A Christmas Tree in Japan

It was a huge Christmas tree, the first that had ever grown in our compound,[1]for the children of our servants and writers and employees, who make up the number of our Legation population to close on two hundred. I could not have the tree on Christmas Day, owing to various engagements; so it was fixed for January 3, and was quite the most successful entertainment I ever gave!

When I undertook it, I confess that I had no idea how many little ones belonged to the compound. I sent our good Ogita round to invite them all solemnly to come to Ichiban (Number One) on the 3d at five o’clock. Ogita threw himself into the business with delighted good-will, having five little people of his own to include in the invitation; but all the servants were eager to help as soon as they knew we were preparing a treat for the children. That is work which would always appeal to Japanese of any age or class. No trouble is too great, if it brings pleasure to the “treasure flowers,” as the babies are called. Some of them were not little, and these were more difficult to buy presents for; but after many cold hours passed in the different bazaars, it seemed to me that there must be something for everybody, although we had really spent very little money.

The wares were so quaint and pretty that it was a pleasure to sort and handle them. There were work-boxes in beautifulpolished woods, with drawers fitting so perfectly that when you closed one the compressed air at once shot out another. There were mirrors enclosed in charming embroidered cases; for where mirrors are mostly made of metal, people learn not to let them get scratched. There were dollies of every size, and dolls’ houses and furniture, kitchens, farmyards, rice-pounding machines—all made in the tiniest proportions, such as it seemed no human fingers could really have handled. For the elder boys we bought books, school-boxes with every school requisite contained in a square the size of one’s hand, and penknives and scissors, which are greatly prized as being of foreign manufacture. For decorations we had an abundant choice of materials. I got forests of willow branches decorated with artificial fruits; pink and white balls made of rice paste, which are threaded on the twigs; surprise shells of the same paste, two lightly stuck together in the form of a double scallop shell, and full of miniature toys;kanzashi, or ornamental hairpins for the girls, made flowers of gold and silver among my dark pine branches; and I wasted precious minutes in opening and shutting these dainty roses—buds until you press a spring, when they open suddenly into a full-blown rose. But the most beautiful things on my tree were the icicles, which hung in scores from its sombre foliage, catching rosy gleams of light from our lamps as we worked late into the night. These were—chopsticks, long glass chopsticks, which I discovered in the bazaar; and I am sure Santa Klaus himself could not have told them from icicles. Of course every present must be labelled with a child’s name, and here my troubles began. Ogita was told to make out a correct listof names and ages, with some reference to the calling of the parents; for even here rank and precedence must be observed, or terrible heart-burnings might follow. The list came at last, and if it were not so long, I would send it to you complete, for it is a curiosity. Imagine such complicated titles as these: “Minister’s second cook’s girl, Ume, age 2;” “Minister’s servant’s cousin’s boy, age 11;” “Student’s interpreter’s teacher’s girl;” “Vice-Consul’s jinrikisha-man’s boy.” And so it went on, till there were fifty-eight of them of all ages, from one up to nineteen. Some of them, indeed, were less than a year old; and I was amused on the evening of the 2d at having the list brought back to me with this note (Ogita’s English is still highly individual!) “Marked X is declined to the invitation.” On looking down the column, I found that ominous looking cross only against one name, that of Yasu, daughter of Ito Kanejiro, Mr. G——’s cook. This recalcitrant little person turned out to be six weeks old—an early age for parties even nowadays. Miss Yasu, having been born in November, was put down in the following January as two years old, after the puzzling Japanese fashion. Then I found that they would write boys as girls, girls as boys, grown-ups as babies, and so on. Even at the last moment a doll had to be turned into a sword, a toy tea-set into a work-box, a history of Europe into a rattle; but people who grow Christmas trees are prepared for such small contingencies, and no one knew anything about it when on Friday afternoon the great tree slowly glowed into a pyramid of light, and a long procession of little Japs was marshalled in, with great solemnity and many bows, till they stood, a delighted, wide-eyed crowd,round the beautiful shining thing, the first Christmas tree any of them had ever seen. It was worth all the trouble to see the gasp of surprise and delight, the evident fear that the whole thing might be unreal and suddenly fade away. One little man of two fell flat on his back with amazement, tried to rise and have another look, and in so doing rolled over on his nose, where he lay quite silent till his relatives rescued him. Behind the children stood the mothers, quite as pleased as they, and with them one very old lady with a little child on her back.

