THE CHRYSANTHEMUM
“See a _kiri_ leaf fallen on the ground and know that autumn is with
us” is a common saying in Japan. The leaves of the _kiri_ (pawlonia)
tree are so responsive to the spirit of autumn, which advances steadily
till we see no garden flowers, no wild flowers, and have no longer the
song of the insects, and one cannot fail to be impressed with some
touch of sorrow; but the Japanese take sheer delight in the sadness of
autumn, for soon the white frosts will be thick upon the ground and
will turn the leaves of the maples on the mountain-side into a blaze
of scarlet and gold, and then the _kiku_ or chrysanthemum flowers will
open.
The chrysanthemum has often been called the national flower of Japan,
a rank more properly belonging to the cherry blossom; the mistake
arises from the fact that the sixteen-petalled chrysanthemum is the
Imperial emblem. The Japanese give a poetical reason for the choice
of this especial flower as the Emperor’s crest: as in olden days the
chrysanthemum used to be called _Kukuri hana_ or “Binding Flower,”
because as the blossoms tie or gather themselves together at the top,
so the Mikado binds himself round the hearts and souls of his people;
and it is a coincidence that the present Emperor’s birthday falls in
the _kiku_ month (November). For a thousand years the chrysanthemum
was admired as a retired beauty by the garden fence and under a simple
mode of culture; but it became the flower of the rich to a great extent
under the _Tokugawa_ feudal régime, and of late years the culture of
_kiku_ or chrysanthemum is the greatest luxury. It would probably
surprise one to know how much Count Okuma and Count Sakai, the two best
known chrysanthemum raisers in Japan, spend annually upon their plants;
and many other people have found the reason of their poverty in _kiku_
culture. Though one cannot but admire any advance in horticulture,
carried to such an extent it seems to me merely a degeneration, and
this “retired nobleman of flowers” (the Japanese call their _kiku_ one
of the _sikunshi_ or four
[Illustration: CHRYSANTHEMUMS, KYOTO]
floral gentlemen, the other floral gentlemen being the plum, bamboo,
and _ran_ or orchid) will grow quite as well, and attain as great
perfection, in some little humble dwelling which has only a miniature
garden, provided the necessary time and care, not money, is given to
the plants.
The chrysanthemum has always been much honoured by the Imperial Court,
and even in the ninth century garden parties were held in the Palace
gardens to do honour to the blossoms, even as in the present day a
yearly chrysanthemum party is held in the Imperial grounds. In ancient
days the guests sat drinking wine and composing odes to the blossoms,
and the courtiers adorned their hair with _kiku_ flowers, at these
pastoral feasts. To-day these modern displays of chrysanthemum plants
partake of our own conventional flower shows, the plants being arranged
somewhat formally in long open rustic sheds; but the variety of colour,
every imaginable shade being produced, and the profusion of form, also
the immense size of some of the plants, one alone a few years ago
bearing 1272 blooms, make a brilliant scene, different from any other
flower show in the world; for where else would the plants have such
a setting as in these beautiful Asakasa grounds, where the gorgeous
colour of the maples rivals that of the chrysanthemums.
From an artistic point of view there is nothing to admire in the great
chrysanthemum show which opens yearly at Dangozaka in Tokyo, and one
cannot but agree with the poet Hoichi Shonin, who says--
What an inferior heart of man!
Lo! a waxwork chrysanthemum show!
However, one must admit the cleverness and some sort of art in these
show pieces; and one cannot fail to be interested if only by watching
the expectant faces of the thousands or tens of thousands of people who
visit these different little shows. How the children’s faces beam when
they approach the place and see the thousands of flags and lanterns,
gaily coloured curtains and stalls decorated with souvenirs in every
conceivable form, of the day among the _kiku_ flowers. The people are
so enthusiastic over these puppet shows, which may be a scene from an
old play, an act from history, or, most interesting of all, the newest
occurrences of the day, all represented in chrysanthemums! In order to
make the figures pot plants are used, not cut flowers, but splendid
plants in full bloom, genuine plants, the roots of which are skilfully
hidden or disguised. The colours of the flowers will be combined to
represent the dresses, and indeed it is very interesting to see the
figures being prepared in October when the plants are in bud, for
each separate bud will be tied to the skeleton frame so that when the
blossoms are open they form a compact mass of colour; and it is also
very striking to notice the harmony of the colours, and then the bold
lines made by a contrast of colour.
