THE MAPLE LEAVES
The Japanese quite rightly give the name of _Ko haru_ or Little Spring
to the Indian summer, Keats’s season of mists and mellow fruitfulness;
for indeed those beautiful weeks in November are incomparable, the
heavy damp heat of the summer has lifted, the sky is clear and blue,
the atmosphere is light, and the freshness of spring seems to have
returned to revive the dying year. They say, “Here is the right end,
since we had a right start.” These fortunate people who rejoice in
the beauty of spring beginning with the plum blossoms born out of
the frost, now have the autumn with the _momiji_ or maple leaves to
complete the floral season, and the red leaves will be the beauty of
the maturing year. Autumn weaves her red and gold brocade and spreads
it on mountain and tree, the whole country being alight with the
scarlet
[Illustration: THE SCARLET MAPLE]
and gold of the _momiji_; for not only the maples are called _momiji_,
but any tree whose leaves turn red in their last moment of life.
Throughout the land there are favourite places where the holiday-maker
holds his maple-viewing feast. The trees at Nikko are probably the
first to turn, and by the middle of October this little mountain
village will be visited by a throng of sight-seers, all bent on viewing
the red leaves; and here truly not only the maples, but every tree
seems to wear its mantle of autumn brocade, making a splendid contrast
to the bronze green of the cryptomerias. The first touch of frost will
have made the trees blush, so the Japanese say--it being a favourite
expression of theirs, when a blush of modesty spreads over a girl’s
cheeks, to say that “she scatters red leaves on her face,”--and then
will come the first light fall of snow or a rude wind storm and scatter
all the silent beauty of the valley. If you would continue your maple
feast, you must go farther south, say to Oji near Tokyo, where you will
find a whole glen filled with nothing but maples. No other _momiji_
will dispute their fiery splendour; and there, in a little rustic
tea-shed, you can sit and gaze at the gorgeous scene below, and wonder
whether it is more beautiful to see the leaves like lace-work against
the sky, or to look down on the great spreading branches shading the
stream below. Here and there will be a tree that does not deserve the
name of _momiji_, for it has no red leaves. Possibly it is a descendant
of the celebrated maple-tree of the Shomeiji temple at Mutsuura, which
turned a glorious colour when summer had scarcely waned, in order to
earn the praise of the poet Chunagon Tamesuke, who went to seek the
beauties of the early maple. The tree being fully satisfied with the
admiration of the poet, remained green for ever after; for did not the
poet say--
“How did this one tree thus get coloured?
This one garden maple-tree
Showing Autumn before the mountain trees!”
It is always said that the poetical spirit of Tamesuke moved the
responsive heart of the maple-tree.
Kyoto, the old capital, with its history of centuries, is celebrated
for the numerous places renowned for maple-viewing. All through the
early part of November there is feasting, combined possibly with
mushroom-gathering, a favourite pastime connected with the viewing
of the _momiji_. Near by there is Tsuten Bridge, where the sound
of revelry will greet you as you approach, and there will be the
inevitable little tea-stalls, decorated with curtains printed with
a few flaunting maple leaves, lanterns ornamented with the same red
leaves, and branches of the trees adorned with red and yellow paper
leaves; bearing a streamer with the name of the place, or possibly a
diminutive paper lantern, to carry away as a souvenir of the day’s
feasting. If you want a wider field and more extensive view, remember
Takao is waiting in all its glory to greet you; there a great stream of
colour winds away down the valley following the course of the little
mountain torrent. You must rise early for maple-viewing, to see the
trees while the sun is on them; when the sun goes it seems as though he
takes half the beauty of the _momiji_ away with him, only to return it
on the morrow, it is true, if the clear bright days will last through
the short season of the _momiji_. Any night a cruel frost may come, and
next day the ground will be covered with a scarlet carpet, reminding
one of the story of that great lover of maple leaves, the Emperor
Takakura-no-In. He planted the maple-trees at Kita-no-Jin, and called
the spot Momiji Yama or Maple-leaf Hill. His great delight was to see
the red leaves which carpet the ground with autumn glory. One morning
his unpoetical gardeners swept away the fallen leaves, and the officers
of the Imperial household were awestruck, as they were sure the Emperor
would visit the hill to see the red leaves which might have been cast
down by the night wind. He went to the hill, and the officers appealed
to him to have pity on the gardeners’ ignorance. “It reminds me,” said
the Emperor, “of the famous verse by Ri Tai Haku which runs--
We will warm the wine under the maple-trees;
We will burn up the maple leaves.”
