PEASANT WOMEN.
The great héimin class includes not only the peasants of Japan, but also
the artisans and merchants; artisans ranking below farmers, and
merchants below artisans, in the social structure. It includes the whole
of the common people, except such as were in former times altogether
below the level of respectability, the _éta_ and _hinin_,[39]--outcasts
who lived by begging, slaughtering animals, caring for dead bodies,
tanning skins, and other employments which rendered them unclean
according to the old notions. From very early times the agricultural
class has been sharply divided from the samurai or military. Here and
there one from the peasantry mounts by force of his personal qualities
into the higher ranks, for there is no caste system that prevents the
passing from one class into another,--only a class prejudice that serves
very nearly the same purpose, in keeping samurai and héimin in their
places, that the race prejudice in this country serves in confining the
negroes, North and South, to certain positions and occupations. The
first division of the military from the peasantry occurred in the eighth
century, and since then the peculiar circumstances of each class have
tended to produce quite different characteristics in persons originally
of the same stock. To the soldier class have fallen learning, skill in
arms and horsemanship, opportunities to rise to places of honor and
power, lives free from sordid care in regard to the daily rice, and in
which noble ideas of duty and loyalty can spring up and bear fruit in
heroic deeds. To the peasant, tilling his little rice-field year after
year, have come the heavy burdens of taxation; the grinding toil for a
mere pittance of food for himself and his family; the patient bearing of
all things imposed by his superiors, with little hope of gain for
himself, whatever change the fortunes of war may bring to those above
him in the social scale. Is there wonder that, as the years have gone
by, his wits have grown heavy under his daily drudgery; that he knows
little and understands less of the changes that are taking place in his
native land; that he is easily moved by only one thing, and that the
failure of his crops, or the shortening of his returns from his land by
heavier taxation? This is true of the héimin as a class: they are
conservative, fearing that change will but tend to make harder a lot
that is none too easy; and though peaceable and gentle usually, they may
be moved to blind acts of riot and bloodshed by any political change
that seems likely to produce heavier taxation, or even by a failure of
their crops, when they see themselves and their families starving while
the military and official classes have enough and to spare. But though,
as a class, the farmers are ignorant and heavy, they are seldom entirely
illiterate; and everywhere, throughout the country, one finds men
belonging to this class who are well educated and have risen to
positions of much responsibility and power, and are able to hold their
own, and think for themselves and for their brethren. From an article in
the "T[=o]ky[=o] Mail," entitled "A Memorialist of the Latter Days of the
Tokugawa Government," I quote passages which show the thoughts of one of
the héimin upon the condition of his own class about the year 1850. It
is from a petition sent to the Sh[=o]gun by the head-man of the village of
Ogushi.
[39] The laws against the _éta_ and _hinin_, making of them a distinct,
unclean class, and forbidding their intermarriage with any of the higher
classes, have recently been abolished. There is now no rank distinction
of any practical value, except that between noble and common people.
Héimin and samurai are now indiscriminately mingled.
The first point in the petition is, that there is a growing tendency to
luxury among the military and official classes. "It is useless to issue
orders commanding peasants and others to be frugal and industrious, when
those in power, whose duty it is to show a good example to the people,
are themselves steeped in luxury and idleness." He ventures to reproach
the Sh[=o]guns themselves by pointing to the extravagance with which they
have decorated the mausoleums at Nikk[=o] and elsewhere. "Is this," he
asks, "in keeping with the intentions of the glorious founder of your
dynasty? Look at the shrines in Isé and elsewhere, and at the sepulchres
of the Emperors of successive ages. Is gold or silver used in decorating
them?" He then turns to the vassals of the Sh[=o]gun, and charges them
with being tyrannical, rapacious, and low-minded. "Samurai," he
continues,--"samurai are finely attired, but how contemptible they look
in the eyes of those peasants who know how to be contented with what
they have!"
