Tel Sono, A Japanese Reformer, Part 1.
by Tel Sono.
Volume 4, 1893/4, pgs. 103-109
"I am a little Japanese woman."
(From her Autobiography).
[Teruko Sono, 1846-1925, was a Japanese lawyer who "organized Christian missionary activities to assist Japanese women by education." Her daughter would have been 25 when this article was published.]
Chapter I.
My ancestors were of high descent, and very wealthy. Moan Waka Sono, my grandfather, who lived in Nagoya, was a philosopher. When over fifty years old he came to believe in a God in heaven, and built a room for prayer. There he always prayed, looking toward heaven and ringing a bell which he held in his right hand. Sometimes he would sit down in the room and remain engaged in prayer for hours, not moving nor taking any nourishment.
He began to give all his wealth to the destitute, and soon became very poor; but he did not care about his poverty, and always said, "Human wealth is unprofitable. I cannot carry it away when I die."
His eldest daughter, my aunt, a very fine poetess, was fond of travel. Once when travelling alone, as was her custom, she was met in a mountain-pass by a thief. As a part of every woman's education in Japan is skill in combat, my aunt was ready to defend herself. When he made the attempt to rob her she adroitly pushed him down and held him while she reproved him for his evil deeds, explaining to him the right and wrong paths. "I will send you to judgment if you do not repent and stop this wicked business." she said. "I will go to right work now," he said. "I have been doing this work only a few months, but, after what you have said, can do it no longer." Then he wished her to spend the night with him. She accepted the invitation, received good care from himself and wife, and was brought on her journey the following day by them.
When grandfather became very old she took him to her home and nursed him. One snowy winter afternoon he lay down after dinner to rest, saying in verse: "He has kept my life for over eighty years. Now may I rest in happiness!" Soon he fell asleep, never to awaken.
He had four children--three sons and one daughter. The daughter, I have said, was a poetess, the first-born son the doctor of a prince, the second a teacher of war-tactics, and the youngest, my father, a philosopher and doctor. He first studied philosophy and travelled through the country. Once he sojourned in a place where the minister had a very fine old picture on which he had always wanted a poem written, but could find no person able to write it. My father wrote the desired poem, with which the people and minister were so pleased they wished him to stay a while and teach for them. They built him a house and gave him kind attention. He gathered many scholars about him, and remained there three years. The people wanted him to marry and make his home among them. Accordingly, arrangements were made, and he married the daughter of a village governor. Shortly after the marriage he took her to the home of his sister, leaving her there to study, as she was not an educated woman, while he went away to study medicine.
After he was graduated they went to the city of Tokio, where he began his practice of medicine. Many kings called him to serve them, but he loved freedom and would never go. His old scholars also called him to return to them. Shortly after my birth my parents returned to Ebalaki, where they remained.
I was the second eldest of four children. One brother was a doctor, and my sister was a teacher in a public school for women. This school was established by her, and was the first school for women in my native place.
My good father never worshipped idols, neither would he allow me to do so, but counselled me when a little girl to minister to the needs of the destitute whenever an opportunity presented itself, resting assured that a pure life and kind deeds would be rewarded. His advice I have never forgotten, and have ever tried to live in accord with it, gladly sharing whatever I had with those not so favoured. Near my home lived a poor widow who loved me very much. One evening I saw that the back of her dress was badly torn, and I said, "O bayah" (a word used addressing middle-aged or old women of the lower class), "your dress is torn behind." "Yes, ojosama" (miss), she said, "will you give some clothes to bayah?" I said I would, and running home quickly, I got a summer gown of my father's--a garment worn by both men and women--and gave it to her. The next morning she came to thank my mother for the garment. My mother looked first at one, then at the other, and for some little time could not speak for laughing; but finally she said it was all right.
Sometimes she scolded me for doing those things, but my father always said, "She is doing a good work. Do not be angry with her." Indeed, I gave my mother much trouble by my generosity, for when she had the dinner ready I many times would carry it out the back door and give it to the poor. My clothing also I frequently gave away. One winter afternoon--for we have our cold seasons in Japan--I took two little girls to a Buddhist garden. They were very scantlily clothed, and shivered in the cold north wind. My heart was moved with compassion, and, going with them behind the hedge, I took off two of my warm garments and gave one to each.
