THE GARDENS
It is not easy to describe the fascination of a Japanese garden. Chiefly
it is due to studied neglect of geometrical design. The toy
summer-houses dotted here and there, the miniature lakes, and the tiny
bridges crossing miniature streams, give an air of indescribable
quaintness. Yet, in spite of the smallness of the dimensions, the first
impression is one of vastness. "Who discovers that nothingness is
law--such a one hath wisdom," says the old Buddhist text. That is the
wisdom the Japanese gardener seeks, for he also is an artist. There is
no one point on which the eye fastens, and the absence of any striking
feature creates a sense of immensity. It is a broad scheme, just as
broad as a picture by Velasquez would be, and of infinite detail. It is
only accidentally that one discovers the illusion--the triumph of art
over space. I saw a dog walk over one of the tiny bridges, and it seemed
of enormous height, so that I was staggered at its bulk in proportion to
the garden; yet it was but an animal of ordinary size.
[Illustration: AN IRIS GARDEN]
A Japanese gardener spends his whole life in studying his trade, and
just as earnestly and just as comprehensively as a doctor would study
medicine. I was once struck by seeing a little man sitting on a box
outside a silk-store on a bald plot of ground. For three consecutive
days I saw this little man sitting on the same little box, for ever
smiling and knocking out the ash from his miniature pipe. All day long
he sat there, never moving, never talking--he seemed to be doing nothing
but smoking and dreaming. On the third day I pointed this little man out
to the merchant who owned the store, and asked what the little man was
doing and why he sat there. "He's thinking," said the merchant. "Yes;
but why must he think on that bald plot of ground? What is he going to
do?" I asked, perplexed. The merchant gazed at me in astonishment,
mingled with pity. "Don't you know," he said, "he is one of our greatest
landscape gardeners, and for three days he has been thinking out a
garden for me?--If you care to come here in a few days," he added, "I
will show you the drawings for that garden all completed." I came in a
few days, and I was shown the most exquisite set of drawings it has ever
been my good fortune to behold. What a garden it would be! There were
full-grown trees, stepping-stones, miniature bridges, ponds of
goldfish--all presenting an appearance of vastness, yet in reality
occupying an area the size of a small room. And not only was the garden
itself planned out and designed, but it was also arranged to form a
pattern in relation to the trees and the houses and the surrounding
hills. This little old man, without stirring from his box or making a
single note, had in those three days created this garden in his mind's
eye, and on returning home had sketched out the final arrangement. The
merchant told me that his garden would be completed in a few weeks, with
full-grown trees flourishing in it, and everything planted--all but one
stone, which in all probability would be there in a few weeks, while, on
the other hand, it might not be placed there for years. On inquiring as
to the reason of this strange delay I was told that that one particular
stone, though insignificant and unnoticeable in our eyes, occupies a
very prominent position, and that upon the proper placing and quality of
it the beauty and perfection of a Japanese garden almost entirely
depend. Sometimes hundreds and even thousands of dollars are paid for a
large stone that happens to be rightly proportioned and of the correct
texture of ruggedness to occupy a certain position in a Japanese garden.
To see the cherry-blossoms of Yoshino, the plum-trees in full bloom at
Sugata, the wistaria at Uyeno, or the iris at Horikiri, the people will
travel scores of miles. Then, there is the spacious embankment of the
Sumidagawa, at the part known as Mukojima, celebrated for its avenue of
cherry-trees. Before the Restoration it was the favourite promenade for
the daimio and their retainers, and very picturesque it must have been
to see the stately nobles in their gorgeous robes, saluting one another
with all the grave ceremonial in which the courtiers delighted. The
costumes have vanished; but the ancient residences, with their private
waterway approaches to the river, remain; and the avenue is still the
fashionable promenade.
But it is the iris gardens at Horikiri seen by night that have left an
impression which will never fade from my mind. We visited the gardens
frequently; but it is one particular visit that I remember above all the
others. Leaving the Hotel Metropole late in the afternoon, the ricksha
men took us at a rattling pace through the city. After an hour's run we
found ourselves far away from the river in the midst of uninviting
rice-fields, with a glimpse of the gardens in the distance--a blue and
white oasis in a waste of green. If one visits the gardens in the
afternoon the changes that the flowers undergo are marvellous. In the
full warm rays of the sun, the great petals, turning back towards their
stems, are rich and glowing in every shade. Then, as evening comes on
and the sunlight fades, the deeper purple blooms lose their richness and
grow shadowy, while the white ones take on an icy purity that seems
unearthly in its transparency, and they shine as with an internal light.
Still a little later, and with the last rays of daylight, all the darker
flowers have disappeared, and where a short time ago stood a proud bed
of royal colour one can see only the ghastly heads of the pure white
petals looming like phantom flowers in the purple night.
[Illustration: A SUNNY GARDEN]
The effect of the picture was heightened by the atmospheric colouring.
As the silver evening gradually changed to purple night--a purple
only seen in Japan--the festoons of lanterns which illuminated the
summer-houses became of one colour with the landscape, and then, as the
night darkened to a deeper purple, the lights changed to bright orange.
It would be impossible to put such colours on canvas: the only way to
represent them would be by precious stones. We dined in one of the
summer-houses off dainty plates served us by little musmes while seated
on the white mats. The blooms of the iris appeared softly luminous,
emitting a ghostly light. It is this spiritual beauty which makes the
flowers such a favourite in temple gardens, and inspires the Japanese to
poetry. On the edge of a tiny lake, approached by a winding walk,
through an avenue of bamboo trellis-work, was a small shed with a quaint
roof. In the shed the model of a junk was placed. Near it were ink and
small strips of paper. The junk was designed to receive poems on the
beauty of the iris and of the garden.
Nothing disturbs in a Japanese landscape. It is the harmonic combination
of untouched naturalness and high artistic cultivation. The tea-houses owe
much of their charm to the absence of paint. The benches, lintels, the
posts, are uncoloured, except by age. The white mats and the paper screens
act as a foil to the bright flashes of the musmes--waiting-girls--who move
noiselessly through the rooms like gigantic butterflies flitting to and
fro. The iris blooms are a rich mass of colour of blue and white, and the
gardener has exhausted his art in pruning all the unnecessary growths
without leaving a trace of his handiwork. The ride back was delightful.
Tokio at night is seen at its best; the river is then more fascinating.
Huge junks, with a solitary light at the masthead, glide by--fantastic
shadows in the purple haze. The tea-houses, with their festoons of
lanterns and orange interiors, in which one caught glimpses of singing
girls in their brilliant dresses, gleamed like golden patches in the cool
purple. The bridges sparkled with lights; the shops were bright with
colour; and all through the city, to enjoy the coolness of the night air,
groups of citizens were seated in the streets chattering as gaily and as
light-heartedly as only the Japs can.
[Illustration: IRIS GARDEN]
FLOWER ARRANGEMENT