A year or two ago there was nothing more popular than war scenes of the
Russian and Japanese campaign. One scene which has remained green in
the memory of many a Japanese was the representation of the blocking of
the harbour at Port Arthur, with Captain Hiroze, that valiant officer,
and his fellow _keshitai_ (determined to die) as the characters. It
was composed of two thousand chrysanthemum roots; upon a sea of the
royal flowers, dark coloured at the heart and rising to sprays of snow
white, to form the crests of the waves and tossing billows, rode the
boat manned by the heroes. The second scene was a tribute to the enemy:
it represented the stalwart white-bearded Russian Admiral Makaroff,
who, standing on the bridge, sword in hand, went down with his
ship--a veritable storm of white flowers, dashed with red, and here
and there a few sailors groping blindly. There was yet another show
which represented the night after the great battle of Lia Yang, when
the spirits of the dead soldiers appeared, all flower-clad, with white
swords in their hands, with which to salute the sleeping fighters.
Every year the showmen find some new subject in order to keep up the
people’s interest. Besides these dramatic shows, there are splendid
specimen plants; and what I always admired about the large plants in
Japan was the perfect foliage, the rather dwarfed growth, and the way
in which all the blossoms on the plant open together. There is a plant
called “Good Luck “ bearing a thousand flowers, all from a single root,
which is a great favourite, and certainly it is nothing short of a
horticultural wonder. Their fancy names seemed very poetical, and I
cannot refrain from quoting a few, with their translation, in the words
of a Japanese--
“Look at the ‘Princesses of the Blood’ in a long stately row, tall
and graceful, their proud flowers resplendent and white as the driven
snow; or here is _Ake-no-sora_, ‘the Sky at Dawn,’ with a pale pink
flower the colour of cherry blossoms; or _Asa hi no nami_, ‘Waves in
the Morning Sun,’ because it has a pale reddish blossom; also _Yu hi
kage_, ‘Shadows of the Evening Sun,’ with dull red blooms; and finally
the pure white ‘Companions of the Moon,’ _Tsuki-no-tomo_.” There
appeared to be over 150 of these poetical flowers.
But do not imagine that it is only in the gardens of the rich or
arranged as waxwork puppet shows that you will find chrysanthemums, for
surely, if that were the case, little pleasure would be derived from
their beloved _kiku_. It has been said of the Japanese, “It is not the
plant he loves, but the effect that the plant enables him to attain.”
This may be true of plants in relation to the landscape garden, where
everything must be according to the rubric or laws of gardening, but
surely it is not true of chrysanthemum plants. Many an enthusiast
have I known to whom his _kiku_ was his most valued and cherished
possession, and daily were the “Plants of the Four Seasons” (a fancy
name for chrysanthemums on account of their period of growth extending
through all the seasons) tended with loving hands. We are told of a
great man in the days of the Min dynasty who, tired of struggling with
the world and life, gave up his rank and retired to some forgotten
spot, entirely in order to enjoy the sight of the chrysanthemum in his
garden and a jug of wine; and the greatest delight of his life was
to see the flowers bedewed in the morning light, and to exchange his
poet’s faith and love with this “nobleman of flowers.” Perhaps in these
days when the curse of modern civilisation is spreading throughout
the land we shall not see many such enthusiasts as Yen Mei; but there
are still many chrysanthemum lovers, many to whom the first week in
November is the best week of the year. Just as the Japanese admire the
flower for its noble bearing, so did I admire the bearing of their
owners; however humble the dwelling, however small the collection, the
proud possessor seemed always to be one of “Nature’s noblemen”; never
did I encounter such warm and true hospitality combined with dignity
and grace as during the _kiku_ month from my chrysanthemum hosts. One
scene especially seems to have remained graven into my memory, in that
land of surprises.