Such is the song of autumn: “how lovely the gardeners’ hearts in
gathering the leaves to warm their hearts and wine.” So not only was
the stupidity of the gardeners excused, but happily their action was
approved. Had the gardeners such poetical hearts? I doubt it; rather,
how forgiving was the heart of the Emperor.
Arashi Yama must not be omitted from the maple-viewing feast. Here
the beauties of Nature summon us twice a year--in spring to visit the
cherry blossoms, in autumn to view the _momiji_. At the latter season
the trees are dressed in red, and the water will be red too, so thickly
is it carpeted with the fallen leaves. If one takes a
[Illustration: VIEWING THE MAPLES]
boat to cross the water one feels ashamed to see the rent it makes in
the “autumn brocade,” for the boat will cut a track right through the
thin carpet of leaves, of which the poet says--
The hurdle that the wind has built
Over the mountain river,
Is nothing but the maple leaves
Not run down the stream.
At Mino there are nothing but maples as far as the eye can reach, on
and on down the glen, an incredible blaze of colour. But it was not in
these great masses, though no one can deny their gorgeous splendour,
that the maple gave me most pleasure; it was rather in some quiet
garden away from the sound of feasting that a few trees of the choicer
and therefore even more brilliant coloured varieties afforded me most
enjoyment. I am thinking now of a warm November day when I had been
bidden to take part in a tea ceremony, with all its quaint ceremonial
and code of rules. Sitting in the little simple open tea-room--for does
not the law forbid any elaborate decoration in the room set apart for
tea ceremonies, and must not the room always be open on one, if not two
sides?--while trying to conform to the rigid etiquette of this pretty
ceremony of drinking tea in a preternaturally slow manner, when it was
no longer my turn to admire in regulation words one of the articles
used in the tea-making, my eye wandered to the scene outside, where,
hanging over a miniature cascade, adding effect to the tiny rushing
torrent, stood the maple-trees, surely the brightest I had ever seen.
Maple-trees are most necessary for the Japanese landscape garden,
especially when, as is usually the case, the style of the garden is
to reproduce natural scenery. The Japanese have a saying that autumn
comes from the west, therefore the maple-tree, the true representative
of autumn, should be planted on a hill towards the west, so that it
will welcome autumn promptly, and also in order that the reddening
leaves may receive additional splendour from the setting sun. Here,
in the glow of the western sun, it seemed incredible that the little
trees were only clad in leaves, not in flowers, for their colour was as
bright as, if not brighter than, the brilliant azaleas which had been
the pride of the garden in the flower month of May.
The nursery gardens are gay with splendid specimens of the much-prized
dwarf maple-trees, and every lover of these little trees will have a
few plants of _momiji_ in his collection. Some there may be which had,
as it were, been born with scarlet leaves--in spring the leaves having
opened a fiery red, their colour waning as the year wanes; others which
had only green leaves in the spring will, like true _momiji_, have got
more and more fiery in colour until the shadow of death comes over
them. Innumerable varieties there appeared to be, distinguished by the
shape of their leaves and the tone of their colour.
The changing life of the maple, Miss Scidmore tells us, has been made
use of by “the Japanese coquette, who sends her lover a leaf or branch
of maple to signify that, like it, her love has changed.” If you call a
Japanese baby and it opens its tiny hand, they call it “a hand of maple
leaf.”
Throughout November the whole land is redolent of _momiji_; not only
will the red leaves on the trees greet you at every turn, but you will
be offered tea out of little cups painted with just one red leaf, the
cakes represent maple leaves, the Geishas will all have soft crêpe
kimonos decked with a pattern of the flaunting leaves, or their stiff
silk obis will represent Nature’s “autumn brocade.” In the theatres
the romantic play called _Momiji gari_, or Maple-leaf Viewing, is
played, the stage being gorgeously decorated with maple-trees.
Possibly because it is the last flower-viewing feast of the year,
the _momiji_-viewing is almost the most popular, and when the last
leaf falls the feasters will have to rest until the plum blossoms are
opening, as Nature even in this land of flowers must take her winter’s
rest.