GLIMPSES OF UNFAMILIAR JAPAN			 First Series			 	 by LAFCADIO HEARN

				 (dedication)

 			 TO THE FRIENDS 		 WHOSE KINDNESS ALONE RENDERED POSSIBLE 			 MY SOJOURN IN THE ORIENT, 			 PAYMASTER MITCHELL McDONALD, U. S. N. 			 AND 			 BASIL HALL CHAMBERLAIN, ESQ. 		 Emeritus Professor of Philology and Japanese in the 			 Imperial University of Tokyo 			 I DEDICATE THESE VOLUMES 	 	 IN TOKEN OF 		 AFFECTION AND GRATITUDE

				CONTENTS				PREFACE			 1	MY FIRST DAY IN THE ORIENT			 2	THE WRITING OF KOBODAISHI			 3	JIZO			 4 	A PILGRIMAGE TO ENOSHIMA			 5	AT THE MARKET OF THE DEAD			 6	BON-ODORI			 7	THE CHIEF CITY OF THE PROVINCE OF THE GODS			 8	KITZUKI: THE MOST ANCIENT SHRINE IN JAPAN			 9	IN THE CAVE OF THE CHILDREN'S GHOSTS			10	AT MIONOSEKI			11	NOTES ON KITZUKI			12	AT HINOMISAKI			13	SHINJU			14	YAEGAKI-JINJA	 15	KITSUNE

PREFACE

In the Introduction to his charming Tales of Old Japan, Mr. Mitfordwrote in 1871:

'The books which have been written of late years about Japan have eitherbeen compiled from official records, or have contained the sketchyimpressions of passing travellers. Of the inner life of the Japanese theworld at large knows but little: their religion, their superstitions, their ways of thought, the hidden springs by which they move--all theseare as yet mysteries. '

This invisible life referred to by Mr. Mitford is the Unfamiliar Japanof which I have been able to obtain a few glimpses. The reader may, perhaps, be disappointed by their rarity; for a residence of little morethan four years among the people--even by one who tries to adopt theirhabits and customs--scarcely suffices to enable the foreigner to beginto feel at home in this world of strangeness. None can feel more thanthe author himself how little has been accomplished in these volumes, and how much remains to do. 

The popular religious ideas--especially the ideas derived from Buddhism-and the curious superstitions touched upon in these sketches arelittle shared by the educated classes of New Japan. Except as regardshis characteristic indifference toward abstract ideas in general andmetaphysical speculation in particular, the Occidentalised Japanese ofto-day stands almost on the intellectual plane of the cultivatedParisian or Bostonian. But he is inclined to treat with undue contemptall conceptions of the supernatural; and toward the great religiousquestions of the hour his attitude is one of perfect apathy. Rarely doeshis university training in modern philosophy impel him to attempt anyindependent study of relations, either sociological or psychological. For him, superstitions are simply superstitions; their relation to theemotional nature of the people interests him not at all. [1] And thisnot only because he thoroughly understands that people, but because theclass to which he belongs is still unreasoningly, though quitenaturally, ashamed of its older beliefs. Most of us who now callourselves agnostics can recollect the feelings with which, in the periodof our fresh emancipation from a faith far more irrational thanBuddhism, we looked back upon the gloomy theology of our fathers. Intellectual Japan has become agnostic within only a few decades; andthe suddenness of this mental revolution sufficiently explains theprincipal, though not perhaps all the causes of the present attitude ofthe superior class toward Buddhism. For the time being it certainlyborders upon intolerance; and while such is the feeling even to religionas distinguished from superstition, the feeling toward superstition asdistinguished from religion must be something stronger still. 

But the rare charm of Japanese life, so different from that of all otherlands, is not to be found in its Europeanised circles. It is to be foundamong the great common people, who represent in Japan, as in allcountries, the national virtues, and who still cling to their delightfulold customs, their picturesque dresses, their Buddhist images, theirhousehold shrines, their beautiful and touching worship of ancestors. This is the life of which a foreign observer can never weary, iffortunate and sympathetic enough to enter into it--the life that forceshim sometimes to doubt whether the course of our boasted Westernprogress is really in the direction of moral development. Each day, while the years pass, there will be revealed to him some strange andunsuspected beauty in it. Like other life, it has its darker side; yeteven this is brightness compared with the darker side of Westernexistence. It has its foibles, its follies, its vices, its cruelties;yet the more one sees of it, the more one marvels at its extraordinarygoodness, its miraculous patience, its never-failing courtesy, itssimplicity of heart, its intuitive charity. And to our own largerOccidental comprehension, its commonest superstitions, however condemnedat Tokyo have rarest value as fragments of the unwritten literature ofits hopes, its fears, its experience with right and wrong--itsprimitive efforts to find solutions for the riddle of the Unseen flowmuch the lighter and kindlier superstitions of the people add to thecharm of Japanese life can, indeed, be understood only by one who haslong resided in the interior. A few of their beliefs are sinister--suchas that in demon-foxes, which public education is rapidly dissipating;but a large number are comparable for beauty of fancy even to thoseGreek myths in which our noblest poets of today still find inspiration;while many others, which encourage kindness to the unfortunate andkindness to animals, can never have produced any but the happiest moralresults. The amusing presumption of domestic animals, and thecomparative fearlessness of many wild creatures in the presence of man;the white clouds of gulls that hover about each incoming steamer inexpectation of an alms of crumbs; the whirring of doves from temple-eaves to pick up the rice scattered for them by pilgrims; the familiarstorks of ancient public gardens; the deer of holy shrines, awaitingcakes and caresses; the fish which raise their heads from sacred lotus-ponds when the stranger's shadow falls upon the water--these and ahundred other pretty sights are due to fancies which, though calledsuperstitious, inculcate in simplest form the sublime truth of the Unityof Life. And even when considering beliefs less attractive than these, -superstitions of which the grotesqueness may provoke a smile--theimpartial observer would do well to bear in mind the words of Lecky:

Many superstitions do undoubtedly answer to the Greek conception ofslavish "fear of the Gods, " and have been productive of unspeakablemisery to mankind; but there are very many others of a differenttendency. Superstitions appeal to our hopes as well as our fears. Theyoften meet and gratify the inmost longings of the heart. They offercertainties where reason can only afford possibilities or probabilities. They supply conceptions on which the imagination loves to dwell. Theysometimes impart even a new sanction to moral truths. Creating wantswhich they alone can satisfy, and fears which they alone can quell, theyoften become essential elements of happiness; and their consolingefficacy is most felt in the languid or troubled hours when it is mostneeded. We owe more to our illusions than to our knowledge. Theimagination, which is altogether constructive, probably contributes moreto our happiness than the reason, which in the sphere of speculation ismainly critical and destructive. The rude charm which, in the hour ofdanger or distress, the savage clasps so confidently to his breast, thesacred picture which is believed to shed a hallowing and protectinginfluence over the poor man's cottage, can bestow a more realconsolation n the darkest hour of human suffering than can be affordedby the grandest theories of philosophy. . . . No error can be more gravethan to imagine that when a critical spirit is abroad the pleasantbeliefs will all remain, and the painful ones alone will perish. '

That the critical spirit of modernised Japan is now indirectly aidingrather than opposing the efforts of foreign bigotry to destroy thesimple, happy beliefs of the people, and substitute those cruelsuperstitions which the West has long intellectually outgrown--thefancies of an unforgiving God and an everlasting hell--is surely to beregretted. More than hundred and sixty years ago Kaempfer wrote of theJapanese 'In the practice of virtue, in purity of life and outwarddevotion they far outdo the Christians. ' And except where native moralshave suffered by foreign contamination, as in the open ports, thesewords are true of the Japanese to-day. My own conviction, and that ofmany impartial and more experienced observers of Japanese life, is thatJapan has nothing whatever to gain by conversion to Christianity, eithermorally or otherwise, but very much to lose. 

Of the twenty-seven sketches composing these volumes, four wereoriginally purchased by various newspaper syndicates and reappear in aconsiderably altered form, and six were published in the AtlanticMonthly (1891-3). The remainder forming the bulk of the work, are new. 

L. H. 

KUMAMOTO, KYUSHU, JAPAN. May, 1894. 

GLIMPSES OF UNFAMILIAR JAPAN by LAFCADIO HEARN

Chapter One My First Day in the Orient

'Do not fail to write down your first impressions as soon as possible, 'said a kind English professor [Basil Hall Chamberlain: PREPARATOR'SNOTE] whom I had the pleasure of meeting soon after my arrival in Japan:'they are evanescent, you know; they will never come to you again, oncethey have faded out; and yet of all the strange sensations you mayreceive in this country you will feel none so charming as these. ' I amtrying now to reproduce them from the hasty notes of the time, and findthat they were even more fugitive than charming; something hasevaporated from all my recollections of them--something impossible torecall. I neglected the friendly advice, in spite of all resolves toobey it: I could not, in those first weeks, resign myself to remainindoors and write, while there was yet so much to see and hear and feelin the sun-steeped ways of the wonderful Japanese city. Still, evencould I revive all the lost sensations of those first experiences, Idoubt if I could express and fix them in words. The first charm of Japanis intangible and volatile as a perfume. 

It began for me with my first kuruma-ride out of the European quarter ofYokohama into the Japanese town; and so much as I can recall of it ishereafter set down. 

º1

It is with the delicious surprise of the first journey through Japanesestreets--unable to make one's kuruma-runner understand anything butgestures, frantic gestures to roll on anywhere, everywhere, since all isunspeakably pleasurable and new--that one first receives the realsensation of being in the Orient, in this Far East so much read of, solong dreamed of, yet, as the eyes bear witness, heretofore all unknown. There is a romance even in the first full consciousness of this rathercommonplace fact; but for me this consciousness is transfiguredinexpressibly by the divine beauty of the day. There is some charmunutterable in the morning air, cool with the coolness of Japanesespring and wind-waves from the snowy cone of Fuji; a charm perhaps duerather to softest lucidity than to any positive tone--an atmosphericlimpidity extraordinary, with only a suggestion of blue in it, throughwhich the most distant objects appear focused with amazing sharpness. The sun is only pleasantly warm; the jinricksha, or kuruma, is the mostcosy little vehicle imaginable; and the street-vistas, as seen above thedancing white mushroom-shaped hat of my sandalled runner, have anallurement of which I fancy that I could never weary. 

Elfish everything seems; for everything as well as everybody is small, and queer, and mysterious: the little houses under their blue roofs, thelittle shop-fronts hung with blue, and the smiling little people intheir blue costumes. The illusion is only broken by the occasionalpassing of a tall foreigner, and by divers shop-signs bearingannouncements in absurd attempts at English. Nevertheless such discordsonly serve to emphasise reality; they never materially lessen thefascination of the funny little streets. 

'Tis at first a delightfully odd confusion only, as you look down one ofthem, through an interminable flutter of flags and swaying of dark bluedrapery, all made beautiful and mysterious with Japanese or Chineselettering. For there are no immediately discernible laws ofconstruction or decoration: each building seems to have a fantasticprettiness of its own; nothing is exactly like anything else, and all isbewilderingly novel. But gradually, after an hour passed in the quarter, the eye begins to recognise in a vague way some general plan in theconstruction of these low, light, queerly-gabled wooden houses, mostlyunpainted, with their first stories all open to the street, and thinstrips of roofing sloping above each shop-front, like awnings, back tothe miniature balconies of paper-screened second stories. You begin tounderstand the common plan of the tiny shops, with their matted floorswell raised above the street level, and the general perpendiculararrangement of sign-lettering, whether undulating on drapery orglimmering on gilded and lacquered signboards. You observe that the samerich dark blue which dominates in popular costume rules also in shopdraperies, though there is a sprinkling of other tints--bright blue andwhite and red (no greens or yellows). And then you note also that thedresses of the labourers are lettered with the same wonderful letteringas the shop draperies. No arabesques could produce such an effect. Asmodified for decorative purposes these ideographs have a speakingsymmetry which no design without a meaning could possess. As they appearon the back of a workman's frock--pure white on dark blue--and largeenough to be easily read at a great distance (indicating some guild orcompany of which the wearer is a member or employee), they give to thepoor cheap garment a fictitious appearance of splendour. 

And finally, while you are still puzzling over the mystery of things, there will come to you like a revelation the knowledge that most of theamazing picturesqueness of these streets is simply due to the profusionof Chinese and Japanese characters in white, black, blue, or gold, decorating everything--even surfaces of doorposts and paper screens. Perhaps, then, for one moment, you will imagine the effect of Englishlettering substituted for those magical characters; and the mere ideawill give to whatever aesthetic sentiment you may possess a brutalshock, and you will become, as I have become, an enemy of the Romaji-Kwai--that society founded for the ugly utilitarian purpose ofintroducing the use of English letters in writing Japanese. 

º2

An ideograph does not make upon the Japanese brain any impressionsimilar to that created in the Occidental brain by a letter orcombination of letters--dull, inanimate symbols of vocal sounds. To theJapanese brain an ideograph is a vivid picture: it lives; it speaks; itgesticulates. And the whole space of a Japanese street is full of suchliving characters--figures that cry out to the eyes, words that smileor grimace like faces. 

What such lettering is, compared with our own lifeless types, can beunderstood only by those who have lived in the farther East. For eventhe printed characters of Japanese or Chinese imported texts give nosuggestion of the possible beauty of the same characters as modified fordecorative inscriptions, for sculptural use, or for the commonestadvertising purposes. No rigid convention fetters the fancy of thecalligrapher or designer: each strives to make his characters morebeautiful than any others; and generations upon generations of artistshave been toiling from time immemorial with like emulation, so thatthrough centuries and centuries of tire-less effort and study, theprimitive hieroglyph or ideograph has been evolved into a thing ofbeauty indescribable. It consists only of a certain number of brush-strokes; but in each stroke there is an undiscoverable secret art ofgrace, proportion, imperceptible curve, which actually makes it seemalive, and bears witness that even during the lightning-moment of itscreation the artist felt with his brush for the ideal shape of thestroke equally along its entire length, from head to tail. But the artof the strokes is not all; the art of their combination is that whichproduces the enchantment, often so as to astonish the Japanesethemselves. It is not surprising, indeed, considering the strangelypersonal, animate, esoteric aspect of Japanese lettering, that thereshould be wonderful legends of calligraphy relating how words written byholy experts became incarnate, and descended from their tablets to hold. Converse with mankind. 

º3

My kurumaya calls himself 'Cha. ' He has a white hat which looks like thetop of an enormous mushroom; a short blue wide-sleeved jacket; bluedrawers, close-fitting as 'tights, ' and reaching to his ankles; andlight straw sandals bound upon his bare feet with cords of palmetto-fibre. Doubtless he typifies all the patience, endurance, and insidiouscoaxing powers of his class. He has already manifested his power to makeme give him more than the law allows; and I have been warned against himin vain. For the first sensation of having a human being for a horse, trotting between shafts, unwearyingly bobbing up and down before you forhours, is alone enough to evoke a feeling of compassion. And when thishuman being, thus trotting between shafts, with all his hopes, memories, sentiments, and comprehensions, happens to have the gentlest smile, andthe power to return the least favour by an apparent display of infinitegratitude, this compassion becomes sympathy, and provokes unreasoningimpulses to self-sacrifice. I think the sight of the profuseperspiration has also something to do with the feeling, for it makes onethink of the cost of heart-beats and muscle-contractions, likewise ofchills, congestions, and pleurisy. Cha's clothing is drenched; and hemops his face with a small sky-blue towel, with figures of bamboo-spraysand sparrows in white upon it, which towel he carries wrapped about hiswrist as he runs. 

That, however, which attracts me in Cha--Cha considered not as a motivepower at all, but as a personality--I am rapidly learning to discern inthe multitudes of faces turned toward us as we roll through theseminiature streets. And perhaps the supremely pleasurable impression ofthis morning is that produced by the singular gentleness of popularscrutiny. Everybody looks at you curiously; but there is never anythingdisagreeable, much less hostile in the gaze: most commonly it isaccompanied by a smile or half smile. And the ultimate consequence ofall these kindly curious looks and smiles is that the stranger findshimself thinking of fairy-land. Hackneyed to the degree of provocationthis statement no doubt is: everybody describing the sensations of hisfirst Japanese day talks of the land as fairyland, and of its people asfairy-folk. Yet there is a natural reason for this unanimity in choiceof terms to describe what is almost impossible to describe moreaccurately at the first essay. To find one's self suddenly in a worldwhere everything is upon a smaller and daintier scale than with us--aworld of lesser and seemingly kindlier beings, all smiling at you as ifto wish you well--a world where all movement is slow and soft, andvoices are hushed--a world where land, life, and sky are unlike allthat one has known elsewhere--this is surely the realisation, forimaginations nourished with English folklore, of the old dream of aWorld of Elves. 

º4

The traveller who enters suddenly into a period of social change--especially change from a feudal past to a democratic present--is likelyto regret the decay of things beautiful and the ugliness of things new. What of both I may yet discover in Japan I know not; but to-day, inthese exotic streets, the old and the new mingle so well that one seemsto set off the other. The line of tiny white telegraph poles carryingthe world's news to papers printed in a mixture of Chinese and Japanesecharacters; an electric bell in some tea-house with an Oriental riddleof text pasted beside the ivory button, a shop of American sewing-machines next to the shop of a maker of Buddhist images; theestablishment of a photographer beside the establishment of amanufacturer of straw sandals: all these present no strikingincongruities, for each sample of Occidental innovation is set into anOriental frame that seems adaptable to any picture. But on the firstday, at least, the Old alone is new for the stranger, and suffices toabsorb his attention. It then appears to him that everything Japanese isdelicate, exquisite, admirable--even a pair of common wooden chopsticksin a paper bag with a little drawing upon it; even a package oftoothpicks of cherry-wood, bound with a paper wrapper wonderfullylettered in three different colours; even the little sky-blue towel, with designs of flying sparrows upon it, which the jinricksha man usesto wipe his face. The bank bills, the commonest copper coins, are thingsof beauty. Even the piece of plaited coloured string used by theshopkeeper in tying up your last purchase is a pretty curiosity. Curiosities and dainty objects bewilder you by their very multitude: oneither side of you, wherever you turn your eyes, are countless wonderfulthings as yet incomprehensible. 

But it is perilous to look at them. Every time you dare to look, something obliges you to buy it--unless, as may often happen, thesmiling vendor invites your inspection of so many varieties of onearticle, each specially and all unspeakably desirable, that you fleeaway out of mere terror at your own impulses. The shopkeeper never asksyou to buy; but his wares are enchanted, and if you once begin buyingyou are lost. Cheapness means only a temptation to commit bankruptcy;for the resources of irresistible artistic cheapness are inexhaustible. The largest steamer that crosses the Pacific could not contain what youwish to purchase. For, although you may not, perhaps, confess the factto yourself, what you really want to buy is not the contents of a shop;you want the shop and the shopkeeper, and streets of shops with theirdraperies and their inhabitants, the whole city and the bay and themountains begirdling it, and Fujiyama's white witchery overhanging it inthe speckless sky, all Japan, in very truth, with its magical trees andluminous atmosphere, with all its cities and towns and temples, andforty millions of the most lovable people in the universe. 

Now there comes to my mind something I once heard said by a practicalAmerican on hearing of a great fire in Japan: 'Oh! those people canafford fires; their houses are so cheaply built. ' It is true that thefrail wooden houses of the common people can be cheaply and quicklyreplaced; but that which was within them to make them beautiful cannot--and every fire is an art tragedy. For this is the land of infinite hand-made variety; machinery has not yet been able to introduce sameness andutilitarian ugliness in cheap production (except in response to foreigndemand for bad taste to suit vulgar markets), and each object made bythe artist or artisan differs still from all others, even of his ownmaking. And each time something beautiful perishes by fire, it is asomething representing an individual idea. 

Happily the art impulse itself, in this country of conflagrations, has avitality which survives each generation of artists, and defies the flamethat changes their labour to ashes or melts it to shapelessness. Theidea whose symbol has perished will reappear again in other creations--perhaps after the passing of a century--modified, indeed, yetrecognisably of kin to the thought of the past. And every artist is aghostly worker. Not by years of groping and sacrifice does he find hishighest expression; the sacrificial past is within 'him; his art is aninheritance; his fingers are guided by the dead in the delineation of aflying bird, of the vapours of mountains, of the colours of the morningand the evening, of the shape of branches and the spring burst offlowers: generations of skilled workmen have given him their cunning, and revive in the wonder of his drawing. What was conscious effort inthe beginning became unconscious in later centuries--becomes almostautomatic in the living man, --becomes the art instinctive. Wherefore, one coloured print by a Hokusai or Hiroshige, originally sold for lessthan a cent, may have more real art in it than many a Western paintingvalued at more than the worth of a whole Japanese street. 

º5

Here are Hokusai's own figures walking about in straw raincoats, andimmense mushroom-shaped hats of straw, and straw sandals--bare-limbedpeasants, deeply tanned by wind and sun; and patient-faced mothers withsmiling bald babies on their backs, toddling by upon their geta (high, noisy, wooden clogs), and robed merchants squatting and smoking theirlittle brass pipes among the countless riddles of their shops. 

Then I notice how small and shapely the feet of the people are--whetherbare brown feet of peasants, or beautiful feet of children wearing tiny, tiny geta, or feet of young girls in snowy tabi. The tabi, the whitedigitated stocking, gives to a small light foot a mythological aspect--the white cleft grace of the foot of a fauness. Clad or bare, theJapanese foot has the antique symmetry: it has not yet been distorted bythe infamous foot-gear which has deformed the feet of Occidentals. Ofevery pair of Japanese wooden clogs, one makes in walking a slightlydifferent sound from the other, as kring to krang; so that the echo ofthe walker's steps has an alternate rhythm of tones. On a pavement, suchas that of a railway station, the sound obtains immense sonority; and acrowd will sometimes intentionally fall into step, with the drollestconceivable result of drawling wooden noise. 

º6

'Tera e yuke!'

I have been obliged to return to the European hotel--not because of thenoon-meal, as I really begrudge myself the time necessary to eat it, butbecause I cannot make Cha understand that I want to visit a Buddhisttemple. Now Cha understands; my landlord has uttered the mystical words:'Tera e yuke!'

A few minutes of running along broad thoroughfares lined with gardensand costly ugly European buildings; then passing the bridge of a canalstocked with unpainted sharp-prowed craft of extraordinary construction, we again plunge into narrow, low, bright pretty streets--into anotherpart of the Japanese city. And Cha runs at the top of his speed betweenmore rows of little ark-shaped houses, narrower above than below;between other unfamiliar lines of little open shops. And always over theshops little strips of blue-tiled roof slope back to the paper-screenedchamber of upper floors; and from all the facades hang draperies darkblue, or white, or crimson--foot-breadths of texture covered withbeautiful Japanese lettering, white on blue, red on black, black onwhite. But all this flies by swiftly as a dream. Once more we cross acanal; we rush up a narrow street rising to meet a hill; and Cha, halting suddenly before an immense flight of broad stone steps, sets theshafts of his vehicle on the ground that I may dismount, and, pointingto the steps, exclaims: 'Tera!'

I dismount, and ascend them, and, reaching a broad terrace, find myselfface to face with a wonderful gate, topped by a tilted, peaked, many-cornered Chinese roof. It is all strangely carven, this gate. Dragonsare inter-twined in a frieze above its open doors; and the panels of thedoors themselves are similarly sculptured; and there are gargoyles--grotesque lion heads--protruding from the eaves. And the whole is grey, stone-coloured; to me, nevertheless, the carvings do not seem to havethe fixity of sculpture; all the snakeries and dragonries appear toundulate with a swarming motion, elusively, in eddyings as of water. 

I turn a moment to look back through the glorious light. Sea and skymingle in the same beautiful pale clear blue. Below me the billowing ofbluish roofs reaches to the verge of the unruffled bay on the right, andto the feet of the green wooded hills flanking the city on two sides. Beyond that semicircle of green hills rises a lofty range of serratedmountains, indigo silhouettes. And enormously high above the line ofthem towers an apparition indescribably lovely--one solitary snowycone, so filmily exquisite, so spiritually white, that but for itsimmemorially familiar outline, one would surely deem it a shape ofcloud. Invisible its base remains, being the same delicious tint as thesky: only above the eternal snow-line its dreamy cone appears, seemingto hang, the ghost of a peak, between the luminous land and the luminousheaven--the sacred and matchless mountain, Fujiyama. 

And suddenly, a singular sensation comes upon me as I stand before thisweirdly sculptured portal--a sensation of dream and doubt. It seems tome that the steps, and the dragon-swarming gate, and the blue skyarching over the roofs of the town, and the ghostly beauty of Fuji, andthe shadow of myself there stretching upon the grey masonry, must allvanish presently. Why such a feeling? Doubtless because the forms beforeme--the curved roofs, the coiling dragons, the Chinese grotesqueries ofcarving--do not really appear to me as things new, but as thingsdreamed: the sight of them must have stirred to life forgotten memoriesof picture-books. A moment, and the delusion vanishes; the romance ofreality returns, with freshened consciousness of all that which is trulyand deliciously new; the magical transparencies of distance, thewondrous delicacy of the tones of the living picture, the enormousheight of the summer blue, and the white soft witchery of the Japanesesun. 

º7

I pass on and climb more steps to a second gate with similar gargoylesand swarming of dragons, and enter a court where graceful votivelanterns of stone stand like monuments. On my right and left two greatgrotesque stone lions are sitting--the lions of Buddha, male andfemale. Beyond is a long low light building, with curved and gabled roofof blue tiles, and three wooden steps before its entrance. Its sides aresimple wooden screens covered with thin white paper. This is the temple. 

On the steps I take off my shoes; a young man slides aside the screensclosing the entrance, and bows me a gracious welcome. And I go in, feeling under my feet a softness of matting thick as bedding. An immensesquare apartment is before me, full of an unfamiliar sweet smell--thescent of Japanese incense; but after the full blaze of the sun, thepaper-filtered light here is dim as moonshine; for a minute or two I cansee nothing but gleams of gilding in a soft gloom. Then, my eyesbecoming accustomed to the obscurity, I perceive against the paper-panedscreens surrounding the sanctuary on three sides shapes of enormousflowers cutting like silhouettes against the vague white light. Iapproach and find them to be paper flowers--symbolic lotus-blossomsbeautifully coloured, with curling leaves gilded on the upper surfaceand bright green beneath, At the dark end of the apartment, facing theentrance, is the altar of Buddha, a rich and lofty altar, covered withbronzes and gilded utensils clustered to right and left of a shrine likea tiny gold temple. But I see no statue; only a mystery of unfamiliarshapes of burnished metal, relieved against darkness, a darkness behindthe shrine and altar--whether recess or inner sanctuary I cannotdistinguish. 

The young attendant who ushered me into the temple now approaches, and, to my great surprise, exclaims in excellent English, pointing to arichly decorated gilded object between groups of candelabra on thealtar:

 'That is the shrine of Buddha. ' 'And I would like to make an offering to Buddha, ' I respond. 'It is not necessary, ' he says, with a polite smile. 

But I insist; and he places the little offering for me upon the altar. Then he invites me to his own room, in a wing of the building--a largeluminous room, without furniture, beautifully matted. And we sit downupon the floor and chat. He tells me he is a student in the temple. Helearned English in Tokyo and speaks it with a curious accent, but withfine choice of words. Finally he asks me:

 'Are you a Christian?' And I answer truthfully: 'No. ' 'Are you a Buddhist?' 'Not exactly. ' 'Why do you make offerings if you do not believe in Buddha?' 'I revere the beauty of his teaching, and the faith of those who follow it. ' 'Are there Buddhists in England and America?' 'There are, at least, a great many interested in Buddhist philosophy. '

And he takes from an alcove a little book, and gives it to me toexamine. It is an English copy of Olcott's Buddhist Catechism. 

'Why is there no image of Buddha in your temple?' I ask. 'There is a small one in the shrine upon the altar, ' the studentanswers; 'but the shrine is closed. And we have several large ones. Butthe image of Buddha is not exposed here every day--only upon festaldays. And some images are exposed only once or twice a year. 

From my place, I can see, between the open paper screens, men and womenascending the steps, to kneel and pray before the entrance of thetemple. They kneel with such naive reverence, so gracefully and sonaturally, that the kneeling of our Occidental devotees seems a clumsystumbling by comparison. Some only join their hands; others clap themthree times loudly and slowly; then they bow their heads, pray silentlyfor a moment, and rise and depart. The shortness of the prayersimpresses me as something novel and interesting. From time to time Ihear the clink and rattle of brazen coin cast into the great woodenmoney-box at the entrance. 

I turn to the young student, and ask him:'Why do they clap their hands three times before they pray?'

He answers:'Three times for the Sansai, the Three Powers: Heaven, Earth, Man. '

'But do they clap their hands to call the Gods, as Japanese clap theirhands to summon their attendants?'

'Oh, no!' he replied. 'The clapping of hands represents only theawakening from the Dream of the Long Night. ' [1]

'What night? what dream?'

He hesitates some moments before making answer:'The Buddha said: All beings are only dreaming in this fleeting worldof unhappiness. '

'Then the clapping of hands signifies that in prayer the soul awakensfrom such dreaming?'

'Yes. '

'You understand what I mean by the word "soul"?'

'Oh, yes! Buddhists believe the soul always was--always will be. '

'Even in Nirvana?'

'Yes. '

While we are thus chatting the Chief Priest of the temple enters--avery aged man-accompanied by two young priests, and I am presented tothem; and the three bow very low, showing me the glossy crowns of theirsmoothly-shaven heads, before seating themselves in the fashion of godsupon the floor. I observe they do not smile; these are the firstJapanese I have seen who do not smile: their faces are impassive as thefaces of images. But their long eyes observe me very closely, while thestudent interprets their questions, and while I attempt to tell themsomething about the translations of the Sutras in our Sacred Books ofthe East, and about the labours of Beal and Burnouf and Feer and Davidsand Kern, and others. They listen without change of countenance, andutter no word in response to the young student's translation of myremarks. Tea, however, is brought in and set before me in a tiny cup, placed in a little brazen saucer, shaped like a lotus-leaf; and I aminvited to partake of some little sugar-cakes (kwashi), stamped with afigure which I recognise as the Swastika, the ancient Indian symbol ofthe Wheel of the Law. 

As I rise to go, all rise with me; and at the steps the student asks formy name and address. 'For, ' he adds, 'you will not see me here again, asI am going to leave the temple. But I will visit you. '

'And your name?' I ask. 

'Call me Akira, ' he answers. 

At the threshold I bow my good-bye; and they all bow very, very low, -one blue-black head, three glossy heads like balls of ivory. And as Igo, only Akira smiles. 

º8

'Tera?' queries Cha, with his immense white hat in his hand, as I resumemy seat in the jinricksha at the foot of the steps. Which no doubtmeans, do I want to see any more temples? Most certainly I do: I havenot yet seen Buddha. 

'Yes, tera, Cha. '

And again begins the long panorama of mysterious shops and tilted eaves, and fantastic riddles written over everything. I have no idea in whatdirection Cha is running. I only know that the streets seem to becomealways narrower as we go, and that some of the houses look like greatwickerwork pigeon-cages only, and that we pass over several bridgesbefore we halt again at the foot of another hill. There is a loftyflight of steps here also, and before them a structure which I know isboth a gate and a symbol, imposing, yet in no manner resembling thegreat Buddhist gateway seen before. Astonishingly simple all the linesof it are: it has no carving, no colouring, no lettering upon it; yet ithas a weird solemnity, an enigmatic beauty. It is a torii. 

'Miya, ' observes Cha. Not a tera this time, but a shrine of the gods ofthe more ancient faith of the land--a miya. 

I am standing before a Shinto symbol; I see for the first time, out of apicture at least, a torii. How describe a torii to those who have neverlooked at one even in a photograph or engraving? Two lofty columns, likegate-pillars, supporting horizontally two cross-beams, the lower andlighter beam having its ends fitted into the columns a little distancebelow their summits; the uppermost and larger beam supported upon thetops of the columns, and projecting well beyond them to right and left. That is a torii: the construction varying little in design, whether madeof stone, wood, or metal. But this description can give no correct ideaof the appearance of a torii, of its majestic aspect, of its mysticalsuggestiveness as a gateway. The first time you see a noble one, youwill imagine, perhaps, that you see the colossal model of some beautifulChinese letter towering against the sky; for all the lines of the thinghave the grace of an animated ideograph, --have the bold angles andcurves of characters made with four sweeps of a master-brush. [2]

Passing the torii I ascend a flight of perhaps one hundred stone steps, and find at their summit a second torii, from whose lower cross-beamhangs festooned the mystic shimenawa. It is in this case a hempen ropeof perhaps two inches in diameter through its greater length, buttapering off at either end like a snake. Sometimes the shimenawa is madeof bronze, when the torii itself is of bronze; but according totradition it should be made of straw, and most commonly is. For itrepresents the straw rope which the deity Futo-tama-no-mikoto stretchedbehind the Sun-goddess, Ama-terasu-oho-mi-Kami, after Ame-no-ta-jikara-wo-no-Kami, the Heavenly-hand-strength-god, had pulled her out, as istold in that ancient myth of Shinto which Professor Chamberlain hastranslated. [3] And the shimenawa, in its commoner and simpler form, has pendent tufts of straw along its entire length, at regularintervals, because originally made, tradition declares, of grass pulledup by the roots which protruded from the twist of it. 

Advancing beyond this torii, I find myself in a sort of park orpleasure-ground on the summit of the hill. There is a small temple onthe right; it is all closed up; and I have read so much about thedisappointing vacuity of Shinto temples that I do not regret the absenceof its guardian. And I see before me what is infinitely moreinteresting, --a grove of cherry-trees covered with somethingunutterably beautiful, --a dazzling mist of snowy blossoms clinging likesummer cloud-fleece about every branch and twig; and the ground beneaththem, and the path before me, is white with the soft, thick, odoroussnow of fallen petals. 

Beyond this loveliness are flower-plots surrounding tiny shrines; andmarvellous grotto-work, full of monsters--dragons and mythologic beingschiselled in the rock; and miniature landscape work with tiny groves ofdwarf trees, and Lilliputian lakes, and microscopic brooks and bridgesand cascades. Here, also, are swings for children. And here arebelvederes, perched on the verge of the hill, wherefrom the whole faircity, and the whole smooth bay speckled with fishing-sails no biggerthan pin-heads, and the far, faint, high promontories reaching into thesea, are all visible in one delicious view--blue-pencilled in a beautyof ghostly haze indescribable. 

Why should the trees be so lovely in Japan? With us, a plum or cherrytree in flower is not an astonishing sight; but here it is a miracle ofbeauty so bewildering that, however much you may have previously readabout it, the real spectacle strikes you dumb. You see no leaves--onlyone great filmy mist of petals. Is it that the trees have been so longdomesticated and caressed by man in this land of the Gods, that theyhave acquired souls, and strive to show their gratitude, like womenloved, by making themselves more beautiful for man's sake? Assuredlythey have mastered men's hearts by their loveliness, like beautifulslaves. That is to say, Japanese hearts. Apparently there have been someforeign tourists of the brutal class in this place, since it has beendeemed necessary to set up inscriptions in English announcing that 'ITIS FORBIDDEN TO INJURE THE TREES. '

º9

'Tera?'

'Yes, Cha, tera. '

But only for a brief while do I traverse Japanese streets. The housesseparate, become scattered along the feet of the hills: the city thinsaway through little valleys, and vanishes at last behind. And we followa curving road overlooking the sea. Green hills slope steeply down tothe edge of the way on the right; on the left, far below, spreads a vaststretch of dun sand and salty pools to a line of surf so distant that itis discernible only as a moving white thread. The tide is out; andthousands of cockle-gatherers are scattered over the sands, at suchdistances that their stooping figures, dotting the glimmering sea-bed, appear no larger than gnats. And some are coming along the road beforeus, returning from their search with well-filled baskets--girls withfaces almost as rosy as the faces of English girls. 

As the jinricksha rattles on, the hills dominating the road grow higher. All at once Cha halts again before the steepest and loftiest flight oftemple steps I have yet seen. 

I climb and climb and climb, halting perforce betimes, to ease theviolent aching of my quadriceps muscles; reach the top completely out ofbreath; and find myself between two lions of stone; one showing hisfangs, the other with jaws closed. Before me stands the temple, at thefarther end of a small bare plateau surrounded on three sides by lowcliffs, -a small temple, looking very old and grey. From a rocky heightto the left of the building, a little cataract rumbles down into a pool, ringed in by a palisade. The voice of the water drowns all other sounds. A sharp wind is blowing from the ocean: the place is chill even in thesun, and bleak, and desolate, as if no prayer had been uttered in it fora hundred years. 

Cha taps and calls, while I take off my shoes upon the worn wooden stepsof the temple; and after a minute of waiting, we bear a muffled stepapproaching and a hollow cough behind the paper screens. They slideopen; and an old white-robed priest appears, and motions me, with a lowbow, to enter. He has a kindly face; and his smile of welcome seems tome one of the most exquisite I have ever been greeted 'with Then hecoughs again, so badly that I think if I ever come here another time, Ishall ask for him in vain. 

I go in, feeling that soft, spotless, cushioned matting beneath my feetwith which the floors of all Japanese buildings are covered. I pass theindispensable bell and lacquered reading-desk; and before me I see otherscreens only, stretching from floor to ceiling. The old man, stillcoughing, slides back one of these upon the right, and waves me into thedimness of an inner sanctuary, haunted by faint odours of incense. Acolossal bronze lamp, with snarling gilded dragons coiled about itscolumnar stem, is the first object I discern; and, in passing it, myshoulder sets ringing a festoon of little bells suspended from thelotus-shaped summit of it. Then I reach the altar, gropingly, unable yetto distinguish forms clearly. But the priest, sliding back screen afterscreen, pours in light upon the gilded brasses and the inscriptions; andI look for the image of the Deity or presiding Spirit between the altar-groups of convoluted candelabra. And I see--only a mirror, a round, pale disk of polished metal, and my own face therein, and behind thismockery of me a phantom of the far sea. 

Only a mirror! Symbolising what? Illusion? or that the Universe existsfor us solely as the reflection of our own souls? or the old Chineseteaching that we must seek the Buddha only in our own hearts? Perhapssome day I shall be able to find out all these things. 

As I sit on the temple steps, putting on my shoes preparatory to going, the kind old priest approaches me again, and, bowing, presents a bowl. Ihastily drop some coins in it, imagining it to be a Buddhist alms-bowl, before discovering it to be full of hot water. But the old man'sbeautiful courtesy saves me from feeling all the grossness of mymistake. Without a word, and still preserving his kindly smile, he takesthe bowl away, and, returning presently with another bowl, empty, fillsit with hot water from a little kettle, and makes a sign to me to drink. 

Tea is most usually offered to visitors at temples; but this littleshrine is very, very poor; and I have a suspicion that the old priestsuffers betimes for want of what no fellow-creature should be permittedto need. As I descend the windy steps to the roadway I see him stilllooking after me, and I hear once more his hollow cough. 

Then the mockery of the mirror recurs to me. I am beginning to wonderwhether I shall ever be able to discover that which I seek--outside ofmyself! That is, outside of my own imagination. 

º10

'Tera?' once more queries Cha. 

'Tera, no--it is getting late. Hotel, Cha. '

But Cha, turning the corner of a narrow street, on our homeward route, halts the jinricksha before a shrine or tiny temple scarcely larger thanthe smallest of Japanese shops, yet more of a surprise to me than any ofthe larger sacred edifices already visited. For, on either side of theentrance, stand two monster-figures, nude, blood-red, demoniac, fearfully muscled, with feet like lions, and hands brandishing gildedthunderbolts, and eyes of delirious fury; the guardians of holy things, the Ni-O, or "Two Kings. " [4] And right between these crimson monstersa young girl stands looking at us; her slight figure, in robe of silvergrey and girdle of iris-violet, relieved deliciously against thetwilight darkness of the interior. Her face, impassive and curiouslydelicate, would charm wherever seen; but here, by strange contrast withthe frightful grotesqueries on either side of her, it produces an effectunimaginable. Then I find myself wondering whether my feeling ofrepulsion toward those twin monstrosities be altogether lust, seeingthat so charming a maiden deems them worthy of veneration. And they evencease to seem ugly as I watch her standing there between them, daintyand slender as some splendid moth, and always naively gazing at theforeigner, utterly unconscious that they might have seemed to him bothunholy and uncomely. 

What are they? Artistically they are Buddhist transformations of Brahmaand of Indra. Enveloped by the absorbing, all-transforming magicalatmosphere of Buddhism, Indra can now wield his thunderbolts only indefence of the faith which has dethroned him: he has become a keeper ofthe temple gates; nay, has even become a servant of Bosatsu(Bodhisattvas), for this is only a shrine of Kwannon, Goddess of Mercy, not yet a Buddha. 

'Hotel, Cha, hotel!' I cry out again, for the way is long, and the sunsinking, --sinking in the softest imaginable glow of topazine light. Ihave not seen Shaka (so the Japanese have transformed the name Sakya-Muni); I have not looked upon the face of the Buddha. Perhaps I may beable to find his image to-morrow, somewhere in this wilderness of woodenstreets, or upon the summit of some yet unvisited hill. 

The sun is gone; the topaz-light is gone; and Cha stops to light hislantern of paper; and we hurry on again, between two long lines ofpainted paper lanterns suspended before the shops: so closely set, solevel those lines are, that they seem two interminable strings of pearlsof fire. And suddenly a sound--solemn, profound, mighty--peals to myears over the roofs of the town, the voice of the tsurigane, the greattemple-bell of Nogiyama. 

All too short the day seemed. Yet my eyes have been so long dazzled bythe great white light, and so confused by the sorcery of thatinterminable maze of mysterious signs which made each street vista seema glimpse into some enormous grimoire, that they are now weary even ofthe soft glowing of all these paper lanterns, likewise covered withcharacters that look like texts from a Book of Magic. And I feel at lastthe coming of that drowsiness which always follows enchantment. 

º11

'Amma-kamishimo-go-hyakmon!'

A woman's voice ringing through the night, chanting in a tone ofsingular sweetness words of which each syllable comes through my openwindow like a wavelet of flute-sound. My Japanese servant, who speaks alittle English. Has told me what they mean, those words:

'Amma-kamishimo-go-hyakmon!'

And always between these long, sweet calls I hear a plaintive whistle, one long note first, then two short ones in another key. It is thewhistle of the amma, the poor blind woman who earns her living byshampooing the sick or the weary, and whose whistle warns pedestriansand drivers of vehicles to take heed for her sake, as she cannot see. And she sings also that the weary and the sick may call her in. 

'Amma-kamishimo-go-hyakmon!'

The saddest melody, but the sweetest voice. Her cry signifies that forthe sum of 'five hundred mon' she will come and rub your weary body'above and below, ' and make the weariness or the pain go away. Fivehundred mon are the equivalent of five sen (Japanese cents); there areten rin to a sen, and ten mon to one rin. The strange sweetness of thevoice is haunting, --makes me even wish to have some pains, that I mightpay five hundred mon to have them driven away. 

I lie down to sleep, and I dream. I see Chinese texts--multitudinous, weird, mysterious--fleeing by me, all in one direction; ideographswhite and dark, upon signboards, upon paper screens, upon backs ofsandalled men. They seem to live, these ideographs, with conscious life;they are moving their parts, moving with a movement as of insects, monstrously, like phasmidae. I am rolling always through low, narrow, luminous streets in a phantom jinricksha, whose wheels make no sound. And always, always, I see the huge white mushroom-shaped hat of Chadancing up and down before me as he runs. 

Chapter Two The Writing of Kobodaishi

º1

KOBODAISHI, most holy of Buddhist priests, and founder of the Shingon-sho--which is the sect of Akira--first taught the men of Japan towrite the writing called Hiragana and the syllabary I-ro-ha; andKobodaishi was himself the most wonderful of all writers, and the mostskilful wizard among scribes. 

And in the book, Kobodaishi-ichi-dai-ki, it is related that when he wasin China, the name of a certain room in the palace of the Emperor havingbecome effaced by time, the Emperor sent for him and bade him write thename anew. Thereupon Kobodaishi took a brush in his right hand, and abrush in his left, and one brush between the toes of his left foot, andanother between the toes of his right, and one in his mouth also; andwith those five brushes, so holding them, he limned the characters uponthe wall. And the characters were beautiful beyond any that had everbeen seen in China--smooth-flowing as the ripples in the current of ariver. And Kobodaishi then took a brush, and with it from a distancespattered drops of ink upon the wall; and the drops as they fell becametransformed and turned into beautiful characters. And the Emperor gaveto Kobodaishi the name Gohitsu Osho, signifying The Priest who writeswith Five Brushes. 

At another time, while the saint was dwelling in Takawasan, near toKyoto, the Emperor, being desirous that Kobodaishi should write thetablet for the great temple called Kongo-jo-ji, gave the tablet to amessenger and bade him carry it to Kobodaishi, that Kobodaishi mightletter it. But when the Emperor s messenger, bearing the tablet, camenear to the place where Kobodaishi dwelt, he found a river before him somuch swollen by rain that no man might cross it. In a little while, however, Kobodaishi appeared upon the farther bank, and, hearing fromthe messenger what the Emperor desired, called to him to hold up thetablet. And the messenger did so; and Kobodaishi, from his place uponthe farther bank, made the movements of the letters with his brush; andas fast as he made them they appeared upon the tablet which themessenger was holding up. 

º2

Now in that time Kobodaishi was wont to meditate alone by the river-side; and one day, while so meditating, he was aware of a boy standingbefore him, gazing at him curiously. The garments of the boy were as thegarments worn by the needy; but his face was beautiful. And whileKobodaishi wondered, the boy asked him: 'Are you Kobodaishi, whom mencall "Gohitsu-Osho"--the priest who writes with five brushes at once?'And Kobodaishi answered: 'I am he. ' Then said the boy: 'If you be he, write, I pray you, upon the sky. ' And Kobodaishi, rising, took hisbrush, and made with it movements toward the sky as if writing; andpresently upon the face of the sky the letters appeared, mostbeautifully wrought. Then the boy said: 'Now I shall try;' and he wrotealso upon the sky as Kobodaishi had done. And he said again toKobodaishi: 'I pray you, write for me--write upon the surface of theriver. ' Then Kobodaishi wrote upon the water a poem in praise of thewater; and for a moment the characters remained, all beautiful, upon theface of the stream, as if they had fallen upon it like leaves; butpresently they moved with the current and floated away. 'Now I willtry, ' said the boy; and he wrote upon the water the Dragon-character--the character Ryu in the writing which is called Sosho, the 'Grass-character;' and the character remained upon the flowing surface andmoved not. But Kobodaishi saw that the boy had not placed the ten, thelittle dot belonging to the character, beside it. And he asked the boy:'Why did you not put the ten?' 'Oh, I forgot!' answered the boy; 'pleaseput it there for me, ' and Kobodaishi then made the dot. And lo! theDragon-character became a Dragon; and the Dragon moved terribly in thewaters; and the sky darkened with thunder-clouds, and blazed withlightnings; and the Dragon ascended in a whirl of tempest to heaven. 

Then Kobodaishi asked the boy: 'Who are you?' And the boy made answer:'I am he whom men worship on the mountain Gotai; I am the Lord ofWisdom, --Monju Bosatsu!' And even as he spoke the boy became changed;and his beauty became luminous like the beauty of gods; and his limbsbecame radiant, shedding soft light about. And, smiling, he rose toheaven and vanished beyond the clouds. 

º3

But Kobodaishi himself once forgot to put the ten beside the character Oon the tablet which he painted with the name of the Gate O-Te-mon of theEmperor's palace. And the Emperor at Kyoto having asked him why he hadnot put the ten beside the character, Kobodaishi answered: 'I forgot;but I will put it on now. ' Then the Emperor bade ladders be brought; forthe tablet was already in place, high above the gate. But Kobodaishi, standing on the pavement before the gate, simply threw his brush at thetablet; and the brush, so thrown, made the ten there most admirably, andfell back into his hand. 

Kobodaishi also painted the tablet of the gate called Ko-kamon of theEmperor's palace at Kyoto. Now there was a man, dwelling near that gate, whose name was Kino Momoye; and he ridiculed the characters whichKobodaishi had made, and pointed to one of them, saying: 'Why, it lookslike a swaggering wrestler!' But the same night Momoye dreamed that awrestler had come to his bedside and leaped upon him, and was beatinghim with his fists. And, crying out with the pain of the blows, heawoke, and saw the wrestler rise in air, and change into the writtencharacter he had laughed at, and go back to the tablet over the gate. 

And there was another writer, famed greatly for his skill, named OnomoToku, who laughed at some characters on the tablet of the Gate Shukaku-mon, written by Kobodaishi; and he said, pointing to the character Shu:'Verily shu looks like the character "rice". ' And that night he dreamedthat the character he had mocked at became a man; and that the man fellupon him and beat him, and jumped up and down upon his face many times--even as a kometsuki, a rice-cleaner, leaps up and down to move thehammers that beat the rice--saying the while: 'Lo! I am the messengerof Kobodaishi!' And, waking, he found himself bruised and bleeding asone that had been grievously trampled. 

And long after Kobodaishi's death it was found that the names written byhim on the two gates of the Emperor's palace Bi-fuku-mon, the Gate ofBeautiful Fortune; and Ko-ka-mon, the Gate of Excellent Greatness--werewell-nigh effaced by time. And the Emperor ordered a Dainagon [1], whosename was Yukinari, to restore the tablets. But Yukinari was afraid toperform the command of the Emperor, by reason of what had befallen othermen; and, fearing the divine anger of Kobodaishi, he made offerings, andprayed for some token of permission. And the same night, in a dream, Kobodaishi appeared to him, smiling gently, and said: 'Do the work evenas the Emperor desires, and have no fear. ' So he restored the tablets inthe first month of the fourth year of Kwanko, as is recorded in thebook, Hon-cho-bun-sui. 

And all these things have been related to me by my friend Akira. 

Chapter Three Jizo

º1

I HAVE passed another day in wandering among the temples, both Shintoand Buddhist. I have seen many curious things; but I have not yet seenthe face of the Buddha. 

Repeatedly, after long wearisome climbing of stone steps, and passingunder gates full of gargoyles--heads of elephants and heads of lions--and entering shoeless into scented twilight, into enchanted gardens ofgolden lotus-flowers of paper, and there waiting for my eyes to becomehabituated to the dimness, I have looked in vain for images. Only anopulent glimmering confusion of things half-seen--vague altar-splendours created by gilded bronzes twisted into riddles, by vessels ofindescribable shape, by enigmatic texts of gold, by mysteriousglittering pendent things--all framing in only a shrine with doors fastclosed. 

What has most impressed me is the seeming joyousness of popular faith. Ihave seen nothing grim, austere, or self-repressive. I have not evennoted anything approaching the solemn. The bright temple courts and eventhe temple steps are thronged with laughing children, playing curiousgames; arid mothers, entering the sanctuary to pray, suffer their littleones to creep about the matting and crow. The people take their religionlightly and cheerfully: they drop their cash in the great alms-box, claptheir hands, murmur a very brief prayer, then turn to laugh and talk andsmoke their little pipes before the temple entrance. Into some shrines, I have noticed the worshippers do not enter at all; they merely standbefore the doors and pray for a few seconds, and make their smallofferings. Blessed are they who do not too much fear the gods which theyhave made!

º2

Akira is bowing and smiling at the door. He slips off his sandals, enters in his white digitated stockings, and, with another smile andbow, sinks gently into the proffered chair. Akira is an interesting boy. With his smooth beardless face and clear bronze skin and blue-black hairtrimmed into a shock that shadows his forehead to the eyes, he hasalmost the appearance, in his long wide-sleeved robe and snowystockings, of a young Japanese girl. 

I clap my hands for tea, hotel tea, which he calls 'Chinese tea. ' Ioffer him a cigar, which he declines; but with my permission, he willsmoke his pipe. Thereupon he draws from his girdle a Japanese pipe-caseand tobacco-pouch combined; pulls out of the pipe-case a little brasspipe with a bowl scarcely large enough to hold a pea; pulls out of thepouch some tobacco so finely cut that it looks like hair, stuffs a tinypellet of this preparation in the pipe, and begins to smoke. He drawsthe smoke into his lungs, and blows it out again through his nostrils. Three little whiffs, at intervals of about half a minute, and the pipe, emptied, is replaced in its case. 

Meanwhile I have related to Akira the story of my disappointments. 

'Oh, you can see him to-day, ' responds Akira, 'if you will take a walkwith me to the Temple of Zotokuin. For this is the Busshoe, the festivalof the Birthday of Buddha. But he is very small, only a few inches high. If you want to see a great Buddha, you must go to Kamakura. There is aBuddha in that place, sitting upon a lotus; and he is fifty feet high. '

So I go forth under the guidance of Akira. He says he may be able toshow me 'some curious things. '

º3

There is a sound of happy voices from the temple, and the steps arecrowded with smiling mothers and laughing children. Entering, I findwomen and babies pressing about a lacquered table in front of thedoorway. Upon it is a little tub-shaped vessel of sweet tea--amacha;and standing in the tea is a tiny figure of Buddha, one hand pointingupward and one downward. The women, having made the customary offering, take up some of the tea with a wooden ladle of curious shape, and pourit over the statue, and then, filling the ladle a second time, drink alittle, and give a sip to their babies. This is the ceremony of washingthe statue of Buddha. 

Near the lacquered stand on which the vessel of sweet tea rests isanother and lower stand supporting a temple bell shaped like a greatbowl. A priest approaches with a padded mallet in his hand and strikesthe bell. But the bell does not sound properly: he starts, looks intoit, and stoops to lift out of it a smiling Japanese baby. The mother, laughing, runs to relieve him of his burden; and priest, mother, andbaby all look at us with a frankness of mirth in which we join. 

Akira leaves me a moment to speak with one of the temple attendants, andpresently returns with a curious lacquered box, about a foot in length, and four inches wide on each of its four sides. There is only a smallhole in one end of it; no appearance of a lid of any sort. 

'Now, ' says Akira, 'if you wish to pay two sen, we shall learn ourfuture lot according to the will of the gods. '

I pay the two sen, and Akira shakes the box. Out comes a narrow slip ofbamboo, with Chinese characters written thereon. 

'Kitsu!' cries Akira. 'Good-fortune. The number is fifty-and-one. '

Again he shakes the box; a second bamboo slip issues from the slit. 

'Dai kitsu! great good-fortune. The number is ninety-and-nine. 

Once more the box is shaken; once more the oracular bamboo protrudes. 

'Kyo!' laughs Akira. 'Evil will befall us. The number is sixty-and-four. '

He returns the box to a priest, and receives three mysterious papers, numbered with numbers corresponding to the numbers of the bamboo slips. These little bamboo slips, or divining-sticks, are called mikuji. 

This, as translated by Akira, is the substance of the text of the papernumbered fifty-and-one:

'He who draweth forth this mikuji, let him live according to theheavenly law and worship Kwannon. If his trouble be a sickness, it shallpass from him. If he have lost aught, it shall be found. If he have asuit at law, he shall gain. If he love a woman, he shall surely win her-though he should have to wait. And many happinesses will come to him. '

The dai-kitsu paper reads almost similarly, with the sole differencesthat, instead of Kwannon, the deities of wealth and prosperity--Daikoku, Bishamon, and Benten--are to be worshipped, and that thefortunate man will not have to wait at all for the woman loved. But thekyo paper reads thus:

'He who draweth forth this mikuji, it will be well for him to obey theheavenly law and to worship Kwannon the Merciful. If he have anysickness, even much more sick he shall become. If he have lost aught, itshall never be found. If he have a suit at law, he shall never gain it. If he love a woman, let him have no more expectation of winning her. Only by the most diligent piety can he hope to escape the most frightfulcalamities. And there shall be no felicity in his portion. '

'All the same, we are fortunate, ' declares Akira. 'Twice out of threetimes we have found luck. Now we will go to see another statue ofBuddha. ' And he guides me, through many curious streets, to thesouthern verge of the city. 

º4

Before us rises a hill, with a broad flight of stone steps sloping toits summit, between foliage of cedars and maples. We climb; and I seeabove me the Lions of Buddha waiting--the male yawning menace, thefemale with mouth closed. Passing between them, we enter a large templecourt, at whose farther end rises another wooded eminence. 

And here is the temple, with roof of blue-painted copper tiles, andtilted eaves and gargoyles and dragons, all weather-stained to oneneutral tone. The paper screens are open, but a melancholy rhythmicchant from within tells us that the noonday service is being held: thepriests are chanting the syllables of Sanscrit texts transliterated intoChinese--intoning the Sutra called the Sutra of the Lotus of the GoodLaw. One of those who chant keeps time by tapping with a mallet, cotton-wrapped, some grotesque object shaped like a dolphin's head, alllacquered in scarlet and gold, which gives forth a dull, booming tone--a mokugyo. 

To the right of the temple is a little shrine, filling the air withfragrance of incense-burning. I peer in through the blue smoke thatcurls up from half a dozen tiny rods planted in a small brazier full ofashes; and far back in the shadow I see a swarthy Buddha, tiara-coiffed, with head bowed and hands joined, just as I see the Japanese praying, erect in the sun, before the thresholds of temples. The figure is ofwood, rudely wrought and rudely coloured: still the placid face hasbeauty of suggestion. 

Crossing the court to the left of the building, I find another flight ofsteps before me, leading up a slope to something mysterious stillhigher, among enormous trees. I ascend these steps also, reach the top, guarded by two small symbolic lions, and suddenly find myself in coolshadow, and startled by a spectacle totally unfamiliar. 

Dark--almost black--soil and the shadowing of trees immemorially old, through whose vaulted foliage the sunlight leaks thinly down in rareflecks; a crepuscular light, tender and solemn, revealing the weirdesthost of unfamiliar shapes--a vast congregation of grey, columnar, mossythings, stony, monumental, sculptured with Chinese ideographs. And aboutthem, behind them, rising high above them, thickly set as rushes in amarsh-verge, tall slender wooden tablets, like laths, covered withsimilar fantastic lettering, pierce the green gloom by thousands, bytens of thousands. 

And before I can note other details, I know that I am in a hakaba, acemetery--a very ancient Buddhist cemetery. 

These laths are called in the Japanese tongue sotoba. [1] All havenotches cut upon their edges on both sides near the top-five notches;and all are painted with Chinese characters on both faces. Oneinscription is always the phrase 'To promote Buddhahood, ' paintedimmediately below the dead man's name; the inscription upon the othersurface is always a sentence in Sanscrit whose meaning has beenforgotten even by those priests who perform the funeral rites. One suchlath is planted behind the tomb as soon as the monument (haka) is setup; then another every seven days for forty-nine days, then one afterthe lapse of a hundred days; then one at the end of a year; then oneafter the passing of three years; and at successively longer periodsothers are erected during one hundred years. 

