LIFE IN THE CITIES.
The great cities of Japan afford remarkable opportunities for seeing the
life of the common people, for the little houses and shops, with their
open fronts, reveal the _penetralia_ in a way not known in our more
secluded homes. The employment of the merchant being formerly the lowest
of respectable callings, one does not find even yet in Japan many great
stores or a very high standard of business morality, for the business of
the country was left in the hands of those who were too stupid or too
unambitious to raise themselves above that social class. Hence English
and American merchants, who only see Japan from the business side,
continually speak of the Japanese as dishonest, tricky, and altogether
unreliable, and greatly prefer to deal with the Chinese, who have much
of the business virtue that is characteristic of the English as a
nation. Only within a few years have the samurai, or indeed any one who
was capable of figuring in any higher occupation in life, been willing
to adopt the calling of the merchant; but many of the abler Japanese of
to-day have begun to see that trade is one of the most important factors
of a nation's well-being, and that the business of buying and selling,
if wisely and honestly done, is an employment that nobody need be
ashamed to enter. There are in Japan a few great merchants whose word
may be trusted, and whose obligations will be fulfilled with absolute
honesty; but a large part of the buying and selling is still in the
hands of mercantile freebooters, who will take an advantage wherever it
is possible to get one, in whose morality honesty has no place, and who
have not yet discovered the efficacy of that virtue simply as a matter
of policy. Their trade, conducted in a small way upon small means, is
more of the nature of a game, in which one person is the winner and the
other the loser, than a fair exchange, in which both parties obtain what
they want. It is the mediæval, not the modern idea of business, that is
still held among Japanese merchants. With them, trade is a warfare
between buyer and seller, in which every man must take all possible
advantage for himself, and it is the lookout of the other party if he is
cheated.
In T[=o]ky[=o], the greatest and most modernized of the cities of the
empire, the shops are not the large city stores that one sees in
European and American cities, but little open-fronted rooms, on the edge
of which one sits to make one's purchases, while the proprietor smiles
and bows and dickers; setting his price by the style of his customer's
dress, or her apparent ignorance of the value of the desired article.
Some few large dry-goods stores there are, where prices are set and
dickering is unnecessary;[*264] and in the _kwankoba_, or bazaars, one
may buy almost anything needed by Japanese of all classes, from house
furnishings to foreign hats, at prices plainly marked upon them, and
from which there is no variation. But one's impression of the state of
trade in Japan is, that it is still in a very primitive and undeveloped
condition, and is surprisingly behind the other parts of Japanese
civilization.
The shopping of the ladies of the large _yashikis_ and of wealthy
families is done mostly in the home; for all the stores are willing at
any time, on receiving an order, to send up a clerk with a bale of
crêpes, silks, and cottons tied to his back, and frequently towering
high above his head as he walks, making him look like the proverbial ant
with a grain of wheat. He sets his great bundle carefully down on the
floor, opens the enormous _furushiki_, or bundle handkerchief, in which
it is enveloped, and takes out roll after roll of silk or chintz, neatly
done up in paper or yellow cotton. With infinite patience, he waits
while the merits of each piece are examined and discussed, and if none
of his stock proves satisfactory, he is willing to come again with a new
set of wares, knowing that in the end purchases will be made sufficient
to cover all his trouble.
