NOTES IN JAPAN
[Illustration:
[_See page 10_
IN KASUGA PARK, NARA--AN OLD CRYPTOMERIA]
NOTES IN JAPAN
BY
ALFRED PARSONS
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
1896
Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE JAPANESE SPRING 3
EARLY SUMMER IN JAPAN 45
THE TIME OF THE LOTUS 81
FUJISAN 119
SOME WANDERINGS IN JAPAN 153
AUTUMN IN JAPAN 193
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
IN KASUGA PARK, NARA--AN OLD CRYPTOMERIA _Frontispiece_
DEDICATION vii
CHERRY-BLOSSOM BADGE, YOSHINO 2
IN THE INLAND SEA 4
HILLS NEAR KŌBE, FROM SUWA-YAMA 5
EARLY PLUM BLOSSOMS, OKAMOTO, NEAR KŌBE 7
THE TORII OF KASUGA TEMPLE, NARA 11
OLD WISTARIA IN KASUGA PARK, NARA 13
THE PAGODA OF KOBŪKUJI, NARA 14
CHERRY-TREE AND LANTERNS, NI-GWATSU-DŌ, NARA 15
THE WELL OF SANKATCHU, NARA 17
CHERRY BLOSSOMS IN THE RAIN, NARA 19
SARA-HIKI-SAKA, NEAR YOSHINO--LATER CHERRIES 21
CHERRY AND LATE PLUM, TEMA-CHO, NEAR NARA 23
A BUDDHIST TEMPLE AT YOSHINO--DOUBLE-FLOWERED CHERRY
AND MAGNOLIA 27
CROSSING THE FERRY AT MUDA, ON THE YOSHINO-GAWA 30
MI KOMORI JINJA, A SHINTO TEMPLE NEAR YOSHINO 31
THE STREET, HASE 34
ANDROMEDA BUSHES IN KASUGA PARK, NARA 35
WHITE WISTARIA, HASE-DERA 37
A TALL WISTARIA, KASUGA PARK, NARA 39
NOTES AT MUDA 41
BADGE OF THE KIKU-SUI-YA 42
IRIS JAPONICA 44
CARRYING HOME TEA LEAVES, NEAR UJI 46
A PLANTATION COVERED WITH MATTING NEAR UJI 47
POND IN THE GARDEN OF RAKU-RAKU-TEI, HIKONE 49
THE CASTLE AT HIKONE 51
THE CASTLE AT NAGOYA, FIELD OF IRIS IN THE FOREGROUND 52
AN OLD CASTLE MOAT, AKASHI, NEAR KŌBE 53
FIELDS NEAR LAKE BIWA 55
O KAZU SAN 57
PREPARING THE RICE-FIELDS 59
MY ROOMS AT TENNENJI 60
BUDDHA AND HIS DISCIPLES, TENNENJI 61
HIKONE AND LAKE BIWA, FROM THE HILLS BEHIND TENNENJI 64
AZALEAS ON THE ROCKS, TENNENJI 65
THE POEM 67
WHITE AZALEA BUSH, RAKU-RAKU-TEI, HIKONE 69
THE BAMBOO GROVE, TENNENJI 71
SUNSET OVER LAKE BIWA, FROM TENNENJI 75
PLANTING RICE 77
A SPRING FLOWER--JIRO-BO 78
PLATYCODON GRANDIFLORUM, “KIKYO” 80
AURATUM LILIES AND BOCCONIA ON THE HILLS NEAR NIKKO 82
A FIELD OF LILIES, OFUNA, NEAR KAMAKURA 83
SEVEN BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS OF LATE SUMMER 85
HYDRANGEA BUSH, TOTSUKA, NEAR YOKOHAMA 87
UNDER THE CRYPTOMERIAS AT NIKKO 89
A LITTLE TEMPLE AT NIKKO 91
KIRIFURI, NEAR NIKKO 93
THE MOOR NEAR YUMOTO 94
A WET DAY AT CHŪZENJI 95
THE FOOT OF NANTAI-ZAN 97
THE MOAT OF BENTEN-SHIBA 99
SPECTATORS 104
THE LAST TEA LEAVES--COTTAGE NEAR YOKOHAMA 105
LOTUS-PONDS AT KAMAKURA 107
LOTUS-PATCH AMONG THE RICE-FIELDS, KAWASAKI, TŌKYŌ 109
A TEA-HOUSE AT KAMAKURA 110
YORITOMO’S WILLOWS AND HIS SHRINE 111
JAPANESE WRESTLERS 113
LESPEDEZA “HAGI” 115
THE HEART-LEAVED LILY 116
CAMPANULAS ON FUJI 118
GOING UP IN THE MIST 121
A CLOUDY EVENING, FROM THE SANDS OF TAGO-NO-URA 123
FUJI FROM THE ABEKAWA, AND THE TOKAIDO BRIDGE 124
ON THE NORTHERN SLOPE OF FUJI--GRASS-CUTTERS RETURNING 126
THE SECOND SHELTER IN THE GOTAMBA PATH 128
FUJI WITH ITS CAP ON 130
FUJI FROM THE KAWAGUCHI LAKE 131
FROM THE TOP OF FUJI, LOOKING NORTH 133
THE GREAT PALM AT RYUGEJI, FUJI IN THE DISTANCE 135
THE CRATER OF FUJI 136
AN OLD RED PINE AT YOSHIDA 139
NAKA-NO-CHAYA, ON THE NORTHERN SLOPE 143
THE RED-PINE GROVE AT YOSHIDA 145
FUJI OVER THE RICE-FIELDS OF SUZUKAWA 146
THE FLOWERY MOORLAND 147
TAIL-PIECE 150
TRICYRTIS HIRTA, ATAMI 152
TAGO-NO-URA 155
COTTAGES AT NEMBA 156
LAKE SUWA AND THE NAKASENDO MOUNTAINS, FROM KAMI-NO-SUWA 159
TOURISTS AT A WATERFALL 163
NIEGAWA, ON THE NAKASENDO 165
A LITTLE SHINTO SHRINE, NEAR THE NAKASENDO 166
A BOAT-MENDER BY THE TENRYUGAWA 167
BANANA-TREES AT ATAMI 171
THE FERRY AT TOKIMATA 173
ON THE TENRYUGAWA 174
THE VILLAGE STREET, ATAMI--VRIES ISLAND IN THE DISTANCE 175
ON THE TENRYUGAWA, NEAR KAJIMA 177
AUTUMN-GRASS (SUZUKI) 179
A RUSTIC BRIDGE AT DOGASHIMA, NEAR MIYA-NO-SHITA 183
AVENUES OF TORII IN FRONT OF AN INARI TEMPLE, NEAR SHIMIZU 185
JIZŌ SAMA, NEAR HAKONE 187
TAIL-PIECE 190
THE AUTUMN LILY 192
FIELDS NEAR HAMAMATSU 194
THE EDGE OF THE TOKAIDO, NEAR HAMAMATSU 195
THE ISLAND OF AWAJI, FROM MAIKO 198
ON THE SHORE NEAR MAIKO, THE STRAIT OF AKASHI TO THE RIGHT 199
LILIES BY THE SHORE, SUMA 200
A GRAVEYARD AT SUMA 201
HILLS BEHIND KŌBE 202
A BAMBOO-YARD AT MAIBARA 203
BLUE WATER-WEED 204
THE TRAVELLING THEATRE AT MAIBARA 205
LAUNCHING A BOAT 208
LAKE BIWA WITH FLOODED RICE-FIELDS, NEAR MAIBARA 209
ONE OF THE “YAMA” AT THE NAGAHAMA MATSURI 213
