SHOPPING.

You will have many friends who will give you a great deal of kindly

advice before you leave for Japan. On no point will their suggestions

be as plentiful as on the mooted question of shopping. With a knowledge

born of experience, they will inform you that these almond-eyed

Orientals are not the guileless souls that they may seem, and that

beneath all their gentleness of manners there lies a keen wit which

will tax your American sharpness to the utmost. They may perhaps go

further and descend to particulars, and you will have the opportunity

of learning the number of tricks you will be subjected to and the

large amount of wares that are being reserved until you land. All

this advice you will carefully note, and think that when you start

down the streets of Tokio or Yokohama you have an advantage over your

compatriots, and that you are secure from the dangers of early shopping

in a new country. You have all the words of your friend in mind, and

decide to wait several days before you make a single purchase. At

about this point of your self-congratulations you will catch sight

of a small two-story building, and for some inconceivable reason be

attracted within. Perhaps it is the dainty sign over the door; perhaps

the smiling face of the host, who looks upon you with so inviting

an air; perhaps the ever-attendant evil spirit of shopping that has

begun to work his baneful spell. At any rate, in a short time you find

yourself in a small room surrounded by a delightful collection of

bric-à-brac, with a cup of tea in your hand and the happy face of the

proprietor beaming down upon you. An hour or two slips by, and when you

leave you will suddenly discover that you have ordered a large part of

the merchant’s wares, and that you have a neat little bill smilingly

presented to you. It is not until you are in the street again, or

perhaps easefully reposing in your room at the hotel, that the whole

terrible truth flashes upon you. You have done just what you were told

not to do, and just what you had considered yourself firmly guarded

against. A horrible suspicion crosses your mind. What if all those

charming things you bought belonged to the worthless class your friend

had so conscientiously warned you of; and what if the genial smile of

the merchant were but the mask of a deceiving heart? In a day or two

your suspicion will have been confirmed. The goods that you so rashly

purchased will be given as a present to your attending “Boy,” and your

shopping henceforth will become rather a scientific than an emotional

affair.

[Illustration]

The Japanese are rapidly learning the proper use to be made of

tourists, and are always ready to receive them. You will not have been

long in your room when a gentle knock will be heard at the door, and a

most obsequious Oriental will make his entrance. He will bow with the

utmost profoundness, and present you with a card which contains his

name and crest,--usually in the form of a teacup or fan. You return his

gaze as kindly as possible. He says: “Please you come see my shop,”

makes another bow, and retires. The whole scene is not unpleasing to

you, and you are thinking it over as an interesting experience when

another knock is heard. Another Jap of the same appearance as your

former visitor now enters, makes a similar bow, gives you his card,

says: “Please you come see my shop,” and as gracefully takes his leave.

If you are wise you will now determine to receive no more callers,

for this sort of thing will be kept up all day, and you will have a

varied assortment of cards before the evening comes. Your new friends

are most scrupulously polite and have no air of bluster or eagerness;

but they are quietly persistent, and would not think of passing you by

without giving you a chance to learn of the advantages of their house.

They keep a careful watch for the arrival of every new steamer, and

trace all the passengers to the different hotels. The reputation of the

American as the generous spender of millions is as firmly fixed in the

minds of the Japanese as in those of less distant lands, and to them

they give a large amount of attention.

Indeed, it is generally assumed by everyone you meet that you have come

to Japan to shop, and the kindest favour he can do you is to show you

how and where you can do so with the best results. Even the humble

coolie, who carries you around in your _jinrikisha_, firmly believes

this, and thinks that if he is in a small measure the means of your

making a happy purchase, his way into your affections is won. If you

tell him in the morning that you wish to take a ride, he will tuck you

comfortably in and start at a rapid pace towards the main thoroughfare

of the city. You will be quietly enjoying everything you see, and will,

perhaps, be somewhat surprised when the coolie suddenly stops before

one of those two-story buildings with which you are now so familiar,

and glances up into your face with the most self-congratulating

expression. If you do not immediately descend and enter the shop, he

will suddenly become crestfallen, and wear a look that means that

you are quite unable to appreciate a favour, and do not know a good

thing when you see it. The chances are, however, that you will feel an

invisible force attracting you within the little shop, and so leave

your coolie without, a happy man.

