SAMURAI WOMEN.
Samurai was the name given to the military class among the Japanese,--a
class intermediate between the Emperor and his nobles and the great mass
of the common people who were engaged in agriculture, mechanical arts,
or trade. Upon the samurai rested the defense of the country from
enemies at home or abroad, as well as the preservation of literature and
learning, and the conduct of all official business. At the time of the
fall of feudalism, there were, among the thirty-four millions of
Japanese, about two million samurai; and in this class, in the broadest
sense of the word, must be included the daimi[=o]s, as well as their
two-sworded retainers. But as the greater among the samurai were
distinguished by special class names, the word as commonly used, and as
used throughout this work, applies to the military class, who served
the Sh[=o]gun and the daimi[=o]s, and who were supported by yearly
allowances from the treasuries of their lords. These form a distinct
class, actuated by motives quite different from those of the lower
classes, and filling a great place in the history of the country. As the
nobility, through long inheritance of power and wealth, became weak in
body and mind, the samurai grew to be, more and more, not only the
sword, but the brain of Japan; and to-day the great work of bringing the
country out of the middle ages into the nineteenth century is being
performed by the samurai more than by any other class.
What, it may be asked, are the traits of the samurai which distinguish
them, and make them such honored types of the perfect Japanese
gentleman, so that to live and die worthy the name of samurai was the
highest ambition of the soldier? The samurai's duty may be expressed in
one word, loyalty,--loyalty to his lord and master, and loyalty to his
country,--loyalty so true and deep that for it all human ties, hopes,
and affections, wife, children, and home, must be sacrificed if
necessary. Those who have read the tale of "The Loyal R[=o]nins"[36]--a
story which has been so well told by Mitford, Dickins, and Greey that
many readers must be already familiar with it--will remember that the
head councilor and retainer, Oishi, in his deep desire for revenge for
his lord's unjust death, divorces his wife and sends off his children,
that they may not distract his thoughts from his plans; and performs his
famous act of revenge without once seeing his wife, only letting her
know at his death his faithfulness to her and the true cause of his
seeming cruelty. And the wife, far from feeling wronged by such an act,
only glories in the loyalty of her husband, who threw aside everything
to fulfill his one great duty, even though she herself was his unhappy
victim.
[36] _R[=o]nin_ was the term applied to a samurai who had lost his master,
and owed no feudal allegiance to any daimi[=o]. The exact meaning of the
word is _wave-man_, signifying one who wanders to and fro without
purpose, like a wave driven by the wind.
The true samurai is always brave, never fearing death or suffering in
any form. Life and death are alike to him, if no disgrace is attached to
his name.
An incident comes into my mind which may serve as an example of the
samurai spirit,--a spirit which has filled the history of Japan with
heroic deeds. It is the story of a long siege, at the end of which the
little garrison in the besieged castle was reduced to the last stages of
endurance, though hourly expecting reinforcement. In this state of
affairs, the great question is, whether to wait for the expected aid, or
to surrender immediately, and the answer to the question can only be
obtained through a knowledge of the enemy's strength. At this juncture,
one of the samurai volunteers to steal into the camp of the besiegers,
inspect their forces, and report their strength before the final
decision is made. He disguises himself, and through various chances is
able to penetrate, unsuspected, into the midst of the enemy's camp. He
discovers that the besiegers are so weak that they cannot maintain the
siege much longer, but while returning to the castle he is recognized
and taken by the enemy. His captors give him one chance for escape from
the horrible death of crucifixion. He is to go to the edge of the moat,
and, standing on an elevated place, shout out to the soldiers that they
must surrender, for the forces are too strong for them. He seemingly
consents to this, and, led down to the water's edge, he sees across the
moat his wife and child, who greet him with demonstrations of joy. To
her he waves his hand; then, bravely and loudly, so that it may be heard
by friend and foe, he shouts out the true tidings, "Wait for
reinforcement at any cost, for the besiegers are weak and will soon have
to give up." At these words his enraged enemies seize him and put him to
a death of horrible torture, but he smiles in their faces as he tells
them the sweetness of such a sacrifice for his master. Japanese history
abounds with heroic deeds of blood displaying the indomitable courage of
the samurai. In the reading of them, we are often reminded of the
Spartan spirit of warfare, and samurai women are in some ways very like
those Spartan mothers who would rather die than see their sons branded
as cowards.