SOME HATS AT THE NAGAHAMA MATSURI 214
THE TEMPLE GARDEN, SEIGWANJI 215
MINIATURE PAGODA IN THE TEMPLE GARDEN, SEIGWANJI 217
A CHRYSANTHEMUM SHOW AT YOKOHAMA 219
THE ARSENAL GARDEN, KOISHIKAWA, TŌKYŌ 223
TAIL-PIECE 225
LYCHNIS GRANDIFLORA, MISAKA-TOGE 226
THE JAPANESE SPRING
[Illustration: CHERRY-BLOSSOM BADGE, YOSHINO]
THE JAPANESE SPRING
[Illustration]
We had left Hong-Kong enveloped in its usual spring fog, and for five
long, weary days had steamed across the China Sea in regular monsoon
weather, gray and wet and miserable, but during the fifth some rocky
islands, outlying sentinels of the three thousand which compose the
Mikado’s realm, and occasional square-sailed, high-sterned boats, showed
that we were near Japan, the Far East, the Land of Flowers and of the
Rising Sun, the country which for years it had been my dream to see and
paint; and by six o’clock in the evening, on the 9th of March, we were
at anchor in Nagasaki Bay. The aspect of that port on a wet day was not
inviting, nor were the little grimy girls, who in a chattering, laughing
line carried their baskets of coal on board; so, difficult as it was to
decline the hospitable invitations of the English residents, I decided
to go on with the ship to Kōbe. Early in the morning of the 11th we
passed through the Strait of Shimonoseki--the sun shining brightly on
the snowy hills and on the crowd of fishing-boats which had been
sheltering there from the bad weather--and entered the Inland Sea.
After so many days of monotonous gray ocean it was delightful to steam
along in sight of land, and wind about among the islets and rocks, so
near to many of them that we could see the little villages, the mists of
white plum blossoms, the rows of beans and barley growing wherever a
level patch could be made on the steep slopes, the people at work in
their
[Illustration: IN THE INLAND SEA]
fields, and always in the distance the ranges of snow-covered mountains
in Kiushiu and Shikoku, the islands which enclose this lovely sea on the
south. I longed to land and begin work at once, with a nervous dread in
my heart that I should find nothing so good elsewhere, and, indeed,
though there is plenty of material to be found everywhere in Japan, I
saw nothing finer than these islands of the Inland Sea; to cruise about
among them in a comfortable boat would be an ideal way to spend a
summer, and would probably not be devoid of adventure, for our captain
told me many tales of treacherous currents and sudden squalls and sunken
reefs.
[Illustration: HILLS NEAR KŌBE, FROM SUWA-YAMA]
We reached Kōbe next morning, and before I had been on shore more than
an hour I had heard of a village six miles away which was celebrated for
its plum orchards, and had started off to find it. Okamoto lies at the
foot of the hills which rise behind Kōbe on the north, and climbs a
little way up them, and in front of the highest cottage, a modest
tea-house with platforms arranged to accommodate the visitors who come
in crowds to gaze at the blossoms, I unfolded my stool and easel, and in
spite of a bitter wind and vicious little snow-storms made my first
sketch in Japan. All round me and in the village below were the
pink-and-white trees, then a band of rice-lands, pale green with young
barley, and beyond them lay Osaka Bay, and the mountains of Yamato,
which constantly changed in color as snow-storms passed over, or gleams
of sun lighted the shining water and the snow on the distant hills. It
is an exciting thing to begin work in a new country, to compare the
local color and the atmosphere with those you have tried before, and to
find yourself half unconsciously using an entirely new set of pigments.
I was too absorbed with these problems to take any notice of the fact
that my back was aching, but after two hours, when I had finished my
drawing, I found myself unable to rise from that sketching-stool, and
for the next fortnight an attack of lumbago prevented my seeing anything
more of the plum groves. The Buddhist pictures of their Inferno depict
many ingenious tortures; I think they ought to add a man with lumbago
doing six miles over a Japanese by-road in a jinricksha. When at last I
got back to Okamoto there were still some blossoms, and the trees were
tinged with the pink of withered petals, but the luxuriant freshness had
gone.
