ombre shadow, strange, weird, a breath of
antiquity, of savagery, of something indefinable, which casts a gloom
of sadness. And then the only gayety that remains is the gayety of
the young children, of little mouskos and little mousmes, who spread
themselves like a wave through the streets filled with shadow, as they
swarm from schools and workshops. On the dark background of all these
wooden buildings, the little blue and scarlet dresses stand out in
startling contrast,--drolly bedizened, drolly draped; and the fine loops
of the sashes, the flowers, the silver or gold topknots stuck in these
baby chignons, add to the vivid effect.

They amuse themselves, they chase one another, their great pagoda
sleeves fly wide open, and these tiny little mousmes of ten, of five
years old, or even younger still, have lofty head-dresses and imposing
bows of hair arranged on their little heads, like grown-up women. Oh!
what loves of supremely absurd dolls at this hour of twilight gambol
through the streets, in their long frocks, blowing their crystal
trumpets, or running with all their might to start their fanciful kites.
This juvenile world of Japan--ludicrous by birth, and fated to become
more so as the years roll on--starts in life with singular amusements,
with strange cries and shouts; its playthings are somewhat ghastly,
and would frighten the children of other countries; even the kites have
great squinting eyes and vampire shapes.

And every evening, in the little dark streets, bursts forth the overflow
of joyousness, fresh, childish, but withal grotesque to excess. It would
be difficult to form any idea of the incredible things which, carried by
the wind, float in the evening air.

CHAPTER XXXIX. A LADY OF JAPAN

My little Chrysantheme is always attired in dark colors, a sign here of
aristocratic distinction. While her friends Oyouki-San, Madame Touki,
and others, delight in gay-striped stuffs, and thrust gorgeous ornaments
in their chignons, she always wears navy-blue or neutral gray, fastened
round her waist with great black sashes brocaded in tender shades, and
she puts nothing in her hair but amber-colored tortoiseshell pins. If
she were of noble descent she would wear embroidered on her dress in the
middle of the back a little white circle looking like a postmark with
some design in the centre of it--usually the leaf of a tree; and this
would be her coat-of-arms. There is really nothing wanting but this
little he