The implicit obedience which samurai gave their lords, when conflicting
with feelings of loyalty to their country, often produced two opposing
forces which had to be overcome. When the daimi[=o] gave orders that the
keener-sighted retainer felt would not be for the good of the house, he
had either to disobey his lord, or act against his feeling of loyalty.
Divided between the two duties, the samurai would usually do as he
thought right for his country or his lord, disobeying his master's
orders; write a confession of his real motives; and save his name from
disgrace by committing suicide. By this act he would atone for his
disobedience, and his loyalty would never be questioned.
The now abolished custom of _hara-kiri_, or the voluntary taking of
one's life to avoid disgrace, and blot out entirely or partially the
stain on an honorable name, is a curious custom which has come down from
old times. The ancient heroes stabbed themselves as calmly as they did
their enemies, and women as well as men knew how to use the short
sword[37] worn always at the side of the samurai, his last and easy
escape from shame.
[37] The samurai always wore two swords, a long one for fighting only,
and a short one for defense when possible, but, as a last resort, for
_hara-kiri_. The sword is the emblem of the samurai spirit, and as such
is respected and honored. A samurai took pride in keeping his swords as
sharp and shining as was possible. He was never seen without the two
swords, but the longer one he removed and left at the front door when he
entered the house of a friend. To use a sword badly, to harm or injure
it, or to step over it, was considered an insult to the owner.
The young men of this class, as well as their masters, the daimi[=o]s,
were early instructed in the method of this self-stabbing, so that it
might be cleanly and easily done, for a bloody and unseemly death would
not redound to the honor of the suicide. The fatal cut was not
instantaneous in its effect, and there was always opportunity for that
display of courage--that show of disregard for death or pain--which was
expected of the brave man.
The _hara-kiri_ was of course a last resort, but it was an honorable
death. The vulgar criminal must be put to death by the hands of others,
but the nobler samurai, who never cares to survive disgrace, was
condemned to _hara-kiri_ if found guilty of actions worthy of death. Not
to be allowed to do this, but to be executed in the common way, was a
double disgrace to a samurai. Even to this day, when crimes such as the
assassination of a minister of state are committed, in the mistaken
belief that the act is for the good of the country, the idea on the part
of the assassin is never to escape detection. He calmly gives himself
up to justice or takes his own life,[38] stating his motive for the
deed; and, believing himself justified in the act, is willing that his
life should be the cost.
[38] Kurushima, who attempted to take the life of Okuma, the late
Minister of Foreign Affairs, as recently as 1889, committed suicide
immediately after throwing the dynamite bomb which caused the minister
the loss of his leg. This was the more remarkable in that, at the time
of his death, the assassin supposed that his victim had escaped all
injury.
The old samurai was proud of his rank, his honorable vocation, his
responsibility; proud of his ignorance of trade and barter and of his
disregard for the sordid cares of the world, regarding as far beneath
him all occupations but those of arms. Wealth, as artisan or farmer,
rarely tempted him to sink into the lower ranks; and his support from
the daimi[=o], often a mere pittance, insured to him more respect and
greater privileges than wealth as a héimin. To this day even, this
feeling exists. Preference for rank or position, rather than for mere
salary, remains strongly among the present generation, so that official
positions are more sought after than the more lucrative occupations of
trade. Japan is flooded with small officials, and yet the samurai now
is obliged to lay down his sword and devote his time to the once
despised trades, and to learn how important are the arts of peace
compared with those of war.
The dislike of anything suggestive of trade or barter--of services and
actions springing, not from duty and from the heart, but from the desire
of gain--has strongly tinted many little customs of the day, often
misunderstood and misconstrued by foreigners. In old Japan, experience
and knowledge could not be bought and sold. Physicians did not charge
for their services, but on the contrary would decline to name or even
receive a compensation from those in their own clan. Patients, on their
side, were too proud to accept services free, and would send to the
physicians, not as pay exactly, but more as a gift or a token of
gratitude, a sum of money which varied according to the means of the
giver, as well as to the amount of service received. Daimi[=o]s did not
send to ask a teacher how much an hour his time was worth, and then
arrange the lessons accordingly; the teacher was not insulted by being
expected to barter his knowledge for so much filthy lucre, but was
merely asked whether his time and convenience would allow of his taking
extra teaching. The request was made, not as a matter of give and take,
but a favor to be granted. Due compensation, however, would never fail
to be made,--of this the teacher could be sure,--but no agreement was
ever considered necessary.
