THE ANCIENT CITY OF SLEEP.
"How would four young parties and another younger party, who claims to be
old and rheumatic, but isn't, like to take a trip?" asked Mr. Campbell
one evening at dinner.
Through the inky curtain of blackness that had for days overcast the
skies the sun had at last burst with a radiance that seemed twice as
great to unaccustomed eyes. From somewhere a life-giving breeze had
sprung up and driven away the vapors. Back rolled the walls of mist and
fog, and in a few hours the world became a smiling paradise of flowers
and of grass and foliage of intensest green.
Immediately the aspect of life changed. Four young parties and a party
who claimed to be old but wasn't were eager for anything that would
furnish variety after the late monotony of existence.
"I feel," said Mr. Campbell, "that we have all been suffering from
certain states of mind that about match the 'Comet's' disguise, and it
occurred to me that a change of air would be beneficial."
"And will the 'Cornet' go, too?" asked Billie.
"I'm afraid the 'Comet' is not built for mountain roads in Japan, little
daughter," answered her father. "We'll go by train and then by
jinrikshas, much as I regret to leave your gasoline pet behind."
"But where are we going?" asked Miss Campbell, in a tone of noble
resignation, so chastened were her high spirits by the pains of
rheumatism.
"I am going to take you to Nikko to spend a few days, and in order to
liven up things a bit the boys are coming, too, even old Mr. Buxton."
"Is--" began Nancy, and checked herself.
"Well, Miss Nancy, 'is' what?" asked Mr. Campbell, smiling.
Billie knew perfectly well that Nancy was going to say: "Is Yoritomo
going?" but had changed her mind, when she asked instead:
"Is Nikko a town?"
"It's a number of things. It's considered by some people to be the most
beautiful place in the world, for one thing. It's a small town; it's a
magnificent forest of cryptomerias; and it's a sacred mountain, and a
collection of marvelous old temples and tombs and statues of Buddha.
But first and foremost it is a cool, green, lovely spot with good, dry,
pine-scented air for certain persons feeling in need of such."
If Mr. Campbell had a fault it was that when he decided to do a thing he
wanted to do it at once. Having been a man of camps and considerable
lonely wanderings about the world, he had been able to gratify this
tendency to decide and act quickly. But it was not so simple with a
party of women, and when he announced that they were to start next
morning early there was some silent consternation among them.
However, such was the force of Mr. Campbell's personality when he
announced a decision that not even that fearless and redoubtable woman,
Helen Campbell, had the courage to raise any objections. It was true she
had engaged a masseuse at eleven o'clock; the laundry had not been
finished; certain persons had planned to shampoo heads, and Mme. Fontaine
had asked permission to call in the afternoon.
"All of which things must be postponed and overlooked," thought Miss
Campbell.
Mr. Campbell had hired a villa for their short stay. Komatsu was to go
along as cook and to carry excess luggage. And they were to take a train
at the unearthly hour of eight o'clock a.m., which meant rising at an
even more unearthly hour; all of which to a great engineer was a mere
trifle.
But who could be in a bad humor on such a glorious morning? Moreover,
several funny things happened which set them all laughing as they started
off. Komatsu appeared, strung with cooking utensils like a tin man.
"Not muchly good in a renting-house. Komatsu take honorable saucepan," he
explained.
In his arms, beside the luncheon hamper, he bore also a beautiful bunch
of lilies.
As they climbed into their 'rikshas they were aware of the sound of
clipping, and glancing toward the summer-house, beheld twelve old women
cutting the grass with large shears. Most of them were widows, as could
readily be seen by their short hair. Their worn old faces were wreathed
in smiles, when they presently touched their foreheads to the grass in
profound obeisances.
"The dear old things," cried Miss Campbell. "O'Haru, do see that they
have a good lunch."
No need to give such a command to O'Haru. Refreshments are always given
to persons who come in for a day's work in a private place in Japan.
The next amusing incident was the appearance of the old gardener, Saiki,
who came running around the house grasping a bunch of roses.
Giving Mr. Campbell the largest and most beautiful, he divided the others
among the ladies.
"Honorable flower for looking on train," he said, with his inimitable
smile.
And so, at last they started. All the servants lined up to bid them a
respectful farewell. Billie, turning around, saw them gathered in a group
on the piazza, fading into spots of bright color in the distance, with
the old grass-cutters' robes making a splash of sky blue on the lawn.
"Oh, Nancy," she exclaimed, "there never were such people as the
Japanese, so simple and adorable."
Nancy, engaged in pinning a rose on the lapel of her coat and looking at
the effect with her pocket mirror, made no reply.
At the railroad station they were met by Reggie, Nicholas and Mr. Buxton.
Everybody was in the wildest spirits because of the change in the
weather, and as they crowded, laughing and jostling each other, into the
train, the Japanese travelers smiled good-naturedly. They liked to see
Americans enjoying the country.
Scarcely had they settled themselves in the train when they became aware
that two Japanese women were smiling and bowing repeatedly in the most
cordial manner.
"Why, it's Mme. Ito," exclaimed Miss Campbell.
"And O'Kami San," finished Mary, who remembered names for everybody.
"Are you going to Nikko, too, O'Kami San?" asked Billie, sitting beside
the pretty little Japanese.
O'Kami San looked much embarrassed and hung her head.
"Make honorable journey to husband's home," she said in a low voice.
"Have you been getting married?" demanded Billie, astonished.
"Yesterdays passing four," answered O'Kami San.
"You mean four days ago?"
"Yes, honorable Mees Cam-el."