If you are in Japan during a period of silver depression, you are a

very unfortunate person indeed. You have perhaps visited the bank

the day before and changed a thousand dollars of your gold into two

thousand dollars of silver, and this unexpected increase in your

worldly possessions is the very worst thing that could have happened to

you. For you are likely to get the idea that you can now afford to be a

little extravagant; that you have just twice as much money as you had

before, and that you would be a very stingy person, did you not scatter

a little of it about. You have probably, however, one advantage in the

fact that you have shopped before, and do not think that there is much

danger that the experience of a few days ago will be repeated. By this

time your respect for your anxious friend, who so vainly gave you his

advice, has greatly increased; and you decide that when you return you

will make a point of breathing the same gentle counsel in the ears of

all you meet who are on their way to the land of the cherry-blossom and

the almond-eyed sharper.

The street in which most of the shops are found has the delicious

local flavour that seldom fails to entice the unwary purchaser. The

thoroughfare is very narrow, and is lined by two rows of shed-like

buildings adorned in front by hanging cloth signs. Many of these signs

are inscribed with the name of the keeper, who does not confine

himself to the Japanese characters, but frequently spells himself

out in English,--a thing that you are likely to take as a personal

compliment to yourself. The cloths are also sometimes covered with

emblematic figures representative of the goods sold within. There are

grotesque and unheard of birds; armour, and paintings representing

the god of money and good luck. The lower story of the house is

probably open to the street, but it is sometimes hidden by a curtain

of blue and white, which an attendant lifts to allow you to enter.

Really, there is nothing in all this that tells you of the treasures

that lie beyond, but you have a sensation which for the time being

seems uncontrollable. Sometimes, on a holiday, the whole scene may

be changed, and by the addition of a large number of paper lanterns

and clusters of wistaria and cherry-blossoms an element of festivity

is introduced. But the grotesque methods of advertising that you are

familiar with as an American, are unknown to the Japanese, and utterly

distasteful to their sense of propriety. Even in the marking of prices

they exercise the greatest taste, using little thin strips of cloth

with the cost of the article painted in blue. This, however, you do not

see until you enter the shop. The proprietor will receive you with the

utmost politeness, but there is no sign of unpleasant aggressiveness

in his behaviour. He views your visit both from a social and business

point of view, and esteems your notice of him as a personal favour.

Even though you do not buy, he always takes pleasure in showing what

he has to sell. He likes to have you show some appreciation of his

goods; and if you have done this, you can leave without buying a

thing and be sure of as warm a welcome when you return. One demand he

will make of you, and that is, that you take plenty of time. He likes

to talk and discuss, and seems dissatisfied unless you consider the

transaction as one of great importance and worthy of much meditation.

The hurried visits that he sometimes receives from Americans, who rush

in and wish to do everything in a few moments, utterly bewilder him.

He is willing to spend a whole day with a single customer, and never

shows any impatience except when you are in a hurry. He greets you

with a profound bow, and smilingly places his shop at your disposal.

He usually has one or two assistants who keep at a respectful distance

until their services are required. The host is very quiet, and

does not begin to praise everything in the room, but calmly calls

your attention to each article, and relies upon your own good taste

to see its virtues. His first floor is usually given up to a large

display of ancient armour and swords, each piece with a history of

its own, and speaking terrible tales of the good old fighting days

of the Shoguns. There are grotesque and grinning masks that the most

stoical temperament cannot gaze at without shuddering, and frequent

representations of the Japanese conception of the Devil that make you

suddenly turn your back and become interested in something of a less

religious aspect. The weapons are what delight many a warlike spirit;

Japan has always been famous for its steel, and many of these swords

might make one think that the days of the famous blades of old had

returned. All these are now, of course, as antique to the Japanese as

to ourselves, for their usefulness, except as interesting curios, has

been replaced by the more prosaic implements of modern warfare.

