggerated--at times even grotesque
and absurd--but I could follow the thread of events quite easily.
Some clever tumbling and acrobatic feats were introduced after the play,
and a really funny funny-man, but to me the most amusing thing was to
see an assistant come out on the stage after some especially violent
scene and proceed to mop the perspiration from the actors' faces,
walking coolly off again when his errand of mercy was accomplished.
The costumes and stage-effects were rather showy. There were no
drop-scenes or flies. The people sat on the floor in their little
stalls, and drank their tea or _saké_ and nibbled their cakes, coming
and going as they wished.
The monkey theatres, where monkeys take the parts of men and women,
should not be forgotten. The apes seem to enter into their rôles with
great spirit and energy. They are dressed in complete costumes to
represent farmers, nobles, or two-sworded _samurai_, and they weep and
rant and slay each other through the length of a classic play in the
most natural manner. Their performance of comedy, tragedy, and drama
generally, is absurdly human. There are men behind the scenes who tell
the story of the action that is going on, but the monkeys themselves do
everything but speak. Now and then, however, they forget their cues and
the action stops till they are prompted. One "high officer," who came on
to the stage on a big black dog for a horse, caused much confusion by
refusing to dismount and kill his enemy, because the enemy, being a very
well-trained monkey, insisted upon falling dead anyhow. These theatres
are very small and can easily be moved about from place to place, like a
Punch and Judy show.
Once while we were in Tokyo there came to town "The Royal Australian
Circus," which gave two performances a day to crowded houses--or rather
tents. As if the idea of a circus in the heart of Japan were not a
sufficiently striking contrast, they pitched their tents, each with its
familiar ring and sawdust, almost within the shadow of an ancient
temple. For a few _yen_ you got a box with red cotton trimmings and
watched "Mr. Merry-man" get off his jokes in cockney English and
Yokohama mixed. The show itself was poor, both in quality and quantity,
and peanuts--the fundamental element of a proper circus--were wholly
lacking.
Moving-picture shows are very popular in Japan as elsewhere. Once, when
we were lunching at the hotel in Yokohama, a very pretty American woman
made up as a Japanese came into the room, attracting a great deal of
attention. We were quite unable to make out the situation, but were
afterward told that she belonged to an American moving-picture company
and had just come in from rehearsal.
Everywhere the "movie" is taking the place of the story-teller, who used
to hire a room and tell over and over the tales of love and adventure
which the people enjoy. Only the more prosperous can afford to see the
_geishas_ dance, but crowds flock to see them on the screen. They also
see their native plays acted quite as realistically as on the stage,
where the actors might as well be dumb since they do not speak the
common language.
Perhaps for the first time the kinematograph has been of use in making
history instead of simply recording it. When the Crown Prince of Korea
was taken to Japan to receive his education, rumours were circulated
among the Koreans that he was badly treated and was in reality a
prisoner. There was great danger of an uprising in his behalf, but the
Japanese Government hit upon the happy expedient of having the young man
followed through a whole day's routine by a man with a moving-picture
camera. When his subjects saw their Prince looking well and happy,
learning his lessons and playing games with his friends, their fears
were allayed and trouble was averted.
[Illustration: MR. ARNELL AND MR. ARNOLD IN A JAPANESE PLAY.]
Mr. Arnell and Mr. Arnold, of the Embassy, took lessons in Japanese
acting, and Mr. Arnell was able to make up extraordinary faces and to
kill himself, apparently in the greatest pain. Of course he dressed in
costume, and with his _tabis_ on he would make his big toe stand up in
true Japanese style, and would slash with his sword very realistically.
Mr. Arnold, in one of the plays they learned together, took the part of
a girl named Cherry Blossom; he did it very well indeed.
The English and American colonies often give theatricals: a performance
of the "Merchant of Venice" at the opera house was excellent. We enjoyed
it, and the Japanese students flocked to see it.
Sports of various kinds are occasionally indulged in. The annual fall
exhibition, at which L. was present during one of his earlier visits,
takes place late in October. The sports were held in the compound of the
University grounds, which was beautifully decorated in honour of the
heir-apparent--the present Emperor--then a good-looking little fellow
about ten years old, who sat on a green baize chair on a raised
platform, surrounded by chamberlains and officers. There were obstacle
races, and the 220 on a turf track was run in 27 seconds, the 440 in
60-1/2 seconds. A race between professors created great amusement, and a
sprint between champions of the different schools was enthusiastically
followed.
