Part 5

When some nobleman--for the higher classes alone could afford such a sacrifice--wished to gain the favour of Buddha, he would go to one of these humble artists and give him an order for a _kakemono_. There were two kinds from which he might select, those that were embroidered and those made of paper. The latter were especially abundant, and of all kinds and sizes. Many of them contained merely an autograph done with the brush,--the national pen; for the Japanese have always had a liking for fine handwriting, esteeming excellence in that line a separate art. The figures with which a large number of these paper _kakemonos_ are covered are splendid examples of Japanese painting, the scenes being mostly of a historical and religious kind. Buddha and Confucius are the special favourites. The backgrounds are often filled with a host of figures; I remember one at Kioto, that contains nearly as many faces as Tintoretto’s painting in the Doge’s Palace at Venice. This _kakemono_ is remarkable for other reasons than this, for the work is lifelike and vigorous, and though five hundred years old is well preserved. It is called the “Death of Buddha,” and represents the expiring prophet surrounded by worshippers with grief-stricken faces, so vividly depicted that the very air seems filled with lamentation.

For many centuries these _kakemonos_ were being collected in the Buddhist temples all over Japan. Then came the memorable year 1868,--a year that marked the close of the Japanese middle ages. The feudal system was abolished, and the whole scheme of government renovated. Now the Mikado emerged from his obscure position as a public official, and began to play more than a sentimental part in Japanese life. The days of the _shoguns_ were over, and the Mikado was the Mikado indeed. From this time the misfortunes of the _kakemonos_ began. The long-awaited opportunity of the Mikado had arrived. He solemnly sent forth an edict that Buddha had outlived his usefulness, and that the day of his great-great-grandmother, the sun-goddess, had come; the sole religion of the Japanese henceforth was to follow the teachings of his heart, but above all those of the Mikado. So Buddha’s occupation was gone. The Japanese were already on that downward path, which was to end in their wearing European trousers under Japanese _kimonos_, and they began to find the Indian prophet a little out of date. And besides, the missionaries had impressed upon their minds that those little stone images were things no self-respecting man would have about him. Many, therefore, decided to do away with these abominations, and follow the teachings of their hearts.

But, though the government was persistent, Buddha was even more so, and was very loath to give up the sway he had secured over the affections of the Japanese. The humbler classes were also blind to the superior virtues of the Shinto Temple, and therefore an interesting struggle began, to see which was the fitter to survive. The struggle is not ended yet, nor is there any great indication that it soon will be. The Mikado himself has confessed the weakness of his own cause, for he has found that the mere listening to the teachings of one’s heart and obeying the decrees of the sovereign does not constitute a religion. He has therefore been obliged to borrow a great deal from his antagonist, and it so happens that the state religion of Japan is a tangled problem. But the masses of the people are still faithful to Buddha, whose temples are increasing every day.

In the midst of all these reforms there was one class on whom the burden rested with a peculiar weight. What was to become of the priests? The Mikado cared no more for these than he did for Buddha himself, and so, while a large part of Japan was listening to the teachings of its heart, these priests wandered in a melancholy way about the temples, at a loss as to what it all meant. Not only this, but they were hungry men, as the governmental supplies had suddenly ceased. The temples were beginning to show the evils of the sentimental tendency of the people, and it was evident that something must be done, or Buddha would have to limp back to India with a lessened appreciation of Japanese hospitality. Thus it was that some one more daring than the rest bethought him of the _kakemonos_. Here were treasures indeed, and moreover here were wealthy foreigners beginning to swarm anxiously to lay sacrilegious hands on everything. You see it was a simple case of sentiment _versus_ necessity, and as usual necessity came out on top. The priests must be fed, tea-houses must be built, the temples preserved; the government frowned upon them all. Every time, therefore, that the needs became too pressing to be resisted, a _kakemono_ was aroused from its rest of ages, and converted into cash. Buddha was thus given a lease of life once more, while his sacred _kakemonos_ were transported to do service in the drawing-rooms of Europe and America.