[Illustration]

If you are a woman you will not be likely to buy any of these articles

of war, and you will find it a relief to escape the fiery eyes and

low-hanging tongue of that mask in the corner. The proprietor calls

your attention to a rickety staircase, and invites you to ascend

into the second story. By so doing, you will soon find yourself in

a little room which reveals altogether a different sight to the

one below. You have left the domain of war and blood, and are now

surrounded by suggestions of religion and art. There are Buddhas

of every kind,--wooden, bronze, and gold; there are dainty little

tea-pots, porcelains, candlesticks, and altar-pieces, to satisfy the

most exacting taste; there are highly-polished mirrors gracing the

walls, and another collection of swords, of a perhaps less warlike

appearance than those below. The scene has graceful touches, for the

small children of the family are huddled together on the floor, amusing

themselves with such Japanese playthings as grasshoppers and crickets.

These are their dolls, and they would never lay them aside for the

less animated toys of the Western world. The wife of the proprietor is

always at hand, who supplements the bows of her husband with dimpled

smiles of her own, and who treats you with a respect that is not too

distant to be friendly. She is sitting on the floor in front of a small

_hibachi_. You have not been in the room long before you hear that

little quiet steaming that you now know so well, and soon the little

woman rises and, with a smile and bow, leaves the room.

[Illustration: “The wife of the Proprietor.”]

All this is very delightful, and it requires all your presence of

mind and the recollections of a previous day’s experience to keep

you from falling into a snare. You know very well that all these

dazzling things about you have more glitter than gold, and that they

are manufactured expressly for unknowing foreigners, such as you are

assumed to be. You may be sure, that there are finer goods than these,

kept carefully out of sight. The merchants never display their choicest

wares on the shelves, but have them neatly tied up in boxes in an

adjoining room. In some way you hint to your suave friend that you have

shopped before, and are perfectly familiar with the peculiar tricks of

the trade. All this he receives with an intelligent smile, and asks

you to seat yourself. If you look around for a chair you will betray

yourself as less experienced than you claim, so you had better drop at

once on your heels; for by doing so, you will immediately gain a point

in the good graces of your host.

And now a delicate patter is heard on the stairs, and the little woman

who left a few moments ago returns. She has a small tray full of cups

and sweetmeats, which she deposits on the floor as she sits down in

front of you. The proprietor joins the group, and occasionally one or

two of the children forego their grasshoppers and crickets, and supply

the sole element lacking to a very pretty domestic picture. The tea

is now poured out; you are expected to drink several cups, else the

shopping that is to follow would not be a success. The host says many

pretty things, rejoices at the fact that you are an American, and

thinks your country the crowning triumph of modern civilization. He

trusts that your health is as good as your rosy cheeks and sparkling

eyes would lead one to believe, and that nothing will happen to make

your journey in Japan anything but one of the delightful memories of

your after-life. Meanwhile you sip the pale drink, nibble at the cakes

and candies, think your charming new friend not the crafty schemer you

know him to be, and are almost led to believe that you have come not so

much on business as for the sake of making a morning call.

But now the host claps his hands, and an attendant appears from a

rear room, bearing several neat-appearing boxes in his arms. The

goods that you have come to buy are in these little square affairs,

but you are almost as much interested in the boxes themselves as in

what they contain. They are daintily made of light wood, and are not

disfigured by the clumsy nails or cracks that do not annoy our less

æsthetic merchant of the West. When the attendant begins to remove

the wares your appreciation of the artistic shopkeeper increases,

for everything is daintily wrapped up in cloth of alternate red and

yellow sides. Japanese paper is of a much choicer kind than ours, but

no self-respecting merchant would ever think of using it to cover his

wares. You become very familiar with this yellow cloth before you

leave the country, for it is as generally used as our less artistic

substitute at home.