And in almost every group I notice some quite new, or freshly planedunpainted white wood, standing beside others grey or even black withage; and there are many, still older from whose surface all thecharacters have disappeared. Others are lying on the sombre clay. Hundreds stand so loose in the soil that the least breeze jostles andclatters them together. 

Not less unfamiliar in their forms, but far more interesting, are themonuments of stone. One shape I know represents five of the Buddhistelements: a cube supporting a sphere which upholds a pyramid on whichrests a shallow square cup with four crescent edges and tilted corners, and in the cup a pyriform body poised with the point upwards. Thesesuccessively typify Earth, Water, Fire, Wind, Ether, the five substanceswherefrom the body is shapen, and into which it is resolved by death;the absence of any emblem for the Sixth element, Knowledge, touches morethan any imagery conceivable could do. And nevertheless, in the purposeof the symbolism, this omission was never planned with the same ideathat it suggests to the Occidental mind. 

Very numerous also among the monuments are low, square, flat-toppedshafts, with a Japanese inscription in black or gold, or merely cut intothe stone itself. Then there are upright slabs of various shapes andheights, mostly rounded at the top, usually bearing sculptures inrelief. Finally, there are many curiously angled stones, or naturalrocks, dressed on one side only, with designs etched upon the smoothedsurface. There would appear to be some meaning even in the irregularityof the shape of these slabs; the rock always seems to have been brokenout of its bed at five angles, and the manner in which it remainsbalanced perpendicularly upon its pedestal is a secret that the firsthasty examination fails to reveal. 

The pedestals themselves vary in construction; most have three orificesin the projecting surface in front of the monument supported by them, usually one large oval cavity, with two small round holes flanking it. These smaller holes serve for the burning of incense-rods; the largercavity is filled with water. I do not know exactly why. Only my Japanesecompanion tells me 'it is an ancient custom in Japan thus to pour outwater for the dead. ' There are also bamboo cups on either side of themonument in which to place flowers. 

Many of the sculptures represent Buddha in meditation, or in theattitude of exhorting; a few represent him asleep, with the placid, dreaming face of a child, a Japanese child; this means Nirvana. A commondesign upon many tombs also seems to be two lotus-blossoms with stalksintertwined. 

In one place I see a stone with an English name upon it, and above thatname a rudely chiselled cross. Verily the priests of Buddha have blessedtolerance; for this is a Christian tomb!

And all is chipped and mouldered and mossed; and the grey stones standclosely in hosts of ranks, only one or two inches apart, ranks ofthousands upon thousands, always in the shadow of the great trees. Overhead innumerable birds sweeten the air with their trilling; and farbelow, down the steps behind us, I still hear the melancholy chant ofthe priests, faintly, like a humming of bees. 

Akira leads the way in silence to where other steps descend into adarker and older part of the cemetery; and at the head of the steps, tothe right, I see a group of colossal monuments, very tall, massive, mossed by time, with characters cut more than two inches deep into thegrey rock of them. And behind them, in lieu of laths, are planted largesotoba, twelve to fourteen feet high, and thick as the beams of a templeroof. These are graves of priests. 

º5

Descending the shadowed steps, I find myself face to face with sixlittle statues about three feet high, standing in a row upon one longpedestal. The first holds a Buddhist incense-box; the second, a lotus;the third, a pilgrim's staff (tsue); the fourth is telling the beads ofa Buddhist rosary; the fifth stands in the attitude of prayer, withhands joined; the sixth bears in one hand the shakujo or mendicantpriest's staff, having six rings attached to the top of it and in theother hand the mystic jewel, Nio-i ho-jiu, by virtue whereof all desiresmay be accomplished. But the faces of the Six are the same: each figurediffers from the other by the attitude only and emblematic attribute;and all are smiling the like faint smile. About the neck of each figurea white cotton bag is suspended; and all the bags are filled withpebbles; and pebbles have been piled high also about the feet of thestatues, and upon their knees, and upon their shoulders; and even upontheir aureoles of stone, little pebbles are balanced. Archaic, mysterious, but inexplicably touching, all these soft childish facesare. 

Roku Jizo--'The Six Jizo'--these images are called in the speech ofthe people; and such groups may be seen in many a Japanese cemetery. They are representations of the most beautiful and tender figure inJapanese popular faith, that charming divinity who cares for the soulsof little children, and consoles them in the place of unrest, and savesthem from the demons. 'But why are those little stones piled about thestatues?' I ask. 

Well, it is because some say the child-ghosts must build little towersof stones for penance in the Sai-no-Kawara, which is the place to whichall children after death must go. And the Oni, who are demons, come tothrow down the little stone-piles as fast as the children build; andthese demons frighten the children, and torment them. But the littlesouls run to Jizo, who hides them in his great sleeves, and comfortsthem, and makes the demons go away. And every stone one lays upon theknees or at the feet of Jizo, with a prayer from the heart, helps somechild-soul in the Sai-no-Kawara to perform its long penance. [2]

'All little children, ' says the young Buddhist student who tells allthis, with a smile as gentle as Jizo's own, 'must go to the Sai-no-Kawara when they die. And there they play with Jizo. The Sai-no-Kawarais beneath us, below the ground. [3]

'And Jizo has long sleeves to his robe; and they pull him by the sleevesin their play; and they pile up little stones before him to amusethemselves. And those stones you see heaped about the statues are putthere by people for the sake of the little ones, most often by mothersof dead children who pray to Jizo. But grown people do not go to theSai-no-Kawara when they die. ' [4]

And the young student, leaving the Roku-Jizo, leads the way to otherstrange surprises, guiding me among the tombs, showing me the sculptureddivinities. 

Some of them are quaintly touching; all are interesting; a few arepositively beautiful. 

The greater number have nimbi. Many are represented kneeling, with handsjoined exactly like the figures of saints in old Christian art. Others, holding lotus-flowers, appear to dream the dreams that are meditations. One figure reposes on the coils of a great serpent. Another, coiffedwith something resembling a tiara, has six hands, one pair joined inprayer, the rest, extended, holding out various objects; and this figurestands upon a prostrate demon, crouching face downwards. Yet anotherimage, cut in low relief, has arms innumerable. The first pair of handsare joined, with the palms together; while from behind the line of theshoulders, as if shadowily emanating therefrom, multitudinous arms reachout in all directions, vapoury, spiritual, holding forth all kinds ofobjects as in answer to supplication, and symbolising, perhaps, theomnipotence of love. This is but one of the many forms of Kwannon, thegoddess of mercy, the gentle divinity who refused the rest of Nirvana tosave the souls of men, and who is most frequently pictured as abeautiful Japanese girl. But here she appears as Senjiu-Kwannon(Kwannon-of-the-Thousand-Hands). Close by stands a great slab bearingupon the upper portion of its chiselled surface an image in relief ofBuddha, meditating upon a lotus; and below are carven three weird littlefigures, one with hands upon its eyes, one with hands upon its ears, onewith hands upon its mouth; these are Apes. 'What do they signify?' Iinquire. My friend answers vaguely, mimicking each gesture of the threesculptured shapes:-'I see no bad thing; I hear no bad thing; I speak nobad thing. '

Gradually, by dint of reiterated explanations, I myself learn torecognise some of the gods at sight. The figure seated upon a lotus, holding a sword in its hand, and surrounded by bickering fire, is Fudo-Sama--Buddha as the Unmoved, the Immutable: the Sword signifiesIntellect; the Fire, Power. Here is a meditating divinity, holding inone hand a coil of ropes: the divinity is Buddha; those are the ropeswhich bind the passions and desires. Here also is Buddha slumbering, with the gentlest, softest Japanese face--a child face--and eyesclosed, and hand pillowing the cheek, in Nirvana. Here is a beautifulvirgin-figure, standing upon a lily: Kwannon-Sama, the Japanese Madonna. Here is a solemn seated figure, holding in one hand a vase, and liftingthe other with the gesture of a teacher: Yakushi-Sama, Buddha the All-Healer, Physician of Souls. 

Also, I see figures of animals. The Deer of Buddhist birth-storiesstands, all grace, in snowy stone, upon the summit of toro, or votivelamps. On one tomb I see, superbly chiselled, the image of a fish, orrather the Idea of a fish, made beautifully grotesque for sculpturalpurposes, like the dolphin of Greek art. It crowns the top of a memorialcolumn; the broad open jaws, showing serrated teeth, rest on the summitof the block bearing the dead man's name; the dorsal fin and elevatedtail are elaborated into decorative impossibilities. 'Mokugyo, ' saysAkira. It is the same Buddhist emblem as that hollow wooden object, lacquered scarlet-and-gold, on which the priests beat with a paddedmallet while chanting the Sutra. And, finally, in one place I perceivea pair of sitting animals, of some mythological species, supple offigure as greyhounds. 'Kitsune, ' says Akira--'foxes. ' So they are, nowthat I look upon them with knowledge of their purpose; idealised foxes, foxes spiritualised, impossibly graceful foxes. They are chiselled insome grey stone. They have long, narrow, sinister, glittering eyes; theyseem to snarl; they are weird, very weird creatures, the servants of theRice-God, retainers of Inari-Sama, and properly belong, not to Buddhisticonography, but the imagery of Shinto. 

No inscriptions upon these tombs corresponding to our epitaphs. Onlyfamily names--the names of the dead and their relatives and asculptured crest, usually a flower. On the sotoba, only Sanscrit words. 

Farther on, I find other figures of Jizo, single reliefs, sculpturedupon tombs. But one of these is a work of art so charming that I feel apain at being obliged to pass it by. More sweet, assuredly, than anyimaged Christ, this dream in white stone of the playfellow of deadchildren, like a beautiful young boy, with gracious eyelids half closed, and face made heavenly by such a smile as only Buddhist art could haveimagined, the smile of infinite lovingness and supremest gentleness. Indeed, so charming the ideal of Jizo is that in the speech of thepeople a beautiful face is always likened to his--'Jizo-kao, ' as theface of Jizo. 

º6

And we come to the end of the cemetery, to the verge of the great grove. 

Beyond the trees, what caressing sun, what spiritual loveliness in thetender day! A tropic sky always seemed to me to hang so low that onecould almost bathe one's fingers in its lukewarm liquid blue by reachingupward from any dwelling-roof. But this sky, softer, fainter, arches sovastly as to suggest the heaven of a larger planet. And the very cloudsare not clouds, but only dreams of clouds, so filmy they are; ghosts ofclouds, diaphanous spectres, illusions!

All at once I become aware of a child standing before me, a very younggirl who looks up wonderingly at my face; so light her approach that thejoy of the birds and whispering of the leaves quite drowned the softsound of her feet. Her ragged garb is Japanese; but her gaze, her loosefair hair, are not of Nippon only; the ghost of another race--perhapsmy own-watches me through her flower-blue eyes. A strange playgroundsurely is this for thee, my child; I wonder if all these shapes aboutthee do not seem very weird, very strange, to that little soul of thine. But no; 'tis only I who seem strange to thee; thou hast forgotten theOther Birth, and thy father's world. 

Half-caste and poor and pretty, in this foreign port! Better thou wertwith the dead about thee, child! better than the splendour of this softblue light the unknown darkness for thee. There the gentle Jizo wouldcare for thee, and hide thee in his great sleeves, and keep all evilfrom thee, and play shadowy play with thee; and this thy forsakenmother, who now comes to ask an alms for thy sake, dumbly pointing tothy strange beauty with her patient Japanese smile, would put littlestones upon the knees of the dear god that thou mightest find rest. 

º7

'Oh, Akira! you must tell me something more about Jizo, and the ghostsof the children in the Sai-no-Kawara. ' 'I cannot tell you much more, 'answers Akira, smiling at my interest in this charming divinity; 'but ifyou will come with me now to Kuboyama, I will show you, in one of thetemples there, pictures of the Sai-no-Kawara and of Jizo, and theJudgment of Souls. '

So we take our way in two jinricksha to the Temple Rinko-ji, onKuboyama. We roll swiftly through a mile of many-coloured narrowJapanese streets; then through a half-mile of pretty suburban ways, lined with gardens, behind whose clipped hedges are homes light anddainty as cages of wicker-work; and then, leaving our vehicles, weascend green hills on foot by winding paths, and traverse a region offields and farms. After a long walk in the hot sun we reach a villagealmost wholly composed of shrines and temples. 

The outlying sacred place--three buildings in one enclosure of bamboofences--belongs to the Shingon sect. A small open shrine, to the leftof the entrance, first attracts us. It is a dead-house: a Japanese bieris there. But almost opposite the doorway is an altar covered withstartling images. 

What immediately rivets the attention is a terrible figure, allvermilion red, towering above many smaller images--a goblin shape withimmense cavernous eyes. His mouth is widely opened as if speaking inwrath, and his brows frown terribly. A long red beard descends upon hisred breast. And on his head is a strangely shaped crown, a crown ofblack and gold, having three singular lobes: the left lobe bearing animage of the moon; the right, an image of the sun; the central lobe isall black. But below it, upon the deep gold-rimmed black band, flamesthe mystic character signifying KING. Also, from the same crown-bandprotrude at descending angles, to left and right, two gilded sceptre-shaped objects. In one hand the King holds an object similar of form, but larger his shaku or regal wand. And Akira explains. 

This is Emma-O, Lord of Shadows, Judge of Souls, King of the Dead. ' [5]Of any man having a terrible countenance the Japanese are wont to say, 'His face is the face of Emma. '

At his right hand white Jizo-Sama stands upon a many-petalled rosylotus. 

At his left is the image of an aged woman--weird Sodzu-Baba, she whotakes the garments of the dead away by the banks of the River of theThree Roads, which flows through the phantom-world. Pale blue her robeis; her hair and skin are white; her face is strangely wrinkled; hersmall, keen eyes are hard. The statue is very old, and the paint isscaling from it in places, so as to lend it a ghastly leprous aspect. 

There are also images of the Sea-goddess Benten and of Kwannon-Sama, seated on summits of mountains forming the upper part of miniaturelandscapes made of some unfamiliar composition, and beautifullycoloured; the whole being protected from careless fingering by strongwire nettings stretched across the front of the little shrinescontaining the panorama. Benten has eight arms: two of her hands arejoined in prayer; the others, extended above her, hold different objects-a sword, a wheel, a bow, an arrow, a key, and a magical gem. Belowher, standing on the slopes of her mountain throne, are her ten robedattendants, all in the attitude of prayer; still farther down appearsthe body of a great white serpent, with its tail hanging from oneorifice in the rocks, and its head emerging from another. At the verybottom of the hill lies a patient cow. Kwannon appears as Senjiu-Kwannon, offering gifts to men with all the multitude of her arms ofmercy. 

But this is not what we came to see. The pictures of heaven and hellawait us in the Zen-Shu temple close by, whither we turn our steps. 

On the way my guide tells me this:

'When one dies the body is washed and shaven, and attired in white, inthe garments of a pilgrim. And a wallet (sanyabukkero), like the walletof a Buddhist pilgrim, is hung about the neck of the dead; and in thiswallet are placed three rin. [6] And these coin are buried with thedead. 

'For all who die must, except children, pay three rin at the Sanzu-no-Kawa, "The River of the Three Roads. " When souls have reached thatriver, they find there the Old Woman of the Three Roads, Sodzu-Baba, waiting for them: she lives on the banks of that river, with herhusband, Ten Datsu-Ba. And if the Old Woman is not paid the sum of threerin, she takes away the clothes of the dead, and hangs them upon thetrees. '

º8

The temple is small, neat, luminous with the sun pouring into its widelyopened shoji; and Akira must know the priests well, so affable theirgreeting is. I make a little offering, and Akira explains the purpose ofour visit. Thereupon we are invited into a large bright apartment in awing of the building, overlooking a lovely garden. Little cushions areplaced on the floor for us to sit upon; and a smoking-box is brought in, and a tiny lacquered table about eight inches high. And while one of thepriests opens a cupboard, or alcove with doors, to find the kakemono, another brings us tea, and a plate of curious confectionery consistingof various pretty objects made of a paste of sugar and rice flour. Oneis a perfect model of a chrysanthemum blossom; another is a lotus;others are simply large, thin, crimson lozenges bearing admirabledesigns--flying birds, wading storks, fish, even miniature landscapes. Akira picks out the chrysanthemum, and insists that I shall eat it; andI begin to demolish the sugary blossom, petal by petal, feeling all thewhile an acute remorse for spoiling so beautiful a thing. 

Meanwhile four kakemono have been brought forth, unrolled, and suspendedfrom pegs upon the wall; and we rise to examine them. 

They are very, very beautiful kakemono, miracles of drawing and ofcolour-subdued colour, the colour of the best period of Japanese art;and they are very large, fully five feet long and more than three broad, mounted upon silk. 

And these are the legends of them:

First kakemono:

In the upper part of the painting is a scene from the Shaba, the worldof men which we are wont to call the Real--a cemetery with trees inblossom, and mourners kneeling before tombs. All under the soft bluelight of Japanese day. 

Underneath is the world of ghosts. Down through the earth-crust soulsare descending. Here they are flitting all white through inkydarknesses; here farther on, through weird twilight, they are wading theflood of the phantom River of the Three Roads, Sanzu-no-Kawa. And hereon the right is waiting for them Sodzu-Baba, the Old Woman of the ThreeRoads, ghastly and grey, and tall as a nightmare. From some she istaking their garments;--the trees about her are heavily hung with thegarments of others gone before. 

Farther down I see fleeing souls overtaken by demons--hideous blood-reddemons, with feet like lions, with faces half human, half bovine, thephysiognomy of minotaurs in fury. One is rending a soul asunder. Anotherdemon is forcing souls to reincarnate themselves in bodies of horses, ofdogs, of swine. And as they are thus reincarnated they flee away intoshadow. 

Second kakemono:

Such a gloom as the diver sees in deep-sea water, a lurid twilight. Inthe midst a throne, ebon-coloured, and upon it an awful figure seated--Emma Dai-O, Lord of Death and Judge of Souls, unpitying, tremendous. Frightful guardian spirits hover about him--armed goblins. On the left, in the foreground below the throne, stands the wondrous Mirror, Tabarino-Kagami, reflecting the state of souls and all the happenings ofthe world. A landscape now shadows its surface, --a landscape of cliffsand sand and sea, with ships in the offing. Upon the sand a dead man islying, slain by a sword slash; the murderer is running away. Before thismirror a terrified soul stands, in the grasp of a demon, who compels himto look, and to recognise in the murderer's features his own face. Tothe right of the throne, upon a tall-stemmed flat stand, such asofferings to the gods are placed upon in the temples, a monstrous shapeappears, like a double-faced head freshly cut off, and set upright uponthe stump of the neck. The two faces are the Witnesses: the face of theWoman (Mirume) sees all that goes on in the Shaba; the other face is theface of a bearded man, the face of Kaguhana, who smells all odours, andby them is aware of all that human beings do. Close to them, upon areading-stand, a great book is open, the record-book of deeds. Andbetween the Mirror and the Witnesses white shuddering souls awaitjudgment. 

Farther down I see the sufferings of souls already sentenced. One, inlifetime a liar, is having his tongue torn out by a demon armed withheated pincers. Other souls, flung by scores into fiery carts, are beingdragged away to torment. The carts are of iron, but resemble in formcertain hand-wagons which one sees every day being pulled and pushedthrough the streets by bare-limbed Japanese labourers, chanting alwaysthe same melancholy alternating chorus, Haidak! hei! haidah hei! Butthese demon-wagoners--naked, blood-coloured, having the feet of lionsand the heads of bulls--move with their flaming wagons at a run, likejinricksha-men. 

All the souls so far represented are souls of adults. 

Third kakemono:

A furnace, with souls for fuel, blazing up into darkness. Demons stirthe fire with poles of iron. Down through the upper blackness othersouls are falling head downward into the flames. 

Below this scene opens a shadowy landscape--a faint-blue and faint-greyworld of hills and vales, through which a river serpentines--the Sai-no-Kawara. Thronging the banks of the pale river are ghosts of littlechildren, trying to pile up stones. They are very, very pretty, thechild-souls, pretty as real Japanese children are (it is astonishing howwell is child-beauty felt and expressed by the artists of Japan). Eachchild has one little short white dress. 

In the foreground a horrible devil with an iron club has just dasheddown and scattered a pile of stones built by one of the children. Thelittle ghost, seated by the ruin of its work, is crying, with bothpretty hands to its eyes. The devil appears to sneer. Other childrenalso are weeping near by. But, lo! Jizo comes, all light and sweetness, with a glory moving behind him like a great full moon; and he holds outhis shakujo, his strong and holy staff, and the little ghosts catch itand cling to it, and are drawn into the circle of his protection. Andother infants have caught his great sleeves, and one has been lifted tothe bosom of the god. 

Below this Sai-no-Kawara scene appears yet another shadow-world, awilderness of bamboos! Only white-robed shapes of women appear in it. They are weeping; the fingers of all are bleeding. With finger-nailsplucked out must they continue through centuries to pick the sharp-edgedbamboo-grass. 

Fourth kakemono:

Floating in glory, Dai-Nichi-Nyorai, Kwannon-Sama, Amida Buddha. Farbelow them as hell from heaven surges a lake of blood, in which soulsfloat. The shores of this lake are precipices studded with sword-bladesthickly set as teeth in the jaws of a shark; and demons are drivingnaked ghosts up the frightful slopes. But out of the crimson lakesomething crystalline rises, like a beautiful, clear water-spout; thestem of a flower, --a miraculous lotus, hearing up a soul to the feet ofa priest standing above the verge of the abyss. By virtue of his prayerwas shaped the lotus which thus lifted up and saved a sufferer. 

Alas! there are no other kakemonos. There were several others: they havebeen lost!

No: I am happily mistaken; the priest has found, in some mysteriousrecess, one more kakemono, a very large one, which he unrolls andsuspends beside the others. A vision of beauty, indeed! but what hasthis to do with faith or ghosts? In the foreground a garden by thewaters of the sea, of some vast blue lake, --a garden like that atKanagawa, full of exquisite miniature landscape-work: cascades, grottoes, lily-ponds, carved bridges, and trees snowy with blossom, anddainty pavilions out-jutting over the placid azure water. Long, bright, soft bands of clouds swim athwart the background. Beyond and above themrises a fairy magnificence of palatial structures, roof above roof, through an aureate haze like summer vapour: creations aerial, blue, light as dreams. And there are guests in these gardens, lovely beings, Japanese maidens. But they wear aureoles, star-shining: they arespirits!

For this is Paradise, the Gokuraku; and all those divine shapes areBosatsu. And now, looking closer, I perceive beautiful weird thingswhich at first escaped my notice. 

They are gardening, these charming beings!--they are caressing thelotus-buds, sprinkling their petals with something celestial, helpingthem to blossom. And what lotus-buds with colours not of this world. Some have burst open; and in their luminous hearts, in a radiance likethat of dawn, tiny naked infants are seated, each with a tiny halo. These are Souls, new Buddhas, hotoke born into bliss. Some are very, very small; others larger; all seem to be growing visibly, for theirlovely nurses are feeding them with something ambrosial. I see one whichhas left its lotus-cradle, being conducted by a celestial Jizo towardthe higher splendours far away. 

Above, in the loftiest blue, are floating tennin, angels of the Buddhistheaven, maidens with phoenix wings. One is playing with an ivoryplectrum upon some stringed instrument, just as a dancing-girl plays hersamisen; and others are sounding those curious Chinese flutes, composedof seventeen tubes, which are used still in sacred concerts at the greattemples. 

Akira says this heaven is too much like earth. The gardens, he declares, are like the gardens of temples, in spite of the celestial lotus-flowers; and in the blue roofs of the celestial mansions he discoversmemories of the tea-houses of the city of Saikyo. [7]

Well, what after all is the heaven of any faith but ideal reiterationand prolongation of happy experiences remembered--the dream of deaddays resurrected for us, and made eternal? And if you think thisJapanese ideal too simple, too naive, if you say there are experiencesof the material life more worthy of portrayal in a picture of heaventhan any memory of days passed in Japanese gardens and temples and tea-houses, it is perhaps because you do not know Japan, the soft, sweetblue of its sky, the tender colour of its waters, the gentle splendourof its sunny days, the exquisite charm of its interiors, where the leastobject appeals to one's sense of beauty with the air of something notmade, but caressed, into existence. 

º9

'Now there is a wasan of Jizo, ' says Akira, taking from a shelf in thetemple alcove some much-worn, blue-covered Japanese book. 'A wasan iswhat you would call a hymn or psalm. This book is two hundred years old:it is called Saino-Kawara-kuchi-zu-sami-no-den, which is, literally, "The Legend of the Humming of the Sai-no-Kawara. " And this is thewasan'; and he reads me the hymn of Jizo--the legend of the murmur ofthe little ghosts, the legend of the humming of the Sai-no-Kawara-rhythmically, like a song: [8]

'Not of this world is the story of sorrow. The story of the Sai-no-Kawara, At the roots of the Mountain of Shide;Not of this world is the tale; yet 'tis most pitiful to hear. For together in the Sai-no-Kawara are assembledChildren of tender age in multitude, Infants but two or three years old, Infants of four or five, infants of less than ten:

In the Sai-no-Kawara are they gathered together. And the voice of their longing for their parents, The voice of their crying for their mothers and their fathers--"Chichi koishi! haha koishi!"--Is never as the voice of the crying of children in this world, But a crying so pitiful to hearThat the sound of it would pierce through flesh and bone. And sorrowful indeed the task which they perform--Gathering the stones of the bed of the river, Therewith to heap the tower of prayers. Saying prayers for the happiness of father, they heap the first tower;Saying prayers for the happiness of mother, they heap the second tower;Saying prayers for their brothers, their sisters, and all whom theyloved at home, they heap the third tower. Such, by day, are their pitiful diversions. But ever as the sun begins to sink below the horizon, Then do the Oni, the demons of the hells, appear, And say to them--"What is this that you do here?"Lo! your parents still living in the Shaba-world"Take no thought of pious offering or holy work"They do nought but mourn for you from the morning unto the evening. "Oh, how pitiful! alas! how unmerciful!"Verily the cause of the pains that you suffer"Is only the mourning, the lamentation of your parents. "And saying also, "Blame never us!"The demons cast down the heaped-up towers, They dash the stones down with their clubs of iron. But lo! the teacher Jizo appears. All gently he comes, and says to the weeping infants:--"Be not afraid, dears! be never fearful!"Poor little souls, your lives were brief indeed!"Too soon you were forced to make the weary journey to the Meido, "The long journey to the region of the dead!"Trust to me! I am your father and mother in the Meido, "Father of all children in the region of the dead. "And he folds the skirt of his shining robe about them;So graciously takes he pity on the infants. To those who cannot walk he stretches forth his strong shakujo;And he pets the little ones, caresses them, takes them to his loving bosomSo graciously he takes pity on the infants. 

 Namu Amida Butsu!

Chapter FourA Pilgrimage to Enoshima

º1

KAMAKURA. 

A long, straggling country village, between low wooded hills, with acanal passing through it. Old Japanese cottages, dingy, neutral-tinted, with roofs of thatch, very steeply sloping, above their wooden walls andpaper shoji. Green patches on all the roof-slopes, some sort of grass;and on the very summits, on the ridges, luxurious growths of yaneshobu, [1] the roof-plant, bearing pretty purple flowers. In the lukewarm air amingling of Japanese odours, smells of sake, smells of seaweed soup, smells of daikon, the strong native radish; and dominating all, a sweet, thick, heavy scent of incense, --incense from the shrines of gods. 

Akira has hired two jinricksha for our pilgrimage; a speckless azure skyarches the world; and the land lies glorified in a joy of sunshine. Andyet a sense of melancholy, of desolation unspeakable, weighs upon me aswe roll along the bank of the tiny stream, between the mouldering linesof wretched little homes with grass growing on their roofs. For thismouldering hamlet represents all that remains of the million-peopledstreets of Yoritomo's capital, the mighty city of the Shogunate, theancient seat of feudal power, whither came the envoys of Kublai Khandemanding tribute, to lose their heads for their temerity. And only someof the unnumbered temples of the once magnificent city now remain, savedfrom the conflagrations of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, doubtless because built in high places, or because isolated from themaze of burning streets by vast courts and groves. Here still dwell theancient gods in the great silence of their decaying temples, withoutworshippers, without revenues, surrounded by desolations of rice-fields, where the chanting of frogs replaces the sea-like murmur of the citythat was and is not. 

º2

The first great temple--En-gaku-ji--invites us to cross the canal by alittle bridge facing its outward gate--a roofed gate with fine Chineselines, but without carving. Passing it, we ascend a long, imposingsuccession of broad steps, leading up through a magnificent grove to aterrace, where we reach the second gate. This gate is a surprise; astupendous structure of two stories--with huge sweeping curves of roofand enormous gables--antique, Chinese, magnificent. It is more thanfour hundred years old, but seems scarcely affected by the wearing ofthe centuries. The whole of the ponderous and complicated upperstructure is sustained upon an open-work of round, plain pillars andcross-beams; the vast eaves are full of bird-nests; and the storm oftwittering from the roofs is like a rushing of water. Immense the workis, and imposing in its aspect of settled power; but, in its way, it hasgreat severity: there are no carvings, no gargoyles, no dragons; and yetthe maze of projecting timbers below the eaves will both excite anddelude expectation, so strangely does it suggest the grotesqueries andfantasticalities of another art. You look everywhere for the heads oflions, elephants, dragons, and see only the four-angled ends of beams, and feel rather astonished than disappointed. The majesty of the edificecould not have been strengthened by any such carving. 

After the gate another long series of wide steps, and more trees, millennial, thick-shadowing, and then the terrace of the temple itself, with two beautiful stone lanterns (toro) at its entrance. Thearchitecture of the temple resembles that of the gate, although on alesser scale. Over the doors is a tablet with Chinese characters, signifying, 'Great, Pure, Clear, Shining Treasure. ' But a heavyframework of wooden bars closes the sanctuary, and there is no one tolet us in. Peering between the bars I see, in a sort of twilight, firsta pavement of squares of marble, then an aisle of massive wooden pillarsupholding the dim lofty roof, and at the farther end, between thepillars, Shaka, colossal, black-visaged, gold-robed, enthroned upon agiant lotus fully forty feet in circumference. At his right hand somewhite mysterious figure stands, holding an incense-box; at his left, another white figure is praying with clasped hands. Both are ofsuperhuman stature. But it is too dark within the edifice to discern whothey may be--whether disciples of the Buddha, or divinities, or figuresof saints. 

Beyond this temple extends an immense grove of trees--ancient cedarsand pines--with splendid bamboos thickly planted between them, risingperpendicularly as masts to mix their plumes with the foliage of thegiants: the effect is tropical, magnificent. Through this shadowing, aflight of broad stone steps slant up gently to some yet older shrine. And ascending them we reach another portal, smaller than the imposingChinese structure through which we already passed, but wonderful, weird, full of dragons, dragons of a form which sculptors no longer carve, which they have even forgotten how to make, winged dragons rising from astorm-whirl of waters or thereinto descending. The dragon upon the panelof the left gate has her mouth closed; the jaws of the dragon on thepanel of the right gate are open and menacing. Female and male they are, like the lions of Buddha. And the whirls of the eddying water, and thecrests of the billowing, stand out from the panel in astonishingboldness of relief, in loops and curlings of grey wood time-seasoned tothe hardness of stone. 

The little temple beyond contains no celebrated image, but a shari only, or relic of Buddha, brought from India. And I cannot see it, having notime to wait until the absent keeper of the shari can be found. 

º3

'Now we shall go to look at the big bell, ' says Akira. 

We turn to the left as we descend along a path cut between hills facedfor the height of seven or eight feet with protection-walls made greenby moss; and reach a flight of extraordinarily dilapidated steps, withgrass springing between their every joint and break--steps so worn downand displaced by countless feet that they have become ruins, painful andeven dangerous to mount. We reach the summit, however, without mishap, and find ourselves before a little temple, on the steps of which an oldpriest awaits us, with smiling bow of welcome. We return his salutation;but ere entering the temple turn to look at the tsurigane on the right--the famous bell. 

Under a lofty open shed, with a tilted Chinese roof, the great bell ishung. I should judge it to be fully nine feet high, and about five feetin diameter, with lips about eight inches thick. The shape of it is notlike that of our bells, which broaden toward the lips; this has the samediameter through all its height, and it is covered with Buddhist textscut into the smooth metal of it. It is rung by means of a heavy swingingbeam, suspended from the roof by chains, and moved like a battering-ram. There are loops of palm-fibre rope attached to this beam to pull it by;and when you pull hard enough, so as to give it a good swing, it strikesa moulding like a lotus-flower on the side of the bell. This it musthave done many hundred times; for the square, flat end of it, thoughshowing the grain of a very dense wood, has been battered into a convexdisk with ragged protruding edges, like the surface of a long-usedprinter's mallet. 

A priest makes a sign to me to ring the bell. I first touch the greatlips with my hand very lightly; and a musical murmur comes from them. Then I set the beam swinging strongly; and a sound deep as thunder, richas the bass of a mighty organ--a sound enormous, extraordinary, yetbeautiful--rolls over the hills and away. Then swiftly follows anotherand lesser and sweeter billowing of tone; then another; then an eddyingof waves of echoes. Only once was it struck, the astounding bell; yet itcontinues to sob and moan for at least ten minutes!

And the age of this bell is six hundred and fifty years. [2]

In the little temple near by, the priest shows us a series of curiouspaintings, representing the six hundredth anniversary of the casting ofthe bell. (For this is a sacred bell, and the spirit of a god isbelieved to dwell within it. ) Otherwise the temple has little ofinterest. There are some kakemono representing Iyeyasu and hisretainers; and on either side of the door, separating the inner from theoutward sanctuary, there are life-size images of Japanese warriors inantique costume. On the altars of the inner shrine are small images, grouped upon a miniature landscape-work of painted wood--the Jiugo-Doji, or Fifteen Youths--the Sons of the Goddess Benten. There aregohei before the shrine, and a mirror upon it; emblems of Shinto. Thesanctuary has changed hands in the great transfer of Buddhist temples tothe State religion. 

In nearly every celebrated temple little Japanese prints are sold, containing the history of the shrine, and its miraculous legends. I findseveral such things on sale at the door of the temple, and in one ofthem, ornamented with a curious engraving of the bell, I discover, withAkira's aid, the following traditions:-

º4

In the twelfth year of Bummei, this bell rang itself. And one wholaughed on being told of the miracle, met with misfortune; and another, who believed, thereafter prospered, and obtained all his desires. 

Now, in that time there died in the village of Tamanawa a sick man whosename was Ono-no-Kimi; and Ono-no-Kimi descended to the region of thedead, and went before the Judgment-Seat of Emma-O. And Emma, Judge ofSouls, said to him, 'You come too soon! The measure of life allotted youin the Shaba-world has not yet been exhausted. Go back at once. ' ButOno-no-Kimi pleaded, saying, 'How may I go back, not knowing my waythrough the darkness?' And Emma answered him, 'You can find your wayback by listening to the sound of the bell of En-gaku-ji, which is heardin the Nan-en-budi world, going south. ' And Ono-no-Kimi went south, andheard the bell, and found his way through the darknesses, and revived inthe Shaba-world. 

Also in those days there appeared in many provinces a Buddhist priest ofgiant stature, whom none remembered to have seen before, and whose nameno man knew, travelling through the land, and everywhere exhorting thepeople to pray before the bell of En-gaku-ji. And it was at lastdiscovered that the giant pilgrim was the holy bell itself, transformedby supernatural power into the form of a priest. And after these thingshad happened, many prayed before the bell, and obtained their wishes. 

º5

'Oh! there is something still to see, ' my guide exclaims as we reach thegreat Chinese gate again; and he leads the way across the grounds byanother path to a little hill, previously hidden from view by trees. Theface of the hill, a mass of soft stone perhaps one hundred feet high, ishollowed out into chambers, full of images. These look like burial-caves; and the images seem funereal monuments. There are two stories ofchambers--three above, two below; and the former are connected with thelatter by a narrow interior stairway cut through the living rock. Andall around the dripping walls of these chambers on pedestals are greyslabs, shaped exactly like the haka in Buddhist cemeteries, andchiselled with figures of divinities in high relief. All have glory-disks: some are na´ve and sincere like the work of our own mediaevalimage-makers. Several are not unfamiliar. I have seen before, in thecemetery of Kuboyama, this kneeling woman with countless shadowy hands;and this figure tiara-coiffed, slumbering with one knee raised, andcheek pillowed upon the left hand--the placid and pathetic symbol ofthe perpetual rest. Others, like Madonnas, hold lotus-flowers, and theirfeet rest upon the coils of a serpent. I cannot see them all, for therock roof of one chamber has fallen in; and a sunbeam entering the ruinreveals a host of inaccessible sculptures half buried in rubbish. 

But no!--this grotto-work is not for the dead; and these are not haka, as I imagined, but only images of the Goddess of Mercy. These chambersare chapels; and these sculptures are the En-gaku-ji-no-hyaku-Kwannon, 'the Hundred Kwannons of En-gaku-ji. ' And I see in the upper chamberabove the stairs a granite tablet in a rock-niche, chiselled with aninscription in Sanscrit transliterated into Chinese characters, 'Adoration to the great merciful Kwan-ze-on, who looketh down above thesound of prayer. ' [3]

º6

Entering the grounds of the next temple, the Temple of Ken-cho-ji, through the 'Gate of the Forest of Contemplative Words, ' and the 'Gateof the Great Mountain of Wealth, ' one might almost fancy one's selfreentering, by some queer mistake, the grounds of En-gaku-ji. For thethird gate before us, and the imposing temple beyond it, constructedupon the same models as those of the structures previously visited, werealso the work of the same architect. Passing this third gate--colossal, severe, superb--we come to a fountain of bronze before the templedoors, an immense and beautiful lotus-leaf of metal, forming a broadshallow basin kept full to the brim by a jet in its midst. 

This temple also is paved with black and white square slabs, and we canenter it with our shoes. Outside it is plain and solemn as that of En-gaku-ji; but the interior offers a more extraordinary spectacle of fadedsplendour. In lieu of the black Shaka throned against a background offlamelets, is a colossal Jizo-Sama, with a nimbus of fire--a singlegilded circle large as a wagon-wheel, breaking into fire-tongues atthree points. He is seated upon an enormous lotus of tarnished gold--over the lofty edge of which the skirt of his robe trails down. Behindhim, standing on ascending tiers of golden steps, are glimmering hostsof miniature figures of him, reflections, multiplications of him, rangedthere by ranks of hundreds--the Thousand Jizo. From the ceiling abovehim droop the dingy splendours of a sort of dais-work, a streamingcircle of pendants like a fringe, shimmering faintly through the webbeddust of centuries. And the ceiling itself must once have been a marvel;all beamed in caissons, each caisson containing, upon a gold ground, thepainted figure of a flying bird. Formerly the eight great pillarssupporting the roof were also covered with gilding; but only a fewtraces of it linger still upon their worm-pierced surfaces, and aboutthe bases of their capitals. And there are wonderful friezes above thedoors, from which all colour has long since faded away, marvellous greyold carvings in relief; floating figures of tennin, or heavenly spiritsplaying upon flutes and biwa. 

There is a chamber separated by a heavy wooden screen from the aisle onthe right; and the priest in charge of the building slides the screenaside, and bids us enter. In this chamber is a drum elevated upon abrazen stand, --the hugest I ever saw, fully eighteen feet incircumference. Beside it hangs a big bell, covered with Buddhist texts. I am sorry to learn that it is prohibited to sound the great drum. Thereis nothing else to see except some dingy paper lanterns figured with thesvastika--the sacred Buddhist symbol called by the Japanese manji. 

º7

Akira tells me that in the book called Jizo-kyo-Kosui, this legend isrelated of the great statue of Jizo in this same ancient temple of Ken-cho-ji. 

Formerly there lived at Kamakura the wife of a Ronin [4] named SogaSadayoshi. She lived by feeding silkworms and gathering the silk. Sheused often to visit the temple of Kencho-ji; and one very cold day thatshe went there, she thought that the image of Jizo looked like onesuffering from cold; and she resolved to make a cap to keep the god'shead warm--such a cap as the people of the country wear in coldweather. And she went home and made the cap and covered the god's headwith it, saying, 'Would I were rich enough to give thee a warm coveringfor all thine august body; but, alas! I am poor, and even this which Ioffer thee is unworthy of thy divine acceptance. '

Now this woman very suddenly died in the fiftieth year of her age, inthe twelfth month of the fifth year of the period called Chisho. But herbody remained warm for three days, so that her relatives would notsuffer her to be taken to the burning-ground. And on the evening of thethird day she came to life again. 

Then she related that on the day of her death she had gone before thejudgment-seat of Emma, king and judge of the dead. And Emma, seeing her, became wroth, and said to her: 'You have been a wicked woman, and havescorned the teaching of the Buddha. All your life you have passed indestroying the lives of silkworms by putting them into heated water. Nowyou shall go to the Kwakkto-Jigoku, and there burn until your sins shallbe expiated. ' Forthwith she was seized and dragged by demons to a greatpot filled with molten metal, and thrown into the pot, and she cried outhorribly. And suddenly Jizo-Sama descended into the molten metal besideher, and the metal became like a flowing of oil and ceased to burn; andJizo put his arms about her and lifted her out. And he went with herbefore King Emma, and asked that she should be pardoned for his sake, forasmuch as she had become related to him by one act of goodness. Soshe found pardon, and returned to the Shaba-world. 

'Akira, ' I ask, 'it cannot then be lawful, according to Buddhism, forany one to wear silk?'

'Assuredly not, ' replies Akira; 'and by the law of Buddha priests areexpressly forbidden to wear silk. Nevertheless. ' he adds with that quietsmile of his, in which I am beginning to discern suggestions of sarcasm, 'nearly all the priests wear silk. '

º8

Akira also tells me this:

It is related in the seventh volume of the book Kamakurashi that therewas formerly at Kamakura a temple called Emmei-ji, in which there wasenshrined a famous statue of Jizo, called Hadaka-Jizo, or Naked Jizo. The statue was indeed naked, but clothes were put upon it; and it stoodupright with its feet upon a chessboard. Now, when pilgrims came to thetemple and paid a certain fee, the priest of the temple would remove theclothes of the statue; and then all could see that, though the face wasthe face of Jizo, the body was the body of a woman. 

Now this was the origin of the famous image of Hadaka-Jizo standing uponthe chessboard. On one occasion the great prince Taira-no-Tokyori wasplaying chess with his wife in the presence of many guests. And he madeher agree, after they had played several games, that whosoever shouldlose the next game would have to stand naked on the chessboard. And inthe next game they played his wife lost. And she prayed to Jizo to saveher from the shame of appearing naked. And Jizo came in answer to herprayer and stood upon the chessboard, and disrobed himself, and changedhis body suddenly into the body of a woman. 

º9

As we travel on, the road curves and narrows between higher elevations, and becomes more sombre. 'Oi! mat!' my Buddhist guide calls softly tothe runners; and our two vehicles halt in a band of sunshine, descending, through an opening in the foliage of immense trees, over aflight of ancient mossy steps. 'Here, ' says my friend, 'is the temple ofthe King of Death; it is called Emma-Do; and it is a temple of the Zensect--Zen-Oji. And it is more than seven hundred years old, and thereis a famous statue in it. '

We ascend to a small, narrow court in which the edifice stands. At thehead of the steps, to the right, is a stone tablet, very old, withcharacters cut at least an inch deep into the granite of it, Chinesecharacters signifying, 'This is the Temple of Emma, King. '

The temple resembles outwardly and inwardly the others we have visited, and, like those of Shaka and of the colossal Jizo of Kamakura, has apaved floor, so that we are not obliged to remove our shoes on entering. Everything is worn, dim, vaguely grey; there is a pungent scent ofmouldiness; the paint has long ago peeled away from the naked wood ofthe pillars. Throned to right and left against the high walls tower ninegrim figures--five on one side, four on the other--wearing strangecrowns with trumpet-shapen ornaments; figures hoary with centuries, andso like to the icon of Emma, which I saw at Kuboyama, that I ask, 'Areall these Emma?' 'Oh, no!' my guide answers; 'these are his attendantsonly--the Jiu-O, the Ten Kings. ' 'But there are only nine?' I query. 'Nine, and Emma completes the number. You have not yet seen Emma. '

Where is he? I see at the farther end of the chamber an altar elevatedupon a platform approached by wooden steps; but there is no image, onlythe usual altar furniture of gilded bronze and lacquer-ware. Behind thealtar I see only a curtain about six feet square--a curtain once darkred, now almost without any definite hue--probably veiling some alcove. A temple guardian approaches, and invites us to ascend the platform. Iremove my shoes before mounting upon the matted surface, and follow theguardian behind the altar, in front of the curtain. He makes me a signto look, and lifts the veil with a long rod. And suddenly, out of theblackness of some mysterious profundity masked by that sombre curtain, there glowers upon me an apparition at the sight of which Iinvoluntarily start back--a monstrosity exceeding all anticipation--aFace. [5]

A Face tremendous, menacing, frightful, dull red, as with the redness ofheated iron cooling into grey. The first shock of the vision is no doubtpartly due to the somewhat theatrical manner in which the work issuddenly revealed out of darkness by the lifting of the curtain. But asthe surprise passes I begin to recognise the immense energy of theconception--to look for the secret of the grim artist. The wonder ofthe I creation is not in the tiger frown, nor in the violence of theterrific mouth, nor in the fury and ghastly colour of the head as awhole: it is in the eyes--eyes of nightmare. 

º10

Now this weird old temple has its legend. 

Seven hundred years ago, 'tis said, there died the great image-maker, the great busshi; Unke-Sosei. And Unke-Sosei signifies 'Unke whoreturned from the dead. ' For when he came before Emma, the Judge ofSouls, Emma said to him: 'Living, thou madest no image of me. Go backunto earth and make one, now that thou hast looked upon me. ' And Unkefound himself suddenly restored to the world of men; and they that hadknown him before, astonished to see him alive again, called him Unke-Sosei. And Unke-Sosei, bearing with him always the memory of thecountenance of Emma, wrought this image of him, which still inspiresfear in all who behold it; and he made also the images of the grim Jiu-O, the Ten Kings obeying Emma, which sit throned about the temple. 

I want to buy a picture of Emma, and make my wish known to the templeguardian. Oh, yes, I may buy a picture of Emma, but I must first see theOni. I follow the guardian Out of the temple, down the mossy steps, andacross the village highway into a little Japanese cottage, where I takemy seat upon the floor. The guardian disappears behind a screen, andpresently returns dragging with him the Oni--the image of a demon, naked, blood-red, indescribably ugly. The Oni is about three feet high. He stands in an attitude of menace, brandishing a club. He has a headshaped something like the head of a bulldog, with brazen eyes; and hisfeet are like the feet of a lion. Very gravely the guardian turns thegrotesquery round and round, that I may admire its every aspect; while ana´ve crowd collects before the open door to look at the stranger andthe demon. 

Then the guardian finds me a rude woodcut of Emma, with a sacredinscription printed upon it; and as soon as I have paid for it, heproceeds to stamp the paper, with the seal of the temple. The seal hekeeps in a wonderful lacquered box, covered with many wrappings of softleather. These having been removed, I inspect the seal--an oblong, vermilion-red polished stone, with the design cut in intaglio upon it. He moistens the surface with red ink, presses it upon the corner of thepaper bearing the grim picture, and the authenticity of my strangepurchase is established for ever. 

º11

You do not see the Dai-Butsu as you enter the grounds of his long-vanished temple, and proceed along a paved path across stretches oflawn; great trees hide him. But very suddenly, at a turn, he comes intofull view and you start! No matter how many photographs of the colossusyou may have already seen, this first vision of the reality is anastonishment. Then you imagine that you are already too near, though theimage is at least a hundred yards away. As for me, I retire at oncethirty or forty yards back, to get a better view. And the jinricksha manruns after me, laughing and gesticulating, thinking that I imagine theimage alive and am afraid of it. 

But, even were that shape alive, none could be afraid of it. Thegentleness, the dreamy passionlessness of those features, --the immenserepose of the whole figure--are full of beauty and charm. And, contraryto all expectation, the nearer you approach the giant Buddha, thegreater this charm becomes You look up into the solemnly beautiful face-into the half-closed eyes that seem to watch you through their eyelidsof bronze as gently as those of a child; and you feel that the imagetypifies all that is tender and calm in the Soul of the East. Yet youfeel also that only Japanese thought could have created it. Its beauty, its dignity, its perfect repose, reflect the higher life of the racethat imagined it; and, though doubtless inspired by some Indian model, as the treatment of the hair and various symbolic marks reveal, the artis Japanese. 

So mighty and beautiful the work is, that you will not for some timenotice the magnificent lotus-plants of bronze, fully fifteen feet high, planted before the figure, on either side of the great tripod in whichincense-rods are burning. 

Through an orifice in the right side of the enormous lotus-blossom onwhich the Buddha is seated, you can enter into the statue. The interiorcontains a little shrine of Kwannon, and a statue of the priest Yuten, and a stone tablet bearing in Chinese characters the sacred formula, Namu Amida Butsu. 

A ladder enables the pilgrim to ascend into the interior of the colossusas high as the shoulders, in which are two little windows commanding awide prospect of the grounds; while a priest, who acts as guide, statesthe age of the statue to be six hundred and thirty years, and asks forsome small contribution to aid in the erection of a new temple toshelter it from the weather. 

For this Buddha once had a temple. A tidal wave following an earthquakeswept walls and roof away, but left the mighty Amida unmoved, stillmeditating upon his lotus. 

º12

And we arrive before the far-famed Kamakura temple of Kwannon--Kwannon, who yielded up her right to the Eternal Peace that she might save thesouls of men, and renounced Nirvana to suffer with humanity for othermyriad million ages--Kwannon, the Goddess of Pity and of Mercy. 

I climb three flights of steps leading to the temple, and a young girl, seated at the threshold, rises to greet us. Then she disappears withinthe temple to summon the guardian priest, a venerable man, white-robed, who makes me a sign to enter. 

The temple is large as any that I have yet seen, and, like the others, grey with the wearing of six hundred years. From the roof there hangdown votive offerings, inscriptions, and lanterns in multitude, paintedwith various pleasing colours. Almost opposite to the entrance is asingular statue, a seated figure, of human dimensions and most humanaspect, looking upon us with small weird eyes set in a wondrouslywrinkled face. This face was originally painted flesh-tint, and therobes of the image pale blue; but now the whole is uniformly grey withage and dust, and its colourlessness harmonises so well with thesenility of the figure that one is almost ready to believe one's selfgazing at a living mendicant pilgrim. It is Benzuru, the same personagewhose famous image at Asakusa has been made featureless by the wearingtouch of countless pilgrim-fingers. To left and right of the entranceare the Ni-O, enormously muscled, furious of aspect; their crimsonbodies are speckled with a white scum of paper pellets spat at them byworshippers. Above . The altar is a small but very pleasing image ofKwannon, with her entire figure relieved against an oblong halo of gold, imitating the flickering of flame. 

But this is not the image for which the temple is famed; there isanother to be seen upon certain conditions. The old priest presents mewith a petition, written in excellent and eloquent English, prayingvisitors to contribute something to the maintenance of the temple andits pontiff, and appealing to those of another faith to remember that'any belief which can make men kindly and good is worthy of respect. ' Icontribute my mite, and I ask to see the great Kwannon. 

Then the old priest lights a lantern, and leads the way, through a lowdoorway on the left of the altar, into the interior of the temple, intosome very lofty darkness. I follow him cautiously awhile, discerningnothing whatever but the flicker of the lantern; then we halt beforesomething which gleams. A moment, and my eyes, becoming more accustomedto the darkness, begin to distinguish outlines; the gleaming objectdefines itself gradually as a Foot, an immense golden Foot, and Iperceive the hem of a golden robe undulating over the instep. Now theother foot appears; the figure is certainly standing. I can perceivethat we are in a narrow but also very lofty chamber, and that out ofsome mysterious blackness overhead ropes are dangling down into thecircle of lantern-light illuminating the golden feet. The priest lightstwo more lanterns, and suspends them upon hooks attached to a pair ofpendent ropes about a yard apart; then he pulls up both together slowly. More of the golden robe is revealed as the lanterns ascend, swinging ontheir way; then the outlines of two mighty knees; then the curving ofcolumnar thighs under chiselled drapery, and, as with the still wavingascent of the lanterns the golden Vision towers ever higher through thegloom, expectation intensifies. There is no sound but the sound of theinvisible pulleys overhead, which squeak like bats. Now above the goldengirdle, the suggestion of a bosom. Then the glowing of a golden handuplifted in benediction. Then another golden hand holding a lotus. Andat last a Face, golden, smiling with eternal youth and infinitetenderness, the face of Kwannon. 

So revealed out of the consecrated darkness, this ideal of divinefeminity--creation of a forgotten art and time--is more thanimpressive. I can scarcely call the emotion which it producesadmiration; it is rather reverence. But the lanterns, which pausedawhile at the level of the beautiful face, now ascend still higher, witha fresh squeaking of pulleys. And lo! the tiara of the divinity appearswith strangest symbolism. It is a pyramid of heads, of faces-charmingfaces of maidens, miniature faces of Kwannon herself. 

For this is the Kwannon of the Eleven Faces--Jiu-ichimen-Kwannon. 

º13

Most sacred this statue is held; and this is its legend. 

In the reign of Emperor Gensei, there lived in the province of Yamato aBuddhist priest, Tokudo Shonin, who had been in a previous birth HoldBosatsu, but had been reborn among common men to save their souls. Nowat that time, in a valley in Yamato, Tokudo Shonin, walking by night, saw a wonderful radiance; and going toward it found that it came fromthe trunk of a great fallen tree, a kusunoki, or camphor-tree. Adelicious perfume came from the tree, and the shining of it was like theshining of the moon. And by these signs Tokudo Shonin knew that the woodwas holy; and he bethought him that he should have the statue of Kwannoncarved from it. And he recited a sutra, and repeated the Nenbutsu, praying for inspiration; and even while he prayed there came and stoodbefore him an aged man and an aged woman; and these said to him, 'Weknow that your desire is to have the image of Kwannon-Sama carved fromthis tree with the help of Heaven; continue therefore, to pray, and weshall carve the statue. '

And Tokudo Shonin did as they bade him; and he saw them easily split thevast trunk into two equal parts, and begin to carve each of the partsinto an image. And he saw them so labour for three days; and on thethird day the work was done--and he saw the two marvellous statues ofKwannon made perfect before him. And he said to the strangers: 'Tell me, I pray you, by what names you are known. ' Then the old man answered: 'Iam Kasuga Myojin. ' And the woman answered: 'I am called Ten-sho-ko-dai-jin; I am the Goddess of the Sun. ' And as they spoke both becametransfigured and ascended to heaven and vanished from the sight ofTokudo Shonin. [6]

And the Emperor, hearing of these happenings, sent his representative toYamato to make offerings, and to have a temple built. Also the greatpriest, Gyogi-Bosatsu, came and consecrated the images, and dedicatedthe temple which by order of the Emperor was built. And one of thestatues he placed in the temple, enshrining it, and commanding it: 'Staythou here always to save all living creatures!' But the other statue hecast into the sea, saying to it: 'Go thou whithersoever it is best, tosave all the living. '

Now the statue floated to Kamakura. And there arriving by night it sheda great radiance all about it as if there were sunshine upon the sea;and the fishermen of Kamakura were awakened by the great light; and theywent out in boats, and found the statue floating and brought it toshore. And the Emperor ordered that a temple should be built for it, thetemple called Shin-haseidera, on the mountain called Kaiko-San, atKamakura. 

º14

As we leave the temple of Kwannon behind us, there are no more dwellingsvisible along the road; the green slopes to left and right becomesteeper, and the shadows of the great trees deepen over us. But still, at intervals, some flight of venerable mossy steps, a carven Buddhistgateway, or a lofty torii, signals the presence of sanctuaries we haveno time to visit: countless crumbling shrines are all around us, dumbwitnesses to the antique splendour and vastness of the dead capital; andeverywhere, mingled with perfume of blossoms, hovers the sweet, resinoussmell of Japanese incense. Be-times we pass a scattered multitude ofsculptured stones, like segments of four-sided pillars--old haka, theforgotten tombs of a long-abandoned cemetery; or the solitary image ofsome Buddhist deity--a dreaming Amida or faintly smiling Kwannon. Allare ancient, time-discoloured, mutilated; a few have been weather-worninto unrecognisability. I halt a moment to contemplate somethingpathetic, a group of six images of the charming divinity who cares forthe ghosts of little children--the Roku-Jizo. Oh, how chipped andscurfed and mossed they are! Five stand buried almost up to theirshoulders in a heaping of little stones, testifying to the prayers ofgenerations; and votive yodarekake, infant bibs of divers colours, havebeen put about the necks of these for the love of children lost. But oneof the gentle god's images lies shattered and overthrown in its ownscattered pebble-pile-broken perhaps by some passing wagon. 

º15

The road slopes before us as we go, sinks down between cliffs steep asthe walls of a ca±on, and curves. Suddenly we emerge from the cliffs, and reach the sea. It is blue like the unclouded sky--a soft dreamyblue. 

And our path turns sharply to the right, and winds along cliff-summitsoverlooking a broad beach of dun-coloured sand; and the sea wind blowsdeliciously with a sweet saline scent, urging the lungs to fillthemselves to the very utmost; and far away before me, I perceive abeautiful high green mass, an island foliage-covered, rising out of thewater about a quarter of a mile from the mainland--Enoshima, the holyisland, sacred to the goddess of the sea, the goddess of beauty. I canalready distinguish a tiny town, grey-sprinkling its steep slope. Evidently it can be reached to-day on foot, for the tide is out, and hasleft bare a long broad reach of sand, extending to it, from the oppositevillage which we are approaching, like a causeway. 

At Katase, the little settlement facing the island, we must leave ourjinricksha and walk; the dunes between the village and the beach are toodeep to pull the vehicle over. Scores of other jinricksha are waitinghere in the little narrow street for pilgrims who have preceded me. Butto-day, I am told, I am the only European who visits the shrine ofBenten. 

Our two men lead the way over the dunes, and we soon descend upon dampfirm sand. 

As we near the island the architectural details of the little towndefine delightfully through the faint sea-haze--curved bluish sweeps offantastic roofs, angles of airy balconies, high-peaked curious gables, all above a fluttering of queerly shaped banners covered with mysteriouslettering. We pass the sand-flats; and the ever-open Portal of the Sea-city, the City of the Dragon-goddess, is before us, a beautiful torii. All of bronze it is, with shimenawa of bronze above it, and a brazentablet inscribed with characters declaring: 'This is the Palace of theGoddess of Enoshima. ' About the bases of the ponderous pillars arestrange designs in relievo, eddyings of waves with tortoises strugglingin the flow. This is really the gate of the city, facing the shrine ofBenten by the land approach; but it is only the third torii of theimposing series through Katase: we did not see the others, having comeby way of the coast. 

