THE LOTUS
The “time of the lotus” is suggestive of the damp hot August days when
from earliest dawn the cicadas will be singing, if their discordant
noise can be described as song, and the croaking of the frogs day and
night, makes one wonder at last whether frogs _never_ grow hoarse, or
cicadas _never_ tire of singing. From the last weeks in July till the
first weeks of September the lotus will be blooming bravely, undaunted
by the sun’s fierce rays; and the first breath of autumn, which brings
new life and energy to a human being after the heat of the summer, will
mean death to the lotus. Truly it is a beautiful flower this flower of
Buddha, as from its close association with the Buddhist religion it
seems essentially to belong to Buddha. The colossal figures known as
the Dai butsu at Kamakura and Nara sit in immovable calm as
[Illustration: LOTUS AT KODAIJI]
though drawing inspiration from the bronze lotus before them; the
silence of their souls is the silence of the flowers, and the
shape of the open blooms in the sunlight is the symbol of Buddha’s
enlightenment. Every little idol of Buddha, be it in the family shrine
or grand and stately temple, sits upon a lotus throne; the temples are
all decorated with carved lotus or the freshly cut flowers in their
season; gold and silver paper lotus are carried at funerals; tombstones
are often set upon a stone base in the form of a lotus flower, and
lotus beds are planted near shrines. The mighty feudal lord Iyeyasu
sleeps in the silence of Nikko’s cryptomerias, hearing only once in
a while the long sad cry of a great bell, and before him as his only
companions are the eternally same bronze lotus flowers. So not only is
the lotus the especial flower of Buddha, but it is also regarded as the
flower of death, and for that reason it is disliked as a decoration for
any occasion of rejoicing.
There is no more beautiful sight than a lotus bed at the dawn of a
hot August day. Stately and yet tender is the beauty of the lotus
blossom, the great buds opening with a noise which is indescribable
to one who has not heard it; and how quickly the delicate pink or
white petals unfurl, as though hastening to make the most of their
short life, for before the overpowering heat of the August noonday
the flower closes, to open once more on the morrow and then die a
graceful death; the petals dropping one by one, but still retaining
all the freshness of their colour, and then nothing will be left but
the great seed pod, very beautiful in itself, but not as beautiful as
the great bluish-green leaves studded with dewdrops, which seem to
reflect every passing cloud. For the beauty of the lotus lies not only
in its flowers; you will begin to see the beauty of the plant even
when the tender young leaves peep out shyly upon the surface of a pond
in early June; their colour is dark brown, and the Japanese call them
_zeniba_ from their resemblance to the shape of copper money. Then
day by day the leaves will spread and float out as a spirit upon the
water, gradually the stalks grow and they will get higher and higher,
their broad curling surfaces losing the bronze colour and turning to
every shade of soft green and deep emerald; and so through all the
scorching summer days they remain fresh and cool to look upon, until in
October they begin to flag, but they will be beautiful even in death.
The stalks then seem too weak to carry their burden any longer, and
suddenly, even as one
[Illustration: LOTUS AT KYOMIDZU]
watches them, the stem bends near the top, and the great curling leaf
will give one last shiver in the breeze, topple, and turn over and hang
with head bent as if in penitence.
Though the beauty of each individual flower may be short-lived, each
morning will bring fresh buds, which in a few hours open into fresh
flowers, bringing new beauty to the lotus bed; so its glory lasts for
six long weeks.
For the true lover of the lotus there can be scarcely any night, for
soon after midnight he must rise and start for the lotus pond to see
their real beauty and hear the opening of the buds with the sudden
touch of dawn; so in old days the Japanese used to visit the famous
Shinobazu pond in Uyeno Park, where the little temple dedicated to the
goddess Benten stands on a small peninsula, as though to protect the
lake from desecration, though if that were her mission she has surely
failed. Four years before, I too, in the early morning, had visited
the Shinobazu pond, and filled with awe and admiration had spent many
hours watching the rosy petals open, and the great glaucous leaves
toss hither and thither with every breath of wind, and the iridescent
dragon-flies darting through the air; until driven away at last by
the overwhelming heat, I had to seek shelter from the sun. Again last
August I felt I must see the lotus at Uyeno in all their glory; but
I feel ashamed, for the traditions of Japan, to say what greeted me.
