It is all very quaint and strange in Japan, and the longer one lives in the country, the more fascinated one becomes with the little people, whose manners and customs differ so greatly from our own.
Before the Chino-Japanese War broke out there was quite a revival of cordiality between the Japanese and foreigners in the capital. Dinners and garden fêtes were given and returned, and the wives of the Japanese Ministers and officials had their ‘At Home’ days during the winter, when nothing could have exceeded their dainty politeness and the apparent interest they took in our European houses and dress--especially dress, I remember. Sometimes, when conversation became rather strained, the introduction of a Lady’s Pictorial or Queen would quite revive flagging interest, and many a time have I been consulted in the choice of some important item in their ‘toilette.’ I am glad to say there has been a reaction the last year or two in favour of the national dress, the long flowing kimonos and quaint obis being infinitely more becoming to their slender little figures than the madly complicated and ever-changing fashions of the West.
But everyone must appear at Court in European dress, and many have been the dilemmas of the little ladies when called upon to appear at some function at the palace.
It has been said that foreign clothes make a difference in a man’s behaviour to his wife: ‘European dress, European manners.’ How far this is correct I cannot say, but there may be some truth in it. As I mentioned before, we were congratulating ourselves on the progress we were making in our friendly relations with the little ladies. But when the war broke out, the Japanese Ministers left in the Emperor’s train for the headquarters of the army at Shimonoseki, the officers joined their regiments and ships, leaving their wives behind, and for the next eighteen months no Japanese lady crossed our thresholds, nor was to be seen at home or abroad.
Now, this was most disappointing. In vain we called at their houses. ‘“Arimazen” (‘Not at home’), said a smiling, and I fear untruthful, nasan.
The nearest approach we had to success was one afternoon, calling on the wife of one of the Ministers of State. In answer to our inquiries if the Countess was at home, the doors were drawn back--they don’t open in Japan--and we were admitted, feeling very triumphant. We removed our shoes, and were ushered down long corridors to a room evidently kept to receive foreigners, having as its only furniture one small table and four chairs. After waiting about ten minutes we heard a shuffling of feet and much suppressed laughter; one of the panels of the room was drawn aside, and to our great surprise our own Japanese coachman appeared, followed by two nasans, who seemed immensely amused about something. After some difficulty--for our coachman’s vocabulary in English was extremely limited--we were given to understand that the ‘oksama’ (honourable lady of the house) was engaged in having her bath, and unable to receive us. We beat a hasty and discomfited retreat, and after that resisted our desire to renew the acquaintance of the mysterious little people, who for some reason best known to themselves had so completely given us the cold-shoulder.
Some months later, the war being ended and the husbands having returned, their wives reappeared in public as friendly and as smiling as before. We asked them the reason of their apparent desertion, but all we could gather was that their husbands had forbidden them to enter society during their absence; I fancy, however, their own inclination had a good deal to do with their retirement from European society.
A Japanese lady is noted for her courage, her strength of mind and self-possession. It is wonderful to think what physical trials and dangers these fragile, delicate little creatures will undergo in an emergency. The Prime Minister’s life was once saved by the courage and presence of mind of his wife.
Many years ago, when quite a young man, during a rebellion, Count Ito was hiding from his enemies, who, having tracked him to his house, sent a band of ‘soshis’ to assassinate him. On hearing his enemies approaching, and trapped like a rat in its hole, the Count drew his sword and prepared to die; but the Countess whispered, ‘Do not die; there is hope still’; and removing the hibatchi, or fire-box, and lifting up the mats and the planks beneath, she induced her husband to conceal himself in the hollow space which exists under the floor of all Japanese houses. The murderers broke into the room just as the fire-box had been replaced, and demanded of the Countess their victim. In vain they threatened and cruelly ill-treated her, dragging her about the room by her long black hair. But it was of no avail; they could not shake her resolute fidelity. Thanks to her courage Count Ito escaped, and has lived to give to his country a new Constitution, and become one of the greatest statesmen of modern Japan.[[B]] I often wondered when I saw the Countess, now a delicate, gray-haired little lady, at the courage and presence of mind that she displayed at that critical moment of her life.