Lulled by the honest countenance of our courteous landlady into misplaced confidence, we were astonished by her presenting on our departure a bill more exorbitant than that of the hotel-keeper of Onomichi. We expostulated, and repeated the terms named by her clerk the night before. At once the amount was cut down to half and the lesser sum accepted with no gratitude or resentment. Mr. Bates is furious, and delivers a lecture on probity; but I cannot bring myself to regard these bland banditti, who extort without violence and restore the booty without a murmur, as on a par with the cheating innkeepers of other lands. Their motive is probably either religious or patriotic, perhaps both. Some one must have told them that foreigners are only permitted by autochthonous gods to visit Japan on condition of enriching its inhabitants. By overcharging the tourist, then, they are pleasing their gods and serving their country. Their compatriots are protected by legal prices, publicly posted in every inn, but they know that the barbarian cannot read official notices, and quixotic indeed would it be to enlighten him. To me such naïf graceful swindling (when exposed and thwarted) is more delightful than churlish, prosaic probity.
Returning to Hiroshima, we thence took steamer to Mitsugahama, one of the chief ports in the island of Shikoku, whose mineral baths were the goal of our voyage. Had time allowed, we would gladly have visited all the four provinces of this magnificent island—provinces which in earlier times were known as “Lovely Princess,” “Prince Good Boiled Rice,” “The Princess of Great Food,” and “The Brave Good Youth.” But we had only leisure to do homage to Iyo-Ehime, the Lovely Princess, who amply justified her title by the loveliness of her domain. Between her territory and that of Tosa or Take-yori-wake, the Brave Good Youth, whose sons are to-day the staunchest advocates of progress, runs a mountain ridge, varying in height from three to four thousand feet, so richly covered with forests that not only are the pines, maples, and alders as plentiful as elsewhere, but with these is intermingled an endless host of beeches, oaks, and horse-chestnuts. Except in the neighbourhood of Akakura, we had not seen a finer stretch of mountain-scenery.
But we never came close to these wooded heights, for Dōgō is only a short distance from the seashore, and is reached in half-an-hour by what I can only describe as a toy train. We crept into a first-class carriage, and just managed to avoid bumping our heads against the low-pitched roof. The fare was on the same scale as the compartments, for the cost of the ticket was three sen (farthings). The rickshaw-men were polite and reasonable, the landlord of the Iwai-ya both affable and honest; in a word, we had left the track of long-suffering and all-corrupting tourists, and had reached one of those districts, so pleasant to discover, where manners are as yet unspoiled by money. Delighted with our lot, we settled down to three days of paradise regained.
Our first care was to discover the bath-house. In front of the hotel rose a mansion of pine, surrounded by iron railings of curious pattern, a line of storks in zigzag flight, and surmounted by a stork of gold with outstretched wings. The Governor’s house, we thought, or perhaps a court of justice, resplendent with carven symbol to impress the natives with reverence for the new régime. But no: this was the principal bath-house. As we passed from storey to storey and remarked the beauty of rafter and balustrade, my companion, who speaks with knowledge, declared that he had never seen such superb carpentry. In many of the chambers were flowers and kakemono by modern painters; in short, we had found a more lordly palace of bathing than even Ikao could boast. The baths were of granite and the dressing-rooms hung with silken curtains. As we had paid the highest tariff, ten sen (about twopence-halfpenny), before entering the bath, we were served by daintily-robed waitresses with cherry-blossom-and-water, a rather saline concoction prepared from the national flower. When we issued from the hot salt waters the same attendants brought tea and cigarettes. Enchanted with our first experience of Dōgō fashions, we returned to the hotel and demanded of the landlord what other sights the town possessed.
The public garden, the wood-carvers’ shops, the big temple of Ōkuni-nushi and Sukuna-bikona, which crowns a hill on the outskirts of the town, were duly visited, and pronounced inferior to those we had seen elsewhere. But O Yoshi San informed us at dinner that every stranger who came to Dōgō was considered unlucky if he departed without seeing and hearing two beautiful sisters, geisha of shining notoriety. We sent a summons at once, and by good luck it happened that one hour of their deeply engaged evening was at our disposal. Our room was brightened up with flowers and sweetmeats, saké and cigarettes were lavishly provided, cushions set and lanterns lit. The geisha were announced by their professional names—White Jewel and Young Butterfly—made smiling obeisance to the “honourable strangers,” and took their seats in the centre of the room, while their duenna, the Katti Lanner of Shikoku, whose pupils had spread the fame of their teacher all over Japan, remained respectfully in the doorway. The age of Young Butterfly cannot have exceeded thirteen years. She wore a white silk kimono, heavily embroidered with gold, and gold dragons on a green sash chased one another round her slender waist. In her coiffure was an ivory pin, terminating in a miniature birdcage, from which a red tassel fluttered defiantly. Her pantomimic dances (in which she required occasional prompting) represented the wooing of a coy damsel and the capture of a standard in the Chinese war; her childish emphasis of amorous and martial gesture was extremely piquant. White Jewel was, however, not only a clever artist but a most intelligent woman. About ten years older than her sister, she was dressed far more simply. Her kimono was of black crépon, her sash of iris-coloured brocade, and her hair had no ornament but a purple iris. She sang, like all her tribe, with nasal intonation and harsh lower notes, but her smile when she talked was as bright as her wits, quick to grasp my questions and explain the meaning of her songs. Indeed, I owe to White Jewel some of the prettiest instances of popular dodoitsu collected in a previous chapter. She was very pleased with her calling, which she had found lucrative, and was not offended by the assertion that most people considered geisha to be like cats, sly and treacherous; otherwise, how was it they had acquired the nickname of “Nekko” or “Pussie”? She replied by singing a quatrain which conveys in the original two meanings for every line:
’Ware of the Pussie!
Pussie, seen smoothing
Coat of striped velvet,
Trimming her claws.
’Ware of the geisha!