The Mountain of the Lotus and the Fan
Mount Fuji, or Fuji-yama ("The Never-dying Mountain"), seems to be
typically Japanese. Its great snow-capped cone resembles a huge
inverted fan, the fine streaks down its sides giving the appearance of
fan-ribs. A native has thus fittingly described it: "Fuji dominates
life by its silent beauty: sorrow is hushed, longing quieted, peace
seems to flow down from that changeless home of peace, the peak of the
white lotus." The reference here to a white lotus is as appropriate as
that of the wide-stretched fan, for it refers to the sacred flower of
the Lord Buddha, and its eight points symbolise to the devout Buddhist
the Eight Intelligences of Perception, Purpose, Speech, Conduct,
Living, Effort, Mindfulness, and Contemplation. The general effect
of Fuji, then, suggests on the one hand religion, and on the other a
fan vast enough and fair enough to coquet with stars and swift-moving
clouds. Poets and artists alike have paid their tributes of praise to
this peerless mountain, and we give the following exquisite poem on
this apparently inexhaustible theme:
"Fuji Yama,
Touched by thy divine breath,
We return to the shape of God.
Thy silence is Song,
Thy song is the song of Heaven:
Our land of fever and care
Turns to a home of mellow-eyed ease--
The home away from the land
Where mortals are born only to die.
We Japanese daughters and sons,
Chanting of thy fair majesty,
The pride of God,
Seal our shadows in thy bosom,
The balmiest place of eternity,
O white-faced wonder,
O matchless sight,
O sublimity, O Beauty!
The thousand rivers carry thy sacred image
On their brows;
All the mountains raise their heads unto thee
Like the flowing tide,
As if to hear thy final command.
Behold! the seas surrounding Japan
Lose their hungry-toothed song and wolfish desire,
Kissed by lullaby-humming repose,
At sight of thy shadow,
As one in a dream of poem.
We being round thee forget to die:
Death is sweet,
Life is sweeter than Death.
We are mortals and also gods,
Innocent companions of thine,
O eternal Fuji!"
_Yone Noguchi_.
Mount Fuji has been a place of pilgrimage for hundreds of years, and
Lafcadio Hearn has described its peak as "the Supreme Altar of the
Sun." Many pilgrims still cling to the old Shinto custom of ascending
this sacred mountain, wearing white clothes and very broad straw hats,
and frequently ringing a bell and chanting: "May our six senses be
pure, and the weather on the honourable mountain be fair."
Fuji was at one time an extremely active volcano. Her final outbreak
took place in 1707-8, and covered Tōkyō, sixty miles distant, with six
inches of ash. The very name Fuji is probably derived from Huchi, or
Fuchi, the Aino Goddess of Fire; "for," writes Professor Chamberlain,
"down to times almost historical the country round Fuji formed part of
Aino-land, and all Eastern Japan is strewn with names of Aino origin."
The Deities of Fuji
Sengen, the Goddess of Fuji, is also
known as Ko-no-hana-saku-ya-hime[1]
("Radiant-blooming-as-the-flowers-of-the-trees"), and on the summit is
her temple. In ancient days it is said that this Goddess hovered in
a luminous cloud above the crater, tended by invisible servants, who
were prepared to throw down any pilgrims who were not pure of heart.
Another deity of this mountain is O-ana-mochi ("Possessor of the Great
Hole," or "Crater"). In addition we have the Luminous Maiden, who lured
a certain emperor to his doom. At the place of his vanishing a small
shrine was erected, where he is still worshipped. It is said that on
one occasion a shower of priceless jewels fell down from this mountain,
and that the sand which during the day is disturbed by the feet of
countless pilgrims falls to the base and nightly reascends to its
former position.
Fuji, the Abode of the Elixir of Life
It is not surprising to find that legend has grown round this venerable
and venerated mountain. Like so many mountains in Japan, and, indeed,
in other Eastern countries, it was associated with the Elixir of Life.
The Japanese poet's words, "We being round thee forget to die," though
written in recent years, seem to reflect the old idea. We have already
seen, in the legend of "The Bamboo-cutter and the Moon-Maiden," that
Tsuki was commanded by the Lady Kaguya to ascend Fuji and there burn
the Elixir of Life, together with a certain scroll.
The fame of Fuji, so an old legend informs us, reached the ears of an
Emperor of China. When he was told that this mountain had come into
being in a single night[2] he conjectured that Mount Fuji must needs
yield the Elixir of Life itself. He accordingly collected about him
a number of handsome youths and maidens and set sail for the Land of
the Rising Sun. The junks rushed before the roaring wind like a shower
of gold petals; but eventually the storm abated, and the Emperor and
his people saw the white splendour of Fuji rise up before them. When
the junks had run in upon the shore the Emperor formed his company in
procession, and, walking very slowly, led the way up the mountain. Hour
after hour the procession climbed, the gold-robed Emperor ever walking
in advance, until the sound of the sea was lost, and the thousand feet
trod softly on the snow where there was peace and life eternal. Nearing
the journey's end, the old Emperor ran forward joyously, for he wanted
to be the first to drink of the Elixir of Life. And he was the first to
taste of that Life that never grows old; but when the company found him
they saw their Emperor lying on his back with a smile upon his face. He
had indeed found Life Eternal, but it was through the way of Death.
