THE VILLAGE SCHOOL
A Mimic School--Preparations--The School--How Classes
Are Conducted--Out of Tune--A Moral Story--School
Discipline--Playthings--“Knife Sense.”
At the age of six I was sent to school. For some time before the
fall opening, I was filled with excitement and curiosity and looked
forward to the day with great impatience. As our neighbors were few and
scattered and I did not have many playmates, I wondered how I should
feel on coming in contact with so many boys, most of whom were older
than I. And then there was study. I had a faint idea what a learned
scholar such as Confucius was, and felt as if a plunge into school a
day or two would half convert me into that obscure ideal. Weeks before,
I insisted on having a mimic school at home to prepare myself a little
for the august event, and with my mother as teacher I learned the
numerals and the forty-eight letters of the Japanese alphabet by heart.
I wished to do just as I would at school, and so I used to go outdoors
and with measured steps approach the porch. Entering the house, I sat
down before a table and bowed reverentially. When my mother was there
before me, I cheerfully began to study, well, for five minutes or so,
but when I found her not quite ready I was mercilessly thrown out of
humor, and only her exaggerated bows for apology would induce me to dry
my sorrowful tears.
The few days before the opening of the school were taken for my
preparation. I needed copy-books, a slate, an abacus, which is a frame
strung with wires on which are wooden beads to be moved in counting
and reckoning, and a small writing-box, containing a stone ink-well,
a cake of India ink, a china water-vessel, and brushes. I must have
also a round lunch set, the three pieces of which can be piled one
upon another like a miniature pagoda, and then, when empty, be put one
within another to reduce the size. A pair of chop-sticks went with
the set of course. Now all must be purchased new as if everything had
a new start. And then a new school suit was procured together with a
navy cap. These were all ready a day before, and were exhibited on the
alcove.
My younger brother was possessed of the school mania at the sight of
these last, and insisted that he would have his set, too. And so mimic
ones were procured, and these formed a second row together with his
holiday suit.
And then came the night before I was to go. I played the part of a
watch-dog by sleeping right near my property. In fact, I went to bed
early, but I could not sleep till after everybody had retired for
the night. And then I dreamed that my abacus stood up, its beads
chattering on how to start the trip in the morning. It was joined by
the copy-book, made of soft, Japanese paper, which parted hither and
thither in walking, as a lady’s skirt,--a Japanese lady’s, I mean. The
chairman was my navy cap. I did not know how they decided, but they
must have come to a peaceful agreement, as they were found, when I
awoke in the morning, exactly in the same place, lying quiet.
The next morning I set out with my father for the school. The faces of
every one in the house were at the door looking at me. I made every
effort to be dignified in walking, but could not help looking back just
once, when my face relaxed into a smile, and I felt suddenly very shy.
But as I heard my younger brother struggling to get away from my mother
to follow me, I hastened my steps to turn round a corner of the road.
The school was a low, dark-looking building, with paper-screened
windows all around like a broad white belt, and with a spacious porch
with dusty shelves to leave clogs on. When we arrived, we were led into
a side room, where we met the master or principal, and soon my father
returned home, leaving me to his care. I felt somewhat lonesome with
strangers all around, but kept myself as cool as possible, which effort
was very much like stopping a leak with the hands. A slight neglect
would bring something misty into my eyes. But now all the boys--and
girls, too, in the other room--came into one large room. Some forty of
the older ones and fifteen of those who had newly entered took their
seats, the older ones glancing curiously at the newcomers. But we were
all in back seats and so were not annoyed with looks that would have
been felt piercing us from behind. The desk I was assigned to was a
miserable one; not only was it besmeared with ink ages old, but cuts
were made here and there as if it were a well-fought battleground. But
I did not feel ashamed to sit there, as I thought that this was a kind
of place in which a Confucius was to be brought up.
