Of course, it could hardly be expected that our dinner would be
Japanese in all its features, but it was not only our embarrassment at
our surroundings that prevented it from being so. The appearance of
our host himself in side-whiskers was enough to give an un-oriental
air to the ceremony, and clearly indicated the peculiar mixture of the
East and West of which his character presents a striking example. For
he had visited extensively in America, where he had performed high
diplomatic functions and carried back many of our traits, not the least
evident of which were the whiskers above referred to. It was also
unnecessary to use an interpreter when talking with him, as he spoke
our language easily and well. As far as politeness went, however, he
was entirely Japanese. I have an indefinite recollection of him as an
embodiment of smiles and bows; his manners were perfect, his voice was
of unusual sweetness. He had a keen mind and kept a watchful eye on
us during the evening, in order that the strangeness of our situation
should add rather a feeling of pleasantness than of discomfort.
He was a man far advanced in the ideas of new Japan, and he had gone
so far as to adopt the European costume. But this evening he had cast
it aside and appeared in all the splendor of a Japanese host. After we
had travelled under the direction of a little _musmee_ with a lighted
candle, through a long, arched lane, we suddenly found ourselves before
a small house and heard the most un-oriental of all words: “Good
evening.” We looked up, and there stood our host between two wicker
panels which he had thrust aside, with his handsome face smiling the
most cordial of welcomes. He wore the conventional divided skirt, and
over this a _kimono_ of dark grey, caught together in front with a
cord. His foot-gear was the customary sandals, which, however, he did
not wear during the evening. Of course he did not have his wife with
him, for even his progressive spirit had not reached the point where
he could allow any feminine supervision of his feast. The hostess is
unknown in Japan, where domesticity does not play the part it should.
We had another proof of this in the invitations we received, which did
not invite us to our host’s house, but to one of the swell restaurants
of Kioto. For a Japanese to entertain at his own house would be a
social barbarism.
The length of the Major--one of our party--was often inconvenient in
Japan, and I saw him casting troubled glances at the house before which
we found ourselves. It was very small, and when we finally entered
he found it necessary to stoop in order to get in at all. We did not
gain an entrance immediately, for we found an obstacle in our way in
the form of the little _musmee_ who had conducted us thither. Before
starting, the two ladies of the party had debated for a long time
what foot-gear they should wear, being faced by the American extreme
of shoes and the Japanese extreme of stocking feet. They congratulated
themselves that they had hit upon a happy solution, by wearing their
party slippers; but when they arrived they found that they had
miscalculated. As they stepped upon the platform and were about to
enter the room, the little _musmee’s_ hands went up in horror.
[Illustration]
We can only appreciate her feelings by imagining our own, should one
of our callers elevate his feet upon the parlor furniture. Should
they desecrate her spotless white mats with their barbarous American
slippers? Our poor host had his hands full, trying to pacify the little
enraged body, and at the same time to act towards us as though this
outburst was one of the regularly-planned features of the dinner. His
ever present smiles were still more in requisition, and he could not
bow enough in his endeavour to make us feel at ease. Suddenly, there
came a calm; the little maid withdrew, and we were bidden in a most
polite way to enter. The offended girl, however, sulked away like an
angry child, and I am convinced that if we made any enemies in our
trips in Japan, the little _musmee_ at this restaurant was one of them.
This was the first Japanese house I had ever been in, and naturally
I was interested to see what it was like. It was oriental in every
way, though by no means an example of oriental splendor. At one end
there was a platform on which incense was burning, and the walls were
entirely bare but for two paper _kakemonos_. The floor was covered
with white matting, on which were placed black velvet cushions.
These were our seats for the dinner, and each of us was supplied, in
addition, with a black lacquered candlestick. For some time we stood
there waiting for the host to begin, but as we afterwards learned,
it is customary at Japanese social functions for that dignitary to
follow. He smilingly requested us to be seated as quietly as though
he was bidding us to four hours in Paradise, and not to the physical
discomfort--almost torture--that it proved to be. The ladies seated
themselves with little trouble, but things did not go so well with
the poor Major. His legs formed a large part of a body that measured
considerably over six feet, and as those six feet had to be disposed of
picturesquely in a sitting posture, you will see that we had almost a
tragedy on hand. The Major made several spasmodic attempts, and finally
threw himself down in a lifeless heap in a way that furnished our host
new cause for smiles and bows.
