underground room called a ‘godoun’, shut
in by iron gratings. On rare occasions, only
to honor some visitor of distinction, do they open
this impenetrable depositary. The true Japanese
manner of understanding luxury consists in a scrupulous
and indeed almost excessive cleanliness, white mats
and white woodwork; an appearance of extreme simplicity,
and an incredible nicety in the most infinitesimal
details.
My mother-in-law seems to be really a very good woman,
and were it not for the insurmountable feeling of
spleen the sight of her garden produces on me, I should
often go to see her. She has nothing in common
with the mammas of Jonquille, Campanule, or Touki
she is vastly their superior; and then I can see that
she has been very good-looking and fashionable.
Her past life puzzles me; but, in my position as a
son-in-law, good manners prevent my making further
inquiries.
Some assert that she was formerly a celebrated geisha
in Yeddo, who lost public favor by her folly in becoming
a mother. This would account for her daughter’s
talent on the guitar; she had probably herself taught
her the touch and style of the Conservatory.
Since the birth of Chrysantheme (her eldest child
and first cause of this loss of favor), my mother-in-law,
an expansive although distinguished nature, has fallen
seven times into the same fatal error, and I have two
little sisters-in-law: Mademoiselle La Neige,—[Oyouki-San]—and
Mademoiselle La Lune,—[Tsouki-San.]—as
well as five little brothers-in-law: Cerisier,
Pigeon, Liseron, Or, and Bambou.
Little Bambou is four years old—a yellow
baby, fat and round all over, with fine bright eyes;
coaxing and jolly, sleeping whenever he is not laughing.
Of all my Nipponese family, Bambou is the one I love
the most.
MY NAUGHTY DOLL
Tuesday, August 27th.
During this whole day we—Yves, Chrysantheme,
Oyouki and myself—have spent the time wandering
through dark and dusty nooks, dragged hither and thither
by four quick-footed djins, in search of antiquities
in the bric-a-brac shops.
Toward sunset, Chrysantheme, who has wearied me more
than ever since morning, and who doubtless has perceived
it, pulls a very long face, declares herself ill,
and begs leave to spend the night with her mother,
Madame Renoncule.
I agree to this with the best grace in the world;
let her go, tiresome little mousme! Oyouki will
carry a message to her parents, who will shut up our
rooms; we shall spend the evening, Yves and I, in roaming
about as fancy takes us, without any mousme dragging
at our heels, and shall afterward regain our own quarters
on board the ‘Triomphante’, without having
the trouble of climbing up that hill.
First of all, we make an attempt to dine together
in some fashionable tea-house. Impossible! not
a place is to be had; all the absurd paper rooms,
all the compartments contrived by so many ingenious
tricks of slipping and sliding panels, all the nooks
and corners in the little gardens are filled with
Japanese men and women eating impossible and incredible
little dishes. Numberless young dandies are dining
tete-a-tete with the ladies of their choice, and sounds
of dancing-girls and music issue from the private
rooms.