The less aristocratic people are content to go to the stores themselves;
and the business streets of a Japanese city, such as the Ginza in
T[=o]ky[=o], are full of women, young and old, as well as merry
children, who enjoy the life and bustle of the stores. Like all things
else in Japan, shopping takes plenty of time. At Mitsui's, the largest
silk store in T[=o]ky[=o], one will see crowds of clerks sitting upon
the matted floors, each with his _soroban_, or adding machine, by his
side; and innumerable small boys, who rush to and fro, carrying armfuls
of fabrics to the different clerks, or picking up the same fabrics after
the customer who has called for them has departed. The store appears, to
the foreign eye, to be simply a roofed and matted platform upon which
both clerks and customers sit. This platform is screened from the street
by dark blue cotton curtains or awnings hung from the low projecting
eaves of the heavy roof. As the customers take their seats, either on
the edge of the platform, or, if they have come on an extended shopping
bout, upon the straw mat of the platform itself, a small boy appears
with tea for the party; an obsequious clerk greets them with the
customary salutations of welcome, pushes the charcoal brazier toward
them, that they may smoke, or warm their hands, before proceeding to
business, and then waits expectantly for the name of the goods that his
customers desire to see. When this is given, the work begins; the little
boys are summoned, and are soon sent off to the great fire-proof
warehouse, which stands with heavy doors thrown open, on the other side
of the platform, away from the street. Through the doorway one can see
endless piles of costly stuffs stored safely away, and from these piles
the boys select the required fabric, loading themselves down with them
so that they can barely stagger under the weights that they carry. As
the right goods are not always brought the first time, and as, moreover,
there is an endless variety in the colors and patterns in even one kind
of silk, there is always plenty of time for watching the busy
scene,--for sipping tea, or smoking a few whiffs from the tiny pipes
that so many Japanese, both men and women, carry always with them. When
the purchase is at last made, there is still some time to be spent by
the customer in waiting until the clerk has made an abstruse calculation
upon his _soroban_, the transaction has been entered in the books of the
firm, and a long bill has been written and stamped, and handed to her
with the bundle. During her stay in the store, the foreign customer,
making her first visit to the place, is frequently startled by loud
shouts from the whole staff of clerks and small boys,--outcries so
sudden, so simultaneous, and so stentorian, that she cannot rid herself
of the idea that something terrible is happening every time that they
occur. She soon learns, however, that these manifestations of energy are
but the way in which the Japanese merchant speeds the departing
purchaser, and that the apparently inarticulate shouts are but the
formal phrase, "Thanks for your continued favors," which is repeated in
a loud tone by every employee in the store whenever a customer departs.
When she herself is at last ready to leave, a chorus of yells arises,
this time for her benefit; and as she skips into the _jinrikisha_ and is
whirled away, she hears continued the busy hum of voices, the clattering
of _sorobans_, the thumping of the bare feet of the heavily laden boys,
and the loud shouts of thanks with which departing guests are honored.
There is less pomp and circumstance about the smaller stores, for all
the goods are within easy reach, and the shops for household utensils
and chinaware seem to have nearly the whole stock in trade piled up in
front, or even in the street itself. Many such little places are the
homes of the people who keep them. And at the back are rooms, which
serve for dwelling rooms, opening upon well-kept gardens. The whole work
of the store is often attended to by the proprietor, assisted by his
wife and family, and perhaps one or two apprentices. Each of the
workers, in turn, takes an occasional holiday, for there is no day in
the Japanese calendar when the shops are all closed; and even New Year's
Day, the great festival of the year, finds most of the stores open. Yet
the dwellers in these little homes, living almost in the street, and in
the midst of the bustle and crowd and dust of T[=o]ky[=o], have still
time to enjoy their holidays and their little gardens, and have more
pleasure and less hard work than those under similar circumstances in
our own country.
The stranger visiting any of the great Japanese cities is surprised by
the lack of large stores and manufactories, and often wonders where the
beautiful lacquer work and porcelains are made, and where the gay silks
and crêpes are woven. There are no large establishments where such
things are turned out by wholesale. The delicate vases, the bronzes,
and the silks are often made in humblest homes, the work of one or two
laborers with rudest tools. There are no great manufactories to be seen,
and the bane of so many cities, the polluting factory smoke, never rises
over the cities of Japan. The hard, confining factory life, with its
never-ceasing roar of machinery, bewildering the minds and intellects of
the men who come under its deadening influences, until they become
scarcely more than machines themselves, is a thing as yet almost unknown
in Japan. The life of the _jinrikisha_ man even, hard and comfortless as
it may seem to run all day like a horse through the crowded city
streets, is one that keeps him in the fresh air, under the open sky, and
quickens his powers both of body and mind. To the poor in Japanese
cities is never denied the fresh air and sunshine, green trees and
grass; and the beautiful parks and gardens are found everywhere, for the
enjoyment of even the meanest and lowest.
On certain days in the month, in different sections of the city, are
held night festivals near temples, and many shopkeepers take the
opportunity to erect temporary booths, in which they so arrange their
wares as to tempt the passers-by as they go to and fro. Very often there
is a magnificent display of young trees, potted plants, and flowers,
brought in from the country and ranged on both sides of the street. Here
the gardeners make lively sales, as the displays are often fine in
themselves, and show to a special advantage in the flaring torchlight.
