Your visit to Japan is likely to be a succession of surprises. Our
discovery of the country is so recent that the large amount of
literature on the subject frequently fails to change your childhood
impression of that distant land. European travellers often entertain us
with their ideas of America as an uncultivated waste with an occasional
hastily constructed town, in which the red man is still to be seen;
and my notions of the land of the Mikado were somewhat similar. I could
never think of the Orient without thinking of the mushroom hat; and for
me Japan meant a succession of bamboo huts, almond-eyed men with long
and low-hanging moustaches, an occasional china cup, and now and then a
strangely decorated fan. I was not at all sure that it was a hospitable
shore to visit; I understood that heads were removed there upon the
slightest provocation. My earliest knowledge was gained from the
paper lanterns that were the delight of Fourth-of-July celebrations,
and those remarkably adorned napkins familiar to patrons of church
fairs. I was also frequently called upon to make Sunday-School
contributions for the conversion of these abandoned souls, and have
vivid recollections of listening to many addresses by daring spirits,
who had actually returned from the dangerous soil. After such occasions
as these, I always looked upon the principal occupation of the Japanese
as the stoning of missionaries. As I grew older, I tried to educate
myself into different ideas, but all the books that I read, and even an
occasional Japanese friend that I made, did not succeed in doing away
with my childish fancies.
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And so, when I found myself sailing into the Port of Yokohama one
bright April morning, the ideal Japan of years gone by was what was
uppermost in my mind. At first I thought there must be some mistake,
for there was nothing to be seen in this harbour to correspond with
the strange delights of my dreams. Not a single one-storied, thatched
house, such as used to grace the pages of my geography, was visible
on the shore. Everything, as far as I could see, was the same as the
entrance to an European seaport. The long array of wharves might
perhaps be missing, but there was many a ship built on western lines,
and occasionally a small steam-tug went puffing by, the whistle blowing
as naturally as in any western harbour. And, even as I looked beyond
all this, towards the shore, there was no visible sign that I had
reached Japan. “Those people who make pictures of Japanese life do not
tell the truth,” I thought to myself, completely bewildered. When I
landed, I found large brick houses of a most occidental kind, and shops
fitted out in the regular English style. Not only were the outward
evidences of life most un-Japanese, but few of the people passing up
and down the street had the almond eyes, the short, wiry hair, or the
olive complexion that I had quitted America to see; and young nurse
girls wheeled about little carriages containing the same kind of babies
that I had left three thousand miles away. Children in little trim
English clothes, with their little English bare legs, were walking
about and occasionally disappearing behind English hedges into houses
of a distinctly Queen Anne type.
While I was surveying all this with a startled air, I was delighted and
relieved by the sight of several small Orientals who ran quickly up to
the wharf, dragging behind them peculiar two-wheeled conveyances. Yes,
after all, here was some indication of the thing for which I had been
looking; these were men of Japan, it was true, but hardly the Japanese
of whom I had dreamed. They seemed rather out of place in this
European city, and did not assume an aggressive air at all, as they
politely offered to carry us to the hotel in their strange vehicles.
The explanation of this state of affairs is, however, very
satisfactory. When you reach Yokohama, you land at what is called
the Settlement, which is the portion of the city set aside by the
Government for the foreign residents. Japan itself is situated back
of this, and there, if you jump again into your _jinrikisha_ and take
another ride, you will find that it is Japan indeed.
There is one great hotel at Yokohama,--a genuine European importation,
with large parlours, reading and sitting rooms, electric lights and
bells. Your _jinrikisha_ man immediately takes it for granted that you
wish to stop at the Grand Hotel, and without waiting for instructions,
hurries you off to Ni-jiu-ban, as it is called in the vernacular. You
will probably arrive during the season of travel, and so be enabled
to see the house at its best. If one or two of the foreign ships are
in the harbour, and the officers come ashore, a scene of unusual
attractiveness is sure to follow. A military band plays during dinner,
commonly discoursing the patriotic airs of the different nations,
though a well-known western march is frequently interspersed. The rooms
are trimmed with flowers; there are ladies in bright, pretty gowns,
men in evening dress, and Japanese “boys” in blue tights, white coats,
and stocking feet. The gathering is decidedly cosmopolitan. You can
talk with an American on stocks, an Englishman on golf, a Frenchman on
Panama, or a Russian on the Triple Alliance. If you only step out on
the piazza and take a short stroll, you will have a fine opportunity
to gratify your taste for contrast, for it will be stepping from the
Occident to the Orient. Perhaps the moon is shining--and the moon seems
to shine differently in Japan than at home. There, below you, lies the
land you thought you were being cheated out of; there are the small
one-storied houses, the narrow streets, all bathed in the silence that
so well fits your mood. A few lights are blinking below, but for the
most part you see only what the moonlight cares to reveal. Off in the
harbour are large shadowy forms which you know are western vessels, and
your spirit feels a touch of old-fashioned patriotism at the thought
that one of them is flying the American flag. The sound of the music
comes from the distance, and you know that the dancing has begun; but
you care little at the present time for such occidental diversions.
