Sec. 19
Over the Tenjin-bashi, or Bridge of Tenjin, and through small streets and narrow of densely populated districts, and past many a tenantless and mouldering feudal homestead, I make my way to the extreme south- western end of the city, to watch the sunset from a little sobaya [9]
facing the lake. For to see the sun sink from this sobaya is one of the delights of Matsue.
There are no such sunsets in j.a.pan as in the tropics: the light is gentle as a light of dreams; there are no furies of colour; there are no chromatic violences in nature in this Orient. All in sea or sky is tint rather than colour, and tint vapour-toned. I think that the exquisite taste of the race in the matter of colours and of tints, as exemplified in the dyes of their wonderful textures, is largely attributable to the sober and delicate beauty of nature"s tones in this all-temperate world where nothing is garish.
Before me the fair vast lake sleeps, softly luminous, far-ringed with chains of blue volcanic hills shaped like a sierra. On my right, at its eastern end, the most ancient quarter of the city spreads its roofs of blue-grey tile; the houses crowd thickly down to the sh.o.r.e, to dip their wooden feet into the flood. With a gla.s.s I can see my own windows and the far-spreading of the roofs beyond, and above all else the green citadel with its grim castle, grotesquely peaked. The sun begins to set, and exquisite astonishments of tinting appear in water and sky.
Dead rich purples cloud broadly behind and above the indigo blackness of the serrated hills--mist purples, fading upward smokily into faint vermilions and dim gold, which again melt up through ghostliest greens into the blue. The deeper waters of the lake, far away, take a tender violet indescribable, and the silhouette of the pine-shadowed island seems to float in that sea of soft sweet colour. But the shallower and nearer is cut from the deeper water by the current as sharply as by a line drawn, and all the surface on this side of that line is a shimmering bronze--old rich ruddy gold-bronze.
All the fainter colours change every five minutes,--wondrously change and shift like tones and shades of fine shot-silks.
Sec. 20
Often in the streets at night, especially on the nights of sacred festivals (matsuri), one"s attention will be attracted to some small booth by the spectacle of an admiring and perfectly silent crowd pressing before it. As soon as one can get a chance to look one finds there is nothing to look at but a few vases containing sprays of flowers, or perhaps some light gracious branches freshly cut from a blossoming tree. It is simply a little flower-show, or, more correctly, a free exhibition of master skill in the arrangement of flowers. For the j.a.panese do not brutally chop off flower-heads to work them up into meaningless ma.s.ses of colour, as we barbarians do: they love nature too well for that; they know how much the natural charm of the flower depends upon its setting and mounting, its relation to leaf and stem, and they select a single graceful branch or spray just as nature made it. At first you will not, as a Western stranger, comprehend such an exhibition at all: you are yet a savage in such matters compared with the commonest coolies about you. But even while you are still wondering at popular interest in this simple little show, the charm of it will begin to grow upon you, will become a revelation to you; and, despite your Occidental idea of self-superiority, you will feel humbled by the discovery that all flower displays you have ever seen abroad were only monstrosities in comparison with the natural beauty of those few simple sprays. You will also observe how much the white or pale blue screen behind the flowers enhances the effect by lamp or lantern light. For the screen has been arranged with the special purpose of showing the exquisiteness of plant shadows; and the sharp silhouettes of sprays and blossoms cast thereon are beautiful beyond the imagining of any Western decorative artist.
Sec. 21
It is still the season of mists in this land whose most ancient name signifies the Place of the Issuing of Clouds. With the pa.s.sing of twilight a faint ghostly brume rises over lake and landscape, spectrally veiling surfaces, slowly obliterating distances. As I lean over the parapet of the Tenjin-bashi, on my homeward way, to take one last look eastward, I find that the mountains have already been effaced. Before me there is only a shadowy flood far vanishing into vagueness without a horizon--the phantom of a sea. And I become suddenly aware that little white things are fluttering slowly down into it from the fingers of a woman standing upon the bridge beside me, and murmuring something in a low sweet voice. She is praying for her dead child. Each of those little papers she is dropping into the current bears a tiny picture of Jizo and perhaps a little inscription. For when a child dies the mother buys a small woodcut (hanko) of Jizo, and with it prints the image of the divinity upon one hundred little papers. And she sometimes also writes upon the papers words signifying "For the sake of . ."--inscribing never the living, but the kaimyo or soul-name only, which the Buddhist priest has given to the dead, and which is written also upon the little commemorative tablet kept within the Buddhist household shrine, or butsuma. Then, upon a fixed day (most commonly the forty-ninth day after the burial), she goes to some place of running water and drops the little papers therein one by one; repeating, as each slips through her fingers, the holy invocation, "Namu Jizo, Dai Bosatsu!"
Doubtless this pious little woman, praying beside me in the dusk, is very poor. Were she not, she would hire a boat and scatter her tiny papers far away upon the bosom of the lake. (It is now only after dark that this may be done; for the police-I know not why--have been instructed to prevent the pretty rite, just as in the open ports they have been instructed to prohibit the launching of the little straw boats of the dead, the shoryobune.)