A friend offered to take me to see some especially fine chrysanthemums;
their owner, he said, was celebrated for their culture; and he led me
through the whole length and breadth of the fish market, I imagined
only in order to make a short cut to our destination, but no! we
stopped in front of a large fish-stall, and at the magic word _kiku_
[Illustration: A CHRYSANTHEMUM GARDEN]
the owner’s face beamed with delight, for surely here was a
fellow-enthusiast, even though she is a “foreigner,” come to admire his
beloved flowers. He signed to me to thread my way past the somewhat
unappetising-looking fish, and, as though at the touch of a fairy wand,
the scene changed. A paper shutter slid back and the beauty revealed
beyond surpassed anything that mortal could imagine--little corners
and flashes of loveliness in all directions. At the very entrance
were grouped a few splendid plants, each bloom perfection itself, and
then with cries of “Irasshai irasshai” (Welcome, welcome) and the
regulation greeting of “Please come in, my house is yours” from every
side, I entered, crossing the cool matting, past a tiny court filled
with the treasured plants and adorned with a hanging iron lantern
which filled my soul with envy, through the spotless rooms with the
alcove and the regulation _kakemono_ and the _tokonoma_ on which stood
a flower arrangement of _Baka sakura_ (“Fool Cherry,” because it has
come into flower at the wrong season), to the court beyond, where
stood the famous collection. The whole scene diffused a feeling of
perfect contentment as I sat upon the regulation _fukusa_ in the place
of honour, the place corresponding to the “Stone of Contemplation”
of every Japanese garden, the one spot from which the whole effect is
seen to best advantage. The plants were grouped in front of the family
shrine, and to protect them from the autumn storms a light roofing
of paper and bamboo had been erected; the little garden contained a
few stepping-stones, a bronze water basin, a few lanterns, and to
screen off any possible view of anything suggestive of fish was a
delicate bamboo screen-fence. The blossoms seemed to represent every
colour, shape, and size that it was possible for a chrysanthemum to
assume, all perfectly grown plants. Some varieties were quite new to
me--tall, slender-growing stems crowned with little fluffy blossoms not
suggesting the usual form of a chrysanthemum; another, which when fully
developed would form a complete pyramid of closely packed petals of a
dark crimson hue, was awarded the place of honour, as there were only
two other plants of the same kind in all Japan. I noticed some plants
bearing a label which differed from any others, and then I was told
that each year a special messenger is sent by the Emperor to choose
a few plants from this humble fishmonger’s garden to be added to the
Imperial collection. The labelled plants formed this year’s offering
to his Mikado, and small wonder they were the pride of the house; and
I too was impressed by the feeling that in the floral kingdom, as in a
Higher Kingdom, all men are equal, as the _kiku_ flowers had grown as
well, if not better, in this lowly dwelling as in the Emperor’s vast
domains.
I cannot recall any incident during all my stay in Japan which gave
me more pleasure than my visit to this humble home, and as I left,
laden with little _kiku_ cakes and with the prescribed compliments,
obeisances, and sincere admiring exclamations over the flowers, I had
every intention of availing myself of the repeated invitations to
“Please come again.” The plants one day were in their full glory, the
great heads of perfect blossom had only just attained perfection, when
I was told that this was to be their last day of life, on the morrow
every plant would be cut down. I exclaimed in horror at this apparent
slaughter of the innocents in their prime of life, but it was explained
to me that the sacrifice was necessary in order to secure the cuttings
for the next year’s plants. I could not help thinking that if I had
nursed the cherished plants all through the year, shading them from the
intense heat of summer on the house-top, never allowing them to know
the want of water, I could not have spared the blossoms in their prime
even for the sake of the next year’s growth.
Many another peaceful little garden I can recall where I was welcomed
with all the grace and hospitality suggestive of Old Japan, and to
this day apparently inseparable from the lovers of chrysanthemums.
Two neighbours vied with each other in _kiku_ culture, their houses
only separated by a few yards. In one, an old man, whose bearing and
manners suggested the Daimyo of olden days, sat as if he too, tired of
the world, had retired with the sole companionship of his plants. Very
lovely was his tiny garden, with the plants just grouped in front of
the two rooms which constituted his entire house, and there he sat in
quiet contemplation, or bowing low to meet some new-comer who had come
to admire his flowers, and all seemed welcome, strangers and friends
alike, as long as they loved the blossoms. Here might be seen the great
sun-like _Nihon Ichi_(“First in Japan”), white and yellow; and there is
_Haruna Kasumi_, like its name, suggesting spring haze, or _Natsu gumo_
(“Summer Clouds”); but with all this infinite variety I noticed that,
like in China, where by “the yellow flower” is meant the chrysanthemum
of that country, so here in Japan, the yellow blossoms
[Illustration: CHRYSANTHEMUMS]
seemed the most prized, though the pure white is a close rival for
popularity, their blooms thick with the morning dew reminding us of the
fairy who lived only by sipping the dews upon the _kiku_ flowers. How
beautiful, too, are these white blossoms in death when the frost has
made their petals turn slowly to a crimson colour.
Across the road I found another little sanctuary, another home for
the flowers. Here a tiny tea-room was the point of vantage, and from
there I gazed, sipping tea from the daintiest of tiny cups. What an
ideal place to sit and meditate and wonder over the goodness of things!
Below was the rocky bed of a stream, but it was a dry river-bed, only
white pebbles represented the stream, and on the banks were grouped the
plants, forming a sheet of colour--great gorgeous blossoms, not of such
mammoth and unnatural proportions as our show blooms, but every kind
were here, single, loose, or double; stiff, flopping, or erect; borne
in a veritable harvest.
