My daughter who “came out” at Hong-Kong had quite a gay little season at Tokyo, as we were hospitably entertained by both Japanese and diplomats, and amongst other festivities we thoroughly enjoyed a splendid ball given by Marquis Naboshima, the Emperor’s Master of Ceremonies.
We were also fortunate in seeing the actor Danjolo, commonly called the “Irving of Japan,” in one of his principal characters. The floor of the theatre was divided into little square boxes in which knelt the audience, men, women, and children. From the main entrance of the house to the stage ran a gangway, somewhat elevated above the floor; this was called the Flowery Path, and served not only as a means of access to the boxes on either side, but also as an approach by which some of the principal actors made a sensational entrance on the scene. A large gallery, divided like the parterre, ran round three sides of the house and was reached from an outside balcony. European spectators taking seats in the gallery were accommodated with chairs.
The main feature wherein the Japanese differed from an English stage was that the whole central part of the former was round and turned on a pivot. The scenery, simple but historically correct, ran across the diameter of the reversible part; so while one scenic background was before the audience another was prepared behind and wheeled round when wanted. To remove impedimenta at the sides or anything which had to be taken away during the progress of a scene, little black figures with black veils over their faces, like familiars of the Inquisition, came in, and Japanese politeness accepted them as invisible.
Danjolo, who acted the part of a wicked uncle, proved himself worthy of his reputation and was excellently supported by his company. All the parts were taken by men; some plays were in those days acted by women, but it was not then customary for the two sexes to perform together. Now I believe that the barrier has been broken down and that they do so freely.
When we had a Japanese dinner at the Club the charming little waitresses gave dramatic performances in intervals between the courses.
Certainly the Japanese are prompt in emergency. A Japanese of high rank once told me how the Rising Sun came to be the National Flag. A Japanese ship arrived at an American port and the harbour authorities demanded to know under what flag she sailed. This was before the days when Japan had entered freely into commercial relations with other lands, and the captain had no idea of a national ensign. Not to be outdone by other mariners, he secured a large piece of white linen and painted upon it a large red orb. This was offered and accepted as the National Flag of Japan, and is still the flag of her merchant fleet. With rays darting from it, it has become the ensign of her warships, and, as a gold chrysanthemum on a red ground, represents the Rising Sun in the Imperial Standard. According to my informant, who told me the tale at a dinner-party in London, the whole idea sprang from the merchant captain’s readiness of resource.
Whatever changes Japan may undergo, it must still retain the charm of its pure, transparent atmosphere with the delicate hues which I never saw elsewhere except in Greece. In some respects, unlike as they are physically, the Japanese recall the quick-witted, art-loving Greeks. Again, Japan, with its lovely lakes and mountains and its rich vegetation, has something in common with New Zealand, and, like those happy Islands, it has the luxury of natural hot springs. I shall never forget the hotel at Miyanoshita where the large bathrooms on the ground-floor were supplied with unlimited hot and cold water conducted in simple bamboo pipes direct from springs in a hill just behind the house.
JAPANESE FRIENDS
Still more vividly do I recall the Japanese who did so much for our enjoyment at Tokyo. Amongst others was the delightful Mrs. Inouye, whose husband, as Marquis Inouye, has since been Ambassador in London. Marchioness Inouye has remained a real friend, and constantly sends me news from the Island Empire. Nor must I forget how much we saw under the guidance of my cousin, the Rev. Lionel Cholmondeley, for many years a missionary in Japan, and Chaplain to the British Embassy there.