Many of them were bought up by the Japanese themselves. They are a source of entertainment at dinner parties, where they are brought out for the inspection of the guests in much the same fashion that we display our bric-à-brac or collection of paintings. A careful history of each is kept, which always accompanies it. The more _kakemonos_ the Japanese has, and the greater the antiquity of them, the prouder man he is. But the demand for them has occasioned many imitations which are reserved for the benefit of the unsuspecting foreigner. The connoisseur, however, can detect the difference as easily as he can distinguish between a copy and an original.

But the problem is not solved yet. The government has issued another decree, obliging the priests to make an inventory of the treasures of the temple, and to see that no more _kakemonos_ are sold. He that has secured one of these works of art, therefore, has great cause for congratulation. But one still wonders what is to become of the hungry priests, and the shamefully-treated prophet of India. The question is made more interesting because Buddha shows about as much indication of returning to his native land as the priests do to begin listening to the teachings of their hearts.

A GLIMPSE OF ROYALTY.

“You must go to Nara,” they told us, as soon as we had landed in Japan. “It is one of the oldest and most sacred cities of the Empire. Though now politically of little importance, there are many interesting things to be seen. There are beautiful groves of cryptomerias, shadowy roads, crumbling stone lanterns, tame deer, and many an ancient Shinto temple. If you do not see Nara, you do not see Japan.”

And so on a certain April morning we found ourselves on our way to the southern part of the island.

You have heard much of the sunshine and the flowers, the tea-drinking, and the various æsthetic touches of Japanese life, so it may be somewhat disillusioning to learn that there are other points of view. This thought forces itself upon my mind whenever I think of our watery journey to Nara,--for it rains in Japan. The days can be cold and dark, hotel accommodations can be scanty, and foreigners can take a long and hungry railroad ride, and have impressions that they do not care to put down in a book of travels. We had heard the praises of the journey so rapturously sung, that the rainy mountains, the swollen streams, the dripping trees, the cold, wet, and uncomfortable passengers, struck us with a painful sense of the reality of things. As yet I had experienced only the warm and sunshiny side of the climate, and so, as I stepped from the train that afternoon, and gazed about on the various signs of general discomfort, I could but ask myself, “Is this Japan?”

Yes, it was Japan, and more than that, it was Nara. If I had any reasonable doubt, before me stood the everlasting symbol of things Japanese,--the _jinrikisha_ man. He had a melancholy and rainy-weather look, which was increased by the freedom with which he had discarded his usual costume and appeared wrapped in a covering of straw. Such a picturesque equipage and ingenuous attendant look well in a photograph, and can even afford a certain amount of pleasure in a busy city with plenty of daylight and interesting objects as a background; but as I stood there, facing the downpour and a two-mile ride, I began to wonder whether the ancient capital of Japan was such a fascinating study as my friends had promised.

For all that, I crawled in, and my stoical friend began to arrange me with a tenderness of which his face betrayed no sign. He drew a leather robe over my lap, tucked it in to keep out the least intruding drop of rain, drew the top of the carriage completely over and shut me in, much after the way in which my grandmother used to draw her sunbonnet over her face. Everything was dark and mysterious, and had I been of a nervous temperament there would have been much to terrify. I began to wonder how the rest of the party was getting on; but the blind faith that there was a _jinrikisha_ somewhere back of me could not be confirmed until I had reached the end.

