Chapter 2
[4] Girls are still trained in the art of arranging flowers, and in the etiquette of the dainty, though somewhat tedious, _cha-no-yu_. Buddhist priests have long enjoyed a reputation as teachers of the latter. When the pupil has reached a certain degree of proficiency, she is given a diploma or certificate. The tea used in these ceremonies is a powdered tea of remarkable fragrance,—the best qualities of which fetch very high prices.
In translating _kō-kwai_ as “incense-party,” I use the word “party” in the meaning that it takes in such compounds as “card-party,” “whist-party,” “chess-party”;—for a _kō-kwai_ is a meeting held only with the object of playing a game,—a very curious game. There are several kinds of incense-games; but in all of them the contest depends upon the ability to remember and to name different kinds of incense by the perfume alone. That variety of _kō-kwai_ called _Jitchū-kō_ (“ten-burning-incense”) is generally conceded to be the most amusing; and I shall try to tell you how it is played.
The numeral “ten,” in the Japanese, or rather Chinese name of this diversion, does not refer to ten kinds, but only to ten packages of incense; for _Jitchū-kō_, besides being the most amusing, is the very simplest of incense-games, and is played with only four kinds of incense. One kind must be supplied by the guests invited to the party; and three are furnished by the person who gives the entertainment. Each of the latter three supplies of incense—usually prepared in packages containing one hundred wafers is divided into four parts; and each part is put into a separate paper numbered or marked so as to indicate the quality. Thus four packages are prepared of the incense classed as No. 1, four of incense No. 2, and four of incense No. 3,—or twelve in all. But the incense given by the guests,—always called “guest-incense”—is not divided: it is only put into a wrapper marked with an abbreviation of the Chinese character signifying “guest.” Accordingly we have a total of thirteen packages to start with; but three are to be used in the preliminary sampling, or “experimenting”—as the Japanese term it,—after the following manner.
We shall suppose the game to be arranged for a party of six,—though there is no rule limiting the number of players. The six take their places in line, or in a half-circle—if the room be small; but they do not sit close together, for reasons which will presently appear. Then the host, or the person appointed to act as incense-burner, prepares a package of the incense classed as No 1, kindles it in a censer, and passes the censer to the guest occupying the first seat,[5] with the announcement—“This is incense No 1” The guest receives the censer according to the graceful etiquette required in the _kō-kwai_, inhales the perfume, and passes on the vessel to his neighbor, who receives it in like manner and passes it to the third guest, who presents it to the fourth,—and so on. When the censer has gone the round of the party, it is returned to the incense-burner. One package of incense No. 2, and one of No. 3, are similarly prepared, announced, and tested. But with the “guest-incense” no experiment is made. The player should be able to remember the different odors of the incenses tested; and he is expected to identify the guest-incense at the proper time merely by the unfamiliar quality of its fragrance.
[5] The places occupied by guests in a Japanese _zashiki_, or reception room are numbered from the alcove of the apartment. The place of the most honored is immediately before the alcove: this is the first seat, and the rest are numbered from it, usually to the left.
The original thirteen packages having thus by “experimenting” been reduced to ten, each player is given one set of ten small tablets—usually of gold-lacquer,—every set being differently ornamented. The backs only of these tablets are decorated; and the decoration is nearly always a floral design of some sort:—thus one set might be decorated with chrysanthemums in gold, another with tufts of iris-plants, another with a spray of plum-blossoms, etc. But the faces of the tablets bear numbers or marks; and each set comprises three tablets numbered “1,” three numbered “2,” three numbered “3,” and one marked with the character signifying “guest.” After these tablet-sets have been distributed, a box called the “tablet-box” is placed before the first player; and all is ready for the real game.
The incense-burner retires behind a little screen, shuffles the flat packages like so many cards, takes the uppermost, prepares its contents in the censer, and then, returning to the party, sends the censer upon its round. This time, of course, he does not announce what kind of incense he has used. As the censer passes from hand to hand, each player, after inhaling the fume, puts into the tablet-box one tablet bearing that mark or number which he supposes to be the mark or number of the incense he has smelled. If, for example, he thinks the incense to be “guest-incense,” he drops into the box that one of his tablets marked with the ideograph meaning “guest;” or if he believes that he has inhaled the perfume of No. 2, he puts into the box a tablet numbered “2.” When the round is over, tablet-box and censer are both returned to the incense-burner. He takes the six tablets out of the box, and wraps them up in the paper which contained the incense guessed about. The tablets themselves keep the personal as well as the general record,—since each player remembers the particular design upon his own set.