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In the morning the sun will probably be shining in a truly oriental
way, and you think it might be well to take a drive. Probably the
first thing you will see, will be a large number of young Japanese
girls, apparently out for a walk. Though they are clad in their
own native costumes and have a general appearance that is decidedly
Japanese, there is yet an air about them suggestive of the West. You
puzzle over the matter for some time, and at last, with a sudden
burst of intelligence, exclaim: “A boarding-school.” And you are
right; these young girls are being trained in the usages of the best
English society, and have begun to dabble in French and algebra in a
true boarding-school style. As they pass you by and you go on, you
will see many small children attended by Japanese _amahs_, and baby
carriages meet you everywhere. There are also a few shops scattered
around, and looking to the left you will see the British flag waving
above the marine hospital. A little further on, your heart gives a
bound, for you see the stars and stripes waving in the breeze, and
you think that being an American is not so bad after all, whatever
the foreigner may say of our confusion of “baggage” and “luggage” and
our use of ice-water at dinner. It is the American hospital, a large,
old-fashioned building, comfortable and home-like, with a garden
filled with flowers and tropical plants. You can look from here into
the bay, and the ship so dimly perceived the night before, you see is
the “Baltimore.” You keep in the road, pass more Queen Anne houses and
pretty green hedges, and an occasional bungalow; and further on you
meet a park that has been laid out by the foreigners. Here are more
baby carriages and bare legged children, and several prettily arranged
tennis courts in which the players are enjoying themselves in a genuine
English way.
It is probably a holiday, and the people will soon turn out for a
celebration. It is hard to find a day in Japan that is not a holiday.
It is well to know this before you visit the country, or you will be
very much inconvenienced. You will be likely to visit the bank, and be
much surprised to find it closed. “Why?” you will ask a friend, and
he will answer: “It is a holiday.” And what is the day celebrated?
Perhaps the fall of the Bastile; perhaps the discovery of the Gunpowder
Plot; perhaps Washington’s birthday, the Fourth of July, or one of the
innumerable sacred days of the Japanese. The trouble is that there
are so many different nationalities in Japan, each demanding that
certain events be respectfully observed, that only on about one-third
of the calendar days can business be transacted. It is a country of
a perennial holiday. There are a great many ways in which properly
to observe these occasions, and a large number of entertainments
are arranged. If you wish, you can attend the theatre,--not the
anciently-established institution of the country, but a genuine play,
such as you sometimes see in the Occident. I qualify the statement
because I think it seldom that you will permit yourself to attend such
execrable performances at home as draw crowded houses of intelligent
people at Yokohama. They are given by strolling players on their way
around the world, who stop at the principal Japanese cities and foist
their wares upon a diversion-craving public. They entertain you with
the misfortune of the “Forsaken Leah,” the mistakes and unavailing
repentance of “Bob Briley,” the “Ticket-of-leave-man,” or you may have
the opportunity of weeping through five acts of “East Lynne,” or “The
Elopement.” A minstrel show has been known to come ashore, and an
exhibition of French marionettes is no uncommon sight.
Perhaps your nature requires a different kind of excitement; if so,
you may attend the races. These are carried on in the true English
style, and are very generously patronised. The occasions are holidays
in themselves, and offer a sufficient excuse for the closing of the
banks and stores. A race track has been laid out back of the residence
portion of the city, and has an additional attractiveness in the fact
that it commands an excellent view of the elusive Fuji. Foreigners
turn out in full force, many coming down from Tokio. Often the Mikado
honours the affair with his presence; he is always an interesting
addition to any event, but he is an inconvenient person to have
around, owing to a peculiar phase of Japanese veneration. No one may
hold his head higher than the Mikado, else his sacredness would be
outraged; and the many attempts to make him tower above the rest of the
populace frequently produce amusing complications. Such a predicament
happened a short time ago, when the Mikado was on his way to the races.