Great staring Exhibition buildings in the worst possible taste have
been built all along the shores of this historical lake. But the worst
part is still to come: overshadowing the little shrine and into the
very heart of one of the great stretches of lotus leaves dashed a
water-chute. It took my breath away. I stood spell-bound, and then
turned away with horror and asked myself, as many other people, alas!
are asking: “Are the Japanese losing all their artistic feelings?”
Happily there are still many quiet spots where lotus grow, away from
the desecrating hand of the “new Japan,” and there we can sit and enjoy
this “emblem of purity,” its clean fresh flowers and leaves rising
unsullied from the stagnant mud; and this is one reason for associating
it with a religious life, or comparing it to the virtuous soul of a
woman who lives in suspicious surroundings.
A favourite Buddhist precept says: “If thou be born in the poor man’s
hovel, but hast wisdom, then art thou like the lotus flower growing out
of the mud!”
Wherever undisturbed pools and channels of muddy water exist, the lotus
is to be found: the old moats surrounding the remains of a grand old
Daimyo’s castle, the muddy temple or monastery ponds, and even the
ditches beside the railway, will all be rendered gay in the summer,
when the great pink and white lotus are in bloom. Their history is a
very old one, for their beauty is sung in the old Buddhist _sutra_,
and one passage describing the golden glory of Paradise tells of “a
pond where the lotus flowers large as a carriage-wheel grow; the green
flowers shine in green light, the yellow flowers in yellow light, red
flowers in red light, and the white flowers are supreme in beauty and
odour.”
It may be true that the leaves are as large and round as a
carriage-wheel--of a Japanese carriage, a _kuruma_; and certainly I
should be afraid to state rashly how large and high the foliage of the
white variety may grow. The white _Nelumbium speciosum_, for all the
so-called lotus of Japan are really this species of water-lily, has
a powerful and sweet perfume; but the pink ones, which are far more
beautiful, have but little scent. I think the leaves and their stems,
as well as the flower, must have their own peculiar odour; for often I
noticed near lotus beds, where no blossoms were to be seen, a strong
and rather sickly perfume came floating in the air in whiffs which will
always be associated in my mind with lotus, as I cannot compare their
scent to that of any other flower.
There are other varieties, one a deep crimson colour and one called
“gold-thread lotus,” but these are seldom seen. The Indian lotus has a
larger double flower, deep pink in colour, which never closes day or
night, and the blooms last in beauty for five or six days. In India,
the source and centre of Buddhism, the lotus has been chosen as a
national flower, and Burmah also is famed for its lotus; so wherever
Buddhism makes its presence felt, there you will find the lotus. Sir
Monier Williams says that “its constant use as an emblem seems to
result from the wheel-like form of the flower--the petals taking the
place of spokes, and thus typifying the doctrine of perpetual cycles of
existence.”
The lotus is a favourite subject with the Japanese artist in
conjunction with the mandarin duck and other water-fowl, and so
faithfully do the Japanese represent their flowers that each vein
in the leaves seems to be depicted if not exaggerated. Mr. Parsons
admirably describes the lotus, and also this form of exaggeration and
mannerism in their art--
Take for example the spots on the lotus stems; if you look very
closely you can see that there are spots, but certainly it could
not strike every artist as a marked feature of the plant, for they
are not visible three yards away. But some master noticed them
many years ago and spotted his stems, and now they all spot them,
the spots getting bigger and bigger; and so it will be until some
original genius arises who will not be content with other people’s
eyes, but will dare to look for himself, and he may perhaps,
without abandoning Japanese methods, get nearer to nature, and
start a renaissance in Japanese art.