Looking awhile on what was going on, I found the boys were divided into
three classes. The method of teaching was curious; one class alone
was allowed to have a reading lesson, while the other two were having
writing or arithmetic, that is, the teaching was so arranged that what
one class was doing might not disturb the others. I was struck, even in
my boyish mind, with the happy method, and learned the first lesson in
management. And then reading was done partly in unison with the master,
in a singsong style, and the effect was pleasing, if it was not very
loud. The class in arithmetic, on the other hand, sent out a pattering
noise of pencils on the slates, which in a confused mass would form
an overtone of the orchestra. A writing lesson taken in the midst of
such a company was never tiresome. Indeed, anything out of tune would
send the whole house into laughter, and such things were constantly
happening.
[Illustration: A JAPANESE SCHOOL SCENE.]
I was not slow in becoming acquainted with the boys. As I went into the
playground for the first time, I felt rather awkward to find nobody to
play with. But soon two boys whom I knew thrust themselves before me
and uncovered their heads. And from that moment the playground became
a place of great interest to me. Two friends grew into five, eight,
ten, and fifteen, and in three days I felt as if I possessed the whole
ground.
As things grew more familiar, I found almost every boy was striving
a little bit to be out of tune. When singsong reading was going on,
pupils echoing responsively the teacher’s voice, some wild boy would
suddenly redouble his effort with gusto, and his voice, like that of a
strangled chicken, would soar away up, to the great merriment of the
rest. And then often a boy, whose mind was occupied with a hundred
and one things except the book, engaged in some sly communication
with another, unconscious of the teacher’s approach, when he would
literally jump into the air as the master’s whip descended sharply
on his desk. We sat by twos on benches, and when one boy saw his
companion carelessly perching on the end of the bench, just right for
experimenting the principle of the lever, he would not miss a moment
to stand up, presumably to ask some question. But no sooner had he
called to the teacher, than the other fellow would shoot down to the
floor with a cry, and the bench come back with a tremendous noise. But
this was not all. When the boys could not find a pretense to make a
noise, they would stealthily paint their faces with writing brushes.
Two touches would be enough to grow a thick mustache curling up to
the ears. When the teacher faced a dozen of those mustache-wearing
boys who were unable to efface their naughty acts as quickly as they
had committed them, he could do nothing but to burst into undignified
laughter.
One day a strange method of discipline was instituted. The teacher
must have been at a loss to bring the urchins to behave well. It was
the last hour, the only hour, I think, the boys kept quiet. They did
so partly because the course bore the great name of ethics, but more
because moral stories were told. And the boys did not care whether the
stories were moral or not, as long as they were interesting. Here is
one of the twenty-four Chinese stories that teach filial duty:
There was once a boy by the name of Ching who had an old mother. He was
a good boy, and did what he could to please her. The mother, however,
often asked for things hard to get. One day in winter she wanted some
carp for her dinner. It was very cold, and the lake where Ching used to
fish was all frozen. What could he do? He, however, went to the lake,
looked about the place to find out where the ice was not thick, and,
baring himself about his stomach, lay flat to thaw it. It was a very
difficult thing to do, but at last the ice gave way, and to his great
joy, from the crevice thus made, a big carp jumped out into the air. So
he could satisfy his mother’s want.
Not only the boys who listened intently, but also the teacher, got
interested as the story grew to the climax, and the latter would
gesticulate and eventually impersonate the dutiful boy, showing
surprise at seeing a carp jumping ten feet into the air. This called
forth laughter which was meant for applause. But the teacher soon came
to himself and called silence. One day, after telling this story, he
said that it was yet half an hour before the time to close, but he
would dismiss us. “But,” he continued, “you can go only one by one,
beginning with those who are quiet and good. This is to train you for
your orderly conduct in study-hours, and if any one cannot keep quiet,
even for half an hour, he shall stay in his place till he can do so.”
This was a severe test. An early dismissal, even of five minutes before
the time, had a special charm for boys, but to-day we could march out
half an hour earlier. And then what a lovely day it was in autumn! The
warm sun was bright, and the trees were ablaze with golden leaves.