Further on in the same memorial, he points out what he regards as a
grave mistake in the policy of the Sh[=o]gun. A decree had just been
issued prohibiting the peasantry from exercising themselves with
sword-play, and from wearing swords. Of this he says: "Perhaps this
decree may have been issued on the supposition that Japan is naturally
impregnable and defended on all sides. But when she receives insult from
a foreign country, it may become necessary to call on the militia. And
who knows that men of extraordinary military genius, like Toyotomi,[40]
will not again appear among the lower classes?"
[40] Toyotomi Hidéyoshi, a peasant boy, rose from the position of a
groom to be the actual ruler of Japan during the Middle Ages. He it was
who in 1587 issued a decree of banishment against the Christian
missionaries in Japan. He is called Faxiba in the writings of these
missionaries, and in Japan he is frequently spoken of as Taiko Sama, a
title, not a name; but a title that, used alone, refers always to him.
For further account of his life, see Griffis, _Mikado's Empire_, book
i., chap. xxiv.
He ends his memorial with this warning: "Should the Sh[=o]gun's court, and
the military class in general, persist in the present oppressive way of
government, Heaven will visit this land with still greater calamities.
If this circumstance is not clearly kept in view, the consequence may be
civil disturbance. I, therefore, beseech that the instructions of the
glorious founder of the dynasty be acted upon; that simplicity and
frugality be made the guiding principle of administration; and that a
general amnesty be proclaimed, thereby complying with the will of Heaven
and placating the people. Should these humble suggestions of mine be
acted upon, prospective calamities will fly before the light of virtue.
Whether the country is to be safe or not depends upon whether the
administration is carried on with mercy or not. What I pray for is, that
the country may enjoy peace and tranquillity, that the harvest may be
plentiful, and that the people may be happy and prosperous."
One is able to see, by this rather remarkable document, that the
peasants of Japan, though frequently almost crushed by the heavy burdens
of taxation, do not, even in the most grinding poverty, lose entirely
that independence of thought and of action which is characteristic of
their nation. They do not consider themselves as a servile class, nor
their military rulers as beyond criticism or reproach, but are ready to
speak boldly for their rights whenever an opportunity occurs. There is a
pathetic story, told in Mitford's "Tales of Old Japan," of a peasant,
the head-man of his village, who goes to Yedo to present to the
Sh[=o]gun a complaint, on behalf of his fellow-villagers, of the
extortions and exactions of his daimi[=o]. He is unable to get any one
to present his memorial to the Sh[=o]gun, so at last he stops the great
lord's palanquin in the street,--an act in itself punishable with
death,--and thrusts the paper forcibly into his hand. The petition is
read, and his fellow-villagers saved from further oppression, but the
head-man, for his daring, is condemned by his own daimi[=o] to suffer
death by crucifixion,--a fate which he meets with the same heroism with
which he dared everything to save his fellows from suffering.
The peasant, though ignorant and oppressed, has not lost his manhood;
has not become a slave or a serf, but clings to his rights, so far as
he knows what they are; and is ready to hold his own against all comers,
when the question in debate is one that appeals to his mind. The rulers
of Japan have always the peasantry to reckon with when their ruling
becomes unjust or oppressive. They cannot be cowed, though they may be
misled for a time, and they form a conservative element that serves to
hold in check too hasty rulers who would introduce new measures too
quickly, and would be likely to find the new wine bursting the old
bottles, as well as to prevent any rash extravagance in the way of
personal expenditure on the part of government officials. The influence
of this great class will be more and more felt as the new parliamentary
institutions gain in power, and a more close connection is established
between the throne and public opinion.