With this feeling yet remaining in Japan,--this dislike of contracts,
and exact charges for professional services,--we can imagine the inward
disgust of the samurai at the business-like habits of the foreigners
with whom he has to deal. On the other hand, his feelings are not
appreciated by the foreigner, and his actions clash with the European
and American ideas of independence and self-respect. In Japan a present
of money is more honorable than pay, whereas in America pay is much more
honorable than a present.
The samurai of to-day is rapidly imbibing new ideas, and is learning to
see the world from a Western point of view; but his thoughts and actions
are still moulded on the ideas of old Japan, and it will be a long time
before the loyal, faithful, but proud spirit of the samurai will die
out. The pride of clan is now changed to pride of race; loyalty to
feudal chief has become loyalty to the Emperor as sovereign; and the old
traits of character exist under the European costumes of to-day, as
under the flowing robes of the two-sworded retainer.
It is this same spirit of loyalty that has made it hard for Christianity
to get a foothold in Japan. The Emperor was the representative of the
gods of Japan. To embrace a new religion seemed a desertion of him, and
the following of the strange gods of the foreigner. The work of the
Catholic missionaries which ended so disastrously in 1637 has left the
impression that a Christian is bound to offer allegiance to the Pope in
much the same way as the Emperor now receives it from his people; and
the bitterness of such a thought has made many refuse to hear what
Christianity really is. Such words as "King" and "Lord" they have
understood as referring to temporal things, and it has taken years to
undo this prejudice; a feeling in no way surprising when we consider
how the Jesuit missionaries once interfered with political movements in
Japan.
So bitter was this feeling, when Japan was first opened, that a native
Christian was at once branded as a traitor to his country, and very
severe was the persecution against all Christians. Missionaries at one
time dared not acknowledge themselves as such, and lived in danger of
their lives; and the Japanese Christian who remained faithful did so
knowing that he was despised and hated. I know of one mother who,
finding command and entreaty alike unavailing to move her son, a convert
to the new religion, threatened to commit suicide, feeling that the
disgrace which had fallen on the family could only be wiped out with her
death. Happily, all this is of the past, and to-day the samurai has
found that he can reconcile the new religion with his loyalty to Japan,
and that in receiving the one he is not led to betray the other.
The women of the samurai have shared with the men the responsibilities
of their rank, and the pride that comes from hereditary positions of
responsibility. A woman's first duty in all ranks of society is
obedience; but sacrifice of self, in however horrible a way, was a duty
most cheerfully and willingly performed, when by such sacrifice father,
husband, or son might be the better able to fulfill his duty towards his
feudal superior. The women in the daimi[=o]s' castles who were taught
fencing, drilled and uniformed, and relied upon to defend the castle in
case of need, were women of this class,--women whose husbands and
fathers were soldiers, and in whose veins ran the blood of generations
of fighting ancestors. Gentle, feminine, delicate as they were, there
was a possibility of martial prowess about them when the need for it
came; and the long education in obedience and loyalty did not fail to
produce the desired results. Death, and ignominy worse than death, could
be met bravely, but disgrace involving loss of honor to husband or
feudal lord was the one thing that must be avoided at all hazards. It
was my good fortune, many years ago, to make the acquaintance of a
little Japanese girl who had lived in the midst of the siege of
Wakamatsu, the city in which the Sh[=o]gun's forces made their last stand
for their lord and the system that he represented. As the Emperor's
forces marched upon the castle town, moat after moat was taken,[*209]
until at last men, women, and children took refuge within the citadel
itself to defend it until the last gasp. The bombs of the besiegers fell
crashing into the castle precincts, killing the women as they worked at
whatever they could do in aid of the defenders; and even the little
girls ran back and forth, amid the rain of bullets and balls, carrying
cartridges, which the women were making within the castle, to the men
who were defending the walls. "Weren't you afraid?" we asked the
delicate child, when she told us of her own share in the defense. "No,"
was the answer. A small but dangerous sword, of the finest Japanese
steel, was shown us as the sword that she wore in her belt during all
those days of war and tumult. "Why did you wear the sword?" we asked.