Persimmons were waiting for us to climb up and feast on them. After
a moment the boys were as still as night. One by one a “good” boy
was called to leave; they went like lambs to the door, but no sooner
were they out, than some stamped on the stairs noisily and shouted
and laughed on the green, which act showed that the teacher did not
always pick the right ones. I naturally waited my turn with impatience.
I thought I was a pretty good boy. At least I had Confucius for my
ideal, and those who had it were not many. I never did mischief, except
once, and that was really an accident. I dropped my lunch-box in my
arithmetic class, and chased it, as it had rolled off quite a distance.
Half the school laughed at me, and that was all. I was now musing on my
ill-luck when a call came to me at last. It was still a quarter of an
hour before closing time, and I thought the teacher knew me, after all.
Within a month after I entered the school, I made a new discovery as
to a schoolboy’s equipments. I had thought that they consisted only
of books, copy-books, an abacus, and such things. But these form only
a half of them. The other half are hidden to view: they are in the
pockets, or in the sleeves, I should have said. During the recess a
strong cord will come out and also a top about two and a half inches in
diameter, and with an iron ring a quarter of an inch thick. A Japanese
top is a mad thing. When it sings out of the hands and hits that of
the opponent, sending it off crippled, it makes you feel very happy.
Another thing is a sling. It is as old as the time of David, but it
was perfectly new to me. When a pebble shoots out and vanishes in the
air, you feel as though you were able to hit a kite circling away up in
the sky. And another thing! It is a knife, the broad-bladed one. With
it they cut a piece one and a half feet long out of a thick branch of
a tree and sharpen one end of it. Selecting a piece of soft ground,
the boys in turn drive in their own pieces and try to knock over the
others. The game depends much on one’s strength and the kind of wood
one selects. But there is a pleasure in possessing a cruel branch that
will knock off three or four pieces at a blow. Oh, for a knife and a
top! I thought. I disclosed the matter to my mother, who thought a
top was all right and bought me one. But as for the knife, she gave
me a small one, fit only to sharpen a pencil with. I felt ashamed (I
blush to confess, though) even to show it to my schoolmates. If I had
had money, I would have given my all just for a knife. But money was
a mean thing; the possession of it was the root of all evil--so it
was thought, and, indeed, I was penniless. But I must have a decent
knife--decent among boys. If I could only get one I would give my
Confucius for it.
One day I saw my Kichi--we had kept up our meeting ever since. I talked
to him about a knife. He did not tell me how I could get one because
I talked only about what the possession of a good knife would mean to
a boy. It was a rather general remark, but I disliked to go right to
the point. It would be too much to presume on his kindness, you know.
And then I rather wanted him to offer. He, however, produced his own
favorite knife and cut a thick piece of deal right away to show how
sharp it was. Well, I thought he had a knife sense, anyway. So I kept
talking about it day after day, and each time I talked of it he showed
me his, and tried it on a piece of wood.
One day there was a town festival and in the evening I was allowed to
go with Kichi to see it. Kichi’s manner that night was very strange;
he appeared as if he had a chestful of gold. He asked me in a fatherly
manner what I liked, and said he could buy me all the booths if I
wished him to. I never felt so happy as then. I thought my patience had
conquered him at last. And to make a long story short, I came to own a
splendid knife, better than any other boy’s at the school! That night I
slept with it under the pillow.
The next morning the first thing I did was to go to thank Kichi.
“Hello, Kichi,” I shouted. “Thank you very much for the knife.”
“Oh, good morning, Bot’chan. Let me see your knife,” he said. “But I am
sorry that I played a joke on you last night. It was your mother who
paid for it. You must go and thank her for it.”
“Well, never!” I gasped. But being told how she handed him the money
when we started, I gave him a slap--a mild one, though--on his face
and ran immediately to my mother, thinking that after all she had
something more than a mere knife sense.