And lo! we are in Enoshima. High before us slopes the single street, astreet of broad steps, a street shadowy, full of multi-coloured flagsand dank blue drapery dashed with white fantasticalities, which arewords, fluttered by the sea wind. It is lined with taverns and miniatureshops. At every one I must pause to look; and to dare to look atanything in Japan is to want to buy it. So I buy, and buy, and buy!

For verily 'tis the City of Mother-of-Pearl, this Enoshima. In everyshop, behind the' lettered draperies there are miracles of shell-workfor sale at absurdly small prices. The glazed cases laid flat upon thematted platforms, the shelved cabinets set against the walls, are allopalescent with nacreous things--extraordinary surprises, incredibleingenuities; strings of mother-of-pearl fish, strings of mother-of-pearlbirds, all shimmering with rainbow colours. There are little kittens ofmother-of-pearl, and little foxes of mother-of-pearl, and little puppiesof mother-of-pearl, and girls' hair-combs, and cigarette-holders, andpipes too beautiful to use. There are little tortoises, not larger thana shilling, made of shells, that, when you touch them, however lightly, begin to move head, legs, and tail, all at the same time, alternatelywithdrawing or protruding their limbs so much like real tortoises as togive one a shock of surprise. There are storks and birds, and beetlesand butterflies, and crabs and lobsters, made so cunningly of shells, that only touch convinces you they are not alive. There are bees ofshell, poised on flowers of the same material--poised on wire in such away that they seem to buzz if moved only with the tip of a feather. There is shell-work jewellery indescribable, things that Japanese girlslove, enchantments in mother-of-pearl, hair-pins carven in a hundredforms, brooches, necklaces. And there are photographs of Enoshima. 

º16

This curious street ends at another torii, a wooden torii, with asteeper flight of stone steps ascending to it. At the foot of the stepsare votive stone lamps and a little well, and a stone tank at which allpilgrims wash their hands and rinse their mouths before approaching thetemples of the gods. And hanging beside the tank are bright blue towels, with large white Chinese characters upon them. I ask Akira what thesecharacters signify:

'Ho-Keng is the sound of the characters in the Chinese; but in Japanesethe same characters are pronounced Kenjitatetmatsuru, and signify thatthose towels are mostly humbly offered to Benten. They are what you callvotive offerings. And there are many kinds of votive offerings made tofamous shrines. Some people give towels, some give pictures, some givevases; some offer lanterns of paper, or bronze, or stone. It is commonto promise such offerings when making petitions to the gods; and it isusual to promise a torii. The torii may be small or great according tothe wealth of him who gives it; the very rich pilgrim may offer to thegods a torii of metal, such as that below, which is the Gate ofEnoshima. '

'Akira, do the Japanese always keep their vows to the gods?'

Akira smiles a sweet smile, and answers: 'There was a man who promisedto build a torii of good metal if his prayers were granted. And heobtained all that he desired. And then he built a torii with threeexceedingly small needles. '

º17

Ascending the steps, we reach a terrace, overlooking all the city roofs. There are Buddhist lions of stone and stone lanterns, mossed andchipped, on either side the torii; and the background of the terrace isthe sacred hill, covered with foliage. To the left is a balustrade ofstone, old and green, surrounding a shallow pool covered with scum ofwater-weed. And on the farther bank above it, out of the bushes, protrudes a strangely shaped stone slab, poised on edge, and coveredwith Chinese characters. It is a sacred stone, and is believed to havethe form of a great frog, gama; wherefore it is called Gama-ishi, theFrog-stone. Here and there along the edge of the terrace are othergraven monuments, one of which is the offering of certain pilgrims whovisited the shrine of the sea-goddess one hundred times. On the rightother flights of steps lead to loftier terraces; and an old man, whosits at the foot of them, making bird-cages of bamboo, offers himself asguide. 

We follow him to the next terrace, where there is a school for thechildren of Enoshima, and another sacred stone, huge and shapeless:Fuku-ishi, the Stone of Good Fortune. In old times pilgrims who rubbedtheir hands upon it believed they would thereby gain riches; and thestone is polished and worn by the touch of innumerable palms. 

More steps and more green-mossed lions and lanterns, and another terracewith a little temple in its midst, the first shrine of Benten. Before ita few stunted palm-trees are growing. There is nothing in the shrine ofinterest, only Shinto emblems. But there is another well beside it withother votive towels, and there is another mysterious monument, a stoneshrine brought from China six hundred years ago. Perhaps it containedsome far-famed statue before this place of pilgrimage was given over tothe priests of Shinto. There is nothing in it now; the monolith slabforming the back of it has been fractured by the falling of rocks fromthe cliff above; and the inscription cut therein has been almost effacedby some kind of scum. Akira reads 'Dai-Nippongoku-Enoshima-no-reiseki-ken . . . '; the rest is undecipherable. He says there is a statue in theneighbouring temple, but it is exhibited only once a year, on thefifteenth day of the seventh month. 

Leaving the court by a rising path to the left, we proceed along theverge of a cliff overlooking the sea. Perched upon this verge are prettytea-houses, all widely open to the sea wind, so that, looking throughthem, over their matted floors and lacquered balconies one sees theocean as in a picture-frame, and the pale clear horizon specked withsnowy sails, and a faint blue-peaked shape also, like a phantom island, the far vapoury silhouette of Oshima. Then we find another torii, andother steps leading to a terrace almost black with shade of enormousevergreen trees, and surrounded on the sea side by another stonebalustrade, velveted with moss. On the right more steps, another torii, another terrace; and more mossed green lions and stone lamps; and amonument inscribed with the record of the change whereby Enoshima passedaway from Buddhism to become Shino. Beyond, in the centre of anotherplateau, the second shrine of Benten. 

But there is no Benten! Benten has been hidden away by Shinto hands. Thesecond shrine is void as the first. Nevertheless, in a building to theleft of the temple, strange relics are exhibited. Feudal armour; suitsof plate and chain-mail; helmets with visors which are demoniac masks ofiron; helmets crested with dragons of gold; two-handed swords worthy ofgiants; and enormous arrows, more than five feet long, with shaftsnearly an inch in diameter. One has a crescent head about nine inchesfrom horn to horn, the interior edge of the crescent being sharp as aknife. Such a missile would take off a man's head; and I can scarcelybelieve Akira's assurance that such ponderous arrows were shot from abow by hand only. There is a specimen of the writing of Nichiren, thegreat Buddhist priest--gold characters on a blue ground; and there is, in a lacquered shrine, a gilded dragon said to have been made by thatstill greater priest and writer and master-wizard, Kobodaishi. 

A path shaded by overarching trees leads from this plateau to the thirdshrine. We pass a torii and beyond it come to a stone monument coveredwith figures of monkeys chiselled in relief. What the signification ofthis monument is, even our guide cannot explain. Then another torii. Itis of wood; but I am told it replaces one of metal, stolen in the nightby thieves. Wonderful thieves! that torii must have weighed at least aton! More stone lanterns; then an immense count, on the very summit ofthe mountain, and there, in its midst, the third and chief temple ofBenten. And before the temple is a Lange vacant space surrounded by afence in such manner as to render the shrine totally inaccessible. Vanity and vexation of spirit!

There is, however, a little haiden, or place of prayer, with nothing init but a money-box and a bell, before the fence, and facing the templesteps. Here the pilgrims make their offerings and pray. Only a smallraised platform covered with a Chinese roof supported upon four plainposts, the back of the structure being closed by a lattice about breasthigh. From this praying-station we can look into the temple of Beaten, and see that Benten is not there. 

But I perceive that the ceiling is arranged in caissons; and in acentral caisson I discover a very curious painting-a foreshortenedTortoise, gazing down at me. And while I am looking at it I hear Akiraand the guide laughing; and the latter exclaims, 'Benten-Sama!'

A beautiful little damask snake is undulating up the lattice-work, poking its head through betimes to look at us. It does not seem in theleast afraid, nor has it much reason to be, seeing that its kind aredeemed the servants and confidants of Benten. Sometimes the greatgoddess herself assumes the serpent form; perhaps she has come to seeus. 

Near by is a singular stone, set on a pedestal in the court. It has theform of the body of a tortoise, and markings like those of thecreature's shell; and it is held a sacred thing, and is called theTortoise-stone. But I fear exceedingly that in all this place we shallfind nothing save stones and serpents!

º18

Now we are going to visit the Dragon cavern, not so called, Akira says, because the Dragon of Benten ever dwelt therein, but because the shapeof the cavern is the shape of a dragon. The path descends toward theopposite side of the island, and suddenly breaks into a flight of stepscut out of the pale hard rock--exceedingly steep, and worn, andslippery, and perilous--overlooking the sea. A vision of low palerocks, and surf bursting among them, and a toro or votive stone lamp inthe centre of them--all seen as in a bird's-eye view, over the verge ofan awful precipice. I see also deep, round holes in one of the rocks. There used to be a tea-house below; and the wooden pillars supporting itwere fitted into those holes. I descend with caution; the Japaneseseldom slip in their straw sandals, but I can only proceed with the aidof the guide. At almost every step I slip. Surely these steps couldnever have been thus worn away by the straw sandals of pilgrims who cameto see only stones and serpents!

At last we reach a plank gallery carried along the face of the cliffabove the rocks and pools, and following it round a projection of thecliff enter the sacred cave. The light dims as we advance; and the sea-waves, running after us into the gloom, make a stupefying roar, multiplied by the extraordinary echo. Looking back, I see the mouth ofthe cavern like a prodigious sharply angled rent in blackness, showing afragment of azure sky. 

We reach a shrine with no deity in it, pay a fee; and lamps beinglighted and given to each of us, we proceed to explore a series ofunderground passages. So black they are that even with the light ofthree lamps, I can at first see nothing. In a while, however, I candistinguish stone figures in relief--chiselled on slabs like those Isaw in the Buddhist graveyard. These are placed at regular intervalsalong the rock walls. The guide approaches his light to the face of eachone, and utters a name, 'Daikoku-Sama, ' 'Fudo-Sama, ' 'Kwannon-Sama. 'Sometimes in lieu of a statue there is an empty shrine only, with amoney-box before it; and these void shrines have names of Shinto gods, 'Daijingu, ' 'Hachiman, ' 'Inari-Sama. ' All the statues are black, or seemblack in the yellow lamplight, and sparkle as if frosted. I feel as if Iwere in some mortuary pit, some subterranean burial-place of dead gods. Interminable the corridor appears; yet there is at last an end--an endwith a shrine in it--where the rocky ceiling descends so low that toreach the shrine one must go down on hands and knees. And there isnothing in the shrine. This is the Tail of the Dragon. 

We do not return to the light at once, but enter into other lateralblack corridors--the Wings of the Dragon. More sable effigies ofdispossessed gods; more empty shrines; more stone faces covered withsaltpetre; and more money-boxes, possible only to reach by stooping, where more offerings should be made. And there is no Benten, either ofwood or stone. 

I am glad to return to the light. Here our guide strips naked, andsuddenly leaps head foremost into a black deep swirling current betweenrocks. Five minutes later he reappears, and clambering out lays at myfeet a living, squirming sea-snail and an enormous shrimp. Then heresumes his robe, and we re-ascend the mountain. 

º19

'And this, ' the reader may say, --'this is all that you went forth tosee: a torii, some shells, a small damask snake, some stones?'

It is true. And nevertheless I know that I am bewitched. There is acharm indefinable about the place--that sort of charm which comes witha little ghostly 'thrill never to be forgotten. 

Not of strange sights alone is this charm made, but of numberless subtlesensations and ideas interwoven and inter-blended: the sweet sharpscents of grove and sea; the blood-brightening, vivifying touch of thefree wind; the dumb appeal of ancient mystic mossy things; vaguereverence evoked by knowledge of treading soil called holy for athousand years; and a sense of sympathy, as a human duty, compelled bythe vision of steps of rock worn down into shapelessness by the pilgrimfeet of vanished generations. 

And other memories ineffaceable: the first sight of the sea-girt City ofPearl through a fairy veil of haze; the windy approach to the lovelyisland over the velvety soundless brown stretch of sand; the weirdmajesty of the giant gate of bronze; the queer, high-sloping, fantastic, quaintly gabled street, flinging down sharp shadows of aerial balconies;the flutter of coloured draperies in the sea wind, and of flags withtheir riddles of lettering; the pearly glimmering of the astonishingshops. 

And impressions of the enormous day--the day of the Land of the Gods--a loftier day than ever our summers know; and the glory of the view fromthose green sacred silent heights between sea and sun; and theremembrance of the sky, a sky spiritual as holiness, a sky with cloudsghost-pure and white as the light itself--seeming, indeed, not cloudsbut dreams, or souls of Bodhisattvas about to melt for ever into someblue Nirvana. 

And the romance of Benten, too, --the Deity of Beauty, the Divinity ofLove, the Goddess of Eloquence. Rightly is she likewise named Goddess ofthe Sea. For is not the Sea most ancient and most excellent of Speakers-the eternal Poet, chanter of that mystic hymn whose rhythm shakes theworld, whose mighty syllables no man may learn?

º20

We return by another route. 

For a while the way winds through a long narrow winding valley betweenwooded hills: the whole extent of bottom-land is occupied by rice-farms;the air has a humid coolness, and one hears only the chanting of frogs, like a clattering of countless castanets, as the jinricksha jolts overthe rugged elevated paths separating the flooded rice-fields. 

As we skirt the foot of a wooded hill upon the right, my Japanesecomrade signals to our runners to halt, and himself dismounting, pointsto the blue peaked roof of a little temple high-perched on the greenslope. 'Is it really worth while to climb up there in the sun?' I ask. 'Oh, yes!' he answers: 'it is the temple of Kishibojin--Kishibojin, theMother of Demons!'

We ascend a flight of broad stone steps, meet the Buddhist guardianlions at the summit, and enter the little court in which the templestands. An elderly woman, with a child clinging to her robe, comes fromthe adjoining building to open the screens for us; and taking off ourfootgear we enter the temple. Without, the edifice looked old and dingy;but within all is neat and pretty. The June sun, pouring through theopen shoji, illuminates an artistic confusion of brasses gracefullyshaped and multi-coloured things--images, lanterns, paintings, gildedinscriptions, pendent scrolls. There are three altars. 

Above the central altar Amida Buddha sits enthroned on his mystic goldenlotus in the attitude of the Teacher. On the altar to the right gleams ashrine of five miniature golden steps, where little images stand inrows, tier above tier, some seated, some erect, male and female, attiredlike goddesses or like daimyo: the Sanjiubanjin, or Thirty Guardians. Below, on the faþade of the altar, is the figure of a hero slaying amonster. On the altar to the left is the shrine of the Mother-of-Demons. 

Her story is a legend of horror. For some sin committed in a previousbirth, she was born a demon, devouring her own children. But being savedby the teaching of Buddha, she became a divine being, especially lovingand protecting infants; and Japanese mothers pray to her for theirlittle ones, and wives pray to her for beautiful boys. 

The face of Kishibojin [7] is the face of a comely woman. But her eyesare weird. In her right hand she bears a lotus-blossom; with her leftshe supports in a fold of her robe, against her half-veiled breast, anaked baby. At the foot of her shrine stands Jizo-Sama, leaning upon hisshakujo. But the altar and its images do not form the startling featureof the temple-interior. What impresses the visitor in a totally novelway are the votive offerings. High before the shrine, suspended fromstrings stretched taut between tall poles of bamboo, are scores, no, hundreds, of pretty, tiny dresses--Japanese baby-dresses of manycolours. Most are made of poor material, for these are the thank-offerings of very poor simple women, poor country mothers, whose prayersto Kishibojin for the blessing of children have been heard. 

And the sight of all those little dresses, each telling so naively itsstory of joy and pain--those tiny kimono shaped and sewn by docilepatient fingers of humble mothers-touches irresistibly, like someunexpected revelation of the universal mother-love. And the tendernessof all the simple hearts that have testified thus to faith andthankfulness seems to thrill all about me softly, like a caress ofsummer wind. 

Outside the world appears to have suddenly grown beautiful; the light issweeter; it seems to me there is a new charm even in the azure of theeternal day. 

º21

Then, having traversed the valley, we reach a main road so level and somagnificently shaded by huge old trees that I could believe myself in anEnglish lane--a lane in Kent or Surrey, perhaps--but for some exoticdetail breaking the illusion at intervals; a torii, towering beforetemple-steps descending to the highway, or a signboard lettered withChinese characters, or the wayside shrine of some unknown god. 

All at once I observe by the roadside some unfamiliar sculptures inrelief--a row of chiselled slabs protected by a little bamboo shed; andI dismount to look at them, supposing them to be funereal monuments. They are so old that the lines of their sculpturing are halfobliterated; their feet are covered with moss, and their visages arehalf effaced. But I can discern that these are not haka, but six imagesof one divinity; and my guide knows him--Koshin, the God of Roads. Sochipped and covered with scurf he is, that the upper portion of his formhas become indefinably vague; his attributes have been worn away. Butbelow his feet, on several slabs, chiselled cunningly, I can stilldistinguish the figures of the Three Apes, his messengers. And somepious soul has left before one image a humble votive offering--thepicture of a black cock and a white hen, painted upon a wooden shingle. It must have been left here very long ago; the wood has become almostblack, and the painting has been damaged by weather and by the droppingsof birds. There are no stones piled at the feet of these images, asbefore the images of Jizo; they seem like things forgotten, crusted overby the neglect of generations--archaic gods who have lost theirworshippers. 

But my guide tells me, 'The Temple of Koshin is near, in the village ofFujisawa. ' Assuredly I must visit it. 

º22

The temple of Koshin is situated in the middle of the village, in acourt opening upon the main street. A very old wooden temple it is, unpainted, dilapidated, grey with the greyness of all forgotten andweather-beaten things. It is some time before the guardian of the templecan be found, to open the doors. For this temple has doors in lieu ofshoji--old doors that moan sleepily at being turned upon their hinges. And it is not necessary to remove one's shoes; the floor is matless, covered with dust, and squeaks under the unaccustomed weight of enteringfeet. All within is crumbling, mouldering, worn; the shrine has noimage, only Shinto emblems, some poor paper lanterns whose once brightcolours have vanished under a coating of dust, some vague inscriptions. I see the circular frame of a metal mirror; but the mirror itself isgone. Whither? The guardian says: 'No priest lives now in this temple;and thieves might come in the night to steal the mirror; so we havehidden it away. ' I ask about the image of Koshin. He answers it isexposed but once in every sixty-one years: so I cannot see it; but thereare other statues of the god in the temple court. 

I go to look at them: a row of images, much like those upon the publichighway, but better preserved. One figure of Koshin, however, isdifferent from the others I have seen--apparently made after someHindoo model, judging by the Indian coiffure, mitre-shaped and lofty. The god has three eyes; one in the centre of his forehead, openingperpendicularly instead of horizontally. He has six arms. With one handhe supports a monkey; with another he grasps a serpent; and the otherhands hold out symbolic things--a wheel, a sword, a rosary, a sceptre. And serpents are coiled about his wrists and about his ankles; and underhis feet is a monstrous head, the head of a demon, Amanjako, sometimescalled Utatesa ('Sadness'). Upon the pedestal below the Three Apes arecarven; and the face of an ape appears also upon the front of the god'stiara. 

I see also tablets of stone, graven only with the god's name, --votiveofferings. And near by, in a tiny wooden shrine, is the figure of theEarth-god, Ken-ro-ji-jin, grey, primeval, vaguely wrought, holding inone hand a spear, in the other a vessel containing somethingindistinguishable. 

º23

Perhaps to uninitiated eyes these many-headed, many-handed gods at firstmay seem--as they seem always in the sight of Christian bigotry--onlymonstrous. But when the knowledge of their meaning comes to one whofeels the divine in all religions, then they will be found to makeappeal to the higher aestheticism, to the sense of moral beauty, with aforce never to be divined by minds knowing nothing of the Orient and itsthought. To me the image of Kwannon of the Thousand Hands is not lessadmirable than any other representation of human loveliness idealisedbearing her name--the Peerless, the Majestic, the Peace-Giving, or evenWhite Sui-Getsu, who sails the moonlit waters in her rosy boat made of asingle lotus-petal; and in the triple-headed Shaka I discern and reverethe mighty power of that Truth, whereby, as by a conjunction of suns, the Three Worlds have been illuminated. 

But vain to seek to memorise the names and attributes of all the gods;they seem, self-multiplying, to mock the seeker; Kwannon the Merciful isrevealed as the Hundred Kwannon; the Six Jizo become the Thousand. Andas they multiply before research, they vary and change: less multiform, less complex, less elusive the moving of waters than the visions of thisOriental faith. Into it, as into a fathomless sea, mythology aftermythology from India and China and the farther East has sunk and beenabsorbed; and the stranger, peering into its deeps, finds himself, as inthe tale of Undine, contemplating a flood in whose every surge rises andvanishes a Face--weird or beautiful or terrible--a most ancient shorelesssea of forms incomprehensibly interchanging and intermingling, butsymbolising the protean magic of that infinite Unknown that shapes andre-shapes for ever all cosmic being. 

º24

I wonder if I can buy a picture of Koshin. In most Japanese templeslittle pictures of the tutelar deity are sold to pilgrims, cheap printson thin paper. But the temple guardian here tells me, with a gesture ofdespair, that there are no pictures of Koshin for sale; there is only anold kakemono on which the god is represented. If I would like to see ithe will go home and get it for me. I beg him to do me the favour; and hehurries into the street. 

While awaiting his return, I continue to examine the queer old statues, with a feeling of mingled melancholy and pleasure. To have studied andloved an ancient faith only through the labours of palaeographers andarchaeologists, and as a something astronomically remote from one's ownexistence, and then suddenly in after years to find the same faith apart of one's human environment, --to feel that its mythology, thoughsenescent, is alive all around you--is almost to realise the dream ofthe Romantics, to have the sensation of returning through twentycenturies into the life of a happier world. For these quaint Gods ofRoads and Gods. Of Earth are really living still, though so worn andmossed and feebly worshipped. In this brief moment, at least, I amreally in the Elder World--perhaps just at that epoch of it when theprimal faith is growing a little old-fashioned, crumbling slowly beforethe corrosive influence of a new philosophy; and I know myself a paganstill, loving these simple old gods, these gods of a people's childhood. 

And they need some human love, these naive, innocent, ugly gods. Thebeautiful divinities will live for ever by that sweetness of womanhoodidealised in the Buddhist art of them: eternal are Kwannon and Benten;they need no help of man; they will compel reverence when the greattemples shall all have become voiceless and priestless as this shrine ofKoshin is. But these kind, queer, artless, mouldering gods, who havegiven ease to so many troubled minds, who have gladdened so many simplehearts, who have heard so many innocent prayers--how gladly would Iprolong their beneficent lives in spite of the so-called 'laws ofprogress' and the irrefutable philosophy of evolution!

The guardian returns, bringing with him a kakemono, very small, verydusty, and so yellow-stained by time that it might be a thousand yearsold. But I am disappointed as I unroll it; there is only a very commonprint of the god within--all outline. And while I am looking at it, Ibecome for the first time conscious that a crowd has gathered about me, -tanned kindly-faced labourers from the fields, and mothers with theirbabies on their backs, and school children, and jinricksha men, allwondering that a stranger should be thus interested in their gods. Andalthough the pressure about me is very, very gentle, like a pressure oftepid water for gentleness, I feel a little embarrassed. I give back theold kakemono to the guardian, make my offering to the god, and take myleave of Koshin and his good servant. 

All the kind oblique eyes follow me as I go. And something like afeeling of remorse seizes me at thus abruptly abandoning the void, dusty, crumbling temple, with its mirrorless altar and its colourlesslanterns, and the decaying sculptures of its neglected court, and itskindly guardian whom I see still watching my retreating steps, with theyellow kakemono in his hand. The whistle of a locomotive warns me that Ishall just have time to catch the train. For Western civilisation hasinvaded all this primitive peace, with its webs of steel, with its waysof iron. This is not of thy roads, O Koshin!--the old gods are dyingalong its ash-strewn verge!

Chapter Five At the Market of the Dead

º1

IT is just past five o'clock in the afternoon. Through the open door ofmy little study the rising breeze of evening is beginning to disturb thepapers on my desk, and the white fire of the Japanese sun is taking thatpale amber tone which tells that the heat of the day is over. There isnot a cloud in the blue--not even one of those beautiful whitefilamentary things, like ghosts of silken floss, which usually swim inthis most ethereal of earthly skies even in the driest weather. 

A sudden shadow at the door. Akira, the young Buddhist student, standsat the threshold slipping his white feet out of his sandal-thongspreparatory to entering, and smiling like the god Jizo. 

'Ah! komban, Akira. '

'To-night, ' says Akira, seating himself upon the floor in the posture ofBuddha upon the Lotus, 'the Bon-ichi will be held. Perhaps you wouldlike to see it?'

'Oh, Akira, all things in this country I should like to see. But tellme, I pray you; unto what may the Bon-ichi be likened?'

'The Bon-ichi, ' answers Akira, 'is a market at which will be sold allthings required for the Festival of the Dead; and the Festival of theDead will begin to-morrow, when all the altars of the temples and allthe shrines in the homes of good Buddhists will be made beautiful. '

'Then I want to see the Bon-ichi, Akira, and I should also like to see aBuddhist shrine--a household shrine. '

'Yes, will you come to my room?' asks Akira. 'It is not far--in theStreet of the Aged Men, beyond the Street of the Stony River, and nearto the Street Everlasting. There is a butsuma there--a household shrine-and on the way I will tell you about the Bonku. '

So, for the first time, I learn those things--which I am now about towrite. 

º2

From the 13th to the 15th day of July is held the Festival of the Dead--the Bommatsuri or Bonku--by some Europeans called the Feast ofLanterns. But in many places there are two such festivals annually; forthose who still follow the ancient reckoning of time by moons hold thatthe Bommatsuri should fall on the 13th, 14th, and 15th days of theseventh month of the antique calendar, which corresponds to a laterperiod of the year. 

Early on the morning of the 13th, new mats of purest rice straw, wovenexpressly for the festival, are spread upon all Buddhist altars andwithin each butsuma or butsudan--the little shrine before which themorning and evening prayers are offered up in every believing home. Shrines and altars are likewise decorated with beautiful embellishmentsof coloured paper, and with flowers and sprigs of certain hallowedplants--always real lotus-flowers when obtainable, otherwise lotus-flowers of paper, and fresh branches of shikimi (anise) and of misohagi(lespedeza). Then a tiny lacquered table--a zen-such as Japanese mealsare usually served upon, is placed upon the altar, and the foodofferings are laid on it. But in the smaller shrines of Japanese homesthe offerings are more often simply laid upon the rice matting, wrappedin fresh lotus-leaves. 

These offerings consist of the foods called somen, resembling ourvermicelli, gozen, which is boiled rice, dango, a sort of tiny dumpling, eggplant, and fruits according to season--frequently uri and saikwa, slices of melon and watermelon, and plums and peaches. Often sweet cakesand dainties are added. Sometimes the offering is only O-sho-jin-gu(honourable uncooked food); more usually it is O-rio-gu (honourableboiled food); but it never includes, of course, fish, meats, or wine. Clear water is given to the shadowy guest, and is sprinkled from time totime upon the altar or within the shrine with a branch of misohagi; teais poured out every hour for the viewless visitors, and everything isdaintily served up in little plates and cups and bowls, as for livingguests, with hashi (chopsticks) laid beside the offering. So for threedays the dead are feasted. 

At sunset, pine torches, fixed in the ground before each home, arekindled to guide the spirit-visitors. Sometimes, also, on the firstevening of the Bommatsuri, welcome-fires (mukaebi) are lighted along theshore of the sea or lake or river by which the village or city issituated--neither more nor less than one hundred and eight fires; thisnumber having some mystic signification in the philosophy of Buddhism. And charming lanterns are suspended each night at the entrances of homes-the Lanterns of the Festival of the Dead--lanterns of special formsand colours, beautifully painted with suggestions of landscape andshapes of flowers, and always decorated with a peculiar fringe of paperstreamers. 

Also, on the same night, those who have dead friends go to thecemeteries and make offerings there, and pray, and burn incense, andpour out water for the ghosts. Flowers are placed there in the bamboovases set beside each haka, and lanterns are lighted and hung up beforethe tombs, but these lanterns have no designs upon them. 

At sunset on the evening of the 15th only the offerings called Segakiare made in the temples. Then are fed the ghosts of the Circle ofPenance, called Gakido, the place of hungry spirits; and then also arefed by the priests those ghosts having no other friends among the livingto care for them. Very, very small these offerings are--like theofferings to the gods. 

º3

Now this, Akira tells me, is the origin of the Segaki, as the same isrelated in the holy book Busetsuuran-bongyo:

Dai-Mokenren, the great disciple of Buddha, obtained by merit the SixSupernatural Powers. And by virtue of them it was given him to see thesoul of his mother in the Gakido--the world of spirits doomed to sufferhunger in expiation of faults committed in a previous life. Mokenren sawthat his mother suffered much; he grieved exceedingly because of herpain, and he filled a bowl with choicest food and sent it to her. He sawher try to eat; but each time that she tried to lift the food to herlips it would change into fire and burning embers, so that she could noteat. Then Mokenren asked the Teacher what he could do to relieve hismother from pain. And the Teacher made answer: 'On the fifteenth day ofthe seventh month, feed the ghosts of the great priests of allcountries. ' And Mokenren, having done so, saw that his mother was freedfrom the state of gaki, and that she was dancing for joy. [1] This isthe origin also of the dances called Bono-dori, which are danced on thethird night of the Festival of the Dead throughout Japan. 

Upon the third and last night there is a weirdly beautiful ceremony, more touching than that of the Segaki, stranger than the Bon-odori--theceremony of farewell. All that the living may do to please the dead hasbeen done; the time allotted by the powers of the unseen worlds unto theghostly visitants is well nigh past, and their friends must send themall back again. 

Everything has been prepared for them. In each home small boats made ofbarley straw closely woven have been freighted with supplies of choicefood, with tiny lanterns, and written messages of faith and love. Seldommore than two feet in length are these boats; but the dead requirelittle room. And the frail craft are launched on canal, lake, sea, orriver--each with a miniature lantern glowing at the prow, and incenseburning at the stern. And if the night be fair, they voyage long. Downall the creeks and rivers and canals the phantom fleets go glimmering tothe sea; and all the sea sparkles to the horizon with the lights of thedead, and the sea wind is fragrant with incense. 

But alas! it is now forbidden in the great seaports to launch theshoryobune, 'the boats of the blessed ghosts. '

º4

It is so narrow, the Street of the Aged Men, that by stretching outone's arms one can touch the figured sign-draperies before its tinyshops on both sides at once. And these little ark-shaped houses reallyseem toy-houses; that in which Akira lives is even smaller than therest, having no shop in it, and no miniature second story. It is allclosed up. Akira slides back the wooden amado which forms the door, andthen the paper-paned screens behind it; and the tiny structure, thusopened, with its light unpainted woodwork and painted paper partitions, looks something like a great bird-cage. But the rush matting of theelevated floor is fresh, sweet-smelling, spotless; and as we take offour footgear to mount upon it I see that all within is neat, curious, and pretty. 

'The woman has gone out, ' says Akira, setting the smoking-box (hibachi)in the middle of the floor, and spreading beside it a little mat for meto squat upon. 

'But what is this, Akira?' I ask, pointing to a thin board suspended bya ribbon on the wall--a board so cut from the middle of a branch as toleave the bark along its edges. There are two columns of mysterioussigns exquisitely painted upon it. 

'Oh, that is a calendar, ' answers Akira. 'On the right side are thenames of the months having thirty-one days; on the left, the names ofthose having less. Now here is a household shrine. '

Occupying the alcove, which is an indispensable part of the structure ofJapanese guest-rooms, is a native cabinet painted with figures of flyingbirds; and on this cabinet stands the butsuma. It is a small lacqueredand gilded shrine, with little doors modelled after those of a templegate--a shrine very quaint, very much dilapidated (one door has lostits hinges), but still a dainty thing despite its crackled lacquer andfaded gilding. Akira opens it with a sort of compassionate smile; and Ilook inside for the image. There is none; only a wooden tablet with aband of white paper attached to it, bearing Japanese characters--thename of a dead baby girl--and a vase of expiring flowers, a tiny printof Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy, and a cup filled with ashes ofincense. 

'Tomorrow, ' Akira says, 'she will decorate this, and make the offeringsof food to the little one. '

Hanging from the ceiling, on the opposite side of the room, and in frontof the shrine, is a wonderful, charming, funny, white-and-rosy mask--the face of a laughing, chubby girl with two mysterious spots upon herforehead, the face of Otafuku. [2] It twirls round and round in thesoft air-current coming through the open shoji; and every time thosefunny black eyes, half shut with laughter, look at me, I cannot helpsmiling. And hanging still higher, I see little Shinto emblems of paper(gohei), a miniature mitre-shaped cap in likeness of those worn in thesacred dances, a pasteboard emblem of the magic gem (Nio-i hojiu) whichthe gods bear in their hands, a small Japanese doll, and a little wind-wheel which will spin around with the least puff of air, and otherindescribable toys, mostly symbolic, such as are sold on festal days inthe courts of the temples--the playthings of the dead child. 

'Komban!' exclaims a very gentle voice behind us. The mother is standingthere, smiling as if pleased at the stranger's interest in her butsuma--a middle-aged woman of the poorest class, not comely, but with a mostkindly face. We return her evening greeting; and while I sit down uponthe little mat laid before the hibachi, Akira whispers something to her, with the result that a small kettle is at once set to boil over a verysmall charcoal furnace. We are probably going to have some tea. 

As Akira takes his seat before me, on the other side of the hibachi, Iask him:

'What was the name I saw on the tablet?'

'The name which you saw, ' he answers, 'was not the real name. The realname is written upon the other side. After death another name is givenby the priest. A dead boy is called Ryochi Doji; a dead girl, MioyoDonyo. '

While we are speaking, the woman approaches the little shrine, opens it, arranges the objects in it, lights the tiny lamp, and with joined handsand bowed head begins to pray. Totally unembarrassed by our presence andour chatter she seems, as one accustomed to do what is right andbeautiful heedless of human opinion; praying with that brave, truefrankness which belongs to the poor only of this world--those simplesouls who never have any secret to hide, either from each other or fromheaven, and of whom Ruskin nobly said, 'These are our holiest. ' I donot know what words her heart is murmuring: I hear only at moments thatsoft sibilant sound, made by gently drawing the breath through the lips, which among this kind people is a token of humblest desire to please. 

As I watch the tender little rite, I become aware of something dimlyastir in the mystery of my own life--vaguely, indefinably familiar, like a memory ancestral, like the revival of a sensation forgotten twothousand years. Blended in some strange way it seems to be with my faintknowledge of an elder world, whose household gods were also the beloveddead; and there is a weird sweetness in this place, like a shadowing ofLares. 

Then, her brief prayer over, she turns to her miniature furnace again. She talks and laughs with Akira; she prepares the tea, pours it out intiny cups and serves it to us, kneeling in that graceful attitude--picturesque, traditional--which for six hundred years has been theattitude of the Japanese woman serving tea. Verily, no small part of thelife of the woman of Japan is spent thus in serving little cups of tea. Even as a ghost, she appears in popular prints offering to somebodyspectral tea-cups of spectral tea. Of all Japanese ghost-pictures, Iknow of none more pathetic than that in which the phantom of a womankneeling humbly offers to her haunted and remorseful murderer a littlecup of tea!

'Now let us go to the Bon-ichi, ' says Akira, rising; 'she must go thereherself soon, and it is already getting dark. Sayonara!'

It is indeed almost dark as we leave the little house: stars arepointing in the strip of sky above the street; but it is a beautifulnight for a walk, with a tepid breeze blowing at intervals, and sendinglong flutterings through the miles of shop draperies. The market is inthe narrow street at the verge of the city, just below the hill wherethe great Buddhist temple of Zoto-Kuin stands--in the Motomachi, onlyten squares away. 

º5

The curious narrow street is one long blaze of lights--lights oflantern signs, lights of torches and lamps illuminating unfamiliar rowsof little stands and booths set out in the thoroughfare before all theshop-fronts on each side; making two far-converging lines of multi-coloured fire. Between these moves a dense throng, filling the nightwith a clatter of geta that drowns even the tide-like murmuring ofvoices and the cries of the merchant. But how gentle the movement!-there is no jostling, no rudeness; everybody, even the weakest andsmallest, has a chance to see everything; and there are many things tosee. 

'Hasu-no-hana!--hasu-no-hana!' Here are the venders of lotus-flowersfor the tombs and the altars, of lotus leaves in which to wrap the foodof the beloved ghosts. The leaves, folded into bundles, are heaped upontiny tables; the lotus-flowers, buds and blossoms intermingled, arefixed upright in immense bunches, supported by light frames of bamboo. 

'Ogara!--ogara-ya! White sheaves of long peeled rods. These are hemp-sticks. The thinner ends can be broken up into hashi for the use of theghosts; the rest must be consumed in the mukaebi. Rightly all thesesticks should be made of pine; but pine is too scarce and dear for thepoor folk of this district, so the ogara are substituted. 

'Kawarake!--kawarake-ya!' The dishes of the ghosts: small red shallowplatters of unglazed earthenware; primeval pottery suku-makemasu!' Eh!what is all this? A little booth shaped like a sentry-box, all made oflaths, covered with a red-and-white chess pattern of paper; and out ofthis frail structure issues a shrilling keen as the sound of leakingsteam. 'Oh, that is only insects, ' says Akira, laughing; 'nothing to dowith the Bonku. ' Insects, yes!--in cages! The shrilling is made byscores of huge green crickets, each prisoned in a tiny bamboo cage byitself. 'They are fed with eggplant and melon rind, ' continues Akira, 'and sold to children to play with. ' And there are also beautiful littlecages full of fireflies--cages covered with brown mosquito-netting, upon each of which some simple but very pretty design in bright colourshas been dashed by a Japanese brush. One cricket and cage, two cents. Fifteen fireflies and cage, five cents. 

Here on a street corner squats a blue-robed boy behind a low woodentable, selling wooden boxes about as big as match-boxes, with red paperhinges. Beside the piles of these little boxes on the table are shallowdishes filled with clear water, in which extraordinary thin flat shapesare floating--shapes of flowers, trees, birds, boats, men, and women. Open a box; it costs only two cents. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, are bundles of little pale sticks, like round match-sticks, with pinkends. Drop one into the water, it instantly unrolls and expands into thelikeness of a lotus-flower. Another transforms itself into a fish. Athird becomes a boat. A fourth changes to an owl. A fifth becomes a tea-plant, covered with leaves and blossoms. . . . So delicate are thesethings that, once immersed, you cannot handle them without breakingthem. They are made of seaweed. 

'Tsukuri hana!--tsukuri-hana-wa-irimasenka?' The sellers of artificialflowers, marvellous chrysanthemums and lotus-plants of paper, imitationsof bud and leaf and flower so cunningly wrought that the eye alonecannot detect the beautiful trickery. It is only right that these shouldcost much more than their living counterparts. 

º6

High above the thronging and the clamour and the myriad fires of themerchants, the great Shingon temple at the end of the radiant streettowers upon its hill against the starry night, weirdly, like a dream--strangely illuminated by rows of paper lanterns hung all along itscurving eaves; and the flowing of the crowd bears me thither. Out of thebroad entrance, over a dark gliding mass which I know to be heads andshoulders of crowding worshippers, beams a broad band of yellow light;and before reaching the lion-guarded steps I hear the continuousclanging of the temple gong, each clang the signal of an offering and aprayer. Doubtless a cataract of cash is pouring into the great alms-chest; for to-night is the Festival of Yakushi-Nyorai, the Physician ofSouls. Borne to the steps at last, I find myself able to halt a moment, despite the pressure of the throng, before the stand of a lantern-sellerselling the most beautiful lanterns that I have ever seen. Each is agigantic lotus-flower of paper, so perfectly made in every detail as toseem a great living blossom freshly plucked; the petals are crimson attheir bases, paling to white at their tips; the calyx is a faultlessmimicry of nature, and beneath it hangs a beautiful fringe of papercuttings, coloured with the colours of the flower, green below thecalyx, white in the middle, crimson at the ends. In the heart of theblossom is set a microscopic oil-lamp of baked clay; and this beinglighted, all the flower becomes luminous, diaphanous--a lotus of whiteand crimson fire. There is a slender gilded wooden hoop by which to hangit up, and the price is four cents! How can people afford to make suchthings for four cents, even in this country of astounding cheapness?

Akira is trying to tell me something about the hyaku-hachino-mukaebi, the Hundred and Eight Fires, to be lighted to-morrow evening, which bearsome figurative relation unto the Hundred and Eight Foolish Desires; butI cannot hear him for the clatter of the geta and the komageta, thewooden clogs and wooden sandals of the worshippers ascending to theshrine of Yakushi-Nyorai. The light straw sandals of the poorer men, thezori and the waraji, are silent; the great clatter is really made by thedelicate feet of women and girls, balancing themselves carefully upontheir noisy geta. And most of these little feet are clad with spotlesstabi, white as a white lotus. White feet of little blue-robed mothersthey mostly are--mothers climbing patiently and smilingly, with prettyplacid babies at their backs, up the hill to Buddha. 

And while through the tinted lantern light I wander on with the gentlenoisy people, up the great steps of stone, between other displays oflotus-blossoms, between other high hedgerows of paper flowers, mythought suddenly goes back to the little broken shrine in the poorwoman's room, with the humble playthings hanging before it, and thelaughing, twirling mask of Otafuku. I see the happy, funny little eyes, oblique and silky-shadowed like Otafuku's own, which used to look atthose toys, --toys in which the fresh child-senses found a charm that Ican but faintly divine, a delight hereditary, ancestral. I see thetender little creature being borne, as it was doubtless borne manytimes, through just such a peaceful throng as this, in just such alukewarm, luminous night, peeping over the mother's shoulder, softlyclinging at her neck with tiny hands. 

Somewhere among this multitude she is--the mother. She will feel againto-night the faint touch of little hands, yet will not turn her head tolook and laugh, as in other days. 

Chapter SixBon-odori

º1

Over the mountains to Izumo, the land of the Kamiyo, [1] the land of theAncient Gods. A journey of four days by kuruma, with strong runners, from the Pacific to the Sea of Japan; for we have taken the longest andleast frequented route. 

Through valleys most of this long route lies, valleys always open tohigher valleys, while the road ascends, valleys between mountains withrice-fields ascending their slopes by successions of diked terraceswhich look like enormous green flights of steps. Above them areshadowing sombre forests of cedar and pine; and above these woodedsummits loom indigo shapes of farther hills overtopped by peakedsilhouettes of vapoury grey. The air is lukewarm and windless; anddistances are gauzed by delicate mists; and in this tenderest of blueskies, this Japanese sky which always seems to me loftier than any othersky which I ever saw, there are only, day after day, some few filmy, spectral, diaphanous white wandering things: like ghosts of clouds, riding on the wind. 

But sometimes, as the road ascends, the rice-. Fields disappear a while:fields of barley and of indigo, and of rye and of cotton, fringe theroute for a little space; and then it plunges into forest shadows. Aboveall else, the forests of cedar sometimes bordering the way areastonishments; never outside of the tropics did I see any growthscomparable for density and perpendicularity with these. Every trunk isstraight and bare as a pillar: the whole front presents the spectacle ofan immeasurable massing of pallid columns towering up into a cloud ofsombre foliage so dense that one can distinguish nothing overhead butbranchings lost in shadow. And the profundities beyond the rare gaps inthe palisade of blanched trunks are night-black, as in Dore's picturesof fir woods. 

No more great towns; only thatched villages nestling in the folds of thehills, each with its Buddhist temple, lifting a tilted roof of blue-greytiles above the congregation of thatched homesteads, and its miya, orShinto shrine, with a torii before it like a great ideograph shaped instone or wood. But Buddhism still dominates; every hilltop has its tera;and the statues of Buddhas or of Bodhisattvas appear by the roadside, aswe travel on, with the regularity of milestones. Often a village tera isso large that the cottages of the rustic folk about it seem like littleout-houses; and the traveller wonders how so costly an edifice of prayercan be supported by a community so humble. And everywhere the signs ofthe gentle faith appear: its ideographs and symbols are chiselled uponthe faces of the rocks; its icons smile upon you from every shadowyrecess by the way; even the very landscape betimes would seem to havebeen moulded by the soul of it, where hills rise softly as a prayer. Andthe summits of some are domed like the head of Shaka, and the dark bossyfrondage that clothes them might seem the clustering of his curls. 

But gradually, with the passing of the days, as we journey into theloftier west, I see fewer and fewer tera. Such Buddhist temples as wepass appear small and poor; and the wayside images become rarer andrarer. But the symbols of Shinto are more numerous, and the structure ofits miya larger and loftier. And the torii are visible everywhere, andtower higher, before the approaches to villages, before the entrances ofcourts guarded by strangely grotesque lions and foxes of stone, andbefore stairways of old mossed rock, upsloping, between dense growths ofancient cedar and pine, to shrines that moulder in the twilight of holygroves. 

At one little village I see, just beyond, the torii leading to a greatShinto temple, a particularly odd small shrine, and feel impelled bycuriosity to examine it. Leaning against its closed doors are many shortgnarled sticks in a row, miniature clubs. Irreverently removing these, and opening the little doors, Akira bids me look within. I see only amask--the mask of a goblin, a Tengu, grotesque beyond description, with an enormous nose--so grotesque that I feel remorse for havinglooked at it. 

The sticks are votive offerings. By dedicating one to the shrine, it isbelieved that the Tengu may be induced to drive one's enemies away. Goblin-shaped though they appear in all Japanese paintings and carvingsof them, the Tengu-Sama are divinities, lesser divinities, lords of theart of fencing and the use of all weapons. 

And other changes gradually become manifest. Akira complains that he canno longer understand the language of the people. We are traversingregions of dialects. The houses are also architecturally different fromthose of the country-folk of the north-east; their high thatched roofsare curiously decorated with bundles of straw fastened to a pole ofbamboo parallel with the roof-ridge, and elevated about a foot above it. The complexion of the peasantry is darker than in the north-east; and Isee no more of those charming rosy faces one observes among the women ofthe Tokyo districts. And the peasants wear different hats, hats pointedlike the straw roofs of those little wayside temples curiously enoughcalled an (which means a straw hat). 

The weather is more than warm, rendering clothing oppressive; and as wepass through the little villages along the road, I see much healthycleanly nudity: pretty naked children; brown men and boys with only asoft narrow white cloth about their loins, asleep on the matted floors, all the paper screens of the houses having been removed to admit thebreeze. The men seem to be lightly and supply built; but I see nosaliency of muscles; the lines of the figure are always smooth. Beforealmost every dwelling, indigo, spread out upon little mats of ricestraw, may be seen drying in the sun. 

The country-folk gaze wonderingly at the foreigner. At various placeswhere we halt, old men approach to touch my clothes, apologising withhumble bows and winning smiles for their very natural curiosity, andasking my interpreter all sorts of odd questions. Gentler and kindlierfaces I never beheld; and they reflect the souls behind them; never yethave I heard a voice raised in anger, nor observed an unkindly act. 

And each day, as we travel, the country becomes more beautiful--beautiful with that fantasticality of landscape only to be found involcanic lands. But for the dark forests of cedar and pine, and this farfaint dreamy sky, and the soft whiteness of the light, there are momentsof our journey when I could fancy myself again in the West Indies, ascending some winding way over the mornes of Dominica or of Martinique. And, indeed, I find myself sometimes looking against the horizon glowfor shapes of palms and ceibas. But the brighter green of the valleysand of the mountain-slopes beneath the woods is not the green of youngcane, but of rice-fields--thousands upon thousands of tiny rice-fieldsno larger than cottage gardens, separated from each other by narrowserpentine dikes. 

º2

In the very heart of a mountain range, while rolling along the verge ofa precipice above rice-fields, I catch sight of a little shrine in acavity of the cliff overhanging the way, and halt to examine it. Thesides and sloping roof of the shrine are formed by slabs of unhewn rock. Within smiles a rudely chiselled image of Bato-Kwannon--Kwannon-with-the-Horse's-Head--and before it bunches of wild flowers have beenplaced, and an earthen incense-cup, and scattered offerings of dry rice. Contrary to the idea suggested by the strange name, this form of Kwannonis not horse-headed; but the head of a horse is sculptured upon thetiara worn by the divinity. And the symbolism is fully explained by alarge wooden sotoba planted beside the shrine, and bearing, among otherinscriptions, the words, 'Bato Kwan-ze-on Bosatsu, giu ba bodai han ye. 'For Bato-Kwannon protects the horses and the cattle of the peasant; andhe prays her not only that his dumb servants may be preserved fromsickness, but also that their spirits may enter after death, into ahappier state of existence. Near the sotoba there has been erected awooden framework about four feet square, filled with little tablets ofpine set edge to edge so as to form one smooth surface; and on these arewritten, in rows of hundreds, the names of all who subscribed for thestatue and its shrine. The number announced is ten thousand. But thewhole cost could not have exceeded ten Japanese dollars (yen); whereforeI surmise that each subscriber gave not more than one rin--one tenthof one sen, or cent. For the hyakusho are unspeakably poor. [2]

In the midst of these mountain solitudes, the discovery of that littleshrine creates a delightful sense of security. Surely nothing savegoodness can be expected from a people gentle-hearted enough to pray forthe souls of their horses and cows. [3]

As we proceed rapidly down a slope, my kurumaya swerves to one side witha suddenness that gives me a violent start, for the road overlooks asheer depth of several hundred feet. It is merely to avoid hurting aharmless snake making its way across the path. The snake is so littleafraid that on reaching the edge of the road it turns its head to lookafter us. 

º3

And now strange signs begin to appear in all these rice-fields: I seeeverywhere, sticking up above the ripening grain, objects like white-feathered arrows. Arrows of prayer! I take one up to examine it. Theshaft is a thin bamboo, split down for about one-third of its length;into the slit a strip of strong white paper with ideographs upon it--anofuda, a Shinto charm--is inserted; and the separated ends of the caneare then rejoined and tied together just above it. The whole, at alittle distance, has exactly the appearance of a long, light, well-feathered arrow. That which I first examine bears the words, 'Yu-Asaki-]inja-kozen-son-chu-an-zen' (From the God whose shrine is before theVillage of Peace). Another reads, 'Mihojinja-sho-gwan-jo-ju-go-kito-shugo, ' signifying that the Deity of the temple Miho-jinja grantethfully every supplication made unto him. Everywhere, as we proceed, I seethe white arrows of prayer glimmering above the green level of thegrain; and always they become more numerous. Far as the eye can reachthe fields are sprinkled with them, so that they make upon the verdantsurface a white speckling as of flowers. 

Sometimes, also, around a little rice-field, I see a sort of magicalfence, formed by little bamboo rods supporting a long cord from whichlong straws hang down, like a fringe, and paper cuttings, which aresymbols (gohei) are suspended at regular intervals. This is theshimenawa, sacred emblem of Shinto. Within the consecrated spaceinclosed by it no blight may enter--no scorching sun wither the youngshoots. And where the white arrows glimmer the locust shall not prevail, nor shall hungry birds do evil. 

But now I look in vain for the Buddhas. No more great tera, no Shaka, noAmida, no Dai-Nichi-Nyorai; even the Bosatsu have been left behind. Kwannon and her holy kin have disappeared; Koshin, Lord of Roads, isindeed yet with us; but he has changed his name and become a Shintodeity: he is now Saruda-hiko-no-mikoto; and his presence is revealedonly by the statues of the Three Mystic Apes which are his servants-

Mizaru, who sees no evil, covering his eyes with his hands, Kikazaru, who hears no evil, covering his ears with his hands. Iwazaru, who speaksno evil, covering his mouth with his hands. 

Yet no! one Bosatsu survives in this atmosphere of magical Shinto: stillby the roadside I see at long intervals the image of Jizo-Sama, thecharming playfellow of dead children. But Jizo also is a little changed;even in his sextuple representation, [4] the Roku-Jizo, he appears notstanding, but seated upon his lotus-flower, and I see no stones piled upbefore him, as in the eastern provinces. 

º4

At last, from the verge of an enormous ridge, the roadway suddenlyslopes down into a vista of high peaked roofs of thatch and green-mossedeaves--into a village like a coloured print out of old Hiroshige'spicture-books, a village with all its tints and colours precisely likethe tints and colours of the landscape in which it lies. This is Kami-Ichi, in the land of Hoki. 

We halt before a quiet, dingy little inn, whose host, a very aged man, comes forth to salute me; while a silent, gentle crowd of villagers, mostly children and women, gather about the kuruma to see the stranger, to wonder at him, even to touch his clothes with timid smilingcuriosity. One glance at the face of the old innkeeper decides me toaccept his invitation. I must remain here until to-morrow: my runnersare too wearied to go farther to-night. 

Weather-worn as the little inn seemed without, it is delightful within. Its polished stairway and balconies are speckless, reflecting likemirror-surfaces the bare feet of the maid-servants; its luminous roomsare fresh and sweet-smelling as when their soft mattings were first laiddown. The carven pillars of the alcove (toko) in my chamber, leaves andflowers chiselled in some black rich wood, are wonders; and the kakemonoor scroll-picture hanging there is an idyll, Hotei, God of Happiness, drifting in a bark down some shadowy stream into evening mysteries ofvapoury purple. Far as this hamlet is from all art-centres, there is noobject visible in the house which does not reveal the Japanese sense ofbeauty in form. The old gold-flowered lacquer-ware, the astonishing boxin which sweetmeats (kwashi) are kept, the diaphanous porcelain wine-cups dashed with a single tiny gold figure of a leaping shrimp, the tea-cup holders which are curled lotus-leaves of bronze, even the ironkettle with its figurings of dragons and clouds, and the brazen hibachiwhose handles are heads of Buddhist lions, delight the eye and surprisethe fancy. Indeed, wherever to-day in Japan one sees something totallyuninteresting in porcelain or metal, something commonplace and ugly, onemay be almost sure that detestable something has been shaped underforeign influence. But here I am in ancient Japan; probably no Europeaneyes ever looked upon these things before. 

A window shaped like a heart peeps out upon the garden, a wonderfullittle garden with a tiny pond and miniature bridges and dwarf trees, like the landscape of a tea-cup; also some shapely stones of course, andsome graceful stone-lanterns, or toro, such as are placed in the courtsof temples. And beyond these, through the warm dusk, I see lights, coloured lights, the lanterns of the Bonku, suspended before each hometo welcome the coming of beloved ghosts; for by the antique calendar, according to which in this antique place the reckoning of time is stillmade, this is the first night of the Festival of the Dead. 

As in all the other little country villages where I have been stopping, I find the people here kind to me with a kindness and a courtesyunimaginable, indescribable, unknown in any other country, and even inJapan itself only in the interior. Their simple politeness is not anart; their goodness is absolutely unconscious goodness; both comestraight from the heart. And before I have been two hours among thesepeople, their treatment of me, coupled with the sense of my utterinability to repay such kindness, causes a wicked wish to come into mymind. I wish these charming folk would do me some unexpected wrong, something surprisingly evil, something atrociously unkind, so that Ishould not be obliged to regret them, which I feel sure I must begin todo as soon as I go away. 

While the aged landlord conducts me to the bath, where he insists uponwashing me himself as if I were a child, the wife prepares for us acharming little repast of rice, eggs, vegetables, and sweetmeats. She ispainfully in doubt about her ability to please me, even after I haveeaten enough for two men, and apologises too much for not being able tooffer me more. 

There is no fish, ' she says, 'for to-day is the first day of the Bonku, the Festival of the Dead; being the thirteenth day of the month. On thethirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth of the month nobody may eat fish. But on the morning of the sixteenth day, the fishermen go out to catchfish; and everybody who has both parents living may eat of it. But ifone has lost one's father or mother then one must not eat fish, evenupon the sixteenth day. '

While the good soul is thus explaining I become aware of a strangeremote sound from without, a sound I recognise through memory oftropical dances, a measured clapping of hands. But this clapping is verysoft and at long intervals. And at still longer intervals there comes tous a heavy muffled booming, the tap of a great drum, a temple drum. 

'Oh! we must go to see it, ' cries Akira; 'it is the Bon-odori, the Danceof the Festival of the Dead. And you will see the Bon-odori danced hereas it is never danced in cities--the Bon-odori of ancient days. Forcustoms have not changed here; but in the cities all is changed. '

So I hasten out, wearing only, like the people about me, one of thoselight wide-sleeved summer robes--yukata--which are furnished to maleguests at all Japanese hotels; but the air is so warm that even thuslightly clad, I find myself slightly perspiring. And the night is divine-still, clear, vaster than nights of Europe, with a big white moonflinging down queer shadows of tilted eaves and horned gables anddelightful silhouettes of robed Japanese. A little boy, the grandson ofour host, leads the way with a crimson paper lantern; and the sonorousechoing of geta, the koro-koro of wooden sandals, fills all the street, for many are going whither we are going, to see the dance. 

A little while we proceed along the main street; then, traversing anarrow passage between two houses, we find ourselves in a great openspace flooded by moonlight. This is the dancing-place; but the dance hasceased for a time. Looking about me, I perceive that we are in the courtof an ancient Buddhist temple. The temple building itself remainsintact, a low long peaked silhouette against the starlight; but it isvoid and dark and unhallowed now; it has been turned, they tell me, intoa schoolhouse. The priests are gone; the great bell is gone; the Buddhasand the Bodhisattvas have vanished, all save one--a broken-handed Jizoof stone, smiling with eyelids closed, under the moon. 

In the centre of the court is a framework of bamboo supporting a greatdrum; and about it benches have been arranged, benches from theschoolhouse, on which villagers are resting. There is a hum of voices, voices of people speaking very low, as if expecting something solemn;and cries of children betimes, and soft laughter of girls. And farbehind the court, beyond a low hedge of sombre evergreen shrubs, I seesoft white lights and a host of tall grey shapes throwing long shadows;and I know that the lights are the white lanterns of the dead (thosehung in cemeteries only), and that the grey shapes are shapes of tombs. 

Suddenly a girl rises from her seat, and taps the huge drum once. It isthe signal for the Dance of Souls. 