"So that I would have it if I was taken prisoner." "What would you have
done with it?" was the next question, for we could not believe that a
child of eight would undertake to defend herself against armed soldiers
with that little sword. "I would have killed myself," was the answer,
with a flash of the eye that showed her quite capable of committing the
act in case of need.
In the olden times, when the spirit of warfare was strong and justice
but scantily administered, revenge for personal insult, or for the death
of father or lord, fell upon the children, or the retainers. Sometimes
the bloody deed has fallen to the lot of a woman, to some weak and
feeble girl, who, in many a tale, has braved all the difficulties that
beset a woman's path, devoted her life to an act of vengeance, and, with
the courage of a man, has often successfully consummated her revenge.
One of the tales of old Japan, and a favorite subject of theatrical
representation, is the death and revenge of a lady in a daimi[=o]'s
palace. Onoyé, a daughter of the people, child of a merchant, has by
chance risen to the position of lady-in-waiting to a daimi[=o]'s
wife,--a thing so uncommon that it has roused the jealousy of the other
ladies, who are of the samurai class. Iwafuji, one of the highest and
proudest ladies at the court, takes pains on every occasion to insult
and torment the poor, unoffending Onoyé, whom she cannot bear to have
as an associate. She constantly reminds her of her inferior birth, and
at last challenges her to a trial in fencing, in which accomplishment
Onoyé is not proficient, having lacked the proper training in her early
life. At last the hatred and anger of Iwafuji culminate in a frenzy of
rage; she forgets herself, and strikes the meek and gentle Onoyé with
her sandal,--the worst insult that could be offered to any one.
Onoyé, overcome by this deep disgrace offered her in public, returns
from the main palace to her own apartments, and ponders long and deeply,
in the bitterness of her soul, how to wipe out the disgrace of an insult
by such an enemy.
Her own faithful maid, seeing her disordered hair and anxious looks,
perceives some secret trouble, which her mistress will not disclose, and
tries, while performing her acts of service, to dispel the gloom by
telling gayly all the gossip of the day. This maid, O Haru, is a type of
the clever faithful servant. She is really of higher birth than her
mistress, for, though she has been obliged to go out to service, she was
born of a samurai family. Onoyé, while listening to the talk of her
servant, has made up her mind that only one thing can blot out her
disgrace, and that is to commit suicide. She hastily pens a farewell to
her family, for the deed must not be delayed, and sends with the letter
the token of her disgrace,--Iwafuji's sandal, which she has kept. O Haru
is sent on this errand, and, unconscious of the ill-news she is bearing,
she starts out. On the way, the ominous croak of the ravens, who are
making a dismal noise,--a presage of ill-luck,--frightens the observant
O Haru. A little further on, the strap of her clog breaks,--a still more
alarming sign. Thoroughly frightened, O Haru turns back, and reaches her
mistress' room in time to find that the fatal deed is done, and her
mistress is dying. O Haru is heart-broken, learns the whole truth, and
vows vengeance on the enemy of her loved mistress.
O Haru, unlike Onoyé, is thoroughly trained in fencing. An occasion
arises when she returns to Iwafuji in public the malicious blow, and
with the same sandal, which she has kept as a sign of her revenge. She
then challenges Iwafuji, in behalf of the dead, to a trial in fencing.
The haughty Iwafuji is forced to accept, and is thoroughly defeated and
shamed before the spectators. The whole truth is now made known, and the
daimi[=o], who admires and appreciates the spirit of O Haru, sends for
her, and raises her from her low position to fill the post of her dead
mistress.
These stories show the spirit of the samurai women; they can suffer
death bravely, even joyfully, at their own hands or the hands of husband
or father, to avoid or wipe out any disgrace which they regard as a loss
of honor; but they will as bravely and patiently subject themselves to a
life of shame and ignominy, worse than death, for the sake of gaining
for husband or father the means of carrying out a feudal obligation.