On the 13th of April I said good-bye to my friends and to the comforts
of the Kōbe Club, and started for Nara, stopping on my way at Osaka to
have a look at the town and see the peach blossoms on Momo-Yama (peach
mountain). The narrow streets leading up the hill were crowded with
visitors, and among the orchards of dwarf trees temporary tea-sheds and
resting-places had been erected for their comfort and refreshment. In
spite of the many picturesque features in these fêtes the whole effect
is at first disappointing: railings and stages of new raw deal, the
untidy and unfinished look of rough bamboo structures, with corners of
matting hanging loosely in places where they interfere with the
perspective lines, the slovenly pathways,
[Illustration: EARLY PLUM BLOSSOMS, OKAMOTO, NEAR KŌBE]
which are mud or dust according to the weather--all these things make
unsatisfactory accessories for the figures and the flowers. After a time
they obtrude themselves less on your notice, and you have learned to
accept the fact that Japan is not a country of big masses and broad
effects, but of interesting bits and amusing details. This is usually
true of its landscape; the forms of mountains and trees are more quaint
than grand, and the cultivated land has no broad stretches of pasture or
corn, but is cut up into patches, mainly rice-fields, with various
vegetables grown in little squares here and there.
It was as yet too early in the year for any rice to be planted out. In
the fertile valley through which the railway runs from Osaka to Nara
some new fields were lying wet or fallow, others were being prepared by
spade labor, and others again, not yet flooded, were covered with the
bright green of young barley, or the strong light yellow of rape in
flower.
Though I had read much about life in Japan, it was an embarrassing
experience to be set down for the first time with my baggage in a
Japanese room, and to try and adapt myself mentally to the possibilities
of living under such conditions. In a bare hut or tent the problem is
comparatively simple; there is always one way by which you must enter;
but in a Japanese room there is too much liberty; three of the walls are
opaque sliding screens, the fourth is a transparent, or rather
translucent, one; you can come in or go out where you like; there is no
table on which things must be put, no chair on which you must sit, no
fireplace to stand with your back to--just a clean, matted floor and
perfect freedom of choice. European trunks look hopelessly ugly and
unsympathetic in such surroundings, nor are matters much improved when
the host, in deference to the habits of a foreigner, sends in a rough
deal table, with a cloth of unhemmed cotton, intended to be white, and
an uncompromising, straight-backed deal chair. These hideous articles
make a man feel ashamed, for though they are only a burlesque of our
civilization, they are produced with an air of pride which shows that
the owner is convinced they are the right thing, and one cannot but be
humiliated by their ugliness and want of comfort. Yet if you want to
read or write you have to keep them and make the best of them, for a
long evening on the floor is only to be borne after a good many weeks of
practice. Things begin to look brighter and pleasanter when the little
waiting-maid appears, bringing first some cushions and the hibachi, with
its pile of glowing charcoal, and then the tea-tray and a few sweet
cakes. This was more the sort of thing I had expected, and made me at
once feel at home with my surroundings. It is the first attention shown
you in every tea-house, no matter how humble; whether you go as an
inmate, or whether you merely sit down for a few minutes’ rest on a
journey, the little tea-pot and the tiny cups are at once produced, and
the hibachi is placed by your side, a pleasant and friendly welcome,
which never failed to make its impression on me, however poor the
quality of the tea might be. The Kiku-sui-ya (which means
Chrysanthemum-water house) is near the entrance to the great Kasuga Park
at Nara; just outside it the road passes under a granite torii flanked
with stone lanterns, and winds up to the temple through an avenue of
cryptomerias, with rows of lanterns on each side, which get closer and
closer together as they near the temple buildings, and are so numerous
that tradition says they have never been counted. There are booths here
and there where pilgrims can rest and get a cup of tea, for pilgrimage
in Japan is not made unnecessarily uncomfortable, and where the tame
deer congregate to take the nuts and cakes which are sold
[Illustration: THE TORII OF KASUGA TEMPLE, NARA]
for them to the passers-by. From early morning till nearly sundown this
road is lively with groups of visitors. Nara is so near to Osaka that
among them a sprinkling of men, mostly no doubt engaged in commerce,
wore foreign dress, but the majority of the people were in their native
clothes, and as I sat and painted by the road-side I could study the
variations of Japanese costume--from that of the old peasant with his
white or blue
[Illustration: OLD WISTARIA IN KASUGA PARK, NARA]
leggings, straw shoes, big hat, and robe tucked into his girdle, his
head shaved down the middle, and the back hair turned up in a queue in
the ancient mode, to that of the gay young musumé with her rich silk
kimono, gorgeous scarlet petticoat, broad obi, and black-lacquered
sandals on her pigeon-toed, white-socked feet. The cryptomerias are
good, but the old wistarias are the glory of Kasuga Park. The great
Fujiwara family formerly owned or were patrons of the temple, and though
it is now imperial property, their crest, the wistaria flower (_fuji no
hana_), is still worn by the little girls who perform the sacred dance
there, and all over the park the wistaria vines are allowed to grow as
they choose, their great snaky stems writhing along the ground and
twisting up to the tops of the highest trees.
[Illustration: THE PAGODA OF KOBŪKUJI, NARA]
One very wet day, when painting out-of-doors was impossible, I went
round to see the sights of Nara--Kobūkuji with its pagoda and fine old
statues, the great Buddha, the celebrated big bell, and beyond these the
Buddhist temple Ni-gwatsu-dō, perched on a hill-side, the steps leading
up to it lined with stone lanterns, little shrines, and booths for the
sale of endless trifles. The platform surrounding this temple is
supported in front by a scaffolding of beams, at the back it abuts
against the hill, and from the heavy projecting roof which covers both
platform and temple hang hundreds of bronze lanterns, votive offerings.