In considering this great héimin class, it is well to remember that the
artisans, who form so large a part of it, are also the artists who have
made the reputation of Japan, in Europe and America, as one of the
countries where art and the love of beauty in form and color are still
instinct with life. The Japanese artisan works with patient toil, and
with the skill and originality of the artist, to produce something that
shall be individual and his own; not simply to make, after a pattern,
some utensil or ornament for which he cares nothing, so long as a
purchaser can be found for it, or an employer can be induced to pay him
money for making it. It seems as easy for the Japanese to make things
pretty and in good taste, even when they are cheap and only used by the
poorer people, as it is for American mills and workers to turn out
endless varieties of attempts at decoration,--all so hideous that a poor
person must be content, either to be surrounded by the worst possible
taste, or to purchase only such furnishings and utensils as are entirely
without decoration of any kind. "Cheap" and "nasty" have come to be
almost synonymous words with us, for the reason that taste in decoration
is so rare that it commands a monopoly price, and can only be procured
by the wealthy. In Japan this is not the case, for the cheapest of
things may be found in graceful and artistic designs,--indeed can
hardly be found in any designs that are not graceful and artistic; and
the poorest and commonest of the people may have about them the little
things that go to cultivate the æsthetic part of human nature. It was
not the costly art of Japan that interested me the most, although that
is, of course, the most wonderful proof of the capacity and patience of
individuals among this héimin class: but it was the common, cheap,
every-day art that meets one at every turn; the love for the beautiful,
in both nature and art, that belongs to the common coolie as well as to
the nobleman. The cheap prints, the blue and white towels, the common
teacups and pots, the great iron kettles in use over the fire in the
farmhouse kitchen,--all these are things as pretty and tasteful in their
way as the rich crêpes, the silver incense burners, the delicate
porcelain, and the elegant lacquer that fill the storehouse of the
daimi[=o]; and they show, much more conclusively than these costlier
things, the universal sense of beauty among the people.
The artisan works at his home, helped less often by hired laborers than
by his own children, who learn the trade of their father; and his
house, though small, is clean and tasteful, with its soft mats, its
dainty tea service, its little hanging scroll upon the walls, and its
vase of gracefully arranged flowers in the corner; for flowers, even in
winter and in the great city of T[=o]ky[=o], are so cheap that they are
never beyond the reach of the poorest. In homes that seem to the foreign
mind utterly lacking in the comforts and even the necessities of life,
one finds the few furnishings and utensils beautiful in shape and
decoration; and the money that in this country must be spent in beds,
tables, and chairs can be used for the purchase of _kakémonos_, flowers,
and vases, and for various gratifications of the æsthetic taste. Hence
it is that the Japanese laborer, who lives on a daily wage which would
reduce an American or European to the verge of starvation, finds both
time and money for the cultivation of that sense of beauty which is too
often crushed completely out of the lower classes by the burdens of this
nineteenth century civilization which they bear upon their shoulders. To
the Japanese, the "life is more than meat," it is beauty as well; and
this love of beauty has upon him a civilizing and refining effect, and
makes him in many ways the superior of the American day-laborer.[*239]
The peasants and farmers of Japan, thrifty and hard-working as they are,
are not by any means a prosperous class. As one passes into the country
districts from the large cities, there seems to be a conspicuous dearth
of neat, pleasant homes,--a lack of the comforts and necessities of life
such as are enjoyed by city people. The rich farmers are scarce, and the
laborers in the rice-fields hardly earn, from days of hardest toil with
the rudest implements, the little that will provide for their families.
In the face of heavy taxes, the incessant toil, the frequent floods of
late years, and the threatening famine, one would expect the poor
peasants to be a most discouraged and unhappy class. That all this toil
and anxiety does wear on them is no doubt true, but the laborers are
always ready to bear submissively whatever comes, and are always hopeful
and prepared to enjoy life again in happier times. The charms of the
city tempt them sometimes to exchange their daily labor for the
excitement of life as _jinrikisha_ men; but in any case they will be
perfectly independent, and ask no man for their daily rations.
Although there is much poverty, there are few or no beggars in Japan,
for both strong and weak find each some occupation that brings the
little pittance required to keep soul and body together, and gives to
all enough to make them light-hearted, cheerful, and even happy. From
the rich farmer, whose many acres yield enough to provide for a home of
luxury quite as fine as the city homes, to the poor little vender of
sticks of candy, around whose store the children flock like bees with
their rin and sen, all seem independent, contented, and satisfied with
their lot in life.
