When We Were Strolling Players in the East

by Louise Jordan Miln

Japan is often an open book to the foreigner who can read its quaint, graceful characters. The moment you put your foot on Japanese soil you are the guest of all Japan; every Japanese feels himself your host—in duty bound to welcome you and to humour you. Hence it ought to be the easiest thing to learn about their national customs and their home-life. And so it would be, if both were for long the same. The Japanese are as variable as their own rainbow-crêpes. They are as illusive as the colours of the prism. To say, “This is done in Japan, this is thought in Japan, this is felt in Japan, this is liked in Japan,” is as impossible as to sharply separate the reds from the pinks, the whites from the creams, on the petals of a blush rose. And also, there are times when Japan is a very closed book to Europeans—times when the national cry is, “Japan for the Japanese.” At such times it is difficult to penetrate into the heart of Japan, and impossible to learn anything of Japanese home-life.

There are a few families in Japan who cling rigidly to the customs of old Japan, and they are far more interesting in their marriage-observances than the subscribers to Japan the new. Japanese marriages spring from convenience or inclination. But this is so true of almost all countries that it can scarcely be recorded as vitally characteristic of Japan. The terms of the marriage are arranged through a common friend who is called a “middle man.” When the marriage is finally agreed upon, and the terms settled, a present is sent from the bridegroom, by the “middle man,” to the bride. This is called the “complimentary present.” If it is accepted, the family of the bride are in honour bound not to retract their consent. Then follows a deluge of presents. Everybody gives everybody gifts in bewildering varieties and quantities. The bride’s presents, sent by the bridegroom, include seven varieties of condiments, and seven barrels of wine. These, I believe, she often bestows upon her parents. For herself she retains the major part of the presents, which consist of silk, of gold embroideries, and robes. There is always gold embroidery for a girdle, and a piece of white silk stuff, which must be woven with a lozenge pattern, a white silk robe, and other pieces of white silk stuff. The manner in which these silks are folded is of importance, as is also the way in which they are carried. The bridegroom sends his prospective father-in-law a sword and scabbard and a list of all the presents. He sends to his future mother-in-law a silk robe and wine and condiments. To the bridegroom is sent, from the bride’s father, a present equal in value to those sent by the bridegroom to the bride’s parents. But the bride does not reciprocate the bridegroom’s gifts. On the marriage night two silk robes are sent to the bride from the bridegroom, and neither these nor the one sent before, may, under any circumstances, be folded.

The long ceremonies of the marriage night begin with the passing of the bride from her girl-home to her wife-home. Before the door of each house is placed a strip of matting. Before the bride’s door is placed the bridal litter.

She comes! She stands in her father’s doorway, for the last time, as a child. The blue wistarias hang in thick, hopeful clusters above her elaborately-coiffured head. A warm, sweet perfume steals from the rose garden and mingles with the perfume of her warm, sweet lips. The faint, clean smell of cherry and of apple blossoms comes with the gentle breeze that stirs the long white veil which the bride wears with the incomparable grace of a Japanese woman. In the West there is a last faint glow of sunset. The maiden’s face is warm with a gentle, well-controlled flush. From behind the rose garden and the honeysuckle vines steals the new moonlight. In the girl’s eyes shines a great, pure glory. The bride’s mother gives a little sob. The girl’s dimpled face quivers for an instant, then she steps into her litter. The bearers lift it up, and she is off to her new home and her new life. Ring every golden bell! Bloom every scented blossom of Japan’s great wild-flower luxuriance! The bride is coming! She is robed in white. On her outer robe of silk is woven the bridal lozenge. Behind her walk the bearers of many gifts. That is a person of much importance, he who carries so importantly the picturesque bamboo and lacquer bucket. Do you know what is in it? Clams! They are to make the bridal broth; and in all Massachusetts there are none who can convert clams into pottage so delicious as can the cooks of Japan. Behind the clams come the presents which the bride will offer to her husband. They are carried carefully, on a tray of rare old lacquer. Among those presents are seven pocket-books, a sword of fine workmanship, a fan, two girdles, two silken robes sewn together, and a dress of ceremony,—a dress with wings of hempen cloth. Dresses of ceremony are very important items in the wardrobe of every Chinese or Japanese noble. It would be greatly interesting, had one the time, to investigate the why and wherefore, the significance, of the prescribed garments worn, upon important occasions, by the Chinese and Japanese. In passing, I may say that there is no part of a Japanese dress of ceremony more important than the big sleeves of hempen cloth. They are worn by the dignitary who performs hara-kiri, and they must, by all means, be taken to the bridegroom by his bride.

Before the bridegroom’s door burn the big “garden torches.” The “garden torches” are two fires lit, one on either side of the bridegroom’s portal. Beside each fire sit a man and woman pounding rice. Between the fires lies a length of matting, on which the bride’s litter is deposited. When the bride passes, the rice from the left is mingled with the rice at the right. This is called the “blending of the rice-meal,” and is analogous to a detail of the old Latin marriage customs. As the bride passes in, the wicks of two candles are united. This represents the union of souls and of bodies. The two wicks are allowed to burn together for a few moments and are then extinguished. This symbolises, I believe, the hope that the bride and bridegroom may live and die together.

The marriage celebration is ceremonial, and there is a characteristic feast, but, in it, there is no religious element. Japanese religion is very unobtrusive. There is no priest at the hara-kiri ceremonial; there is no priest at the marriage ceremony. The feast is very Japanese; it is peculiar (from our point of view), but it is delicate and artistic. A great many cups of wine are drunk; but each cup is ridiculously small, and holds but a pigmy thimbleful. The wine is brought in in kettles, to which are fastened paper butterflies, each a work of art almost as beautiful as the butterflies of Nature. In the menu are condiments, soups—of fishes’ fins and of clams, and of carp. Rice is there of course, but prepared and served with Japanese originality and daintiness. After the feast, both bride and bridegroom change their outer garments—he for the dress of ceremony brought by her—she for the dress given by him. Then the bride goes to the apartments of her parents-in-law. She takes with her presents for her husband’s parents, and there is more drinking of wine drops, and dropping of quaint, pretty, Japanese curtseys. If the bridegroom’s parents are dead he leads the bride to the tablets on which are inscribed those parents’ names, and there she makes obeisance, often and deep.

The bridal apartments are arranged with great nicety by the female friends of the husband and wife. Japanese married life always has the great advantage of beginning amid pleasant surroundings.

Very many years ago every Japanese bride blackened her teeth and shaved her eyebrows, but these practices are now confined to the lower classes. The Japanese people are too finely artistic to perpetuate any custom that disfigures their persons. The Japanese wives of to-day are beauties in all ways enhanced, in no ways disfigured. And in their pretty, flower-scented homes they sit among big carved vases and tinkling music, and when the silken lanterns are lit, the soft, coloured light drifts on to the prettiest, daintiest, most winsome women in the world.

The Japanese women are lovable, and all their lives they are loved. For what more can woman wish? They lead no armies; they preside over no legislatures, but they reign and rule at home. They are kissed tenderly and admired exceedingly.

I have tried to describe an old Japanese marriage. Most of the details are still retained, I believe, in the marriages of the most orthodox people. But orthodoxy is on the wane the wide world over. Even in China (its stronghold), it has shrunk, if ever so little. In Japan—where manner is more than matter, where seriousness is never very deep—in Japan orthodoxy itself is a chameleon-like, shifting, uncertain thing. And even the phantom of orthodoxy holds but limited sway in Japan the fin de siècle.