There is a pathetic scene, in one of the most famous of the Japanese
historical dramas, in which one seems to get the moral perspective of
the ideal Japanese woman, as one cannot get it in any other way. The
play is founded on the story of "The Loyal R[=o]nins," referred to in the
beginning of this chapter. The loyal r[=o]nins are plotting to avenge the
death of their master upon the daimi[=o] whose cupidity and injustice have
brought it about. As there is danger of disloyalty even in their own
ranks, Oishi, the leader of the dead daimi[=o]'s retainers, displays great
caution in the selection of his fellow-conspirators, and practices every
artifice to secure absolute secrecy for his plans. One young man, who
was in disgrace with his lord at the time of his death, applies to be
admitted within the circle of conspirators; but as it is suspected that
he may not be true to the cause, a payment in money is exacted from him
as a pledge of his honorable intentions. It is thus made his first duty
to redeem his honor from all suspicion by the payment of the money, in
order that he may perform his feudal obligation of avenging the death of
his lord. But the young man is poor; he has married a poor girl, and has
agreed to support not only his wife, but her old parents as well, and
the payment is impossible for him. In this emergency, his wife, at the
suggestion of her parents, proposes, as the only way, to sell herself,
for a term of two years, to the proprietor of a house of pleasure, that
she may by this vile servitude enable her husband to escape the
dishonor that must come to him if he fails to fulfill his feudal duty.
Negotiations are entered into, the contract is made, and an advance
payment is given which will furnish money enough for the pledge required
by the conspirators. All this is done without the knowledge of the
husband, lest his love for his wife and his grief for the sacrifice
prevent him from accepting the only means left to prove his loyalty. The
noble wife even plans to leave her home while he is away on a hunting
expedition, and so spare him the pain of parting. His emotion upon
learning of this venture in business is not of wrath at the disgrace
that has overtaken his family, but simply of grief that his wife and her
parents must make so great a sacrifice to save his honor. It is a
terrible affliction, but it is not a disgrace in any way parallel to the
disgrace of disloyalty to his lord. And the heroic wife, when the men
come to carry her away, is upheld through all the trying farewells by
the consciousness that she is making as noble a sacrifice of herself as
did the wife of Yamato Daké when she leaped into the sea to avert the
wrath of the sea-god from her husband. The Japanese, both men and
women, knowing this story and many others similar in character, can see,
as we cannot from our point of view, that, even if the body be defiled,
there is no defilement of the soul, for the woman is fulfilling her
highest duty in sacrificing all, even her dearest possession, for the
honor of her husband. It is a climax of self-abnegation that brings
nothing but honor to the soul of her who reaches it. Japanese women who
read this story feel profound pity for the poor wife, and a horror of a
sacrifice that binds her to a life which outwardly, to the Japanese mind
even, is the lowest depth a woman ever reaches. But they do not despise
her for the act; nor would they refuse to receive her even were she to
appear in living form to-day in any Japanese home, where, thanks to
happier fortunes, such sacrifices are not demanded. Just at this point
is the difference of moral perspective that foreigners visiting Japan
find so hard to understand, and that leads many, who have lived in the
country the longest, to believe that there is no modesty and purity
among Japanese women. It is this that makes it possible for the vilest
of stories, and those that have the least foundation in fact, to find
easy belief among foreigners, even if they be told about the purest,
most high-minded, and most honorable of Japanese women. Our maidens, as
they grow to womanhood, are taught that anything is better than personal
dishonor, and their maidenly instincts side with the teaching. With us,
a virtuous woman does not mean a brave, a heroic, an unselfish, or
self-sacrificing woman, but means simply one who keeps herself from
personal dishonor. Chastity is the supreme virtue for a woman; all other
virtues are secondary compared with it. This is our point of view, and
the whole perspective is arranged with that virtue in the foreground.
