"In Chinese and in Japanese books there are related many stories,--both
of ancient and of modern times,--about pictures that were so beautiful
as to exercise a magical influence upon the beholder. And concerning
such beautiful pictures,--whether pictures of flowers or of birds or of
people, painted by famous artists,--it is further told that the shapes
of the creatures or the persons, therein depicted, would separate
themselves from the paper or the silk upon which they had been painted,
and would perform various acts;--so that they became, by their own will,
really alive. We shall not now repeat any of the stories of this
class which have been known to everybody from ancient times. But
even in modern times the fame of the pictures painted by Hishigawa
Kichibei--'Hishigawa's Portraits'--has become widespread in the land."
[8] He died in the eighteenth year of Kyoho (1733). The painter
to whom he refers--better known to collectors as Hishigawa
Kichibei Moronobu--flourished during the latter part of the
seventeenth century. Beginning his career as a dyer's
apprentice, he won his reputation as an artist about 1680,
when he may be said to have founded the _Ukiyo-ye_ school of
illustration. Hishigawa was especially a delineator of what
are called _furyu_, ("elegant manners"),--the aspects of
life among the upper classes of society.
He then proceeds to relate the following story about one of the
so-called portraits:--
There was a young scholar of Kyoto whose name was Tokkei. He
used to live in the street called Muromachi. One evening,
while on his way home after a visit, his attention was attracted
by an old single-leaf screen (_tsuitate_), exposed for sale
before the shop of a dealer in second-hand goods. It was only
a paper-covered screen; but there was painted upon it the
full-length figure of a girl which caught the young man's
fancy. The price asked was very small: Tokkei bought the
screen, and took it home with him.
When he looked again at the screen, in the solitude of his
own room, the picture seemed to him much more beautiful than
before. Apparently it was a real likeness,--the portrait of a
girl fifteen or sixteen years old; and every little detail
in the painting of the hair, eyes, eyelashes, mouth, had
been executed with a delicacy and a truth beyond praise. The
_manajiri_[9] seemed "like a lotos-blossom courting favor"; the
lips were "like the smile of a red flower"; the whole young face
was inexpressibly sweet. If the real girl so portrayed had been
equally lovely, no man could have looked upon her without losing
his heart. And Tokkei believed that she must have been thus
lovely;--for the figure seemed alive,--ready to reply to anybody
who might speak to it.
[9] Also written _mejiri_,--the exterior canthus of the
eye. The Japanese (like the old Greek and the old
Arabian poets) have many curious dainty words and
similes to express particular beauties of the hair,
eyes, eyelids, lips, fingers, etc.
Gradually, as he continued to gaze at the picture, he felt
himself bewitched by the charm of it. "Can there really have
been in this world," he murmured to himself, "so delicious a
creature? How gladly would I give my life--nay, a thousand
years of life!--to hold her in my arms even for a moment!" (The
Japanese author says "for a few seconds.") In short, he became
enamoured of the picture,--so much enamoured of it as to feel
that he never could love any woman except the person whom it
represented. Yet that person, if still alive, could no longer
resemble the painting: perhaps she had been buried long before
he was born!
Day by day, nevertheless, this hopeless passion grew upon
him. He could not eat; he could not sleep: neither could he
occupy his mind with those studies which had formerly delighted
him. He would sit for hours before the picture, talking to
it,--neglecting or forgetting everything else. And at last he
fell sick--so sick that he believed himself going to die.
Now among the friends of Tokkei there was one venerable scholar
who knew many strange things about old pictures and about young
hearts. This aged scholar, hearing of Tokkei's illness, came to
visit him, and saw the screen, and understood what had happened.
Then Tokkei, being questioned, confessed everything to his
friend, and declared:--"If I cannot find such a woman, I shall
die."