º5

Out of the shadow of the temple a processional line of dancers filesinto the moonlight and as suddenly halts--all young women or girls, clad in their choicest attire; the tallest leads; her comrades follow inorder of stature; little maids of ten or twelve years compose the end ofthe procession. Figures lightly poised as birds--figures that somehowrecall the dreams of shapes circling about certain antique vases; thosecharming Japanese robes, close-clinging about the knees, might seem, butfor the great fantastic drooping sleeves, and the curious broad girdlesconfining them, designed after the drawing of some Greek or Etruscanartist. And, at another tap of the drum, there begins a performanceimpossible to picture in words, something unimaginable, phantasmal--adance, an astonishment. 

All together glide the right foot forward one pace, without lifting thesandal from the ground, and extend both hands to the right, with astrange floating motion and a smiling, mysterious obeisance. Then theright foot is drawn back, with a repetition of the waving of hands andthe mysterious bow. Then all advance the left foot and repeat theprevious movements, half-turning to the left. Then all take two glidingpaces forward, with a single simultaneous soft clap of the hands, andthe first performance is reiterated, alternately to right and left; allthe sandalled feet gliding together, all the supple hands wavingtogether, all the pliant bodies bowing and swaying together. And soslowly, weirdly, the processional movement changes into a great round, circling about the moonlit court and around the voiceless crowd ofspectators. [5]

And always the white hands sinuously wave together, as if weavingspells, alternately without and within the round, now with palms upward, now with palms downward; and all the elfish sleeves hover duskilytogether, with a shadowing as of wings; and all the feet poise togetherwith such a rhythm of complex motion, that, in watching it, one feels asensation of hypnotism--as while striving to watch a flowing andshimmering of water. 

And this soporous allurement is intensified by a dead hush. No onespeaks, not even a spectator. And, in the long intervals between thesoft clapping of hands, one hears only the shrilling of the crickets inthe trees, and the shu-shu of sandals, lightly stirring the dust. Untowhat, I ask myself, may this be likened? Unto nothing; yet it suggestssome fancy of somnambulism--dreamers, who dream themselves flying, dreaming upon their feet. 

And there comes to me the thought that I am looking at somethingimmemorially old, something belonging to the unrecorded beginnings ofthis Oriental life, perhaps to the crepuscular Kamiyo itself, to themagical Age of the Gods; a symbolism of motion whereof the meaning hasbeen forgotten for innumerable years. Yet more and more unreal thespectacle appears, with its silent smilings, with its silent bowings, asif obeisance to watchers invisible; and I find myself wondering whether, were I to utter but a whisper, all would not vanish for ever save thegrey mouldering court and the desolate temple, and the broken statue ofJizo, smiling always the same mysterious smile I see upon the faces ofthe dancers. 

Under the wheeling moon, in the midst of the round, I feel as one withinthe circle of a charm. And verily this is enchantment; I am bewitched, bewitched by the ghostly weaving of hands, by the rhythmic gliding offeet, above all by the flitting of the marvellous sleeves--apparitional, soundless, velvety as a flitting of great tropical bats. No; nothing I ever dreamed of could be likened to this. And with theconsciousness of the ancient hakaba behind me, and the weird invitationof its lanterns, and the ghostly beliefs of the hour and the place therecreeps upon me a nameless, tingling sense of being haunted. But no!these gracious, silent, waving, weaving shapes are not of the ShadowyFolk, for whose coming the white fires were kindled: a strain of song, full of sweet, clear quavering, like the call of a bird, gushes fromsome girlish mouth, and fifty soft voices join the chant:

Sorota soroimashita odorikoga sorota, Soroikite, kita hare yukata. 

'Uniform to view [as ears of young rice ripening in the field] all cladalike in summer festal robes, the company of dancers have assembled. '

Again only the shrilling of the crickets, the shu-shu of feet, thegentle clapping; and the wavering hovering measure proceeds in silence, with mesmeric lentor--with a strange grace, which, by its very na´vetÚ, seems old as the encircling hills. 

Those who sleep the sleep of centuries out there, under the grey stoneswhere the white lanterns are, and their fathers, and the fathers oftheir fathers' fathers, and the unknown generations behind them, buriedin cemeteries of which the place has been forgotten for a thousandyears, doubtless looked upon a scene like this. Nay! the dust stirred bythose young feet was human life, and so smiled and so sang under thisself-same moon, 'with woven paces, and with waving hands. '

Suddenly a deep male chant breaks the hush. Two giants have joined theround, and now lead it, two superb young mountain peasants nearly nude, towering head and shoulders above the whole of the assembly. Theirkimono are rolled about their waistilike girdles, leaving their bronzedlimbs and torsos naked to the warm air; they wear nothing else savetheir immense straw hats, and white tabi, donned expressly for thefestival. Never before among these people saw I such men, such thews;but their smiling beardless faces are comely and kindly as those ofJapanese boys. They seem brothers, so like in frame, in movement, in thetimbre of their voices, as they intone the same song:

No demo yama demo ko wa umiokeyo, Sen ryo kura yori ko ga takara. 

'Whether brought forth upon the mountain or in the field, it mattersnothing: more than a treasure of one thousand ryo, a baby precious is. '

And Jizo the lover of children's ghosts, smiles across the silence. 

Souls close to nature's Soul are these; artless and touching theirthought, like the worship of that Kishibojin to whom wives pray. Andafter the silence, the sweet thin voices of the women answer:

Oomu otoko ni sowa sanu oya Wa, Qyade gozaranu ko no kataki. 

The parents who will not allow their girl to be united with her lover;they are not the parents, but the enemies of their child. '

And song follows song; and the round ever becomes larger; and the hourspass unfelt, unheard, while the moon wheels slowly down the blue steepsof the night. 

A deep low boom rolls suddenly across the court, the rich tone of sometemple bell telling the twelfth hour. Instantly the witchcraft ends, like the wonder of some dream broken by a sound; the chanting ceases;the round dissolves in an outburst of happy laughter, and chatting, andsoftly-vowelled callings of flower-names which are names of girls, andfarewell cries of 'Sayonara!' as dancers and spectators alike betakethemselves homeward, with a great koro-koro of getas. 

And I, moving with the throng, in the bewildered manner of one suddenlyroused from sleep, know myself ungrateful. These silvery-laughing folkwho now toddle along beside me upon their noisy little clogs, steppingvery fast to get a peep at my foreign face, these but a moment ago werevisions of archaic grace, illusions of necromancy, delightful phantoms;and I feel a vague resentment against them for thus materialising intosimple country-girls. 

º6

Lying down to rest, I ask myself the reason of the singular emotioninspired by that simple peasant-chorus. Utterly impossible to recall theair, with its fantastic intervals and fractional tones--as well attemptto fix in memory the purlings of a bird; but the indefinable charm of itlingers with me still. 

Melodies of Europe awaken within us feelings we can utter, sensationsfamiliar as mother-speech, inherited from all the generations behind us. But how explain the emotion evoked by a primitive chant totally unlikeanything in Western melody, --impossible even to write in those toneswhich are the ideographs of our music-tongue?

And the emotion itself--what is it? I know not; yet I feel it to besomething infinitely more old than I--something not of only one placeor time, but vibrant to all common joy or pain of being, under theuniversal sun. Then I wonder if the secret does not lie in some untaughtspontaneous harmony of that chant with Nature's most ancient song, insome unconscious kinship to the music of solitudes--all trillings ofsummer life that blend to make the great sweet Cry of the Land. 

Chapter Seven The Chief City of the Province of the Gods

º1

THE first of the noises of a Matsue day comes to the sleeper like thethrobbing of a slow, enormous pulse exactly under his ear. It is agreat, soft, dull buffet of sound--like a heartbeat in its regularity, in its muffled depth, in the way it quakes up through one's pillow so asto be felt rather than heard. It is simply the pounding of the ponderouspestle of the kometsuki, the cleaner of rice--a sort of colossal woodenmallet with a handle about fifteen feet long horizontally balanced on apivot. By treading with all his force on the end of the handle, thenaked kometsuki elevates the pestle, which is then allowed to fall backby its own weight into the rice-tub. The measured muffled echoing of itsfall seems to me the most pathetic of all sounds of Japanese life; it isthe beating, indeed, of the Pulse of the Land. 

Then the boom of the great bell of Tokoji the Zenshu temple, shakes overthe town; then come melancholy echoes of drumming from the tiny littletemple of Jizo in the street Zaimokucho, near my house, signalling theBuddhist hour of morning prayer. And finally the cries of the earliestitinerant venders begin--'Daikoyai! kabuya-kabu!'--the sellers ofdaikon and other strange vegetables. 'Moyaya-moya!'--the plaintive callof the women who sell little thin slips of kindling-wood for thelighting of charcoal fires. 

º2

Roused thus by these earliest sounds of the city's wakening life, Islide open my little Japanese paper window to look out upon the morningover a soft green cloud of spring foliage rising from the river-boundedgarden below. Before me, tremulously mirroring everything upon itsfarther side, glimmers the broad glassy mouth of the Ohashigawa, openinginto the grand Shinji Lake, which spreads out broadly to the right in adim grey frame of peaks. Just opposite to me, across the stream, theblue-pointed Japanese dwellings have their to [1] all closed; they arestill shut up like boxes, for it is not yet sunrise, although it is day. 

But oh, the charm of the vision--those first ghostly love-colours of amorning steeped in mist soft as sleep itself resolved into a visibleexhalation! Long reaches of faintly-tinted vapour cloud the far lakeverge--long nebulous bands, such as you may have seen in old Japanesepicture-books, and must have deemed only artistic whimsicalities unlessyou had previously looked upon the real phenomena. All the bases of themountains are veiled by them, and they stretch athwart the loftier peaksat different heights like immeasurable lengths of gauze (this singularappearance the Japanese term 'shelving'), [2] so that the lake appearsincomparably larger than it really is, and not an actual lake, but abeautiful spectral sea of the same tint as the dawn-sky and mixing withit, while peak-tips rise like islands from the brume, and visionarystrips of hill-ranges figure as league-long causeways stretching out ofsight--an exquisite chaos, ever-changing aspect as the delicate fogsrise, slowly, very slowly. As the sun's yellow rim comes into sight, fine thin lines of warmer tone--spectral violets and opalines-shootacross the flood, treetops take tender fire, and the unpainted faþadesof high edifices across the water change their wood-colour to vapourygold through the delicious haze. 

Looking sunward, up the long Ohashigawa, beyond the many-pillared woodenbridge, one high-pooped junk, just hoisting sail, seems to me the mostfantastically beautiful craft I ever saw--a dream of Orient seas, soidealised by the vapour is it; the ghost of a junk, but a ghost thatcatches the light as clouds do; a shape of gold mist, seemingly semi-diaphanous, and suspended in pale blue light. 

º3

And now from the river-front touching my garden there rises to me asound of clapping of hand, --one, two, three, four claps, --but theowner of the hands is screened from view by the shrubbery. At the sametime, however, I see men and women descending the stone steps of thewharves on the opposite side of the Ohashigawa, all with little bluetowels tucked into their girdles. They wash their faces and hands andrinse their mouths--the customary ablution preliminary to Shintoprayer. Then they turn their faces to the sunrise and clap their handsfour times and pray. From the long high white bridge come otherclappings, like echoes, and others again from far light graceful craft, curved like new moons--extraordinary boats, in which I see bare-limbedfishermen standing with foreheads bowed to the golden East. Now theclappings multiply--multiply at last into an almost continuousvolleying of sharp sounds. For all the population are saluting therising sun, O-Hi-San, the Lady of Fire--Ama-terasu-oho-mi-Kami, theLady of the Great Light. [3] 'Konnichi-Sama! Hail this day to thee, divinest Day-Maker! Thanks unutterable unto thee, for this thy sweetlight, making beautiful the world!' So, doubt-less, the thought, if notthe utterance, of countless hearts. Some turn to the sun only, clappingtheir hands; yet many turn also to the West, to holy Kitzuki, theimmemorial shrine and not a few turn their faces successively to all thepoints of heaven, murmuring the names of a hundred gods; and others, again, after having saluted the Lady of Fire, look toward high Ichibata, toward the place of the great temple of Yakushi Nyorai, who giveth sightto the blind--not clapping their hands as in Shinto worship, but onlyrubbing the palms softly together after the Buddhist manner. But all--for in this most antique province of Japan all Buddhists are Shintoistslikewise--utter the archaic words of Shinto prayer: 'Harai tamai kiyometamai to Kami imi tami. '

Prayer to the most ancient gods who reigned before the coming of theBuddha, and who still reign here in their own Izumo-land, --in the Landof Reed Plains, in the Place of the Issuing of Clouds; prayer to thedeities of primal chaos and primeval sea and of the beginnings of theworld--strange gods with long weird names, kindred of U-hiji-ni-no-Kami, the First Mud-Lord, kindred of Su-hiji-ni-no-Kanii, the FirstSand-Lady; prayer to those who came after them--the gods of strengthand beauty, the world-fashioners, makers of the mountains and the isles, ancestors of those sovereigns whose lineage still is named 'The Sun'sSuccession'; prayer to the Three Thousand Gods 'residing within theprovinces, ' and to the Eight Hundred Myriads who dwell in the azureTakamano-hara--in the blue Plain of High Heaven. 'Nippon-koku-chu-yaoyorozu-no-Kami-gami-sama!'

º4

'Ho--ke-kyo!'

My uguisu is awake at last, and utters his morning prayer. You do notknow what an uguisu is? An uguisu is a holy little bird that professesBuddhism. All uguisu have professed Buddhism from time immemorial; alluguisu preach alike to men the excellence of the divine Sutra. 

'Ho--ke-kyo!'

In the Japanese tongue, Ho-ke-kyo; in Sanscrit, Saddharma Pundarika: 'TheSutra of the Lotus of the Good Law, ' the divine book of the Nichirensect. Very brief, indeed, is my little feathered Buddhist's confessionof faith--only the sacred name reiterated over and over again like alitany, with liquid bursts of twittering between. 

'Ho--ke-kyo!'

Only this one phrase, but how deliciously he utters it! With what slowamorous ecstasy he dwells upon its golden syllables! It hath beenwritten: 'He who shall keep, read, teach, or write this Sutra shallobtain eight hundred good qualities of the Eye. He shall see the wholeTriple Universe down to the great hell Aviki, and up to the extremity ofexistence. He shall obtain twelve hundred good qualities of the Ear. Heshall hear all sounds in the Triple Universe, --sounds of gods, goblins, demons, and beings not human. '

'Ho--ke-kyo!'

A single word only. But it is also written: 'He who shall joyfullyaccept but a single word from this Sutra, incalculably greater shall behis merit than the merit of one who should supply all beings in the fourhundred thousand Asankhyeyas of worlds with all the necessaries forhappiness. '

'Ho--ke-kyo!'

Always he makes a reverent little pause after uttering it and beforeshrilling out his ecstatic warble--his bird-hymn of praise. First thewarble; then a pause of about five seconds; then a slow, sweet, solemnutterance of the holy name in a tone as of meditative wonder; thenanother pause; then another wild, rich, passionate warble. Could you seehim, you would marvel how so powerful and penetrating a soprano couldripple from so minute a throat; for he is one of the very tiniest of allfeathered singers, yet his chant can be heard far across the broadriver, and children going to school pause daily on the bridge, a wholecho away, to listen to his song. And uncomely withal: a neutral-tintedmite, almost lost in his immense box-cage of hinoki wood, darkened withpaper screens over its little wire-grated windows, for he loves thegloom. 

Delicate he is and exacting even to tyranny. All his diet must belaboriously triturated and weighed in scales, and measured out to him atprecisely the same hour each day. It demands all possible care andattention merely to keep him alive. He is precious, nevertheless. 'Farand from the uttermost coasts is the price of him, ' so rare he is. Indeed, I could not have afforded to buy him. He was sent to me by oneof the sweetest ladies in Japan, daughter of the governor of Izumo, who, thinking the foreign teacher might feel lonesome during a briefillness, made him the exquisite gift of this dainty creature. 

º5

The clapping of hands has ceased; the toil of the day begins;continually louder and louder the pattering of geta over the bridge. Itis a sound never to be forgotten, this pattering of geta over the Ohashi-rapid, merry, musical, like the sound of an enormous dance; and adance it veritably is. The whole population is moving on tiptoe, and themultitudinous twinkling of feet over the verge of the sunlit roadway isan astonishment. All those feet are small, symmetrical--light as thefeet of figures painted on Greek vases--and the step is always takentoes first; indeed, with geta it could be taken no other way, for theheel touches neither the geta nor the ground, and the foot is tiltedforward by the wedge-shaped wooden sole. Merely to stand upon a pair ofgeta is difficult for one unaccustomed to their use, yet you seeJapanese children running at full speed in geta with soles at leastthree inches high, held to the foot only by a forestrap fastened betweenthe great toe and the other toes, and they never trip and the geta neverfalls off. Still more curious is the spectacle of men walking in bokkurior takageta, a wooden sole with wooden supports at least five incheshigh fitted underneath it so as to make the whole structure seem thelacquered model of a wooden bench. But the wearers stride as freely asif they had nothing upon their feet. 

Now children begin to appear, hurrying to school. The undulation of thewide sleeves of their pretty speckled robes, as they run, looksprecisely like a fluttering of extraordinary butterflies. The junksspread their great white or yellow wings, and the funnels of the littlesteamers which have been slumbering all night by the wharves begin tosmoke. 

One of the tiny lake steamers lying at the opposite wharf has justopened its steam-throat to utter the most unimaginable, piercing, desperate, furious howl. When that cry is heard everybody laughs. Theother little steamboats utter only plaintive mooings, but unto thisparticular vessel--newly built and launched by a rival company--therehas been given a voice expressive to the most amazing degree of recklesshostility and savage defiance. The good people of Matsue, upon hearingits voice for the first time, gave it forthwith a new and just name--Okami-Maru. 'Maru' signifies a steamship. 'Okami' signifies a wolf. 

º6

A very curious little object now comes slowly floating down the river, and I do not think that you could possibly guess what it is. 

The Hotoke, or Buddhas, and the beneficent Kami are not the onlydivinities worshipped by the Japanese of the poorer classes. The deitiesof evil, or at least some of them, are duly propitiated upon certainoccasions, and requited by offerings whenever they graciously vouchsafeto inflict a temporary ill instead of an irremediable misfortune. [4](After all, this is no more irrational than the thanksgiving prayer atthe close of the hurricane season in the West Indies, after thedestruction by storm of twenty-two thousand lives. ) So men sometimespray to Ekibiogami, the God of Pestilence, and to Kaze-no-Kami, the Godof Wind and of Bad Colds, and to Hoso-no-Kami, the God of Smallpox, andto divers evil genii. 

Now when a person is certainly going to get well of smallpox a feast isgiven to the Hoso-no-Kami, much as a feast is given to the Fox-God whena possessing fox has promised to allow himself to be cast out. Upon asando-wara, or small straw mat, such as is used to close the end of arice-bale, one or more kawarake, or small earthenware vessels, areplaced. These are filled with a preparation of rice and red beans, called adzukimeshi, whereof both Inari-Sama and Hoso-no-Kami aresupposed to be very fond. Little bamboo wands with gohei (papercuttings) fastened to them are then planted either in the mat or in theadzukimeshi, and the colour of these gohei must be red. (Be it observedthat the gohei of other Kami are always white. ) This offering is theneither suspended to a tree, or set afloat in some running stream at aconsiderable distance from the home of the convalescent. This is called'seeing the God off. '

º7

The long white bridge with its pillars of iron is recognisably modern. It was, in fact, opened to the public only last spring with greatceremony. According to some most ancient custom, when a new bridge hasbeen built the first persons to pass over it must be the happiest of thecommunity. So the authorities of Matsue sought for the happiest folk, and selected two aged men who had both been married for more than half acentury, and who had had not less than twelve children, and had neverlost any of them. These good patriarchs first crossed the bridge, accompanied by their venerable wives, and followed by their grown-upchildren, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, amidst a great clamourof rejoicing, the showering of fireworks, and the firing of cannon. 

But the ancient bridge so recently replaced by this structure was muchmore picturesque, curving across the flood and supported uponmultitudinous feet, like a long-legged centipede of the innocuous kind. For three hundred years it had stood over the stream firmly and well, and it had its particular tradition. 

When Horio Yoshiharu, the great general who became daimyo of Izumo inthe Keicho era, first undertook to put a bridge over the mouth of thisriver, the builders laboured in vain; for there appeared to be no solidbottom for the pillars of the bridge to rest upon. Millions of greatstones were cast into the river to no purpose, for the work constructedby day was swept away or swallowed up by night. Nevertheless, at lastthe bridge was built, but the pillars began to sink soon after it wasfinished; then a flood carried half of it away and as often as it wasrepaired so often it was wrecked. Then a human sacrifice was made toappease the vexed spirits of the flood. A man was buried alive in theriver-bed below the place of the middle pillar, where the current ismost treacherous, and thereafter the bridge remained immovable for threehundred years. 

This victim was one Gensuke, who had lived in the street Saikamachi; forit had been determined that the first man who should cross the bridgewearing hakama without a machi [5] should be put under the bridge; andGensuke sought to pass over not having a machi in his hakama, so theysacrificed him Wherefore the midmost pillar of the bridge was for threehundred years called by his name--Gensuke-bashira. It is averred thatupon moonless nights a ghostly fire flitted about that pillar--alwaysin the dead watch hour between two and three; and the colour of thelight was red, though I am assured that in Japan, as in other lands, thefires of the dead are most often blue. 

º8

Now some say that Gensuke was not the name of a man, but the name of anera, corrupted by local dialect into the semblance of a personalappellation. Yet so profoundly is the legend believed, that when the newbridge was being built thousands of country folk were afraid to come totown; for a rumour arose that a new victim was needed, who was to bechosen from among them, and that it had been determined to make thechoice from those who still wore their hair in queues after the ancientmanner. Wherefore hundreds of aged men cut off their queues. Thenanother rumour was circulated to the effect that the police had beensecretly instructed to seize the one-thousandth person of those whocrossed the new bridge the first day, and to treat him after the mannerof Gensuke. And at the time of the great festival of the Rice-God, whenthe city is usually thronged by farmers coming to worship at the manyshrines of Inari this year there came but few; and the loss to localcommerce was estimated at several thousand yen. 

The vapours have vanished, sharply revealing a beautiful little islet inthe lake, lying scarcely half a mile away--a low, narrow strip of landwith a Shinto shrine upon it, shadowed by giant pines; not pines likeours, but huge, gnarled, shaggy, tortuous shapes, vast-reaching likeancient oaks. Through a glass one can easily discern a torii, and beforeit two symbolic lions of stone (Kara-shishi), one with its head brokenoff, doubtless by its having been overturned and dashed about by heavywaves during some great storm. This islet is sacred to Benten, theGoddess of Eloquence and Beauty, wherefore it is called Benten-no-shima. But it is more commonly called Yomega-shima, or 'The Island of the YoungWife, ' by reason of a legend. It is said that it arose in one night, noiselessly as a dream, bearing up from the depths of the lake the bodyof a drowned woman who had been very lovely, very pious, and veryunhappy. The people, deeming this a sign from heaven, consecrated theislet to Benten, and thereon built a shrine unto her, planted treesabout it, set a torii before it, and made a rampart about it with greatcuriously-shaped stones; and there they buried the drowned woman. 

Now the sky is blue down to the horizon, the air is a caress of spring. I go forth to wander through the queer old city. 

º 10

I perceive that upon the sliding doors, or immediately above theprincipal entrance of nearly every house, are pasted oblong white papersbearing ideographic inscriptions; and overhanging every threshold I seethe sacred emblem of Shinto, the little rice-straw rope with its longfringe of pendent stalks. The white papers at once interest me; for theyare ofuda, or holy texts and charms, of which I am a devout collector. Nearly all are from temples in Matsue or its vicinity; and the Buddhistones indicate by the sacred words upon them to what particular shu orsect, the family belong--for nearly every soul in this communityprofesses some form of Buddhism as well as the all-dominant and moreancient faith of Shinto. And even one quite ignorant of Japaneseideographs can nearly always distinguish at a glance the formula of thegreat Nichiren sect from the peculiar appearance of the column ofcharacters composing it, all bristling with long sharp points andbanneret zigzags, like an army; the famous text Namu-myo-ho-ren-gekyoinscribed of old upon the flag of the great captain Kato Kiyomasa, theextirpator of Spanish Christianity, the glorious vir ter execrandus ofthe Jesuits. Any pilgrim belonging to this sect has the right to call atwhatever door bears the above formula and ask for alms or food. 

But by far the greater number of the ofuda are Shinto Upon almost everydoor there is one ofuda especially likely to attract the attention of astranger, because at the foot of the column of ideographs composing itstext there are two small figures of foxes, a black and a white fox, facing each other in a sitting posture, each with a little bunch ofrice-straw in its mouth, instead of the more usual emblematic key. Theseofuda are from the great Inari temple of Oshiroyama, [6] within thecastle grounds, and are charms against fire. They represent, indeed, theonly form of assurance against fire yet known in Matsue, so far, atleast, as wooden dwellings are concerned. And although a single sparkand a high wind are sufficient in combination to obliterate a largercity in one day, great fires are unknown in Matsue, and small ones areof rare occurrence. 

The charm is peculiar to the city; and of the Inari in question thistradition exists:

When Naomasu, the grandson of Iyeyasu, first came to Matsue to rule theprovince, there entered into his presence a beautiful boy, who said: 'Icame hither from the home of your august father in Echizen, to protectyou from all harm. But I have no dwelling-place, and am stayingtherefore at the Buddhist temple of Fu-mon-in. Now if you will make forme a dwelling within the castle grounds, I will protect from fire thebuildings there and the houses of the city, and your other residencelikewise which is in the capital. For I am Inari Shinyemon. ' With thesewords he vanished from sight. Therefore Naomasu dedicated to him thegreat temple which still stands in the castle grounds, surrounded by onethousand foxes of stone. 

º11

I now turn into a narrow little street, which, although so ancient thatits dwarfed two-story houses have the look of things grown up from theground, is called the Street of the New Timber. New the timber may havebeen one hundred and fifty years ago; but the tints of the structureswould ravish an artist--the sombre ashen tones of the woodwork, thefurry browns of old thatch, ribbed and patched and edged with the warmsoft green of those velvety herbs and mosses which flourish uponJapanesese roofs. 

However, the perspective of the street frames in a vision moresurprising than any details of its mouldering homes. Between very loftybamboo poles, higher than any of the dwellings, and planted on bothsides of the street in lines, extraordinary black nets are stretched, like prodigious cobwebs against the sky, evoking sudden memories ofthose monster spiders which figure in Japanese mythology and in thepicture-books of the old artists. But these are only fishing-nets ofsilken thread; and this is the street of the fishermen. I take my way tothe great bridge. 

º12

A stupendous ghost!

Looking eastward from the great bridge over those sharply beautifulmountains, green and blue, which tooth the horizon, I see a gloriousspectre towering to the sky. Its base is effaced by far mists: out ofthe air the thing would seem to have shaped itself--a phantom cone, diaphanously grey below, vaporously white above, with a dream ofperpetual snow--the mighty mountain of Daisen. 

At the first approach of winter it will in one night become all blanchedfrom foot to crest; and then its snowy pyramid so much resembles thatSacred Mountain, often compared by poets to a white inverted fan, halfopened, hanging in the sky, that it is called Izumo-Fuji, 'the Fuji ofIzumo. ' But it is really in Hoki, not in Izumo, though it cannot be seenfrom any part of Hoki to such advantage as from here. It is the onesublime spectacle of this charming land; but it is visible only when theair is very pure. Many are the marvellous legends related concerning it, and somewhere upon its mysterious summit the Tengu are believed todwell. 

º 13

At the farther end of the bridge, close to the wharf where the littlesteamboats are, is a very small Jizo temple (Jizo-do). Here are keptmany bronze drags; and whenever anyone has been drowned and the body notrecovered, these are borrowed from the little temple and the river isdragged. If the body be thus found, a new drag must be presented to thetemple. 

From here, half a mile southward to the great Shinto temple of Tenjin, deity of scholarship and calligraphy, broadly stretches Tenjinmachi, theStreet of the Rich Merchants, all draped on either side with dark bluehangings, over which undulate with every windy palpitation from the lakewhite wondrous ideographs, which are names and signs, while down thewide way, in white perspective, diminishes a long line of telegraphpoles. 

Beyond the temple of Tenjin the city is again divided by a river, theShindotegawa, over which arches the bridge Tenjin-bashi. Again beyondthis other large quarters extend to the hills and curve along the lakeshore. But in the space between the two rivers is the richest andbusiest life of the city, and also the vast and curious quarter of thetemples. In this islanded district are likewise the theatres, and theplace where wrestling-matches are held, and most of the resorts ofpleasure. 

Parallel with Tenjinmachi runs the great street of the Buddhist temples, or Teramachi, of which the eastern side is one unbroken succession oftemples--a solid front of court walls tile-capped, with imposinggateways at regular intervals. Above this long stretch of tile-cappedwall rise the beautiful tilted massive lines of grey-blue temple roofsagainst the sky. Here all the sects dwell side by side in harmony--Nichirenshu, Shingon-shu, Zen-shu, Tendai-shu, even that Shin-shu, unpopular in Izumo because those who follow its teaching strictly mustnot worship the Kami. Behind each temple court there is a cemetery, orhakaba; and eastward beyond these are other temples, and beyond them yetothers--masses of Buddhist architecture mixed with shreds of gardensand miniature homesteads, a huge labyrinth of mouldering courts andfragments of streets. 

To-day, as usual, I find I can pass a few hours very profitably invisiting the temples; in looking at the ancient images seated within thecups of golden lotus-flowers under their aureoles of gold; in buyingcurious mamori; in examining the sculptures of the cemeteries, where Ican nearly always find some dreaming Kwannon or smiling Jizo well worththe visit. 

The great courts of Buddhist temples are places of rare interest for onewho loves to watch the life of the people; for these have been forunremembered centuries the playing-places of the children. Generationsof happy infants have been amused in them. All the nurses, and littlegirls who carry tiny brothers or sisters upon their backs, go thitherevery morning that the sun shines; hundreds of children join them; andthey play at strange, funny games--'Onigokko, ' or the game of Devil, 'Kage-Oni, ' which signifies the Shadow and the Demon, and'Mekusangokko, ' which is a sort of 'blindman's buff. '

Also, during the long summer evenings, these temples are wrestling-grounds, free to all who love wrestling; and in many of them there is adohyo-ba, or wrestling-ring. Robust young labourers and sinewy artisanscome to these courts to test their strength after the day's tasks aredone, and here the fame of more than one now noted wrestler was firstmade. When a youth has shown himself able to overmatch at wrestling allothers in his own district, he is challenged by champions of otherdistricts; and if he can overcome these also, he may hope eventually tobecome a skilled and popular professional wrestler. 

It is also in the temple courts that the sacred dances are performed andthat public speeches are made. It is in the temple courts, too, that themost curious toys are sold, on the occasion of the great holidays--toysmost of which have a religious signification. There are grand old trees, and ponds full of tame fish, which put up their heads to beg for foodwhen your shadow falls upon the water. The holy lotus is cultivatedtherein. 

'Though growing in the foulest slime, the flower remains pure andundefiled. 

'And the soul of him who remains ever pure in the midst of temptation islikened unto the lotus. 

'Therefore is the lotus carven or painted upon the furniture of temples;therefore also does it appear in allthe representations of our LordBuddha. 

'In Paradise the blessed shall sit at ease enthroned upon the cups ofgolden lotus-flowers. ' [7]

A bugle-call rings through the quaint street; and round the corner ofthe last temple come marching a troop of handsome young riflemen, uniformed somewhat like French light infantry, marching by fours soperfectly that all the gaitered legs move as if belonging to a singlebody, and every sword-bayonet catches the sun at exactly the same angle, as the column wheels into view. These are the students of the Shihan-Gakko, the College of Teachers, performing their daily militaryexercises. Their professors give them lectures upon the microscopicstudy of cellular tissues, upon the segregation of developing nervestructure, upon spectrum analysis, upon the evolution of the coloursense, and upon the cultivation of bacteria in glycerine infusions. Andthey are none the less modest and knightly in manner for all theirmodern knowledge, nor the less reverentially devoted to their dear oldfathers and mothers whose ideas were shaped in the era of feudalism. 

º14

Here come a band of pilgrims, with yellow straw overcoats, 'rain-coats'(mino), and enormous yellow straw hats, mushroom-shaped, of which thedown-curving rim partly hides the face. All carry staffs, and wear theirrobes well girded up so as to leave free the lower limbs, which areinclosed in white cotton leggings of a peculiar and indescribable kind. Precisely the same sort of costume was worn by the same class oftravellers many centuries ago; and just as you now see them trooping by-whole families wandering together, the pilgrim child clinging to thefather's hands--so may you see them pass in quaint procession acrossthe faded pages of Japanese picture-books a hundred years old. 

At intervals they halt before some shop-front to look at the manycurious things which they greatly enjoy seeing, but which they have nomoney to buy. 

I myself have become so accustomed to surprises, to interesting orextraordinary sights, that when a day happens to pass during whichnothing remarkable has been heard or seen I feel vaguely discontented. But such blank days are rare: they occur in my own case only when theweather is too detestable to permit of going out-of-doors. For with everso little money one can always obtain the pleasure of looking at curiousthings. And this has been one of the chief pleasures of the people inJapan for centuries and centuries, for the nation has passed itsgenerations of lives in making or seeking such things. To divert one'sself seems, indeed, the main purpose of Japanese existence, beginningwith the opening of the baby's wondering eyes. The faces of the peoplehave an indescribable look of patient expectancy--the air of waitingfor something interesting to make its appearance. If it fail to appear, they will travel to find it: they are astonishing pedestrians andtireless pilgrims, and I think they make pilgrimages not more for thesake of pleasing the gods than of pleasing themselves by the sight ofrare and pretty things. For every temple is a museum, and every hill andvalley throughout the land has its temple and its wonders. 

Even the poorest farmer, one so poor that he cannot afford to eat agrain of his own rice, can afford to make a pilgrimage of a month'sduration; and during that season when the growing rice needs leastattention hundreds of thousands of the poorest go on pilgrimages. Thisis possible, because from ancient times it has been the custom foreverybody to help pilgrims a little; and they can always find rest andshelter at particular inns (kichinyado) which receive pilgrims only, andwhere they are charged merely the cost of the wood used to cook theirfood. 

But multitudes of the poor undertake pilgrimages requiring much morethan a month to perform, such as the pilgrimage to the thirty-threegreat temples of Kwannon, or that to the eighty-eight temples ofKobodaishi; and these, though years be needed to accomplish them, are asnothing compared to the enormous Sengaji, the pilgrimage to the thousandtemples of the Nichiren sect. The time of a generation may pass ere thiscan be made. One may begin it in early youth, and complete it only whenyouth is long past. Yet there are several in Matsue, men and women, whohave made this tremendous pilgrimage, seeing all Japan, and supportingthemselves not merely by begging, but by some kinds of itinerantpeddling. 

The pilgrim who desires to perform this pilgrimage carries on hisshoulders a small box, shaped like a Buddhist shrine, in which he keepshis spare clothes and food. He also carries a little brazen gong, whichhe constantly sounds while passing through a city or village, at thesame time chanting the Namu-myo-ho-ren-ge-kyo; and he always bears withhim a little blank book, in which the priest of every temple visitedstamps the temple seal in red ink. The pilgrimage over, this book withits one thousand seal impressions becomes an heirloom in the family ofthe pilgrim. 

º15

I too must make divers pilgrimages, for all about the city, beyond thewaters or beyond the hills, lie holy places immemorially old. 

Kitzuki, founded by the ancient gods, who 'made stout the pillars uponthe nethermost rock bottom, and made high the cross-beams to the Plainof High Heaven'--Kitzuki, the Holy of Holies, whose high-priest claimsdescent from the Goddess of the Sun; and Ichibata, famed shrine ofYakushi-Nyorai, who giveth sight to the blind--Ichibata-no-Yakushi, whose lofty temple is approached by six hundred and forty steps ofstone; and Kiomidzu, shrine of Kwannon of the Eleven Faces, before whosealtar the sacred fire has burned without ceasing for a thousand years;and Sada, where the Sacred Snake lies coiled for ever on the sambo ofthe gods; and Oba, with its temples of Izanami and Izanagi, parents ofgods and men, the makers of the world; and Yaegaki, whither lovers go topray for unions with the beloved; and Kaka, Kaka-ura, Kaka-noKukedo San-all these I hope to see. 

But of all places, Kaka-ura! Assuredly I must go to Kaka. Few pilgrimsgo thither by sea, and boatmen are forbidden to go there if there beeven wind enough 'to move three hairs. ' So that whosoever wishes tovisit Kaka must either wait for a period of dead calm--very rare uponthe coast of the Japanese Sea--or journey thereunto by land; and byland the way is difficult and wearisome. But I must see Kaka. For atKaka, in a great cavern by the sea, there is a famous Jizo of stone; andeach night, it is said, the ghosts of little children climb to the highcavern and pile up before the statue small heaps of pebbles; and everymorning, in the soft sand, there may be seen the fresh prints of tinynaked feet, the feet of the infant ghosts. It is also said that in thecavern there is a rock out of which comes a stream of milk, as from awoman's breast; and the white stream flows for ever, and the phantomchildren drink of it. Pilgrims bring with them gifts of small strawsandals--the zori that children wear--and leave them before thecavern, that the feet of the little ghosts may not be wounded by thesharp rocks. And the pilgrim treads with caution, lest he shouldoverturn any of the many heaps of stones; for if this be done thechildren cry. 

º16

The city proper is as level as a table, but is bounded on two sides bylow demilunes of charming hills shadowed with evergreen foliage andcrowned with temples or shrines. There are thirty-five thousand soulsdwelling in ten thousand houses forming thirty-three principal and manysmaller streets; and from each end of almost every street, beyond thehills, the lake, or the eastern rice-fields, a mountain summit is alwaysvisible--green, blue, or grey according to distance. One may ride, walk, or go by boat to any quarter of the town; for it is not onlydivided by two rivers, but is also intersected by numbers of canalscrossed by queer little bridges curved like a well-bent bow. Architecturally (despite such constructions in European style as theCollege of Teachers, the great public school, the Kencho, the new post-office), it is much like other quaint Japanese towns; the structure ofits temples, taverns, shops, and private dwellings is the same as inother cities of the western coast. But doubtless owing to the fact thatMatsue remained a feudal stronghold until a time within the memory ofthousands still living, those feudal distinctions of caste so sharplydrawn in ancient times are yet indicated with singular exactness by thevarying architecture of different districts. The city can be definitelydivided into three architectural quarters: the district of the merchantsand shop-keepers, forming the heart of the settlement, where all thehouses are two stories high; the district of the temples, includingnearly the whole south-eastern part of the town; and the district ordistricts of the shizoku (formerly called samurai), comprising a vastnumber of large, roomy, garden-girt, one-story dwellings. From theseelegant homes, in feudal days, could be summoned at a moment's noticefive thousand 'two-sworded men' with their armed retainers, making afighting total for the city alone of probably not less than thirteenthousand warriors. More than one-third of all the city buildings werethen samurai homes; for Matsue was the military centre of the mostancient province of Japan. At both ends of the town, which curves in acrescent along the lake shore, were the two main settlements of samurai;but just as some of the most important temples are situated outside ofthe temple district, so were many of the finest homesteads of thisknightly caste situated in other quarters. They mustered most thickly, however, about the castle, which stands to-day on the summit of itscitadel hill--the Oshiroyama--solid as when first built long centuriesago, a vast and sinister shape, all iron-grey, rising against the skyfrom a cyclopean foundation of stone. Fantastically grim the thing is, and grotesquely complex in detail; looking somewhat like a huge pagoda, of which the second, third, and fourth stories have been squeezed downand telescoped into one another by their own weight. Crested at itssummit, like a feudal helmet, with two colossal fishes of bronze liftingtheir curved bodies skyward from either angle of the roof, and bristlingwith horned gables and gargoyled eaves and tilted puzzles of tiledroofing at every story, the creation is a veritable architecturaldragon, made up of magnificent monstrosities--a dragon, moreover, fullof eyes set at all conceivable angles, above below, and on every side. From under the black scowl of the loftiest eaves, looking east andsouth, the whole city can be seen at a single glance, as in the visionof a soaring hawk; and from the northern angle the view plunges downthree hundred feet to the castle road, where walking figures of menappear no larger than flies. 

º17

The grim castle has its legend. 

It is related that, in accordance with some primitive and barbarouscustom, precisely like that of which so terrible a souvenir has beenpreserved for us in the most pathetic of Servian ballads, 'TheFoundation of Skadra, ' a maiden of Matsue was interred alive under thewalls of the castle at the time of its erection, as a sacrifice to someforgotten gods. Her name has never been recorded; nothing concerning heris remembered except that she was beautiful and very fond of dancing. 

Now after the castle had been built, it is said that a law had to bepassed forbidding that any girl should dance in the streets of Matsue. For whenever any maiden danced the hill Oshiroyama would shudder, andthe great castle quiver from basement to summit. 

º18

One may still sometimes hear in the streets a very humorous song, whichevery one in town formerly knew by heart, celebrating the Seven Wondersof Matsue. For Matsue was formerly divided into seven quarters, in eachof which some extraordinary object or person was to be seen. It is nowdivided into five religious districts, each containing a temple of theState religion. People living within those districts are called ujiko, and the temple the ujigami, or dwelling-place of the tutelary god. Theujiko must support the ujigami. (Every village and town has at least oneujigami. )

There is probably not one of the multitudinous temples of Matsue whichhas not some marvellous tradition attached to it; each of the districtshas many legends; and I think that each of the thirty-three streets hasits own special ghost story. Of these ghost stories I cite twospecimens: they are quite representative of one variety of Japanesefolk-lore. 

Near to the Fu-mon-in temple, which is in the north-eastern quarter, there is a bridge called Adzuki-togi-bashi, or The Bridge of the Washingof Peas. For it was said in other years that nightly a phantom woman satbeneath that bridge washing phantom peas. There is an exquisite Japaneseiris-flower, of rainbow-violet colour, which flower is named kaki-tsubata; and there is a song about that flower called kaki-tsubata-no-uta. Now this song must never be sung near the Adzuki-togi-bashi, because, for some strange reason which seems to have been forgotten, theghosts haunting that place become so angry upon hearing it that to singit there is to expose one's self to the most frightful calamities. Therewas once a samurai who feared nothing, who one night went to that bridgeand loudly sang the song. No ghost appearing, he laughed and went home. At the gate of his house he met a beautiful tall woman whom he had neverseen before, and who, bowing, presented him with a lacquered box-fumi-bako--such as women keep their letters in. He bowed to her in hisknightly way; but she said, 'I am only the servant--this is mymistress's gift, ' and vanished out of his sight. Opening the box, he sawthe bleeding head of a young child. Entering his house, he found uponthe floor of the guest-room the dead body of his own infant son with thehead torn off. 

Of the cemetery Dai-Oji, which is in the street called Nakabaramachi, this story is told-

In Nakabaramachi there is an ameya, or little shop in which midzu-ame issold--the amber-tinted syrup, made of malt, which is given to childrenwhen milk cannot be obtained for them. Every night at a late hour therecame to that shop a very pale woman, all in white, to buy one rin [8]worth of midzu-ame. The ame-seller wondered that she was so thin andpale, and often questioned her kindly; but she answered nothing. At lastone night he followed her, out of curiosity. She went to the cemetery;and he became afraid and returned. 

The next night the woman came again, but bought no midzu-ame, and onlybeckoned to the man to go with her. He followed her, with friends, intothe cemetery. She walked to a certain tomb, and there disappeared; andthey heard, under the ground, the crying of a child. Opening the tomb, they saw within it the corpse of the woman who nightly visited theameya, with a living infant, laughing to see the lantern light, andbeside the infant a little cup of midzu-ame. For the mother had beenprematurely buried; the child was born in the tomb, and the ghost of themother had thus provided for it--love being stronger than death. 

º19

Over the Tenjin-bashi, or Bridge of Tenjin, and through small streetsand narrow of densely populated districts, and past many a tenantlessand 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 thedelights of Matsue. 

There are no such sunsets in Japan as in the tropics: the light isgentle as a light of dreams; there are no furies of colour; there are nochromatic violences in nature in this Orient. All in sea or sky is tintrather than colour, and tint vapour-toned. I think that the exquisitetaste of the race in the matter of colours and of tints, as exemplifiedin the dyes of their wonderful textures, is largely attributable to thesober and delicate beauty of nature's tones in this all-temperate worldwhere nothing is garish. 

Before me the fair vast lake sleeps, softly luminous, far-ringed withchains of blue volcanic hills shaped like a sierra. On my right, at itseastern end, the most ancient quarter of the city spreads its roofs ofblue-grey tile; the houses crowd thickly down to the shore, to dip theirwooden feet into the flood. With a glass I can see my own windows andthe far-spreading of the roofs beyond, and above all else the greencitadel 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 ofthe serrated hills--mist purples, fading upward smokily into faintvermilions and dim gold, which again melt up through ghostliest greensinto the blue. The deeper waters of the lake, far away, take a tenderviolet indescribable, and the silhouette of the pine-shadowed islandseems to float in that sea of soft sweet colour. But the shallower andnearer is cut from the deeper water by the current as sharply as by aline drawn, and all the surface on this side of that line is ashimmering bronze--old rich ruddy gold-bronze. 

All the fainter colours change every five minutes, --wondrously changeand shift like tones and shades of fine shot-silks. 

º20

Often in the streets at night, especially on the nights of sacredfestivals (matsuri), one's attention will be attracted to some smallbooth by the spectacle of an admiring and perfectly silent crowdpressing before it. As soon as one can get a chance to look one findsthere is nothing to look at but a few vases containing sprays offlowers, or perhaps some light gracious branches freshly cut from ablossoming tree. It is simply a little flower-show, or, more correctly, a free exhibition of master skill in the arrangement of flowers. For theJapanese do not brutally chop off flower-heads to work them up intomeaningless masses of colour, as we barbarians do: they love nature toowell for that; they know how much the natural charm of the flowerdepends upon its setting and mounting, its relation to leaf and stem, and they select a single graceful branch or spray just as nature madeit. At first you will not, as a Western stranger, comprehend such anexhibition at all: you are yet a savage in such matters compared withthe commonest coolies about you. But even while you are still wonderingat popular interest in this simple little show, the charm of it willbegin to grow upon you, will become a revelation to you; and, despiteyour Occidental idea of self-superiority, you will feel humbled by thediscovery that all flower displays you have ever seen abroad were onlymonstrosities in comparison with the natural beauty of those few simplesprays. You will also observe how much the white or pale blue screenbehind the flowers enhances the effect by lamp or lantern light. For thescreen has been arranged with the special purpose of showing theexquisiteness of plant shadows; and the sharp silhouettes of sprays andblossoms cast thereon are beautiful beyond the imagining of any Westerndecorative artist. 

º21

It is still the season of mists in this land whose most ancient namesignifies the Place of the Issuing of Clouds. With the passing oftwilight a faint ghostly brume rises over lake and landscape, spectrallyveiling surfaces, slowly obliterating distances. As I lean over theparapet of the Tenjin-bashi, on my homeward way, to take one last lookeastward, I find that the mountains have already been effaced. Before methere is only a shadowy flood far vanishing into vagueness without ahorizon--the phantom of a sea. And I become suddenly aware that littlewhite things are fluttering slowly down into it from the fingers of awoman standing upon the bridge beside me, and murmuring something in alow sweet voice. She is praying for her dead child. Each of those littlepapers she is dropping into the current bears a tiny picture of Jizo andperhaps a little inscription. For when a child dies the mother buys asmall woodcut (hanko) of Jizo, and with it prints the image of thedivinity upon one hundred little papers. And she sometimes also writesupon the papers words signifying 'For the sake of . . '--inscribingnever the living, but the kaimyo or soul-name only, which the Buddhistpriest has given to the dead, and which is written also upon the littlecommemorative tablet kept within the Buddhist household shrine, orbutsuma. Then, upon a fixed day (most commonly the forty-ninth day afterthe burial), she goes to some place of running water and drops thelittle papers therein one by one; repeating, as each slips through herfingers, the holy invocation, 'Namu Jizo, Dai Bosatsu!'

Doubtless this pious little woman, praying beside me in the dusk, isvery poor. Were she not, she would hire a boat and scatter her tinypapers far away upon the bosom of the lake. (It is now only after darkthat this may be done; for the police-I know not why--have beeninstructed to prevent the pretty rite, just as in the open ports theyhave been instructed to prohibit the launching of the little straw boatsof the dead, the shoryobune. )

But why should the papers be cast into running water? A good old Tendaipriest tells me that originally the rite was only for the souls of thedrowned. But now these gentle hearts believe that all waters flowdownward to the Shadow-world and through the Sai-no-Kawara, where Jizois. 

º 22

At home again, I slide open once more my little paper window, and lookout upon the night. I see the paper lanterns flitting over the bridge, like a long shimmering of fireflies. I see the spectres of a hundredlights trembling upon the black flood. I see the broad shoji ofdwellings beyond the river suffused with the soft yellow radiance ofinvisible lamps; and upon those lighted spaces I can discern slendermoving shadows, silhouettes of graceful women. Devoutly do I pray thatglass may never become universally adopted in Japan--there would be nomore delicious shadows. 

I listen to the voices of the city awhile. I hear the great bell ofTokoji rolling its soft Buddhist thunder across the dark, and the songsof the night-walkers whose hearts have been made merry with wine, andthe long sonorous chanting of the night-peddlers. 

'U-mu-don-yai-soba-yai!' It is the seller of hot soba, Japanesebuckwheat, 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 ambersyrup 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 shadowypictures upon them. When held near a fire or a lamp, words written uponthem with invisible ink begin to appear. These are always aboutsweethearts, and sometimes tell one what he does not wish to know. Thefortunate ones who read them believe themselves still more fortunate;the unlucky abandon all hope; the jealous become even more jealous thanthey were before. 

From all over the city there rises into the night a sound like thebubbling and booming of great frogs in a march--the echoing of the tinydrums of the dancing-girls, of the charming geisha. Like the rolling ofa waterfall continually reverberates the multitudinous pattering of getaupon the bridge. A new light rises in the east; the moon is wheeling upfrom behind the peaks, very large and weird and wan through the whitevapours. Again I hear the sounds of the clapping of many hands. For thewayfarers are paying obeisance to O-Tsuki-San: from the long bridge theyare saluting the coming of the White Moon-Lady. [10]

I sleep, to dream of little children, in some mouldering mossy templecourt, playing at the game of Shadows and of Demons. 

Chapter Eight Kitzuki: The Most Ancient Shrine of Japan

SHINKOKU is the sacred name of Japan--Shinkoku, 'The Country of theGods'; 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 theEarth-makers, Izanagi and Izanami, the parents of gods and of men;somewhere upon the border of this land was Izanami buried; and out ofthis 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 descentinto that strange nether world, and of what there befell him, is it notwritten in the Kojiki? [1] And of all legends primeval concerning theUnderworld this story is one of the weirdest--more weird than even theAssyrian legend of the Descent of Ishtar. 

Even as Izumo is especially the province of the gods, and the place ofthe childhood of the race by whom Izanagi and Izanami are yet worshiped, so is Kitzuki of Izumo especially the city of the gods, and itsimmemorial temple the earliest home of the ancient faith, the greatreligion of Shinto. 

Now to visit Kitzuki has been my most earnest ambition since I learnedthe legends of the Kojiki concerning it; and this ambition has beenstimulated by the discovery that very few Europeans have visitedKitzuki, and that none have been admitted into the great temple itself. Some, indeed, were not allowed even to approach the temple court. But Itrust that I shall be somewhat more fortunate; for I have a letter ofintroduction from my dear friend Nishida Sentaro, who is also a personalfriend of the high pontiff of Kitzuki. I am thus assured that evenshould I not be permitted to enter the temple--a privilege accorded tobut few among the Japanese themselves--I shall at least have the honourof an interview with the Guji, or Spiritual Governor of Kitzuki, SenkeTakanori, whose princely family trace back their descent to the Goddessof the Sun. [2]

º1

I leave Matsue for Kitzuki early in the afternoon of a beautifulSeptember day; taking passage 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 miniaturecraft is neat and pretty as a toy model, and moves with surprisingswiftness and steadiness. A handsome naked boy is busy serving thepassengers with cups of tea and with cakes, and setting little charcoalfurnaces before those who desire to smoke: for all of which a payment ofabout three-quarters of a cent is expected. 

I escape from the awnings to climb upon the cabin roof for a view; andthe view is indescribably lovely. Over the lucent level of the lake weare steaming toward a far-away heaping of beautiful shapes, colouredwith that strangely delicate blue which tints all distances in theJapanese atmosphere--shapes of peaks and headlands looming up from thelake verge against a porcelain-white horizon. They show no details, whatever. Silhouettes only they are--masses of absolutely pure colour. To left and right, framing in the Shinjiko, are superb green surgings ofwooded hills. Great Yakuno-San is the loftiest mountain before us, north-west. South-east, behind us, the city has vanished; but proudlytowering 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 theghostly blue of the flood--a sense of Shinto. With my fancy full of thelegends of the Kojiki, the rhythmic chant of the engines comes to myears as the rhythm of a Shinto ritual mingled with the names of gods:

Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami, Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami. 

º2

The great range on the right grows loftier as we steam on; and itshills, always slowly advancing toward us, begin to reveal all the richdetails of their foliage. And lo! on the tip of one grand wood-clad peakis visible against the pure sky the many-angled roof of a great Buddhisttemple. That is the temple of Ichibata, upon the mountain Ichibata-yama, the temple of Yakushi-Nyorai, the Physician of Souls. But at Ichibata hereveals himself more specially as the healer of bodies, the Buddha whogiveth sight unto the blind. It is believed that whosoever has anaffection of the eyes will be made well by praying earnestly at thatgreat shrine; and thither from many distant provinces do afflictedthousands make pilgrimage, ascending the long weary mountain path andthe six hundred and forty steps of stone leading to the windy templecourt upon the summit, whence may be seen one of the loveliestlandscapes in Japan. There the pilgrims wash their eyes with the waterof the sacred spring, and kneel before the shrine and murmur the holyformula of Ichibata: 'On-koro-koro-sendai-matoki-sowaka'--words ofwhich the meaning has long been forgotten, like that of many a Buddhistinvocation; Sanscrit words transliterated into Chinese, and thence intoJapanese, which are understood by learned priests alone, yet are knownby heart throughout the land, and uttered with the utmost fervour ofdevotion. 

I descend from the cabin roof, and squat upon the deck, under theawnings, to have a smoke with Akira. And I ask:

'How many Buddhas are there, O Akira? Is the number of the Enlightenedknown?'

'Countless the Buddhas are, ' makes answer Akira; 'yet there is truly butone Buddha; the many are forms only. Each of us contains a futureBuddha. Alike we all are except in that we are more or less unconsciousof the truth. But the vulgar may not understand these things, and soseek 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 inthe Plain of High Heaven--so says the Ancient Book. Of these, threethousand one hundred and thirty and two dwell in the various provincesof the land; being enshrined in two thousand eight hundred and sixty-onetemples. And the tenth month of our year is called the "No-God-month, "because in that month all the deities leave their temples to assemble inthe province of Izumo, at the great temple of Kitzuki; and for the samereason that month is called in Izumo, and only in Izumo, the "God-is-month. " But educated persons sometimes call it the "God-present-festival, " using Chinese words. Then it is believed the serpents comefrom the sea to the land, and coil upon the sambo, which is the table ofthe gods, for the serpents announce the coming; and the Dragon-Kingsends messengers to the temples of Izanagi and Izanami, the parents ofgods and men. '

'O Akira, many millions of Kami there must be of whom I shall alwaysremain ignorant, for there is a limit to the power of memory; but tellme something of the gods whose names are most seldom uttered, thedeities of strange places and of strange things, the most extraordinarygods. '

'You cannot learn much about them from me, ' replies Akira. 'You willhave to ask others more learned than I. But there are gods with whom itis not desirable to become acquainted. Such are the God of Poverty, andthe God of Hunger, and the God of Penuriousness, and the God ofHindrances and Obstacles. These are of dark colour, like the clouds ofgloomy days, and their faces are like the faces of gaki. ' [3]

'With the God of Hindrances and Obstacles, O Akira I have had more thana passing acquaintance. Tell me of the others. '

'I know little about any of them, ' answers Akira, 'excepting Bimbogami. It is said there are two gods who always go together, --Fuku-no-Kami, who is the God of Luck, and Bimbogami, who is the God of Poverty. Thefirst is white, and the second is black. '

'Because the last, ' I venture to interrupt, 'is only the shadow of thefirst. Fuku-no-Kami is the Shadow-caster, and Bimbogami the Shadow; andI have observed, in wandering about this world, that wherever the onegoeth, eternally followeth after him the other. '

Akira refuses his assent to this interpretation, and resumes:

'When Bimbogami once begins to follow anyone it is extremely difficultto be free from him again. In the village of Umitsu, which is in theprovince of Omi, and not far from Kyoto, there once lived a Buddhistpriest who during many years was grievously tormented by Bimbogami. Hetried oftentimes without avail to drive him away; then he strove todeceive him by proclaiming aloud to all the people that he was going toKyoto. But instead of going to Kyoto he went to Tsuruga, in the provinceof Echizen; and when he reached the inn at Tsuruga there came forth tomeet him a boy lean and wan like a gaki. The boy said to him, "I havebeen waiting for you"--and the boy was Bimbogami. 

'There was another priest who for sixty years had tried in vain to getrid of Bimbogami, and who resolved at last to go to a distant province. On the night after he had formed this resolve he had a strange dream, inwhich he saw a very much emaciated boy, naked and dirty, weaving sandalsof straw (waraji), such as pilgrims and runners wear; and he made somany that the priest wondered, and asked him, "For what purpose are youmaking so many sandals?" And the boy answered, "I am going to travelwith you. I am Bimbogami. "'

'Then is there no way, Akira, by which Bimbogami may be driven away?'

'It is written, ' replies Akira, 'in the book called Jizo-Kyo-Kosui thatthe aged Enjobo, a priest dwelling in the province of Owari, was able toget rid of Bimbogami by means of a charm. On the last day of the lastmonth of the year he and his disciples and other priests of the Shingonsect took branches of peach-trees and recited a formula, and then, withthe branches, imitated the action of driving a person out of the temple, after which they shut all the gates and recited other formulas. The samenight Enjobo dreamed of a skeleton priest in a broken temple weepingalone, and the skeleton priest said to him, "After I had been with youfor so many years, how could you drive me away?" But always thereafteruntil the day of his death, Enjobo lived in prosperity. '

º3

For an hour and a half the ranges to left and right alternately recedeand approach. Beautiful blue shapes glide toward us, change to green, and then, slowly drifting behind us, are all blue again. But the farmountains immediately before us--immovable, unchanging--always remainghosts. Suddenly the little steamer turns straight into the land--aland so low that it came into sight quite unexpectedly--and we puff upa narrow stream between rice-fields to a queer, quaint, pretty villageon the canal bank--Shobara. Here I must hire jinricksha to take us toKitzuki. 

