GEISHA GIRLS AT THE ICHIRIKI TEA-HOUSE, KYOTO.
(In the corner is inserted a geisha girl's visiting-card, actual size.)
Finally some wee maikos came shuffling in with their quaint dress and hair make-up, their whitened faces and painted lips, and knelt among us in picturesque attitudes. These maikos are girls of from ten to thirteen years of age who are learning to be geishas. Following them came the geishas themselves—the older dancers—and then the musicians began to tune and twang their instruments, and to chant the monotonous songs that tell the stories of the dancing.
Our eyes grew big with wonder and delight as the figures were taken up in turn, one after another—movements grotesque, but oh, so dainty and quaint! Such posturing in adorably awkward attitudes! Such sliding with tiny feet turned inward, heads and hands at all angles, eyes askew! To one to whom their dancing has become familiar, it is all so fascinating and fanciful, so full of delight and grace and meaning!
Tomiji and Kanoko, both maikos—dear tiny figures in gay garments and huge obis—danced the Story of the Stone Bridge. One of them was a peony, and the other was a lion! Then a geisha, Harikiku, or the Spring Chrysanthemum, danced the Story of the Spring Rain, which has a theme like that of Romeo and Juliet, as old as the hills—only now one of the lovers was a nightingale while the other was a plum.
So they postured and made picture after picture, and when it was over, came and sat among us to help pass the tea and saké and cake and fruits that had been so daintily prepared. After that there was more dancing, and we took our leave amid much laughter and many sayonaras and wishes for a speedy return from our cheery little entertainers.
The geishas of Kyoto dress in more subdued colors than they do elsewhere. An American woman would be impressed by the cost of some of the kimonos, for no expense is spared in making them as beautiful as possible. The designs are carefully thought out, and an artist is selected to execute them. After the work is completed the stencils are usually destroyed, so that the pattern may never be duplicated.
These girls are the professional entertainers of Japan. They can be called to private houses, as well as to tea-houses, to help pass the time with their dancing and singing, and are cultivated in all the arts and graces that may add to their ability to please. Thus a geisha not only sings and dances attractively, but she is a trained conversationalist as well. She is not necessarily immoral, as Westerners often imagine. It is not uncommon even to-day for a girl to die by her own hand because she loves a man who, for some reason, cannot marry her. Many Japanese believe, however, that geishas are dangerous, designing and hard-hearted creatures, related to fox-women—a kind of goblin-ghost believed in by the ignorant.
The geisha's songs are usually of love, the universal theme, and are sung to the notes of the samisen. They correspond to our classic love songs, but are much more popular among the lower classes than any music is with us, unless it be rag-time! The sentiment and phrasing are often fairy-like in their delicacy and charm, but, of course, much of this is lost in translation. The following is one of the chief favourites—it depicts "a lover, when the landscape is white with snow, going to the window to look out before he takes his departure." His lady-love seeks to delay his going, and this is the song:
"In vain thy cloak do I hide, Love,
And in vain to thy sleeve do I cling;
Wilt thou no longer abide, Love,
Nor give me for Winter, fond Spring?
I push back the window so slightly,
And point to the snow-burdened land:
O Love, wilt thou leave me thus lightly,
And choose the cold snow for my hand?"