The religious beliefs of old Japan are stronger to-day among the country
people than among the dwellers in cities. And they are still willing to
give of their substance for the aid of the dying faiths to which they
cling, and to undertake toilsome pilgrimages to obtain some longed-for
blessing from the gods whom they serve. A great Buddhist temple is being
built in Ky[=o]t[=o] to-day, from the lofty ceiling of which hangs a
striking proof of the devotion of some of the peasant women to the
Buddhist faith. The whole temple, with its immense curved roof, its vast
proportions, and its marvelous wood carvings, has been built by
offerings of labor, money, and materials made by the faithful. The great
timbers were given and brought to the spot by the countrymen; and the
women, wishing to have some part in the sacred work, cut off their
abundant hair, a beauty perhaps more prized by the Japanese women than
by those of other countries, and from the material thus obtained they
twisted immense cables, to be used in drawing the timbers from the
mountains to the site of the temple. The great black cables hang in the
unfinished temple to-day, a sign of the devotion of the women who spared
not their chief ornament in the service of the gods in whom they still
believe. And a close scrutiny of these touching offerings shows that the
glossy black locks of the young women are mingled with the white hairs
of those who, by this sacrifice, hope to make sure of a quick and easy
departure from a life already near its close.
All along the T[=o]kaid[=o], the great road from T[=o]ky[=o] to
Ky[=o]to, in the neighborhood of some holy place, or in the district
around the great and sacred Fuji, the mountain so much beloved and
honored in Japanese art, will be seen bands of pilgrims slowly walking
along the road, their worn and soiled white garments telling of many
days' weary march. Their large hats shield them from the sun and the
rain, and the pieces of matting slung over their backs serve them for
beds to sleep on, when they take shelter for the night in rude huts. The
way up the great mountain of Fuji is lined with these pilgrims; for to
attain its summit, and worship there the rising sun, is believed to be
the means of obtaining some special blessing. Among these religious
devotees, in costumes not unlike those of the men, under the same large
hat and coarse matting, old women often are seen, their aged faces
belying their apparent vigor of body, as they walk along through miles
and miles of country, jingling their bells and holding their rosaries
until they reach the shrine, where they may ask some special blessing
for their homes, or fulfill some vow already made.[*242]
Journeying through rural Japan, one is impressed by the important part
played by women in the various bread-winning industries. In the village
homes, under the heavily thatched roofs, the constant struggle against
poverty and famine will not permit the women to hold back, but they
enter bravely into all the work of the men. In the rice-field the woman
works side by side with the man, standing all day up to her knees in
mud, her dress tucked up and her lower limbs encased in tight-fitting,
blue cotton trousers, planting, transplanting, weeding, and turning over
the evil-smelling mire, only to be distinguished from her husband by her
broader belt tied in a bow behind. In mountain regions we meet the women
climbing the steep mountain roads, pruning-hook in hand, after wood for
winter fires; or descending, towards night, carrying a load that a
donkey need not be ashamed of, packed on a frame attached to the
shoulders, or poised lightly upon a straw mat upon the head. There is
one village near Ky[=o]to, Yasé by name, at the base of Hiyéi Zan, the
historic Buddhist stronghold, where the women attain a stature and
muscular development quite unique among the pigmy population of the
island empire. Strong, jolly, red-cheeked women they are, showing no
evidence of the shrinking away with the advance of old age that is
characteristic of most of their countrywomen. With their tucked-up
_kimonos_ and blue cotton trousers, they stride up and down the
mountain, carrying the heaviest and most unwieldy of burdens as lightly
and easily as the ordinary woman carries her baby. My first acquaintance
with them was during a camping expedition upon the sacred mountain. I
myself was carried up the ascent by two small, nearly naked, finely
tattooed and moxa-scarred men; but my baggage, consisting of two closely
packed hampers as large as ordinary steamer trunks, was lifted lightly
to the heads of these feminine porters, and, poised on little straw
pads, carried easily up the narrow trail, made doubly difficult by
low-hanging branches, to the camp, a distance of three or four miles.
