Did I not possess the ocular proof of a fan and a few souvenirs I could believe the fête which I saw to have been but a midsummer night’s dream. A club of the great merchants of the city, wishing to do honor to two Tokio officials, devised a dinner, or geisha party, and included their American friends. The evening was one of the heaviest, hottest, and sultriest of the Kioto summer, and, after the sun sank in a bed of mist, swarmed with myriads of mosquitoes. Later, the full moon poured down a flood of silvery light that seemed to quiver with heat, yet, apparelled in our uncomfortable regulation costume, we found our way through the lanes to the dark gate-ways of Nishi Otani’s long approach. The broad stone path lay marble-white in the moonlight between rows of gigantic trees, the tall stone lanterns looked like ghostly sentries, and fire-flies floated through the still, hot darkness. At the foot of the avenue a line of red lanterns hung glowing and motionless in mid-air, like so many strange fruits on the black branches. When we passed into the open, moonlighted court of the Gion temple and under its giant torii, we were received at a wide door-way by the master of the feast and the whole tea-house staff.
Above were our forty-four hosts of the evening, among whom were the court brocade-weaver, the great merchant of painted crapes, the maker of the incomparable enamels, the masters of the great potteries and bronze works, and a few artists. We bowed three or four times to each gentleman, who bowed twice as often to us, and we wondered how these quiet, grave, and gracious hosts, in their rustling garments of dark striped silks and their white tabis, could look so cool and fresh.
All the screens of the upper floor had been taken out, and three sides of the room were open to the night. We were conducted to seats at one end, the company gravely dropped upon the cushions ranged along either side, and the master of ceremonies, a great silk merchant and manufacturer, made a formal speech of welcome, and begged us to accept the poor repast they were about to offer. Every one bowed three times, a proper response was made, we all bowed again, and a file of nesans in dark silk gowns brought in tiny cups of tea. Then followed ten of the most famous maiko of Kioto, dazzling beauties, who advanced noiselessly, two by two, in exquisite kimonos of painted crape and obis of woven sunshine, and with coronals of silver hair-pins on their heads. As they drew near, all gliding with the same slow grace, they knelt and set before us the ozens, or low lacquer tables, holding cups, bowls, chopsticks, and napkins. Two tiny maiko then entered with large trays of sweetmeats, and the master of ceremonies lifted off with his chopsticks and set before us sections of confectionery—waves and fan-tailed goldfish, an impressionist sketch in sugar of rippling water filled with darting fish. On Nabeshima and Owari plates, and in lacquer and porcelain bowls, were served innumerable courses—soups, omelet, lily bulbs, chicken, small birds, jellies, many unknown and delightful dishes—and with each remove, rice, lifted from a fine, red-lined, gold lacquer rice box furnished with a big lacquer spoon worth six silver ones. Tai, the sterlet of Japan, the arbitrary accessory of any great feast, whose curiously shaped bones are symbols of hospitality and abundance, was accompanied by a peppery salad, and followed by more birds, by bamboo sprouts, and a stew of bêche-de-mer, before the appearance of the pièce de résistance.
The maiko advanced in a broad line, two of them bearing a large tray on which lay a magnificent carp, still breathing, and with his scales shining as if just drawn from the water. The master of ceremonies advanced, and, receiving the tray from the maiko, set it on the mats and turned it slowly around for all to behold. As the maiko retired all leaned forward to watch the noble carp, as it lay quivering on its bed of moss and cresses, with a background of greenery like a true Japanese garden. This custom of serving the living fish at a feast is a survival of a traditional usage that foreigners seldom witness. Morsels of the fish were presently lifted from its back and passed to the company. To us the performance was a kind of cannibalism possessing a horrible fascination, but the epicures uttered sounds expressive of appreciation as they lingered over the delicious morsels. A sudden jar or turning of the tray made the carp writhe, and left upon us a sense of guilty consent and connivance which lasted for days.
Rice and eels were next served, another soup, more fowl, and then, with sponge-cake, fruits, and additional cups of tea, the feast concluded. Centuries ago the Portuguese taught the Japanese to make sponge-cake, and now they surpass in the art even a New England house-keeper with “faculty.” With each course there had been an exchange of saké-cups and the drinking of innumerable healths, with amazing elaboration of etiquette. Each guest must accept the proffered pledge, extend it to be filled, touch the forehead, drink, empty, and return it to the giver, that he may repeat the same routine. The guests in their rustling garments moved about the mats, sitting before one and another in turn for a little chat and an exchange of saké-cups, and formal speeches and responses were made as well.
Throughout the feast the geishas twanged the koto and the samisen, and the maiko in painted crapes and gorgeous brocades danced with choral accompaniment. Their broad obis were tied in Osaka fashion, in long butterfly loops that spread the golden and glistening fabric all over the back of their scant, clinging kimonos. These lovely young creatures slowly posed, through dance after dance, bending, swaying, and turning with exquisite grace, moving their golden fans in time with the wail of the instruments and the plaintive burden of the song explaining the pantomime. It was a strange scene—the room, open to the summer night, hung round with crimson lanterns and lighted with the soft glow from the tall andons; the lines of sitting figures in their rich silk garments, and the dark faces lost in reverie as they followed the mazes of the golden-robed dancers.
After the dinner and between their dances the maiko seated themselves before the guests to entertain them with their wit and badinage, to fill the saké-cups, and to let the company admire them. Raiha was the name of one demure beauty, who inquired of us which one of them was loveliest according to our foreign standards. While we considered, some became coquettish and full of little Japanese airs and graces, but whatever sparkle and expression they threw into their eyes, the meekest look was given to the whole face by the broad touch of carmine on the lower lip. The final decision gave Raiha three of the foreign votes, and the one dissenter conformed when our Japanese friends assured him that she was the reigning professional beauty of Kioto. And we thought her shy, distinguished manners, her silver thread of a voice, and her demure eyes and smiles more charming even than her lovely face.
At midnight, when a monastery bell was softly booming from the mountain-slopes, we began our adieus. Nearly one hundred and forty bows were to be made by each of us, for, after bowing three or four times and saying “sayonara” to each of our hosts, we had to bid adieu to the lovely maikos and acknowledge the salutations of the tea-house attendants. When we sat down at the door-way to have our shoes put on, we were dizzy enough to be grateful for the fanning that the tea-house girls bestowed upon us. A chorus of sayonaras accompanied us as we followed the coolies with their long lanterns out through the torii and into the black shadows of the temple grounds.
CHAPTER XXXI
THROUGH UJI TO NARA
An early morning start, with many jinrikishas and tandems of coolies; a wild spin through the streets, past shops, temple gates and walls; by the innumerable toriis and lanterns forming arches and vistas in the groves of Inari, the great temple of the fox-god, and we came out on the plain beyond Fushimi; then an irregular, hilly country, green with ancient pine and bamboo groves, every open valley and hill-side set with low, green mounds of tea-bushes; sandy, white roads, clear rushing streams, and we were in the heart of Uji, the finest tea district of Japan.