Each of these had been appropriated by a sparrow; trusting to the
sanctity of the spot, they had piled in all the rubbish they could find
to make their nests; odd ends of straw and paper stuck out everywhere,
showing that their stay in the East had not taught them tidy habits. I
am sorry to say that their confidence was misplaced; a temple festival
came round before their eggs were hatched, and the whole of them with
their embryo families were ruthlessly evicted in order that the lanterns
might be lighted.
[Illustration: CHERRY-TREE AND LANTERNS, NI-GWATSU-DŌ, NARA]
The park at Nara is one of the few places in Japan where you can see
real turf, and even there I was struck by the scarcity of ground
flowers; there were plenty of scentless violets, some yellow and white
dandelions, and in the damp ditches a little purple flower called jirobo
by the country people, but there was nothing to compare with the masses
of daisies, buttercups, and cowslips which make the English meadows so
bright in the spring. Perhaps the mountain moorlands would have been as
gay at that time as I found them later in the year; the fields are far
too well cultivated for any weed to get a chance of flowering.
The earlier cherry-trees were in blossom by this time, and I lingered
on, making studies of them, and learning Japanese words and ways from O
Nao San, a young lady about twelve years old, who had appointed herself
my special attendant and protector at the Kiku-sui Hotel. One night at
the theatre I saw a modern farce, with a policeman, an old-fashioned
Japanese gentleman, a Chinaman, and an Englishman as the comic
characters. They were ridiculous and amusing, but when all the earlier
incidents of the piece were narrated with conscientious realism in
evidence before a magistrate the thing became monotonous, and struck me
as faulty in dramatic construction. This was the only theatre I saw in
Japan in which they had discarded the orchestra and chorus and other
traditions of the old stage.
There is a modest little temple opposite Kobūkuji, which is visited by
most of the pilgrims to Nara; in its court-yard is a pile of stones from
which a stream of water flows, fed by the tears of the mother of
Sankatchu, a sacrilegious man who killed some of the sacred deer, who
was killed himself in consequence, and buried here by her. Day after day
groups of visitors stand by the fountain, listening intently to the
guide who tells them the pathetic story, and give their prayers and a
few coppers to her memory. The family affections are strong in Japan,
and the love between parents and children, and among the children
themselves, is always pleasant to see. The little ones are never
slapped or shaken or pulled about roughly; you may wander through the
streets for days without hearing a child cry, nor do they often quarrel
in their play. But it is possible to go too far, even in filial piety.
There was a murder trial while I was in the country, and by the evidence
it appeared that the prisoner’s mother was blind, that the doctor had
prescribed the application of a warm human liver, and that he, as he
could find no other way to get the remedy, had killed his wife in order
to restore his mother’s sight.
[Illustration: THE WELL OF SANKATCHU, NARA]
In most forms of Japanese art the technique which is admired by native
connoisseurs, and the associations connected with the subject
represented, can only be understood by those who have studied Japanese
methods and traditions, but the old wooden statuary has more in common
with Western art, and often reaches a high point of realism. In the
religious figures certain traditions had to be followed, and in looking
at these this fact has to be remembered; the exaggerated anatomy,
unnaturally fierce expressions, and arbitrary number of limbs often
disguise their true merits; but in the portrait figures of daimios,
priests, and abbots the treatment is both simple and dignified. Mr.
Takenouchi, a sculptor to whom I had letters, was making admirable
copies of the principal sculptures at Kobūkuji, which were to be
exhibited at Chicago, and afterwards added to the collection of the Fine
Art Museum in Ueno Park, Tōkyō. Among the old masters, Unkei, a sculptor
of the twelfth century, is perhaps the most noteworthy; there is a
mendicant ascetic by him in the Hall of the Thirty-three Thousand
Kwannon at Kyoto, a lean old man, clad only in a few rags, resting on
his staff and holding out his left hand for alms, which might rank with
the work of Rodin.
On the 25th of April the cherry-trees were in full flower, and I left
Nara for Yoshino, a village at the foot of Mount Omine, in Yamato, which
has for centuries been noted for its cherry groves. Here the cult of the
cherry blossom has its headquarters, and during the ten days or so which
the blossoms last the little town is crowded with visitors. I was too
late to see the place in its full glory; it stands at some height above
the sea, and I consequently imagined that the flowers would be later
than those at Nara, but the cherry which grows there in such quantities
is an early species, and three days of wind and rain had covered the
ground with pink petals and left very few of them on the trees in the
celebrated groves. Fortunately there were still some flowery trees to be
found in gardens and sheltered corners, and at this time of year it
would be impossible to settle down in a Japanese village without finding
plenty of subjects to paint. The cherry in the Yoshino groves has a
single flower, pale pink in color; this is followed by another
[Illustration: CHERRY BLOSSOMS IN THE RAIN, NARA]
kind with white blossoms, more like the European species. Both of these
are wild, and from them the Japanese gardeners have raised many
varieties, double and single flowered, some with the growth of the
weeping-willow, and others with a spreading habit. The flowers vary in
color from white to light crimson, and I noticed some young trees with
large double blossoms which were pale yellow with a pink flush on the
outer petals, like a delicate tea-rose.