From among these women of Yasé, on account of their remarkable physical
development, have been chosen frequently the nurses for the imperial
infants; an honor which the Yasé villagers duly appreciate, and which
makes them bear themselves proudly among their less favored neighbors.
In other parts of the country, in the neighborhood of Nikk[=o], for
instance, the care of the horses, mild little pack-mares that do much of
the burden-bearing in those mountains, is mainly in the hands of the
women. At Nikk[=o], when we would hire ponies for a two days' expedition
to Yumoto, a little, elderly woman was the person with whom our bargains
were made; and a close bargainer she proved to be, taking every
advantage that lay in her power. When the caravan was ready to start, we
found that, though each saddle-horse had a male groom in attendance, the
pack-ponies on which our baggage was carried were led by pretty little
country girls of twelve or fourteen, their bright black eyes and red
cheeks contrasting pleasantly with the blue handkerchiefs that adorned
their heads; their slender limbs encased in blue cotton, and only their
red sashes giving any hint of the fact that they belonged to the weaker
sex. As we journeyed up the rough mountain roads, the little girls kept
along easily with the rest of the party; leading their meek,
shock-headed beasts up the slippery log steps, and passing an occasional
greeting with some returning pack-train, in which the soft black eyes
and bits of red about the costume of the little grooms showed that they,
too, were mountain maidens, returning fresh and happy after a two days'
tramp through the rocky passes.
In the districts where the silkworm is raised, and the silk spun and
woven, the women play a most important part in this productive industry.
The care of the worms and of the cocoons falls entirely upon the women,
as well as the spinning of the silk and the weaving of the cloth. It is
almost safe to say that this largest and most productive industry of
Japan is in the hands of the women; and it is to their care and skill
that the silk product of the islands is due. In the silk districts one
finds the woman on terms of equality with the man, for she is an
important factor in the wealth-producing power of the family, and is
thus able to make herself felt as she cannot when her work is inferior
to that of the men. As a farmer, as a groom, or as a porter, a woman is
and must remain an inferior, but in the care of the silkworms, and all
the tasks that belong to silk culture, she is the equal of the stronger
sex.
Then, again, in the tea districts, the tea plantations are filled with
young girls and old women, their long sleeves held back by a band over
the shoulder, and a blue towel gracefully fastened over their heads to
keep off the sun and the dust. They pick busily away at the green,
tender leaves, which will soon be heated and rolled by strong men over
the charcoal fire. The occupation is an easy one, only requiring care in
the selection of leaves to be picked, and can be performed by young
girls and old women, who gather the glossy leaves in their big baskets,
while chatting to each other over the gossip and news of the day.