The eager venders, who do all they can to call the attention of the
crowd to their wares, make many good bargains. The purchase requires
skill on both sides, for flower men are proverbial in their high
charges, asking often five and ten times the real value of a plant, but
coming down in price almost immediately on remonstrance. You ask the
price of a dwarf wistaria growing in a pot. The man answers at once,
"Two dollars." "Two dollars!" you answer in surprise, "it is not worth
more than thirty or forty cents." "Seventy-five, then," he will respond;
and thus the buyer and seller approach nearer in price, until the
bargain is struck somewhere near the first price offered. Price another
plant and there would be the same process to go over again; but as the
evening passes, prices go lower and lower, for the distances that the
plants have been brought are great, and the labor of loading up and
carrying back the heavy pots is a weary one, and when the last customer
has departed the merchants must work late into the night to get their
wares safely home again.
But beside the flower shows, there are long rows of booths, which, with
the many visitors who throng the streets, make a gay and lively scene.
So dense is the crowd that it is with difficulty one can push through on
foot or in _jinrikisha_. The darkness is illuminated by torches, whose
weird flames flare and smoke in the wind, and shine down upon the little
sheds which line both sides of the road, and contain so tempting a
display of cheap toys and trinkets that not only the children, but their
elders, are attracted by them. Some of the booths are devoted to dolls;
others to toys of various kinds; still others to birds in cages,
goldfish in globes, queer chirping insects in wicker baskets, pretty
ornaments for the hair, fans, candies, and cakes of all sorts, roasted
beans and peanuts, and other things too numerous to mention. The long
line of stalls ends with booths, or tents, in which shows of dancing,
jugglery, educated animals, and monstrosities, natural or artificial,
may be seen for the moderate admission fee of two sen. Each of these
shows is well advertised by the beating of drums, by the shouting of
doorkeepers, by wonderful pictures on the outside to entice the
passer-by, or even by an occasional brief lifting of the curtains which
veil the scene from the crowd without, just long enough to afford a
tantalizing glimpse of the wonders within. Great is the fascination to
the children in all these things, and the little feet are never weary
until the last booth is passed, and the quiet of neighboring streets,
lighted only by wandering lanterns, strikes the home-returning party by
its contrast with the light and noise of the festival. The supposed
object of the expedition, the visit to the temple, has occupied but a
small share of time and attention, and the little hands are filled with
the amusing toys and trifles bought, and the little minds with the merry
sights seen. Nor are those who remain at home forgotten, but the
pleasure-seekers who visit the fair carry away with them little gifts
for each member of the family, and the _O miagé_, or present given on
the return, is a regular institution of Japanese home life.[42]
[42] _O miagé_ must be given, not only on the return from an evening of
pleasure, but also on the return from a journey or pleasure trip of any
kind. As a rule, the longer the absence, the finer and more costly must
be the presents given on returning.
By ten o'clock, when the crowds have dispersed and the purchasers have
all gone home and gone to bed, the busy booth-keepers take down their
stalls, pack up their wares, and disappear, leaving no trace of the
night's gayeties to greet the morning sun.
Beside these evening shows, which occur monthly or oftener, there are
also great festivals of the various gods, some celebrated annually,
others at intervals of some years. These _matsuri_ last for several
days, and during that time the quarter of the city in which they occur
seems entirely given over to festivity. The streets are gayly decorated
with flags, and bright lanterns--all alike in design and color--are hung
in rows from the low eaves of the houses. Young bamboo-trees set along
the street, and decorated with bits of bright-colored tissue paper, are
a frequent and effective accompaniment of these festivals, and here and
there throughout the district are set up high stands, on the tops of
which musicians with squeaky flutes, and drums of varying calibre, keep
up a din more festive than harmonious. It takes a day or two for the
rejoicings to get fully under way, but by the second or third day the
fun is at its height, and the streets are thronged with merrymakers. A
great deal of labor and strength, as well as ingenuity, is spent in the
construction of enormous floats, or _dashi_, lofty platforms of two
stories, either set on wheels and drawn by black bullocks or crowds of
shouting men, or carried by poles on men's shoulders. Upon the first
floor of these great floats is usually a company of dancers, or mummers,
who dance, attitudinize, or make faces for the amusement of the crowds
that gather along their route; while up above, an effigy of some hero in
Japanese history, or the figure of some animal or monster, looks down
unmoved upon the absurdities below. Each _dashi_ is attended, not only
by the men who draw it, but by companies of others in some uniform
costume; and sometimes graceful professional dancing-girls are hired to
march in the _matsuri_ procession, or to dance upon the lofty _dashi_.