The remaining nine packages of incense are consumed and judged in the same way, according to the chance order in which the shuffling has placed them. When all the incense has been used, the tablets are taken out of their wrappings, the record is officially put into writing, and the victor of the day is announced. I here offer the translation of such a record: it will serve to explain, almost at a glance, all the complications of the game.
According to this record the player who used the tablets decorated with the design called “Young Pine,” made but two mistakes; while the holder of the “White-Lily” set made only one correct guess. But it is quite a feat to make ten correct judgments in succession. The olfactory nerves are apt to become somewhat numbed long before the game is concluded; and, therefore it is customary during the _Kō-kwai_ to rinse the mouth at intervals with pure vinegar, by which operation the sensitivity is partially restored.
RECORD OF A KŌ-KWAI.
Order in which the ten packages of incense were used:—
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 No. No. — No. No. No. No. No. No. No. III I “GUEST” II I III II I III II
Names given to the six sets of tablets used, according to decorative designs on the back: “Gold Chrysanthemum” 1 3 1 2* Guest 1 2* 2 3* 3 3 “Young Bamboo” 3* 1* 1 2* 1* Guest 3 2 1 3 4 “Red Peony” Guest 1* 2 2* 3 1 3 2 3* 1 3 “White Lily” 1 3 1 3 2 2 1 3 Guest 2* 1 “Young Pine” 3* 1* Guest* 3 1* 2 2* 1* 3* 2* 8 (Winner) “Cherry-Blossom-in-a-Mist” 1 3 Guest* 2* 1* 3* 1 2 3* 2* 6
Guesses recorded by numbers on the tablet; correct being marked *
No. of correct guesses
NAMES OF INCENSE USED.
I. “Tasogare” (“Who-Is-there?” I. e. “Evening-Dusk”). II. “Baikwa” (“Plum Flower”). III. “Wakakusa” (“Young Grass”). IV. (“Guest Incense”) “Yamaji-no-Tsuyu” (“Dew-on-the-Mountain-Path”).
To the Japanese original of the foregoing record were appended the names of the players, the date of the entertainment, and the name of the place where the party was held. It is the custom In some families to enter all such records in a book especially made for the purpose, and furnished with an index which enables the _Kō-kwai_ player to refer immediately to any interesting fact belonging to the history of any past game.
The reader will have noticed that the four kinds of incense used were designated by very pretty names. The incense first mentioned, for example, is called by the poets’ name for the gloaming,—_Tasogaré_ (lit: “Who is there?” or “ Who is it?”)—a word which in this relation hints of the toilet-perfume that reveals some charming presence to the lover waiting in the dusk. Perhaps some curiosity will be felt regarding the composition of these incenses. I can give the Japanese recipes for two sorts; but I have not been able to identify all of the materials named:—
_Recipe for Yamaji-no-Tsuyu._
Ingredients Proportions. about Jinkō (aloes-wood) 4 _mommé_ (½ oz.) Cōoji (cloves) 4 ” ” Kunroku (olibanum) 4 ” ” Hakkō (artemisia Schmidtiana) 4 ” ” Jakō (musk) 1 _bu_ (⅛ oz.) Kōkō(?) 4 _mommé_ (½ oz.)
_To 21 pastilles_
_Recipe for Baikwa._
Ingredients Proportions. about Jinkō (aloes) 20 _mommé_ (2 1/2 oz.) Chōji (cloves) 12 “ (1 1/2 oz.) Kōkō(?) 8 1/3 “ (1 1/40 oz.) Byakudan (sandal-wood) 4 “ (1/2 oz.) Kanshō (spikenard) 2 _bu_ (1/4 oz.) Kwakkō (Bishop’s-wort?) 1 _bu_ 2 _shu_ (3/16 oz.) Kunroku (olibanum) 3 ” 3 ” (15/22 oz.) Shōmokkō (?) 2 ” (1/4 oz.) Jakō (musk) 3 ” 2 _shu_ (7/16 oz.) Ryūnō (refined Borneo Camphor) 3 _shu_ (3/8 oz.)