There is not time to see much of Shobara if I hope to reach Kitzukibefore bedtime, and I have only a flying vision of one long wide street(so picturesque that I wish I could pass a day in it), as our kurumarush through the little town into the open country, into a vast plaincovered with rice-fields. The road itself is only a broad dike, barelywide enough for two jinricksha to pass each other upon it. On each sidethe superb plain is bounded by a mountain range shutting off the whitehorizon. There is a vast silence, an immense sense of dreamy peace, anda glorious soft vapoury light over everything, as we roll into thecountry of Hyasugi to Kaminawoe. The jagged range on the left is Shusai-yama, all sharply green, with the giant Daikoku-yama overtopping all;and its peaks bear the names of gods. Much more remote, upon our right, enormous, pansy-purple, tower the shapes of the Kita-yama, or northernrange; filing away in tremendous procession toward the sunset, fadingmore and more as they stretch west, to vanish suddenly at last, afterthe ghostliest conceivable manner, into the uttermost day. 

All this is beautiful; yet there is no change while hours pass. Alwaysthe way winds on through miles of rice-fields, white-speckled withpaper-winged shafts which are arrows of prayer. Always the voice offrogs--a sound as of infinite bubbling. Always the green range on theleft, the purple on the right, fading westward into a tall file oftinted spectres which always melt into nothing at last, as if they weremade of air. The monotony of the scene is broken only by our occasionalpassing through some pretty Japanese village, or by the appearance of acurious statue or monument at an angle of the path, a roadside Jizo, orthe grave of a wrestler, such as may be seen on the bank of the Hiagawa, a huge slab of granite sculptured with the words, 'Ikumo Matsukikusuki. '

But after reaching Kandogori, and passing over a broad but shallowriver, a fresh detail appears in the landscape. Above the mountain chainon our left looms a colossal blue silhouette, almost saddle-shaped, recognisable by its outline as a once mighty volcano. It is now known byvarious names, but it was called in ancient times Sa-hime-yama; and ithas its Shinto legend. 

It is said that in the beginning the God of Izumo, gazing over the land, said, 'This new land of Izumo is a land of but small extent, so I willmake it a larger land by adding unto it. ' Having so said, he lookedabout him over to Korea, and there he saw land which was good for thepurpose. With a great rope he dragged therefrom four islands, and addedthe land of them to Izumo. The first island was called Ya-o-yo-ne, andit formed the land where Kitzuki now is. The second island was calledSada-no-kuni, and is at this day the site of the holy temple where allthe gods do yearly hold their second assembly, after having firstgathered together at Kitzuki. The third island was called in its newplace Kurami-no-kuni, which now forms Shimane-gori. The fourth islandbecame that place where stands the temple of the great god at whoseshrine are delivered unto the faithful the charms which protect therice-fields. [4]

Now in drawing these islands across the sea into their several placesthe god looped his rope over the mighty mountain of Daisen and over themountain Sa-hime-yama; and they both bear the marks of that wondrousrope even unto this day. As for the rope itself, part of it was changedinto the long island of ancient times [5] called Yomi-ga-hama, and apart into the Long Beach of Sono. 

After we pass the Hori-kawa the road narrows and becomes rougher androugher, but always draws nearer to the Kitayama range. Toward sundownwe have come close enough to the great hills to discern the details oftheir foliage. The path begins to rise; we ascend slowly through thegathering dusk. At last there appears before us a great multitude oftwinkling lights. We have reached Kitzuki, the holy city. 

º4

Over a long bridge and under a tall torii we roll into upward-slopingstreets. Like Enoshima, Kitzuki has a torii for its city gate; but thetorii is not of bronze. Then a flying vision of open lamp-lighted shop-fronts, and lines of luminous shoji under high-tilted eaves, andBuddhist gateways guarded by lions of stone, and long, low, tile-copedwalls of temple courts overtopped by garden shrubbery, and Shintoshrines prefaced by other tall torii; but no sign of the great templeitself. It lies toward the rear of the city proper, at the foot of thewooded mountains; and we are too tired and hungry to visit it now. So wehalt before a spacious and comfortable-seeming inn, --the best, indeed, in Kitzuki--and rest ourselves and eat, and drink sake out of exquisitelittle porcelain cups, the gift of some pretty singing-girl to thehotel. Thereafter, as it has become much too late to visit the Guji, Isend to his residence by a messenger my letter of introduction, with anhumble request in Akira's handwriting, that I may be allowed to presentmyself at the house before noon the next day. 

Then the landlord of the hotel, who seems to be a very kindly person, comes to us with lighted paper lanterns, and invites us to accompany himto the Oho-yashiro. 

Most of the houses have already closed their wooden sliding doors forthe night, so that the streets are dark, and the lanterns of ourlandlord indispensable; for there is no moon, and the night is starless. We walk along the main street for a distance of about six squares, andthen, making a tum, find ourselves before a superb bronze torii, thegateway to the great temple avenue. 

º5

Effacing colours and obliterating distances, night always magnifies bysuggestion the aspect of large spaces and the effect of large objects. Viewed by the vague light of paper lanterns, the approach to the greatshrine is an imposing surprise--such a surprise that I feel regret atthe mere thought of having to see it to-morrow by disenchanting day: asuperb avenue lined with colossal trees, and ranging away out of sightunder a succession of giant torii, from which are suspended enormousshimenawa, well worthy the grasp of that Heavenly-Hand-Strength Deitywhose symbols they are. But, more than by the torii and their festoonedsymbols, the dim majesty of the huge avenue is enhanced by theprodigious trees--many perhaps thousands of years old--gnarled pineswhose shaggy summits are lost in darkness. Some of the mighty trunks aresurrounded with a rope of straw: these trees are sacred. The vast roots, far-reaching in every direction, look in the lantern-light like awrithing and crawling of dragons. 

The avenue is certainly not less than a quarter of a mile in length; itcrosses two bridges and passes between two sacred groves. All the broadlands on either side of it belong to the temple. Formerly no foreignerwas permitted to pass beyond the middle torii The avenue terminates at alofty wall pierced by a gateway resembling the gateways of Buddhisttemple courts, but very massive. This is the entrance to the outercourt; the ponderous doors are still open, and many shadowy figures arepassing in or out. 

Within the court all is darkness, against which pale yellow lights aregliding to and fro like a multitude of enormous fireflies--the lanternsof pilgrims. I can distinguish only the looming of immense buildings toleft and right, constructed with colossal timbers. Our guide traverses avery large court, passes into a second, and halts before an imposingstructure whose doors are still open. Above them, by the lantern glow, Ican see a marvellous frieze of dragons and water, carved in some richwood by the hand of a master. Within I can see the symbols of Shinto, ina side shrine on the left; and directly before us the lanterns reveal asurface of matted floor vaster than anything I had expected to find. Therefrom I can divine the scale of the edifice which I suppose to bethe temple. But the landlord tells us this is not the temple, but onlythe Haiden or Hall of Prayer, before which the people make theirorisons, By day, through the open doors, the temple can be seen But wecannot see it to-night, and but few visitors are permitted to go in. 'The people do not enter even the court of the great shrine, for themost part, ' interprets Akira; 'they pray before it at a distance. Listen!'

All about me in the shadow I hear a sound like the plashing and dashingof water--the clapping of many hands in Shinto prayer. 

'But this is nothing, ' says the landlord; 'there are but few here now. Wait until to-morrow, which is a festival day. '

As we wend our way back along the great avenue, under the torii and thegiant trees, Akira interprets for me what our landlord tells him aboutthe sacred serpent. 

'The little serpent, ' he says, 'is called by the people the augustDragon-Serpent; for it is sent by the Dragon-King to announce the comingof the gods. The sea darkens and rises and roars before the coming ofRyu-ja-Sama. Ryu-ja. Sama we call it because it is the messenger ofRyugu-jo, the palace of the dragons; but it is also called Hakuja, orthe 'White Serpent. ' [6]

'Does the little serpent come to the temple of its own accord?'

'Oh, no. It is caught by the fishermen. And only one can be caught in ayear, because only one is sent; and whoever catches it and brings iteither to the Kitzuki-no-oho-yashiro, or to the temple Sadajinja, wherethe gods hold their second assembly during the Kami-ari-zuki, receivesone hyo [7] of rice in recompense. It costs much labour and time tocatch a serpent; but whoever captures one is sure to become rich inafter time. ' [8]

'There are many deities enshrined at Kitzuki, are there not?' I ask. 

'Yes; but the great deity of Kitzuki is Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami, [9]whom the people more commonly call Daikoku. Here also is worshipped hisson, whom many call Ebisu. These deities are usually pictured together:Daikoku seated upon bales of rice, holding the Red Sun against hisbreast with one hand, and in the other grasping the magical mallet ofwhich a single stroke gives wealth; and Ebisu bearing a fishing-rod, andholding under his arm a great tai-fish. These gods are alwaysrepresented with smiling faces; and both have great ears, which are thesign of wealth and fortune. '

º6

A little wearied by the day's journeying, I get to bed early, and sleepas dreamlessly as a plant until I am awakened about daylight by a heavy, regular, bumping sound, shaking the wooden pillow on which my ear rests-the sound of the katsu of the kometsuki beginning his eternal labourof rice-cleaning. Then the pretty musume of the inn opens the chamber tothe fresh mountain air and the early sun, rolls back all the woodenshutters into their casings behind the gallery, takes down the brownmosquito net, brings a hibachi with freshly kindled charcoal for mymorning smoke, and trips away to get our breakfast. 

Early as it is when she returns, she brings word that a messenger hasalready arrived from the Guji, Senke Takanori, high descendant of theGoddess of the Sun. The messenger is a dignified young Shinto priest, clad in the ordinary Japanese full costume, but wearing also a superbpair of blue silken hakama, or Japanese ceremonial trousers, wideningpicturesquely towards the feet. He accepts my invitation to a cup oftea, and informs me that his august master is waiting for us at thetemple. 

This is delightful news, but we cannot go at once. Akira's attire ispronounced by the messenger to be defective. Akira must don fresh whitetabi and put on hakama before going into the august presence: no one mayenter thereinto without hakama. Happily Akira is able to borrow a pairof hakama from the landlord; and, after having arranged ourselves asneatly as we can, we take our way to the temple, guided by themessenger. 

º7

I am agreeably surprised to find, as we pass again under a magnificentbronze torii which I admired the night before, that the approaches tothe temple lose very little of their imposing character when seen forthe first time by sunlight. The majesty of the trees remainsastonishing; the vista of the avenue is grand; and the vast spaces ofgroves and grounds to right and left are even more impressive than I hadimagined. Multitudes of pilgrims are going and coming; but the wholepopulation of a province might move along such an avenue withoutjostling. Before the gate of the first court a Shinto priest in fullsacerdotal costume waits to receive us: an elderly man, with a pleasantkindly face. The messenger commits us to his charge, and vanishesthrough the gateway, while the elderly priest, whose name is Sasa, leadsthe way. 

Already I can hear a heavy sound, as of surf, within the temple court;and as we advance the sound becomes sharper and recognisable--avolleying of handclaps. And passing the great gate, I see thousands ofpilgrims before the Haiden, the same huge structure which I visited lastnight. None enter there: all stand before the dragon-swarming doorway, and cast their offerings into the money-chest placed before thethreshold; many making contribution of small coin, the very poorestthrowing only a handful of rice into the box. [10] Then they clap theirhands and bow their heads before the threshold, and reverently gazethrough the Hall of Prayer at the loftier edifice, the Holy of Holies, beyond it. Each pilgrim remains but a little while, and claps his handsbut four times; yet so many are coming and going that the sound of theclapping is like the sound of a cataract. 

Passing by the multitude of worshippers to the other side of the Haiden, we find ourselves at the foot of a broad flight of iron-bound stepsleading to the great sanctuary--steps which I am told no Europeanbefore me was ever permitted to approach. On the lower steps the priestsof the temple, in full ceremonial costume, are waiting to receive us. Tall men they are, robed in violet and purple silks shot through withdragon-patterns in gold. Their lofty fantastic head-dresses, theirvoluminous and beautiful costume, and the solemn immobility of theirhierophantic attitudes make them at first sight seem marvellous statuesonly. Somehow or other there comes suddenly back to me the memory of astrange French print I used to wonder at when a child, representing agroup of Assyrian astrologers. Only their eyes move as we approach. Butas I reach the steps all simultaneously salute me with a most graciousbow, for I am the first foreign pilgrim to be honoured by the privilegeof an interview in the holy shrine itself with the princely hierophant, their master, descendant of the Goddess of the Sun--he who is stillcalled by myriads of humble worshippers in the remoter districts of thisancient province Ikigami, 'the living deity. ' Then all become absolutelystatuesque again. 

I remove my shoes, and am about to ascend the steps, when the tallpriest who first received us before the outer gate indicates, by asingle significant gesture, that religion and ancient custom require me, before ascending to the shrine of the god, to perform the ceremonialablution. I hold out my hands; the priest pours the pure water over themthrice from a ladle-shaped vessel of bamboo with a long handle, and thengives me a little blue towel to wipe them upon, a Votive towel withmysterious white characters upon it. Then we all ascend; I feeling verymuch like a clumsy barbarian in my ungraceful foreign garb. 

Pausing at the head of the steps, the priest inquires my rank insociety. For at Kitzuki hierarchy and hierarchical forms are maintainedwith a rigidity as precise as in the period of the gods; and there arespecial forms and regulations for the reception of visitors of everysocial grade. I do not know what flattering statements Akira may havemade about me to the good priest; but the result is that I can rank onlyas a common person--which veracious fact doubtless saves me from someformalities which would have proved embarrassing, all ignorant as Istill am of that finer and more complex etiquette in which the Japaneseare the world's masters. 

º8

The priest leads the way into a vast and lofty apartment opening for itsentire length upon the broad gallery to which the stairway ascends. Ihave barely time to notice, while following him, that the chambercontains three immense shrines, forming alcoves on two sides of it. Ofthese, two are veiled by white curtains reaching from ceiling to matting-curtains decorated with perpendicular rows of black disks about fourinches in diameter, each disk having in its centre a golden blossom. Butfrom before the third shrine, in the farther angle of the chamber, thecurtains have been withdrawn; and these are of gold brocade, and theshrine before which they hang is the chief shrine, that of Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami. Within are visible only some of the ordinary emblems ofShinto, and the exterior of that Holy of Holies into which none maylook. Before it a long low bench, covered with strange objects, has beenplaced, with one end toward the gallery and one toward the alcove. Atthe end of this bench, near the gallery, I see a majestic beardedfigure, strangely coifed and robed all in white, seated upon the mattedfloor in hierophantic attitude. Our priestly guide motions us to takeour places in front of him and to bow down before him. For this is SenkeTakanori, the Guji of Kitzuki, to whom even in his own dwelling none mayspeak save on bended knee, descendant of the Goddess of the Sun, andstill by multitudes revered in thought as a being superhuman. Prostrating myself before him, according to the customary code ofJapanese politeness, I am saluted in return with that exquisite courtesywhich puts a stranger immediately at ease. The priest who acted as ourguide now sits down on the floor at the Guji's left hand; while theother priests, who followed us to the entrance of the sanctuary only, take their places upon the gallery without. 

º9

Senke Takanori is a youthful and powerful man. As he sits there beforeme in his immobile hieratic pose, with his strange lofty head-dress, hisheavy curling beard, and his ample snowy sacerdotal robe broadlyspreading about him in statuesque undulations, he realises for me allthat I had imagined, from the suggestion of old Japanese pictures, aboutthe personal majesty of the ancient princes and heroes. The dignityalone of the man would irresistibly compel respect; but with thatfeeling of respect there also flashes through me at once the thought ofthe profound reverence paid him by the population of the most ancientprovince of Japan, the idea of the immense spiritual power in his hands, the tradition of his divine descent, the sense of the immemorialnobility of his race--and my respect deepens into a feeling closelyakin to awe. So motionless he is that he seems a sacred statue only--the temple image of one of his own deified ancestors. But the solemnityof the first few moments is agreeably broken by his first words, utteredin a low rich basso, while his dark, kindly eyes remain motionlesslyfixed upon my face. Then my interpreter translates his greeting--largefine phrases of courtesy--to which I reply as I best know how, expressing my gratitude for the exceptional favour accorded me. 

'You are, indeed, ' he responds through Akira, 'the first European everpermitted to enter into the Oho-yashiro. Other Europeans have visitedKitzuki and a few have been allowed to enter the temple court; but youonly have been admitted into the dwelling of the god. In past years, some strangers who desired to visit the temple out of common curiosityonly were not allowed to approach even the court; but the letter of Mr. Nishida, explaining the object of your visit, has made it a pleasure forus to receive you thus. '

Again I express my thanks; and after a second exchange of courtesies theconversation continues through the medium of Akira. 

'Is not this great temple of Kitzuki, ' I inquire, 'older than thetemples of Ise?'

'Older by far, ' replies the Guji; 'so old, indeed, that we do not wellknow the age of it. For it was first built by order of the Goddess ofthe Sun, in the time when deities alone existed. Then it was exceedinglymagnificent; it was three hundred and twenty feet high. The beams andthe pillars were larger than any existing timber could furnish; and theframework was bound together firmly with a rope made of taku [11] fibre, one thousand fathoms long. 

'It was first rebuilt in the time of the Emperor Sui-nin. [12] Thetemple so rebuilt by order of the Emperor Sui-nin was called theStructure of the Iron Rings, because the pieces of the pillars, whichwere composed of the wood of many great trees, had been bound fasttogether with huge rings of iron. This temple was also splendid, but farless splendid than the first, which had been built by the gods, for itsheight was only one hundred and sixty feet. 

'A third time the temple was rebuilt, in the reign of the Empress Sai-mei; but this third edifice was only eighty feet high. Since then thestructure of the temple has never varied; and the plan then followed hasbeen strictly preserved to the least detail in the construction of thepresent temple. 

'The Oho-yashiro has been rebuilt twenty-eight times; and it has beenthe custom to rebuild it every sixty-one years. But in the long periodof civil war it was not even repaired for more than a hundred years. Inthe fourth year of Tai-ei, one Amako Tsune Hisa, becoming Lord of Izumo, committed the great temple to the charge of a Buddhist priest, and evenbuilt pagodas about it, to the outrage of the holy traditions. But whenthe Amako family were succeeded by Moro Mototsugo, this latter purifiedthe temple, and restored the ancient festivals and ceremonies whichbefore had been neglected. '

'In the period when the temple was built upon a larger scale, ' I ask, 'were the timbers for its construction obtained from the forests ofIzumo?'

The priest Sasa, who guided us into the shrine, makes answer: 'It isrecorded that on the fourth day of the seventh month of the third yearof Ten-in one hundred large trees came floating to the sea coast ofKitzuki, and were stranded there by the tide. With these timbers thetemple was rebuilt in the third year of Ei-kyu; and that structure wascalled the Building-of-the-Trees-which-came-floating. Also in the samethird year of Ten-in, a great tree-trunk, one hundred and fifty feetlong, was stranded on the seashore near a shrine called Ube-no-yashiro, at Miyanoshita-mura, which is in Inaba. Some people wanted to cut thetree; but they found a great serpent coiled around it, which looked soterrible that they became frightened, and prayed to the deity of Ube-noyashiro to protect them; and the deity revealed himself, and said:"Whensoever the great temple in Izumo is to be rebuilt, one of the godsof each province sends timber for the building of it, and this time itis my turn. Build quickly, therefore, with that great tree which ismine. " And therewith the god disappeared. From these and from otherrecords we learn that the deities have always superintended or aided thebuilding of the great temple of Kitzuki. '

'In what part of the Oho-yashiro, ' I ask, 'do the august deitiesassemble during the Kami-ari-zuki?'

'On the east and west sides of the inner court, ' replies the priestSasa, 'there are two long buildings called the Jiu-kusha. These containnineteen shrines, no one of which is dedicated to any particular god;and we believe it is in the Jiu-ku-sha that the gods assemble. '

'And how many pilgrims from other provinces visit the great shrineyearly?' I inquire. 

'About two hundred and fifty thousand, ' the Guji answers. 'But thenumber increases or diminishes according to the condition of theagricultural classes; the more prosperous the season, the larger thenumber of pilgrims. It rarely falls below two hundred thousand. '

º10

Many other curious things the Guji and his chief priest then related tome; telling me the sacred name of each of the courts, and of the fencesand holy groves and the multitudinous shrines and their divinities; eventhe names of the great pillars of the temple, which are nine in number, the central pillar being called the august Heart-Pillar of the Middle. All things within the temple grounds have sacred names, even the toriiand the bridges. 

The priest Sasa called my attention to the fact that the great shrine ofOho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami faces west, though the great temple faces east, like all Shinto temples. In the other two shrines of the same apartment, both facing east, are the first divine Kokuzo of Izumo, his seventeenthdescendant, and the father of Nominosukune, wise prince and famouswrestler. For in the reign of the Emperor Sui-nin one Kehaya of Taimahad boasted that no man alive was equal to himself in strength. Nominosukune, by the emperor's command, wrestled with Kehaya, and threwhim down so mightily that Kehaya's ghost departed from him. This was thebeginning of wrestling in Japan; and wrestlers still pray untoNominosukune for power and skill. 

There are so many other shrines that I could not enumerate the names ofall their deities without wearying those readers unfamiliar with thetraditions and legends of Shinto. But nearly all those divinities whoappear in the legend of the Master of the Great Land are still believedto dwell here with him, and here their shrines are: the beautiful one, magically born from the jewel worn in the tresses of the Goddess of theSun, and called by men the Torrent-Mist Princess--and the daughter ofthe Lord of the World of Shadows, she who loved the Master of the GreatLand, and followed him out of the place of ghosts to become his wife--and the deity called 'Wondrous-Eight-Spirits, ' grandson of the 'Deity ofWater-Gates, ' who first made a fire-drill and platters of red clay forthe august banquet of the god at Kitzuki--and many of the heavenlykindred of these. 

º11

The priest Sasa also tells me this:

When Naomasu, grandson of the great Iyeyasu, and first daimyo of thatmighty Matsudaira family who ruled Izumo for two hundred and fiftyyears, came to this province, he paid a visit to the Temple of Kitzuki, and demanded that the miya of the shrine within the shrine should beopened that he might look upon the sacred objects--upon the shintai orbody of the deity. And this being an impious desire, both of the Kokuzo[13] unitedly protested against it. But despite their remonstrances andtheir pleadings, he persisted angrily in his demand, so that the priestsfound themselves compelled to open the shrine. And the miya beingopened, Naomasu saw within it a great awabi [14] of nine holes--solarge that it concealed everything behind it. And when he drew stillnearer to look, suddenly the awabi changed itself into a huge serpentmore than fifty feet in length; [15]--and it massed its black coilsbefore the opening of the shrine, and hissed like the sound of ragingfire, and looked so terrible, that Naomasu and those with him fled away-having been able to see naught else. And ever thereafter Naomasufeared and reverenced the god. 

º12

The Guji then calls my attention to the quaint relics lying upon thelong low bench between us, which is covered with white silk: a metalmirror, found in preparing the foundation of the temple when rebuiltmany hundred years ago; magatama jewels of onyx and jasper; a Chineseflute made of jade; a few superb swords, the gifts of shoguns andemperors; helmets of splendid antique workmanship; and a bundle ofenormous arrows with double-pointed heads of brass, fork-shaped andkeenly edged. 

After I have looked at these relics and learned something of theirhistory, the Guji rises and says to me, 'Now we will show you theancient fire-drill of Kitzuki, with which the sacred fire is kindled. '

Descending the steps, we pass again before the Haiden, and enter aspacious edifice on one side of the court, of nearly equal size with theHall of Prayer. Here I am agreeably surprised to find a long handsomemahogany table at one end of the main apartment into which we areushered, and mahogany chairs placed all about it for the reception ofguests. I am motioned to one chair, my interpreter to another; and theGuji and his priests take their seats also at the table. Then anattendant sets before me a handsome bronze stand about three feet long, on which rests an oblong something carefully wrapped in snow-whitecloths. The Guji removes the wrappings; and I behold the most primitiveform of fire-drill known to exist in the Orient. [16] It is simply avery thick piece of solid white plank, about two and a half feet long, with a line of holes drilled along its upper edge, so that the upperpart of each hole breaks through the sides of the plank. The stickswhich produce the fire, when fixed in the holes and rapidly rubbedbetween the palms of the hands, are made of a lighter kind of whitewood; they are about two feet long, and as thick as a common leadpencil. 

While I am yet examining this curious simple utensil, the invention ofwhich tradition ascribes to the gods, and modern science to the earliestchildhood of the human race, a priest places upon the table a light, large wooden box, about three feet long, eighteen inches wide, and fourinches high at the sides, but higher in the middle, as the top is archedlike the shell of a tortoise. This object is made of the same hinokiwood as the drill; and two long slender sticks are laid beside it. I atfirst suppose it to be another fire-drill. But no human being couldguess what it really is. It is called the koto-ita, and is one of themost primitive of musical instruments; the little sticks are used tostrike it. At a sign from the Guji two priests place the box upon thefloor, seat themselves on either side of it, and taking up the littlesticks begin to strike the lid with them, alternately and slowly, at thesame time uttering a most singular and monotonous chant. One intonesonly the sounds, 'Ang! ang!' and the other responds, 'Ong! ong!' Thekoto-ita gives out a sharp, dead, hollow sound as the sticks fall uponit in time to each utterance of 'Ang! ang!' 'Ong! ong!' [17]

º 13

These things I learn:

Each year the temple receives a new fire-drill; but the fire-drill isnever made in Kitzuki, but in Kumano, where the traditional regulationsas to the manner of making it have been preserved from the time of thegods. For the first Kokuzo of Izumo, on becoming pontiff, received thefire-drill for the great temple from the hands of the deity who was theyounger brother of the Sun-Goddess, and is now enshrined at Kumano. Andfrom his time the fire-drills for the Oho-yashiro of Kitzuki have beenmade only at Kumano. 

Until very recent times the ceremony of delivering the new fire-drill tothe Guji of Kitzuki always took place at the great temple of Oba, on theoccasion of the festival called Unohimatauri. This ancient festival, which used to be held in the eleventh month, became obsolete after theRevolution everywhere except at Oba in Izumo, where Izanami-no-Kami, themother of gods and men, is enshrined. 

Once a year, on this festival, the Kokuzo always went to Oba, takingwith him a gift of double rice-cakes. At Oba he was met by a personagecalled the Kame-da-yu, who brought the fire-drill from Kumano anddelivered it to the priests at Oba. According to tradition, the Kame-da-yu had to act a somewhat ludicrous role so that no Shinto priest evercared to perform the part, and a man was hired for it. The duty of theKame-da-yu was to find fault with the gift presented to the temple bythe Kokuzo; and in this district of Japan there is still a proverbialsaying about one who is prone to find fault without reason, 'He is likethe Kame-da-yu. '

The Kame-da-yu would inspect the rice-cakes and begin to criticise them. 'They are much smaller this year, ' he would observe, 'than they werelast year. ' The priests would reply: 'Oh, you are honourably mistaken;they are in truth very much larger. ' 'The colour is not so white thisyear as it was last year; and the rice-flour is not finely ground. ' Forall these imaginary faults of the mochi the priests would offerelaborate explanations or apologies. 

At the conclusion of the ceremony, the sakaki branches used in it wereeagerly bid for, and sold at high prices, being believed to possesstalismanic virtues. 

º 14

It nearly always happened that there was a great storm either on the daythe Kokuzo went to Oba, or upon the day he returned therefrom. Thejourney had to be made during what is in Izumo the most stormy season(December by the new calendar). But in popular belief these storms werein some tremendous way connected with the divine personality of theKokuzo whose attributes would thus appear to present some curiousanalogy with those of the Dragon-God. Be that as it may, the greatperiodical storms of the season are still in this province calledKokuzo-are [18]; it is still the custom in Izumo to say merrily to theguest who arrives or departs in a time of tempest, 'Why, you are likethe Kokuzo!'

º15

The Guji waves his hand, and from the farther end of the huge apartmentthere comes a sudden burst of strange music--a sound of drums andbamboo flutes; and turning to look, I see the musicians, three men, seated upon the matting, and a young girl with them. At another signfrom the Guji the girl rises. She is barefooted and robed in snowywhite, a virgin priestess. But below the hem of the white robe I see thegleam of hakama of crimson silk. She advances to a little table in themiddle of the apartment, upon which a queer instrument is lying, shapedsomewhat like a branch with twigs bent downward, from each of whichhangs a little bell. Taking this curious object in both hands, shebegins a sacred dance, unlike anything I ever saw before. Her everymovement is a poem, because she is very graceful; and yet herperformance could scarcely be called a dance, as we understand the word;it is rather a light swift walk within a circle, during which she shakesthe instrument at regular intervals, making all the little bells ring. Her face remains impassive as a beautiful mask, placid and sweet as theface of a dreaming Kwannon; and her white feet are pure of line as thefeet of a marble nymph. Altogether, with her snowy raiment and whiteflesh and passionless face, she seems rather a beautiful living statuethan a Japanese maiden. And all the while the weird flutes sob andshrill, and the muttering of the drums is like an incantation. 

What I have seen is called the Dance of the Miko, the Divineress. 

º16

Then we visit the other edifices belonging to the temple: thestorehouse; the library; the hall of assembly, a massive structure twostories high, where may be seen the portraits of the Thirty-Six GreatPoets, painted by Tosano Mitsu Oki more than a thousand years ago, andstill in an excellent state of preservation. Here we are also shown acurious magazine, published monthly by the temple--a record of Shintonews, and a medium for the discussion of questions relating to thearchaic texts. 

After we have seen all the curiosities of the temple, the Guji invitesus to his private residence near the temple to show us other treasures--letters of Yoritomo, of Hideyoshi, of Iyeyasu; documents in thehandwriting of the ancient emperors and the great shoguns, hundreds ofwhich precious manuscripts he keeps in a cedar chest. In case of firethe immediate removal of this chest to a place of safety would be thefirst duty of the servants of the household. 

Within his own house the Guji, attired in ordinary Japanese full dressonly, appears no less dignified as a private gentleman than he firstseemed as pontiff in his voluminous snowy robe. But no host could bemore kindly or more courteous or more generous. I am also much impressedby the fine appearance of his suite of young priests, now dressed, likehimself, in the national costume; by the handsome, aquiline, aristocratic faces, totally different from those of ordinary Japanese-faces suggesting the soldier rather than the priest. One young man has asuperb pair of thick black moustaches, which is something rarely to beseen in Japan. 

At parting our kind host presents me with the ofuda, or sacred charmsgiven to pilgrimsh--two pretty images of the chief deities of Kitzuki--and a number of documents relating to the history of the temple and ofits treasures. 

º17

Having taken our leave of the kind Guji and his suite, we are guided toInasa-no-hama, a little sea-bay at the rear of the town, by the priestSasa, and another kannushi. This priest Sasa is a skilled poet and a manof deep learning in Shinto history and the archaic texts of the sacredbooks. He relates to us many curious legends as we stroll along theshore. 

This shore, now a popular bathing resort--bordered with airy littleinns and pretty tea-houses--is called Inasa because of a Shintotradition that here the god Oho-kuni-nushi-noKami, the Master-of-the-Great-Land, was first asked to resign his dominion over the land ofIzumo in favour of Masa-ka-a-katsu-kachi-hayabi-ame-no-oshi-ho-mimi-no-mikoto; the word Inasa signifying 'Will you consent or not?' [19] Inthe thirty-second section of the first volume of the Kojiki the legendis written: I cite a part thereof:

'The two deities (Tori-bune-no-Kami and Take-mika-dzuchi-no-wo-no-Kami), descending to the little shore of Inasa in the land of Izumo, drew theirswords ten handbreadths long, and stuck them upside down on the crest ofa wave, and seated themselves cross-legged upon the points of theswords, and asked the Deity Master-of-the-Great-Land, saying: "TheHeaven-Shining-Great-August-Deity and the High-Integrating-Deity havecharged us and sent us to ask, saying: 'We have deigned to charge ouraugust child with thy dominion, as the land which he should govern. Sohow is thy heart?'" He replied, saying: "I am unable to say. My son Ya-he-koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami will be the one to tell you. " . . . So theyasked the Deity again, saying: "Thy son Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami has nowspoken thus. Hast thou other sons who should speak?" He spoke again, saying: "There is my other son, Take-mi-na-gata-no-Kami. " . . . While hewas thus speaking the Deity Take-mi-na-gata-no-Kami came up [from thesea], bearing on the tips of his fingers a rock which it would take athousand men to lift, and said, "I should like to have a trial ofstrength. "'

Here, close to the beach, stands a little miya called Inasa-no-kami-no-yashiro, or, the Temple of the God of Inasa; and therein Take-mika-dzu-chi-no-Kami, who conquered in the trial of strength, is enshrined. Andnear the shore the great rock which Take-mi-na-gata-no-Kami lifted uponthe tips of his fingers, may be seen rising from the water. And it iscalled Chihiki-noiha. 

We invite the priests to dine with us at one of the little inns facingthe breezy sea; and there we talk about many things, but particularlyabout Kitzuki and the Kokuzo. 

º18

Only a generation ago the religious power of the Kokuzo extended overthe whole of the province of the gods; he was in fact as well as in namethe Spiritual Governor of Izumo. His jurisdiction does not now extendbeyond the limits of Kitzuki, and his correct title is no longer Kokuzo, but Guji. [20] Yet to the simple-hearted people of remoter districts heis still a divine or semi-divine being, and is mentioned by his ancienttitle, the inheritance of his race from the epoch of the gods. Howprofound a reverence was paid to him in former ages can scarcely beimagined by any who have not long lived among the country folk of Izumo. Outside of Japan perhaps no human being, except the Dalai Lama ofThibet, was so humbly venerated and so religiously beloved. Within Japanitself only the Son of Heaven, the 'Tenshi-Sama, ' standing as mediator'between his people and the Sun, ' received like homage; but theworshipful reverence paid to the Mikado was paid to a dream rather thanto a person, to a name rather than to a reality, for the Tenshi-Sama wasever invisible as a deity 'divinely retired, ' and in popular belief noman could look upon his face and live. [21] Invisibility and mysteryvastly enhanced the divine legend of the Mikado. But the Kokuzo, withinhis own province, though visible to the multitude and often journeyingamong the people, received almost equal devotion; so that his materialpower, though rarely, if ever, exercised, was scarcely less than that ofthe Daimyo of Izumo himself. It was indeed large enough to render him aperson with whom the shogunate would have deemed it wise policy toremain upon good terms. An ancestor of the present Guji even defied thegreat Taiko Hideyoshi, refusing to obey his command to furnish troopswith the haughty answer that he would receive no order from a man ofcommon birth. [22] This defiance cost the family the loss of a largepart of its estates by confiscation, but the real power of the Kokuzoremained unchanged until the period of the new civilisation. 

Out of many hundreds of stories of a similar nature, two littletraditions may be cited as illustrations of the reverence in which theKokuzo was formerly held. 

It is related that there was a man who, believing himself to have becomerich by favour of the Daikoku of Kitzuki, desired to express hisgratitude by a gift of robes to the Kokuzo. 

The Kokuzo courteously declined the proffer; but the pious worshipperpersisted in his purpose, and ordered a tailor to make the robes. Thetailor, having made them, demanded a price that almost took his patron'sbreath away. Being asked to give his reason for demanding such a price, he made answer: Having made robes for the Kokuzo, I cannot hereaftermake garments for any other person. Therefore I must have money enoughto support me for the rest of my life. '

The second story dates back to about one hundred and seventy years ago. 

Among the samurai of the Matsue clan in the time of Nobukori, fifthdaimyo of the Matsudaira family, there was one Sugihara Kitoji, who wasstationed in some military capacity at Kitzuki. He was a great favouritewith the Kokuzo, and used often to play at chess with him. During agame, one evening, this officer suddenly became as one paralysed, unableto move or speak. For a moment all was anxiety and confusion; but theKokuzo said: 'I know the cause. My friend was smoking, and althoughsmoking disagrees with me, I did not wish to spoil his pleasure bytelling him so. But the Kami, seeing that I felt ill, became angry withhim. Now I shall make him well. ' Whereupon the Kokuzo uttered somemagical word, and the officer was immediately as well as before. 

º 19

Once more we are journeying through the silence of this holy land ofmists and of legends; wending our way between green leagues of ripeningrice white-sprinkled with arrows of prayer between the far processionsof blue and verdant peaks whose names are the names of gods. We haveleft Kitzuki far behind. But as in a dream I still see the mightyavenue, the long succession of torii with their colossal shimenawa, themajestic face of the Guji, the kindly smile of the priest Sasa, and thegirl priestess in her snowy robes dancing her beautiful ghostly dance. It seems to me that I can still hear the sound of the clapping of hands, like the crashing of a torrent. I cannot suppress some slight exultationat the thought that I have been allowed to see what no other foreignerhas been privileged to see--the interior of Japan's most ancientshrine, and those sacred utensils and quaint rites of primitive worshipso well worthy the study of the anthropologist and the evolutionist. 

But to have seen Kitzuki as I saw it is also to have seen something muchmore than a single wonderful temple. To see Kitzuki is to see the livingcentre of Shinto, and to feel the life-pulse of the ancient faith, throbbing as mightily in this nineteenth century as ever in that unknownpast whereof the Kojiki itself, though written in a tongue no longerspoken, is but a modern record. [23] Buddhism, changing form or slowlydecaying through the centuries, might seem doomed to pass away at lastfrom this Japan to which it came only as an alien faith; but Shinto, unchanging and vitally unchanged, still remains all dominant in the landof its birth, and only seems to gain in power and dignity with time. [24]Buddhism has a voluminous theology, a profound philosophy, a literaturevast as the sea. Shinto has no philosophy, no code of ethics, nometaphysics; and yet, by its very immateriality, it can resist theinvasion of Occidental religious thought as no other Orient faith can. Shinto extends a welcome to Western science, but remains theirresistible opponent of Western religion; and the foreign zealots whowould strive against it are astounded to find the power that foils theiruttermost efforts indefinable as magnetism and invulnerable as air. Indeed the best of our scholars have never been able to tell us whatShinto is. To some it appears to be merely ancestor-worship, to othersancestor-worship combined with nature-worship; to others, again, itseems to be no religion at all; to the missionary of the more ignorantclass it is the worst form of heathenism. Doubtless the difficulty ofexplaining Shinto has been due simply to the fact that the sinologistshave sought for the source of it in books: in the Kojiki and theNihongi, which are its histories; in the Norito, which are its prayers;in the commentaries of Motowori and Hirata, who were its greatestscholars. But the reality of Shinto lives not in books, nor in rites, nor in commandments, but in the national heart, of which it is thehighest emotional religious expression, immortal and ever young. Farunderlying all the surface crop of quaint superstitions and artlessmyths and fantastic magic there thrills a mighty spiritual force, thewhole soul of a race with all its impulses and powers and intuitions. Hewho would know what Shinto is must learn to know that mysterious soul inwhich the sense of beauty and the power of art and the fire of heroismand magnetism of loyalty and the emotion of faith have become inherent, immanent, unconscious, instinctive. 

Trusting to know something of that Oriental soul in whose joyous love ofnature and of life even the unlearned may discern a strange likeness tothe soul of the old Greek race, I trust also that I may presume some dayto speak of the great living power of that faith now called Shinto, butmore anciently Kami-no-michi, or 'The Way of the Gods. '

Chapter NineIn the Cave of the Children's Ghosts

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IT is forbidden to go to Kaka if there be wind enough 'to move threehairs. '

Now an absolutely windless day is rare on this wild western coast. Overthe Japanese Sea, from Korea, or China, or boreal Siberia, some west ornorth-west breeze is nearly always blowing. So that I have had to waitmany long months for a good chance to visit Kaka. 

Taking the shortest route, one goes first to Mitsu-ura from Matsue, either by kuruma or on foot. By kuruma this little journey occupiesnearly two hours and a half, though the distance is scarcely sevenmiles, the road being one of the worst in all Izumo. You leave Matsue toenter at once into a broad plain, level as a lake, all occupied by rice-fields and walled in by wooded hills. The path, barely wide enough for asingle vehicle, traverses this green desolation, climbs the heightsbeyond it, and descends again into another and a larger level of rice-fields, surrounded also by hills. The path over the second line of hillsis much steeper; then a third rice-plain must be crossed and a thirdchain of green altitudes, lofty enough to merit the name of mountains. Of course one must make the ascent on foot: it is no small labour for akurumaya to pull even an empty kuruma up to the top; and how he managesto do so without breaking the little vehicle is a mystery, for the pathis stony and rough as the bed of a torrent. A tiresome climb I find it;but the landscape view from the summit is more than compensation. 

Then descending, there remains a fourth and last wide level of rice-fields to traverse. The absolute flatness of the great plains betweenthe ranges, and the singular way in which these latter 'fence off' thecountry into sections, are matters for surprise even in a land ofsurprises like Japan. Beyond the fourth rice-valley there is a fourthhill-chain, lower and richly wooded, on reaching the base of which thetraveller must finally abandon his kuruma, and proceed over the hills onfoot. Behind them lies the sea. But the very worst bit of the journeynow begins. The path makes an easy winding ascent between bamboo growthsand young pine and other vegetation for a shaded quarter of a mile, passing before various little shrines and pretty homesteads surroundedby high-hedged gardens. Then it suddenly breaks into steps, or ratherruins of steps--partly hewn in the rock, partly built, everywherebreached and worn which descend, all edgeless, in a manner amazinglyprecipitous, to the village of Mitsu-ura. With straw sandals, whichnever slip, the country folk can nimbly hurry up or down such a path;but with foreign footgear one slips at nearly every step; and when youreach the bottom at last, the wonder of how you managed to get there, even with the assistance of your faithful kurumaya, keeps you for amoment quite unconscious of the fact that you are already in Mitsu-ura. 

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Mitsu-ura stands with its back to the mountains, at the end of a smalldeep bay hemmed in by very high cliffs. There is only one narrow stripof beach at the foot of the heights; and the village owes its existenceto that fact, for beaches are rare on this part of the coast. Crowdedbetween the cliffs and the sea, the houses have a painfully compressedaspect; and somehow the greater number give one the impression of thingscreated out of wrecks of junks. The little streets, or rather alleys, are full of boats and skeletons of boats and boat timbers; andeverywhere, suspended from bamboo poles much taller than the houses, immense bright brown fishing-nets are drying in the sun. The whole curveof the beach is also lined with boats, lying side by side so that Iwonder how it will be possible to get to the water's edge withoutclimbing over them. There is no hotel; but I find hospitality in afisherman's dwelling, while my kurumaya goes somewhere to hire a boatfor Kaka-ura. 

In less than ten minutes there is a crowd of several hundred peopleabout the house, half-clad adults and perfectly naked boys. Theyblockade the building; they obscure the light by filling up the doorwaysand climbing into the windows to look at the foreigner. The agedproprietor of the cottage protests in vain, says harsh things; the crowdonly thickens. Then all the sliding screens are closed. But in the paperpanes there are holes; and at all the lower holes the curious takeregular turns at peeping. At a higher hole I do some peeping myself. Thecrowd is not prepossessing: it is squalid, dull-featured, remarkablyugly. But it is gentle and silent; and there are one or two pretty facesin it which seem extraordinary by reason of the general homeliness ofthe rest. 

At last my kurumaya has succeeded in making arrangements for a boat; andI effect a sortie to the beach, followed by the kurumaya and by all mybesiegers. Boats have been moved to make a passage for us, and we embarkwithout trouble of any sort. Our crew consists of two scullers--an oldman at the stem, wearing only a rokushaku about his loins, and an oldwoman at the bow, fully robed and wearing an immense straw hat shapedlike a mushroom. Both of course stand to their work and it would be hardto say which is the stronger or more skilful sculler. We passengerssquat Oriental fashion upon a mat in the centre of the boat, where ahibachi, well stocked with glowing charcoal, invites us to smoke. 

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The day is clear blue to the end of the world, with a faint wind fromthe east, barely enough to wrinkle the sea, certainly more than enoughto 'move three hairs. ' Nevertheless the boatwoman and the boatman do notseem anxious; and I begin to wonder whether the famous prohibition isnot a myth. So delightful the transparent water looks, that before wehave left the bay I have to yield to its temptation by plunging in andswimming after the boat. When I climb back on board we are rounding thepromontory on the right; and the little vessel begins to rock. Evenunder this thin wind the sea is moving in long swells. And as we passinto the open, following the westward trend of the land, we findourselves gliding over an ink-black depth, in front of one of the verygrimmest coasts I ever saw. 

A tremendous line of dark iron-coloured cliffs, towering sheer from thesea without a beach, and with never a speck of green below theirsummits; and here and there along this terrible front, monstrousbeetlings, breaches, fissures, earthquake rendings, and topplings-down. Enormous fractures show lines of strata pitched up skyward, or plungingdown into the ocean with the long fall of cubic miles of cliff. Beforefantastic gaps, prodigious masses of rock, of all nightmarish shapes, rise from profundities unfathomed. And though the wind to-day seemstrying to hold its breath, white breakers are reaching far up thecliffs, and dashing their foam into the faces of the splintered crags. We are too far to hear the thunder of them; but their ominous sheet-lightning fully explains to me the story of the three hairs. Along thisgoblin coast on a wild day there would be no possible chance for thestrongest swimmer, or the stoutest boat; there is no place for the foot, no hold for the hand, nothing but the sea raving against a precipice ofiron. Even to-day, under the feeblest breath imaginable, great swellsdeluge us with spray as they splash past. And for two long hours thisjagged frowning coast towers by; and, as we toil on, rocks rise aroundus like black teeth; and always, far away, the foam-bursts gleam at thefeet of the implacable cliffs. But there are no sounds save the lappingand plashing of passing swells, and the monotonous creaking of thesculls upon their pegs of wood. 

At last, at last, a bay--a beautiful large bay, with a demilune of softgreen hills about it, overtopped by far blue mountains--and in the veryfarthest point of the bay a miniature village, in front of which manyjunks are riding at anchor: Kaka-ura. 

But we do not go to Kaka-ura yet; the Kukedo are not there. We cross thebroad opening of the bay, journey along another half-mile of ghastlysea-precipice, and finally make for a lofty promontory of naked Plutonicrock. We pass by its menacing foot, slip along its side, and lo! at anangle opens the arched mouth of a wonderful cavern, broad, lofty, andfull of light, with no floor but the sea. Beneath us, as we slip intoit, I can see rocks fully twenty feet down. The water is clear as air. This is the Shin-Kukedo, called the New Cavern, though assuredly olderthan human record by a hundred thousand years. 

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A more beautiful sea-cave could scarcely be imagined. The sea, tunnelling the tall promontory through and through, has also, like agreat architect, ribbed and groined and polished its mighty work. Thearch of the entrance is certainly twenty feet above the deep water, andfifteen wide; and trillions of wave tongues have licked the vault andwalls into wondrous smoothness. As we proceed, the rock-roof steadilyheightens and the way widens. Then we unexpectedly glide under a heavyshower of fresh water, dripping from overhead. This spring is called theo-chozubachi or mitarashi [1] of Shin-Kukedo-San. . From the high vaultat this point it is believed that a great stone will detach itself andfall upon any evil-hearted person who should attempt to enter the cave. I safely pass through the ordeal!

Suddenly as we advance the boatwoman takes a stone from the bottom ofthe boat, and with it begins to rap heavily on the bow; and the hollowechoing is reiterated with thundering repercussions through all thecave. And in another instant we pass into a great burst of light, comingfrom the mouth of a magnificent and lofty archway on the left, openinginto the cavern at right angles. This explains the singular illuminationof the long vault, which at first seemed to come from beneath; for whilethe opening was still invisible all the water appeared to be suffusedwith light. Through this grand arch, between outlying rocks, a strip ofbeautiful green undulating coast appears, over miles of azure water. Weglide on toward the third entrance to the Kukedo, opposite to that bywhich we came in; and enter the dwelling-place of the Kami and theHotoke, for this grotto is sacred both to Shinto and to Buddhist faith. Here the Kukedo reaches its greatest altitude and breadth. Its vault isfully forty feet above the water, and its walls thirty feet apart. Farup on the right, near the roof, is a projecting white rock, and abovethe rock an orifice wherefrom a slow stream drips, seeming white as therock itself. 

This is the legendary Fountain of Jizo, the fountain of milk at whichthe souls of dead children drink. Sometimes it flows more swiftly, sometimes more slowly; but it never ceases by night or day. And motherssuffering from want of milk come hither to pray that milk may be givenunto them; and their prayer is heard. And mothers having more milk thantheir infants need come hither also, and pray to Jizo that so much asthey can give may be taken for the dead children; and their prayer isheard, and their milk diminishes. 

At least thus the peasants of Izumo say. 

And the echoing of the swells leaping against the rocks without, therushing and rippling of the tide against the walls, the heavy rain ofpercolating water, sounds of lapping and gurgling and plashing, andsounds of mysterious origin coming from no visible where, make itdifficult for us to hear each other speak. The cavern seems full ofvoices, as if a host of invisible beings were holding tumultuousconverse. 

Below us all the deeply lying rocks are naked to view as if seen throughglass. It seems to me that nothing could be more delightful than to swimthrough this cave and let one's self drift with the sea-currents throughall its cool shadows. But as I am on the point of jumping in, all theother occupants of the boat utter wild cries of protest. It is certaindeath! men who jumped in here only six months ago were never heard ofagain! this is sacred water, Kami-no-umi! And as if to conjure away mytemptation, the boatwoman again seizes her little stone and rapsfearfully upon the bow. On finding, however, that I am not sufficientlydeterred by these stories of sudden death and disappearance, shesuddenly screams into my ear the magical word, 'SAME!'

Sharks! I have no longer any desire whatever to swim through the many-sounding halls of Shin-Kukedo-San. I have lived in the tropics!

And we start forthwith for Kyu-Kukedo-San, the Ancient Cavern. 

º5

For the ghastly fancies about the Kami-no-umi, the word 'same' affordeda satisfactory explanation. But why that long, loud, weird rapping onthe bow with a stone evidently kept on board for no other purpose? Therewas an exaggerated earnestness about the action which gave me an uncannysensation--something like that which moves a man while walking at nightupon a lonesome road, full of queer shadows, to sing at the top of hisvoice. The boatwoman at first declares that the rapping was made onlyfor the sake of the singular echo. But after some cautious furtherquestioning, I discover a much more sinister reason for the performance. Moreover, I learn that all the seamen and seawomen of this coast do thesame thing when passing through perilous places, or places believed tobe haunted by the Ma. What are the Ma?

Goblins!

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From the caves of the Kami we retrace our course for about a quarter ofa mile; then make directly for an immense perpendicular wrinkle in thelong line of black cliffs. Immediately before it a huge dark rock towersfrom the sea, whipped by the foam of breaking swells. Rounding it, weglide behind it into still water and shadow, the shadow of a monstrouscleft in the precipice of the coast. And suddenly, at an unsuspectedangle, the mouth of another cavern yawns before us; and in anothermoment our boat touches its threshold of stone with a little shock thatsends a long sonorous echo, like the sound of a temple drum, boomingthrough all the abysmal place. A single glance tells me whither we havecome. Far within the dusk I see the face of a Jizo, smiling in palestone, and before him, and all about him, a weird congregation of greyshapes without shape--a host of fantasticalities that strangely suggestthe wreck of a cemetery. From the sea the ribbed floor of the cavernslopes high through deepening shadows hack to the black mouth of afarther grotto; and all that slope is covered with hundreds andthousands of forms like shattered haka. But as the eyes grow accustomedto the gloaming it becomes manifest that these were never haka; they areonly little towers of stone and pebbles deftly piled up by long andpatient labour. 

'Shinda kodomo no shigoto, ' my kurumaya murmurs with a compassionatesmile; 'all this is the work of the dead children. '

And we disembark. By counsel, I take off my shoes and put on a pair ofzori, or straw sandals provided for me, as the rock is extremelyslippery. The others land barefoot. But how to proceed soon becomes apuzzle: the countless stone-piles stand so close together that no spacefor the foot seems to be left between them. 

'Mada michiga arimasu!' the boatwoman announces, leading the way. Thereis a path. 

Following after her, we squeeze ourselves between the wall of the cavernon the right and some large rocks, and discover a very, very narrowpassage left open between the stone-towers. But we are warned to becareful for the sake of the little ghosts: if any of their work beoverturned, they will cry. So we move very cautiously and slowly acrossthe cave to a space bare of stone-heaps, where the rocky floor iscovered with a thin layer of sand, detritus of a crumbling ledge aboveit. And in that sand I see light prints of little feet, children's feet, tiny naked feet, only three or four inches long--the footprints of theinfant ghosts. 

Had we come earlier, the boatwoman says, we should have seen many more. For 'tis at night, when the soil of the cavern is moist with dews anddrippings from the roof, that They leave Their footprints upon it; butwhen the heat of the day comes, and the sand and the rocks dry up, theprints of the little feet vanish away. 

There are only three footprints visible, but these are singularlydistinct. One points toward the wall of the cavern; the others towardthe sea. Here and there, upon ledges or projections of the rock, allabout the cavern, tiny straw sandals--children's zori--are lying:offerings of pilgrims to the little ones, that their feet may not bewounded by the stones. But all the ghostly footprints are prints ofnaked feet. 

Then we advance, picking our way very, very carefully between the stone-towers, toward the mouth of the inner grotto, and reach the statue ofJizo before it. A seated Jizo carven in granite, holding in one hand themystic jewel by virtue of which all wishes may be fulfilled; in theother his shakujo, or pilgrim's staff. Before him (strange condescensionof Shinto faith!) a little torii has been erected, and a pair of gohei!Evidently this gentle divinity has no enemies; at the feet of the loverof children's ghosts, both creeds unite in tender homage. 

I said feet. But this subterranean Jizo has only one foot. The carvenlotus on which he reposes has been fractured and broken: two greatpetals are missing; and the right foot, which must have rested upon oneof them, has been knocked off at the ankle. This, I learn upon inquiry, has been done by the waves. In times of great storm the billows rushinto the cavern like raging Oni, and sweep all the little stone towersinto shingle as they come, and dash the statues against the rocks. Butalways during the first still night after the tempest the work isreconstructed as before!

Hotoke ga shimpai shite: naki-naki tsumi naoshi-masu. ' They makemourning, the hotoke; weeping, they pile up the stones again, theyrebuild their towers of prayer. 

All about the black mouth of the inner grotto the bone-coloured rockbears some resemblance to a vast pair of yawning jaws. Downward fromthis sinister portal the cavern-floor slopes into a deeper and darkeraperture. And within it, as one's eyes become accustomed to the gloom, astill larger vision of stone towers is disclosed; and beyond them, in anook of the grotto, three other statues of Jizo smile, each one with atorii before it. Here I have the misfortune to upset first one stone-pile and then another, while trying to proceed. My kurumaya, almostsimultaneously, ruins a third. To atone therefore, we must build six newtowers, or double the number of those which we have cast down. And whilewe are thus busied, the boatwoman tells of two fishermen who remained inthe cavern through all one night, and heard the humming of the viewlessgathering, and sounds of speech, like the speech of children murmuringin multitude. 

Only at night do the shadowy children come to build their little stone-heaps at the feet of Jizo; and it is said that every night the stonesare changed. When I ask why they do not work by day, when there is noneto see them, I am answered: 'O-Hi-San [2] might see them; the deadexceedingly fear the Lady-Sun. '

To the question, 'Why do they come from the sea?' I can get nosatisfactory answer. But doubtless in the quaint imagination of thispeople, as also in that of many another, there lingers still theprimitive idea of some communication, mysterious and awful, between theworld of waters and the world of the dead. It is always over the sea, after the Feast of Souls, that the spirits pass murmuring back to theirdim realm, in those elfish little ships of straw which are launched forthem upon the sixteenth day of the seventh moon. Even when these arelaunched upon rivers, or when floating lanterns are set adrift uponlakes or canals to light the ghosts upon their way, or when a motherbereaved drops into some running stream one hundred little prints ofJizo for the sake of her lost darling, the vague idea behind the piousact is that all waters flow to the sea and the sea itself unto the'Nether-distant Land. '

Some time, somewhere, this day will come back to me at night, with itsvisions and sounds: the dusky cavern, and its grey hosts of stoneclimbing back into darkness, and the faint prints of little naked feet, and the weirdly smiling images, and the broken syllables of the watersinward-borne, multiplied by husky echoings, blending into one vastghostly whispering, like the humming of the Sai-no-Kawara. 

And over the black-blue bay we glide to the rocky beach of Kaka-ura. 

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As at Mitsu-ura, the water's edge is occupied by a serried line offishing-boats, each with its nose to the sea; and behind these are ranksof others; and it is only just barely possible to squeeze one's waybetween them over the beach to the drowsy, pretty, quaint little streetsbehind them. Everybody seems to be asleep when we first land: the onlyliving creature visible is a cat, sitting on the stern of a boat; andeven that cat, according to Japanese beliefs, might not be a real cat, but an o-bake or a nekomata--in short, a goblin-cat, for it has a longtail. It is hard work to discover the solitary hotel: there are nosigns; and every house seems a private house, either a fisherman's or afarmer's. But the little place is worth wandering about in. A kind ofyellow stucco is here employed to cover the exterior of walls; and thislight warm tint under the bright blue day gives to the miniature streetsa more than cheerful aspect. 

When we do finally discover the hotel, we have to wait quite a goodwhile before going in; for nothing is ready; everybody is asleep oraway, though all the screens and sliding-doors are open. Evidently thereare no thieves in Kaka-ura. The hotel is on a little hillock, and isapproached from the main street (the rest are only miniature alleys) bytwo little flights of stone steps. Immediately across the way I see aZen temple and a Shinto temple, almost side by side. 

At last a pretty young woman, naked to the waist, with a bosom like aNaiad, comes running down the street to the hotel at a surprising speed, bowing low with a smile as she hurries by us into the house. This littleperson is the waiting-maid of the inn, O-Kayo-San--name signifying'Years of Bliss. ' Presently she reappears at the threshold, fully robedin a nice kimono, and gracefully invites us to enter, which we are onlytoo glad to do. The room is neat and spacious; Shinto kakemono fromKitzuki are suspended in the toko and upon the walls; and in one cornerI see a very handsome Zen-but-sudan, or household shrine. (The form ofthe shrine, as well as the objects of worship therein, vary according tothe sect of the worshippers. ) Suddenly I become aware that it is growingstrangely dark; and looking about me, perceive that all the doors andwindows and other apertures of the inn are densely blocked up by asilent, smiling crowd which has gathered to look at me. I could not havebelieved there were so many people in Kaka-ura. 

