"Yes," she replied, "the Prince does not care to have the court paved, but prefers to have it sodded and filled with flowers and shrubs."
The school building was evidently designed for that purpose, being light and airy with the whole southern exposure made into windows, and covered with a thin white paper which gives a soft, restful light and shuts out the glare of the sun. The floor is covered with a heavy rope matting while the walls are hung with botanical, zoological and other charts. Besides the usual furniture for a well-equipped schoolroom, it was heated with a foreign stove, had glass cases for their embroidery and drawing materials, and a good American organ to direct them in singing, dancing and calisthenics.
I arrived at recess. The Princess took me into the teacher's den, which was cut off from the main room by a beautifully carved screen. Here I was introduced to the Japanese lady teacher and served with tea. She spoke no English and but little Chinese, and the embarrassment of our effort to converse was only relieved by the ringing of the bell for school. The pupils, consisting of the secondary wives and daughters of the Prince, his son's wife, and the wives and daughters of his dead brother who make their home with him, entered in an orderly way and took their seats. When the teacher came into the room the ladies all arose and remained standing until she took her place before her desk and made a low bow to which they all responded in unison. This is the custom in all of the schools I have visited. Even where the superintendent is Chinese, the pupils stand and make a low Japanese bow at the beginning and close of each recitation.
"How long has the school been in session?" I asked the Princess.
"Three and a half months," she replied.
"And they have done all this embroidery and painting in that time?"
"They have, and in addition have pursued their Western studies," she explained.
In arithmetic the teacher placed the examples on the board, the pupils worked them on their slates, after which each was called upon for an explanation, which she gave in Japanese. While this class was reciting the Prince came in and asked if we might not have calisthenics, evidently thinking that I would enjoy the drill more than the mathematics. It was interesting to see those Manchu ladies stand and go through a thorough physical drill to the tune of a lively march on a foreign organ. The Japanese are masters in matters of physical drill, and in the schools I have visited I have been pleased at the quiet dignity, and the reserve force and sweetness of their Japanese teachers. The precision and unanimity with which orders were executed both surprised and delighted me. Everything about these schools was good except the singing, which was excruciatingly poor. The Chinese have naturally clear, sweet voices, with a tendency to a minor tone, which, with proper training, admit of fair development. But the Japanese teacher dragged and sang in a nasal tone, in which the pupils followed her, evidently thinking it was proper Western music. I was rather amused to see the younger pupils go through a dignified dance or march to the familiar strains of "Shall we gather at the river," which the eldest daughter played on the organ.
"The young ladies do not comb their hair in the regular Manchu style," I observed to the Princess.
"No," she answered, "we do not think that best. It is not very convenient, and so we have them dress it in the small coil on top of the head as you see. Neither do we allow them to wear flowers in their hair, nor to paint or powder, or wear shoes with centre elevations on the soles. We try to give them the greatest possible convenience and comfort."