An American with more curiosity than knowledge of Japanese religious
rites, thought it a fine opportunity to catch a glimpse of the royal
person, and so elevated himself upon a box near by and awaited the
procession. He had stood there some time, flattering himself upon the
difference between American and Oriental intelligence, when his peace
of mind was suddenly disturbed by a series of shouts, which, he divined
from the gesticulations, were directed towards himself. The constant
motions to descend he regarded with a true Yankee stoicism, and it
was not until the box was pulled from beneath his feet, that he was
induced to pay the proper respect to the Majesty of Japan. The races
themselves, with the little shaggy horses, have proved to be a very
fertile means of entertainment. The riding is done to a considerable
extent by the little Japs, who take to it quite readily, and make very
acceptable jockeys.
[Illustration: “The dainty _kimono_-clad forms.”]
One of the most delightful events in the social life of the foreign
residents of Yokohama is Regatta Day. All their pent-up enthusiasm
seems to let itself out, and the numerous visiting vessels contribute
to a most entertaining scene. The contests take place in the spring,
and preparations are made many days in advance. The vessels in the
harbour are gayly decorated with flags and streamers; the wealthier
classes turn out in their carriages, and the Bund is one mass of ladies
and children in white dresses, intermingled by the dainty _kimono_-clad
form of the Japanese. The hotel is impartially adorned with the colours
of every nation, and the piazza is a varied scene of moving gayety.
Every one does not attend the races behind the bluff, but Regatta
Day is the one event of the season, and furnishes an excuse for
considerably more than the nautical contests. The races themselves are
perhaps not of sufficient importance to justify all this excitement,
but Yokohama is very different from New York harbour. The day is bound
to be clear, the sky is always of Italian deepness, and the sun never
fails to shine down on the lively scene with a refreshing glow.
Domestic life in Japan has its inconveniences; but it has also its
more advantageous side. Do you wish to live in splendid style on a
small income? You should dwell in the land where servants cost only
four dollars a month. The life of the foreign residents in Japan is
somewhat mysterious; the position of the mistress of the household
eluded my investigations for a long time. “What do you do?” was a
question I asked many of the ladies, but never received a satisfactory
reply. After much thought I have come to the conclusion that the only
thing your position requires of you is to sit in your parlour and amuse
yourself as best you may; and when you wish anything done, simply clap
your hands and cry “Boy.”
This last word is the keynote to the situation. As soon as you
have learned the word “Boy,” you have solved the whole problem of
the European household in Japan. Everything centres around this
important dignitary, whom even foreign innovation has not succeeded
in abolishing. The “Boy” has edged his way into every foreign home
in Japan, and his position is as firmly established as the homes
themselves. He is one of the most indispensable domestic functionaries
that have figured in history. But, in the first place, an excusable
mistake must be corrected. The “Boy” is not a boy at all, but is
simply called so in deference to custom. Most of the “Boys” have
large families of their own, and I have seen many with white hair and
wrinkled faces. He never seems to resent this youthful title, and
would feel very much bewildered should you suddenly begin to call him
“Man.” He appreciates his important position very keenly; he is no
ordinary servant, but a man with thoughts of his own and the dignity of
a household resting upon his shoulders.
The whole thing is managed somewhat after this style: You receive an
intimation that a few friends will dine with you, and this intimation
is all about which you need trouble yourself. You never begin to think
what you have to offer your guests, for you are not supposed to know
anything about such things. You simply sit down, clap your hands and
shout “Boy!” In a few moments the door will open and the person who
bears this title presents himself. He approaches, bows lowly, and makes
a single ejaculation,--
“Heh!”
This simply means that he is all attention. If you are inexperienced,
you will get the idea that this word means “yes.” But you will have
many opportunities later to correct your mistake. The Japanese says
“Heh!” to signify that he is listening, and there his responsibility
ends. He never commits himself.
“I am going to have two friends to dinner,” you reply, and you give
their names.
“Heh!”
He bows again, turns around, and leaves the room. That is all you have
to do until the dinner hour arrives. Never make any suggestions; the
“Boy” would be completely mystified by such a proceeding. The way he
goes about everything is very picturesque. You understand that the man
who has just made his exit is the head “Boy” or No. 1 “Boy.” He goes
downstairs and begins to examine the possibilities for the dinner.
Very likely he finds something lacking. If so, he immediately makes
a call on No. 1 “Boy” next door, and returns with the supplementary
dish needed to make the dinner a success. There exists a kind of
free-masonry among the “Boys,” and what one cannot find in his own
domain he feels no hesitation in borrowing from a friend near by.