In a Japanese house, during the hot season, everything is thrown open tothe breeze. All the shoji or sliding paper-screens, which serve forwindows; and all the opaque paper-screens (fusuma) used in other seasonsto separate apartments, are removed. There is nothing left between floorand roof save the frame or skeleton of the building; the dwelling isliterally unwalled, and may be seen through in any direction. Thelandlord, finding the crowd embarrassing, closes up the building infront. The silent, smiling crowd goes to the rear. The rear is alsoclosed. Then the crowd masses to right and left of the house; and bothsides have to be closed, which makes it insufferably hot. And the crowdmake gentle protest. 

Wherefore our host, being displeased, rebukes the multitude withargument and reason, yet without lifting his voice. (Never do thesepeople lift up their voices in anger. ) And what he says I strive totranslate, with emphasis, as follows:

'You-as-for! outrageousness doing--what marvellous is?'Theatre is not!'Juggler is not!'Wrestler is not!'What amusing is?'Honourable-Guest this is!'Now august-to-eat-time-is; to-look-at evil matter is. Honourable-returning-time-in-to-look-at-as-for-is-good. '

But outside, soft laughing voices continue to plead; pleading, shrewdly enough, only with the feminine portion of the family:the landlord's heart is less easily touched. And these, too, have their arguments:'Oba-San!'O-Kayo-San!'Shoji-to-open-condescend!--want to see! 'Though-we-look-at, Thing-that-by-looking-at-is-worn-out-it-is-not!'So that not-to-hinder looking-at is good. 'Hasten therefore to open!'

As for myself, I would gladly protest against this sealing-up, for thereis nothing offensive nor even embarrassing in the gaze of theseinnocent, gentle people; but as the landlord seems to be personallyannoyed, I do not like to interfere. The crowd, however, does not goaway: it continues to increase, waiting for my exit. And there is onehigh window in the rear, of which the paper-panes contain some holes;and I see shadows of little people climbing up to get to the holes. Presently there is an eye at every hole. 

When I approach the window, the peepers drop noiselessly to the ground, with little timid bursts of laughter, and run away. But they soon comeback again. A more charming crowd could hardly be imagined: nearly allboys and girls, half-naked because of the heat, but fresh and clean asflower-buds. Many of the faces are surprisingly pretty; there are butvery few which are not extremely pleasing. But where are the men, andthe old women? Truly, this population seems not of Kaka-ura, but ratherof the Sai-no-Kawara. The boys look like little Jizo. 

During dinner, I amuse myself by poking pears and little pieces ofradish through the holes in the shoji. At first there is much hesitationand silvery laughter; but in a little while the silhouette of a tinyhand reaches up cautiously, and a pear vanishes away. Then a second pearis taken, without snatching, as softly as if a ghost had appropriatedit. Thereafter hesitation ceases, despite the effort of one elderlywoman to create a panic by crying out the word Mahotsukai, 'wizard. ' Bythe time the dinner is over and the shoji removed, we have all becomegood friends. Then the crowd resumes its silent observation from thefour cardinal points. 

I never saw a more striking difference in the appearance of two villagepopulations than that between the youth of Mitsu-ura and of Kaka. Yetthe villages are but two hours' sailing distance apart. In remoterJapan, as in certain islands of the West Indies, particular physicaltypes are developed apparently among communities but slightly isolated;on one side of a mountain a population may be remarkably attractive, while upon the other you may find a hamlet whose inhabitants aredecidedly unprepossessing. But nowhere in this country have I seen aprettier jeunesse than that of Kaka-ura. 

'Returning-time-in-to-look-at-as-for-is-good. ' As we descend to the bay, the whole of Kaka-ura, including even the long-invisible ancients of thevillage, accompanies us; making no sound except the pattering of geta. Thus we are escorted to our boat. Into all the other craft drawn up onthe beach the younger folk clamber lightly, and seat themselves on theprows and the gunwales to gaze at the marvellous Thing-that-by-looking-at-worn-out-is-not. And all smile, but say nothing, even to each other:somehow the experience gives me the sensation of being asleep; it is sosoft, so gentle, and so queer withal, just like things seen in dreams. And as we glide away over the blue lucent water I look back to see thepeople all waiting and gazing still from the great semicircle of boats;all the slender brown child-limbs dangling from the prows; all thevelvety-black heads motionless in the sun; all the boy-faces smilingJizo-smiles; all the black soft eyes still watching, tirelesslywatching, the Thing-that-by-looking-at-worn-out-is-not. And as thescene, too swiftly receding, diminishes to the width of a kakemono, Ivainly wish that I could buy this last vision of it, to place it in mytoko, and delight my soul betimes with gazing thereon. Yet anothermoment, and we round a rocky point; and Kaka-ura vanishes from my sightfor ever. So all things pass away. 

Assuredly those impressions which longest haunt recollection are themost transitory: we remember many more instants than minutes, moreminutes than hours; and who remembers an entire day? The sum of theremembered happiness of a lifetime is the creation of seconds. 'What ismore fugitive than a smile? yet when does the memory of a vanished smileexpire? or the soft regret which that memory may evoke?

Regret for a single individual smile is something common to normal humannature; but regret for the smile of a population, for a smile consideredas an abstract quality, is certainly a rare sensation, and one to beobtained, I fancy, only in this Orient land whose people smile for everlike their own gods of stone. And this precious experience is alreadymine; I am regretting the smile of Kaka. 

Simultaneously there comes the recollection of a strangely grim Buddhistlegend. Once the Buddha smiled; and by the wondrous radiance of thatsmile were countless worlds illuminated. But there came a Voice, saying:'It is not real! It cannot last!' And the light passed. 

Chapter TenAt Mionoseki

Seki wa yoi toko, Asahi wo ukete;O-Yama arashigaSoyo-soyoto!(SONG OF MIONOSEKI. )

[Seki is a goodly place, facing the morning sun. There, from the holymountains, the winds blow softly, softly--soyosoyoto. ]

º1

THE God of Mionoseki hates eggs, hen's eggs. Likewise he hates hens andchickens, and abhors the Cock above all living creatures. And inMionoseki there are no cocks or hens or chickens or eggs. You could notbuy a hen's egg in that place even for twenty times its weight in gold. 

And no boat or junk or steamer could be hired to convey to Mionoseki somuch as the feather of a chicken, much less an egg. Indeed, it is evenheld that if you have eaten eggs in the morning you must not dare tovisit Mionoseki until the following day. For the great deity ofMionoseki is the patron of mariners and the ruler of storms; and woeunto the vessel which bears unto his shrine even the odour of an egg. 

Once the tiny steamer which runs daily from Matsue to Mionosekiencountered some unexpectedly terrible weather on her outward journey, just after reaching the open sea. The crew insisted that somethingdispleasing to Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami must have been surreptitiouslybrought on board. All the passengers were questioned in vain. Suddenlythe captain discerned upon the stem of a little brass pipe which one ofthe men was smoking, smoking in the face of death, like a true Japanese, the figure of a crowing cock! Needless to say, that pipe was thrownoverboard. Then the angry sea began to grow calm; and the little vesselsafely steamed into the holy port, and cast anchor before the greattorii of the shrine of the god!

º2

Concerning the reason why the Cock is thus detested by the Great Deityof Mionoseki, and banished from his domain, divers legends are told; butthe substance of all of them is about as follows: As we read in theKojiki, Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami, Son of the Great Deity of Kitsuki, waswont to go to Cape Miho, [1] 'to pursue birds and catch fish. ' And forother reasons also he used to absent himself from home at night, but hadalways to return before dawn. Now, in those days the Cock was histrusted servant, charged with the duty of crowing lustily when it wastime for the god to return. But one morning the bird failed in its duty;and the god, hurrying back in his boat, lost his oars, and had to paddlewith his hands; and his hands were bitten by the wicked fishes. 

Now the people of Yasugi, a pretty little town on the lagoon of Naka-umi, through which we pass upon our way to Mionoseki, most devoutlyworship the same Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami; and nevertheless in Yasugithere are multitudes of cocks and hens and chickens; and the eggs ofYasugi cannot be excelled for size and quality. And the people of Yasugiaver that one may better serve the deity by eating eggs than by doing asthe people of Mionoseki do; for whenever one eats a chicken or devoursan egg, one destroys an enemy of Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami. 

º3

From Matsue to Mionoseki by steamer is a charming journey in fairweather. After emerging from the beautiful lagoon of Naka-umi into theopen sea, the little packet follows the long coast of Izumo to the left. Very lofty this coast is, all cliffs and hills rising from the sea, mostly green to their summits, and many cultivated in terraces, so as tolook like green pyramids of steps. The bases of the cliffs are veryrocky; and the curious wrinklings and corrugations of the coast suggestthe work of ancient volcanic forces. Far away to the right, over bluestill leagues of sea, appears the long low shore of Hoki, faint as amirage, with its far beach like an endless white streak edging the bluelevel, and beyond it vapoury lines of woods and cloudy hills, and overeverything, looming into the high sky, the magnificent ghostly shape ofDaisen, snow-streaked at its summit. 

So for perhaps an hour we steam on, between Hoki and Izumo; the ruggedand broken green coast on our left occasionally revealing some miniaturehamlet sheltered in a wrinkle between two hills; the phantom coast onthe right always unchanged. Then suddenly the little packet whistles, heads for a grim promontory to port, glides by its rocky foot, andenters one of the prettiest little bays imaginable, previously concealedfrom view. A shell-shaped gap in the coast--a semicircular basin ofclear deep water, framed in by high corrugated green hills, all wood-clad. Around the edge of the bay the quaintest of little Japanesecities, Mionoseki. 

There is no beach, only a semicircle of stone wharves, and above thesethe houses, and above these the beautiful green of the sacred hills, with a temple roof or two showing an angle through the foliage. From therear of each house steps descend to deep water; and boats are moored atall the back-doors. We moor in front of the great temple, the Miojinja. Its great paved avenue slopes to the water's edge, where boats are alsomoored at steps of stone; and looking up the broad approach, one sees agrand stone torii, and colossal stone lanterns, and two magnificentsculptured lions, karashishi, seated upon lofty pedestals, and lookingdown upon the people from a height of fifteen feet or more. Beyond allthis the walls and gate of the outer temple court appear, and beyondthem, the roofs of the great haiden, and the pierced projecting cross-beams of the loftier Go-Miojin, the holy shrine itself, relieved againstthe green of the wooded hills. Picturesque junks are lying in ranks atanchor; there are two deep-sea vessels likewise, of modern build, shipsfrom Osaka. And there is a most romantic little breakwater built of hewnstone, with a stone lantern perched at the end of it; and there is apretty humped bridge connecting it with a tiny island on which I see ashrine of Benten, the Goddess of Waters. 

I wonder if I shall be able to get any eggs!

º4

Unto the pretty waiting maiden of the inn Shimaya I put this scandalousquestion, with an innocent face but a remorseful heart:

'Ano ne! tamago wa arimasenka?'

With the smile of a Kwannon she makes reply:-'He! Ahiru-no tamago-gasukoshi gozarimasu. '

Delicious surprise!

There augustly exist eggs--of ducks!

But there exist no ducks. For ducks could not find life worth living ina city where there is only deep-sea water. And all the ducks' eggs comefrom Sakai. 

º5

This pretty little hotel, whose upper chambers overlook the water, issituated at one end, or nearly at one end, of the crescent of Mionoseki, and the Miojinja almost at the other, so that one must walk through thewhole town to visit the temple, or else cross the harbour by boat. Butthe whole town is well worth seeing. It is so tightly pressed betweenthe sea and the bases of the hills that there is only room for one realstreet; and this is so narrow that a man could anywhere jump from thesecond story of a house upon the water-side into the second story of theopposite house upon the land-side. And it is as picturesque as it isnarrow, with its awnings and polished balconies and fluttering figureddraperies. From this main street several little ruelles slope to thewater's edge, where they terminate in steps; and in all these miniaturealleys long boats are lying, with their prows projecting over the edgeof the wharves, as if eager to plunge in. The temptation to take to thewater I find to be irresistible: before visiting the Miojinja I jumpfrom the rear of our hotel into twelve feet of limpid sea, and coolmyself by a swim across the harbour. 

On the way to Miojinja, I notice, in multitudes of little shops, fascinating displays of baskets and utensils made of woven bamboo. Finebamboo-ware is indeed the meibutsu, the special product of Mionoseki;and almost every visitor buys some nice little specimen to carry homewith him. 

The Miojinja is not in its architecture more remarkable than ordinaryShinto temples in Izumo; nor are its interior decorations worthdescribing in detail. Only the approach to it over the broad slopingspace of level pavement, under the granite torii, and between the greatlions and lamps of stone, is noble. Within the courts proper there isnot much to be seen except a magnificent tank of solid bronze, weighingtons, which must have cost many thousands of yen. It is a votiveoffering. Of more humble ex-votos, there is a queer collection in theshamusho or business building on the right of the haiden: a series ofquaintly designed and quaintly coloured pictures, representing ships ingreat storms, being guided or aided to port by the power of Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami. These are gifts from ships. 

The ofuda are not so curious as those of other famous Izumo temples; butthey are most eagerly sought for. Those strips of white paper, bearingthe deity's name, and a few words of promise, which are sold for a fewrin, are tied to rods of bamboo, and planted in all the fields of thecountry roundabout. The most curious things sold are tiny packages ofrice-seeds. It is alleged that whatever you desire will grow from theserice-seeds, if you plant them uttering a prayer. If you desire bamboos, cotton-plants, peas, lotus-plants, or watermelons, it matters not; onlyplant the seed and believe, and the desired crop will arise. 

º6

Much more interesting to me than the ofuda of the Miojinja are theyoraku, the pendent ex-votos in the Hojinji, a temple of the Zen sectwhich stands on the summit of the beautiful hill above the great Shintoshrine. Before an altar on which are ranged the images of the Thirty-three Kwannons, the thirty-three forms of that Goddess of Mercy whorepresents the ideal of all that is sweet and pure in the Japanesemaiden, a strange, brightly coloured mass of curious things may be seen, suspended from the carven ceiling. There are hundreds of balls ofworsted and balls of cotton thread of all colours; there are skeins ofsilk and patterns of silk weaving and of cotton weaving; there arebroidered purses in the shape of sparrows and other living creatures;there are samples of bamboo plaiting and countless specimens ofneedlework. All these are the votive offerings of school children, little girls only, to the Maid-mother of all grace and sweetness andpity. So soon as a baby girl learns something in the way of woman 'swork--sewing, or weaving, or knitting, or broidering, she brings herfirst successful effort to the temple as an offering to the gentledivinity, 'whose eyes are beautiful, ' she 'who looketh down above thesound of prayer. ' Even the infants of the Japanese kindergarten bringtheir first work here--pretty paper-cuttings, scissored out and plaitedinto divers patterns by their own tiny flower-soft hands. 

º7

Very sleepy and quiet by day is Mionoseki: only at long intervals onehears laughter of children, or the chant of oarsmen rowing the mostextraordinary boats I ever saw outside of the tropics; boats heavy asbarges, which require ten men to move them. These stand naked to thework, wielding oars with cross-handles (imagine a letter T with thelower end lengthened out into an oar-blade). And at every pull they pushtheir feet against the gunwales to give more force to the stroke;intoning in every pause a strange refrain of which the soft melancholycalls back to me certain old Spanish Creole melodies heard in WestIndian waters:

A-ra-ho-no-san-no-sa, Iya-ho-en-ya! Ghi! Ghi!

The chant begins with a long high note, and descends by fractional toneswith almost every syllable, and faints away a last into an almostindistinguishable hum. Then comes the stroke, 'Ghi!--ghi!'

But at night Mionoseki is one of the noisiest and merriest little havensof Western Japan. From one horn of its crescent to the other the firesof the shokudai, which are the tall light of banquets, mirror themselvesin the water; and the whole air palpitates with sounds of revelry. Everywhere one hears the booming of the tsudzumi, the little hand-drumsof the geisha, and sweet plaintive chants of girls, and tinkling ofsamisen, and the measured clapping of hands in the dance, and the wildcries and laughter of the players at ken. And all these are but echoesof the diversions of sailors. Verily, the nature of sailors differs butlittle the world over. Every good ship which visits Mionoseki leavesthere, so I am assured, from three hundred to five hundred yen for sakeand for dancing-girls. Much do these mariners pray the Great Deity whohates eggs to make calm the waters and favourable the winds, so thatMionoseki may be reached in good time without harm. But having comehither over an unruffled sea with fair soft breezes all the way, smallindeed is the gift which they give to the temple of the god, andmarvellously large the sums which they pay unto geisha and keepers oftaverns. But the god is patient and longsuffering--except in the matterof eggs. 

However, these Japanese seamen are very gentle compared with our ownJack Tars, and not without a certain refinement and politeness of theirown. I see them sitting naked to the waist at their banquets; for it isvery hot, but they use their chopsticks as daintily and pledge eachother in sake almost as graciously as men of a better class. Likewisethey seem to treat their girls very kindly. It is quite pleasant towatch them feasting across the street. Perhaps their laughter issomewhat more boisterous and their gesticulation a little more vehementthan those of the common citizens; but there is nothing resembling realroughness--much less rudeness. All become motionless and silent asstatues--fifteen fine bronzes ranged along the wall of the zashiki, [2]-when some pretty geisha begins one of those histrionic dances which, to the Western stranger, seem at first mysterious as a performance ofwitchcraft--but which really are charming translations of legend andstory into the language of living grace and the poetry of woman's smile. And as the wine flows, the more urbane becomes the merriment--untilthere falls upon all that pleasant sleepiness which sake brings, and theguests, one by one, smilingly depart. Nothing could be happier orgentler than their evening's joviality--yet sailors are considered inJapan an especially rough class. What would be thought of our own roughsin such a country?

Well, I have been fourteen months in Izumo; and I have not yet heardvoices raised in anger, or witnessed a quarrel: never have I seen oneman strike another, or a woman bullied, or a child slapped. Indeed Ihave never seen any real roughness anywhere that I have been in Japan, except at the open ports, where the poorer classes seem, through contactwith Europeans, to lose their natural politeness, their native morals--even their capacity for simple happiness. 

º8

Last night I saw the seamen of Old Japan: to-day I shall see those ofNew Japan. An apparition in the offing has filled all this little portwith excitement--an Imperial man-of-war. Everybody is going out to lookat her; and all the long boats that were lying in the alleys are alreadyhastening, full of curious folk, to the steel colossus. A cruiser of thefirst class, with a crew of five hundred. 

I take passage in one of those astounding craft I mentioned before--asort of barge propelled by ten exceedingly strong naked men, wieldingenormous oars--or rather, sweeps--with cross-handles. But I do not goalone: indeed I can scarcely find room to stand, so crowded the boat iswith passengers of all ages, especially women who are nervous aboutgoing to sea in an ordinary sampan. And a dancing-girl jumps into thecrowd at the risk of her life, just as we push off--and burns her armagainst my cigar in the jump. I am very sorry for her; but she laughsmerrily at my solicitude. And the rowers begin their melancholysomnolent song-

A-ra-ho-no-san-no-sa, Iya-ho-en-ya! Ghi! Ghi!

It is a long pull to reach her--the beautiful monster, toweringmotionless there in the summer sea, with scarce a curling of thin smokefrom the mighty lungs of her slumbering engines; and that somnolent songof our boatmen must surely have some ancient magic in it; for by thetime we glide alongside I feel as if I were looking at a dream. Strangeas a vision of sleep, indeed, this spectacle: the host of quaint crafthovering and trembling around that tremendous bulk; and all the long-robed, wide-sleeved multitude of the antique port--men, women, children-the grey and the young together--crawling up those mighty flanks inone ceaseless stream, like a swarming of ants. And all this with a greathumming like the humming of a hive, --a sound made up of low laughter, and chattering in undertones, and subdued murmurs of amazement. For thecolossus overawes them--this ship of the Tenshi-Sama, the Son ofHeaven; and they wonder like babies at the walls and the turrets ofsteel, and the giant guns and the mighty chains, and the stern bearingof the white-uniformed hundreds looking down upon the scene without asmile, over the iron bulwarks. Japanese those also--yet changed by somemysterious process into the semblance of strangers. Only the experiencedeye could readily decide the nationality of those stalwart marines: butfor the sight of the Imperial arms in gold, and the glimmeringideographs upon the stern, one might well suppose one's self gazing atsome Spanish or Italian ship-of-war manned by brown Latin men. 

I cannot possibly get on board. The iron steps are occupied by anendless chain of clinging bodies--blue-robed boys from school, and oldmen with grey queues, and fearless young mothers holding fast to theropes with over-confident babies strapped to their backs, and peasants, and fishers, and dancing-girls. They are now simply sticking there likeflies: somebody-has told them they must wait fifteen minutes. So theywait with smiling patience, and behind them in the fleet of high-prowedboats hundreds more wait and wonder. But they do not wait for fifteenminutes! All hopes are suddenly shattered by a stentorian announcementfrom the deck: 'Mo jikan ga naikara, miseru koto dekimasen!' Themonster is getting up steam--going away: nobody else will be allowed tocome on board. And from the patient swarm of clingers to the hand-ropes, and the patient waiters in the fleet of boats, there goes up oneexceedingly plaintive and prolonged 'Aa!' of disappointment, followed byartless reproaches in Izumo dialect: 'Gun-jin wa uso iwanuka to omoya!-uso-tsuki dana!--aa! so dana!' ('War-people-as-for-lies-never-say-that-we-thought!--Aa-aa-aa!') Apparently the gunjin are accustomed to suchscenes; for they do not even smile. 

But we linger near the cruiser to watch the hurried descent of thesightseers into their boats, and the slow ponderous motion of the chain-cables ascending, and the swarming of sailors down over the bows tofasten and unfasten mysterious things. One, bending head-downwards, drops his white cap; and there is a race of boats for the honour ofpicking it up. A marine leaning over the bulwarks audibly observes to acomrade: 'Aa! gwaikojn dana!--nani ski ni kite iru daro?'--The othervainly suggests: 'Yasu-no-senkyoshi daro. ' My Japanese costume does notdisguise the fact that I am an alien; but it saves me from theimputation of being a missionary. I remain an enigma. Then there areloud cries of 'Abunail'--if the cruiser were to move now there would beswamping and crushing and drowning unspeakable. All the little boatsscatter and flee away. 

Our ten naked oarsmen once more bend to their cross-handled oars, andrecommence their ancient melancholy song. And as we glide back, therecomes to me the idea of the prodigious cost of that which we went forthto see, the magnificent horror of steel and steam and all the multipleenginery of death--paid for by those humble millions who toil for everknee-deep in the slime of rice-fields, yet can never afford to eat theirown rice! Far cheaper must be the food they live upon; and nevertheless, merely to protect the little that they own, such nightmares must becalled into existence--monstrous creations of science mathematicallyapplied to the ends of destruction. 

How delightful Mionoseki now seems, drowsing far off there under itsblue tiles at the feet of the holy hills!--immemorial Mionoseki, withits lamps and lions of stone, and its god who hates eggs!--prettyfantastic Mionoseki, where all things, save the schools, are medievalstill: the high-pooped junks, and the long-nosed boats, and theplaintive chants of oarsmen!

A-ra-ho-no-san-no-sa, Iya-ho-en-ya! Ghi! Ghi!

And we touch the mossed and ancient wharves of stone again: over onemile of lucent sea we have floated back a thousand years! I turn to lookat the place of that sinister vision--and lo!--there is nothing there!Only the level blue of the flood under the hollow blue of the sky--and, just beyond the promontory, one far, small white speck: the sail of ajunk. The horizon is naked. Gone!--but how soundlessly, how swiftly!She makes nineteen knots. And, oh! Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami, thereprobably existed eggs on board!

Chapter ElevenNotes on Kitzuki

º1

KITZUKI, July 20, 1891. 

AKIRA is no longer with me. He has gone to Kyoto, the holy Buddhistcity, to edit a Buddhist magazine; and I already feel without him likeone who has lost his way--despite his reiterated assurances that hecould never be of much service to me in Izumo, as he knew nothing aboutShinto. 

But for the time being I am to have plenty of company at Kitzuki, whereI am spending the first part of the summer holidays; for the little cityis full of students and teachers who know me. Kitzuki is not only theholiest place in the San-indo; it is also the most fashionable bathingresort. The beach at Inasa bay is one of the best in all Japan; thebeach hotels are spacious, airy, and comfortable; and the bathinghouses, with hot and cold freshwater baths in which to wash off thebrine after a swim, are simply faultless. And in fair weather, thescenery is delightful, as you look out over the summer space of sea. Closing the bay on the right, there reaches out from the hillsovershadowing the town a mighty, rugged, pine-clad spur--the Kitzukipromontory. On the left a low long range of mountains serrate thehorizon beyond the shore-sweep, with one huge vapoury shape toweringblue into the blue sky behind them--the truncated silhouette ofSanbeyama. Before you the Japanese Sea touches the sky. And there, uponstill clear nights, there appears a horizon of fire--the torches ofhosts of fishing-boats riding at anchor three and four miles away--sonumerous that their lights seem to the naked eye a band of unbrokenflame. 

The Guji has invited me and one of my friends to see a great harvestdance at his residence on the evening of the festival of Tenjin. Thisdance--Honen-odori--is peculiar to Izumo; and the opportunity towitness it in this city is a rare one, as it is going to be performedonly by order of the Guji. 

The robust pontiff himself loves the sea quite as much as anyone inKitzuki; yet he never enters a beach hotel, much less a public bathinghouse. For his use alone a special bathing house has been built upon aledge of the cliff overhanging the little settlement of Inasa: it isapproached by a narrow pathway shadowed by pine-trees; and there is atorii before it, and shimenawa. To this little house the Guji ascendsdaily during the bathing season, accompanied by a single attendant, whoprepares his bathing dresses, and spreads the clean mats upon which herests after returning from the sea. The Guji always bathes robed. No onebut himself and his servant ever approaches the little house, whichcommands a charming view of the bay: public reverence for the pontiff'sperson has made even his resting-place holy ground. As for the country-folk, they still worship him with hearts and bodies. They have ceased tobelieve as they did in former times, that anyone upon whom the Kokuzofixes his eye at once becomes unable to speak or move; but when hepasses among them through the temple court they still prostratethemselves along his way, as before the Ikigami. 

KITZUKI, July 23rd

Always, through the memory of my first day at Kitzuki, there will passthe beautiful white apparition of the Miko, with her perfect passionlessface, and strange, gracious, soundless tread, as of a ghost. 

Her name signifies 'the Pet, ' or 'The Darling of the Gods, '-Mi-ko. 

The kind Guji, at my earnest request, procured me--or rather, had takenfor me--a photograph of the Miko, in the attitude of her dance, upholding the mystic suzu, and wearing, over her crimson hakama, thesnowy priestess-robe descending to her feet. 

And the learned priest Sasa told me these things concerning the Pet ofthe Gods, and the Miko-kagura--which is the name of her sacred dance. 

Contrary to the custom at the other great Shinto temples of Japan, suchas Ise, the office of miko at Kitzuki has always been hereditary. Formerly there were in Kitzuki more than thirty families whose daughtersserved the Oho-yashiro as miko: to-day there are but two, and the numberof virgin priestesses does not exceed six--the one whose portrait Iobtained being the chief. At Ise and elsewhere the daughter of anyShinto priest may become a miko; but she cannot serve in that capacityafter becoming nubile; so that, except in Kitzuki, the miko of all thegreater temples are children from ten to twelve years of age. But at theKitzuki Oho-yashiro the maiden-priestesses are beautiful girls ofbetween sixteen and nineteen years of age; and sometimes a favouritemiko is allowed to continue to serve the gods even after having beenmarried. The sacred dance is not difficult to learn: the mother orsister teaches it to the child destined to serve in the temple. The mikolives at home, and visits the temple only upon festival days to performher duties. She is not placed under any severe discipline orrestrictions; she takes no special vows; she risks no dreadful penaltiesfor ceasing to remain a virgin. But her position being one of highhonour, and a source of revenue to her family, the ties which bind herto duty are scarcely less cogent than those vows taken by thepriestesses of the antique Occident. 

Like the priestesses of Delphi, the miko was in ancient times also adivineress--a living oracle, uttering the secrets of the future whenpossessed by the god whom she served. At no temple does the miko now actas sibyl, oracular priestess, or divineress. But there still exists aclass of divining-women, who claim to hold communication with the dead, and to foretell the future, and who call themselves miko--practisingtheir profession secretly; for it has been prohibited by law. 

In the various great Shinto shrines of the Empire the Mikokagura isdifferently danced. In Kitzuki, most ancient of all, the dance is themost simple and the most primitive. Its purpose being to give pleasureto the gods, religious conservatism has preserved its traditions andsteps unchanged since the period of the beginning of the faith. Theorigin of this dance is to be found in the Kojiki legend of the dance ofAme-nouzume-no-mikoto--she by whose mirth and song the Sun-goddess waslured from the cavern into which she had retired, and brought back toilluminate the world. And the suzu--the strange bronze instrument withits cluster of bells which the miko uses in her dance--still preservesthe form of that bamboo-spray to which Ame-no-uzume-no-mikoto fastenedsmall bells with grass, ere beginning her mirthful song. 

º4

Behind the library in the rear of the great shrine, there stands a moreancient structure which is still called the Miko-yashiki, or dwelling-place of the miko. Here in former times all the maiden-priestesses wereobliged to live, under a somewhat stricter discipline than now. By daythey could go out where they pleased; but they were under obligation toreturn at night to the yashiki before the gates of the court wereclosed. For it was feared that the Pets of the Gods might so far forgetthemselves as to condescend to become the darlings of adventurousmortals. Nor was the fear at all unreasonable; for it was the duty of amiko to be singularly innocent as well as beautiful. And one of the mostbeautiful miko who belonged to the service of the Oho-yashiro didactually so fall from grace--giving to the Japanese world a romancewhich you can buy in cheap printed form at any large bookstore in Japan. 

Her name was O-Kuni, and she was the daughter of one Nakamura Mongoro ofKitzuki, where her descendants still live at the present day. Whileserving as dancer in the great temple she fell in love with a roninnamed Nagoya Sanza--a desperate, handsome vagabond, with no fortune inthe world but his sword. And she left the temple secretly, and fled awaywith her lover toward Kyoto. All this must have happened not less thanthree hundred years ago. 

On their way to Kyoto they met another ronin, whose real name I have notbeen able to learn. For a moment only this 'wave-man' figures in thestory, and immediately vanishes into the eternal Night of death and allforgotten things. It is simply recorded that he desired permission totravel with them, that he became enamoured of the beautiful miko, andexcited the jealousy of her lover to such an extent that a desperateduel was the result, in which Sanza slew his rival. 

Thereafter the fugitives pursued their way to Kyoto without otherinterruption. Whether the fair O-Kuni had by this time found amplereason to regret the step she had taken, we cannot know. But from thestory of her after-life it would seem that the face of the handsomeronin who had perished through his passion for her became a hauntingmemory. 

We next hear of her in a strange role at Kyoto. Her lover appears tohave been utterly destitute; for, in order to support him, we find hergiving exhibitions of the Miko-kagura in the Shijo-Kawara--which is thename given to a portion of the dry bed of the river Kamagawa--doubtlessthe same place in which the terrible executions by torture took place. She must have been looked upon by the public of that day as an outcast. But her extraordinary beauty seems to have attracted many spectators, and to have proved more than successful as an exhibition. Sanza's pursebecame well filled. Yet the dance of O-Kuni in the Shijo-Kawara wasnothing more than the same dance which the miko of Kitzuki dance to-day, in their crimson hakama and snowy robes--a graceful gliding walk. 

The pair next appear in Tokyo--or, as it was then called, Yedo--asactors. O-Kuni, indeed, is universally credited by tradition, withhaving established the modern Japanese stage--the first profane drama. Before her time only religious plays, of Buddhist authorship, seem tohave been known. Sanza himself became a popular and successful actor, under his sweetheart's tuition. He had many famous pupils, among themthe great Saruwaka, who subsequently founded a theatre in Yedo; and thetheatre called after him Saruwakaza, in the street Saruwakacho, remainseven unto this day. But since the time of O-Kuni, women have been--atleast until very recently-excluded from the Japanese stage; theirparts, as among the old Greeks, being taken by men or boys so effeminatein appearance and so skilful in acting that the keenest observer couldnever detect their sex. 

Nagoya Sanza died many years before his companion. O-Kuni then returnedto her native place, to ancient Kitzuki, where she cut off her beautifulhair, and became a Buddhist nun. She was learned for her century, andespecially skilful in that art of poetry called Renga; and this art shecontinued to teach until her death. With the small fortune she hadearned as an actress she built in Kitzuki the little Buddhist templecalled Rengaji, in the very heart of the quaint town--so called becausethere she taught the art of Renga. Now the reason she built the templewas that she might therein always pray for the soul of the man whom thesight of her beauty had ruined, and whose smile, perhaps, had stirredsomething within her heart whereof Sanza never knew. Her family enjoyedcertain privileges for several centuries because she had founded thewhole art of the Japanese stage; and until so recently as theRestoration the chief of the descendants of Nakamura Mongoro was alwaysentitled to a share in the profits of the Kitzuki theatre, and enjoyedthe title of Zamoto. The family is now, however, very poor. 

I went to see the little temple of Rengaji, and found that it haddisappeared. Until within a few years it used to stand at the foot ofthe great flight of stone steps leading to the second Kwannondera, themost imposing temple of Kwannon in Kitzuki. Nothing now remains of theRengaji but a broken statue of Jizo, before which the people still pray. The former court of the little temple has been turned into a vegetablegarden, and the material of the ancient building utilised, irreverentlyenough, for the construction of some petty cottages now occupying itssite. A peasant told me that the kakemono and other sacred objects hadbeen given to the neighbouring temple, where they might be seen. 

º5

Not far from the site of the Rengaji, in the grounds of the great hakabaof the Kwannondera, there stands a most curious pine. The trunk of thetree is supported, not on the ground, but upon four colossal roots whichlift it up at such an angle that it looks like a thing walking upon fourlegs. Trees of singular shape are often considered to be the dwelling-places of Kami; and the pine in question affords an example of thisbelief. A fence has been built around it, and a small shrine placedbefore it, prefaced by several small torii; and many poor people may beseen, at almost any hour of the day, praying to the Kami of the place. Before the little shrine I notice, besides the usual Kitzuki ex-voto ofseaweed, several little effigies of horses made of straw. Why theseofferings of horses of straw? It appears that the shrine is dedicated toKoshin, the Lord of Roads; and those who are anxious about the health oftheir horses pray to the Road-God to preserve their animals fromsickness and death, at the same time bringing these straw effigies intoken of their desire. But this role of veterinarian is not commonlyattributed to Koshin;--and it appears that something in the fantasticform of the tree suggested the idea. 

º6 KITZUKI, July 24th

Within the first court of the Oho-yashiro, and to the left of the chiefgate, stands a small timber structure, ashen-coloured with age, shapedlike a common miya or shrine. To the wooden gratings of its closed doorsare knotted many of those white papers upon which are usually writtenvows or prayers to the gods. But on peering through the grating one seesno Shinto symbols in the dimness within. It is a stable! And there, inthe central stall, is a superb horse--looking at you. Japanesehorseshoes of straw are suspended to the wall behind him. He does notmove. He is made of bronze!

Upon inquiring of the learned priest Sasa the story of this horse, I wastold the following curious things:

On the eleventh day of the seventh month, by the ancient calendar, [1]falls the strange festival called Minige, or 'The Body escaping. ' Uponthat day, 'tis said that the Great Deity of Kitzuki leaves his shrine topass through all the streets of the city, and along the seashore, afterwhich he enters into the house of the Kokuzo. Wherefore upon that daythe Kokuzo was always wont to leave his house; and at the present time, though he does not actually abandon his home, he and his family retireinto certain apartments, so as to leave the larger part of the dwellingfree for the use of the god. This retreat of the Kokuzo is still calledthe Minige. 

Now while the great Deity Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami is passing through thestreets, he is followed by the highest Shinto priest of the shrine--this kannushi having been formerly called Bekkwa. The word 'Bekkwa'means 'special' or 'sacred fire'; and the chief kannushi was so calledbecause for a week before the festival he had been nourished only withspecial food cooked with the sacred fire, so that he might be pure inthe presence of the God. And the office of Bekkwa was hereditary; andthe appellation at last became a family name. But he who performs therite to-day is no longer called Bekkwa. 

Now while performing his function, if the Bekkwa met anyone upon thestreet, he ordered him to stand aside with the words: 'Dog, give way!'And the common people believed, and still believe, that anybody thusspoken to by the officiating kannushi would be changed into a dog. So onthat day of the Minige nobody used to go out into the streets after acertain hour, and even now very few of the people of the little cityleave their homes during the festival. [2]

After having followed the deity through all the city, the Bekkwa used toperform, between two and three o'clock in the darkness of the morning, some secret rite by the seaside. (I am told this rite is still annuallyperformed at the same hour. ) But, except the Bekkwa himself, no manmight be present; and it was believed, and is still believed by thecommon people, that were any man, by mischance, to see the rite he wouldinstantly fall dead, or become transformed into an animal. 

So sacred was the secret of that rite, that the Bekkwa could not evenutter it until after he was dead, to his successor in office. 

Therefore, when he died, the body was laid upon the matting of a certaininner chamber of the temple, and the son was left alone with the corpse, after all the doors had been carefully closed. Then, at a certain hourof the night, the soul returned into the body of the dead priest, and helifted himself up, and whispered the awful secret into the ear of hisson--and fell back dead again. 

But what, you may ask, has all this to do with the Horse of Bronze?

Only this:

Upon the festival of the Minige, the Great Deity of Kitzuki ridesthrough the streets of his city upon the Horse of Bronze. 

º7

The Horse of Bronze, however, is far from being the only statue in Izumowhich is believed to run about occasionally at night: at least a scoreof other artistic things are, or have been, credited with similarghastly inclinations. The great carven dragon which writhes above theentrance of the Kitzuki haiden used, I am told, to crawl about the roofsat night--until a carpenter was summoned to cut its wooden throat witha chisel, after which it ceased its perambulations. You can see foryourself the mark of the chisel on its throat! At the splendid Shintotemple of Kasuga, in Matsue, there are two pretty life-size bronze deer, -stag and doe--the heads of which seemed to me to have been separatelycast, and subsequently riveted very deftly to the bodies. Nevertheless Ihave been assured by some good country-folk that each figure wasoriginally a single casting, but that it was afterwards found necessaryto cut off the heads of the deer to make them keep quiet at night. Butthe most unpleasant customer of all this uncanny fraternity to haveencountered after dark was certainly the monster tortoise of Gesshojitemple in Matsue, where the tombs of the Matsudairas are. This stonecolossus is almost seventeen feet in length and lifts its head six feetfrom the ground. On its now broken back stands a prodigious cubicmonolith about nine feet high, bearing a half-obliterated inscription. Fancy--as Izumo folks did--this mortuary incubus staggering abroad atmidnight, and its hideous attempts to swim in the neighbouring lotus-pond! Well, the legend runs that its neck had to be broken inconsequence of this awful misbehaviour. But really the thing looks as ifit could only have been broken by an earthquake. 

º8 KITZUKI, July 25th. At the Oho-yashiro it is the annual festival ofthe God of Scholarship, the God of Calligraphy--Tenjin. Here inKitzuki, the festival of the Divine Scribe, the Tenjin-Matsuri, is stillobserved according to the beautiful old custom which is being forgottenelsewhere. Long ranges of temporary booths have been erected within theouter court of the temple; and in these are suspended hundreds of longwhite tablets, bearing specimens of calligraphy. Every schoolboy inKitzuki has a sample of his best writing on exhibition. The texts arewritten only in Chinese characters--not in hirakana or katakana-andare mostly drawn from the works of Confucius or Mencius. 

To me this display of ideographs seems a marvellous thing of beauty--almost a miracle, indeed, since it is all the work of very, very youngboys. Rightly enough, the word 'to write' (kaku) in Japanese signifiesalso to 'paint' in the best artistic sense. I once had an opportunity ofstudying the result of an attempt to teach English children the art ofwriting Japanese. These children were instructed by a Japanese writing-master; they sat upon the same bench with Japanese pupils of their ownage, beginners likewise. But they could never learn like the Japanesechildren. The ancestral tendencies within them rendered vain the effortsof the instructor to teach them the secret of a shapely stroke with thebrush. It is not the Japanese boy alone who writes; the fingers of thedead move his brush, guide his strokes. 

Beautiful, however, as this writing seems to me, it is far from winningthe commendation of my Japanese companion, himself a much experiencedteacher. 'The greater part of this work, ' he declares, 'is very bad. 'While I am still bewildered by this sweeping criticism, he points out tome one tablet inscribed with rather small characters, adding: 'Only thatis tolerably good. '

'Why, ' I venture to observe, 'that one would seem to have cost much lesstrouble; the characters are so small. '

'Oh, the size of the characters has nothing to do with the matter, 'interrupts the master, 'it is a question of form. '

'Then I cannot understand. What you call very bad seems to meexquisitely beautiful. '

'Of course you cannot understand, ' the critic replies; 'it would takeyou many years of study to understand. And even then-, 'And even then?'

'Well, even then you could only partly understand. '

Thereafter I hold my peace on the topic of calligraphy. 

º9

Vast as the courts of the Oho-yashiro are, the crowd within them is nowso dense that one must move very slowly, for the whole population ofKitzuki and its environs has been attracted here by the matsuri. All aremaking their way very gently toward a little shrine built upon an islandin the middle of an artificial lake and approached by a narrow causeway. This little shrine, which I see now for the first time (Kitzuki templebeing far too large a place to be all seen and known in a single visit), is the Shrine of Tenjin. As the sound of a waterfall is the sound of theclapping of hands before it, and myriads of nin, and bushels of handfulsof rice, are being dropped into the enormous wooden chest there placedto receive the offerings. Fortunately this crowd, like all Japanesecrowds, is so sympathetically yielding that it is possible to traverseit slowly in any direction, and thus to see all there is to be seen. After contributing my mite to the coffer of Tenjin, I devote myattention to the wonderful display of toys in the outer counts. 

At almost every temple festival in Japan there is a great sale of toys, usually within the count itself--a miniature street of small boothsbeing temporarily erected for this charming commence. Every matsuri is achildren's holiday. No mother would think of attending a temple-festivalwithout buying her child a toy: even the poorest mother can afford it;for the price of the toys sold in a temple court varies from one-fifthof one sen [3] or Japanese cent, to three or four sen; toys worth somuch as five sen being rarely displayed at these little shops. But cheapas they are, these frail playthings are full of beauty andsuggestiveness, and, to one who knows and loves Japan, infinitely moreinteresting than the costliest inventions of a Parisian toy-manufacturer. Many of them, however, would be utterly incomprehensibleto an English child. Suppose we peep at a few of them. 

Here is a little wooden mallet, with a loose tiny ball fitted into asocket at the end of the handle. This is for the baby to suck. On eitherend of the head of the mallet is painted the mystic tomoye--thatChinese symbol, resembling two huge commas so united as to make aperfect circle, which you may have seen on the title-page of Mr. Lowell's beautiful Soul of the Far East. To you, however, this littlewooden mallet would seem in all probability just a little wooden malletand nothing more. But to the Japanese child it is full of suggestions. It is the mallet of the Great Deity of Kitzuki, Ohokuni-nushi-no-Kami--vulgarly called Daikoku--the God of Wealth, who, by one stroke of hishammer, gives fortune to his worshippers. 

Perhaps this tiny drum, of a form never seen in the Occident (tsudzumi), or this larger drum with a mitsudomoye, or triple-comma symbol, paintedon each end, might seem to you without religious signification; but bothare models of drums used in the Shinto and the Buddhist temples. Thisqueer tiny table is a miniature sambo: it is upon such a table thatofferings are presented to the gods. This curious cap is a model of thecap of a Shinto priest. Here is a toy miya, or Shinto shrine, fourinches high. This bunch of tiny tin bells attached to a wooden handlemight seem to you something corresponding to our Occidental tin rattles;but it is a model of the sacred suzu used by the virgin priestess in herdance before the gods. This face of a smiling chubby girl, with twospots upon her forehead-a mask of baked clay--is the traditional imageof Ame-no-uzume-no-mikoto, commonly called Otafuku, whose merrylaughter lured the Goddess of the Sun out of the cavern of darkness. Andhere is a little Shinto priest in full hieratic garb: when this littlestring between his feet is pulled, he claps his hands as if in prayer. 

Hosts of other toys are here--mysterious to the uninitiated European, but to the Japanese child full of delightful religious meaning. In thesefaiths of the Far East there is little of sternness or grimness--theKami are but the spirits of the fathers of the people; the Buddhas andthe Bosatsu were men. Happily the missionaries have not succeeded as yetin teaching the Japanese to make religion a dismal thing. These godssmile for ever: if you find one who frowns, like Fudo, the frown seemsbut half in earnest; it is only Emma, the Lord of Death, who somewhatappals. Why religion should be considered too awful a subject forchildren to amuse themselves decently with never occurs to the commonJapanese mind. So here we have images of the gods and saints for toys--Tenjin, the Deity of Beautiful Writing--and Uzume, the laughter-loving-and Fukusuke, like a happy schoolboy--and the Seven Divinities ofGood Luck, in a group--and Fukurojin, the God of Longevity, with headso elongated that only by the aid of a ladder can his barber shave thetop of it--and Hotei, with a belly round and huge as a balloon--andEbisu, the Deity of Markets and of fishermen, with a tai-fish under hisarm--and Daruma, ancient disciple of Buddha, whose legs were worn offby uninterrupted meditation. 

Here likewise are many toys which a foreigner could scarcely guess themeaning of, although they have no religious signification. Such is thislittle badger, represented as drumming upon its own belly with bothforepaws. The badger is believed to be able to use its belly like adrum, and is credited by popular superstition with various supernaturalpowers. This toy illustrates a pretty fairy-tale about some hunter whospared a badger's life and was rewarded by the creature with a wonderfuldinner and a musical performance. Here is a hare sitting on the end ofthe handle of a wooden pestle which is set horizontally upon a pivot. Bypulling a little string, the pestle is made to rise and fall as if movedby the hare. If you have been even a week in Japan you will recognisethe pestle as the pestle of a kometsuki, or rice-cleaner, who works itby treading on the handle. But what is the hare? This hare is the Hare-in-the-Moon, called Usagi-no-kometsuki: if you look up at the moon on aclear night you can see him cleaning his rice. 

Now let us see what we can discover in the way of cheap ingenuities. 

Tombo, 'the Dragon-Fly. ' Merely two bits of wood joined together in theform of a T. The lower part is a little round stick, about as thick as amatch, but twice as long; the upper piece is flat, and streaked withpaint. Unless you are accustomed to look for secrets, you would scarcelybe able to notice that the flat piece is trimmed along two edges at aparticular angle. Twirl the lower piece rapidly between the palms ofboth hands, and suddenly let it go. At once the strange toy risesrevolving in the air, and then sails away slowly to quite a distance, performing extraordinary gyrations, and imitating exactly--to the eyeat least--the hovering motion of a dragon-fly. Those little streaks ofpaint you noticed upon the top-piece now reveal their purpose; as thetombo darts hither and thither, even the tints appear to be those of areal dragon-fly; and even the sound of the flitting toy imitates thedragon-fly's hum. The principle of this pretty invention is much likethat of the boomerang; and an expert can make his tombo, after flyingacross a large room, return into his hand. All the tombo sold, however, are not as good as this one; we have been lucky. Price, one-tenth of onecent!

Here is a toy which looks like a bow of bamboo strung with wire. Thewire, however, is twisted into a corkscrew spiral. On this spiral a pairof tiny birds are suspended by a metal loop. When the bow is heldperpendicularly with the birds at the upper end of the string, theydescend whirling by their own weight, as if circling round one another;and the twittering of two birds is imitated by the sharp grating of themetal loop upon the spiral wire. One bird flies head upward, and theother tail upward. As soon as they have reached the bottom, reverse thebow, and they will recommence their wheeling flight. Price, two cents--because the wire is dear. 

O-Saru, the 'Honourable Monkey. ' [4] A little cotton monkey, with a bluehead and scarlet body, hugging a bamboo rod. Under him is a bamboospring; and when you press it, he runs up to the top of the rod. Price, one-eighth of one cent. 

O-Saru. Another Honourable Monkey. This one is somewhat more complex inhis movements, and costs a cent. He runs up a string, hand over hand, when you pull his tail. 

Tori-Kago. A tiny gilded cage, with a bird in it, and plum flowers. Press the edges of the bottom of the cage, and a minuscule wind-instrument imitates the chirping of the bird. Price, one cent. 

Karuwazashi, the Acrobat. A very loose-jointed wooden boy clinging withboth hands to a string stretched between two bamboo sticks, which arecuriously rigged together in the shape of an open pair of scissors. Press the ends of the sticks at the bottom; and the acrobat tosses hislegs over the string, seats himself upon it, and finally turns asomersault. Price, one-sixth of one cent. 

Kobiki, the Sawyer. A figure of a Japanese workman, wearing only afundoshi about his loins, and standing on a plank, with a long saw inhis hands. If you pull a string below his feet, he will go to work ingood earnest, sawing the plank. Notice that he pulls the saw towardshim, like a true Japanese, instead of pushing it from him, as our owncarpenters do. Price, one-tenth of one cent. 

Chie-no-ita, the 'Intelligent Boards, ' or better, perhaps, 'The Planksof Intelligence. ' A sort of chain composed of about a dozen flat squarepieces of white wood, linked together by ribbons. Hold the thingperpendicularly by one end-piece; then turn the piece at right angles tothe chain; and immediately all the other pieces tumble over each otherin the most marvellous way without unlinking. Even an adult can amusehimself for half an hour with this: it is a perfect trompe-l'oeil inmechanical adjustment. Price, one cent. 

Kitsune-Tanuki. A funny flat paper mask with closed eyes. If you pull apasteboard slip behind it, it will open its eyes and put out a tongue ofsurprising length. Price, one-sixth of one cent. 

Chin. A little white dog, with a collar round its neck. It is in theattitude of barking. From a Buddhist point of view, I should think thistoy somewhat immoral. For when you slap the dog's head, it utters asharp yelp, as of pain. Price, one sen and five rin. Rather dear. 

Fuki-agari-koboshi, the Wrestler Invincible. This is still dearer; forit is made of porcelain, and very nicely coloured The wrestler squatsupon his hams. Push him down in any direction, he always returns of hisown accord to an erect position. Price, two sen. 

Oroga-Heika-Kodomo, the Child Reverencing His Majesty the Emperor. AJapanese schoolboy with an accordion in his hands, singing and playingthe national anthem, or Kimiga. There is a little wind-bellows at thebottom of the toy; and when you operate it, the boy's arms move as ifplaying the instrument, and a shrill small voice is heard. Price, onecent and a half. 

Jishaku. This, like the preceding, is quite a modern toy. A small woodenbox containing a magnet and a tiny top made of a red wooden button witha steel nail driven through it. Set the top spinning with a twirl of thefingers; then hold the magnet over the nail, and the top will leap up tothe magnet and there continue to spin, suspended in air. Price, onecent. 

It would require at least a week to examine them all. Here is a modelspinning-wheel, absolutely perfect, for one-fifth of one cent. Here arelittle clay tortoises which swim about when you put them into water--one rin for two. Here is a box of toy-soldiers--samurai in full armour--nine rin only. Here is a Kaze-Kuruma, or wind-wheel--a wooden whistlewith a paper wheel mounted before the orifice by which the breath isexpelled, so that the wheel turns furiously when the whistle is blown--three rin. Here is an Ogi, a sort of tiny quadruple fan sliding in asheath. When expanded it takes the shape of a beautiful flower--onerin. 	. 

The most charming of all these things to me, however, is a tiny doll--O-Hina-San (Honourable Miss Hina)--or beppin ('beautiful woman'). Thebody is a phantom, only--a flat stick covered with a paper kimono--butthe head is really a work of art. A pretty oval face with softlyshadowed oblique eyes--looking shyly downward--and a wonderful maidencoiffure, in which the hair is arranged in bands and volutes andellipses and convolutions and foliole curlings most beautiful andextraordinary. In some respects this toy is a costume model, for itimitates exactly the real coiffure of Japanese maidens and brides. Butthe expression of the face of the beppin is, I think, the greatattraction of the toy; there is a shy, plaintive sweetness about itimpossible to describe, but deliciously suggestive of a real Japanesetype of girl-beauty. Yet the whole thing is made out of a littlecrumpled paper, coloured with a few dashes of the brush by an experthand. There are no two O-Hina-San exactly alike out of millions; andwhen you have become familiar by long residence with Japanese types, anysuch doll will recall to you some pretty face that you have seen. Theseare for little girls. Price, five rin. 

º 10

Here let me tell you something you certainly never heard of before inrelation to Japanese dolls--not the tiny O-Hina-San I was just speakingabout, but the beautiful life-sized dolls representing children of twoor three years old; real toy-babes which, although far more cheaply andsimply constructed than our finer kinds of Western dolls, become, underthe handling of a Japanese girl, infinitely more interesting. Such dollsare well dressed, and look so life-like--little slanting eyes, shavenpates, smiles, and all!--that as seen from a short distance the besteyes might be deceived by them. Therefore in those stock photographs ofJapanese life, of which so many thousands are sold in the open ports, the conventional baby on the mother's back is most successfullyrepresented by a doll. Even the camera does not betray the substitution. And if you see such a doll, though held quite close to you, being madeby a Japanese mother to reach out his hands, to move its little barefeet, and to turn its head, you would be almost afraid to venture aheavy wager that it was only a doll. Even after having closely examinedthe thing, you would still, I fancy, feel a little nervous at being leftalone with it, so perfect the delusion of that expert handling. 

Now there is a belief that some dolls do actually become alive. 

Formerly the belief was less rare than it is now. Certain dolls werespoken of with a reverence worthy of the Kami, and their owners wereenvied folk. Such a doll was treated like a real son or daughter: it wasregularly served with food; it had a bed, and plenty of nice clothes, and a name. If in the semblance of a girl, it was O-Toku-San; if in thatof a boy, Tokutaro-San. It was thought that the doll would become angryand cry if neglected, and that any ill-treatment of it would bring ill-fortune to the house. And, moreover, it was believed to possesssupernatural powers of a very high order. 

In the family of one Sengoku, a samurai of Matsue, there was a Tokutaro-San which had a local reputation scarcely inferior to that of Kishibojin--she to whom Japanese wives pray for offspring. And childless couplesused to borrow that doll, and keep it for a time--ministering unto it--and furnish it with new clothes before gratefully returning it to itsowners. And all who did so, I am assured, became parents, according totheir heart's desire. 'Sengoku's doll had a soul. ' There is even alegend that once, when the house caught fire, the TokutarO-San ran outsafely into the garden of its own accord!

The idea about such a doll seems to be this: The new doll is only adoll. But a doll which is preserved for a great many years in onefamily, [5] and is loved and played with by generations of children, gradually acquires a soul. I asked a charming Japanese girl: 'How can adoll live?'

'Why, ' she answered, 'if you love it enough, it will live!'

What is this but Renan's thought of a deity in process of evolution, uttered by the heart of a child?

º11

But even the most beloved dolls are worn out at last, or get broken inthe course of centuries. And when a doll must be considered quite dead, its remains are still entitled to respect. Never is the corpse of a dollirreverently thrown away. Neither is it burned or cast into pure runningwater, as all sacred objects of the miya must be when they have ceasedto be serviceable. And it is not buried. You could not possibly imaginewhat is done with it. 

It is dedicated to the God Kojin, [6]--a somewhat mysterious divinity, half-Buddhist, half-Shinto. The ancient Buddhist images of Kojinrepresented a deity with many arms;--the Shinto Kojin of Izumo has, Ibelieve, no artistic representation whatever. But in almost everyShinto, and also in many Buddhist, temple grounds, is planted the treecalled enoki [7] which is sacred to him, and in which he is supposed bythe peasantry to dwell; for they pray before the enoki always to Kojin. And there is usually a small shrine placed before the tree, and a littletorii also. Now you may often see laid upon such a shrine of Kojin, orat the foot of his sacred tree, or in a hollow thereof--if there be anyhollow--pathetic remains of dolls. But a doll is seldom given to Kojinduring the lifetime of its possessor. When you see one thus exposed, youmay be almost certain that it was found among the effects of some poordead woman--the innocent memento of her girlhood, perhaps even also ofthe girlhood of her mother and of her mother's mother. 

º12

And now we are to see the Honen-odori--which begins at eight o'clock. There is no moon; and the night is pitch-black overhead: but there isplenty of light in the broad court of the Guji's residence, for ahundred lanterns have been kindled and hung out. I and my friend havebeen provided with comfortable places in the great pavilion which opensupon the court, and the pontiff has had prepared for us a deliciouslittle supper. 

Already thousands have assembled before the pavilion--young men ofKitzuki and young peasants from the environs, and women and children inmultitude, and hundreds of young girls. The court is so thronged that itis difficult to assume the possibility of any dance. Illuminated by thelantern-light, the scene is more than picturesque: it is a carnivalesquedisplay of gala-costume. Of course the peasants come in their ancientattire: some in rain-coats (mino), or overcoats of yellow straw; otherswith blue towels tied round their heads; many with enormous mushroomhats--all with their blue robes well tucked up. But the young townsmencome in all guises and disguises. Many have dressed themselves in femaleattire; some are all in white duck, like police; some have mantles on;others wear shawls exactly as a Mexican wears his zarape; numbers ofyoung artisans appear almost as lightly clad as in working-hours, barelegged to the hips, and barearmed to the shoulders. Among the girlssome wonderful dressing is to be seen--ruby-coloured robes, and richgreys and browns and purples, confined with exquisite obi, or girdles offigured satin; but the best taste is shown in the simple and verygraceful black and white costumes worn by some maidens of the betterclasses--dresses especially made for dancing, and not to be worn at anyother time. A few shy damsels have completely masked themselves by tyingdown over their cheeks the flexible brims of very broad straw hats. Icannot attempt to talk about the delicious costumes of the children: aswell try to describe without paint the variegated loveliness of mothsand butterflies. 

In the centre of this multitude I see a huge rice-mortar turned upsidedown; and presently a sandalled peasant leaps upon it lightly, andstands there--with an open paper umbrella above his head. Neverthelessit is not raining. That is the Ondo-tori, the leader of the dance, whois celebrated through all Izumo as a singer. According to ancientcustom, the leader of the Honen-odori [8] always holds an open umbrellaabove his head while he sings. 