I could feel small streams of water trickling down my neck, and pools gathered in the bottom of the carriage. It began to splash into my face and hands; the wind came pouring in, and a blast occasionally unloosened my lap robe. I was surrounded by impenetrable darkness, with the exception of a small aperture below, where I caught sight of a pair of uncovered legs automatically moving. I divined that these were the property of the gentleman who had arranged me in my present position with such extreme solicitude, and whose spirit would have been keenly pained had he known that so large a portion of the storm was finding its way into the carriage. His utter disregard of himself had a suggestion of the sublime; for, though the day was cold, he had on hardly more than a covering of straw, and his bare feet went through the mud and pools with the utmost indifference. I learned afterward that his limited wardrobe was not so real as apparent, and that his appearance that afternoon was caused not so much by poverty as by pride; for this _jinrikisha_ man occupied an enviable position among his fellows, and had reason to consider himself a favourite of fortune. This is all explained when I tell you that he was the haughty possessor of a pair of European trousers. It mattered little to him that these might have been thrown aside by some more fastidious American, or that the style might have been a little behind the time. They were the chief glory of his life,--and the chief torment too. No one can say how much his melancholy aspect was caused by the fact that fate had heaped such bountiful favours and grave responsibilities on his head,--for he lived under the constant fear that some day he might wear these trousers out. And so, with the true Japanese spirit of economy, he had hit upon an excellent plan against such a contingency,--he resolved not to wear them at all.

This unconscious humourist furnished the only diversion of the ride. Doubtless I passed through many delightful scenes, and might have caught many charming bits of Japanese rural life. I shall never know how those tea-fields looked in that pouring rain, and the plodding Orientals that must have passed are a sealed picture. I could occasionally hear the tall trees swaying and scraping together in the cold breeze, but they were not for the eye. All that I could see was a small square of mud and water, and the mournful movement of the untrousered legs below. These were very instructive as object-lessons in domestic economy, but I would have preferred to have enough landscape to set them off to better advantage. Such an interesting thing, however, was enough in itself to keep my spirit up, and I thoroughly enjoyed the ride, in spite of the many things I could not see. My faithful friend unconsciously kept up a stock of that good humour which was soon to be called into play; for when we had reached the hotel where we were to spend the night, the guide came gloomily towards us and made the announcement that the house was full, and that we would be obliged to find some other place. He said that he had succeeded in finding a small Japanese house near by, and that this was the best that could be done.

It was still raining hard, the night was getting dark, and there was nothing for us to do but to take what we could get; and I do not know that we regretted it after all. The approach to the house was not convenient, but the place itself was of the true Japanese daintiness: a tiny affair, with but one story, the earthquakes having been duly considered in its erection. It contained but two rooms, and resembled more a child’s play-house than a dwelling. It was furnished with the ever-present white mats that are so prominent a feature of Japanese domestic life. We decided to conform ourselves to our surroundings, and be distinctively Japanese. So, carefully removing our shoes, we sat down on our heels, while the guide departed to see what could be found to eat. This oriental posture is very interesting as an experiment, but I would not advise you to let your enthusiasm carry you too far. If you have spent hours on the floor with a child playing with paper dolls, you can get a good idea of what it is like. Our first intention was to spend the whole evening in this way, and in other respects to do as the Japanese did, but we soon found that the effect was mainly valuable as furnishing a few jokes to enliven the conversation. And when we thought of eating our dinner after the fashion of the best Japanese society, we again became irresolute, and were greatly relieved when one of the little _musmees_ returned with American dishes and American chairs. Thereafter we let our attendants look after the honour of Japan. They amused us during the progress of the meal by tying and untying their sashes,--their chief feminine vanity,--and by indulging in the endless capers and familiarities permitted to the _musmee_ alone. The evening passed rapidly and gaily, and the wind and rain were forgotten in the Japanese dreams that followed the artless speeches and childish pranks of our little entertainers.

A soft, grey light came streaming through the paper panes, and in my drowsy ears I heard the chatter of the _musmees_, telling us that it was morning, and time to be on our way. The storm was not entirely over, though it was indulging in a momentary pause. The water was dripping from the trees, only waiting for the sunlight to pierce through the heavy clouds to clothe every leaf with sparkling gems. The sky had an air of indefiniteness and unconcern, in doubt whether to repeat its performance of the day before, or to burst forth into that splendour with which we were more familiar. There was nothing lacking but this for a perfect day; the wind had worn itself out during the night, the atmosphere was assuming a more oriental gentleness, the flowers were fresh and bright, and our hearts were full of gay anticipation. We had little time during the day and evening previous to think of one great predominant fact: that we were at the far-famed city of Southern Japan, warm with tradition and beauty, its history alive with the early tales of a struggling people, its temples and shrines aglow with much that is finest in human sentiment.