In the hotels, both in the country and the city, women play an important
part. The attendants are usually sweet-faced, prettily dressed girls,
and frequently the proprietor of the hotel is a woman. My first
experience of a Japanese hotel was at Nara, anciently the capital of
Japan, and now a place of resort because of its fine old temples, its
Dai Butsu, and its beautiful deer park. The day's ride in _jinrikisha_
from [=O]saka had brought our party in very tired, only to find that the
hotel to which we had telegraphed for rooms was already filled to
overflowing by a daimi[=o] and his suite. Not a room could be obtained,
and we were at last obliged to walk some distance, for we had dismissed
our tired _jinrikisha_ men, to a hotel in the village, of which we knew
nothing. What with fatigue and disappointment, we were not prepared to
view the unknown hotel in a very rosy light; and when our guide pointed
to a small gate leading into a minute, damp courtyard, we were quite
convinced that the hardships of travel in Japan were now about to begin;
but disappointment gave way to hope, when we were met at the door by a
buxom landlady, whose smile was in itself a refreshment. Although we had
little in the way of language in common, she made us feel at home at
once, took us to her best room, sent her blooming and prettily dressed
daughters to bring us tea and whatever other refreshments the mysterious
appetite of a foreigner might require, and altogether behaved toward us
in such motherly fashion that fatigue and gloom departed forthwith,
leaving us refreshed and cheerful. Soon we began to feel rested, and our
kind friend, seeing this, took us upon a tour around the house, in
which room after room, spotless, empty, with shining woodwork and
softest of mats, showed the good housekeeping of our hostess. A little
garden in the centre of the house, with dwarf trees, moss-covered
stones, and running water, gave it an air of coolness on the hot July
day that was almost deceptive; and the spotless wash-room, with its
great stone sink, its polished brass basins, its stone well-curb, half
in and half out of the house, was cool and clean and refreshing merely
to look at. A two days' stay in this hotel showed that the landlady was
the master of the house. Her husband was about the house constantly, as
were one or two other men, but they all worked under the direction of
the energetic head of affairs. She it was who managed everything, from
the cooking of the meals in the kitchen to the filling and heating of
the great bath-tub into which the guests were invited to enter every
afternoon, one after the other, in the order of their rank. On the
second night of my stay, at a late hour, when I supposed that the whole
house had retired to rest, I crept softly out of my room to try to
soothe the plaintive wails of my dog, who was complaining bitterly that
he was made to sleep in the wood-cellar instead of in his mistress's
room, as his habit had always been. As I stole quietly along, fearing
lest I should arouse the sleeping house, I heard the inquiring voice of
my landlady sound from the bath-room, the door of which stood wide open.
Afraid that she would think me in mischief if I did not show myself, I
went to the door, to find her, after her family was safely stowed away
for the night, taking her ease in the great tub of hot water, and so
preparing herself for a sound, if short, night's sleep. She accepted my
murmured _Inu_ (dog) as an excuse, and graciously dismissed me with a
smile, and I returned to my room feeling safe under the vigilant care
that seemed to guard the house by night as well as by day. I have seen
many Japanese hotels and many careful landladies since, but no one among
them all has made such an impression as my pleasant hostess at Nara.
Not only hotels, but little tea-houses all through Japan, form openings
for the business abilities of women, both in country and city. Wherever
you go, no matter how remote the district or how rough the road, at
every halting point you find a tea-house. Sometimes it is quite an
extensive restaurant, with several rooms for the entertainment of
guests, and a regular kitchen where fairly elaborate cooking can be
done; sometimes it is only a rough shelter, at one end of which water is
kept boiling over a charcoal brazier, while at the other end a couple of
seats, covered with mats or a scarlet blanket or two, serve as
resting-places for the patrons of the establishment. But whatever the
place is, there will be one woman or more in attendance; and if you sit
down upon the mats, you will be served at once with tea, and later,
should you require more, with whatever the establishment can afford,--it
may be only a slice of watermelon, or a hard pear; it may be eels on
rice, vermicelli, egg soup, or a regular dinner, should the tea-house be
one of the larger and more elaborately appointed ones. When the feast is
over, the refreshments you have especially ordered are paid for in the
regular way; but for the tea and sweetmeats offered, for which no
especial charge is made, you are expected to leave a small sum as a
present. In the less aristocratic resting-places, a few cents for each
person is sufficient to leave on the waiter with the empty cups of tea,
for which loud and grateful thanks will be shouted out to the retiring
party.
In the regular inn, the _chadai_[41] amounts to several dollars, for a
party remaining any time, and it is supposed to pay for all the extra
services and attention bestowed on guests by the polite host and hostess
and the servants in attendance. The _chadai_, done up neatly in paper,
with the words _On chadai_ written on it, is given with as much
formality as any present in Japan. The guest claps his hands to summon
the maid. When it is heard, for the thin paper walls of a Japanese house
let through every noise, voices from all sides will shout out
_H[=e]´-h[=e]´_, or _Hai_, which means that you have been heard, and
understood. Presently a maid will softly open your door, and with head
low down will ask what you wish. You tell her to summon the landlord.