[Illustration: SARA-HIKI-SAKA, NEAR YOSHINO--LATER CHERRIES]
At the Tatsumi-ya, just by the remains of the huge bronze torii, which,
until it was blown down by a hurricane, formed the entrance to the main
street, I found a little suite of rooms built in the garden away from
the rest of the house, and at once engaged them, in happy anticipation
of quiet nights. These isolated rooms have some disadvantages, such as
having to get to the bath and back on wet nights, but a very short
acquaintance with life in a tea-house makes the traveller disregard such
trifling inconveniences for the certainty of peaceful sleep. The
Japanese wanderers usually finish their day’s journey about five in the
afternoon, and, after the preliminary cup of tea, discard their
travel-stained clothes for the clean kimono which every well-regulated
tea-house supplies to its guests, then bathe in water as near the
boiling-point as possible, eat their dinner, sit talking and smoking
till midnight, snore till five o’clock in the morning, when the clatter
of taking down shutters begins, and the elaborate business of
tooth-cleaning and tongue-scraping, with an accompaniment of complex
noises suggesting seasickness in its worst stages, so it is not till
they have departed at six or seven o’clock that a light sleeper gets
much chance. In the daytime the tea-house is deserted, except by the
proprietor, who sits in the front room and does his accounts, and by the
little servant-girls, who, with their heads tied up in towels, kimono
tucked into their obi, and sleeves fastened back, showing a good deal of
round brown leg and arm, busily sweep and dust the rooms in preparation
for the new set of visitors who will arrive in the evening. The thin
sliding partitions would be little bar to sound even if they reached to
the top of the room, and above them there is generally a foot or so of
open wood-work, which allows free ventilation and conversation between
the different apartments. Privacy, as we understand it, is no part of
the scheme of a Japanese tea-house. Real fresh air from outside is very
difficult to get at night. During the hot weather I was always careful
to examine the fastenings of the wooden shutters with which, after dark,
every house is enclosed like a box, so that I could surreptitiously open
a crack opposite my room, although by so doing I was disobeying the
[Illustration: CHERRY AND LATE PLUM, TEMA-CHO, NEAR NARA]
police regulations. These shutters do not keep out the noise of the
watchman, who all night long wanders round and knocks two blocks of wood
together, just to let burglars know that he is on the lookout.
In these quarters I spent a week or so, painting all day when the
weather would allow me, and in the evening struggling with the language
and gambling for beans with the family and the servant-girls, who played
_vingt-et-un_ (_ni ju ichi_) with such keenness and discretion that I
was generally made a bankrupt, with much laughter and clapping of hands,
quite early in the game, and had to be set up again by general
contribution.
Everything in Yoshino is redolent of the cherry; the pink and white
cakes brought in with the tea are in the shape of its blossoms, and a
conventional form of it is painted on every lantern and printed on every
scrap of paper in the place. The shops sell preserved cherry flowers for
making tea, and visitors to the tea-houses and temples are given maps of
the district--or, rather, broad sheets roughly printed in colors, not
exactly a map or a picture--on which every cherry grove is depicted in
pink. And all this is simply enthusiasm for its beauty and its
associations, for the trees bear no fruit worthy of the name. There is
an old Japanese saying, “What the cherry blossom is among flowers, the
warrior is among men.” I was reminded constantly of a sentence which a
friend had written in one of my books, “Take pains to encourage the
beautiful, for the useful encourages itself.” It is difficult for an
outsider to determine how much of this is genuine enthusiasm and how
much is custom or a traditional æstheticism; but it really matters
little. That the popular idea of a holiday should be to wander about in
the open air, visiting historic places, and gazing at the finest
landscapes and the flowers in their seasons, indicates a high level of
true civilization, and the custom, if it be only custom, proves the
refinement of the people who originated and adhere to it.
The village street of Yoshino winds up a spur of the hills, passing many
temples and little hamlets, and gradually becomes a steep and stony
mountain path, which ascends to Mount Omine. The great tracks of forest
provide occupation for most of the people in this district; as I
sketched by the road-side strings of men and women were constantly
passing, carrying down heavy loads of wood and charcoal from the hills,
and in front of many of the cottages match-wood was spread out on mats
to dry. It was difficult to understand how it could ever get dry, for
all the mists of Japan seemed to collect round these mountains and
forests; the landscape was rarely free from them, and constantly looked
like a Japanese drawing, all vague and white in the valleys, with ridges
of hill and fringes of pine showing in sharp clear lines one behind the
other.
It is a warm climate too, and everything grows luxuriantly. There are
great clumps of bamboo, enormous azalea bushes, and thick undergrowths
of palmetto. On the road-side banks in this last week of April, there
were ferns just unrolling, the fronds of maidenhair (_Adiantum pedatum_)
all bright-red young shoots of lily and orchid and Solomon’s-seal, and a
lovely iris (_I. japonica_), with many lavender-colored flowers on a
branching stalk, each outer petal marked with dark purple lines, and
decorated with a little horn of brilliant orange. The gardens of
tea-houses and temples were gay with azalea, camellia, magnolia, and
cherry, and with the young leaves of maple and andromeda, as bright as
any flowers. During a great part of the year these gardens have but few
blooms--they are only an arrangement of greens and grays--but in the
spring no amount of clipping and training can prevent the shrubs from
blossoming. The cherry-trees and magnolias are let
[Illustration: A BUDDHIST TEMPLE AT YOSHINO--DOUBLE-FLOWERED CHERRY AND
MAGNOLIA]
grow as they choose, but the others are trimmed into more or less formal
shapes, considered suitable to the species, or helping the carefully
studied arrangement of forms, which is the ideal of a Japanese gardener.
There are no beds for flowers. In the little ponds the irises and lotus
bloom, and in odd corners there may be clumps of lilies, chrysanthemums,
or other plants, but these are mere accidents: the designer’s aim is a
composition of rocks, shrubs, stone lanterns, ponds, and bridges, which
will look the same in its general features all the year round, and
conform to established rules. One of my Japanese friends told me, as an
instance of the complexity of the landscape-gardener’s art, that if a
certain shrub were used it would be necessary to place near it a stone
from Tosa, the distant province where it commonly grows. The decorative
garden is quite distinct from the flower garden, where the fine
varieties of iris, pæony, and chrysanthemum, for which Japan is famous,
are grown by professional florists, or by rich amateurs who can devote a
special place to their culture.