"The annual fall meeting of the Nippon Race Club," wrote L. during his
visit in 1889, "was held the last of October. This is quite a successful
club, and is the racing association at Yokohama. They have a pretty
course out behind the Bluff, pretty from an æsthetic point of view only,
however, for it is a bad track with a regular Tottenham Corner near the
finish. The meeting proved to be great fun and quite exciting. The
runners are limited to China and Hokkaido ponies--little brutes between
12.1 and 14.1 hands--and though the time is slow the finishes are
generally close and exciting. In one race, the Yokohama plate, one mile
and three-quarters, the three leaders finished within a nose of each
other. The great interest is, of course, in the betting. There is always
a tremendous amount of gambling in the Orient, and these meetings prove
exceptional opportunities for this spirit to exhibit itself.
"The second day's racing was graced by the presence of His Imperial
Majesty [the late Emperor] and his suite, and so was the great day of
the meeting, and a great day for Yokohama also. The Emperor seldom
leaves his palace, but his earthly half--for he is still considered half
divine by the people--is fond of horses and of horse-racing, and he
makes this one of the occasions on which he does exhibit himself. He was
very ceremoniously treated. After the last race he was driven around the
track in his carriage of State, surrounded by lancers, for the benefit
of the thousands who had come out to Negishi Hill to pay their respects
to their sovereign."
Near Uyeno Park in Tokyo there is a racecourse, but it is not so popular
as it was a few years ago, for the Japanese are not horsemen. The horse
of Nippon is thoroughly a beast, and stubborn, and this fact created
variety and interest when L. visited the riding-school. The French
method was used in those days--hands out in front, body bent
forward--and they retained the old custom of short stirrups and knees
elevated toward the chin.
The grounds of the school were good. There were about seventy horses,
but L. said that only a few half-breed ones were passable, for the
thoroughbred Japanese ponies were bull-necked, mule-hoofed, and had
miserable quarters. Since those days, however, horses from Australia and
Arabia have been introduced, and although they are said not to thrive
very well in Japan, they have improved the stock considerably.
A typical amusement of the country is wrestling. The professional
wrestler is a man of no mean rank, standing far above merchants,
farmers, and actors in the social scale. His family has probably been
devoted to wrestling for generations, and he has been trained from
childhood and fed on special food to make him big and strong. If he is a
famous fighter his patron, who is doubtless some great nobleman, is very
proud of him, and the people of his province look upon him as little
less than a demi-god.
Although the ladies all go to bull-fights in Spain, very few go to
wrestling-matches in Japan. Foreign women are apt to consider it a
brutal sport, somewhat on the order of our prize-fighting, because the
wrestlers are so fat and dreadful looking. But there is no
fist-fighting, and the skill is so great that I found it very
interesting. You can always tell the wrestlers when you see them,
because they wear their hair done in old-fashioned style, somewhat
resembling the queue of the matador.
The history of wrestling goes back to the first century B.C., for it is
an ancient as well as honourable profession. It began as a Court
function for the entertainment of the nobility. Political issues of
great importance are said to have been decided in the ring in the early
days. The sport took on a religious aspect during the first half of the
seventeenth century, when the priests began organizing matches in the
temples to raise money for divers "pious purposes." In time many abuses
crept in. There was much bitter feeling between contestants from
different sections of the country, and so much foul play that the
Government put a stop to all public performances. Not until 1700 A. D.
were public matches again allowed, and then only under restrictions
which made it safer for the contestants. From that day to this,
wrestling (_sumo_) has been very popular with all classes.
[Illustration: A WRESTLER.]
In Osaka we saw some fine matches where the wrestlers of the East met
those of the West. People gather from all over the country to witness
these contests, which generally take place in the middle of the summer.