Sentaro's Visit to the Land of Perpetual Youth
The desire to wrest from Mount Fuji the secret of perpetual life never
seems to have met with success. A Chinese, Jofuku by name, reached the
sacred mountain with this object in view. He failed, and never lived to
return to his own country; but he is looked upon as a saint, and those
bound on the same quest pray earnestly at his shrine.
Sentaro on one occasion prayed at this shrine, and was presented with
a small paper crane, which expanded to a vast size directly it had
reached his hands. On the back of this great crane flew Sentaro to
the Land of Perpetual Youth, where, to his amazement, the people ate
poisons and longed in vain to die! Sentaro soon grew weary of this
land, returned to his own country, and resolved to be content with
the ordinary span of years allotted to mankind--as well he may have
been, considering that he had already spent three hundred years in the
country where there was no death and no birth.
The Goddess of Fuji
Yosoji's mother, in common with many in the village where she lived,
was stricken down with smallpox. Yosoji consulted the magician Kamo
Yamakiko in the matter, for his mother grew so ill that every hour he
expected her to be taken from him in death. Kamo Yamakiko told Yosoji
to go to a small stream that flowed from the south-west side of Mount
Fuji. "Near the source of this stream," said the magician, "is a shrine
to the God of Long Breath. Go fetch this water, and give it to your
mother, for this alone will cure her."
Yosoji, full of hope, eagerly set forth upon his journey, and when he
had arrived at a spot where three paths crossed each other he was in
difficulty as to the right one to take. Just as he was debating the
matter a lovely girl, clad in white, stepped out from the forest, and
bade him follow her to the place where the precious stream flowed near
the shrine of the God of Long Breath.
[Illustration: Sengen, the Goddess of Mount Fuji.--134]
When they reached the stream Yosoji was told to drink himself, as well
as to fill the gourd with the sparkling water for his mother. When he
had done these things the beautiful girl accompanied him to the place
where he had originally seen her, and said: "Meet me again at this
place in three days' time, for you will require a further supply of
this water."
After five visits to this sacred shrine Yosoji rejoiced to find that
his mother was quite well again, and not only his mother, but many of
the villagers who had also been privileged to drink the water. Yosoji's
bravery was loudly extolled, and presents were sent to the magician for
his timely advice; but Yosoji, who was an honest lad, knew in his heart
that all praise was really due to the beautiful girl who had been his
guide. He desired to thank her more fully than he had hitherto done,
and for this purpose he once more set out for the stream.
When Yosoji reached the shrine of the God of Long Breath he found that
the stream had dried up. With much surprise and not a little sorrow he
knelt down and prayed that she who had been so good to his mother would
appear before him in order that he might thank her as she so richly
deserved. When Yosoji arose he saw the maiden standing before him.
Yosoji expressed his gratitude in warm and elegant language, and begged
to be told the name of her who had been his guide and restored his
mother to health and strength again. But the maiden, smiling sweetly
upon him, would not tell her name. Still smiling, she swung a branch of
camellia in the air, so that it seemed that the fair blossom beckoned
to some invisible spirit far away. In answer to the floral summons a
cloud came down from Mount Fuji; it enveloped the lovely maiden, and
carried her to the sacred mountain from which she had come. Yosoji
knew now that his guide was none other than the Goddess of Fuji. He
knelt with rapture upon his face as he watched the departing figure.
As he gazed upon her he knew in his heart that with his thanks love
had mingled too. While he yet knelt the Goddess of Fuji threw down the
branch of camellia, a remembrance, perhaps a token, of her love for
him.
The Rip van Winkle of Old Japan
We have already referred to the coming of Fuji in a single night, and
the following legend gives an account of this remarkable event. We have
added to this legend another, which is probably of Chinese origin,
because the two fit in well together and furnish interesting material
in regard to this mountain.
Many years ago there lived on the then barren plain of Suruga a woodman
by the name of Visu. He was a giant in stature, and lived in a hut
with his wife and children. One night, just as Visu was about to fall
asleep, he heard a most extraordinary sound coming from under the
earth, a sound louder and more terrible than thunder. Visu, thinking
that he and his family were about to be destroyed by an earthquake,
hastily snatched up the younger children and rushed to the door of
the hut, where he saw a most wonderful sight. Instead of the once
desolate plain he perceived a great mountain from whose head sprang
tongues of flame and dense clouds of smoke! So glorious was the sight
of this mountain that had run under the earth for two hundred miles and
then suddenly sprung forth on the plain of Suruga that Visu, his wife
and family, sat down on the ground as if under a spell. When the sun
rose the next morning Visu saw that the mountain had put on robes of
opal. It seemed so impressive to him that he called it Fuji-yama ("The
Never-dying Mountain"), and so it is called to this day. Such perfect
beauty suggested to the woodman the eternal, an idea which no doubt
gave rise to the Elixir of Life so frequently associated with this
mountain.
