Dragons and Cherry Blossoms

by Alice A. Parmelee Morris

But in the mean while our attention had been attracted to the stage. It had been prettily arranged as a garden scene, in a way far more realistic and beautiful than the painted trees and urns which pass for such in our own theatres. Here we had a profusion of cherry-blossoms to serve as a background to the equally pretty and delicate girls, who now began to enter from the two doors that had been previously used by the spectators. They were in two files, one in which pale blue and pink predominated, while the kimonos of the others were of bright red. The faces and headgear had been arranged in the same way as those of the musicians, and each held in her hand a cherry-blossom fan. Their entering motion was very slow, consisting of a step forward and a step backward, the time of the music being scrupulously observed. In this way they proceeded up the middle of the stage, where they parted and formed in line on the sides, meeting again in the centre. They were now ready for the dance to begin.

The word “dancing,” in its western interpretation, can hardly be applied to the graceful body-motions which satisfy the more subdued taste of the Japanese. The nearest thing that our stage can offer for comparison is the march, more spectacular than artistic, in which glistening helmets and emblazoned shields and swords play so large a part. In place of the knightly helmet these Japanese use their cherry-blossom head-dresses to good effect, while their less aspiring minds are satisfied with a fan instead of a sword. They have large flowing sleeves which they are constantly waving with a motion not too slow to be picturesque, and they can bend their little bodies in a way that their Western rivals have yet to learn. They toss their heads backwards and forwards in a very graceful and captivating way, and make any number of gesticulations with their sleeves, holding them in all conceivable positions in front of the face, back of the head, or stretching them out at arm’s length as a bat does its wings. At times the marching and counter-marching becomes delightfully confusing, the stage being a mass of slowly-waving colour, from the midst of which a large number of cherry-blossomed crests can be seen and an occasional smiling white-plastered face. The dancers do not show the slightest traces of fatigue, and when the curtain is rung, or to be more precise, clapped down at the conclusion of this first act, they seem as fresh as when it began, and a little disappointed that they are obliged to pause for a short time.

Another clap, and up went the curtain again. The scene-shifters had been working hard during the interval, and produced a charming change for the second act. We thought at first that we were to have an oriental version of a well-known scene of Italian love-making, for here was a Japanese house with bow-windows and balconies that would have delighted the eye of the most fastidious Romeo. But there were only Juliets in this play, and they made, after all, a satisfactory use of the windows and piazza, though they relied simply upon their own charms for their success. Now one tiny form would appear in a window, now one would step upon a balcony, and another somewhere amid the trees would smilingly gaze upon her sister above. There were no carefully memorised speeches of blank verse, but the scene was full of that clever geisha sentiment that can be so charming. Each little actor became her own poet, yet there was no need of words to make us feel the happy spirit of romance inspiring her unrestrained heart. The atmosphere of gayety was not confined to the stage but found its way into the delighted souls in the pit, and scarcely had the curtain descended when they seemed to feel it their duty to give a performance of their own. The children began to run about, pull each other by the sleeves, roll around on the floor,—all to the accompaniment of ceaseless tittering and all with the utmost good nature. A wrestling match formed the diversion of one group gathered around two diminutive athletes of local reputation, who were tugging savagely at each other with the utmost disregard of usual athletic rules. The pit was not without gymnasts of its own, who turned somersaults and handsprings in a way that must have shocked the more refined taste of the gliding geishas. While all this was going on, the more dignified members of the family were sitting on their heels, smoking their pipes in a stately manner, and occasionally bringing forth materials for a light lunch. This would have a greater attraction than the trials of athletic skill, and even one or two of the most successful turners of the somersault made a pause in their gyrations to watch the progress of the meal.

