From babyhood the diminutive subject hears stories of his glorious ruler; but sometimes it is in the kindergarten that he is trained to perform his first great act of reverence to the throne in bowing before the picture of the emperor. It is a ceremony that touches deeply the most skeptical heart. On certain days groups of little children, many still unsteady on their feet, dressed in gay holiday clothes, come before the pictured image and pay homage to his Majesty by a low, reverent bow. It is like a flower-garden bending before the greater brilliancy of the sun. It is the tribute of innocence to power, and no sovereign lives who would not be a better man for having seen it.
As the first day in the kindergarten is wonderful, so to the child is the last. He is leaving babyhood behind, and half a day is barely sufficient for the imposing ceremonies. For weeks he has been patiently drilled. At the proper hour, with the precision of a mechanical doll and the dignity of a field-marshal, he graciously accepts from the hand of the teacher a roll of parchment only slightly shorter than himself. It is his certificate of graduation, stamped with a large seal, which inspires a deeper joy than comes later with the Order of the Rising Sun.
The transition from the kindergarten to the primary grade is accomplished easily, and as the pupil is never supposed or expected to take the initiative, he has only to follow where he is led. A Japanese child is as responsive as are the strings of a samisen to the fingers of a skilled musician, and the leader has only to touch the notes to create the harmony desired.
During the period of elementary school, the training for boys and girls is much the same except in special cases when very young boys are instructed in fencing and jiu-jutsu. In these first years it is a sharing of all experiences, and the girls pluckily take their chances in the rough-and-tumble games with the boys. Then comes the parting of the ways. The sign-post for each points to a difference in school and subjects. For the boys, the road leads to the sterner things of life. Every step of the girls’ path is trained for the inevitable end—marriage. Whatever the future, it never yields—to the girl, at least—the same golden hours of freedom and equal right to joy and pleasure as in the glory days of youth. Every boy in Japan is a prospective soldier or sailor, every girl, a wife; and a training toward the end best fitting each for the duties involved is the principal aim of the carefully planned curriculum. In all grades the teaching is en masse; individual attention is rare.
From the first year of the primary course, through every grade, the study of morals heads the list. This rather formidable subject is presented to the very youthful in a most attractive way. Large pictures are shown illustrating in a charming manner the virtues to be emphasized. The teacher tells a set story. It is short, but so dramatic is the manner of telling it, so alluring the trick of hand and voice, the child’s interest is held as if by magic. The subjects of these early moral lessons are the “Teacher,” the “Flag,” “Attitude.” Later, family relations are studied; as, for instance, that of father and mother, grandparents, etc.
Training in pronunciation and simple lessons in drawing are included in the first year, with manual work for the boys. The girls begin preparation for their calling with the first principles of sewing and the first stitches of crocheting or knitting. In the latter part of the year practice begins in writing the kana, gradually intermixed with the Chinese ideographs. There are many thousands of these characters, and they are usually difficult. Necessarily the first steps are simple. The awkward little fist must be trained to lightness and poise of brush, delicacy and sureness in touch, for one false stroke in the intricate structure brings grief. Ignorant of the difficulties in store for him, the child begins his task merrily, delighted with the lines, big and bold at first, which resemble funny pictures more than an alphabet. He practises on everything at hand, from the fresh sand on the playground to the nearest new, white shoji.
A system of calisthenics, too, is begun early with the child, and only the unconquerable grace of childhood saves it from a permanent stiffening of bone and muscle. Happily, studies and gymnastics are interspersed with generous hours for free play. In all the training of Japanese children a great deal of outdoor life is planned. There are historical excursions, geographical excursions for practical instruction, and jolly ones merely for pleasure, when with a luncheon of cold rice and pickled plum tied in a furoshiki, or handkerchief, everybody scampers away to the river or mountain for a long happy day.
Every year at school means increased hours and more difficult studies. Added to these long periods are special lessons for the young in how to bow, how to stand, how to enter a room, how to lower the eyes, the placing of each finger on a book when reading, and endless other regulations. These rules are published in a text-book for the teacher, who is expected to drill them into the student to the minutest detail. It seems folly to expect anything from such training but a group of automata; but underlying this fixed formality is an air of controlled freedom that is really the foundation of the tremendous respect for law cherished by the entire nation. Nor is it to be imagined that continuous training in repression means permanent suppression of high spirits. This light-hearted race takes joy in the simplest pleasures, and the imp of mischief finds fertile soil in the brain of any healthy boy or girl.
During these years the hand of discipline is lightly laid in the home. The attitude of father and mother is kindly indulgent, and punishments, if any, cause neither pain nor inconvenience. Current topics involving the welfare of the country and intimate matters of family life are freely discussed in the child’s presence. At an early age he absorbs much information, both wholesome and other. But whatever else may be neglected in his training, so insistently is held before the heir day by day the requirements necessary as a man to bear the honors of the family name, it often works something of a miracle in regulating conduct.
Next in reverence for the emperor is veneration for ancestors. There is one form of entertainment and instruction in the home which as an educative factor plays a large and delightful part in the life of the children. In the evenings, after the books have been put away, they gather around the glowing hibachi to hear the grandfather or grandmother weave the nondescript tales of gods and goddesses, of loyal, wise, and brave men. If any deed of the day calls for emphasis, it is skilfully marked by a special story cleverly worded by the aged narrator. Thus reward or punishment is effectively recited rather than administered.