When thirteen years of age I began the study of Japanese poetry with my father. The poems made me think and wonder, while many questions arose in my mind. My father understood me better than any one else, and to him I went witih my questions. "Father," I said, "who is the true God, and where is he?"
"I do not know, my child, but think he is somewhere in the sky."
"Who made the earth, the people, the animals, and all other things?" I questioned.
"It may be the works of God," he answered, "because human power is not sufficient."
From that time I always thought there was one true God who dwelt in the sky, though for my thoughts I had no other evidence than the feeling that there must be some power in the universe greater and higher than mere human power.
That same year an incident occurred that showed my very plainly the utter folly of idol-worship. While walking to school one morning with a friend--a girl several years older than myself; she told me about an altar which her father had erected to a very popular god. She said all her friends and neighbours came together every night to worship him, and asked me to meet them with my mother. In answer to my question regarding what kind of a god he was, she said his name was Otamasama, and that he was very mighty and strong; in fact, that he was the most high God. I said, "O no! he is an idol, and my mother and I will never worship idols." "I think he will kill you because you speak against him," she exclaimed loudly. "Very well," I said, "if he is the true God I hope he will kill me, because I have always searched for him and shall be glad to know him. However, I do not believe this idol can kill me." She said he certainly would kill me because I doubted his being God. "Will you promise me one thing?" I said. "You have asked your god to kill me, and if he does not do it will you apologise for your hatred and angry words?" She thought a little while, then said she would.
As we neared home I charged her not to forget her promise, for I could see by her anxious face that she was greatly troubled. In the evening my most intimate friend told me that Tesa was going to have a meeting at her house, and was going to ask her god to kill me that very night. I told her not to let that trouble her, for I was certain her god was only an idol, but that I would go over and see her pray to him. Then, throwing my apron over my head, I hurried to her home. I could not open the gate, so crawled through a hole in the hedge and crept up to the parlour window. In Japan the custom is to have the parlour open on the lawn at the rear of the house. Windows made of fine heavy paper reach to the ground. No curtains are used, and the outside shutters are not closed until bedtime. In this large room or parlour was erected the altar. I was partly screened from view by the surrounding trees and shrubbery, and, tearing a small hole in the paper window, witnessed unobserved the ceremonies carried on inside.
There were about fifty people kneeling around the altar, on which was placed a paper image. Some clasped their hands and looked up at the image; some bowed before it until their faces almost touched the floor, and some had tinsel balls strung together like a necklace, which they rubbed between the palms of their hands, making a jingling sound, while all gave vent to exclamations of praise and adoration. Their faces were bathed in perspiration from their intense earnestness in calling for the spirit to come and enter that paper idol.
Before the altar stood a large iron pan in which a slow fire was kept burning, filling the room with smoke. I watched just as earnestly as they prayed, wondering what a spirit could be like. Then one of their number bowed very low, directly in front of the altar, and made a long prayer, in which he besought the spirit to come and take possession of him.
After a long time he shook the image, causing the paper ribbons to make a rustling noise--an indication to the people that his prayer was not being answered. "I feel very strange to-night," he said. "Why does not the spirit come? I think there must be some unbelievers here." He looked over the company, but found only his members there; then he opened the window and saw me sitting behind a small evergreen tree at the corner under the window. "A little unbelieving girl has confused our prayers to-night!" he exclaimed. Tesa's father came out to where I was, and, on recognising me, said to the prophet, "This little girl is the daughter of Dr. Tesai Sono. She and my daughter are school-mates." Then the prophet told him to drive me away quickly.
He wanted to do as he was bidden, so opened the gate and told me to go right home. "No," I said, "I will not go until your daughter acknowledges to me that her god is an idol. She promised me this morning that she would do that if he did not kill me to-night." Her father called to her and told her to come out, but she refused because she was afraid.