_To 50 pastilles_
The incense used at a _Kō-kwai_ ranges in value, according to the style of the entertainment, from $2.50 to $30.00 per envelope of 100 wafers—wafers usually not more than one-fourth of an inch in diameter. Sometimes an incense is used worth even more than $30.00 per envelope: this contains _ranjatai_, an aromatic of which the perfume is compared to that of “musk mingled with orchid-flowers.” But there is some incense,—never sold,—which is much more precious than _ranjatai_,—incense valued less for its composition than for its history: I mean the incense brought centuries ago from China or from India by the Buddhist missionaries, and presented to princes or to other persons of high rank. Several ancient Japanese temples also include such foreign incense among their treasures. And very rarely a little of this priceless material is contributed to an incense-party,—much as in Europe, on very extraordinary occasions, some banquet is glorified by the production of a wine several hundred years old.
Like the tea-ceremonies, the _Kō-kwai_ exact observance of a very complex and ancient etiquette. But this subject could interest few readers; and I shall only mention some of the rules regarding preparations and precautions. First of all, it is required that the person invited to an incense-party shall attend the same in as _odorless_ a condition as possible: a lady, for instance, must not use hair-oil, or put on any dress that has been kept in a perfumed chest-of-drawers. Furthermore, the guest should prepare for the contest by taking a prolonged hot bath, and should eat only the lightest and least odorous kind of food before going to the rendezvous. It is forbidden to leave the room during the game, or to open any door or window, or to indulge in needless conversation. Finally I may observe that, while judging the incense, a player is expected to take not less than three inhalations, or more than five.
In this economical era, the _Kō-kwai_ takes of necessity a much humbler form than it assumed in the time of the great daimyō, of the princely abbots, and of the military aristocracy. A full set of the utensils required for the game can now be had for about $50.00; but the materials are of the poorest kind. The old-fashioned sets were fantastically expensive. Some were worth thousands of dollars. The incense-burner’s desk,—the writing-box, paper-box, tablet-box, etc.,—the various stands or _dai_,—were of the costliest gold-lacquer;—the pincers and other instruments were of gold, curiously worked;—and the censer—whether of precious metal, bronze, or porcelain,—was always a _chef-d’œuvre_, designed by some artist of renown.
V
Although the original signification of incense in Buddhist ceremonies was chiefly symbolical, there is good reason to suppose that various beliefs older than Buddhism,—some, perhaps, peculiar to the race; others probably of Chinese or Korean derivation,—began at an early period to influence the popular use of incense in Japan. Incense is still burned in the presence of a corpse with the idea that its fragrance shields both corpse and newly-parted soul from malevolent demons; and by the peasants it is often burned also to drive away goblins and the evil powers presiding over diseases. But formerly it was used to summon spirits as well as to banish them. Allusions to its employment in various weird rites may be found in some of the old dramas and romances. One particular sort of incense, imported from China, was said to have the power of calling up human spirits. This was the wizard-incense referred to in such ancient love-songs as the following:—
“I have heard of the magical incense that summons the souls of the absent: Would I had some to burn, in the nights when I wait alone!”
There is an interesting mention of this incense in the Chinese book, _Shang-hai-king_. It was called _Fwan-hwan-hiang_ (by Japanese pronunciation, _Hangon-kō_), or “Spirit-Recalling-Incense;” and it was made in Tso-Chau, or the District of the Ancestors, situated by the Eastern Sea. To summon the ghost of any dead person—or even that of a living person, according to some authorities,—it was only necessary to kindle some of the incense, and to pronounce certain words, while keeping the mind fixed upon the memory of that person. Then, in the smoke of the incense, the remembered face and form would appear.
In many old Japanese and Chinese books mention is made of a famous story about this incense,—a story of the Chinese Emperor Wu, of the Han dynasty. When the Emperor had lost his beautiful favorite, the Lady Li, he sorrowed so much that fears were entertained for his reason. But all efforts made to divert his mind from the thought of her proved unavailing. One day he ordered some Spirit-Recalling-Incense to be procured, that he might summon her from the dead. His counsellors prayed him to forego his purpose, declaring that the vision could only intensify his grief. But he gave no heed to their advice, and himself performed the rite,—kindling the incense, and keeping his mind fixed upon the memory of the Lady Li. Presently, within the thick blue smoke arising from the incense, the outline, of a feminine form became visible. It defined, took tints of life, slowly became luminous, and the Emperor recognized the form of his beloved At first the apparition was faint; but it soon became distinct as a living person, and seemed with each moment to grow more beautiful. The Emperor whispered to the vision, but received no answer. He called aloud, and the presence made no sign. Then unable to control himself, he approached the censer. But the instant that he touched the smoke, the phantom trembled and vanished.