MAKING GLASS AND TINSEL ORNAMENTS FOR CHRISTMAS TREES

The children stood, the little ones in front and the taller ones behind, in a semicircle, and the many lights showed their bright faces and gorgeous costumes, for no one would be outdone by another in smartness—I fancy the poorer women had borrowed from richer neighbors—and the result was picturesque in the extreme. The older girls had their heads beautifully dressed, with flowers and pins and rolls of scarlet crape knotted in between the coils; their dresses were pale green or blue, with bright linings and stiff silk obis; but the little ones were a blaze of scarlet, green, geranium pink, and orange, their long sleeves sweeping the ground, and the huge flower patterns on their garments making them look like live flowers as they moved about on the dark velvet carpet. When they had gazed their fill, they were called up to me one by one, Ogita addressing them all as “San” (Miss or Mr.), even if they could only toddle, and I gave them their serious presents with their names, written in Japanese and English, tied on with red ribbon—an attention which, as I was afterwards told, they appreciatedgreatly. It seemed to me that they never would end; their size varied from a wee mite who could not carry its own toys to a tall, handsome student of sixteen, or a gorgeous young lady in green and mauve crape, and a head that must have taken the best part of the day to dress.

In one thing they were all alike; their manners were perfect. There was no pushing or grasping, no glances of envy at what other children received, no false shyness in their sweet, happy way of expressing their thanks. I was puzzled by one thing about the children: although we kept giving them sweets and oranges off the tree, every time I looked around the big circle all were empty-handed again, and it really seemed as if they must have swallowed the gifts, gold paper and ribbon and all. But at last I noticed that their square, hanging sleeves began to have a strange, lumpy appearance, like a conjurers waistcoat just before he produces twenty-four bowls of live goldfish from his internal economy; and then I understood that the plunder was at once dropped into these great sleeves, so as to leave hands free for anything else that Okusama might think good to bestow. One little lady, O’Haru San, aged three, got so overloaded with goodies and toys that they kept rolling out of her sleeves, to the great delight of the Brown Ambassador dachshund, Tip, who pounced on them like lightning, and was also convicted of nibbling at cakes on the lower branches of the tree.

The bigger children would not take second editions of presents, and answered, “Honorable thanks, I have!” ifoffered more than they thought their share; but babies are babies all the world over! When the distribution was finished at last, I got a Japanese gentleman to tell them the story of Christmas, the children’s feast; and then they came up one by one to say “Sayonara” (“Since it must be,” the Japanese farewell), and “Arigato gozaimasu” (“The honorable thanks”).

“Come back next year,” I said; and then the last presents were given out—beautiful lanterns, red, lighted, and hung on what Ogita calls bumboos, to light the guests home with. One tiny maiden refused to go, and flung herself on the floor in a passion of weeping, saying that Okusama’s house was too beautiful to leave, and she would stay with me always—yes, she would! Only the sight of the lighted lantern, bobbing on a stick twice as long as herself, persuaded her to return to her own home in the servants’ quarters. I stood on the step, the same step where I had set the fireflies free one warm night last summer, and watched the little people scatter over the lawns, and disappear into the dark shrubberies, their round, red lights dancing and shifting as they went, just as if my fireflies had come back, on red wings this time, to light my little friends to bed.

FOOTNOTES:[1]The British Legation compound is the enclosure in which the official representatives of the English government in any Japanese city live with their assistants, families, and servants.

[1]The British Legation compound is the enclosure in which the official representatives of the English government in any Japanese city live with their assistants, families, and servants.

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