At the time of the festivities which accompanied the promulgation of the
Constitution, three days of jollification were held in T[=o]ky[=o], days
of such universal fun and frolic that it will be known among the common
people, to all succeeding generations, as the "Emperor's big _matsuri_."
Every quarter of the city vied with every other in the production of
gorgeous _dashi_, and the streets were gay with every conceivable
variety of decoration, from the little red-and-white paper lanterns,
that even the poorest hung before their houses, to the great evergreen
arches, set with electric lights, with which the great business streets
were spanned thickly from end to end. An evening walk through one of
these thoroughfares was a sight to be remembered for a lifetime. The
magnificent _dashi_ represented all manner of quaint conceits. A great
bivalve drawn by yelling crowds--which halted occasionally--opened and
displayed between its shells a group of beautifully dressed girls, who
danced one of the pantomimic dances of the country, accompanied by the
twanging melodies of the _samisen_. Then slowly the great shell closed,
once more the shouting crowds seized hold of the straining ropes, and
the great bivalve with its fair freight was drawn slowly along through
the gayly illuminated streets. Jimmu Tenno and other heroes of Japanese
legend or history, each upon its lofty platform, a white elephant, and
countless other subjects were represented in the festival cars sent
forth by all the districts of the city to celebrate the great event.
Upon such festival occasions the shopkeeper does not put up his shutters
and leave his place of business, but the open shop-fronts add much to
the gay appearance of the street. There are no signs of business about,
but the floor of the shop is covered with bright-red blankets;
magnificent gilded screens form an imposing background to the little
room; and seated on the floor are the shopkeeper, his family, and
guests, eating, drinking tea, and smoking, as cosily as if all the world
and his wife were not gazing upon the gay and homelike interior.
Sometimes companies of dancers, or other entertainments furnished by the
wealthier shopkeepers, will attract gaping crowds, who watch and block
the street until the advance guard of some approaching _dashi_ scatters
them for a moment.
In Japan, as in other parts of the world, the country people are rather
looked down upon by the dwellers in the city for their slowness of
intellect, dowdiness of dress, and boorishness of manners; while the
country people make fun of the fads and fashions of the city, and
rejoice that they are not themselves the slaves of novelty, and
especially of the foreign innovations that play so prominent a part in
Japanese city life to-day. "The frog in the well knows not the great
ocean," is the snub with which the Japanese cockney sets down Farmer
Rice-Field's expressions of opinion; while the conservative countryman
laughs at the foreign affectations of the T[=o]ky[=o] man, and returns
to his village with tales of the cookery of the capital: so extravagant
is it that sugar is used in everything; it is even rumored that the
T[=o]ky[=o]ites put sugar in their tea.
But while the country laughs and wonders at the city, nevertheless, in
Japan as elsewhere, there is a constant crowding of the young life of
the country into the livelier and more entertaining city. T[=o]ky[=o]
especially is the goal of every young countryman's ambition, and thither
he goes to seek his fortune, finding, alas! too often, only the hard lot
of the _jinrikisha_ man, instead of the wealth and power that his
country dreams had shown him.
The lower class women of the cities are in many respects like their
sisters of the rural districts, except that they have less freedom than
the country women in what the economists call "direct production." The
wells and water tanks that stand at convenient distances along the
streets of T[=o]ky[=o] are frequently surrounded by crowds of women,
drawing water, washing rice, and chattering merrily over their
occupations. They meet and exchange ideas freely with each other and
with the men, but they have not the diversity of labor that country life
affords, confining themselves more closely to indoor and domestic work,
and leaving the bread-winning more entirely to the men.
There are, however, occupations in the city for women, by which they may
support themselves or their families. A good hair-dresser may make a
handsome living; indeed, she does so well that it is proverbial among
the Japanese that a hair-dresser's husband has nothing to do. Though
professional tailors are mostly men, many women earn a small pittance in
taking in sewing and in giving sewing lessons; and as instructors in the
ceremonial tea, etiquette, music, painting, and flower arrangement, many
women of the old school are able to earn an independence, though none of
these occupations are confined to the women alone.