He also remarks--
The lotus is one of the most difficult plants which it has ever
been my lot to try to paint: the flowers are at their best only in
the early morning, and each blossom, after it has opened, closes
again before noon of the first day; on the second day its petals
drop. The leaves are so large and so full of modelling that it
is impossible to generalise them as a mass, each one has to be
carefully studied, and every breath of wind disturbs their delicate
balance and completely alters their forms. Besides this, their
glaucous surface, like that of a cabbage leaf, reflects every
passing phase of the sky, and is constantly changing in colour as
clouds pass over.
Such is an artist’s true appreciation.
No honour seems too great for this flower of Buddha, and we are told
that you will be permitted, if you are fortunate enough to be among
those who are admitted into Nirvana, or Paradise, to sit upon the lotus
throne, leaving behind the dirt and dust of the world. In the days of
old Japan, when the religious influence was stronger, and far more
romantic than it is to-day, to sit together upon the lotus throne in
Paradise was the customary dream of two lovers who wished to commit
suicide.
Another honour for the lotus is that the Japanese dedicate their
wonderful and awe-inspiring mountain Fuji-san to it, and call it Fugo
Ho, meaning Lotus Peak. Thousands of their poets have sung praises of
this lotus peak, but to our minds the words of Mrs. M‘Neill Fenollosa
will be easier to understand: “Now far beyond the grayness, to the
west, the cone of Fuji flashes into splendour. It, too, is pink; its
shape is the shape of a lotus bud, and the long fissures that plough
the mountain-side are now but the delicate gold veining of a petal.
Slowly it seems to open. It is the chalice of a new day, and the pledge
of consecration.” It would seem as though the opening of the lotus
flower is the signal of the awakening of summer dawn and the opening of
a new day.
In Chinese literature there is a legend of Teiko
[Illustration: LOTUS FLOWERS]
who gathered his guests together on a midsummer day and put wine in the
lotus leaves and let his guests drink it from the stems of the leaves.
A truly romantic feast.
In Japan the leaves are used for dishes at the Soul’s Festival in July;
the dead spirits who return to this world from Hades are supposed to
eat the offerings from the leaf dishes. The Japanese have a delicacy
called _hasu meshi_--_hasu_ meaning lotus, _meshi_, rice--consisting of
the young and tender lotus leaves chopped fine and cooked with rice.
They also eat the little fruit of the lotus, no larger than a pebble,
which, contrary to most fruit, can be eaten raw when it is unripe, but
gets so terribly hard as it ripens that it has to be cooked. The dried
leaves seem to be valued as a drug, and also the vegetable-sellers wrap
their vegetables in them. All this is too unromantic to be associated
with the lotus, and I was better pleased to hear of the Japanese phrase
_ben po_, meaning lotus step, which they associate with the light step
of a beautiful woman. A pretty story of old China is told of the Lord
Tokonko of the province Sei, who was extravagant in the extreme. He
had as his mistress a lovely girl called Han hi. One day he made lotus
petals of real gold and scattered them in his garden; then he called
out to his mistress to let her step on them, and he was very happy to
see his fair lady and his gold flowers equally well matched in beauty.
Truly Han hi’s “lotus step” must have been a wonder.
In saying farewell to the time of the lotus I feel I cannot do better
than quote Mrs. Fenollosa’s charming poem--
For years, long years ago, on lake and river,
The lotus bloomed, with petals curl on curl
Close folded; and to full perfection never
Had opened wide those lattices of pearl.
Like fair white maids with finger-tips a-meeting,
Like wordless song unwed to music’s art,
They pierced the stream each morn in pallid greeting;
Then shrank in silence, for they had no heart.
Above them, nightly, stars would lean, and hover
With gifts of whisper-rays, and kisses long;
But all in vain, till one transcendent lover
Slid down from heaven among the startled throng.
At morn the flowers stood still like pale nuns hushing;
But one among them throbbed her sweetness far,
Like arms outspread the full-veined petals flushing,
For in her trembling heart there lay a star.
And since that hour the sky rains lovers ever;
All day they rock within that soft embrace.
At night the petals close; the stars up-quiver,
And sighing, seek their old accustomed place.