[Illustration]
For all this the scene in which we found ourselves had its romantic
side. It was early in the evening of a beautiful night in April, the
Japanese June. The wicker panels of the house were thrown open, and the
warm air came through, scented with the perfume of the cherry-blossoms
and bearing delicate sounds from the garden without. We could see
the stars from where we sat, and they had that warm, melting lustre
that one sometimes sees at home, but which is characteristic of an
oriental night. In front of the house was one of those famous miniature
gardens that embody the dainty Japanese taste. A small, sparkling lake
was bordered by the sacred cherry-trees, which were in full bloom; a
passing breeze had blown many of the blossoms upon the surface of the
water. The shores were covered with dwarf trees and a few sprays of
pansies. All of this we could clearly see, for the moon gleamed down
upon the scene with just enough brightness to render all distinct
without removing any of the enchantment. From the distance we could
hear the faint tinkling of a waterfall. Even the Major’s uncomfortable
state of body could not prevent him from catching the poetic flavour
of all this. But there was more romance ahead. We all felt a
disappointment when our host dropped the oriental manner of salutation
and simply bowed profoundly; but now we were soon to have Eastern
respect at its fullest. Two _musmees_ entered, and, falling on their
hands and knees, touched their flower-bedecked heads to the floor. In
this respectful attitude they remained before us for some seconds,
while we wondered whether the occasion demanded any action on our part,
when, suddenly, they rose and presented us with handleless cups full of
tea--for every dinner in Japan begins with tea. I looked at the host
in despair. “Ah! I will explain,” he said, with a laugh, and he did
so. This is the way you do it: you place the cup in the palms of both
hands, twist the fingers into a supporting position (I do not yet fully
understand it), and drink between the thumbs. If you are well-enough
bred, you will do this with the utmost ease; but if you are not, you
may land the tea in your lap, break the china cup, and be put down as
an extremely low person. Of course, the fact that we were foreigners
warded off any harsh judgment; and besides, I really believe we all of
us did manage somehow to get through the crisis in a way that was not
entirely disgraceful.
Japanese æstheticism extends to their dinners, which are extremely
graceful affairs. Our host, for example, had divided this dinner
into four parts, each typical of a season of the year. In this was
a hidden compliment; he intended thus to express his regret that
we were unable to spend the whole year in Kioto, and his hopes that
this evening’s pleasure would offer as good a substitute as possible.
And in spite of our uncomfortable attitudes and the strangeness of
many of the dishes placed before us, I do not think he was entirely
unsuccessful. Not the least pleasant part of the dinner, for example,
was that which immediately followed the tea drinking. We had hardly
handed the cups back to the _musmees_, when they gave to each of us a
beautiful wicker basket filled with flowers,--that, at least, is what
we thought they were, until we discovered that they were without smell.
In fact, it took us some time to find out that they were not flowers
at all, but most exquisite candy imitations. They were more than
confectionery--they were true works of art.
But there were other surprises in store for us. As we sat admiring
these delicate creations, the doors at the rear suddenly opened, and a
living wave of colour came fluttering in. At first we could distinguish
nothing but a flock of miniature bats, storks, and other creatures
which figure exclusively in Japanese natural history, disporting
themselves among dainty representations of purple violets, dandelions,
and white and pink cherry-blossoms. After recovering from our first
surprise we saw that these were small pieces of embroidery on a
background of pale greys and shaded blues, and then we caught sight of
waving loops of hair in which were intertwined sprays of flowers and
fancy pins. This delicate yet somewhat confused mass drew nearer, and
we saw five little faces painted entirely white with the exception of
clearly-defined spots of red under the eyes and lips, that were made
particularly small by a skilful handling of the brush. We could but
ejaculate one word: “_Geisha!_” These were the famous dancing girls
of Japan, who lead, I fear, not too happy lives in furnishing much
of the enjoyment of Japanese social life. It is only ordinary people
who frequent the theatre in this country, and it falls upon these
little creatures to furnish the higher classes a large part of their
amusement. They dance, they sing, they joke, act as waiters, and are
generally expected to supply the element of gaiety without which no
dinner can be thought complete.
The Japanese do not walk, they flutter; they do not sit down, they
sink. Each of these delicate bits of humanity bearing a small
lacquered tray sank down before the guest she was to serve. They were
continually laughing and chattering among themselves, making naive
criticisms of our costumes and of ourselves--for the _geishas_ are
given a great deal of freedom. They were particularly inquisitive
about the ladies’ dresses, and even went so far as to ask, through
the interpreter, the cost of them. They also were anxious to know
whether the Americans made them themselves, and how long it took. These
materialistic thoughts changed when they caught sight of the ladies’
diamonds, which they romantically imagined to have grown on trees. They
made endless remarks about us which we did not understand, and from the
interpreter’s unwillingness to translate many of their speeches, I am
sure the little fault-finders saw much in us to criticise.
[Illustration]
And now the dinner began in earnest. By our sides we discovered
mysterious packages done up in paper, which we were horrified to
find contained chop-sticks. This was worse than drinking tea between
your thumbs. It was my first experience with these utensils, and I
hardly thought myself in a well-chosen place to learn their mysterious
qualities. I was greatly surprised, however, to find that it was not
so difficult as it looked, and that chop-sticks, after all, are
not the impossible things the untutored suppose. We had a hard dish
to begin on; for after we had got our chop-sticks in battle array,
the _geishas_ startled us by bringing in soup. More smiles from the
host, and more explanations. All you have to do is to eat the solid
part with the chop-sticks and drink the liquid as you drink tea. The
soup was politely christened “Congratulatory,” and was made of green
turtle, which is popularly supposed to live a thousand years--another
compliment for us. And now that I have begun the menu, I may as
well say that the succeeding dishes included fish and eels, and an
unprecedented number of soups, cooked _à la Japonaise_, particularly
one made of seaweeds, in which their taste was by no means concealed.