Dismiss this for a moment, and consider the moral training of the
Japanese maiden. From earliest youth until she reaches maturity, she is
constantly taught that obedience and loyalty are the supreme virtues,
which must be preserved even at the sacrifice of all other and lesser
virtues. She is told that for the good of father or husband she must be
willing to meet any danger, endure any dishonor, perpetrate any crime,
give up any treasure. She must consider that nothing belonging solely
to herself is of any importance compared with the good of her master,
her family, or her country. Place this thought of obedience and loyalty,
to the point of absolute self-abnegation, in the foreground, and your
perspective is altered, the other virtues occupying places of varying
importance. Because a Japanese woman will sometimes sacrifice her
personal virtue for the sake of father or husband, does it follow that
all Japanese women are unchaste and impure? In many cases this sacrifice
is the noblest that she believes possible, and she goes to it, as she
would go to death in any dreadful form, for those whom she loves, and to
whom she owes the duty of obedience. The Japanese maiden grows to
womanhood no less pure and modest than our own girls, but our girls are
never called upon to sacrifice their modesty for the sake of those whom
they love best; nor is it expected of any woman in this country that she
exist solely for the good of some one else, in whatever way he chooses
to use her, during all the years of her life. Let us take this
difference into our thought in forming our judgment, and let us rather
seek the causes that underlie the actions than pass judgment upon the
actions themselves. From a close study of the characters of many
Japanese women and girls, I am quite convinced that few women in any
country do their duty, as they see it, more nobly, more single-mindedly,
and more satisfactorily to those about them, than the women of Japan.
Many argue that the purity of Japanese women, as compared with the men,
the ready obedience which they yield, their sweet characters and
unselfish devotion as wives and mothers, are merely the results of the
restraint under which they live, and that they are too weak to be
allowed to enjoy freedom of thought and action. Whether this be true or
no is a point which we leave for others to take up, as time shall have
provided new data for reasoning on the subject.
To me, the sense of duty seems to be strongly developed in the Japanese
women, especially in those of the samurai class. Conscience seems as
active, though often in a different manner, as the old-fashioned New
England conscience, transmitted through the bluest of Puritan blood. And
when a duty has once been recognized as such, no timidity, or
mortification, or fear of ridicule will prevent the performance of it. A
case comes to my mind now of a young girl of sixteen, who made public
confession before her schoolmates of shortcomings of which none of them
knew, for the sake of easing her troubled conscience and warning her
schoolmates against similar errors. The circumstances were as follows:
The young girl had recently lost her grandmother, a most loving and
affectionate old lady, who had taken the place of a mother to the child
from her earliest infancy. In a somewhat unhappy home, the love of the
old grandmother was the one bright spot; and when she was taken away,
the poor, lonely child's memory recalled all of her own shortcomings to
this beloved friend; and, too late to make amendment to the old lady
herself, she dwelt on her own undutifulness, and decided that she must
by some means do penance, or make atonement for her fault. She might, if
she made a confession before her schoolmates, warn them against similar
mistakes; and accordingly she prepared, for the literary society in
which the girls took what part they chose, a long confession, written
in poetical style, and read it before her schoolmates and teachers. It
was a terrible ordeal, as one could see by the blushing face and
breaking voice, often choked with sobs; and when at the conclusion she
urged her friends to behave in such a way to their dear ones that they
need never suffer what she had had to endure since her grandmother's
death, there was not a dry eye in the room, and many of the girls were
sobbing aloud. It was a curious expiation and a touching one, but one
not in the least exceptional or uncharacteristic of the spirit of duty
that actuates the best women of the samurai class.