Suddenly, at a signal from the Guji, who has just taken his place in thepavilion, the voice of the Ondo-tori, intoning the song of thanksgiving, rings out over all the murmuring of the multitude like a silver cornet. A wondrous voice, and a wondrous song, full of trills and quaveringsindescribable, but full also of sweetness and true musical swing. And ashe sings, he turns slowly round upon his high pedestal, with theumbrella always above his head; never halting in his rotation from rightto left, but pausing for a regular interval in his singing, at the closeof each two verses, when the people respond with a joyous outcry: 'Ya-ha-to-nai!-ya-ha-to-nai!' Simultaneously, an astonishingly rapidmovement of segregation takes place in the crowd; two enormous rings ofdancers form, one within the other, the rest of the people pressing backto make room for the odori. And then this great double-round, formed byfully five hundred dancers, begins also to revolve from right to left--lightly, fantastically--all the tossing of arms and white twinkling offeet keeping faultless time to the measured syllabification of thechant. An immense wheel the dance is, with the Ondo-tori for its axis--always turning slowly upon his rice-mortar, under his open umbrella, ashe sings the song of harvest thanksgiving:

[9] Ichi-wa--Izumo-no-Taisha-Sama-ye;Ni-ni-wa--Niigata-no-Irokami-Sama-ye;San-wa--Sanuki-no-Kompira-Sama-ye;Shi-ni-wa--Shinano-no-Zenkoji-Sama-ye;Itsutsu--Ichibata-O-Yakushi-Sama-ye;Roku-niwa--Rokkakudo-no-O-Jizo-Sama-ye;Nanatsu--Nana-ura-no-O-Ebisu-Sama-ye;Yattsu--Yawata-no-Hachiman-Sama-ye;Kokonotsu--Koya-no-O-teradera-ye;To-niwa--Tokoro-no-Ujigami-Sama-ye. 

And the voices of all the dancers in unison roll out the chorus:

Ya-ha-to-nai!Ya-ha-to-nail

Utterly different this whirling joyous Honen-odori from the Bon-odoriwhich I witnessed last year at Shimo-Ichi, and which seemed to me a verydance of ghosts. But it is also much more difficult to describe. Eachdancer makes a half-wheel alternately to left and right, with a peculiarbending of the knees and tossing up of the hands at the same time--asin the act of lifting a weight above the head; but there are othercurious movements-jerky with the men, undulatory with the women--asimpossible to describe as water in motion. These are decidedly complex, yet so regular that five hundred pairs of feet and hands mark themeasure of the song as truly as if they were under the control of asingle nervous system. 

It is strangely difficult to memorise the melody of a Japanese popularsong, or the movements of a Japanese dance; for the song and the dancehave been evolved through an aesthetic sense of rhythm in sound and inmotion as different from the corresponding Occidental sense as Englishis different from Chinese. We have no ancestral sympathies with theseexotic rhythms, no inherited aptitudes for their instant comprehension, no racial impulses whatever in harmony with them. But when they havebecome familiar through study, after a long residence in the Orient, hownervously fascinant the oscillation of the dance, and the singular swingof the song!

This dance, I know, began at eight o'clock; and the Ondo-tori, afterhaving sung without a falter in his voice for an extraordinary time, hasbeen relieved by a second. But the great round never breaks, neverslackens its whirl; it only enlarges as the night wears on. And thesecond Ondo-tori is relieved by a third; yet I would like to watch thatdance for ever. 

'What time do you think it is?' my friend asks, looking at his watch. 

'Nearly eleven o'clock, ' I make answer. 

'Eleven o'clock! It is exactly eight minutes to three o'clock. And ourhost will have little time for sleep before the rising of the sun. '

Chapter Twelve At Hinomisaki

KITZUKI, August 10, 1891. 

MY Japanese friends urge me to visit Hinomisaki, where no European hasever been, and where there is a far-famed double temple dedicated toAmaterasu-oho-mi-Kami, the Lady of Light, and to her divine brotherTake-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikoto. Hinomisaki is a little village on theIzumo coast about five miles from Kitzuki. It maybe reached by amountain path, but the way is extremely steep, rough, and fatiguing. Byboat, when the weather is fair, the trip is very agreeable. So, with afriend, I start for Hinomisaki in a very cozy ryosen, skilfully sculledby two young fishermen. 

Leaving the pretty bay of Inasa, we follow the coast to the right--avery lofty and grim coast without a beach. Below us the clear watergradually darkens to inky blackness, as the depth increases; but atintervals pale jagged rocks rise up from this nether darkness to catchthe light fifty feet under the surface. We keep tolerably close to thecliffs, which vary in height from three hundred to six hundred feet--their bases rising from the water all dull iron-grey, their sides andsummits green with young pines and dark grasses that toughen in sea-wind. All the coast is abrupt, ravined, irregular--curiously breachedand fissured. Vast masses of it have toppled into the sea; and the blackruins project from the deep in a hundred shapes of menace. Sometimes ourboat glides between a double line of these; or takes a zigzag coursethrough labyrinths of reef-channels. So swiftly and deftly is the littlecraft impelled to right and left, that one could almost believe it seesits own way and moves by its own intelligence. And again we pass byextraordinary islets of prismatic rock whose sides, just below thewater-line, are heavily mossed with seaweed. The polygonal massescomposing these shapes are called by the fishermen 'tortoise-shellstones. ' There is a legend that once Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami, to try hisstrength, came here, and, lifting up one of these masses of basalt, flung it across the sea to the mountain of Sanbeyama. At the foot ofSanbe the mighty rock thus thrown by the Great Deity of Kitzuki maystill be seen, it is alleged, even unto this day. 

More and more bare and rugged and ghastly the coast becomes as wejourney on, and the sunken ledges more numerous, and the protrudingrocks more dangerous, splinters of strata piercing the sea-surface froma depth of thirty fathoms. Then suddenly our boat makes a dash for theblack cliff, and shoots into a tremendous cleft of it--an earthquakefissure with sides lofty and perpendicular as the walls of a canon-andlo! there is daylight ahead. This is a miniature strait, a short cut tothe bay. We glide through it in ten minutes, reach open water again, andHinomisaki is before us-a semicircle of houses clustering about a baycurve, with an opening in their centre, prefaced by a torii. 

Of all bays I have ever seen, this is the most extraordinary. Imagine anenormous sea-cliff torn out and broken down level with the sea, so as toleave a great scoop-shaped hollow in the land, with one originalfragment of the ancient cliff still standing in the middle of the gap--a monstrous square tower of rock, bearing trees upon its summit. And athousand yards out from the shore rises another colossal rock, fully onehundred feet high. This is known by the name of Fumishima orOkyogashima; and the temple of the Sun-goddess, which we are now aboutto see, formerly stood upon that islet. The same appalling forces whichformed the bay of Hinomisaki doubtless also detached the gigantic massof Fumishima from this iron coast. 

We land at the right end of the bay. Here also there is no beach; thewater is black-deep close to the shore, which slopes up rapidly. As wemount the slope, an extraordinary spectacle is before us. Upon thousandsand thousands of bamboo frames--shaped somewhat like our clothes-horses-are dangling countless pale yellowish things, the nature of which Icannot discern at first glance. But a closer inspection reveals themystery. Millions of cuttlefish drying in the sun! I could never havebelieved that so many cuttlefish existed in these waters. And there isscarcely any variation in the dimensions of them: out of ten thousandthere is not the difference of half an inch in length. 

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The great torii which forms the sea-gate of Hinomisaki is of whitegranite, and severely beautiful. Through it we pass up the main streetof the village--surprisingly wide for about a thousand yards, afterwhich it narrows into a common highway which slopes up a wooded hill anddisappears under the shadow of trees. On the right, as you enter thestreet, is a long vision of grey wooden houses with awnings andbalconies--little shops, little two-story dwellings of fishermen--andranging away in front of these other hosts of bamboo frames from whichother millions of freshly caught cuttlefish are hanging. On the otherside of the street rises a cyclopean retaining wall, massive as the wallof a daimyo's castle, and topped by a lofty wooden parapet pierced withgates; and above it tower the roofs of majestic buildings, whosearchitecture strongly resembles that of the structures of Kitzuki; andbehind all appears a beautiful green background of hills. This is theHinomisaki-jinja. But one must walk some considerable distance up theroad to reach the main entrance of the court, which is at the fartherend of the inclosure, and is approached by an imposing broad flight ofgranite steps. 

The great court is a surprise. It is almost as deep as the outer courtof the Kitzuki-no-oho-yashiro, though not nearly so wide; and a pavedcloister forms two sides of it. From the court gate a broad paved walkleads to the haiden and shamusho at the opposite end of the court--spacious and dignified structures above whose roofs appears the quaintand massive gable of the main temple, with its fantastic cross-beams. This temple, standing with its back to the sea, is the shrine of theGoddess of the Sun. On the right side of the main court, as you enter, another broad flight of steps leads up to a loftier court, where anotherfine group of Shinto buildings stands--a haiden and a miya; but theseare much smaller, like miniatures of those below. Their woodwork alsoappears to be quite new. The upper miya is the shrine of the god Susano-o, [1]--brother of Amaterasu-oho-mi-Kami. 

º3

To me the great marvel of the Hinomisaki-jinja is that structures sovast, and so costly to maintain, can exist in a mere fishing hamlet, inan obscure nook of the most desolate coast of Japan. Assuredly thecontributions of peasant pilgrims alone could not suffice to pay thesalary of a single kannushi; for Hinomisaki, unlike Kitzuki, is not aplace possible to visit in all weathers. My friend confirms me in thisopinion; but I learn from him that the temples have three large sourcesof revenue. They are partly supported by the Government; they receiveyearly large gifts of money from pious merchants; and the revenues fromlands attached to them also represent a considerable sum. Certainly agreat amount of money must have been very recently expended here; forthe smaller of the two miya seems to have just been wholly rebuilt; thebeautiful joinery is all white with freshness, and even the carpenters'odorous chips have not yet been all removed. 

At the shamusho we make the acquaintance of the Guji of Hinomisaki, anoble-looking man in the prime of life, with one of those fine aquilinefaces rarely to be met with except among the high aristocracy of Japan. He wears a heavy black moustache, which gives him, in spite of hispriestly robes, the look of a retired army officer. We are kindlypermitted by him to visit the sacred shrines; and a kannushi is detailedto conduct us through the buildings. 

Something resembling the severe simplicity of the Kitzuki-no-oho-yashirowas what I expected to see. But this shrine of the Goddess of the Sun isa spectacle of such splendour that for the first moment I almost doubtwhether I am really in a Shinto temple. In very truth there is nothingof pure Shinto here. These shrines belong to the famous period of Ryobu-Shinto, when the ancient faith, interpenetrated and allied withBuddhism, adopted the ceremonial magnificence and the marvellousdecorative art of the alien creed. Since visiting the great Buddhistshrines of the capital, I have seen no temple interior to be comparedwith this. Daintily beautiful as a casket is the chamber of the shrine. All its elaborated woodwork is lacquered in scarlet and gold; the altar-piece is a delight of carving and colour; the ceiling swarms with dreamsof clouds and dragons. And yet the exquisite taste of the decorators--buried, doubtless, five hundred years ago--has so justly proportionedthe decoration to the needs of surface, so admirably blended thecolours, that there is no gaudiness, no glare, only an opulent repose. 

This shrine is surrounded by a light outer gallery which is not visiblefrom the lower court; and from this gallery one can study someremarkable friezes occupying the spaces above the doorways and below theeaves--friezes surrounding the walls of the miya. These, althoughexposed for many centuries to the terrific weather of the western coast, still remain masterpieces of quaint carving. There are apes and harespeeping through wonderfully chiselled leaves, and doves and demons, anddragons writhing in storms. And while looking up at these, my eye isattracted by a peculiar velvety appearance of the woodwork forming theimmense projecting eaves of the roof. Under the tiling it is more than afoot thick. By standing on tiptoe I can touch it; and I discover that itis even more velvety to the touch than to the sight. Further examinationreveals the fact that this colossal roofing is not solid timber, onlythe beams are solid. The enormous pieces they support are formed ofcountless broad slices thin as the thinnest shingles, superimposed andcemented together into one solid-seeming mass. I am told that thiscomposite woodwork is more enduring than any hewn timber could be. Theedges, where exposed to wind and sun, feel to the touch just like theedges of the leaves of some huge thumb-worn volume; and their stainedvelvety yellowish aspect so perfectly mocks the appearance of a book, that while trying to separate them a little with my fingers, I findmyself involuntarily peering for a running-title and the number of afolio!

We then visit the smaller temple. The interior of the sacred chamber isequally rich in lacquered decoration and gilding; and below the miyaitself there are strange paintings of weird foxes--foxes wandering inthe foreground of a mountain landscape. But here the colours have beendamaged somewhat by time; the paintings have a faded look. Without theshrine are other wonderful carvings, doubtless executed by the samechisel which created the friezes of the larger temple. 

I learn that only the shrine-chambers of both temples are very old; allthe rest has been more than once rebuilt. The entire structure of thesmaller temple and its haiden, with the exception of the shrine-room, has just been rebuilt--in fact, the work is not yet quite done--sothat the emblem of the deity is not at present in the sanctuary. Theshrines proper are never repaired, but simply reinclosed in the newbuildings when reconstruction becomes a necessity. To repair them orrestore them to-day would be impossible: the art that created them isdead. But so excellent their material and its lacquer envelope that theyhave suffered little in the lapse of many centuries from the attacks oftime. 

One more surprise awaits me--the homestead of the high pontiff, whomost kindly invites us to dine with him; which hospitality is all themore acceptable from the fact that there is no hotel in Hinomisaki, butonly a kichinyado [2] for pilgrims. The ancestral residence of the highpontiffs of Hinomisaki occupies, with the beautiful gardens about it, aspace fully equal to that of the great temple courts themselves. Likemost of the old-fashioned homes of the nobility and of the samurai, itis but one story high--an immense elevated cottage, one might call it. But the apartments are lofty, spacious, and very handsome--and there isa room of one hundred mats. [3] A very nice little repast, withabundance of good wine, is served up to us-and I shall always rememberone curious dish, which I at first mistake for spinach. It is seaweed, deliciously prepared--not the common edible seaweed, but a rare sort, fine like moss. 

After bidding farewell to our generous host, we take an uphill stroll tothe farther end of the village. We leave the cuttlefish behind; butbefore us the greater part of the road is covered with matting, uponwhich indigo is drying in the sun. The village terminates abruptly atthe top of the hill, where there is another grand granite torii--astructure so ponderous that it is almost as difficult to imagine how itwas ever brought up the hill as to understand the methods of thebuilders of Stonehenge. From this torii the road descends to the prettylittle seaport of U-Ryo, on the other side of the cape; for Hinomisakiis situated on one side of a great promontory, as its name implies--amountain-range projecting into the Japanese Sea. 

º4

The family of the Guji of Hinomisaki is one of the oldest of the Kwazokuor noble families of Izumo; and the daughters are still addressed by theantique title of Princess--O-Hime-San. The ancient official designationof the pontiff himself was Kengyo, as that of the Kitzuki pontiff wasKokuzo; and the families of the Hinomisaki and of the Kitzuki Guji areclosely related. 

There is one touching and terrible tradition in the long history of theKengyos of Hinomisaki, which throws a strange light upon the socialcondition of this province in feudal days. 

Seven generations ago, a Matsudaira, Daimyo of Izumo, made with greatpomp his first official visit to the temples of Hinomisaki, and wasnobly entertained by the Kengyo--doubtless in the same chamber of ahundred mats which we to-day were privileged to see. According tocustom, the young wife of the host waited upon the regal visitor, andserved him with dainties and with wine. She was singularly beautiful;and her beauty, unfortunately, bewitched the Daimyo. With kinglyinsolence he demanded that she should leave her husband and become hisconcubine. Although astounded and terrified, she answered bravely, likethe true daughter of a samurai, that she was a loving wife and mother, and that, sooner than desert her husband and her child, she would put anend to her life with her own hand. The great Lord of Izumo sullenlydeparted without further speech, leaving the little household plunged inuttermost grief and anxiety; for it was too well known that the princewould suffer no obstacle to remain in the way of his lust or his hate. 

The anxiety, indeed, proved to be well founded. Scarcely had the Daimyoreturned to his domains when he began to devise means for the ruin ofthe Kengyo. Soon afterward, the latter was suddenly and forciblyseparated from his family, hastily tried for some imaginary offence, andbanished to the islands of Oki. Some say the ship on which he sailedwent down at sea with all on board. Others say that he was conveyed toOki, but only to die there of misery and cold. At all events, the oldIzumo records state that, in the year corresponding to A. D. 1661 'theKengyo Takatoshi died in the land of Oki. '

On receiving news of the Kengyo's death, Matsudaira scarcely concealedhis exultation. The object of his passion was the daughter of his ownKaro, or minister, one of the noblest samurai of Matsue, by name Kamiya. Kamiya was at once summoned before the Daimyo, who said to him: 'Thydaughter's husband being dead, there exists no longer any reason thatshe should not enter into my household. Do thou bring her hither. ' TheKaro touched the floor with his forehead, and departed on his errand. 

Upon the following day he re-entered the prince's apartment, and, performing the customary prostration, announced that his lord's commandshad been obeyed-that the victim had arrived. 

Smiling for pleasure, the Matsudaira ordered that she should be broughtat once into his presence. The Karo prostrated himself, retired andpresently returning, placed before his master a kubi-oke [4] upon whichlay the freshly-severed head of a beautiful woman--the head of theyoung wife of the dead Kengyo--with the simple utterance:

'This is my daughter. '

Dead by her own brave will--but never dishonoured. 

Seven generations have been buried since the Matsudaira strove toappease his remorse by the building of temples and the erection ofmonuments to the memory of his victim. His own race died with him: thosewho now bear the illustrious name of that long line of daimyos are notof the same blood; and the grim ruin of his castle, devoured byvegetation, is tenanted only by lizards and bats. But the Kamiya familyendures; no longer wealthy, as in feudal times, but still highlyhonoured in their native city. And each high pontiff of Hinomisakeichooses always his bride from among the daughters of that valiant race. 

NOTE. --The Kengyo of the above tradition was enshrined by Matsudaira inthe temple of Shiyekei-jinja, at Oyama, near Matsue. This miya was builtfor an atonement; and the people still pray to the spirit of the Kengyo. Near this temple formerly stood a very popular theatre, also erected bythe Daimyo in his earnest desire to appease the soul of his victim; forhe had heard that the Kengyo was very fond of theatrical performances. The temple is still in excellent preservation; but the theatre has longsince disappeared; and its site is occupied by a farmer's vegetablegarden. 

Chapter Thirteen Shinju

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SOMETIMES they simply put their arms round each other, and lie downtogether on the iron rails, just in front of an express train. (Theycannot do it in Izumo, however, because there are no railroads thereyet. ) Sometimes they make a little banquet for themselves, write verystrange letters to parents and friends, mix something bitter with theirrice-wine, and go to sleep for ever. Sometimes they select a moreancient and more honoured method: the lover first slays his beloved witha single sword stroke, and then pierces his own throat. Sometimes withthe girl's long crape-silk under-girdle (koshi-obi) they bind themselvesfast together, face to face, and so embracing leap into some deep lakeor stream. Many are the modes by which they make their way to the Meido, when tortured by that world-old sorrow about which Schopenhauer wrote somarvellous a theory. 

Their own theory is much simpler. 

None love life more than the Japanese; none fear death less. Of a futureworld they have no dread; they regret to leave this one only because itseems to them a world of beauty and of happiness; but the mystery of thefuture, so long oppressive to Western minds, causes them little concern. As for the young lovers of whom I speak, they have a strange faith whicheffaces mysteries for them. They turn to the darkness with infinitetrust. If they are too unhappy to endure existence, the fault is notanother's, nor yet the world's; it is their own; it is innen, the resultof errors in a previous life. If they can never hope to be united inthis world, it is only because in some former birth they broke theirpromise to wed, or were otherwise cruel to each other. All this is notheterodox. But they believe likewise that by dying together they willfind themselves at once united in another world, though Buddhismproclaims that self-destruction is a deadly sin. Now this idea ofwinning union through death is incalculably older than the faith ofShaka; but it has somehow borrowed in modern time from Buddhism aparticular ecstatic colouring, a mystical glow. Hasu no hana no ue nioite matan. On the lotus-blossoms of paradise they shall rest together. Buddhism teaches of transmigrations countless, prolonged throughmillions of millions of years, before the soul can acquire the InfiniteVision, the Infinite Memory, and melt into the bliss of Nehan, as awhite cloud melts into the summer 's blue. But these suffering onesthink never of Nehan; love's union, their supremest wish, may bereached, they fancy, through the pang of a single death. The fancies ofall, indeed--as their poor letters show--are not the same. Some thinkthemselves about to enter Amida's paradise of light; some see in theirvisional hope the saki-no-yo only, the future rebirth, when belovedshall meet beloved again, in the all-joyous freshness of another youth;while the idea of many, indeed of the majority, is vaguer far--only ashadowy drifting together through vapoury silences, as in the faintbliss of dreams. 

They always pray to be buried together. Often this prayer is refused bythe parents or the guardians, and the people deem this refusal a cruelthing, for 'tis believed that those who die for love of each other willfind no rest, if denied the same tomb. But when the prayer is grantedthe ceremony of burial is beautiful and touching. From the two homes thetwo funeral processions issue to meet in the temple court, by light oflanterns. There, after the recitation of the kyo and the accustomedimpressive ceremonies, the chief priest utters an address to the soulsof the dead. Compassionately he speaks of the error and the sin; of theyouth of the victims, brief and comely as the flowers that blossom andfall in the first burst of spring. He speaks of the Illusion--Mayoi--which so wrought upon them; he recites the warning of the Teacher. . Butsometimes he will even predict the future reunion of the lovers in somehappier and higher life, re-echoing the popular heart-thought with asimple eloquence that makes his hearers weep. Then the two processionsform into one, which takes its way to the cemetery where the grave hasalready been prepared. The two coffins are lowered together, so thattheir sides touch as they rest at the bottom of the excavation. Then theyama-no-mono [1] folk remove the planks which separate the pair--makingthe two coffins into one; above the reunited dead the earth is heaped;and a haka, bearing in chiselled letters the story of their fate, andperhaps a little poem, is placed above the mingling of their dust. 

º2

These suicides of lovers are termed 'joshi' or 'shinju'--(both wordsbeing written with the same Chinese characters)-signifying 'heart-death, ' 'passion-death, ' or 'love-death. ' They most commonly occur, inthe case of women, among the joro [2] class; but occasionally also amongyoung girls of a more respectable class. There is a fatalistic beliefthat if one shinju occurs among the inmates of a joroya, two more aresure to follow. Doubtless the belief itself is the cause that cases ofshinju do commonly occur in series of three. 

The poor girls who voluntarily sell themselves to a life of shame forthe sake of their families in time of uttermost distress do not, inJapan (except, perhaps, in those open ports where European vice andbrutality have become demoralising influences), ever reach that depth ofdegradation to which their Western sisters descend. Many indeed retain, through all the period of their terrible servitude, a refinement ofmanner, a delicacy of sentiment, and a natural modesty that seem, undersuch conditions, as extraordinary as they are touching. 

Only yesterday a case of shinju startled this quiet city. The servant ofa physician in the street called Nadamachi, entering the chamber of hismaster's son a little after sunrise, found the young man lying dead witha dead girl in his arms. The son had been disinherited. The girl was ajoro. Last night they were buried, but not together; for the father wasnot less angered than grieved that such a thing should have been. 

Her name was Kane. She was remarkably pretty and very gentle; and fromall accounts it would seem that her master had treated her with akindness unusual in men of his infamous class. She had sold herself forthe sake of her mother and a child-sister. The father was dead, and theyhad lost everything. She was then seventeen. She had been in the housescarcely a year when she met the youth. They fell seriously in love witheach other at once. Nothing more terrible could have befallen them; forthey could never hope to become man and wife. The young man, thoughstill allowed the privileges of a son, had been disinherited in favourof an adopted brother of steadier habits. The unhappy pair spent allthey had for the privilege of seeing each other: she sold even herdresses to pay for it. Then for the last time they met by stealth, lateat night, in the physician's house, drank death, and laid down to sleepfor ever. 

I saw the funeral procession of the girl winding its way by the light ofpaper lanterns--the wan dead glow that is like a shimmer ofphosphorescence--to the Street of the Temples, followed by a long trainof women, white-hooded, white-robed, white-girdled, passing allsoundlessly--a troop of ghosts. 

So through blackness to the Meido the white Shapes flit-the eternalprocession of Souls--in painted Buddhist dreams of the Underworld. 

º3

My friend who writes for the San-in Shimbun, which to-morrow will printthe whole sad story, tells me that compassionate folk have alreadydecked the new-made graves with flowers and with sprays of shikimi. [3]Then drawing from a long native envelope a long, light, thin roll ofpaper covered with beautiful Japanese writing, and unfolding it beforeme, he adds:--'She left this letter to the keeper of the house in whichshe lived: it has been given to us for publication. It is very prettilywritten. But I cannot translate it well; for it is written in woman'slanguage. The language of letters written by women is not the same asthat of letters written by men. Women use particular words andexpressions. For instance, in men's language "I" is watakushi, or ware, or yo, or boku, according to rank or circumstance, but in the languageof woman, it is warawa. And women's language is very soft and gentle;and I do not think it is possible to translate such softness andamiability of words into any other language. So I can only give you animperfect idea of the letter. '

And he interprets, slowly, thus:

'I leave this letter:

'As you know, from last spring I began to love Tashiro-San; and he alsofell in love with me. And now, alas!--the influence of our relation insome previous birth having come upon us-and the promise we made eachother in that former life to become wife and husband having been broken-even to-day I must travel to the Meido. 

'You not only treated me very kindly, though you found me so stupid andwithout influence, [4] but you likewise aided in many ways for myworthless sake my mother and sister. And now, since I have not been ableto repay you even the one myriadth part of that kindness and pity inwhich you enveloped me--pity great as the mountains and the sea [5]--it would not be without just reason that you should hate me as a greatcriminal. 

'But though I doubt not this which I am about to do will seem a wickedfolly, I am forced to it by conditions and by my own heart. Wherefore Istill may pray you to pardon my past faults. And though I go to theMeido, never shall I forget your mercy to me--great as the mountainsand the sea. From under the shadow of the grasses [6] I shall still tryto recompense you--to send back my gratitude to you and to your house. Again, with all my heart I pray you: do not be angry with me. 

'Many more things I would like to write. But now my heart is not aheart; and I must quickly go. And so I shall lay down my writing-brush. 

'It is written so clumsily, this. 

'Kane thrice prostrates herself before you. 

'From KANE. 

'To---SAMA. '

'Well, it is a characteristic shinju letter, ' my friend comments, aftera moment's silence, replacing the frail white paper in its envelope. 'SoI thought it would interest you. And now, although it is growing dark, Iam going to the cemetery to see what has been done at the grave. Wouldyou like to come with me?'

We take our way over the long white bridge, up the shadowy Street of theTemples, toward the ancient hakaba of Miokoji--and the darkness growsas we walk. A thin moon hangs just above the roofs of the great temples. 

Suddenly a far voice, sonorous and sweet--a man's voice-breaks intosong under the starred night: a song full of strange charm and toneslike warblings--those Japanese tones of popular emotion which seem tohave been learned from the songs of birds. Some happy workman returninghome. So clear the thin frosty air that each syllable quivers to us; butI cannot understand the words:-

Saite yuke toya, ano ya wo saite; Yuke ba chikayoru nushi no soba. 

'What is that?' I ask my friend. 

He answers: 'A love-song. "Go forward, straight forward that way, to thehouse that thou seest before thee;--the nearer thou goest thereto, thenearer to her [7] shalt thou be. "'

Chapter Fourteen Yaegaki-jinja

º1

UNTO Yaegaki-jinja, which is in the village of Sakusa in Iu, in the Landof Izumo, all youths and maidens go who are in love, and who can makethe pilgrimage. For in the temple of Yaegaki at Sakusa, Take-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikoto and his wife Inada-hime and their son Sa-ku-sa-no-mikotoare enshrined. And these are the Deities of Wedlock and of Love--andthey set the solitary in families--and by their doing are destiniescoupled even from the hour of birth. Wherefore one should suppose thatto make pilgrimage to their temple to pray about things long sinceirrevocably settled were simple waste of time. But in what land did everreligious practice and theology agree? Scholiasts and priests create orpromulgate doctrine and dogma; but the good people always insist uponmaking the gods according to their own heart--and these are by far thebetter class of gods. Moreover, the history of Susano-o the ImpetuousMale Deity, does not indicate that destiny had anything to do with hisparticular case: he fell in love with the Wondrous Inada Princess atfirst sight--as it is written in the Kojiki:

'Then Take-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikoto descended to a place called Tori-kami at the headwaters of the River Hi in the land of Idzumo. At thistime a chopstick came floating down the stream. So Take-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikoto, thinking that there must be people at the headwaters of theriver, went up it in quest of them. And he came upon an old man and anold woman who had a young girl between them, and were weeping. Then hedeigned to ask: "Who are ye?" So the old man replied, saying: "I am anEarthly Deity, son of the Deity Oho-yama-tsu-mi-no-Kami. I am called bythe name of Ashi-nadzu-chi; my wife is called by the name of Te-nadzu-chi; and my daughter is called by the name of Kushi-Inada-hime. " Againhe asked: "What is the cause of your crying?" The old man answered, saying: "I had originally eight young daughters. But the eight-forkedserpent of Koshi has come every year, and devoured one; and it is nowits time to come, wherefore we weep. " Then he asked him: "What is itsform like?" The old man answered, saying: "Its eyes are like akaka-gachi; it has one body with eight heads and eight tails. Moreover, uponits body grow moss and sugi and hinoki trees. Its length extends overeight valleys and eight hills; and if one look at its belly, it is allconstantly bloody and inflamed. " Then Take-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikotosaid to the old man: "If this be thy daughter, wilt thou offer her tome?" He replied: "With reverence; but I know not thine august name. "Then he replied, saying: "I am elder brother to Ama-terasu-oho-mi-Kami. So now I have descended from heaven. " Then the Deities Ashi-nadzu-chiand Te-nadzu-chi said: "If that be so, with reverence will we offer herto thee. " So Take-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikoto, at once taking and changingthe young girl into a close-toothed comb, which he stuck into his augusthair-bunch, said to the Deities Ashi-nadzu-chi and Te-nadzu-chi: "Do youdistil some eightfold refined liquor. Also make a fence round about; inthat fence make eight gates; at each gate tie a platform; on eachplatform put a liquor-vat; and into each vat pour the eightfold refinedliquor, and wait. " So as they waited after having prepared everything inaccordance with his bidding, the eight-forked serpent came and put ahead into each vat and drank the liquor. Thereupon it was intoxicated, and all the heads lay down and slept. Then Take-haya-susa-no-wo-nomikotodrew the ten-grasp sabre that was augustly girded upon him, and cut theserpent in pieces, so that the River Hi flowed on changed into a riverof blood. 

'Then Take-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikoto sought in the Land of Idzumo wherehe might build a palace. 

'When this great Deity built the palace, clouds rose up thence. Then hemade an august song:

'Ya-kumo tatsu:Idzumo ya-he-gaki;Tsuma-gomi niYa-he-gaki-tsukuru:Sono ya-he-gaki wo!' [1]

Now the temple of Yaegaki takes its name from the words of the augustsong Ya-he-gaki, and therefore signifies The Temple of the EightfoldFence. And ancient commentators upon the sacred books have said that thename of Idzumo (which is now Izumo), as signifying the Land of theIssuing of Clouds, was also taken from that song of the god. [2]

º2

Sakusa, the hamlet where the Yaegaki-jinja stands, is scarcely more thanone ri south from Matsue. But to go there one must follow tortuous pathstoo rough and steep for a kuruma; and of three ways, the longest androughest happens to be the most interesting. It slopes up and downthrough bamboo groves and primitive woods, and again serpentines throughfields of rice and barley, and plantations of indigo and of ginseng, where the scenery is always beautiful or odd. And there are many famedShinto temples to be visited on the road, such as Take-uchi-jinja, dedicated to the venerable minister of the Empress Jingo, Take-uchi, towhom men now pray for health and for length of years; and Okusa-no-miya, or Rokusho-jinja, of the five greatest shrines in Izumo; and Manaijinja, sacred to Izanagi, the Mother of Gods, where strange pictures may beobtained of the Parents of the World; and Obano-miya, where Izanami isenshrined, also called Kamoshijinja, which means, 'The Soul of the God. '

At the Temple of the Soul of the God, where the sacred fire-drill usedto be delivered each year with solemn rites to the great Kokuzo ofKitzuki, there are curious things to be seen--a colossal grain of rice, more than an inch long, preserved from that period of the Kamiyo whenthe rice grew tall as the tallest tree and bore grains worthy of thegods; and a cauldron of iron in which the peasants say that the firstKokuzo came down from heaven; and a cyclopean toro formed of rocks sohuge that one cannot imagine how they were ever balanced upon eachother; and the Musical Stones of Oba, which chime like bells whensmitten. There is a tradition that these cannot be carried away beyond acertain distance; for 'tis recorded that when a daimyo named Matsudairaordered one of them to be conveyed to his castle at Matsue, the stonemade itself so heavy that a thousand men could not move it farther thanthe Ohashi bridge. So it was abandoned before the bridge; and it liesthere imbedded in the soil even unto this day. 

All about Oba you may see many sekirei or wagtails-birds sacred toIzanami and Izanagi--for a legend says that from the sekirei the godsfirst learned the art of love. And none, not even the most avariciousfarmer, ever hurts or terrifies these birds. So that they do not fearthe people of Oba, nor the scarecrows in the fields. 

The God of Scarecrows is Sukuna-biko-na-no-Kami. 

º3

The path to Sakusa, for the last mile of the journey, at least, isextremely narrow, and has been paved by piety with large flat rocks laidupon the soil at intervals of about a foot, like an interminable line ofstepping-stones. You cannot walk between them nor beside them, and yousoon tire of walking upon them; but they have the merit of indicatingthe way, a matter of no small importance where fifty rice-field pathsbranch off from your own at all bewildering angles. After having beensafely guided by these stepping-stones through all kinds of labyrinthsin rice valleys and bamboo groves, one feels grateful to the peasantryfor that clue-line of rocks. There are some quaint little shrines in thegroves along this path--shrines with curious carvings of dragons and oflion-heads and flowing water--all wrought ages ago in good keyaki-wood, [3] which has become the colour of stone. But the eyes of the dragonsand the lions have been stolen because they were made of fine crystal-quartz, and there was none to guard them, and because neither the lawsnor the gods are quite so much feared now as they were before the periodof Meiji. 

Sakusa is a very small cluster of farmers' cottages before a temple atthe verge of a wood--the temple of Yaegaki. The stepping-stones of thepath vanish into the pavement of the court, just before its loftyunpainted wooden torii Between the torii and the inner court, entered bya Chinese gate, some grand old trees are growing, and there are queermonuments to see. On either side of the great gateway is a shrinecompartment, inclosed by heavy wooden gratings on two sides; and inthese compartments are two grim figures in complete armour, with bows intheir hands and quivers of arrows upon their backs, -. -the Zuijin, orghostly retainers of the gods, and guardians of the gate. Before nearlyall the Shinto temples of Izumo, except Kitzuki, these Zuijin keep grimwatch. They are probably of Buddhist origin; but they have acquired aShinto history and Shinto names. [4] Originally, I am told, there wasbut one Zuijin-Kami, whose name was Toyo-kushi-iwa-mato-no-mikoto. Butat a certain period both the god and his name were cut in two--perhapsfor decorative purposes. And now he who sits upon the left is calledToyo-iwa-ma-to-no-mikoto; and his companion on the right, Kushi-iwa-ma-to-no-mikoto. 

Before the gate, on the left side, there is a stone monument upon whichis graven, in Chinese characters, a poem in Hokku, or verse of seventeensyllables, composed by Cho-un:

Ko-ka-ra-shi-yaKa-mi-no-mi-yu-ki-noYa-ma-no-a-to. 

My companion translates the characters thus:--'Where high heap the deadleaves, there is the holy place upon the hills, where dwell the gods. 'Near by are stone lanterns and stone lions, and another monument--agreat five-cornered slab set up and chiselled--bearing the names inChinese characters of the Ji-jin, or Earth-Gods--the Deities whoprotect the soil: Uga-no-mitama-no-mikoto (whose name signifies theAugust Spirit-of-Food), Ama-terasu-oho-mi-Kami, Ona-muji-no-Kami, Kaki-yasu-hime-no-Kami, Sukuna-hiko-na-no-Kami (who is the Scarecrow God). And the figure of a fox in stone sits before the Name of the AugustSpirit-of-Food. 

The miya or Shinto temple itself is quite small--smaller than most ofthe temples in the neighbourhood, and dingy, and begrimed with age. Yet, next to Kitzuki, this is the most famous of Izumo shrines. The mainshrine, dedicated to Susano-o and Inada-hime and their son, whose nameis the name of the hamlet of Sakusa, is flanked by various lessershrines to left and right. In one of these smaller miya the spirit ofAshi-nadzu-chi, father of Inada-hime, is supposed to dwell; and inanother that of Te-nadzu-chi, the mother of Inada-hime. There is also asmall shrine of the Goddess of the Sun. But these shrines have nocurious features. The main temple offers, on the other hand, somedisplays of rarest interest. 

To the grey weather-worn gratings of the doors of the shrine hundredsand hundreds of strips of soft white paper have been tied in knots:there is nothing written upon them, although each represents a heart'swish and a fervent prayer. No prayers, indeed, are so fervent as thoseof love. Also there are suspended many little sections of bamboo, cutjust below joints so as to form water receptacles: these are tiedtogether in pairs with a small straw cord which also serves to hang themup. They contain offerings of sea-water carried here from no smalldistance. And mingling with the white confusion of knotted papers theredangle from the gratings many tresses of girls' hair--love-sacrifices[5]--and numerous offerings of seaweed, so filamentary and so sun-blackened that at some little distance it would not be easy todistinguish them from long shorn tresses. And all the woodwork of thedoors and the gratings, both beneath and between the offerings, iscovered with a speckling of characters graven or written, which arenames of pilgrims. 

And my companion reads aloud the well-remembered name of--AKIRA!

If one dare judge the efficacy of prayer to these kind gods of Shintofrom the testimony of their worshippers, I should certainly say thatAkira has good reason to hope. Planted in the soil, all round the edgeof the foundations of the shrine, are multitudes of tiny paper flags ofcurious shape (nobori), pasted upon splinters of bamboo. Each of theselittle white things is a banner of victory, and a lover's witness ofgratitude. [6] You will find such little flags stuck into the groundabout nearly all the great Shinto temples of Izumo. At Kitzuki theycannot even be counted--any more than the flakes of a snowstorm. 

And here is something else that you will find at most of the famous miyain Izumo--a box of little bamboo sticks, fastened to a post before thedoors. If you were to count the sticks, you would find their number tobe exactly one thousand. They are counters for pilgrims who make a vowto the gods to perform a sendo-mairi. To perform a sendo-mairi means tovisit the temple one thousand times. This, however, is so hard to dothat busy pious men make a sort of compromise with the gods, thus: theywalk from the shrine one foot beyond the gate, and back again to theshrine, one thousand times--all in one day, keeping count with thelittle splints of bamboo. 

There is one more famous thing to be seen before visiting the holy grovebehind the temple, and that is the Sacred Tama-tsubaki, or Precious-Camellia of Yaegaki. It stands upon a little knoll, fortified by aprojection-wall, in a rice-field near the house of the priest; a fencehas been built around it, and votive lamps of stone placed before it. Itis of vast age, and has two heads and two feet; but the twin trunks growtogether at the middle. Its unique shape, and the good quality ofIongevity it is believed to possess in common with all of its species, cause itto be revered as a symbol of undying wedded love, and astenanted by the Kami who hearken to lovers' prayers--enmusubi-no-kami. 

There is, however, a strange superstition, about tsubaki-trees; and thissacred tree of Yaegaki, in the opinion of some folk, is a rare exceptionto the general ghastliness of its species. For tsubaki-trees are goblintrees, they say, and walk about at night; and there was one in thegarden of a Matsue samurai which did this so much that it had to be cutdown. Then it writhed its arms and groaned, and blood spurted at everystroke of the axe. 

º4

At the spacious residence of the kannushi some very curious ofuda and o-mamori--the holy talismans and charms of Yaegaki--are sold, togetherwith pictures representing Take-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikoto and his brideInada-hime surrounded by the 'manifold fence' of clouds. On the picturesis also printed the august song whence the temple derives its name ofYaegaki-jinja, --'Ya kumo tatsu Idzumo ya-he-gaki. ' Of the o-mamorithere is quite a variety; but by far the most interesting is thatlabelled: 'Izumo-Yaegaki-jinja-en-musubi-on-hina' (August wedlock--producing 'hina' of the temple of Yaegaki of Izumo). This oblong, foldedpaper, with Chinese characters and the temple seal upon it, is purchasedonly by those in love, and is believed to assure nothing more than thedesired union. Within the paper are two of the smallest conceivabledoll-figures (hina), representing a married couple in antique costume--the tiny wife folded to the breast of the tiny husband by one long-sleeved arm. It is the duty of whoever purchases this mamori to returnit to the temple if he or she succeed in marrying the person beloved. Asalready stated, the charm is not supposed to assure anything more thanthe union: it cannot be accounted responsible for any consequencesthereof. He who desires perpetual love must purchase another mamorilabelled: 'Renri-tama-tsubaki-aikyo-goki-to-on-mamori' (August amulet ofaugust prayer-for-kindling-love of the jewel-precious tsubaki-tree-of-Union). This charm should maintain at constant temperature the warmth ofaffection; it contains only a leaf of the singular double-bodiedcamelliatree beforementioned. There are also small amulets for excitinglove, and amulets for the expelling of diseases, but these have nospecial characteristics worth dwelling upon. 

Then we take our way to the sacred grove--the Okuno-in, or MysticShades of Yaegaki. 

º5

This ancient grove--so dense that when you first pass into its shadowsout of the sun all seems black--is composed of colossal cedars andpines, mingled with bamboo, tsubaki (Camellia Japonica), and sakaki, thesacred and mystic tree of Shinto. The dimness is chiefly made by thehuge bamboos. In nearly all sacred groves bamboos are thickly setbetween the trees, and their feathery foliage, filling every loftyopening between the heavier crests, entirely cuts off the sun. Even in abamboo grove where no other trees are, there is always a deep twilight. 

As the eyes become accustomed to this green gloaming, a pathway outlinesitself between the trees--a pathway wholly covered with moss, velvety, soft, and beautifully verdant. In former years, when all pilgrims wererequired to remove their footgear before entering the sacred grove, thisnatural carpet was a boon to the weary. The next detail one observes isthat the trunks of many of the great trees have been covered with thickrush matting to a height of seven or eight feet, and that holes havebeen torn through some of the mats. All the giants of the grove aresacred; and the matting was bound about them to prevent pilgrims fromstripping off their bark, which is believed to possess miraculousvirtues. But many, more zealous than honest, do not hesitate to tearaway the matting in order to get at the bark. And the third curious factwhich you notice is that the trunks of the great bamboos are coveredwith ideographs--with the wishes of lovers and the names of girls. There is nothing in the world of vegetation so nice to write asweetheart's name upon as the polished bark of a bamboo: each letter, however lightly traced at first, enlarges and blackens with the growthof the bark, and never fades away. 

The deeply mossed path slopes down to a little pond in the very heart ofthe grove--a pond famous in the land of Izumo. Here there are manyimori, or water-newts, about five inches long, which have red bellies. Here the shade is deepest, and the stems of the bamboos most thicklytattooed with the names of girls. It is believed that the flesh of thenewts in the sacred pond of Yaegaki possesses aphrodisiac qualities; andthe body of the creature, reduced to ashes, by burning, was formerlyconverted into love-powders. And there is a little Japanese songreferring to the practice:

'Hore-gusuri koka niwa naika to imori ni toeba, yubi-wo marumete korebakari. ' [7]

The water is very clear; and there are many of these newts to be seen. And it is the custom for lovers to make a little boat of paper, and putinto it one rin, and set it afloat and watch it. So soon as the paperbecomes wet through, and allows the water to enter it, the weight of thecopper coin soon sends it to the bottom, where, owing to the purity ofthe water, it can be still seen distinctly as before. If the newts thenapproach and touch it, the lovers believe their happiness assured by thewill of the gods; but if the newts do not come near it, the omen isevil. One poor little paper boat, I observe, could not sink at all; itsimply floated to the inaccessible side of the pond, where the treesrise like a solid wall of trunks from the water's edge, and there becamecaught in some drooping branches. The lover who launched it must havedeparted sorrowing at heart. 

Close to the pond, near the pathway, there are many camellia-bushes, ofwhich the tips of the branches have been tied together, by pairs, withstrips of white paper. These are shrubs of presage. The true lover mustbe able to bend two branches together, and to keep them united by tyinga paper tightly about them--all with the fingers of one hand. To dothis well is good luck. Nothing is written upon the strips of paper. 

But there is enough writing upon the bamboos to occupy curiosity formany an hour, in spite of the mosquitoes. Most of the names are yobi-na, -that is to say, pretty names of women; but there are likewise names ofmen--jitsumyo; [8] and, oddly enough, a girl's name and a man's are inno instance written together. To judge by all this ideographictestimony, lovers in Japan--or at least in Izumo--are even moresecretive than in our Occident. The enamoured youth never writes his ownjitsumyo and his sweetheart's yobi-na together; and the family name, ormyoji, he seldom ventures to inscribe. If he writes his jitsumyo, thenhe contents himself with whispering the yobi-na of his sweetheart to thegods and to the bamboos. If he cuts her yobi-na into the bark, then hesubstitutes for his own name a mention of his existence and his ageonly, as in this touching instance:

Takata-Toki-to-en-musubi-negaimas. Jiu-hassai-no-otoko [9]

This lover presumes to write his girl's whole name; but the example, sofar as I am able to discover, is unique. Other enamoured ones write onlythe yobi-na of their bewitchers; and the honourable prefix, 'O, ' and thehonourable suffix, 'San, ' find no place in the familiarity of love. There is no 'O-Haru-San, ' 'O-Kin-San, ' 'O-Take-San, ' 'O-Kiku-San'; butthere are hosts of Haru, and Kin, and Take, and Kiku. Girls, of course, never dream of writing their lovers' names. But there are many geimyohere, 'artistic names, '--names of mischievous geisha who worship theGolden Kitten, written by their saucy selves: Rakue and Asa and Wakai, Aikichi and Kotabuki and Kohachi, Kohana and Tamakichi and Katsuko, andAsakichi and Hanakichi and Katsukichi, and Chiyoe and Chiyotsuru. 'Fortunate-Pleasure, ' 'Happy-Dawn, ' and 'Youth' (such are theirappellations), 'Blest-Love' and 'Length-of-Days, ' and 'Blossom-Child'and 'Jewel-of-Fortune' and 'Child-of-Luck, ' and 'Joyous-Sunrise' and'Flower-of-Bliss' and 'Glorious Victory, ' and 'Life-as-the-Stork's-for-a-thousand-years. ' Often shall he curse the day he was born who falls inlove with Happy-Dawn; thrice unlucky the wight bewitched by the Child-of-Luck; woe unto him who hopes to cherish the Flower-of-Bliss; and morethan once shall he wish himself dead whose heart is snared by Life-as-the-Stork's-for-a-thou sand-years. And I see that somebody who inscribeshis age as twenty and three has become enamoured of young Wakagusa, whose name signifies the tender Grass of Spring. Now there is but onepossible misfortune for you, dear boy, worse than falling in love withWakagusa--and that is that she should happen to fall in love with you. Because then you would, both of you, write some beautiful letters toyour friends, and drink death, and pass away in each other's arms, murmuring your trust to rest together upon the same lotus-flower inParadise: 'Hasu no ha no ue ni oite matsu. ' Nay! pray the Deities ratherto dissipate the bewitchment that is upon you:

Te ni toru na, Yahari no ni oke Gengebana. [10]

And here is a lover's inscription--in English! Who presumes to supposethat the gods know English? Some student, no doubt, who for pure shynessengraved his soul's secret in this foreign tongue of mine--neverdreaming that a foreign eye would look upon it. 'I wish You, Harul' Notonce, but four--no, five times!--each time omitting the preposition. Praying--in this ancient grove--in this ancient Land of Izumo--untothe most ancient gods in English! Verily, the shyest love presumes muchupon the forbearance of the gods. And great indeed must be, either thepatience of Take-haya-susano-wo-no-mikoto, or the rustiness of the ten-grasp sabre that was augustly girded upon him. 

Chapter Fifteen Kitsune

º1

By every shady wayside and in every ancient grove, on almost everyhilltop and in the outskirts of every village, you may see, whiletravelling through the Hondo country, some little Shinto shrine, beforewhich, or at either side of which, are images of seated foxes in stone. Usually there is a pair of these, facing each other. But there may be adozen, or a score, or several hundred, in which case most of the imagesare very small. And in more than one of the larger towns you may see inthe court of some great miya a countless host of stone foxes, of alldimensions, from toy-figures but a few inches high to the colossi whosepedestals tower above your head, all squatting around the temple intiered ranks of thousands. Such shrines and temples, everybody knows, are dedicated to Inari the God of Rice. After having travelled much inJapan, you will find that whenever you try to recall any country-placeyou have visited, there will appear in some nook or corner of thatremembrance a pair of green-and-grey foxes of stone, with broken noses. In my own memories of Japanese travel, these shapes have become derigueur, as picturesque detail. 

In the neighbourhood of the capital and in Tokyo itself-sometimes inthe cemeteries--very beautiful idealised figures of foxes may be seen, elegant as greyhounds. They have long green or grey eyes of crystalquartz or some other diaphanous substance; and they create a strongimpression as mythological conceptions. But throughout the interior, fox-images are much less artistically fashioned. In Izumo, particularly, such stone-carving has a decidedly primitive appearance. There is anastonishing multiplicity and variety of fox-images in the Province ofthe Gods--images comical, quaint, grotesque, or monstrous, but, for themost part, very rudely chiselled. I cannot, however, declare them lessinteresting on that account. The work of the Tokkaido sculptor copiesthe conventional artistic notion of light grace and ghostliness. Therustic foxes of Izumo have no grace: they are uncouth; but they betrayin countless queer ways the personal fancies of their makers. They areof many moods--whimsical, apathetic, inquisitive, saturnine, jocose, ironical; they watch and snooze and squint and wink and sneer; they waitwith lurking smiles; they listen with cocked ears most stealthily, keeping their mouths open or closed. There is an amusing individualityabout them all, and an air of knowing mockery about most of them, eventhose whose noses have been broken off. Moreover, these ancient countryfoxes have certain natural beauties which their modem Tokyo kindredcannot show. Time has bestowed upon them divers speckled coats ofbeautiful soft colours while they have been sitting on their pedestals, listening to the ebbing and flowing of the centuries and snickeringweirdly at mankind. Their backs are clad with finest green velvet of oldmosses; their limbs are spotted and their tails are tipped with the deadgold or the dead silver of delicate fungi. And the places they mosthaunt are the loveliest--high shadowy groves where the uguisu sings ingreen twilight, above some voiceless shrine with its lamps and its lionsof stone so mossed as to seem things born of the soil--like mushrooms. 

I found it difficult to understand why, out of every thousand foxes, nine hundred should have broken noses. The main street of the city ofMatsue might be paved from end to end with the tips of the noses ofmutilated Izumo foxes. A friend answered my expression of wonder in thisregard by the simple but suggestive word, 'Kodomo', which means, 'Thechildren'

º2. 

Inari the name by which the Fox-God is generally known, signifies 'Load-of-Rice. ' But the antique name of the Deity is the August-Spirit-of-Food: he is the Uka-no-mi-tama-no-mikoto of the Kojiki. [1] In much morerecent times only has he borne the name that indicates his connectionwith the fox-cult, Miketsu-no-Kami, or the Three-Fox-God. Indeed, theconception of the fox as a supernatural being does not seem to have beenintroduced into Japan before the tenth or eleventh century; and althougha shrine of the deity, with statues of foxes, may be found in the courtof most of the large Shinto temples, it is worthy of note that in allthe vast domains of the oldest Shinto shrine in Japan--Kitzuki--youcannot find the image of a fox. And it is only in modern art--the artof Toyokuni and others--that Inari is represented as a bearded manriding a white fox. [2]

Inari is not worshipped as the God of Rice only; indeed, there are manyInari just as in antique Greece there were many deities called Hermes, Zeus, Athena, Poseidon--one in the knowledge of the learned, butessentially different in the imagination of the common people. Inari hasbeen multiplied by reason of his different attributes. For instance, Matsue has a Kamiya-San-no-Inari-San, who is the God of Coughs and BadColds--afflictions extremely common and remarkably severe in the Landof Izumo. He has a temple in the Kamachi at which he is worshipped underthe vulgar appellation of Kaze-no-Kami and the politer one of Kamiya-San-no-Inari. And those who are cured of their coughs and colds afterhaving prayed to him, bring to his temple offerings of tofu. 

At Oba, likewise, there is a particular Inari, of great fame. Fastenedto the wall of his shrine is a large box full of small clay foxes. Thepilgrim who has a prayer to make puts one of these little foxes in hissleeve and carries it home, He must keep it, and pay it all due honour, until such time as his petition has been granted. Then he must take itback to the temple, and restore it to the box, and, if he be able, makesome small gift to the shrine. 

Inari is often worshipped as a healer; and still more frequently as adeity having power to give wealth. (Perhaps because all the wealth ofOld Japan was reckoned in koku of rice. ) Therefore his foxes aresometimes represented holding keys in their mouths. And from being thedeity who gives wealth, Inari has also become in some localities thespecial divinity of the joro class. There is, for example, an Inaritemple worth visiting in the neighbourhood of the Yoshiwara at Yokohama. It stands in the same court with a temple of Benten, and is more thanusually large for a shrine of Inari. You approach it through asuccession of torii one behind the other: they are of different heights, diminishing in size as they are placed nearer to the temple, and plantedmore and more closely in proportion to their smallness. Before eachtorii sit a pair of weird foxes--one to the right and one to the left. The first pair are large as greyhounds; the second two are much smaller;and the sizes of the rest lessen as the dimensions of the torii lessen. At the foot of the wooden steps of the temple there is a pair of verygraceful foxes of dark grey stone, wearing pieces of red cloth abouttheir necks. Upon the steps themselves are white wooden foxes--one ateach end of each step--each successive pair being smaller than the pairbelow; and at the threshold of the doorway are two very little foxes, not more than three inches high, sitting on sky-blue pedestals. Thesehave the tips of their tails gilded. Then, if you look into the templeyou will see on the left something like a long low table on which areplaced thousands of tiny fox-images, even smaller than those in thedoorway, having only plain white tails. There is no image of Inari;indeed, I have never seen an image of Inari as yet in any Inari temple. On the altar appear the usual emblems of Shinto; and before it, justopposite the doorway, stands a sort of lantern, having glass sides and awooden bottom studded with nail-points on which to fix votive candles. [3]

And here, from time to time, if you will watch, you will probably seemore than one handsome girl, with brightly painted lips and thebeautiful antique attire that no maiden or wife may wear, come to thefoot of the steps, toss a coin into the money-box at the door, and callout: 'O-rosoku!' which means 'an honourable candle. ' Immediately, froman inner chamber, some old man will enter the shrine-room with a lightedcandle, stick it upon a nail-point in the lantern, and then retire. Suchcandle-offerings are always accompanied by secret prayers for good-fortune. But this Inari is worshipped by many besides members of thejoro class. 

The pieces of coloured cloth about the necks of the foxes are alsovotive offerings. 

º3

Fox-images in Izumo seem to be more numerous than in other provinces, and they are symbols there, so far as the mass of the peasantry isconcerned, of something else besides the worship of the Rice-Deity. Indeed, the old conception of the Deity of Rice-fields has beenovershadowed and almost effaced among the lowest classes by a weird culttotally foreign to the spirit of pure Shinto--the Fox-cult. The worshipof the retainer has almost replaced the worship of the god. Originallythe Fox was sacred to Inari only as the Tortoise is still sacred toKompira; the Deer to the Great Deity of Kasuga; the Rat to Daikoku; theTai-fish to Ebisu; the White Serpent to Benten; or the Centipede toBishamon, God of Battles. But in the course of centuries the Fox usurpeddivinity. And the stone images of him are not the only outward evidencesof his cult. At the rear of almost every Inari temple you will generallyfind in the wall of the shrine building, one or two feet above theground, an aperture about eight inches in diameter and perfectlycircular. It is often made so as to be closed at will by a slidingplank. This circular orifice is a Fox-hole, and if you find one open, and look within, you will probably see offerings of tofu or other foodwhich foxes are supposed to be fond of. You will also, most likely, findgrains of rice scattered on some little projection of woodwork below ornear the hole, or placed on the edge of the hole itself; and you may seesome peasant clap his hands before the hole, utter some little prayer, and swallow a grain or two of that rice in the belief that it willeither cure or prevent sickness. Now the fox for whom such a hole ismade is an invisible fox, a phantom fox--the fox respectfully referredto by the peasant as O-Kitsune-San. If he ever suffers himself to becomevisible, his colour is said to be snowy white. 

According to some, there are various kinds of ghostly foxes. Accordingto others, there are two sorts of foxes only, the Inari-fox (O-Kitsune-San) and the wild fox (kitsune). Some people again class foxes intoSuperior and Inferior Foxes, and allege the existence of four SuperiorSorts--Byakko, Kokko, Jenko, and Reiko--all of which possesssupernatural powers. Others again count only three kinds of foxes--theField-fox, the Man-fox, and the Inari-fox. But many confound the Field-fox or wild fox with the Man-fox, and others identify the Inari-fox withthe Man-fox. One cannot possibly unravel the confusion of these beliefs, especially among the peasantry. The beliefs vary, moreover, in differentdistricts. I have only been able, after a residence of fourteen monthsin Izumo, where the superstition is especially strong, and marked bycertain unique features, to make the following very loose summary ofthem:

All foxes have supernatural power. There are good and bad foxes. TheInari-fox is good, and the bad foxes are afraid of the Inari-fox. Theworst fox is the Ninko or Hito-kitsune (Man-fox): this is especially thefox of demoniacal possession. It is no larger than a weasel, andsomewhat similar in shape, except for its tail, which is like the tailof any other fox. It is rarely seen, keeping itself invisible, except tothose to whom it attaches itself. It likes to live in the houses of men, and to be nourished by them, and to the homes where it is well cared forit will bring prosperity. It will take care that the rice-fields shallnever want for water, nor the cooking-pot for rice. But if offended, itwill bring misfortune to the household, and ruin to the crops. The wildfox (Nogitsune) is also bad. It also sometimes takes possession ofpeople; but it is especially a wizard, and prefers to deceive byenchantment. It has the power of assuming any shape and of making itselfinvisible; but the dog can always see it, so that it is extremely afraidof the dog. Moreover, while assuming another shape, if its shadow fallupon water, the water will only reflect the shadow of a fox. Thepeasantry kill it; but he who kills a fox incurs the risk of beingbewitched by that fox's kindred, or even by the ki, or ghost of the fox. Still if one eat the flesh of a fox, he cannot be enchanted afterwards. The Nogitsune also enters houses. Most families having foxes in theirhouses have only the small kind, or Ninko; but occasionally both kindswill live together under the same roof. Some people say that if theNogitsune lives a hundred years it becomes all white, and then takesrank as an Inari-fox. 