Her mother came and begged me to obey her and go home, saying she would make acknowledgment in her daughter's stead and would give me fruit and cake besides. That satisfied me, for I felt that I had come off victorious.
I said, "I will excuse her for your sake." It was then about ten o'clock, and I ran home with my apron full of cake and fruit, but said nothing to my parents about where I had been.
Chapter II.
When I was fourteen years old my father fell sick, and the doctors said that he could not live more than two or three days. This made my mother, sister, and brothers so sad that I could not stay with them in the house. I determinded to pray to the true God for my father's life, so, taking my best friend, Otama, with me into a secluded place in the garden near a well, I told her what I intended to do, and asked her to help me.
She listened earnestly while I talked, peering into my face too astonished to make any reply. At last she said, "Are you crazy to-night?" "No, I am not crazy. My mother, sister, and brothers are very sorrowful, and my own heart is almost broken; therefore I have decided to offer my own life as a sacrifice for my father's."
At this point she threw her arms around me, and after we had wept for some time in each other's embrace she said: "I will do as you wish, but if you die I want to die with you."
The ceremonies connected with prayer for the life of a friend were very solemn and awful, involving the sacrifice of the suppliant's life for that of the sick person, if necessaary. First, the hair was cut off and offered as a sacrifice--the most precious which could be offered; then the body was stripped, and cold water poured over it to purify and make prayer acceptable.
Taking a razor, I cut off my hair close to the scalp and hung it up under a tree. Next I took off all my clothing, and throwing it down on the grass, seated myself on a board by the well. Otama then poured three bucketsful of water on my head, causing it to run down over my entire body. I shook so with the cold, both from the water and the north wind that was blowing, that I could not utter one word of prayer at first; but after a while I did not feel the cold quite so much, and looking up toward the sky began to pray thus: "O true God! If you stay somewhere in the sky, please hear my voice! Please let me die for my father, for if he dies my mother will die also. Save the lives of my father and mother, I pray, O God, and I will sacrifice to you not only my hair, but my soul and body. If you do not spare my father's life I hope you will kill me just now! O, is there no true God in the world? I am so hungry to hear God's voice! O, please speak to me and save my father's life?"
After Otama had poured the water on my head she sat down on the grass behind me and listened to my prayer. Just as I was uttering the last sentence she cried with a loud voice. This attracted my grandmother's attention, and, taking a lighted candle in her hand, she with my nurse hurried into the garden. When they discovered us they were greatly shocked at my condition. My nurse caught up my clothing, and wrapping it around my naked body, carried me to the house and put me down by the fire, while my grandmother and friend followed us.
Grandmother looked into my face, put her hand on my head, and whispered something to my nurse; then both cried for a long time.
It was about eleven o'clock when nurse took me to bed, my friend staying to sleep with me. Not being able to sleep, I got up about midnight and went softly through the hall to my father's sick-room. Listening carefully at the door, I heard some one laugh. "That is my mother's voice," I said. "I believe God has heard my prayer and made my father better, or mother would not be laughing." Just then mother came out and saw me standing by the door. She looked into my face and said: "My dear, father is a little better; you did him good. Now run right to bed, and get a good sleep; then you may get up early and come to see him."
I obeyed, and slept soundly all the rest of the night. Rising early, I went to my father's room and looked anxiously into his face to see how he was. "My dear," he said, speaking slowly and in a very weak voice: "I am much better this morning, and think I will soon be well; you need not feel troubled about me any more. I hope that you will go to school to-day and have good lessons."
I ran away by myself and cried for joy. "Surely there is a true God somewhere," I said, and prayed again: "O, true God, I thank you very much for saving my father's life. Now I wish you would please keep him alive many years, and take my life any time instead." Then I went to school and played with the children.
My mind was perfectly at rest about my father from that time, and by Christmas, two months later, he was entirely well.
(To be continued.)
(Printed in the Parents' Review with the kind permission of Madame Tel Sono, in the hope of interesting many in her noble educational work.)
Proofread by LNL, Jul. 2023