The business of hotel-keeping we have referred to in a previous chapter,
and it is a well-known fact that unless a hotel-keeper has a capable
wife, his business will not succeed. At present, all over T[=o]ky[=o],
small restaurants, where food is served in the foreign style, are
springing up, and these are usually conducted by a man and his wife who
have at some time served as cook and waitress in a foreign family, and
who conduct the business cöoperatively and on terms of good-fellowship
and equality. In these little eating-houses, where a well-cooked foreign
dinner of from three to six courses is served for the moderate sum of
thirty or forty cents, the man usually does the cooking, the woman the
serving and handling of the money, until the time arrives when the
profits of the business are sufficient to justify the hiring of more
help. When this time comes, the labor is redistributed, the woman
frequently taking upon herself the reception of the guests and the
keeping of the accounts, while the hired help waits on the tables.
One important calling, in the eyes of many persons, especially those of
the lower classes, is that of fortune-telling; and these guides in all
matters of life, both great and small, are to be found in every section
of the city. They are consulted on every important step by believing
ones of all classes. An impending marriage, an illness, the loss of any
valuable article, a journey about to be taken,--these are all subjects
for the fortune-teller. He tells the right day of marriage, and says
whether the fates of the two parties will combine well; gives clues to
the causes of sudden illness, and information as to what has become of
lost articles, and whether they will be recovered or not. Warned thus by
the fortune-teller against evils that may happen, many ingenious
expedients are resorted to, to avoid the ill foretold.
A man and his family were about to move from their residence to another
part of the city. They sent to know if the fates were propitious to the
change for all the family. The day and year of birth of each was told,
and then the fortune-teller hunted up the various signs, and sent word
that the direction of the new home was excellent for the good luck of
the family as a whole, and the move a good one for each member of it
except one of the sons; the next year the same move would be bad for the
father. As the family could not wait two years before moving, it was
decided that the change of residence should be made at once, but that
the son should live with his uncle until the next year. The uncle's home
was, however, inconveniently remote, and so the young man stayed as a
visitor at his father's house for the remaining months of the year,
after which he became once more a member of the household. Thus the
inconvenience and the evil were both avoided.[*282]
Another story comes to my mind now of a dear old lady, the Go Inkyo Sama
of a house of high rank, who late in life came to T[=o]ky[=o] to live
with her brother and his young and somewhat foreignized wife. The
brother himself, while not a Christian, had little belief in the old
superstitions of his people; his wife was a professing Christian. Soon
after the old lady's arrival in T[=o]ky[=o], her sister-in-law fell ill,
and before she had recovered her strength the children, one after
another, came down with various diseases, which, though in no case
fatal, kept the family in a state of anxiety for more than a year. The
old lady was quite sure that there was some witchcraft or art-magic at
work among her dear ones, and, after consulting the servants (for she
knew that she could expect no sympathy in her plans from either her
brother or his wife), she betook herself to a fortune-teller to discover
through his means the causes of the illness in the family. The
fortune-teller revealed to her the fact that two occult forces were at
work bringing evil upon the house. One was the evil spirit of a spring
or well that had been choked with stones, or otherwise obstructed in its
flow, and that chose this way of bringing its afflictions to the
attention of mortals. The other was the spirit of a horse that had once
belonged in the family, and that after death revenged itself upon its
former masters for the hard service wherewith it had been made to serve.
The only way in which these two powers could be appeased would be by
finding the well, and removing the obstructions that choked it, and by
erecting an image of the horse and offering to it cakes and other
meat-offerings. The fortune-teller hinted, moreover, that for a
consideration he might be able to afford material aid in the search for
the well.