We were surprised at our breakfast by the hurried entrance of our guide. He was a man of considerable refinement and composure, and we were therefore taken aback at the excitement that he now displayed. With bated breath he explained to us that the unforeseen had happened, though whether this was a matter of congratulation his demeanour did not make clear. If you are familiar enough with the mixture of reverence and love with which the Japanese regard their dowager Empress, you will readily understand the agitation of our guide. She is an exalted being, the wife of one Mikado and the mother of another, and is besides a most estimable woman with lovable qualities of her own. So when the guide learned that she was at the present time at Nara and would be there for the rest of the day, his emotions of loyalty and awe had a sudden inspiration, and there was nothing for him to do but to try to communicate them to us. After we had satisfied him that we were duly impressed by the situation, he consented to descend to particulars. One of the most ancient ceremonies at Nara is the sacred dance which is yearly given in the adjoining grounds of one of the temples, and at which some member of the royal family is expected to be present. That her Majesty should select the very day that we had appointed to visit the place can only be considered as a happy coincidence of fate. Preparations had been going on for many days, and everything was ready for a most elaborate performance. At this point the guide became somewhat mysterious, and began to hint that possibly after the royal party had finished we might persuade the priests to repeat the dance for our benefit. Of course we were duly shocked that any such thing should be done, but we smothered our reverential emotions, and decided to make the attempt. I all along suspected that our friend had completed arrangements before he had spoken to us, but he betrayed no evidence of this in his anxiety lest his plan should fail. To confess the truth, I did not feel quite at ease over the matter, for the Empress had been painted to me in a rather unpleasant light, and I was very much afraid of offending her royal pride. I had been told that she regarded foreigners with an unfriendly eye, and was jealous of the innovations that were creeping in from the West, and gradually making the real Japan a thing of the past. It was said that she looked upon the European costume as a thing to be abhorred, and the silk hat as a sign of barbarism. Particularly, my friends had been kind enough to inform me that she regarded the American race as a peculiarly unpleasant growth, and one to be tolerated by no respectable Japanese. Though I discovered later that my information was wrong, the thought sufficed to make me uncomfortable, and I felt that to intrude upon a ceremony intended only for the royal eye, was audacious and indelicate. The assurance of the guide that this had been done before did not mend the matter, and I had some twinges of conscience as I stepped into the _jinrikisha_ awaiting to conduct me to the temple grounds.

As we rode out of the court-yard, we observed an interested throng gathered around an equipage of a kind somewhat difficult to classify. Had we seen it in an American city we should have taken it for a dilapidated victoria; but it was hard to determine what connection such a disreputable affair could have with the mother of the Mikado. The whole thing, from the ragged upholstering to the rickety wheels, had a most unroyal appearance. The small, shaggy horse may have been having a good time, but he failed to reveal it by any expression of contentment. The coachman, however, managed to extract much satisfaction from the situation. He had the bristling, black hair so characteristic of the people, and on the back of this he wore a small, low-crowned derby hat, gracefully cocked on one side, with an air of great self-satisfaction. His dress was the not uncommon combination of Japanese _kimono_ and European trousers, the latter being carefully creased, and turned up to display his American shoes. His studied attempt to appear dignified was made the more amusing by the shortness of his stature; but the crowd was not amused. The Japanese take this sort of thing seriously, and the only emotions their faces displayed before this cosmopolitan outburst were those of envy and admiration. When my attendant informed me that this was the equipage provided for the first lady of Japan, I began to suspect that her reported dislike of western civilisation was unreal. I told the _jinrikisha_ man to hurry on before she came out, as I was anxious to escape her observation.