I am agreeably surprised to find, as we pass again under a magnificent
bronze torii which I admired the night before, that the approaches to
the temple lose very little of their imposing character when seen
for the first time by sunlight. The majesty of the trees remains
astonishing; the vista of the avenue is grand; and the vast spaces of
groves and grounds to right and left are even more impressive than I
had imagined. Multitudes of pilgrims are going and coming; but the
whole population of a province might move along such an avenue without
jostling. Before the gate of the first court a Shinto priest in full
sacerdotal costume waits to receive us: an elderly man, with a pleasant
kindly face. The messenger commits us to his charge, and vanishes
through the gateway, while the elderly priest, whose name is Sasa, leads
the way.
Already I can hear a heavy sound, as of surf, within the temple
court; and as we advance the sound becomes sharper and recognisable--a
volleying of handclaps. And passing the great gate, I see thousands of
pilgrims before the Haiden, the same huge structure which I visited last
night. None enter there: all stand before the dragon-swarming doorway,
and cast their offerings into the money-chest placed before the
threshold; many making contribution of small coin, the very poorest
throwing only a handful of rice into the box. [10] Then they clap their
hands and bow their heads before the threshold, and reverently gaze
through the Hall of Prayer at the loftier edifice, the Holy of Holies,
beyond it. Each pilgrim remains but a little while, and claps his hands
but four times; yet so many are coming and going that the sound of the
clapping is like the sound of a cataract.
Passing by the multitude of worshippers to the other side of the Haiden,
we find ourselves at the foot of a broad flight of iron-bound steps
leading to the great sanctuary--steps which I am told no European before
me was ever permitted to approach. On the lower steps the priests of the
temple, in full ceremonial costume, are waiting to receive us. Tall
men they are, robed in violet and purple silks shot through with
dragon-patterns in gold. Their lofty fantastic head-dresses, their
voluminous and beautiful costume, and the solemn immobility of their
hierophantic attitudes make them at first sight seem marvellous statues
only. Somehow or other there comes suddenly back to me the memory of a
strange French print I used to wonder at when a child, representing a
group of Assyrian astrologers. Only their eyes move as we approach. But
as I reach the steps all simultaneously salute me with a most gracious
bow, for I am the first foreign pilgrim to be honoured by the privilege
of an interview in the holy shrine itself with the princely hierophant,
their master, descendant of the Goddess of the Sun--he who is still
called by myriads of humble worshippers in the remoter districts of this
ancient province Ikigami, 'the living deity.' Then all become absolutely
statuesque again.
I remove my shoes, and am about to ascend the steps, when the tall
priest who first received us before the outer gate indicates, by a
single significant gesture, that religion and ancient custom require
me, before ascending to the shrine of the god, to perform the ceremonial
ablution. I hold out my hands; the priest pours the pure water over them
thrice from a ladle-shaped vessel of bamboo with a long handle, and
then gives me a little blue towel to wipe them upon, a votive towel with
mysterious white characters upon it. Then we all ascend; I feeling very
much like a clumsy barbarian in my ungraceful foreign garb.
Pausing at the head of the steps, the priest inquires my rank in
society. For at Kitzuki hierarchy and hierarchical forms are maintained
with a rigidity as precise as in the period of the gods; and there are
special forms and regulations for the reception of visitors of every
social grade. I do not know what flattering statements Akira may have
made about me to the good priest; but the result is that I can rank only
as a common person--which veracious fact doubtless saves me from some
formalities which would have proved embarrassing, all ignorant as I
still am of that finer and more complex etiquette in which the Japanese
are the world's masters.