At this information Go Inkyo Sama was much perturbed, for further aid
for her afflicted family seemed to require the use of money, and of that
commodity she had very little, being mainly dependent upon her brother
for support. She returned to her home and consulted the servants upon
the matter; but though they quite agreed with her that something should
be done, they had little capital to invest in the enterprises suggested
by the fortune-teller. At last, the old lady went to her brother, but he
only laughed at her well-meant attempts to help his family, and refused
to give her money for such a purpose. She retired discouraged, but,
urged by the servants, she decided to make a last appeal, this time to
her sister-in-law, who must surely be moved by the evil that was
threatening herself and her children. Taking some of the head servants
with her, she went to her sister and presented the case. This was her
last resort, and she clung to her forlorn hope longer than many would
have done, the servants adding their arguments to her impassioned
appeals, only to find out after all that the steadfast sister could not
be moved, and that she would not propitiate the horse's spirit, or allow
money to be used for such a purpose. She gave it up then, and sat down
to await the fate of her doomed house, doubtless wondering much and
sighing often over the foolish skepticism of her near relatives, and
wishing that the rationalistic tendencies of the time would take a less
dangerous form than the neglecting of the plainest precautions for life
and health. The fate has not yet come, and now at last Go Inkyo Sama
seems to have resigned herself to the belief that it has been averted
from the heads of the dear ones by a power unknown to the
fortune-teller.
Beside these callings, there are other employments which are not
regarded as wholly respectable by either Japanese or foreigners. The
_géisha ya_, or establishments where dancing-girls are trained, and let
out by the day or evening to tea-houses or private parties, are usually
managed by women. At these establishments little girls are taken,
sometimes by contract with their parents, sometimes adopted by the
proprietors of the house, and from very early youth are trained not only
in the art of dancing, but are taught singing and _samisen_-playing, all
the etiquette of serving and entertaining guests, and whatever else goes
to make a girl charming to the opposite sex. When thoroughly taught,
they form a valuable investment, and well repay the labor spent upon
them, for a popular géisha commands a good price everywhere, and has her
time overcrowded with engagements. A Japanese entertainment is hardly
regarded as complete without géishas in attendance, and their dancing,
music, and graceful service at supper form a charming addition to an
evening of enjoyment at a tea-house. It is these géishas, too, who at
_matsuri_ are hired to march in quaint uniforms in the procession, or,
borne aloft on great _dashi_, dance for the benefit of the admiring
crowds.
The Japanese dances are charmingly graceful and modest; the swaying of
the body and limbs, the artistic management of the flowing draperies,
the variety of themes and costumes of the different dances, all go to
make an entertainment by géishas one of the pleasantest of Japanese
enjoyments. Sometimes, in scarlet and yellow robes, the dainty maidens
imitate, with their supple bodies, the dance of the maple leaves as they
are driven hither and thither in the autumn wind; sometimes, with
tucked-up _kimonos_ and jaunty red petticoats, they play the part of
little country girls carrying their eggs to market in the neighboring
village. Again, clad in armor, they simulate the warlike gestures and
martial stamp of some of the old-time heroes; or, with whitened faces
and hoary locks, they perform with rake and broom the dance of the good
old man and old woman who play so prominent a part in Japanese pictures.
And then, when the dance is over, and all are bewitched with their grace
and beauty, they descend to the supper-room and ply their temporary
employers with the _saké_ bottle, laughing and jesting the while, until
there is little wonder if the young men at the entertainment drink more
than is good for them, and leave the tea-house at last thoroughly tipsy,
and enslaved by the bright eyes and merry wits of some of the Hebes who
have beguiled them through the evening.
The géishas unfortunately, though fair, are frail. In their system of
education, manners stand higher than morals, and many a géisha gladly
leaves the dancing in the tea-houses to become the concubine of some
wealthy Japanese or foreigner, thinking none the worse of herself for
such a business arrangement, and going cheerfully back to her regular
work, should her contract be unexpectedly ended. The géisha is not
necessarily bad, but there is in her life much temptation to evil, and
little stimulus to do right, so that, where one lives blameless, many go
wrong, and drop below the margin of respectability altogether. Yet so
fascinating, bright, and lively are these géishas that many of them have
been taken by men of good position as wives, and are now the heads of
the most respectable homes. Without true education or morals, but
trained thoroughly in all the arts and accomplishments that
please,--witty, quick at repartee, pretty, and always well dressed,--the
géisha has proved a formidable rival for the demure, quiet maiden of
good family, who can only give her husband an unsullied name, silent
obedience, and faithful service all her life. The freedom of the present
age, as shown in the chapter on "Marriage and Divorce," and as seen in
the choice of such wives, has presented this great problem to the
thinking women of Japan. If the wives of the leaders in Japan are to
come from among such a class of women, something must be done, and done
quickly, for the sake of the future of Japan; either to raise the
standards of the men in regard to women, or to change the old system of
education for girls. A liberal education, and more freedom in early life
for women, has been suggested, and is now being tried, but the problem
of the géisha and her fascination is a deep one in Japan.