On the 3d of May my host at the Ta-tsumiya brought me some pæony flowers
arranged in an old bronze vase. This showed me it was time to move on to
Hase, where there is a great display of them, so next morning I made an
early start for a long jinricksha ride through the hills of Yamato. My
baggage and painting materials could not be packed in less than two
kuruma, two more were necessary for my boy and myself, and the four
vehicles, with two men drawing each, made an imposing procession as we
bumped down the steep village street. The whole staff of the Tatsumi-ya
had turned out to say good-bye; there was a row of little girls kneeling
on the floor, their noses on the matting and their brown hands placed
flat, palms downward, in front of their heads, and the landlord, after
giving me the usual presents and a receipt for my “chadai”--the parting
tip--insisted on accompanying me to the end of the town.
[Illustration: CROSSING THE FERRY AT MUDA, ON THE YOSHINO-GAWA]
Our route for two or three miles, as far as the river Yoshino-gawa, was
the same that I had climbed on my way up; but nine days had made a great
difference in its aspect. Then many of the trees were still bare; now
they were covered with spring leaves. After ferrying over to Muda we
turned northwards, and a good road led us by low passes and through the
grand forests at the foot of Mount Tonomine down to Tosa in the Yamato
Valley. Jinricksha travelling is very pleasant when the roads are good,
the weather fine, and the men active; there is no noise of horses’ hoofs
to disturb the mind, the straw-sandalled feet of the coolies hardly make
a sound, nor is your attention distracted from the landscape by having
to drive; and the frequent short halts at way-side tea-houses give you a
chance of airing your few phrases of Japanese and seeing the ways of the
people. My lunch at Tosa was
[Illustration: MI KOMORI JINJA, A SHINTO TEMPLE NEAR YOSHINO]
enlivened by two charming waitresses, who had evidently seen but few
foreigners, and who were much interested in me and my belongings. My
watch, match-box, cigarette-case, and other small articles had to be
examined, talked over, and shown to the rest of the household, and I was
plied with questions about my age, my family, and other personal
matters, as Japanese etiquette prescribes.
This valley of Yamato is the earliest historic home of the present race;
in it there are many tumuli which mark the burial-places of legendary
emperors, including that of Jimmu Tenno, the first of all, and it is
therefore considered sacred ground by the ancestor-loving Japanese.
Every year crowds of pilgrims walk over the district, making their
“Yamato-meguri,” or tour of the holy places of Yamato, and thereout the
innkeepers suck no small advantage. Hase was full of them, and every
tea-house crammed; in the room next mine at least a dozen must have
slept, and I thought myself lucky to get a place to myself.
There were still some hours of daylight left after I had settled down in
my quarters, so I wandered up the street and climbed the long flight of
steps to the great temple of Kwannon. On each side of the steps small
beds were built up, and in these the pæonies grew, and their big
flowers, ranging in color from white to dark purple, glowed in the
afternoon light against a background of gray stone lanterns. The temple
is built on a hill-side, like Ni-gwatsu-dō at Nara and many other
Buddhist temples, and it consists of a wide veranda filled with
incense-burners and votive pictures and bronze lanterns, and of an inner
sanctuary. Across the entrance to this stands an altar, and over it an
opening in the dark purple curtains allows a glimpse of the great gold
figure of Kwannon, nearly thirty feet high, her face, with its
expression of calm beneficence, only just distinguishable by the light
of a few dim lamps in the gloom of the windowless shrine. Behind this
main temple there are various other buildings, priests’ houses and such
like, and a little pond for the sacred tortoises.
[Illustration: THE STREET, HASE]
The main street of Hase is cut up with rivulets; the middle one is used
for all domestic purposes, and at all hours you may see the women, with
skirts and sleeves tucked up, washing their clothes or their fish and
vegetables, and ladling up water for baths and cooking with their
long-handled wooden dippers. The side streams turn small water-wheels,
which work wooden hammers for pounding and cleaning the rice--an
important part of the day’s work in every Japanese village. In the most
primitive places it is done with a long-headed wooden mallet and the
stump of a tree hollowed out for a mortar; in others big wooden hammers
are fixed on a pivot, and are raised by stepping on the other end of the
handle, tread-mill fashion. A mountain brook, the parent of these little
streams, tumbles along close behind the houses; its banks are overhung
with
[Illustration: ANDROMEDA BUSHES IN KASUGA PARK, NARA]
bamboos, and the rocks at that season were covered with clumps of
lavender iris. From Atago-Yama, a hill just across the river, the view
is fine; below are the flat, gray roofs of Hase, and the _cul-de-sac_ in
which it lies--bordered on either side with green hills, its windings
indicated by the curves of road and shining river, its green surface
spotted here and there with gray hamlets--gradually opens out into the
wider Yamato Valley. Unebi-Yama, which marks the site of Jimmu Tenno’s
mausoleum, rises in the centre of the plain, and beyond it all is an
enclosing barrier of cloudy mountains.
[Illustration: WHITE WISTARIA, HASE-DERA]
A morning’s jinricksha ride took me back to my old quarters at Nara, and
Kwannon must have rejoiced at my departure from Hase-dera, for while I
was there most of the priests and all the acolytes sadly neglected her:
they spent the day looking over my shoulder or gazing open-mouthed in
my face. This was on the 9th of May, and I was glad to find that the
wistaria in Kasuga Park was just in its glory. The masses of flowers
turned the lower trees into big bouquets of pale mauve, and seemed to
drip like fountains from the tall oaks and cryptomerias; and to add to
the beauty, all the undergrowth of andromeda had put out its young
leaves in many shades of color; as Chaucer says, “Some very red, and
some a glad light green.” One glade particularly attracted me: a tiny
clear stream wound along through the brilliant grasses, and the trees
which covered the steep banks on each side of this little meadow were
completely overgrown with the vines, and smothered with their blossoms.