Your “Boy” then visits the “Boys” of the friends who are to dine
with you and makes many interesting inquiries. He asks what their
favourite wines are, and never hesitates to request a loan of their
plate and linen. He usually also demands the cooks of your friends,
and leads them off to your house in order that the dinner may be more
satisfactorily prepared. Thus it happens that when your friends arrive
they are very likely to eat your dinner cooked by their own servants
and to see their own china and linen gracing your table. More than
this, the “Boys” of your friends are usually present and attend to
their wants. The order of things will be reversed when you dine out.
You see this “Boy” is a very convenient and important person, and
as he is usually an intelligent man, everything goes smoothly on.
Occasionally a difficulty arises owing to the fact that he has not a
sufficient regard for the mistress of the house, and indeed it is a
question whether he ever looks upon her as such. Japan has not yet
learned to rate women at their true worth, and it is this sentiment
that is at the bottom of the “Boy’s” reluctance to take orders from
anyone but a man. Most of them are gradually coming around and will
obey you, but a few conservative souls still remain. I had a friend
who possessed a very worthy “Boy,” whose character was blemished
by this one defect. She told him one day to remove a plant into an
adjoining room. He bowed, said “Heh!” and departed. Some hours passed,
and the plant was still unmoved. He was called in again, again he
bowed, ejaculated the usual “Heh!” and left the room. My friend tried
this several times, and succeeded in getting more bows and more “Hehs!”
but the plant remained where it had been. She spoke to her husband
about the matter, who called in the “Boy” and told him to remove the
object of the dispute. The “Boy” bowed, said “Heh!” took the plant and
carried it into an adjoining room. When asked to explain his previous
disobedience, he said: “I will do it if master wishes it, heh!” and
with a profound obeisance he retired.
Another great enemy to domestic life is what is known as the “Squeeze.”
This is not peculiar to the household, but is found in every part of
the Japanese social system. The whole business of the country is run
on a commission. Every time you buy anything, you have to pay several
“squeezes,” or commissions, to the various people concerned in the
transaction. No “Boy” will run an errand without his “squeeze,” and
he uses a great deal of liberty in your domestic accounts. Should you
send him out to buy a bouquet of flowers, he would always charge you as
well as the florist a “squeeze” in the reckoning. The butcher who deals
with you has to pay him a certain amount, and of course you are the one
who suffers in the end. This is altogether independent of the profit
of the goods, and often is little more than a personal consideration.
Foreigners have made war many times against the “squeeze,” but their
efforts have been unsuccessful. It seems to be a second nature with
the Japanese; it is one of those good old customs that they will not
let die. I had an iconoclastic friend who resolved that there should
be no “squeezes” to impede her domestic calculations, and who decided
upon a reform. She thought that she would begin modestly at first, and
hit upon the lamps to experiment on. There is a very humble person
whose occupation it is to go from door to door and fill all the lamps
of his customers, but his pay is not too small to necessitate a little
“squeeze” to the head “Boy” for the privilege. The lady in question
decided to hire this boy directly, and for a time she thought the plan
was succeeding remarkably well. One day, however, she found that her
head “Boy” had a pleasing custom of making a round of the lamps every
morning and removing a certain quantity of the oil. By selling what
he procured this way, he recovered the “squeeze” of which he had been
defrauded.
The specialising tendency of the people is another thing
particularly irritating to those who live in Japan. Such a thing as
a man-of-all-work who goes around picking up odd jobs is an unknown
phenomenon. You must have a large number of servants or you will get
nothing done. A certain “Boy” puts the coal in the stove and another
cooks the dinner. But the “Boy” who does the cooking would never touch
the coal, if you had a dozen guests waiting upstairs. It is a matter
of caste, and one occupation is immeasurably superior to another; at
least, in the opinion of him who practises it. You have a “Boy” who
takes care of the horses, but he would not understand you at all should
you ask him to drive them. If a light needs turning up, and you request
your head “Boy” to do it, he would never think of obeying. He would
rather run two blocks to fetch the menial whose duties are along that
line. I was told a story of a lady on shipboard, who requested her
attending “Boy” to close an open port-hole. He answered “Heh!” and went
out to search for the servant who attended to such matters. It took him
fifteen minutes to find him, but he finally led him triumphantly in,
and the port-hole was closed. It had never occurred to the former that
he ought to do it himself; he had not been educated to that position
in society, and it would have grated harshly against his sense of
the fitness of things to suggest that he was fully qualified to close
port-holes. Every Japanese has a great pride in his task, knows his own
place, and thinks that the greatest requirement of a virtuous life is
that he does not interfere with the duties of others.
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