Below the géisha in respectability stands the j[=o]r[=o], or licensed
prostitute. Every city in Japan has its disreputable quarter, where the
various _j[=o]r[=o]ya_, or licensed houses of prostitution, are
situated. The supervision that the government exercises over these
places is extremely rigid; the effort is made, by licensing and
regulating them, to minimize the evils that must flow from them. The
proprietors of the _j[=o]r[=o]ya_ do everything in their power to make
their houses, grounds, and employees attractive, and, to the
unsuspecting foreigner, this portion of the city seems often the
pleasantest and most respectable. A j[=o]r[=o] need never be taken for a
respectable woman, for her dress is distinctive, and a stay of a short
time in Japan is long enough to teach even the most obtuse that the
_obi_, or sash, tied in front instead of behind, is one of the badges of
shame. But though the occupation of the j[=o]r[=o] is altogether
disreputable,--though the prostitute quarter is the spot to which the
police turn for information in regard to criminals and law-breakers, a
sort of a trap into which, sooner or later, the offender against the law
is sure to fall,--Japanese public opinion, though recognizing the evil
as a great one, does not look upon the professional prostitute with the
loathing which she inspires in Christian countries. The reason for this
lies, not solely in the lower moral standards although it is true that
sins of this character are regarded much more leniently in Japan than in
England or America. The reason lies very largely in the fact that these
women are seldom free agents. Many of them are virtually slaves, sold in
childhood to the keepers of the houses in which they work, and trained,
amid the surroundings of the _j[=o]r[=o]ya_, for the life which is the
only life they have ever known. A few may have sacrificed themselves
freely but reluctantly for those whom they love, and by their revolting
slavery may be earning the means to keep their dear ones from starvation
or disgrace. Many are the Japanese romances that are woven about the
virtuous j[=o]r[=o], who is eventually rewarded by finding, even in the
_j[=o]r[=o]ya_, a lover who is willing to raise her again to a life of
respectability, and make her a happy wife and the mother of children.
Such stories must necessarily lower the standard of morals in regard to
chastity, but in a country in which innocent romance has little room for
development, the imagination must find its materials where it can.
These _j[=o]r[=o]ya_ give employment to thousands of women throughout
the country, but in few cases do the women seek that employment, and
more openings in respectable directions, together with a change in
public opinion securing to every woman the right to her own person,
would tend to diminish the number of victims that these institutions
yearly draw into their devouring current.
Innocent and reputable amusements are many and varied in the cities. We
have already mentioned incidentally the theatre as one of the favorite
diversions of the people; and though it has never been regarded as a
very refined amusement, it has done and is doing much for the education
of the lower classes in the history and spirit of former times. Regular
plays were never performed in the presence of the Emperor and his court,
or the Sh[=o]gun and his nobles, but the _No_ dance was the only
dramatic amusement of the nobility. This _No_ is an ancient Japanese
theatrical performance, more, perhaps, like the Greek drama than
anything in our modern life. All the movements of the actors are
measured and conventionalized, speech is a poetical recitative, the
costumes are stiff and antique, masks are much used, and a chorus seated
upon the stage chants audible comments upon the various situations. This
alone, the most ancient and classical of Japanese theatrical
performances, is considered worthy of the attention of the Emperor and
the nobility, and takes the place with them of the more vulgar and
realistic plays which delight common people.
The regular theatre preserves in many ways the life and costumes of old
Japan, and the details of dress and scenery are most carefully studied.
The actors are usually men, though there are "women theatres" in which
all the parts are performed by women. In no case are the rôles taken by
both sexes upon one stage. As the performances last all day, from ten or
eleven in the forenoon until eight or nine in the evening, going to the
theatre means much more than a few hours of entertainment after the
day's work is over. A lunch and dinner, with innumerable light edibles
between, go to make up the usual bill of fare for a day at the play, and
tea-houses in the neighborhood of the theatre provide the necessary
meals, a room to take them in, a resting-place between the acts, and
whatever tea, cakes, and other refreshments may be ordered. These latter
eatables are served by the attendants of the tea-house in the theatre
boxes while the play is in progress, and the playgoers eat and smoke all
day long through roaring farce or goriest tragedy.