Here is another instance which illustrates this sense of duty, and
desire of atoning for past mistakes or sins. At the time of the
overthrow of the feudal system, the samurai, bred to loyalty to their
own feudal superiors as their highest duty, found themselves ranged on
different sides in the struggle, according to the positions in which
their lords placed themselves. At the end of the struggle, those who had
followed their daimi[=o]s to the field, in defense of the Sh[=o]gunate,
found that they had been fighting against the Emperor, the Son of
Heaven himself, who had at last emerged from the seclusion of centuries
to govern his own empire. Thus the supporters of the Sh[=o]gunate, while
absolutely loyal to their daimi[=o]s, had been disloyal to the higher
power of the Emperor; and had put themselves in the position of traitors
to their country. There was a conflict of principles there somewhat
similar to that which took place in our Civil War, when, in the South,
he who was true to his State became a traitor to his country, and he who
was true to his country became a traitor to his State. Two ladies of the
finest samurai type had, with absolute loyalty to a lost cause, aided by
every means in their power in the defense of the city of Wakamatsu
against the victorious forces of the Emperor. They had held on to the
bitter end, and had been banished, with others of their family and clan,
to a remote province, for some years after the end of the war. In 1877,
eleven years after the close of the War of the Restoration, a rebellion
broke out in the south which required a considerable expenditure of
blood and money for its suppression. When the new war began, these two
ladies presented a petition to the government, in which they begged
that they might be allowed to make amends for their former position of
opposition to the Emperor, by going with the army to the field as
hospital nurses. At that time, no lady in Japan had ever gone to the
front to nurse the wounded soldiers; but to those two brave women was
granted the privilege of making atonement for past disloyalty, by the
exercise of the skill and nerve that they had gained in their experience
of war against the Emperor, in the nursing of soldiers wounded in his
defense.[*223]
In the old days, the women of the samurai class fulfilled most nobly the
duties that fell to their lot. As wives and mothers in time of peace,
they performed their work faithfully in the quiet of their homes; and,
their time filled with household cares, they busied themselves with the
smaller duties of life. As the wives and mothers of soldiers, they
cultivated the heroic spirit befitting their position, fearing no danger
save such as involved disgrace. As the home-guard in time of need, they
stood ready to defend their master's possessions with their own lives;
as gentlewomen and ladies-in-waiting at the court of the daimi[=o] or the
Sh[=o]gun, they cultivated the arts and accomplishments required for their
position, and veiled the martial spirit that dwelt within them under an
exterior as feminine, as gracious, as cultivated and charming, as that
of any ladies of Europe or America. To-day in the new Japan, where the
samurai have no longer their yearly allowance from their lords and their
feudal duties, but, scattered through the whole nation, are engaged in
all the arts and trades, and are infusing the old spirit into the new
life, what are the women doing? As the government of the land to-day
lies in the hands of the samurai men under the Emperor, so the progress
of the women, the new ideas of work for women, are in the hands of the
samurai women, led by the Empress. Wherever there is progress among the
women, wherever they are looking about for new opportunities, entering
new occupations, elevating the home, opening hospitals, industrial
schools, asylums, there you will find the leading spirits always of the
samurai class. In the recent changes, some of this class have risen
above their former state and joined the ranks of the nobility; and
there the presence of the samurai spirit infuses new life into the
aristocracy. So, too, the changes that have raised some have lowered
others, and the samurai is now to be found in the formerly despised
occupations of trade and industry, among the merchants, the farmers, the
fishermen, the artisans, and the domestic servants. But wherever his lot
is cast, the old training, the old ideals, the old pride of family,
still keep him separate from his present rank, and, instead of pulling
him down to the level of those about him, tend to raise that level by
the example of honor and intelligence that he sets. The changed fortunes
were not met without a murmur. Most of the outrages, the reactionary
movements, the riots and inflammatory speeches and writings, that
characterized the long period of disquiet following the Restoration,
came from men of this class, who saw their support taken from them,
leaving them unable to dig and ashamed to beg. But the greater part of
them went sturdily to work, in government positions if they could get
them, in the army, on the police force, on the farm, in the shop, at
trades, at service,--even to the humble work of wheeling a
_jinrikisha_, if other honest occupation could not be found; and the
women shared patiently and bravely the changed fortunes of the men,
doing whatever they could toward bettering them. The samurai women
to-day are eagerly working into the positions of teachers, interpreters,
trained nurses, and whatever other places there are which may be
honorably occupied by women. The girls' schools, both government and
private, find many of their pupils among the samurai class; and their
deference and obedience to their teachers and superiors, their ambition
and keen sense of honor in the school-room, show the influence of the
samurai feeling over new Japan. To the samurai women belongs the
task--and they have already begun to perform it--of establishing upon a
broader and surer foundation the position of women in their own country.
They, as the most intelligent, will be the first to perceive the remedy
for present evils, and will, if I mistake not, move heaven and earth, at
some time in the near future, to have that remedy applied to their own
case. Most of them read the literature of the day, some of them in at
least one language beside their own; a few have had the benefit of
travel abroad, and have seen what the home and the family are in
Christian lands. There is as much of the unconquerable spirit of the
samurai to-day in the women as in the men; and it will not be very long
before that spirit will begin to show itself in working for the
establishment of their homes and families upon some stronger basis than
the will of the husband and father.