Day after day Visu sat and gazed upon Fuji, and was just conjecturing
how nice it would be for so imposing a mountain to be able to see her
loveliness, when a great lake suddenly stretched before him, shaped
like a lute, and so called Biwa.[3]
The Adventures of Visu
One day Visu received a visit from an old priest, who said to him:
"Honourable woodman, I am afraid you never pray." Visu replied: "If
you had a wife and a large family to keep you would never have time
to pray." This remark made the priest angry, and the old man gave the
woodcutter a vivid description of the horror of being reborn as a toad,
or a mouse, or an insect for millions of years. Such lurid details were
not to Visu's liking, and he accordingly promised the priest that in
future he would pray. "Work and pray," said the priest as he took his
departure.
Unfortunately Visu did nothing but pray. He prayed all day long and
refused to do any work, so that his rice crops withered and his wife
and family starved. Visu's wife, who had hitherto never said a harsh or
bitter word to her husband, now became extremely angry, and, pointing
to the poor thin bodies of her children, she exclaimed: "Rise, Visu,
take up your axe and do something more helpful to us all than the mere
mumbling of prayers!"
Visu was so utterly amazed at what his wife had said that it was some
time before he could think of a fitting reply. When he did so his words
came hot and strong to the ears of his poor, much-wronged wife.
"Woman," said he, "the Gods come first. You are an impertinent creature
to speak to me so, and I will have nothing more to do with you!" Visu
snatched up his axe and, without looking round to say farewell, he left
the hut, strode out of the wood, and climbed up Fuji-yama, where a mist
hid him from sight.
When Visu had seated himself upon the mountain he heard a soft rustling
sound, and immediately afterward saw a fox dart into a thicket. Now
Visu deemed it extremely lucky to see a fox, and, forgetting his
prayers, he sprang up, and ran hither and thither in the hope of again
finding this sharp-nosed little creature. He was about to give up
the chase when, coming to an open space in a wood, he saw two ladies
sitting down by a brook playing _go_.[4] The woodman was so completely
fascinated that he could do nothing but sit down and watch them.
There was no sound except the soft click of pieces on the board and
the song of the running brook. The ladies took no notice of Visu, for
they seemed to be playing a strange game that had no end, a game that
entirely absorbed their attention. Visu could not keep his eyes off
these fair women. He watched their long black hair and the little quick
hands that shot out now and again from their big silk sleeves in order
to move the pieces. After he had been sitting there for three hundred
years, though to him it was but a summer's afternoon, he saw that one
of the players had made a false move. "_Wrongs_ most lovely lady!" he
exclaimed excitedly. In a moment these women turned into foxes[5] and
ran away.
[Illustration: Visu on Mount Fuji-yama.--138]
When Visu attempted to pursue them he found to his horror that his
limbs were terribly stiff, that his hair was very long, and that his
beard touched the ground. He discovered, moreover, that the handle of
his axe, though made of the hardest wood, had crumbled away into a
little heap of dust.
Visu's Return
After many painful efforts Visu was able to stand on his feet and
proceed very slowly toward his little home. When he reached the spot he
was surprised to see no hut, and, perceiving a very old woman, he said:
"Good lady, I am amazed to find that my little home has disappeared. I
went away this afternoon, and now in the evening it has vanished!"
The old woman, who believed that a madman was addressing her, inquired
his name. When she was told, she exclaimed: "Bah! you must indeed be
mad! Visu lived three hundred years ago! He went away one day, and he
never came back again."
"_Three hundred years_!" murmured Visu. "It cannot be possible. Where
are my dear wife and children?"
"Buried!" hissed the old woman, "and, if what you say is true, your
children's children too. The Gods have prolonged your miserable life in
punishment for having neglected your wife and little children."
Big tears ran down Visu's withered cheeks as he said in a husky voice:
"I have lost my manhood. I have prayed when my dear ones starved and
needed the labour of my once strong hands. Old woman, remember my last
words: _if you pray, work too_!"
We do not know how long the poor but repentant Visu lived after he
returned from his strange adventures. His white spirit is still said to
haunt Fuji-yama when the moon shines brightly.
[Footnote 1: She married Ninigi, and is referred to in Chapter I.]
[Footnote 2: See the last section of this chapter.]
[Footnote 3: There is some confusion here, for in actual fact Lake
Biwa is a hundred and forty miles distant from Fuji--too great a
distance, one would imagine, for even a miraculous mountain to look
into. Legend asserts that Fuji came from the earth in a single night,
while Lake Biwa sank simultaneously. Professor Chamberlain writes: "May
we not have here an echo of some early eruption, which resulted in the
formation, not indeed of Lake Biwa....but of one of the numerous small
lakes at the foot of the mountain?"]
[Footnote 4: A game introduced from China resembling chess, but a more
complicated variety than the game with which we are familiar.]
[Footnote 5: Fox legends have been fully described in Chapter V.]