There are wonderful matches in Tokyo also, which continue during the
month of February. Formerly they took place under a large circus-tent,
but now they are held in a huge arena, shaped something like a
bull-ring, only not open to the sky. The ring in the centre is very
small and raised on a platform beneath a canopy. A light is thrown on
the contestants as they come swaggering and waddling down the aisles to
meet in the centre, mount the stage, and take grotesque postures that
show to advantage the muscles of their legs and arms. When they first
come in they wear their gold-embroidered aprons, which are very costly.
Of course these are taken off when they fight. The referees sit at the
corner under a canopy, while two wrestlers try to throw each other out
of the ring.
Each bout is preceded by elaborate formalities. The wrestlers pray to
their gods, and show themselves off to the spectators. Then they squat,
rub their hands, turning them palm outward toward the people, take a cup
of water, and scatter salt as a sign of purification. This done, they
take positions on all fours, facing each other, till, at a psychological
moment, they attack. If one starts his attack before the other, however,
it doesn't count, and they swagger back to the sides and rinse their
mouths and scatter more pinches of salt. Between the bouts much betting
goes on.
Viewed in the dim light, through the smoke of the many little pipes in
the audience, the scene was stranger than anything else I have ever
witnessed. The wrestlers use such skill, and the excitement is so great
when one of them has won, that the cheering is as good as at a football
game at home. We saw one bout where fifteen thousand on-lookers became
frenzied with excitement, because a "number one" champion was thrown out
of the ring. On certain days the wrestlers appear all dressed up in
their ceremonial clothes and give a dance.
Ordinary wrestling, or _sumo_, must not be confused with the more
scientific form known as _judo_, or more commonly, _jiu-jutsu_, which
has been introduced to some extent in our own country. Here weight and
strength count for little in comparison with skill and adroitness. While
ordinary wrestlers are perfect mountains of men, some of the cleverest
exponents of _jiu-jutsu_ are quite small. Mr. Harrison, in his "Fighting
Spirit of Japan," tells an amusing tale of a contest between exponents
of the two systems, to decide which was the better. "At the very
commencement of the struggle the big man picked the _judo-ka_ up and,
holding him high above his head, asked triumphantly, 'Now, where are
you?' Apparently not a whit perturbed by this turn of events, the
_judo-ka_ answered, 'Oh, this is just where _judo_ comes in! The moment
you attempt to throw me down, I'll kick you to death!' Terrified out of
his wits by this awful threat, the fat man, still holding the _judo-ka_
above his head, rushed out into the street, shouting loudly for help."
_Jiu-jutsu_ is not practised publicly as is _sumo_, for it belongs to
the upper classes. The matches are not advertised or reported in the
papers. Its history goes back to mythological times, and it ranks with
fencing as an art. Hundreds of young men get up at three o'clock on
winter mornings and practise until seven in order that they may become
proficient in this difficult exercise.
The foreigner in Tokyo usually feels that he has not "done" the city
unless he has seen the sights of the gay quarter--the Yoshiwara--which
is very gay indeed and as naughty as it is gay. There is nothing exactly
like it outside Japan. It is impossible to see the place in a
jinrikisha, so one must thread the crowded streets as best he can on
foot. Girls in superb kimonos sit behind barred windows like dolls
displayed for sale in a shop. The condition of these girls is much
better than formerly. The Salvation Army has done a wonderful work for
them, and not long ago the Government allowed all who wished to leave
the houses.
When other entertainment fails, there is always a _matsuri_. This is a
great holiday institution among the lower and middle classes--a fair
held in the streets or in the open spaces about a temple--for, like the
drama, the _matsuri_ traces its origin to a religious rite. The most
popular of these fairs is held near the great Buddhist temple known as
Asakusa Kwannon. The long street leading to this temple is very gay with
the shops on either side filled with wonderful toys. In various booths
in and about the temple there are many entertainments in full
swing--tea-houses and theatres and "movies," fortune-tellers and
jugglers--all jumbled up together. It is a strange mixture of things
sacred and secular. Murray says that even many years ago this temple was
so popular that they had notices prohibiting smoking, and warning people
not to take their afternoon naps there.
Every _matsuri_ has its fortune-teller. I found one sitting in a little
booth--an aged, bald-headed old man with horn spectacles which did not
in the least conceal his piercing eyes. He asked my age, and muttering
continually, lifted the divining-rod to his forehead. After looking at
me through a magnifying-glass he proceeded to separate the packets of
rods and finally, by means of an interpreter, he said:
"You will be married in two years, and have three children by the time
you are thirty!"