Perhaps you know what you want and perhaps you don’t, but it will make

no difference to the proprietor, who prefers that you take plenty of

time. He says very little in praise of what he puts before you, though

occasionally he will unaggressively remark on the particular qualities

of an unusually charming article of bric-à-brac or roll of silk, or

drop a word on the depth of colour and finish of a piece of gold

lacquer; nor is he willing to let an occasional piece of Satsuma pass

by without calling your attention to its delicate shade and crackle.

This goes on for some time, until your eye alights on something that

you must have, and then the most interesting feature of the performance

begins; for a Japanese merchant is entirely out of harmony with the

one-price system of the West, and would never think of asking the

actual amount for which he will really sell his wares. He has his

price, it is true, but this is only for those of small experience, and

from others he seldom hopes to get more than one-third to one-half of

what he asks. Never think, however, that you get the best of him, for

there is always a limit below which he will never go. Friends of mine

have reached this limit, and their most persistent efforts have never

succeeded in making the shopkeeper less firm. They would drop into the

shop morning after morning and renew their offer; the merchant would

smile, but remain unshaken. If you stay very long in Japan you will

become so accustomed to this haggling practice, that you will acquire a

habit you will have difficulty in shaking off. When, after I returned

home, a dry-goods-store clerk told me that the price of a certain

article was fifteen dollars, I could hardly keep from replying, “I’ll

give you ten.”

“How much will you sell me this for?” you inquire at last, perhaps

picking up a piece of delicate bric-à-brac, which in your fond

imagination you already see gracefully reposing on your library table

at home.

The shopkeeper looks at it sharply with his little eyes for some time,

then answers with a smile,--

“Sixty _yen_.”

Your hands go up in horror. “What?” you frantically exclaim; but the

merchant answers you with another smile. Your emotion, however, is as

feigned as the shopkeeper’s apparent firmness, for you know that it

will be an easy matter to make him reduce the price,--the main question

being whether your limit will be the same as his. The chances are that

he will take just about one-third what he asks, and make a handsome

profit then. So, you with the proper spirit decide to take him at an

even lower figure and reply,--

“I will give you fifteen.”

The dejected air that suddenly spreads over his face is the kind of

which a Japanese merchant is alone capable. He gives a great sigh and

gazes at you with a look that seems to ask if you were born without

a heart. His emotion is so great that he may even rise, walk around

the shop, and examine several of his dearly beloved curios that have

not been subjected to such outrageous treatment. He will soon return,

however, and, with the humblest voice in the world and a sadly withered

smile, announce his ultimatum,--

“Will give for thirty _yen_.”

You shake your head, push the rare object aside, and rise. You do not

intend to go, but you begin to look at a different line of goods. The

shopkeeper has not lost his politeness, and he takes the utmost pains

in showing a large number of things that he knows you never intend to

buy. During all this you and he occasionally cast furtive glances at

the object of your disagreement, but neither one for a long time makes

any allusion to it. Finally, the moment comes for you to go, but you

decide to make one more attempt, which you know will be effectual.

Picking up the dainty bronze, you say in an off-hand manner that you

will give him twenty _yen_.

He looks at you sadly, and then again at the object in your hands.

He casts his eyes at the ceiling, bestows a glance upon his innocent

children playing with grasshoppers and crickets, all unaware that they

are being defrauded of an inheritance, makes the bow of humiliation,

and says with a short gasp,--

“I am resigned.”

After he has expressed his emotions in this unvarying phrase, his

spirits seem once more to return. He smiles again in his old way, and

his bows have the old obsequiousness. He even gives you another cup of

tea, and in other ways betrays the secret satisfaction that he feels

on having made a very good bargain. He follows you down the stairs to

the awaiting _jinrikisha_ and bids you farewell with the most touching

“_Sayonara_” that you have yet heard. As you slowly ride away, the last

thing you see is his bowing form in the door, and you give a sigh at

the thought that all this display of friendship is but owing to the

fact that you have probably paid twice what you should for the dainty

bronze statue that is to adorn your library at home.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]