Japanese artists are still occasionally inspired by the legends of the Hangon-ho. Only last year, in Tōkyō, at an exhibition of new kakemono, I saw a picture of a young wife kneeling before an alcove wherein the smoke of the magical incense was shaping the shadow of the absent husband.[6]
[6] Among the curious Tōkyō inventions of 1898 was a new variety of cigarettes called _Hangon-sō_, or “Herb of Hangon,”—a name suggesting that their smoke operated like the spirit-summoning incense. As a matter of fact, the chemical action of the tobacco-smoke would define, upon a paper fitted into the mouth-piece of each cigarette, the photographic image of a dancing-girl.
Although the power of making visible the forms of the dead has been claimed for one sort of incense only, the burning of any kind of incense is supposed to summon viewless spirits in multitude. These come to devour the smoke. They are called _Jiki-kō-ki_, or “incense-eating goblins;” and they belong to the fourteenth of the thirty-six classes of Gaki (_prêtas_) recognized by Japanese Buddhism. They are the ghosts of men who anciently, for the sake of gain, made or sold bad incense; and by the evil karma of that action they now find themselves in the state of hunger-suffering spirits, and compelled to seek their only food in the smoke of incense.
A Story of Divination
I once knew a fortune-teller who really believed in the science that he professed. He had learned, as a student of the old Chinese philosophy, to believe in divination long before he thought of practising it. During his youth he had been in the service of a wealthy daimyō, but subsequently, like thousands of other samurai, found himself reduced to desperate straits by the social and political changes of Meiji. It was then that he became a fortune-teller,—an itinerant _uranaiya_,—travelling on foot from town to town, and returning to his home rarely more than once a year with the proceeds of his journey. As a fortune-teller he was tolerably successful,—chiefly, I think, because of his perfect sincerity, and because of a peculiar gentle manner that invited confidence. His system was the old scholarly one: he used the book known to English readers as the _Yî-King_,—also a set of ebony blocks which could be so arranged as to form any of the Chinese hexagrams;—and he always began his divination with an earnest prayer to the gods.
The system itself he held to be infallible in the hands of a master. He confessed that he had made some erroneous predictions; but he said that these mistakes had been entirely due to his own miscomprehension of certain texts or diagrams. To do him justice I must mention that in my own case—(he told my fortune four times),—his predictions were fulfilled in such wise that I became afraid of them. You may disbelieve in fortune-telling,—intellectually scorn it; but something of inherited superstitious tendency lurks within most of us; and a few strange experiences can so appeal to that inheritance as to induce the most unreasoning hope or fear of the good or bad luck promised you by some diviner. Really to see our future would be a misery. Imagine the result of knowing that there must happen to you, within the next two months, some terrible misfortune which you cannot possibly provide against!
He was already an old man when I first saw him in Izumo,—certainly more than sixty years of age, but looking very much younger. Afterwards I met him in Ōsaka, in Kyōto, and in Kobé. More than once I tried to persuade him to pass the colder months of the winter-season under my roof,—for he possessed an extraordinary knowledge of traditions, and could have been of inestimable service to me in a literary way. But partly because the habit of wandering had become with him a second nature, and partly because of a love of independence as savage as a gipsy’s, I was never able to keep him with me for more than two days at a time.
Every year he used to come to Tōkyō,—usually in the latter part of autumn. Then, for several weeks, he would flit about the city, from district to district, and vanish again. But during these fugitive trips he never failed to visit me; bringing welcome news of Izumo people and places,—bringing also some queer little present, generally of a religious kind, from some famous place of pilgrimage. On these occasions I could get a few hours’ chat with him. Sometimes the talk was of strange things seen or heard during his recent journey; sometimes it turned upon old legends or beliefs; sometimes it was about fortune-telling. The last time we met he told me of an exact Chinese science of divination which he regretted never having been able to learn.
“Any one learned in that science,” he said, “would be able, for example, not only to tell you the exact time at which any post or beam of this house will yield to decay, but even to tell you the direction of the breaking, and all its results. I can best explain what I mean by relating a story.
“The story is about the famous Chinese fortune-teller whom we call in Japan Shōko Setsu, and it is written in the book _Baikwa-Shin-Eki_, which is a book of divination. While still a very young man, Shōko Setsu obtained a high position by reason of his learning and virtue; but he resigned it and went into solitude that he might give his whole time to study. For years thereafter he lived alone in a hut among the mountains; studying without a fire in winter, and without a fan in summer; writing his thoughts upon the wall of his room—for lack of paper;—and using only a tile for his pillow.