In a few moments he appears, and you push the _chadai_ to him, making
some conventional self-depreciating speech, as, "You have done a great
deal for our comfort, and we wish to give you this _chadai_, though it
is only a trifle." The landlord, with every expression of surprise, will
bow down to the ground with thanks, raising the small package to his
head in token of acceptance and gratitude, and will murmur in low tones
how little he has done for the comfort of his guests; and then, the
self-depreciation and formal words of thanks on his side being ended, he
will finally go down stairs to see how much he has gotten. But, whether
more or less than he had expected, nothing but extreme gratitude and
politeness appears on his face as he presents a fan, confectionery, or
some trifle, as a return for the _chadai_, and speeds the parting guests
with his lowest bow and kindliest smile, after having seen to every want
that could be attended to.
[41] _Chadai_ is, literally, "money for tea," and is equivalent to our
tips to the waiters and porters at hotels. The _chadai_ varies with the
wealth and rank of the guests, the duration of the stay, and the
attention which has been bestowed. _On_ is the honorific placed before
the word in writing.
Once, at Nikk[=o], I started with a friend for a morning walk to a place
described in the guide-book. The day was hot and the guide-book hazy,
and we lost the road to the place for which we had set out, but found
ourselves at last in a beautiful garden, with a pretty lake in its
centre, a little red-lacquered shrine reflected in the lake, and a
tea-house hospitably open at one side. The teakettle was boiling over
the little charcoal fire; melons, eggs, and various unknown comestibles
were on the little counter; but no voice bade us welcome as we
approached, and when we sat down on the edge of the piazza, we could see
no one within the house. We waited, however, for the day was hot, and
time is not worth much in rural Japan. Pretty soon a small, wizened
figure made its appearance in the distance, hurrying and talking
excitedly as it came near enough to see two foreign ladies seated upon
the piazza. Many bows and profuse apologies were made by the little old
woman, who seemed to be the solitary occupant of the pretty garden, and
who had for the moment deserted her post to do the day's marketing in
the neighboring village. The apologies having been smilingly received,
the old lady set herself to the task of making her guests comfortable.
First she brought two tumblers of water, cold as ice, from the spring
that gushed out of a great rock in the middle of the little lake. Then
she retired behind a screen and changed her dress, returning speedily to
bring us tea. Then she retreated to her diminutive kitchen, and
presently came back smiling, bearing eight large raw potatoes on a tray.
These she presented to us with a deep bow, apparently satisfied that she
had at last brought us something we would be sure to like. We left the
potatoes behind us when we went away, and undoubtedly the old lady is
wondering still over the mysterious ways of the foreigners, as we are
over those of the Japanese tea-house keepers.
One summer, when I was spending a week at a Japanese hotel at quite a
fashionable seaside resort, I became interested in a little old woman
who visited the hotel daily, carrying, suspended by a yoke from her
shoulders, two baskets of fruit, which she sold to the guests of the
hotel. As I was on the ground floor, and my room was, in the daytime,
absolutely without walls on two sides, she was my frequent visitor, and,
for the sake of her pleasant ways and cheerful smiles, I bought enough
hard pears of her to have given the colic to an elephant. One day,
after her visit to me, as I was sitting upon the matted and roofed
square that served me for a room, my eye wandered idly toward the
bathing beach, and, under the slight shelter where the bathers were in
the habit of depositing their sandals and towels, I spied the well-known
yoke and fruit baskets, as well as a small heap of blue cotton garments
that I knew to be the clothing of the little fruit-vender. She had
evidently taken a moment when trade was slack to enjoy a dip in the
soft, blue, summer sea. Hardly had I made up my mind as to the meaning
of the fruit baskets and the clothing, when our little friend herself
emerged from the sea and, sitting down on a bench, proceeded to rub
herself off with the small but artistically decorated blue towel that
every peasant in Japan has always with him, however lacking he may be in
all other appurtenances of the toilet. As she sat there, placidly
rubbing away, a friend of the opposite sex made his appearance on the
scene. I watched to see what she would do, for the Japanese code of
etiquette is quite different from ours in such a predicament. She
continued her employment until he was quite close, showing no unseemly
haste, but continuing her polishing off in the same leisurely manner in
which she had begun it; then at the proper moment she rose from her
seat, bowed profoundly, and smilingly exchanged the greetings proper for
the occasion, both parties apparently unconscious of any lack in the
toilet of the lady. The male friend then passed on about his business;
the little woman completed her toilet without further interruptions,
shouldered her yoke, and jogged cheerfully on to her home in the little
village, a couple of miles away.