And there were wines, _bomei_, which the Japanese regard as a kind of
medicine to prepare the stomach for the food, and _saki_, the national
drink, not dissimilar in appearance and taste to a pale, dry sherry.
At this point we were surprised by the arrival of another guest. He
had been invited to meet us as a friend of our host, but for some
reason had been detained and had sent his excuses. He was clad in the
same costume as our host and had also adopted the occidental whiskers,
though his were grey. He was not sufficiently Europeanised, however,
to omit the Japanese salutation, and consequently prostrated himself
“on all fours” before us. He further mystified our minds by presenting
each of our party with his card. We looked at our host in despair, who
explained that it was customary on such occasions to exchange cards.
But we had failed to bring any along, and therefore had to apologise
ourselves out of the difficulty as best we could. Of course, our
excuses met with the customary smiles.
“We hope you will be able to visit our country sometime,” one of us had
inspiration enough to say through the interpreter the new arrival had
brought with him.
“I have been there already,” he replied.
“And how did he like it?”
“It is a very beautiful country, and I hope to go back again sometime.”
Though the conversation was satisfactory, the inconvenience always
occasioned by the use of an interpreter prevented it from being very
lively. The next remark I remember was from the Major, and was not of
so suave a kind.
“Say, if I have to sit here much longer, I shall never be able to use
my legs again.”
All the evening he had been attempting to gain relief by a constant
change of position, but his efforts did not seem to have been
successful. We all of us were somewhat tired, but the Major had a great
deal more to be tired than we. He had to compose himself, however, for
one of the most distinctive features of the dinner.
There was a slight pause after his remark, and we began casting glances
at one another and wondering what was to come next. The pause at an
American dinner we should consider an awkward one, but our host did
not seem to entertain any such idea. Suddenly we heard two snaps
that apparently came from stringed instruments, and at the same time
the panels in a rear room were drawn aside. We were taken somewhat
by surprise, for we were not acquainted with the fact that a small
theatrical performance is one of the usual accompaniments of a Japanese
dinner.
[Illustration]
Two of the _geishas_ began to play on the _samisen_, the Japanese
banjo, and the _koto_, a kind of elongated harp, picked with ivory
tips. At the same time one of the girls came out in the centre of the
room, and we had our first sight of Japanese dancing. While she went
through the movements of the “Reign of Spring,” the two girls with
the instruments began singing in that falsetto key which it takes an
educated taste to appreciate. They sing so shrilly and the notes they
strike are so unnatural, that it becomes a very painful exercise, and
will frequently bring tears to the performer’s eyes. And how about
the dancing? One who is accustomed to the serpentine mazes of our
occidental skirt dancers and who likes that sort of thing, may find it
hard to enter into the spirit of her Japanese contemporaries; but if
you delight in gracefulness in any form, these little _geishas_ cannot
fail to please. Their costume plays an important part in the series of
posturings that makes up the dance, and no small amount of the success
achieved depends on the proper manipulation of the fan. You can get
the best idea of what it is like, by imagining a succession of dainty
tableaux in which the changes are made before your eyes.
After sitting in a Japanese posture on American legs for four hours
at a stretch, it was with some difficulty that we finally arose and
prepared to leave. As we went out into the night we were followed by
a veritable chorus of “_Sayonara_,” which is the Japanese word for
“good-bye.” We were somewhat surprised to be followed by the little
_musmees_, bringing as gifts, neatly tied up in boxes, that portion of
the dinner we had not eaten. There is something delightfully original
in that idea. The smiles and bows of our host were succeeded by
those of his friend, whom he had sent to escort us safely home. His
courtesies did not stop here, for he called on us the next morning to
thank us for the honour we had done him in accepting his invitation to
dine,--a notable expression of the refinement of Japanese politeness.
The night had grown still more beautiful during the four hours we had
spent within, and we caught many interesting glimpses of local colour
on our way to the hotel. The air was warm, the sky clear, and the
brilliantly-lighted parks were filled by proud Japanese fathers and
mothers with their prattling children. Men and women were stopping
under the cherry-trees that were in full bloom, gazing upon the sacred
blossoms that have been dear to Japanese hearts for so many centuries.
We went by one of the temples, standing on a hill, the approach
marked by a succession of bright red gateways. Under the light of the
moon, this ancient structure, which for ages has been the heaven of
aspiration and love for so many hopeful spirits of this land, had an
air of the utmost impressiveness. The whole scene made us forget that
we had been sitting for four hours on our heels, and called to our
minds the fact that we had had one of the most enjoyable experiences of
our lives.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]