Both Japanese women were beautifully dressed and it came out during the
conversation that the young bride was wearing no less than five elaborate
kimonos.
"But why?" demanded Billie.
O'Kami San explained that it was to avoid the inconveniences of luggage.
They were going to a little town in the hills and it would be difficult
to carry trunks.
Around her head the bride wore a broad band of pink silk, almost covering
her hair, to keep the horns of jealousy from growing.
Billie looked at her pityingly.
"Poor little thing," she thought. "Why doesn't that good-for-nothing
brother teach her something? It doesn't seem to me that his schooling did
him any good. He's so fanatical and bigoted."
"I hope you will be very happy, O'Kami San," said Mary. "I believe you
said there was no mother-in-law."
"Not no mother-in-law," answered the bride, in the tone of one describing
a great blessing. "Honorable husband of age like mother-in-law."
"You mean your husband is not young?"
O'Kami San nodded.
"Verily old," she said, with just the faintest quiver at the corners of
her mouth.
Mary and Billie regarded her with compassion. How little romance there
was in a Japanese girl's life! O'Kami San, so young and pretty and
charming, too, was about to enter into years of drudgery perhaps; the
wife of a cranky old man, and here she was accepting her fate as calmly
as a novitiate about to take the vows for life and enter a convent.
"New husband much rich," she said. "Much old. Need attentionly young
wife."
Only once did O'Kami San glance at the two handsome young men who
belonged to the Campbell party. But Nicholas, always gallant and
thoughtful, helped Mme. Ito and her daughter to alight at the way-station
where they were to change cars, while Reggie carried their small
belongings and placed them on the platform.
"God bless you, O'Kami San," called Billie, leaning far out of the
window. And if the little Japanese girl did not understand the meaning of
the salutation she comprehended the spirit of it.
"Receive thanks," she said formally, her eyes glistening suspiciously.
Then she gave the Japanese farewell, "Sayonara" (since it must be), and
waved her little hands until the train was out of sight.
Billie watched her sadly. The lines of the five kimonos, which could be
distinctly counted where they crossed at her neck, seemed to symbolize
the heavy marriage yoke the little bride had slipped so uncomplainingly
over her head, and as for that pink silk head band to keep down the horns
of jealousy, it might just as well have been an iron band with spikes in
it, for all the sentiment and romance it represented. But little O'Kami
San had gone up into the hills to her aged husband, and if she guessed
that there was anything brighter and happier than just being an
"attentionly wife" to an old man, she never murmured. No one has ever
plumbed the depths of unselfishness and self-sacrifice of the little
Japanese wife.
During the last few miles of the journey they left the train and took to
jinrikshas. Along a magnificent avenue they rode, built through a forest
of cryptomerias towering one hundred and eighty feet high, some of them
with trunks thirty feet in diameter. They were like the columns of a
gigantic cathedral of which the sky was the dome.
After refreshing themselves with tea at their little villa and removing
the grime of the journey, the travelers wandered off into the ancient
forest, cool and gray and very still, except for the sound of the wind
whispering through the pine trees.
Terraced stairways of gray stone climb up the mountainside from temple to
temple and court to court. Over a busy little river hung the scarlet
bridge of beauty which no profane foot may ever touch, only the Emperor's
consecrated feet. No human hand has mended the sacred bridge for nearly
three centuries, but it is said to be in perfect repair.
Passing along the temples and shrines that crowded one another on the
hillside, they came at last to a row of images of Buddha, innumerable
stone statues of the god, his kindly, gentle face almost obliterated by
spray from the river and a soft mantle of moss. There is a tradition
which says that no two people have ever counted these images with the
same results, and while the others wandered up the next terraced flight
of steps, Billie and Mary remained to count the Buddhas.
The loud song of the little river rushing by them dazed their senses and
when they reached the end Billie had counted eighty and Mary only
seventy-five.
"Let's try again," said Billie; once more they followed the interminable
line and once more there was a wide discrepancy between the results.
For the third time they started the count, and finally came as near as
seventy-eight and seventy-nine; but the act of counting and recounting
had a curious effect on their senses. It seemed to make them very sleepy,
or perhaps it was the magic of that ancient place, the monotonous song
of the torrent and the cool gray shadows in the depths of the forest
where the sun never penetrated.
"Do you know, Billie, I think I'll have to rest a moment before we join
the others," said Mary, leading the way up the hillside and sitting down
under a giant pine tree. "I'm almost paralyzed with sleep."
"I feel the same way," answered Billie drowsily. "We can catch up with
them later. Suppose we take a little repose, as a French lady I knew used
to say."
The two girls removed their hats, and making pillows of their jackets
they stretched themselves on the soft carpet of pine needles. Presently,
lulled by the monotonous water song and the murmur of the wind through
the trees, they dropped off into a sleep so profound and deep that they
did not hear the voices of their friends returning to search for them.
The enchantment of centuries had woven its net about their feet and
stilled their senses; for Nikko is called the "City of Rest," and an
endless number of saints and holy men who once lived and prayed among its
groves now sleep there.
The two young girls sank deeper and deeper into the peaceful sleep which
the atmosphere of Nikko breathes. Their souls seemed to have entered the
region of the most profound rest that may come to a living person.
And while they slept the sun sank and the twilight of the forest faded
into night. But the searchers had taken the wrong path and their cries
grew fainter and fainter as they ranged the mountainside for the lost
girls. Among the trees their paper lanterns glowed like fireflies and
occasionally there was a long cry: "A-hai!"
But Buddha himself must have placed the seal of sleep on the young girls'
eyes.