My attention was so occupied by the busy throng below, that it was not until I felt a gentle tug at my elbow that I was aware that I had a visitor at hand. I turned and saw a smiling white-plastered face, surmounted by tall sprays of cherry-blossoms, gazing up into mine. It was one of the geishas, who had left the stage and who had quickly selected a foreigner on whom to bestow her favours. And yet, I like to think her attentions were not merely of a perfunctory kind, and that she was drawn towards me for other reasons than because it was the way in which she had been trained. Her actions surely had not an artificial air, and the continued smiles which she showered upon me seemed to be sincere. She did not feel the least embarrassment, and kept talking on in her sweet little voice as though I understood everything that she said. And a great deal of it was perfectly plain. When, for example, she glanced up into my eyes in such a meaning way and let drop a few dulcet words, could my woman’s nature refuse to understand the little flatterer? She was amused by the ornaments on my hat, and smoothed my hair in a most caressing manner. When she tired of this, she called my attention to a small tray at my side, which I had not noticed before. From this she took a cup of tea in her delicate little hands and offered it to me. I drank it with the utmost readiness, and did not stop to think that it was the bitterest thing that had ever passed my lips. This was the real object of her visit, and with another smile she gathered up her tray and passed on. I gave a sigh as I saw her go through the same thing with another lady not far away, and apparently with the same sincerity and feeling. With an equal tenderness would she clasp her hands, and—crushing stroke to feminine vanity—gaze into her eyes with the same admiration as she had into mine.

And now, for the first time, I noticed that there were several geishas in the back part of the gallery engaged in making the bitter potion I had tasted under such romantic circumstances. This is no every-day occurrence, and it has a long history that gives it a far from vulgar interest. Perhaps you think that our “teas” are of native origin, and that they are an invention of modern times; but you are mistaken. In the sixteenth century there lived a mighty man in Japan, named Hideyoshi, and he it is who must bear the burden of those social functions about which the men say so many unkind things. For in his effort to lighten the cares of state and lessen the tedium of his life, Hideyoshi, after much careful thought, decided on the following plan. He gathered to himself several of the choicest spirits of the realm, to whom conversation was a developed art and wit a perennially flowing spring, and said: “I hereby establish an entirely new form of social diversion to be known as ‘tea.’ In so doing, I have a careful eye on those who shall follow, and particularly those of other lands, who shall shower their blessings upon me to the end of time. So come, my friends, gather around, and in the words of an unborn poet: giggle, gobble, gabble, and git.” Probably this last allusion was a mere pleasantry on his part, and had reference to the degenerate forms in which we should receive the ceremony. Hideyoshi had no feminine hands to assist him,—Japan at that period of its history not kindly favouring budding débutantes. He went about it himself in this way. He took a piece of purple silk and carefully cleaned each article to be used, folding and refolding the fabric in a most deliberate manner. He then heated a bowl with hot water and placed in it a spoonful of the green powder that the Japanese call tea. Nothing remained but to put in the boiling water and to serve the bitter result. With a most profound bow he passed this around to his guests, giving each at the same time a small cake with a taste rather suggestive of dry ginger. The affair was a great success, and was taken up with readily by the most exclusive sets of Japan, and passed into modern times. It is called the “cha-no-yu,” and the Japanese regard it with a reverence that makes it almost sacred.

The day was now drawing to a close, and the theatre was gradually becoming dark. The informality of the performance was continued at the next rise of the curtain, when the scene-shifters came out and prepared to arrange things for the last act. They were not visible to the spectator, however, because they had on black gowns and black masks,—and because the Japanese have a very lively imagination. But to us, not so happily endowed, these men’s sombre costumes did not prevent them from being seen, and we watched them with considerable amusement and interest as they solemnly went around, preparing the stage for the finale. Everything was darkened, and when the geishas again appeared, they each held a candle in one hand and a spray of cherry-blossoms in the other. Enormous clusters of this flower seemed to fall from the wings in one mass, barely leaving room beneath for the little girls to go through the concluding steps. The dance that followed was even slower than the former, and was accompanied by a still weirder music, the finest we had yet heard in Japan. Everything had an air of strangeness and unreality, and we felt indeed that we were in a different atmosphere than that in which we had spent our lives. Slowly the brightly-clad geishas moved around the stage, the white blossoms gracefully waving in the air, and still more weirdly rose the threatening tones of the koto.

We were aroused from our enchantment by the gradual descent of the curtain. The spectators for the next performance were already entering, the conversational jabber once more began, and to the accompaniment of the same laughing voices and probably the same jokes, we made our way to the street.