This too was a quiet spot, out of the track of tourists and pilgrims,
and it was a blessed relief to work without a gazing crowd; the only
passers were a few women and children collecting firewood or gathering
the young fern shoots which were sprouting through the grass. These are
cut just as they begin to unroll, and when they are boiled and flavored
with soy, they are really quite good to eat, at least one thinks so in
Japan.
The wistaria blossoms were almost gone when I decided that though there
was still plenty to be done in Nara, it would be better to try some new
sketching-ground, and having heard of a tea-house with a fine old garden
at Hikone, on the shore of Lake Biwa, I determined to move on there for
my next venture. I packed all my belongings, and made arrangements for
the journey next morning, and then walked once more round the park and
the temples, gazing regretfully at all the good things which still
remained to be sketched, and climbed Mikasa Yama, a steep grassy hill
behind the park, which on fine days is dotted all over with picnic
parties. From its summit there is a great view over the plains round
Nara, with the Kizugawa, a good
[Illustration: A TALL WISTARIA, KASUGA PARK, NARA]
broad stream, winding through them. The grassy ridges and the few
wind-beaten pines which grow on them made a fine foreground, and the
little green gullies were spotted with low azalea bushes covered with
flame-colored flowers. It was too good to leave, and I ought to have
unpacked again and prolonged my stay for a few days; but laziness
prevailed, the bore of repacking seemed intolerable, and to my lasting
remorse this subject remained unpainted.
[Illustration: NOTES AT MUDA]
[Illustration: BADGE OF THE KIKU-SUI-YA]
EARLY SUMMER IN JAPAN
[Illustration: IRIS JAPONICA]
EARLY SUMMER IN JAPAN
[Illustration]
It is difficult nowadays to imagine how the Japanese managed to live
without tea; everybody drinks it at all hours of the day, and the
poorest people rarely get a chance of drinking anything stronger, and
yet it is, as things went in old Japan, a comparatively recent
introduction. Tea was introduced with Buddhism from China, and though
some plants were brought as early as the ninth century, it was not much
grown until the end of the twelfth. Daruma, an Indian saint of the sixth
century, often represented in Japanese art either crossing the ocean on
a reed, or sitting a monument of patience, with his hands in his
sleeves, was the father of the tea-plant. After years of sleepless
watching and prayer he suddenly got drowsy, and at last his eyelids
closed and he peacefully slept. When he awoke he was so ashamed of this
pardonable weakness that he cut off the offending eyelids and threw
them on the ground, where they instantly took root and sprouted into the
shrub which has ever since had power to keep the world awake.
[Illustration: CARRYING HOME TEA LEAVES, NEAR UJI]
In the twelfth century Kyoto was the centre of life in Japan, and the
district of Uji, between that city and Nara, has always kept its
reputation for producing the finest tea. The most valuable leaves are
those on the young spring shoots, and when I passed through on the 19th
of May these were just being gathered and dried. Most of the shrubs
grow in the open air without any protection, evergreen bushes from two
to three feet high, and among them the women and children were at work.
As they squatted by the plants, filling their baskets, very little of
them was visible, but their big grass hats shone in the sun, looking
like a crop of gigantic mushrooms. The Japanese “kasa” is made of
various light materials--straw, split bamboo, rushes, or shavings of
deal; it is used, like an umbrella tied to the head, as a protection
against sun and rain; in the evening or on cloudy days it is laid aside,
and the laborers wear only their cotton kerchief, spread out like a
hood, or tied in a band round their brows. Though it cannot be called
the “vast hat the Graces made,” it is, nevertheless, very effective in
the landscape, and the variations of its outline in different positions
indicate happily the action of its wearer.
[Illustration: A PLANTATION COVERED WITH MATTING NEAR UJI]
The plants which produce the most expensive teas, costing from six to
eight dollars a pound, are carefully protected by mats stretched on a
framework of bamboo, so that the tender leaves may neither be scorched
by the sun nor torn by the heavy rains, and there are acres of them so
enclosed. It was a curious thing to look down from a little hill-top on
a sea of matting which filled the whole valley from one pine-clad hill
to another, its surface only broken by the ends of the supporting poles
and by the thatched roofs of the drying-houses which stuck up here and
there like little islands. Underneath the mats women were picking, and
in every wayside cottage those who were not in the fields were busily
sorting and cleaning the leaves. There are no large factories or
firing-houses; each family makes its own brand of tea, labelling it with
some fanciful or poetic name, such as “jewelled dew.”
The road through this fertile district crosses two large rivers, the
Kisugawa and Ujikawa, and many smaller streams. They are all carefully
banked in, and the water is carried where it is needed by endless
ditches and channels. During the heavy rains these rivulets become
raging torrents, and would soon cover the country with stones and gravel
if they were not kept under control; the quantity of débris they bring
from the mountains is so great that, instead of being down in a hollow,
they are raised above the rest of the country, and you have to go
up-hill to ford them. Before getting into the long and uninteresting
suburbs of Kyoto there are some large ponds on either side of the way,
willows and tall reeds growing on their banks, and in every little creek
fishermen with their boats and nets, all very picturesque and paintable.
So was the Nesan at the Tatsu-ya, who when I halted for lunch at once
led me round to the principal room at the back of the house (the best
rooms and the gardens are usually at the back), and showed me her tame
gold and silver carp, which came to be fed when she clapped her hands.