As one travels through rural Japan in summer and sees the half-naked
men, women, and children that pour out from every village on one's route
and surround the _kuruma_ at every stopping place, one sometimes wonders
whether there is in the country any real civilization, whether these
half-naked people are not more savage than civilized; but when one finds
everywhere good hotels, scrupulous cleanliness in all the appointments
of toilet and table, polite and careful service, honest and willing
performance of labor bargained for, together with the gentlest and
pleasantest of manners, even on the part of the gaping crowd that shut
out light and air from the traveling foreigner who rests for a moment at
the village inn, one is forced to reconsider a judgment formed only upon
one peculiarity of the national life, and to conclude that there is
certainly a high type of civilization in Japan, though differing in many
important particulars from our own. A careful study of the Japanese
ideas of decency, and frequent conversation with refined and intelligent
Japanese ladies upon this subject, has led me to the following
conclusion. According to the Japanese standard, any exposure of the
person that is merely incidental to health, cleanliness, or convenience
in doing necessary work, is perfectly modest and allowable; but an
exposure, no matter how slight, that is simply for show, is in the
highest degree indelicate. In illustration of the first part of this
conclusion, I would refer to the open bath-houses, the naked laborers,
the exposure of the lower limbs in wet weather by the turning up of the
_kimono_, the entirely nude condition of the country children in summer,
and the very slight clothing that even adults regard as necessary about
the house or in the country during the hot season. In illustration of
the last part, I would mention the horror with which many Japanese
ladies regard that style of foreign dress which, while covering the
figure completely, reveals every detail of the form above the waist,
and, as we say, shows off to advantage a pretty figure. To the Japanese
mind it is immodest to want to show off a pretty figure. As for the
ball-room costumes, where neck and arms are freely exposed to the gaze
of multitudes, the Japanese woman, who would with entire composure take
her bath in the presence of others, would be in an agony of shame at the
thought of appearing in public in a costume so indecent as that worn by
many respectable American and European women. Our judgment would indeed
be a hasty one, should we conclude that the sense of decency is wanting
in the Japanese as a race, or that the women are at all lacking in the
womanly instinct of modesty. When the point of view from which they
regard these matters is once obtained, the apparent inconsistencies and
incongruities are fully explained, and we can do justice to our
Japanese sister in a matter in regard to which she is too often cruelly
misjudged.
There seems no doubt at all that among the peasantry of Japan one finds
the women who have the most freedom and independence. Among this class,
all through the country, the women, though hard-worked and possessing
few comforts, lead lives of intelligent, independent labor, and have in
the family positions as respected and honored as those held by women in
America. Their lives are fuller and happier than those of the women of
the higher classes, for they are themselves bread-winners, contributing
an important part of the family revenue, and they are obeyed and
respected accordingly. The Japanese lady, at her marriage, lays aside
her independent existence to become the subordinate and servant of her
husband and parents-in-law, and her face, as the years go by, shows how
much she has given up, how completely she has sacrificed herself to
those about her. The Japanese peasant woman, when she marries, works
side by side with her husband, finds life full of interest outside of
the simple household work, and, as the years go by, her face shows more
individuality, more pleasure in life, less suffering and disappointment,
than that of her wealthier and less hard-working sister.