Yet another humble dwelling I remember where the plants were grouped
with consummate art. In every garden there should be a keynote in the
scheme, and here the keynote was the view of Hieisan: framed between
the blossoms, which grew in a great foaming mass, rose the great
mountain, as though it were the guardian of the garden. The plants had
brilliantly rewarded a loyal devotion, and as I turned away I realised
the manner in which Japanese love their flowers.
As I sat admiring their gardens, my friends told me many fairy stories
and legends connected with the _kiku_. Perhaps one of the prettiest is
called “The Chrysanthemum Promise.” Samon Hase, a scholar and samurai,
offered a night’s lodging to a gentleman from the western country, and
his guest suddenly fell ill. Samon promised the sick man to give him
every help: “Be easy in your thought. Above all, be not discouraged!”
The sick man was Soemon Akana, who had been with a friend on a mission
which failed, and his friend was killed, and he was on his way home
when he fell ill. Samon and Soemon quickly became friends, and finally
they promised to be as brothers to each other. The latter stayed
until he grew well; and then he said he must go back to his native
province of Izume, but promised that he would return again and stay
with Samon for the rest of his days. He said firmly that the day of the
chrysanthemum feast (ninth of September in the old calendar) would be
the day of his return.
September came, and on the ninth Samon rose early to make preparations
for his returning brother. The sun began slowly to set, but Soemon did
not come. Samon thought he would retire to bed, but as he looked out
once more into the night he noticed that the moon was hiding behind the
hill, and he saw a curious black shadow coming towards him with the
wind. It was Soemon Akana.
Samon made his brother sit by the chrysanthemum vase in the place
of honour, and Akana said, “I have no word to express my thanks for
your kindness. But pray listen, and do not doubt me: I am not a
living person but only a shadow”; and he told how he had been put in
prison, but finding no other means of escape he killed himself. “As
I was told,” he said, “that a spirit could travel a thousand miles a
day, so I killed myself, and rode on the wind to see you on this day
of my chrysanthemum promise.” I felt if this legend were taught in
the schools of to-day a moral might be pointed with advantage on the
subject of keeping appointments and promises, which is not a strong
point with the modern Japanese.
There is another pretty story of two brothers who had always lived
together in the north of Japan. The time came for them to separate,
and when the younger one was about to start on his journey south,
they wept bitterly, and said that each would keep the half of a
chrysanthemum plant in memory of the other, and thereby recall the
happy days they had spent together. The brothers afterwards planted
the halves in two gardens, one in the north, the other in the south;
but the blossoms, it is said, kept the original shape of the half of a
chrysanthemum for ever.
The chrysanthemum is so associated with the story of O Kiku, the little
maid of Himeji, in the province of Banshu, that I feel I cannot do
better than tell it in the words of Lafcadio Hearn--
Himeji contains the ruins of a great castle of thirty turrets; and
a daimyo used to dwell therein, whose revenue was one hundred and
fifty-six thousand koku of rice. Now, in the house of one of that
daimyo’s chief retainers was a maid-servant of good family, whose
name was O Kiku; and the Kiku signifies a chrysanthemum flower.
Many precious things were entrusted to her charge, and among
other things ten costly dishes of gold. One of these was suddenly
missed and could not be found; and the girl, being responsible
therefor, and knowing not otherwise how to prove her innocence,
drowned herself in a well. But ever thereafter her ghost, returning
nightly, could be heard counting the dishes slowly, with sobs:
_Ichi-mai_, _Ni-mai_, _San-mai_, _Yo-mai_, _Go-mai_, _Roku-mai_,
_Shichi-mai_, _Hachi-mai_, _Ku-mai_.
Then there would be heard a despairing cry and a loud burst
of weeping, and again the girl’s voice counting the dishes
plaintively: “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.”
Her spirit passed into the body of a strange little insect, whose
head faintly resembled that of a ghost with long dishevelled hair;
and it is called _O kiku-mushi_, or the “fly of O Kiku”; and it is
found, they say, nowhere save in Himeji. A famous play was written
about O Kiku, which is still acted in all the popular theatres,
entitled _Banshu-O-Kiku-no-Sara-Ya-shiki_, or “The Manor of the
Dish of O Kiku of Banshu.”
But there are people who say that Banshu is Bancho, an ancient quarter
of Tokyo (Yedo). The people of Himeji claim, however, that part of
their city now called Go-Ken-Yashiki is the site of the ancient manor
of the story. And it is deemed unlucky to cultivate chrysanthemums in
Go-Ken-Yashiki.