It was a tiny little
[Illustration: POND IN THE GARDEN OF RAKU-RAKU-TEI, HIKONE]
garden, not more than twenty-five feet square, but it had its pond and
bridge, and mountain of rock, and old pine-tree, like the best of them.
[Illustration: THE CASTLE AT HIKONE]
I reached Hikone by rail the same evening, and took up my quarters at
the Raku-raku-tei tea-house, a great rambling place, with a large garden
and suites of rooms to suit all tastes. I was shown into a gorgeous
apartment with gold screens, its floor raised above the level of the
rest of the house, which no doubt was intended for great people, who in
the old days must often have come here to see the Daimio, Ii Kamon no
Kami; but I felt I could not live up to this, and after viewing the
rooms overlooking the lake, and those built on piles over the fish-pond,
I selected some that looked out into the garden, with a trellis of
wistaria just in front under which the purple trails of blossom nearly a
yard long were still hanging. There are no crowds of
[Illustration: THE CASTLE AT NAGOYA, FIELD OF IRIS IN THE FOREGROUND]
visitors now, and the fine old garden looks rather tangled and
neglected, with bushes untrimmed and paths overgrown with weeds. On a
steep rocky hill close by is the castle where the Daimio formerly lived;
the hill is on one side protected by the lake, and on the others by a
wide moat, crossed by picturesque wooden bridges, and the roads which
lead to the plateau at the top are defended by more bridges over dry
moats, gate-houses, and zigzag walls of large, well-fitted stones. The
architecture of all these castles is very much alike, and though there
are not many of them now standing, they must have abounded in the feudal
times. The finest I saw was that at Nagoya; it was a good deal shaken by
the last great earthquake, but is still quite sound, and the great gold
dolphins on its bronze roof shine high above the rest of the city. In
the short period after the introduction of Western ideas, when the craze
for things European
[Illustration: AN OLD CASTLE MOAT, AKASHI, NEAR KŌBE]
led to many acts of vandalism, most of them were pulled down, and this
one at Hikone was only just saved from destruction by the intervention
of the Emperor; now that a reaction has set in, and the Japanese
official mind is not so eager to forget the past and obliterate its
relics, they are likely to be carefully preserved. All of them have a
massive foundation of large stones, not squared except at the angles,
but carefully trimmed and fitted together without mortar; and the
superstructure is of timber and plaster, with roofs and eaves of heavy
tiles or metal. The moats, overhung with pines and filled with lotus
during the summer months, are always interesting. It was a blazing hot
day when I walked
[Illustration: FIELDS NEAR LAKE BIWA]
up and examined the castle; there was not a cloud in the sky, and Lake
Biwa and its mountains lay still and clear and soft in the delicate blue
haze which seems to be their own peculiar property. The fields outside
the town were covered with a bright pink flower like a clover, which is
not used for fodder, as there are hardly any animals to feed, but is dug
in to improve the land for the rice, and this blaze of color consoled me
for not finding as many azaleas as I expected. I set to work at a study
of it, and sent my boy Matsuba, who, with the quickness of his race,
quite understood the kind of thing I was looking for, to search the
neighborhood for azalea bushes. He came back early in the afternoon to
tell me that he had not been successful, but that there were some races
going on in the town, so we wandered up, and established ourselves in a
room just over the starting-post. The course was about two hundred and
fifty yards along the pebbly bed of a dry river, and all the
arrangements were very unlike those of a European racecourse. Two
upright posts of bamboo stood about five yards apart, with a stout pole
slung between them; the vicious little ponies were brought along by two
grooms, each holding a long cord fastened to the bridle, and with a good
deal of shoving and hustling were wedged in, shoulder to shoulder,
between this pole and another behind them at about the height of their
hocks. Their heads were pulled over the front pole, and held firmly by a
groom with a long running cord through the bridle rings, while the
jockeys were fully occupied in preventing the little brutes from
striking each other with their fore and hind legs. Meanwhile the
spectators, who had kept at a respectful distance until the ponies were
safely fixed, crowded up behind them, pulling their tails and whacking
them with bamboos. The starter then appeared, made a few remarks, and
beat a small drum, upon which the men in charge of the pulleys dropped
the front pole, the grooms slipped their ropes out of the bridle rings
and jumped aside, and the ponies scrambled off as best they could. The
jockeys rode without saddles or stirrups, with their great toes hitched
into a surcingle, and directly they were off they dropped the reins,
held their left hands in the air, and plied their whips with the right
until they had passed the winning-post. It was just a scurry, with no
time for scientific riding, and, as far as I could see, the pony who
got over the pole best always won. O Kazu San, my waitress at the
Raku-raku-tei, was helping at the tea-house, and kept me supplied with
tea and cakes, and I stayed watching the races and the spectators, and
being watched by them, until the dusk put a stop to sport. I left too
soon, for my boy told me that there was a fight afterwards about a bet;
it was the only fight I heard of while I
[Illustration: O KAZU SAN]
was in Japan, and I should have liked to see it. Two days of heavy rain
turned the course into a river once more, so that the heats were never
decided. Some few days after, Matsuba told me that there was a “Japanese
man’s circus” in the town. It was not in the least like a circus; it was
a theatrical performance in which all the members of the company, who in
this troupe were women, were mounted on horseback. There was a small
stage, with a set scene at the back, and in front of it, on the same
level as the spectators, a space of bare earth on which the action took
place. The play consisted mostly of combats; the swords and other
necessary properties were brought in by attendants, and placed on a high
stand where they could be easily reached by the actors, and the horses
were then led into position, and held there while the fighting went on.
None of the performers fell off, but beyond this there was no
horsemanship; they could not even get their steeds on and off the stage
without the help of a groom.