There are curious contradictions involved in these beliefs, and othercontradictions will be found in the following pages of this sketch. Todefine the fox-superstition at all is difficult, not only on account ofthe confusion of ideas on the subject among the believers themselves, but also on account of the variety of elements out of which it has beenshapen. Its origin is Chinese [4]; but in Japan it became oddly blendedwith the worship of a Shinto deity, and again modified and expanded bythe Buddhist concepts of thaumaturgy and magic. So far as the commonpeople are concerned, it is perhaps safe to say that they pay devotionto foxes chiefly because they fear them. The peasant still worships whathe fears. 

º4

It is more than doubtful whether the popular notions about differentclasses of foxes, and about the distinction between the fox of Inari andthe fox of possession, were ever much more clearly established than theyare now, except in the books of old literati. Indeed, there exists aletter from Hideyoshi to the Fox-God which would seem to show that inthe time of the great Taiko the Inari-fox and the demon fox wereconsidered identical. This letter is still preserved at Nara, in theBuddhist temple called Todaiji:

KYOTO, the seventeenth dayof the Third Month. TO INARI DAIMYOJIN:-

My Lord--I have the honour to inform you that one of the foxes underyour jurisdiction has bewitched one of my servants, causing her andothers a great deal of trouble. I have to request that you will makeminute inquiries into the matter, and endeavour to find out the reasonof your subject misbehaving in this way, and let me know the result. 

If it turns out that the fox has no adequate reason to give for hisbehaviour, you are to arrest and punish him at once. If you hesitate totake action in this matter, I shall issue orders for the destruction ofevery fox in the land. 

Any other particulars that you may wish to be informed of in referenceto what has occurred, you can learn from the high-priest YOSHIDA. 

Apologising for the imperfections of this letter, I have the honour to beYour obedient servant, Your obedient servant, HIDEYOSHI TAIKO [5]

But there certainly were some distinctions established in localities, owing to the worship of Inari by the military caste. With the samurai ofIzumo, the Rice-God, for obvious reasons, was a highly popular deity;and you can still find in the garden of almost every old shizokuresidence in Matsue, a small shrine of Inari Daimyojin, with littlestone foxes seated before it. And in the imagination of the lowerclasses, all samurai families possessed foxes. But the samurai foxesinspired no fear. They were believed to be 'good foxes'; and thesuperstition of the Ninko or Hito-kitsune does not seem to haveunpleasantly affected any samurai families of Matsue during the feudalera. It is only since the military caste has been abolished, and itsname, simply as a body of gentry, changed to shizoku, [6] that somefamilies have become victims of the superstition through intermarriagewith the chonin or mercantile classes, among whom the belief has alwaysbeen strong. 

By the peasantry the Matsudaira daimyo of Izumo were supposed to be thegreatest fox-possessors. One of them was believed to use foxes asmessengers to Tokyo (be it observed that a fox can travel, according topopular credence, from Yokohama to London in a few hours); and there issome Matsue story about a fox having been caught in a trap [7] nearTokyo, attached to whose neck was a letter written by the prince ofIzumo only the same morning. The great Inari temple of Inari in thecastle grounds--O-Shiroyama-no-InariSama--with its thousands uponthousands of foxes of stone, is considered by the country people astriking proof of the devotion of the Matsudaira, not to Inari, but tofoxes. 

At present, however, it is no longer possible to establish distinctionsof genera in this ghostly zoology, where each species grows into everyother. It is not even possible to disengage the ki or Soul of the Foxand the August-Spirit-of-Food from the confusion in which both havebecome hopelessly blended, under the name Inari by the vague conceptionof their peasant-worshippers. The old Shinto mythology is indeed quiteexplicit about the August-Spirit-of-Food, and quite silent upon thesubject of foxes. But the peasantry in Izumo, like the peasantry ofCatholic Europe, make mythology for themselves. If asked whether theypray to Inari as to an evil or a good deity, they will tell you thatInari is good, and that Inari-foxes are good. They will tell you ofwhite foxes and dark foxes--of foxes to be reverenced and foxes to bekilled--of the good fox which cries 'kon-kon, ' and the evil fox whichcries 'kwai-kwai. ' But the peasant possessed by the fox cries out: 'I amInari--Tamabushi-no-Inari!'--or some other Inari. 

º5

Goblin foxes are peculiarly dreaded in Izumo for three evil habitsattributed to them. The first is that of deceiving people byenchantment, either for revenge or pure mischief. The second is that ofquartering themselves as retainers upon some family, and thereby makingthat family a terror to its neighbours. The third and worst is that ofentering into people and taking diabolical possession of them andtormenting them into madness. This affliction is called 'kitsune-tsuki. '

The favourite shape assumed by the goblin fox for the purpose ofdeluding mankind is that of a beautiful woman; much less frequently theform of a young man is taken in order to deceive some one of the othersex. Innumerable are the stories told or written about the wiles of fox-women. And a dangerous woman of that class whose art is to enslave men, and strip them of all they possess, is popularly named by a word ofdeadly insult--kitsune. 

Many declare that the fox never really assumes human shape; but that heonly deceives people into the belief that he does so by a sort ofmagnetic power, or by spreading about them a certain magical effluvium. 

The fox does not always appear in the guise of a woman for evilpurposes. There are several stories, and one really pretty play, about afox who took the shape of a beautiful woman, and married a man, and borehim children--all out of gratitude for some favour received--thehappiness of the family being only disturbed by some odd carnivorouspropensities on the part of the offspring. Merely to achieve adiabolical purpose, the form of a woman is not always the best disguise. There are men quite insusceptible to feminine witchcraft. But the fox isnever at a loss for a disguise; he can assume more forms than Proteus. Furthermore, he can make you see or hear or imagine whatever he wishesyou to see, hear, or imagine. He can make you see out of Time and Space;he can recall the past and reveal the future. His power has not beendestroyed by the introduction of Western ideas; for did he not, only afew years ago, cause phantom trains to run upon the Tokkaido railway, thereby greatly confounding, and terrifying the engineers of thecompany? But, like all goblins, he prefers to haunt solitary places. Atnight he is fond of making queer ghostly lights, [8] in semblance oflantern-fires, flit about dangerous places; and to protect yourself fromthis trick of his, it is necessary to learn that by joining your handsin a particular way, so as to leave a diamond-shaped aperture betweenthe crossed fingers, you can extinguish the witch-fire at any distancesimply by blowing through the aperture in the direction of the light anduttering a certain Buddhist formula. 

But it is not only at night that the fox manifests his power formischief: at high noon he may tempt you to go where you are sure to getkilled, or frighten you into going by creating some apparition or makingyou imagine that you feel an earthquake. Consequently the old-fashionedpeasant, on seeing anything extremely queer, is slew to credit thetestimony of his own eyes. The most interesting and valuable witness ofthe stupendous eruption of Bandai-San in 1888--which blew the hugevolcano to pieces and devastated an area of twenty-seven square miles, levelling forests, turning rivers from their courses, and buryingnumbers of villages with all their inhabitants--was an old peasant whohad watched the whole cataclysm from a neighbouring peak asunconcernedly as if he had been looking at a drama. He saw a blackcolumn of ashes and steam rise to the height of twenty thousand feet andspread out at its summit in the shape of an umbrella, blotting out thesun. Then he felt a strange rain pouring upon him, hotter than the waterof a bath. Then all became black; and he felt the mountain beneath himshaking to its roots, and heard a crash of thunders that seemed like thesound of the breaking of a world. But he remained quite still untileverything was over. He had made up his mind not to be afraid--deemingthat all he saw and heard was delusion wrought by the witchcraft of afox. 

º6

Strange is the madness of those into whom demon foxes enter. Sometimesthey run naked shouting through the streets. Sometimes they lie down andfroth at the mouth, and yelp as a fox yelps. And on some part of thebody of the possessed a moving lump appears under the skin, which seemsto have a life of its own. Prick it with a needle, and it glidesinstantly to another place. By no grasp can it be so tightly compressedby a strong hand that it will not slip from under the fingers. Possessedfolk are also said to speak and write languages of which they weretotally ignorant prior to possession. They eat only what foxes arebelieved to like--tofu, aburage, [9] azukimeshi, [10] etc. --and theyeat a great deal, alleging that not they, but the possessing foxes, arehungry. 

It not infrequently happens that the victims of fox-possession arecruelly treated by their relatives--being severely burned and beaten inthe hope that the fox may be thus driven away. Then the Hoin [11] orYamabushi is sent for--the exorciser. The exorciser argues with thefox, who speaks through the mouth of the possessed. When the fox isreduced to silence by religious argument upon the wickedness ofpossessing people, he usually agrees to go away on condition of beingsupplied with plenty of tofu or other food; and the food promised mustbe brought immediately to that particular Inari temple of which the foxdeclares himself a retainer. For the possessing fox, by whomsoever sent, usually confesses himself the servant of a certain Inari thoughsometimes even calling himself the god. 

As soon as the possessed has been freed from the possessor, he fallsdown senseless, and remains for a long time prostrate. And it is said, also, that he who has once been possessed by a fox will never again beable to eat tofu, aburage, azukimeshi, or any of those things whichfoxes like. 

º7

It is believed that the Man-fox (Hito-kitsune) cannot be seen. But if hegoes close to still water, his SHADOW can be seen in the water. Those'having foxes' are therefore supposed to avoid the vicinity of riversand ponds. 

The invisible fox, as already stated, attaches himself to persons. Likea Japanese servant, he belongs to the household. But if a daughter ofthat household marry, the fox not only goes to that new family, following the bride, but also colonises his kind in all those familiesrelated by marriage or kinship with the husband's family. Now every foxis supposed to have a family of seventy-five--neither more, nor lessthan seventy-five--and all these must be fed. So that although suchfoxes, like ghosts, eat very little individually, it is expensive tohave foxes. The fox-possessors (kitsune-mochi) must feed their foxes atregular hours; and the foxes always eat first--all the seventy-live. Assoon as the family rice is cooked in the kama (a great iron cooking-pot), the kitsune-mochi taps loudly on the side of the vessel, anduncovers it. Then the foxes rise up through the floor. And althoughtheir eating is soundless to human ear and invisible to human eye, therice slowly diminishes. Wherefore it is fearful for a poor man to havefoxes. 

But the cost of nourishing foxes is the least evil connected with thekeeping of them. Foxes have no fixed code of ethics, and have provedthemselves untrustworthy servants. They may initiate and long maintainthe prosperity of some family; but should some grave misfortune fallupon that family in spite of the efforts of its seventy-five invisibleretainers, then these will suddenly flee away, taking all the valuablesof the household along with them. And all the fine gifts that foxesbring to their masters are things which have been stolen from somebodyelse. It is therefore extremely immoral to keep foxes. It is alsodangerous for the public peace, inasmuch as a fox, being a goblin, anddevoid of human susceptibilities, will not take certain precautions. Hemay steal the next-door neighbour's purse by night and lay it at his ownmaster's threshold, so that if the next-door neighbour happens to get upfirst and see it there is sure to be a row. 

Another evil habit of foxes is that of making public what they hear saidin private, and taking it upon themselves to create undesirable scandal. For example, a fox attached to the family of Kobayashi-San hears hismaster complain about his neighbour Nakayama-San, whom he secretlydislikes. Therewith the zealous retainer runs to the house of Nakayama-San, and enters into his body, and torments him grievously, saying: 'Iam the retainer of Kobayashi-San to whom you did such-and-such a wrong;and until such time as he command me to depart, I shall continue totorment you. '

And last, but worst of all the risks of possessing foxes, is the dangerthat they may become wroth with some member of the family. Certainly afox may be a good friend, and make rich the home in which he isdomiciled. But as he is not human, and as his motives and feelings arenot those of men, but of goblins, it is difficult to avoid incurring hisdispleasure. At the most unexpected moment he may take offence withoutany cause knowingly having been given, and there is no saying what theconsequences may be. For the fox possesses Instinctive Infinite Vision--and the Ten-Ni-Tsun, or All-Hearing Ear--and the Ta-Shin-Tsun, which isthe Knowledge of the Most Secret Thoughts of Others--and Shiyuku-Mei-Tsun, which is the Knowledge of the Past--and Zhin-Kiyan-Tsun, whichmeans the Knowledge of the Universal Present--and also the Powers ofTransformation and of Transmutation. [12] So that even without includinghis special powers of bewitchment, he is by nature a being almostomnipotent for evil. 

º8

For all these reasons, and. Doubtless many more, people believed to havefoxes are shunned. Intermarriage with a fox-possessing family is out ofthe question; and many a beautiful and accomplished girl in Izumo cannotsecure a husband because of the popular belief that her family harboursfoxes. As a rule, Izumo girls do not like to marry out of their ownprovince; but the daughters of a kitsune-mochi must either marry intothe family of another kitsune-mochi, or find a husband far away from theProvince of the Gods. Rich fox-possessing families have not overmuchdifficulty in disposing of their daughters by one of the means aboveindicated; but many a fine sweet girl of the poorer kitsune-mochi iscondemned by superstition to remain unwedded. It is not because thereare none to love her and desirous of marrying her--young men who havepassed through public schools and who do not believe in foxes. It isbecause popular superstition cannot be yet safely defied in countrydistricts except by the wealthy. The consequences of such defiance wouldhave to be borne, not merely by the husband, but by his whole family, and by all other families related thereunto. Which are consequences tobe thought about!

Among men believed to have foxes there are some who know how to turn thesuperstition to good account. The country-folk, as a general rule, areafraid of giving offence to a kitsune-mochi, lest he should send some ofhis invisible servants to take possession of them. Accordingly, certainkitsune-mochi have obtained great ascendancy over the communities inwhich they live. In the town of Yonago, for example, there is a certainprosperous chonin whose will is almost law, and whose opinions are neveropposed. He is practically the ruler of the place, and in a fair way ofbecoming a very wealthy man. All because he is thought to have foxes. 

Wrestlers, as a class, boast of their immunity from fox-possession, andcare neither for kitsune-mochi nor for their spectral friends. Verystrong men are believed to be proof against all such goblinry. Foxes aresaid to be afraid of them, and instances are cited of a possessing foxdeclaring: 'I wished to enter into your brother, but he was too strongfor me; so I have entered into you, as I am resolved to be revenged uponsome one of your family. '

º9

Now the belief in foxes does not affect persons only: it affectsproperty. It affects the value of real estate in Izumo to the amount ofhundreds of thousands. 

The land of a family supposed to have foxes cannot be sold at a fairprice. People are afraid to buy it; for it is believed the foxes mayruin the new proprietor. The difficulty of obtaining a purchaser is mostgreat in the case of land terraced for rice-fields, in the mountaindistricts. The prime necessity of such agriculture is irrigation--irrigation by a hundred ingenious devices, always in the face ofdifficulties. There are seasons when water becomes terribly scarce, andwhen the peasants will even fight for water. It is feared that on landshaunted by foxes, the foxes may turn the water away from one field intoanother, or, for spite, make holes in the dikes and so destroy the crop. 

There are not wanting shrewd men to take advantage of this queer belief. One gentleman of Matsue, a good agriculturist of the modern school, speculated in the fox-terror fifteen years ago, and purchased a vasttract of land in eastern Izumo which no one else would bid for. Thatland has sextupled in value, besides yielding generously under hissystem of cultivation; and by selling it now he could realise an immensefortune. His success, and the fact of his having been an official of thegovernment, broke the spell: it is no longer believed that his farms arefox-haunted. But success alone could not have freed the soil from thecurse of the superstition. The power of the farmer to banish the foxeswas due to his official character. With the peasantry, the word'Government' is talismanic. 

Indeed, the richest and the most successful farmer of Izumo, worth morethan a hundred thousand yen--Wakuri-San of Chinomiya in Kandegori--isalmost universally believed by the peasantry to be a kitsune-mochi. Theytell curious stories about him. Some say that when a very poor man hefound in the woods one day a little white fox-cub, and took it home, andpetted it, and gave it plenty of tofu, azukimeshi, and aburage--threesorts of food which foxes love--and that from that day prosperity cameto him. Others say that in his house there is a special zashiki, orguest-room for foxes; and that there, once in each month, a greatbanquet is given to hundreds of Hito-kitsune. But Chinomiya-no-Wakuri, as they call him, canaffordto laugh at all these tales. He is a refinedman, highly respected in cultivated circles where superstition neverenters

º 10

When a Ninko comes to your house at night and knocks, there is apeculiar muffled sound about the knocking by which you can tell that thevisitor is a fox--if you have experienced ears. For a fox knocks atdoors with its tail. If you open, then you will see a man, or perhaps abeautiful girl, who will talk to you only in fragments of words, butnevertheless in such a way that you can perfectly well understand. A foxcannot pronounce a whole word, but a part only--as 'Nish . . . Sa. . . 'for 'Nishida-San'; 'degoz . . . ' for 'degozarimasu, or 'uch . . . De . . ?'for 'uchi desuka?' Then, if you are a friend of foxes, the visitorwill present you with a little gift of some sort, and at once vanishaway into the darkness. Whatever the gift may be, it will seem muchlarger that night than in the morning. Only a part of a fox-gift isreal. 

A Matsue shizoku, going home one night by way of the street calledHoromachi, saw a fox running for its life pursued by dogs. He beat thedogs off with his umbrella, thus giving the fox a chance to escape. Onthe following evening he heard some one knock at his door, and onopening the to saw a very pretty girl standing there, who said to him:'Last night I should have died but for your august kindness. I know nothow to thank you enough: this is only a pitiable little present. And shelaid a small bundle at his feet and went away. He opened the bundle andfound two beautiful ducks and two pieces of silver money--those long, heavy, leaf-shaped pieces of money--each worth ten or twelve dollars--such as are now eagerly sought for by collectors of antique things. After a little while, one of the coins changed before his eyes into apiece of grass; the other was always good. 

Sugitean-San, a physician of Matsue, was called one evening to attend acase of confinement at a house some distance from the city, on the hillcalled Shiragayama. He was guided by a servant carrying a paper lanternpainted with an aristocratic crest. [13] He entered into a magnificenthouse, where he was received with superb samurai courtesy. The motherwas safely delivered of a fine boy. The family treated the physician toan excellent dinner, entertained him elegantly, and sent him home, loaded with presents and money. Next day he went, according to Japaneseetiquette, to return thanks to his hosts. He could not find the house:there was, in fact, nothing on Shiragayama except forest. Returninghome, he examined again the gold which had been paid to him. All wasgood except one piece, which had changed into grass. 

º11

Curious advantages have been taken of the superstitions relating to theFox-God. 

In Matsue, several years ago, there was a tofuya which enjoyed anunusually large patronage. A tofuya is a shop where tofu is sold--acurd prepared from beans, and much resembling good custard inappearance. Of all eatable things, foxes are most fond of tofu and ofsoba, which is a preparation of buckwheat. There is even a legend that afox, in the semblance of an elegantly attired man, once visited Nogi-no-Kuriharaya, a popular sobaya on the lake shore, and ate much soba. Butafter the guest was gone, the money he had paid changed into woodenshavings. 

The proprietor of the tofuya had a different experience. A man inwretched attire used to come to his shop every evening to buy a cho oftofu, which he devoured on the spot with the haste of one long famished. Every evening for weeks he came, and never spoke; but the landlord sawone evening the tip of a bushy white tail protruding from beneath thestranger's rags. The sight aroused strange surmises and weird hopes. From that night he began to treat the mysterious visitor with obsequiouskindness. But another month passed before the latter spoke. Then what hesaid was about as follows:

'Though I seem to you a man, I am not a man; and I took upon myselfhuman form only for the purpose of visiting you. I come from Taka-machi, where my temple is, at which you often visit. And being desirousto reward your piety and goodness of heart, I have come to-night to saveyou from a great danger. For by the power which I possess I know thattomorrow this street will burn, and all the houses in it shall beutterly destroyed except yours. To save it I am going to make a charm. But in order that I may do this, you must open your go-down (kura) thatI may enter, and allow no one to watch me; for should living eye lookupon me there, the charm will not avail. '

The shopkeeper, with fervent words of gratitude, opened his storehouse, and reverently admitted the seeming Inari and gave orders that none ofhis household or servants should keep watch. And these orders were sowell obeyed that all the stores within the storehouse, and all thevaluables of the family, were removed without hindrance during thenight. Next day the kura was found to be empty. And there was no fire. 

There is also a well-authenticated story about another wealthyshopkeeper of Matsue who easily became the prey of another pretendedInari This Inari told him that whatever sum of money he should leave ata certain miya by night, he would find it doubled in the morning--asthe reward of his lifelong piety. The shopkeeper carried several smallsums to the miya, and found them doubled within twelve hours. Then hedeposited larger sums, which were similarly multiplied; he even riskedsome hundreds of dollars, which were duplicated. Finally he took all hismoney out of the bank and placed it one evening within the shrine of thegod--and never saw it again. 

º12

Vast is the literature of the subject of foxes--ghostly foxes. Some ofit is old as the eleventh century. In the ancient romances and themodern cheap novel, in historical traditions and in popular fairy-tales, foxes perform wonderful parts. There are very beautiful and very sad andvery terrible stories about foxes. There are legends of foxes discussedby great scholars, and legends of foxes known to every child in Japan--such as the history of Tamamonomae, the beautiful favourite of theEmperor Toba--Tamamonomae, whose name has passed into a proverb, andwho proved at last to be only a demon fox with Nine Tails and Fur ofGold. But the most interesting part of fox-literature belongs to theJapanese stage, where the popular beliefs are often most humorouslyreflected--as in the following excerpts from the comedy of Hiza-Kuruge, written by one Jippensha Ikku:

[Kidahachi and Iyaji are travelling from Yedo to Osaka. When within ashort distance of Akasaka, Kidahachi hastens on in advance to securegood accommodations at the best inn. Iyaji, travelling along leisurely, stops a little while at a small wayside refreshment-house kept by an oldwoman]

OLD WOMAN. --Please take some tea, sir. IYAJI. --Thank you! How far isit from here to the next town?--Akasaka? OLD WOMAN. --About one ri. Butif you have no companion, you had better remain here to-night, becausethere is a bad fox on the way, who bewitches travellers. IYAJI. --I amafraid of that sort of thing. But I must go on; for my companion hasgone on ahead of me, and will be waiting for me. 

[After having paid for his refreshments, lyaji proceeds on his way. Thenight is very dark, and he feels quite nervous on account of what theold woman has told him. After having walked a considerable distance, hesuddenly hears a fox yelping--kon-kon. Feeling still more afraid, heshouts at the top of his voice:-]

IYAJI. --Come near me, and I will kill you!

[Meanwhile Kidahachi, who has also been frightened by the old woman'sstories, and has therefore determined to wait for lyaji, is saying tohimself in the dark: 'If I do not wait for him, we shall certainly bedeluded. ' Suddenly he hears lyaji's voice, and cries out to him:-]

KIDAHACHI. --O lyaji-San!IYAJI. --What are you doing there?KIDAHACHI. --I did intend to go on ahead; but I became afraid, and soI concluded to stop here and wait for you. IYAJI (who imagines that the fox has taken the shape of Kidahachi todeceive him). --Do not think that you are going to dupe me?KIDAHACHI. --That is a queer way to talk! I have some nice mochi [14]here which I bought for you. IYAJI. --Horse-dung cannot be eaten! [15]KIDAHACHI. --Don't be suspicious!--I am really Kidahachi. IYAJI (springing upon him furiously). --Yes! you took the form ofKidahachi just to deceive me!KIDAHACHI. --What do you mean?--What are you going to do to me?IYAJI. --I am going to kill you! (Throws him down. )KIDAHACHI. --Oh! you have hurt me very much--please leave me alone!IYAJI. --If you are really hurt, then let me see you in your real shape!(They struggle together. )KIDAHACHI. --What are you doing?--putting your hand there?IYAJI. --I am feeling for your tail. If you don't put out your tail atonce, I shall make you! (Takes his towel, and with it ties Kidahachi'shands behind his back, and then drives him before him. )KIDAHACHI. --Please untie me--please untie me first!

[By this time they have almost reached Akasaka, and lyaji, seeing a dog, calls the animal, and drags Kidahachi close to it; for a dog is believedto be able to detect a fox through any disguise. But the dog takes nonotice of Kidahachi. Lyaji therefore unties him, and apologises; andthey both laugh at their previous fears. ]

º 13

But there are some very pleasing forms of the Fox-God. 

For example, there stands in a very obscure street of Matsue--one ofthose streets no stranger is likely to enter unless he loses his way--atemple called Jigyoba-no-Inari, [16] and also Kodomo-no-Inari, or 'theChildren's Inari. ' It is very small, but very famous; and it has beenrecently presented with a pair of new stone foxes, very large, whichhave gilded teeth and a peculiarly playful expression of countenance. These sit one on each side of the gate: the Male grinning with openjaws, the Female demure, with mouth closed. [17] In the court you willfind many ancient little foxes with noses, heads, or tails broken, twogreat Karashishi before which straw sandals (waraji) have been suspendedas votive offerings by somebody with sore feet who has prayed to theKarashishi-Sama that they will heal his affliction, and a shrine ofKojin, occupied by the corpses of many children's dolls. [18]

The grated doors of the shrine of Jigyoba-no-Inari, like those of theshrine of Yaegaki, are white with the multitude of little papers tied tothem, which papers signify prayers. But the prayers are special andcurious. To right and to left of the doors, and also above them, oddlittle votive pictures are pasted upon the walls, mostly representingchildren in bath-tubs, or children getting their heads shaved. There arealso one or two representing children at play. Now the interpretation ofthese signs and wonders is as follows:

Doubtless you know that Japanese children, as well as Japanese adults, must take a hot bath every day; also that it is the custom to shave theheads of very small boys and girls. But in spite of hereditary patienceand strong ancestral tendency to follow ancient custom, young childrenfind both the razor and the hot bath difficult to endure, with theirdelicate skins. For the Japanese hot bath is very hot (not less than 110degs F. , as a general rule), and even the adult foreigner must learnslowly to bear it, and to appreciate its hygienic value. Also, theJapanese razor is a much less perfect instrument than ours, and is usedwithout any lather, and is apt to hurt a little unless used by the mostskilful hands. And finally, Japanese parents are not tyrannical withtheir children: they pet and coax, very rarely compel or terrify. Sothat it is quite a dilemma for them when the baby revolts against thebath or mutinies against the razor. 

The parents of the child who refuses to be shaved or bathed haverecourse to Jigyoba-no-Inati. The god is besought to send one of hisretainers to amuse the child, and reconcile it to the new order ofthings, and render it both docile and happy. Also if a child is naughty, or falls sick, this Inari is appealed to. If the prayer be granted, somesmall present is made to the temple--sometimes a votive picture, suchas those pasted by the door, representing the successful result of thepetition. To judge by the number of such pictures, and by the prosperityof the temple, the Kodomo-no-Inani would seem to deserve his popularity. Even during the few minutes I passed in his court I saw three youngmothers, with infants at their backs, come to the shrine and pray andmake offerings. I noticed that one of the children--remarkably pretty--had never been shaved at all. This was evidently a very obstinate case. 

While returning from my visit to the Jigyoba Inani, my Japanese servant, who had guided me there, told me this story:

The son of his next-door neighbour, a boy of seven, went out to play onemorning, and disappeared for two days. The parents were not at firstuneasy, supposing that the child had gone to the house of a relative, where he was accustomed to pass a day or two from time to time. But onthe evening of the second day it was learned that the child had not beenat the house in question. Search was at once made; but neither searchnor inquiry availed. Late at night, however, a knock was heard at thedoor of the boy's dwelling, and the mother, hurrying out, found hertruant fast asleep on the ground. She could not discover who hadknocked. The boy, upon being awakened, laughed, and said that on themorning of his disappearance he had met a lad of about his own age, withvery pretty eyes, who had coaxed him away to the woods, where they hadplayed together all day and night and the next day at very curious funnygames. But at last he got sleepy, and his comrade took him home. He wasnot hungry. The comrade promised 'to come to-morrow. '

But the mysterious comrade never came; and no boy of the descriptiongiven lived in the neighbourhood. The inference was that the comrade wasa fox who wanted to have a little fun. The subject of the fun mournedlong in vain for his merry companion. 

º14

Some thirty years ago there lived in Matsue an ex-wrestler namedTobikawa, who was a relentless enemy of foxes and used to hunt and killthem. He was popularly believed to enjoy immunity from bewitchmentbecause of his immense strength; but there were some old folks whopredicted that he would not die a natural death. This prediction wasfulfilled:

Tobikawa died in a very curious manner. He was excessively fond ofpractical jokes. One day he disguised himself as a Tengu, or sacredgoblin, with wings and claws and long nose, and ascended a lofty tree ina sacred grove near Rakusan, whither, after a little while, the innocentpeasants thronged to worship him with offerings. While diverting himselfwith this spectacle, and trying to play his part by springing nimblyfrom one branch to another, he missed his footing and broke his neck inthe fall. 

º15

But these strange beliefs are swiftly passing away. Year by year moreshrines of Inari crumble down, never to be rebuilt. Year by year thestatuaries make fewer images of foxes. Year by year fewer victims offox-possession are taken to the hospitals to be treated according to thebest scientific methods by Japanese physicians who speak German. Thecause is not to be found in the decadence of the old faiths: asuperstition outlives a religion. Much less is it to be sought for inthe efforts of proselytising missionaries from the West--most of whomprofess an earnest belief in devils. It is purely educational. Theomnipotent enemy of superstition is the public school, where theteaching of modern science is unclogged by sectarianism or prejudice;where the children of the poorest may learn the wisdom of the Occident;where there is not a boy or a girl of fourteen ignorant of the greatnames of Tyndall, of Darwin, of Huxley, of Herbert Spencer. The littlehands that break the Fox-god's nose in mischievous play can also writeessays upon the evolution of plants and about the geology of Izumo. There is no place for ghostly foxes in the beautiful nature-worldrevealed by new studies to the new generation The omnipotent exorciserand reformer is the Kodomo. 

NOTES

Note for preface

1 In striking contrast to this indifference is the strong, rational, far-seeing conservatism of Viscount Torio--a noble exception. 

Notes for Chapter One

1 I do not think this explanation is correct; but it is interesting, as the first which I obtained upon the subject. Properly speaking, Buddhist worshippers should not clap their hands, but only rub themsoftly together. Shinto worshippers always clap their hands four times. 

2 Various writers, following the opinion of the Japanologue Satow, have stated that the torii was originally a bird-perch for fowls offeredup to the gods at Shinto shrines--'not as food, but to give warning ofdaybreak. ' The etymology of the word is said to be 'bird-rest' by someauthorities; but Aston, not less of an authority, derives it from wordswhich would give simply the meaning of a gateway. See Chamberlain'sThings Japanese, pp. 429, 430. 

3 Professor Basil Hall Chamberlain has held the extraordinary positionof Professor of Japanese in the Imperial University of Japan--no smallhonour to English philology!

4 These Ni-O, however, the first I saw in Japan, were very clumsyfigures. There are magnificent Ni-O to be seen in some of the greattemple gateways in Tokyo, Kyoto, and elsewhere. The grandest of all arethose in the Ni-O Mon, or 'Two Kings' Gate, ' of the huge Todaiji templeat Nara. They are eight hundred years old. It is impossible not toadmire the conception of stormy dignity and hurricane-force embodied inthose colossal figures. Prayers are addressed to the Ni-O, especiallyby pilgrims. Most of their statues are disfigured by little pellets ofwhite paper, which people chew into a pulp and then spit at them. Thereis a curious superstition that if the pellet sticks to the statue theprayer is heard; if, on the other hand, it falls to the ground, theprayer will not be answered. 

Note for Chapter Two

1 Dainagon, the title of a high officer in the ancient Imperial Court. 

Notes for Chapter Three

1 Derived from the Sanscrit stupa. 

2 'The real origin of the custom of piling stones before the images ofJizo and other divinities is not now known to the people. The Custom isfounded upon a passage in the famous Sutra, "The Lotus of the Good Law. "

'Even the little hoys who, in playing, erected here and there heaps ofsand, with the intention of dedicating them as Stupas to the Ginas, -they have all of them reached enlightenment. '--Saddharma Pundarika, c. II. V. 81 (Kern's translation), 'Sacred Books of the East, ' vol. Xxi. 

3 The original Jizo has been identified by Orientalists with theSanscrit Kshitegarbha; as Professor Chamberlain observes, theresemblance in sound between the names Jizo and Jesus 'is quitefortuitous. ' But in Japan Jizo has become totally transformed: he mayjustly be called the most Japanese of all Japanese divinities. Accordingto the curious old Buddhist book, Sai no Kawara Kuchi zu sams no den, the whole Sai-no-Kawara legend originated in Japan, and was firstwritten by the priest Kuya Shonin, in the sixth year of the periodcalled TenKei, in the reign of the Emperor Shuyaku, who died in the year946. To Kuya was revealed, in the village of Sai-in, near Kyoto, duringa night passed by the dry bed of the neighbouring river, Sai-no-Kawa(said to be the modern Serikawa), the condition of child-souls in theMeido. (Such is the legend in the book; but Professor Chamberlain hasshown that the name Sai-no-Kawara, as now written, signifies 'The DryBed of the River of Souls, ' and modern Japanese faith places that riverin the Meido. ) Whatever be the true history of the myth, it is certainlyJapanese; and the conception of Jizo as the lover and playfellow of deadchildren belongs to Japan. There are many other popular forms of Jizo, one of the most common being that Koyasu-Jizo to whom pregnant womenpray. There are but few roads in Japan upon which statues of Jizo maynot be seen; for he is also the patron of pilgrims. 

4 Except those who have never married. 

5 In Sanscrit, 'Yama-Raja. ' But the Indian conception has been totallytransformed by Japanese Buddhism. 

6 Funeral customs, as well as the beliefs connected with them, varyconsiderably in different parts of Japan. Those of the eastern provincesdiffer from those of the western and southern. The old practice ofplacing articles of value in the coffin--such as the metal mirrorformerly buried with a woman, or the sword buried with a man of theSamurai caste--has become almost obsolete. But the custom of puttingmoney in the coffin still prevails: in Izumo the amount is always sixrin, and these are called Rokudo-kane, or 'The Money for the Six Roads. '

7 Literally 'Western Capital, '--modern name of Kyoto, ancientresidence of the emperors. The name 'Tokyo, ' on the other hand, signifies 'Eastern Capital. '

8 These first ten lines of the original will illustrate the measureof the wasan:

Kore wa konoyo no koto narazu, Shide no yamaji no suso no naru, Sai-no-Kawara no monogatariKiku ni tsuketemo aware nariFutatsu-ya, mitsu-ya, yotsu, itsutsu, To nimo taranu midorigo gaSai-no-Kawara ni atsumari te, Chichi koishi! haha koishi!Koishi! koishi! to naku koe waKonoyo no koe towa ko to kawari. . 

Notes for Chapter Four

1 Yane, 'roof'; shobu, 'sweet-flag' (Acorus calamus). 

2 At the time this paper was written, nearly three years ago, I hadnot seen the mighty bells at Kyoto and at Nara. 

The largest bell in Japan is suspended in the grounds of the grand Jodotemple of Chion-in, at Kyoto. Visitors are not allowed to sound it. Itwas east in 1633. It weighs seventy-four tons, and requires, they say, twenty-five men to ring it properly. Next in size ranks the hell of theDaibutsu temple in Kyoto, which visitors are allowed to ring on paymentof a small sum. It was cast in 1615, and weighs sixty-three tons. Thewonderful bell of Todaiji at Nara, although ranking only third, isperhaps the most interesting of all. It is thirteen feet six incheshigh, and nine feet in diameter; and its inferiority to the Kyoto bellsis not in visible dimensions so much as in weight and thickness. Itweighs thirty-seven tons. It was cast in 733, and is therefore onethousand one hundred and sixty years old. Visitors pay one cent to soundit once. 

3 'In Sanscrit, Avalokitesvara. The Japanese Kwannon, or Kwanze-on, isidentical in origin with the Chinese virgin-goddess Kwanyin adopted byBuddhism as an incarnation of the Indian Avalokitesvara. (See Eitel'sHandbook of Chinese Buddhism. ) But the Japanese Kwan-non has lost allChinese characteristics, --has become artistically an idealisation ofall that is sweet and beautiful in the woman of Japan. 

4 Let the reader consult Mitford's admirable Tales of Old Japan forthe full meaning of the term 'Ronin. 

5 There is a delicious Japanese proverb, the full humour of which isonly to be appreciated by one familiar with the artistic representationsof the divinities referred to: Karutoki no Jizo-gao, Nasutoki no Emma-gao. 

 'Borrowing-time, the face of Jizo; Repaying-time, the face of Emma. '

6 This old legend has peculiar interest as an example of the effortsmade by Buddhism to absorb the Shinto divinities, as it had alreadyabsorbed those of India and of China. These efforts were, to a greatextent, successful prior to the disestablishment of Buddhism and therevival of Shinto as the State religion. But in Izumo, and other partsof western Japan, Shinto has always remained dominant, and has evenappropriated and amalgamated much belonging to Buddhism. 

7 In Sanscrit 'Hariti'--Karitei-Bo is the Japanese name for one formof Kishibojin. 

Notes for Chapter Five

1 It is related in the same book that Ananda having asked the Buddha howcame Mokenren's mother to suffer in the Gakido, the Teacher replied thatin a previous incarnation she had refused, through cupidity, to feedcertain visiting priests. 

2 A deity of good fortune

Notes for Chapter Six

1 The period in which only deities existed. 

2 Hyakusho, a peasant, husbandman. The two Chinese characters formingthe word signify respectively, 'a hundred' (hyaku), and 'family name'(sei). One might be tempted to infer that the appellation is almostequivalent to our phrase, 'their name is legion. ' And a Japanese friendassures me that the inference would not be far wrong. Anciently thepeasants had no family name; each was known by his personal appellation, coupled with the name of his lord as possessor or ruler. Thus a hundredpeasants on one estate would all be known by the name of their master. 

3 This custom of praying for the souls of animals is by no meansgeneral. But I have seen in the western provinces several burials ofdomestic animals at which such prayers were said. After the earth wasfilled in, some incense-rods were lighted above the grave in eachinstance, and the prayers were repeated in a whisper. A friend in thecapital sends me the following curious information: 'At the Eko-intemple in Tokyo prayers are offered up every morning for the souls ofcertain animals whose ihai [mortuary tablets] are preserved in thebuilding. A fee of thirty sen will procure burial in the temple-groundand a short service for any small domestic pet. ' Doubtless similartemples exist elsewhere. Certainly no one capable of affection for ourdumb friends and servants can mock these gentle customs. 

4 Why six Jizo instead of five or three or any other number, the readermay ask. I myself asked the question many times before receiving anysatisfactory reply. Perhaps the following legend affords the mostsatisfactory explanation:

According to the Book Taijo-Hoshi-mingyo-nenbutsu-den, Jizo-Bosatsu wasa woman ten thousand ko (kalpas) before this era, and became filled withdesire to convert all living beings of the Six Worlds and the FourBirths. And by virtue of the Supernatural Powers she multiplied herselfand simultaneously appeared in all the Rokussho or Six States ofSentient Existence at once, namely in the Jigoku, Gaki, Chikusho, Shura, Ningen, Tenjo, and converted the dwellers thereof. (A friend insiststhat in order to have done this Jizo must first have become a man. )

Among the many names of Jizo, such as 'The Never Slumbering, ' 'TheDragon-Praiser, ' 'The Shining King, ' 'Diamond-of-Pity, ' I find thesignificant appellation of 'The Countless Bodied. '

5 Since this sketch was written, I have seen the Bon-odori in manydifferent parts of Japan; but I have never witnessed exactly the samekind of dance. Indeed, I would judge from my experiences in Izumo, inOki, in Tottori, in Hoki, in Bingo, and elsewhere, that the Bonodori isnot danced in the same way in any two provinces. Not only do the motionsand gestures vary according to locality, but also the airs of the songssung--and this even when the words are the same. In some places themeasure is slow and solemn; in others it is rapid and merry, andcharacterised by a queer jerky swing, impossible to describe. Buteverywhere both the motion and the melody are curious and pleasingenough to fascinate the spectator for hours. Certainly these primitivedances are of far greater interest than the performances of geisha. Although Buddhism may have utilised them and influenced them, they arebeyond doubt incomparably older than Buddhism. 

Notes for Chapter Seven

1 Thick solid sliding shutters of unpainted wood, which in Japanesehouses serve both as shutters and doors. 

2 Tanabiku. 

3 Ama-terasu-oho-mi-Kami literally signifies 'the Heaven-Shining Great-August-Divinity. ' (See Professor Chamberlain's translation of theKojiki. )

4 'The gods who do harm are to be appeased, so that they may not punishthose who have offended them. ' Such are the words of the great Shintoteacher, Hirata, as translated by Mr. Satow in his article, ~ TheRevival of Pure . Shintau. 

5 Machi, a stiff piece of pasteboard or other material sewn into thewaist of the hakama at the back, so as to keep the folds of the garmentperpendicular and neat-looking. 

6 Kush-no-ki-Matsuhira-Inari-Daimyojin. 

7 From an English composition by one of my Japanese pupils. 

8 Rin, one tenth of one cent. A small round copper coin with a squarehole in the middle. 

9 An inn where soba is sold. 

10 According to the mythology of the Kojiki the Moon-Deity is a maledivinity. But the common people know nothing of the Kojiki, written inan archaic Japanese which only the learned can read; and they addressthe moon as O-Tsuki-San, or 'Lady Moon, ' just as the old Greek idyllistsdid. 

Notes for Chapter Eight

1 The most ancient book extant in the archaic tongue of Japan. It is themost sacred scripture of Shinto. It has been admirably translated, withcopious notes and commentaries, by Professor Basil Hall Chamberlain, ofTokyo. 

2 The genealogy of the family is published in a curious little bookwith which I was presented at Kitzuki. Senke Takanori is the eighty-first Pontiff Governor (formerly called Kokuzo) of Kitzuki. His lineageis traced back through sixty-five generations of Kokuzo and sixteengenerations of earthly deities to Ama-terasu and her brother Susanoo-no-mikoto. 

3 In Sanscrit pretas. The gaki are the famished ghosts of that Circleof Torment in hell whereof the penance is hunger; and the mouths of someare 'smaller than the points of needles. '

4 Mionoseki. 

5 Now solidly united with the mainland. Many extraordinary changes, ofrare interest to the physiographer and geologist, have actually takenplace along the coast of Izumo and in the neighbourhood of the greatlake. Even now, each year some change occurs. I have seen several verystrange ones. 

6 The Hakuja, or White Serpent, is also the servant of Benten, 01 Ben-zai-ten, Goddess of Love, of Beauty, of Eloquence, and of the Sea. 'TheHakuja has the face of an ancient man, with white eyebrows and wearsupon its head a crown. ' Both goddess and serpent can be identified withancient Indian mythological beings, and Buddhism first introduced bothinto Japan. Among the people, especially perhaps in Izumo, certaindivinities of Buddhism are often identified, or rather confused, withcertain Kami, in popular worship and parlance. 

Since this sketch was written, I have had opportunity of seeing a Ryu-jawithin a few hours after its capture. It was between two and three feetlong, and about one inch in diameter at its thickest girth The upperpart of the body was a very dark brown, and the belly yellowish white;toward the tail there were some beautiful yellowish mottlings. The bodywas not cylindrical, but curiously four-sided--like those elaboratelywoven whip-lashes which have four edges. The tail was flat andtriangular, like that of certain fish. A Japanese teacher, Mr. Watanabe, of the Normal School of Matsue, identified the little creature as ahydrophid of the species called Pela-mis bicalor. It is so seldom seen, however, that I think the foregoing superficial description of it maynot be without interest to some readers. 

7 Ippyo, one hyo 2 1/2 hyo make one koku = 5. 13 bushels. The word hyomeans also the bag made to contain one hyo. 

8 Either at Kitzuki or at Sada it is possible sometimes to buy aserpent. On many a 'household-god-shelf' in Matsue the little serpentmay be seen. I saw one that had become brittle and black with age, butwas excellently preserved by some process of which I did not learn thenature. It had been admirably posed in a tiny wire cage, made to fitexactly into a small shrine of white wood, and must have been, whenalive, about two feet four inches in length. A little lamp was lighteddaily before it, and some Shinto formula recited by the poor family towhom it belonged. 

9 Translated by Professor Chamberlain the 'Deity Master-of-the-Great-Land'-one of the most ancient divinities of Japan, but in popularworship confounded with Daikoku, God of Wealth. His son, Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami, is similarly confounded with Ebisu, or Yebisu, the patronof honest labour. The origin of the Shinto custom of clapping the handsin prayer is said by some Japanese writers to have been a sign given byKoto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami. 

Both deities are represented by Japanese art in a variety of ways, Someof the twin images of them sold at Kitzuki are extremely pretty as wellas curious. 

10 Very large donations are made to this temple by wealthy men. Thewooden tablets without the Haiden, on which are recorded the number ofgifts and the names of the donors, mention several recent presents of1000 yen, or dollars; and donations of 500 yen are not uncommon. Thegift of a high civil official is rarely less than 50 yen. 

11 Taku is the Japanese name for the paper mulberry. 

12 See the curious legend in Professor Chamberlain's translation of theKojiki. 

13 From a remote period there have been two Kokuzo in theory, althoughbut one incumbent. Two branches of the same family claim ancestral rightto the office, --the rival houses of Senke and Kitajima. The governmenthas decided always in favour of the former; but the head of the Kitajimafamily has usually been appointed Vice-Kokuzo. A Kitajima to-day holdsthe lesser office. The term Kokuzo is not, correctly speaking, aspiritual, but rather a temporal title. The Kokuzo has always been theemperor's deputy to Kitzuki, --the person appointed to worship the deityin the emperor's stead; but the real spiritual title of such a deputy isthat still borne by the present Guji, --'Mitsuye-Shiro. '

14 Haliotis tuberculata, or 'sea-ear. ' The curious shell is pierced witha row of holes, which vary in number with the age and size of the animalit shields. 

15 Literally, 'ten hiro, ' or Japanese fathoms. 

16 The fire-drill used at the Shinto temples of Ise is far morecomplicated in construction, and certainly represents a much moreadvanced stage of mechanical knowledge than the Kitzuki fire-drillindicates. 

17 During a subsequent visit to Kitzuki I learned that the koto-ita isused only as a sort of primitive 'tuning' instrument: it gives the righttone for the true chant which I did not hear during my first visit. Thetrue chant, an ancient Shinto hymn, is always preceded by theperformance above described. 

18 The tempest of the Kokuzo. 

19 That is, according to Motoori, the commentator. Or more briefly: 'Noor yes?' This is, according to Professor Chamberlain, a mere fancifuletymology; but it is accepted by Shinto faith, and for that reason onlyis here given. 

20 The title of Kokuzo indeed, still exists, but it is now merelyhonorary, having no official duties connected with it. It is actuallyborne by Baron Senke, the father of Senke Takanori, residing in thecapital. The active religious duties of the Mitsuye-shiro now devolveupon the Guji. 

21 As late as 1890 I was told by a foreign resident, who had travelledmuch in the interior of the country, that in certain districts many oldpeople may be met with who still believe that to see the face of theemperor is 'to become a Buddha'; that is, to die. 

22 Hideyoshi, as is well known, was not of princely extraction

23 The Kojiki dates back, as a Written work, only to A. D. 722. But itslegends and records are known to have existed in the form of oralliterature from a much more ancient time. 

24 In certain provinces of Japan Buddhism practically absorbed Shinto inother centuries, but in Izumo Shinto absorbed Buddhism; and now thatShinto is supported by the State there is a visible tendency toeliminate from its cult certain elements of Buddhist origin. 

Notes for Chapter Nine

1 Such are the names given to the water-vessels or cisterns at whichShinto worshippers must wash their hands and rinse their mouths erepraying to the Kami. A mitarashi or o-chozubachi is placed before everyShinto temple. The pilgrim to Shin-Kukedo-San should perform thisceremonial ablution at the little rock-spring above described, beforeentering the sacred cave. Here even the gods of the cave are said towash after having passed through the seawater. 

2 August Fire-Lady'; or, 'the August Sun-Lady, ' Amaterasu-oho-mi-Kami. 

Notes for Chapter Ten

1 Mionoseki

2 Zashiki, the best and largest room of a Japanese dwelling--the guest-room of a private house, or the banquet-room of a public inn. 

Notes for Chapter Eleven

1 Fourteenth of August. 

2 In the pretty little seaside hotel Inaba-ya, where I lived during mystay in Kitzuki, the kind old hostess begged her guests with almosttearful earnestness not to leave the house during the Minige. 

3 There are ten rin to one sen, and ten mon to one rin, on one hundredto one sen. The majority of the cheap toys sold at the matsuri cost fromtwo to nine rin. The rin is a circular copper coin with a square hole inthe middle for stringing purposes. 

4 Why the monkey is so respectfully mentioned in polite speech, I donot exactly know; but I think that the symbolical relation of themonkey, both to Buddhism and to Shinto, may perhaps account for the useof the prefix 'O' (honourable) before its name. 

5 As many fine dolls really are. The superior class of O-Hina-San, suchas figure in the beautiful displays of the O-Hina-no-Matsuri at richhomes, are heirlooms. Dolls are not given to children to break; andJapanese children seldom break them. I saw at a Doll's Festival in thehouse of the Governor of Izumo, dolls one hundred years old-charmingfigurines in ancient court costume. 

6 Not to be confounded with Koshin, the God of Roads. 

7 Celtis Wilidenowiana. Sometimes, but rarely, a pine or other tree issubstituted for the enoki. 

8 'Literally, 'The Dance of the Fruitful Year. '

9First, --unto the Taisha-Sama of Izunio;Second, --to Irokami-Sama of Niigata;Third, --unto Kompira-Sama of Sanuki;Fourth, --unto Zenkoji-Sama of Shinano;Fifth, --to O-Yakushi-San of Ichibata;Sixth, --to O-Jizo-Sama of Rokkakudo;Seventh, --to O-Ebisu-Sama of Nana-ura;Eighth, --unto Hachiman-Sama of Yawata;Ninth, --unto everyholy shrine of Koya;Tenth, --to the Ujigami-Sama of our village. 'Japanese readers will appreciate the ingenious manner in which the numeralat the beginning of each phrase is repeated in the name of the sacredplace sung of. 

Notes for Chapter Twelve

1 This deity is seldom called by his full name, which has been shortenedby common usage from Susano-o-no-mikoto. 

2 A kichinyado is an inn at which the traveller is charged only theprice of the wood used for fuel in cooking his rice. 

3 The thick fine straw mats, fitted upon the floor of every Japaneseroom, are always six feet long by three feet broad. The largest room inthe ordinary middle-class house is a room of eight mats. A room of onehundred mats is something worth seeing. 

4 The kubi-oke was a lacquered tray with a high rim and a high cover. The name signifies 'head-box. ' It was the ancient custom to place thehead of a decapitated person upon a kubi-oke before conveying theghastly trophy into the palace of the prince desirous of seeing it. 

Notes for Chapter Thirteen

1 Yama-no-mono ('mountain-folk, '--so called from their settlement onthe hills above Tokoji), --a pariah-class whose special calling is thewashing of the dead and the making of graves. 2 Joro: a courtesan. 3 Illicium religiosum4 Literally: 'without shadow' or 'shadowless. '5 Umi-yama-no-on. 6 Kusaba-no-kage7 Or 'him. ' This is a free rendering. The word 'nushi' simply refersto the owner of the house. 

Notes for Chapter Fourteen

1 ''Eight clouds arise. The eightfold [or, manifold] fence of Idzumomakes an eightfold [or, manifold] fence for the spouses to retirewithin. Oh! that eightfold fence!' This is said to be the oldest song inthe Japanese language. It has been differently translated by the greatscholars and commentators. The above version and text are from ProfessorB. H. Chamberlain's translation of the Kojiki (pp. 60-64). 

2 Professor Chamberlain disputes this etymology for excellent reasons. But in Izumo itself the etymology is still accepted, and will beaccepted, doubtless, until the results of foreign scholarship in thestudy of the archaic texts is more generally known. 

3 Planeca Japonica. 

4 So absolutely has Shinto in Izumo monopolised the Karashishi, orstone lions, of Buddhist origin, that it is rare in the province to finda pair before any Buddhist temple. There is even a Shinto myth abouttheir introduction into Japan from India, by the Fox-God!

5 Such offerings are called Gwan-hodoki. Gwan wo hodoki, 'to make avow. '

6 A pilgrim whose prayer has been heard usually plants a single noborias a token. Sometimes you may see nobori of five colours (goshiki), --black, yellow, red, blue, and white--of which one hundred or onethousand have been planted by one person. But this is done only inpursuance of some very special vow. 

7 'On being asked if there were any other love charm, the Newt replied, making a ring with two of his toes--"Only this. " The sign signifies, "Money. "'

8 There are no less than eleven principal kinds of Japanese names. Thejitsumyo, or 'true name, ' corresponds to our Christian name. On thisintricate and interesting topic the reader should consult Professor B. H. Chamberlain's excellent little book, Things Japanese, pp. 250-5. 

9 That I may be wedded to Takaki-Toki, I humbly pray. --A youth ofeighteen. '

10 The gengebana (also called renge-so, and in Izumo miakobana) is anherb planted only for fertilizing purposes. Its flowers are extremelysmall, but so numerous that in their blossoming season miles of fieldsare coloured by them a beautiful lilaceous blue. A gentleman who wishedto marry a joro despite the advice of his friends, was gently chided bythem with the above little verse, which, freely translated, signifies:'Take it not into thy hand: the flowers of the gengebans are fair toview only when left all together in the field. '

Notes for Chapter Fifteen

1 Toyo-uke-bime-no-Kami, or Uka-no-mi-tana ('who has also eight othernames), is a female divinity, according to the Kojiki and itscommentators. Moreover, the greatest of all Shinto scholars, Hirata, ascited by Satow, says there is really no such god as Inari-San at all--that the very name is an error. But the common people have created theGod Inari: therefore he must be presumed to exist--if only forfolklorists; and I speak of him as a male deity because I see him sorepresented in pictures and carvings. As to his mythological existence, his great and wealthy temple at Kyoto is impressive testimony. 

2 The white fox is a favourite subject with Japanese artists. Some verybeautiful kakemono representing white foxes were on display at the Tokyoexhibition of 1890. Phosphorescent foxes often appear in the oldcoloured prints, now so rare and precious, made by artists whose nameshave become world-famous. Occasionally foxes are represented wanderingabout at night, with lambent tongues of dim fire--kitsune-bi--abovetheir heads. The end of the fox's tail, both in sculpture and drawing, is ordinarily decorated with the symbolic jewel (tama) of old Buddhistart. I have in my possession one kakemono representing a white fox witha luminous jewel in its tail. I purchased it at the Matsue temple ofInari--'O-Shiroyama-no-Inari-Sama. ' The art of the kakemono is clumsy;but the conception possesses curious interest. 

3 The Japanese candle has a large hollow paper wick. It is usuallyplaced upon an iron point which enters into the orifice of the wick atthe flat end. 

4 See Professor Chamberlain's Things Japanese, under the title'Demoniacal Possession. '

5 Translated by Walter Dening. 

6 The word shizoku is simply the Chinese for samurai. But the term nowmeans little more than 'gentleman' in England. 

7 The fox-messenger travels unseen. But if caught in a trap, orinjured, his magic fails him, and he becomes visible. 

8 The Will-o'-the-Wisp is called Kitsune-bi, or 'fox-fire. '

9 'Aburage' is a name given to fried bean-curds or tofu. 

10 Azukimeshi is a preparation of red beans boiled with rice. 

11 The Hoin or Yamabushi was a Buddhist exorciser, usually a priest. Strictly speaking, the Hoin was a Yamabushi of higher rank. TheYamabushi used to practise divination as well as exorcism. They wereforbidden to exercise these professions by the present government; andmost of the little temples formerly occupied by them have disappeared orfallen into ruin. But among the peasantry Buddhist exorcisers are stillcalled to attend cases of fox-possession, and while acting as exorcisersare still spoken of as Yamabushi. 

12 A most curious paper on the subject of Ten-gan, or Infinite Vision--being the translation of a Buddhist sermon by the priest Sata Kaiseki--appeared in vol. Vii. Of the Transactions of the Asiatic Society ofJapan, from the pen of Mr. J. M. James. It contains an interestingconsideration of the supernatural powers of the Fox. 

13 All the portable lanterns used to light the way upon dark nightsbear a mon or crest of the owner. 

14 Cakes made of rice flour and often sweetened with sugar. 

15 It is believed that foxes amuse themselves by causing people to eathorse-dung in the belief that they are eating mochi, or to enter acesspool in the belief they are taking a bath. 

16 'In Jigyobamachi, a name signifying 'earthwork-street. ' It standsupon land reclaimed from swamp. 

17 This seems to be the immemorial artistic law for the demeanour ofall symbolic guardians of holy places, such as the Karashishi, and theAscending and Descending Dragons carved upon panels, or pillars. AtKumano temple even the Suijin, or warrior-guardians, who frown behindthe gratings of the chambers of the great gateway, are thus represented-one with mouth open, the other with closed lips. 

On inquiring about the origin of this distinction between the twosymbolic figures, I was told by a young Buddhist scholar that the malefigure in such representations is supposed to be pronouncing the sound'A, ' and the figure with closed lips the sound of nasal 'N '-corresponding to the Alpha and Omega of the Greek alphabet, and alsoemblematic of the Beginning and the End. In the Lotos of the Good Law, Buddha so reveals himself, as the cosmic Alpha and Omega, and the Fatherof the World, --like Krishna in the Bhagavad-Gita. 

18 There is one exception to the general custom of giving the dolls ofdead children, or the wrecks of dolls, to Kojin. Those images of the Godof Calligraphy and Scholarship which are always presented as gifts toboys on the Boys' Festival are given, when broken, to Tenjin himself, not to Kojin; at least such is the custom in Matsue.