But why should the papers be cast into running water? A good old Tendai priest tells me that originally the rite was only for the souls of the drowned. But now these gentle hearts believe that all waters flow downward to the Shadow-world and through the Sai-no-Kawara, where Jizo is.
Sec. 22
At home again, I slide open once more my little paper window, and look out upon the night. I see the paper lanterns flitting over the bridge, like a long shimmering of fireflies. I see the spectres of a hundred lights trembling upon the black flood. I see the broad shoji of dwellings beyond the river suffused with the soft yellow radiance of invisible lamps; and upon those lighted s.p.a.ces I can discern slender moving shadows, silhouettes of graceful women. Devoutly do I pray that gla.s.s may never become universally adopted in j.a.pan--there would be no more delicious shadows.
I listen to the voices of the city awhile. I hear the great bell of Tokoji rolling its soft Buddhist thunder across the dark, and the songs of the night-walkers whose hearts have been made merry with wine, and the long sonorous chanting of the night-peddlers.
"U-mu-don-yai-soba-yai!" It is the seller of hot soba, j.a.panese buckwheat, making his last round.
"Umai handan, machibito endan, usemono ninso kaso kichikyo no urainai!"
The cry of the itinerant fortune-teller.
"Ame-yu!" The musical cry of the seller of midzu-ame, the sweet amber syrup which children love.
"Amail" The shrilling call of the seller of amazake, sweet rice wine.
"Kawachi-no-kuni-hiotan-yama-koi-no-tsuji-ura!" The peddler of love- papers, of divining-papers, pretty tinted things with little shadowy pictures upon them. When held near a fire or a lamp, words written upon them with invisible ink begin to appear. These are always about sweethearts, and sometimes tell one what he does not wish to know. The fortunate ones who read them believe themselves still more fortunate; the unlucky abandon all hope; the jealous become even more jealous than they were before.
From all over the city there rises into the night a sound like the bubbling and booming of great frogs in a march--the echoing of the tiny drums of the dancing-girls, of the charming geisha. Like the rolling of a waterfall continually reverberates the mult.i.tudinous pattering of geta upon the bridge. A new light rises in the east; the moon is wheeling up from behind the peaks, very large and weird and wan through the white vapours. Again I hear the sounds of the clapping of many hands. For the wayfarers are paying obeisance to O-Tsuki-San: from the long bridge they are saluting the coming of the White Moon-Lady.[10]
I sleep, to dream of little children, in some mouldering mossy temple court, playing at the game of Shadows and of Demons.
Chapter Eight Kitzuki: The Most Ancient Shrine of j.a.pan
SHINKOKU is the sacred name of j.a.pan--Shinkoku, "The Country of the G.o.ds"; and of all Shinkoku the most holy ground is the land of Izumo.
Hither from the blue Plain of High Heaven first came to dwell awhile the Earth-makers, Izanagi and Izanami, the parents of G.o.ds and of men; somewhere upon the border of this land was Izanami buried; and out of this land into the black realm of the dead did Izanagi follow after her, and seek in vain to bring her back again. And the tale of his descent into that strange nether world, and of what there befell him, is it not written in the Kojiki? [1] And of all legends primeval concerning the Underworld this story is one of the weirdest--more weird than even the a.s.syrian legend of the Descent of Ishtar.
Even as Izumo is especially the province of the G.o.ds, and the place of the childhood of the race by whom Izanagi and Izanami are yet worshiped, so is Kitzuki of Izumo especially the city of the G.o.ds, and its immemorial temple the earliest home of the ancient faith, the great religion of Shinto.
Now to visit Kitzuki has been my most earnest ambition since I learned the legends of the Kojiki concerning it; and this ambition has been stimulated by the discovery that very few Europeans have visited Kitzuki, and that none have been admitted into the great temple itself.
Some, indeed, were not allowed even to approach the temple court. But I trust that I shall be somewhat more fortunate; for I have a letter of introduction from my dear friend Nishida Sentaro, who is also a personal friend of the high pontiff of Kitzuki. I am thus a.s.sured that even should I not be permitted to enter the temple--a privilege accorded to but few among the j.a.panese themselves--I shall at least have the honour of an interview with the Guji, or Spiritual Governor of Kitzuki, Senke Takanori, whose princely family trace back their descent to the G.o.ddess of the Sun. [2]
Sec. 1
I leave Matsue for Kitzuki early in the afternoon of a beautiful September day; taking pa.s.sage upon a tiny steamer in which everything, from engines to awnings, is Lilliputian. In the cabin one must kneel.
Under the awnings one cannot possibly stand upright. But the miniature craft is neat and pretty as a toy model, and moves with surprising swiftness and steadiness. A handsome naked boy is busy serving the pa.s.sengers with cups of tea and with cakes, and setting little charcoal furnaces before those who desire to smoke: for all of which a payment of about three-quarters of a cent is expected.