I bowed gravely and thanked him, telling him that he was a wonderful
soothsayer--a verdict with which he seemed to agree perfectly. It may be
mentioned, however, that I am over thirty, and have been married many
years, with no children.
Great reliance is placed on fortune-telling by the Japanese of the lower
classes. I have seen a mother with a sick child shake the curiously
lacquered box of sticks which the priest of a temple has in his charge,
hoping to get help. She exchanged the numbered stick that fell out for a
slip of paper which had a prescription printed on it, and then went out
to buy the medicine with a sublime faith that it was just what her baby
needed for its recovery.
Fortune-telling is not confined to _matsuris_ or to temples. One hears
the calls of the prognosticator in the streets at night. There is also a
very elaborate system of foretelling the future, based on the colouring
and formation of the head and features, which a few men of a higher
class practise with quite wonderful results.
To these amusements, which any one may enjoy, I add two other forms of a
more serious nature which are of great interest, although the foreigner
rarely has time or opportunity to see them during a hurried visit. They
are the _No_ dance and the _cha-no-yu_, or tea-ceremony.
The Japanese nobility rarely attend the public theatres, but they do
attend--and even take part in--the _No_ dances, which are not really
dances, but high-class theatrical performances. Why a play should be
called a dance is hard to explain, unless one remembers that this is
Japan, where they begin a book at the wrong end, wipe with wet towels,
saw and plane toward themselves, shoe their horses with straw, and even
have their compass-needles pointing to the south! The Japanese world is
"topside down" to us, but I suppose ours is just as much so to them.
[Illustration: THE _NO_ DANCE.]
We were fortunate enough to see an excellent _No_ dance which was being
performed in a private house. The performance was given in honour of an
ancestor of theirs, who had died two hundred years before. It was a very
aristocratic audience--the upper class people are easily distinguished,
as they are more intelligent and stronger looking, as well as more
refined, than the middle and lower classes. The play was given in a very
dignified and ceremonious manner, and the acting was of the highest
order, but to one unacquainted with the language and the meaning of the
various postures even the best _No_ dance is apt to prove tedious. The
_No_ is further described in the chapter on literature.
An even more serious form of entertainment, and one well worth the
attention of those who have longer to stay in the country and who wish
to make a study of the customs, is the _cha-no-yu_, a ceremony which has
almost the force of a religious rite.
Viscounts Kadenokuji and Kiogoku took us to one of these tea-ceremonies
at a private club house--Hosigaoko--in Sanno. This was the most
wonderful piece of house-building I have ever seen--the polish on the
floor, the fitting of the frames, the joining, were simply perfect. Some
of the porch boards were forty-five feet long and as smooth and polished
as glass.
A very small room of four and a half mats (nine feet square) is held
sacred for the ceremony. The entrance is made through a door which is
only a couple of feet square--a custom remaining from the time when
visitors were so received lest they hold swords hidden in their robes.
The guests, who should be five in number, sit down in a row, the
Japanese sitting on their feet in ceremonial manner; foreigners,
however, are allowed to cross their legs, tailor-fashion, for one is
expected to remain without moving during the whole affair.
This _cha-no-yu_ is a relic of the old days when ceremonies were
invented to pass away the time, and is the most formal mode of
entertainment. It is taught as a fine art and accomplishment by various
schools, which differ in regard to small details of etiquette. The
master who performed it for us, Nakamura, is the most famous teacher in
Tokyo.
The rite consists in making a bowl of tea. Even the tiniest motion has
its own particular meaning, and is performed most solemnly and
religiously. As in all Japanese ceremonials, it is done very slowly,
requiring three hours for its completion. Certain implements are used
for the _cha-no-yu_ alone, and these are of the finest make. It is part
of the performance to pass them around for the guests to examine, and it
is etiquette to admire them. The tea-making is followed by a formal
dinner, in which the guests get a chance to air their knowledge of
strict social laws, even as to what to eat, and how much. The exit is
made, after it is all over, by crawling out through the hole of a door.