Similar to the theatre in many ways are the public halls, where
professional story-tellers, the _hanashika_, night after night, relate
long stories to crowded audiences, as powerfully and vividly as the best
trained elocutionist. Each gesture, and each modulation of the voice, is
studied as carefully as are those of the actors. Many charming tales are
told of old Japan, and even Western stories have found their way to
these assemblies. A long story is often continued from night to night
until finished. Unfortunately, the class of people who patronize these
places is low, and the moral tone of some of the stories is pitched
accordingly; but the best of the story-tellers--those who have talent
and reputation--are often invited to come to entertainments given at
private houses, to amuse a large company by their eloquence or mimicry.
This is a very favorite entertainment, and the _hanashika_ has so
perfected the art of imitation that he can change in a moment from the
tones of a child to those of an old woman. Solemn and sad subjects are
touched upon, as well as merry and bright things, and he never fails to
make his audience weep or laugh, according to his theme, and well merits
the applause he always receives at the end.
The _hanami_, or picnic to famous places to view certain flowers as they
bloom in their season, though not belonging strictly to city life, forms
one of the greatest of the pleasures of city people. The river Sumida,
on which T[=o]ky[=o] is situated, has lining its eastern shore for some
miles the famous cherry-trees of Japan, with their large, double pink
blossoms, and when, in April and May, these flowers are in their
perfection, great crowds of sightseers flock to Muk[=o]jima to enjoy the
blossoms under the trees. The river is crowded with picnic parties in
boats. Every tea-house along the banks is full of guests, and the little
stalls and resting-places on the way find a quick sale for fruit,
confectionery, and light lunches. _Saké_ is often too freely imbibed by
the merrymakers, whose flushed faces show, when returning homeward, how
their day was spent. There is much quiet enjoyment, too, of the lovely
blossoms, the broad, calm river, and the gayly dressed crowds. Hundreds
and thousands of visitors crowd to the suburban places about
T[=o]ky[=o],--to Uyéno Park for its cherry and peach blossoms, Kaméido
for the plum and wistaria, Oji for its famous maple-trees, and many
others, each noted for some special beauty. Dango Zaka has its own
peculiar attraction, the famous chrysanthemum dolls. These ingenious
figures are arranged so as to form tableaux,--scenes from history or
fiction well known to all the people. They are of life size, and the
faces, hands, and feet are made of some composition, and closely
resemble life in every detail. But the curious thing in these tableaux
is that the scenery, whether it be the representation of a waterfall,
rocks, or bushes, the animals, and the dresses of the figures are made
entirely of chrysanthemum twigs, leaves, and flowers, not cut and woven
in, as at the first glance they seem to be,--so closely are the leaves
and flowers bound together to make the flat surface of different
objects,--but alive and growing on the plants. It is impossible to tell
where the roots and stems are hidden, for nothing is visible but (for
example) the white spray and greenish shadows of a waterfall, or the
parti-colored figures in a young girl's dress. But, should it be the
visitor's good fortune to watch the repairing of one of these lifelike
images, he will find that the entire body is a frame woven of split
bamboo, within which the plants are placed, their roots packed in damp
earth and bound about with straw, while their leaves and flowers are
pulled through the basket frame and woven into whatsoever pattern the
artistic eye and skillful fingers of the gardener may select. A roof of
matting shields each group from the sun by day, and a slight sprinkling
every night serves to keep the plants fresh for nearly a month, and the
flowers continue their blooming during that time, as calmly as if in
perfectly natural positions. Each of the gardeners of the neighborhood
has his own little show, containing several tableaux, the entrance to
which is guarded by an officious gate-keeper, who shouts out the merits
of his particular groups of figures, and forces his show-bills upon the
passer-by, in the hope of securing the two sen admission fee which is
required for each exhibit.
And so, amid the shopping, the festivals, the amusements of the great
cities, the women find their lives varied in many ways. Their holidays
from home duties are spent amid these enjoyments; and if they have not
the out-of-door employments, the long walks up the mountains, the days
spent in tea-picking, in harvesting, in all the varied work that comes
to the country woman, the dwellers in the city have no lack of sights
and sounds to amuse and interest them, and would not often care to
exchange their lot for the freer and hardier life of the rustic.