I escape from the awnings to climb upon the cabin roof for a view; and the view is indescribably lovely. Over the lucent level of the lake we are steaming toward a far-away heaping of beautiful shapes, coloured with that strangely delicate blue which tints all distances in the j.a.panese atmosphere--shapes of peaks and headlands looming up from the lake verge against a porcelain-white horizon. They show no details, whatever. Silhouettes only they are--ma.s.ses of absolutely pure colour.
To left and right, framing in the Shinjiko, are superb green surgings of wooded hills. Great Yakuno-San is the loftiest mountain before us, north-west. South-east, behind us, the city has vanished; but proudly towering beyond looms Daisen--enormous, ghostly blue and ghostly white, lifting the cusps of its dead crater into the region of eternal snow.
Over all arches a sky of colour faint as a dream.
There seems to be a sense of divine magic in the very atmosphere, through all the luminous day, brooding over the vapoury land, over the ghostly blue of the flood--a sense of Shinto. With my fancy full of the legends of the Kojiki, the rhythmic chant of the engines comes to my ears as the rhythm of a Shinto ritual mingled with the names of G.o.ds:
Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami, Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami.
Sec. 2
The great range on the right grows loftier as we steam on; and its hills, always slowly advancing toward us, begin to reveal all the rich details of their foliage. And lo! on the tip of one grand wood-clad peak is visible against the pure sky the many-angled roof of a great Buddhist temple. That is the temple of Ichibata, upon the mountain Ichibata-yama, the temple of Yakushi-Nyorai, the Physician of Souls. But at Ichibata he reveals himself more specially as the healer of bodies, the Buddha who giveth sight unto the blind. It is believed that whosoever has an affection of the eyes will be made well by praying earnestly at that great shrine; and thither from many distant provinces do afflicted thousands make pilgrimage, ascending the long weary mountain path and the six hundred and forty steps of stone leading to the windy temple court upon the summit, whence may be seen one of the loveliest landscapes in j.a.pan. There the pilgrims wash their eyes with the water of the sacred spring, and kneel before the shrine and murmur the holy formula of Ichibata: "On-koro-koro-sendai-matoki-sowaka"--words of which the meaning has long been forgotten, like that of many a Buddhist invocation; Sanscrit words transliterated into Chinese, and thence into j.a.panese, which are understood by learned priests alone, yet are known by heart throughout the land, and uttered with the utmost fervour of devotion.
I descend from the cabin roof, and squat upon the deck, under the awnings, to have a smoke with Akira. And I ask:
"How many Buddhas are there, O Akira? Is the number of the Enlightened known?"
"Countless the Buddhas are," makes answer Akira; "yet there is truly but one Buddha; the many are forms only. Each of us contains a future Buddha. Alike we all are except in that we are more or less unconscious of the truth. But the vulgar may not understand these things, and so seek refuge in symbols and in forms."
"And the Kami,--the deities of Shinto?"
"Of Shinto I know little. But there are eight hundred myriads of Kami in the Plain of High Heaven--so says the Ancient Book. Of these, three thousand one hundred and thirty and two dwell in the various provinces of the land; being enshrined in two thousand eight hundred and sixty-one temples. And the tenth month of our year is called the "No-G.o.d-month,"
because in that month all the deities leave their temples to a.s.semble in the province of Izumo, at the great temple of Kitzuki; and for the same reason that month is called in Izumo, and only in Izumo, the "G.o.d-is- month." But educated persons sometimes call it the "G.o.d-present- festival," using Chinese words. Then it is believed the serpents come from the sea to the land, and coil upon the sambo, which is the table of the G.o.ds, for the serpents announce the coming; and the Dragon-King sends messengers to the temples of Izanagi and Izanami, the parents of G.o.ds and men."
"O Akira, many millions of Kami there must be of whom I shall always remain ignorant, for there is a limit to the power of memory; but tell me something of the G.o.ds whose names are most seldom uttered, the deities of strange places and of strange things, the most extraordinary G.o.ds."
"You cannot learn much about them from me," replies Akira. "You will have to ask others more learned than I. But there are G.o.ds with whom it is not desirable to become acquainted. Such are the G.o.d of Poverty, and the G.o.d of Hunger, and the G.o.d of Penuriousness, and the G.o.d of Hindrances and Obstacles. These are of dark colour, like the clouds of gloomy days, and their faces are like the faces of gaki." [3]
"With the G.o.d of Hindrances and Obstacles, O Akira I have had more than a pa.s.sing acquaintance. Tell me of the others."
"I know little about any of them," answers Akira, "excepting Bimbogami.
It is said there are two G.o.ds who always go together,--f.u.ku-no-Kami, who is the G.o.d of Luck, and Bimbogami, who is the G.o.d of Poverty. The first is white, and the second is black."
"Because the last," I venture to interrupt, "is only the shadow of the first. f.u.ku-no-Kami is the Shadow-caster, and Bimbogami the Shadow; and I have observed, in wandering about this world, that wherever the one goeth, eternally followeth after him the other."
Akira refuses his a.s.sent to this interpretation, and resumes: