Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan Volume II Part 24

Other students are already a.s.sembled at the wharf. And with them wait a mult.i.tude of people known to me: friends or friendly acquaintances, parents and relatives of students, every one to whom I can remember having ever done the slightest favour, and many more from whom I have received favours which I never had the chance to return--persons who worked for me, merchants from whom I purchased little things, a host of kind faces, smiling salutation. The Governor sends his secretary with a courteous message; the President of the Normal School hurries down for a moment to shake hands. The Normal students have been sent to their homes, but not a few of their teachers are present. I most miss friend Nis.h.i.+da. He has been very sick for two long months, bleeding at the lungs but his father brings me the gentlest of farewell letters from him, penned in bed, and some pretty souvenirs.

And now, as I look at all these pleasant faces about me, I cannot but ask myself the question: 'Could I have lived in the exercise of the same profession for the same length of time in any other country, and have enjoyed a similar unbroken experience of human goodness?' From each and all of these I have received only kindness and courtesy. Not one has ever, even through inadvertence, addressed to me a single ungenerous word. As a teacher of more than five hundred boys and men, I have never even had my patience tried. I wonder if such an experience is possible only in j.a.pan.

But the little steamer shrieks for her pa.s.sengers. I shake many hands-- most heartily, perhaps, that of the brave, kind President of the Normal School--and climb on board. The Director of the Jinjo-Chugakko a few teachers of both schools, and one of my favourite pupils, follow; they are going to accompany me as far as the next port, whence my way will be over the mountains to Hiros.h.i.+ma.

It is a lovely vapoury morning, sharp with the first chill of winter.

From the tiny deck I take my last look at the quaint vista of the Ohas.h.i.+gawa, with its long white bridge--at the peaked host of queer dear old houses, crowding close to dip their feet in its gla.s.sy flood--at the sails of the junks, gold-coloured by the early sun--at the beautiful fantastic shapes of the ancient hills.

Magical indeed the charm of this land, as of a land veritably haunted by G.o.ds: so lovely the spectral delicacy of its colours--so lovely the forms of its hills blending with the forms of its clouds--so lovely, above all, those long trailings and bandings of mists which make its alt.i.tudes appear to hang in air. A land where sky and earth so strangely intermingle that what is reality may not be distinguished from what is illusion--that all seems a mirage, about to vanish. For me, alas! it is about to vanish for ever.

The little steamer shrieks again, puffs, backs into midstream, turns from the long white bridge. And as the grey wharves recede, a long Aaaaaaaaaa rises from the uniformed ranks, and all the caps wave, flas.h.i.+ng their Chinese ideographs of bra.s.s. I clamber to the roof of the tiny deck cabin, wave my hat, and shout in English: 'Good-bye, good- bye!' And there floats back to me the cry: 'Manzai, manzai!' [Ten thousand years to you! ten thousand years!] But already it comes faintly from far away. The packet glides out of the river-mouth, shoots into the blue lake, turns a pine-shadowed point, and the faces, and the voices, and the wharves, and the long white bridge have become memories.

Still for a little while looking back, as we pa.s.s into the silence of the great water, I can see, receding on the left, the crest of the ancient castle, over grand s.h.a.ggy alt.i.tudes of pine--and the place of my home, with its delicious garden--and the long blue roofs of the schools.

These, too, swiftly pa.s.s out of vision. Then only faint blue water, faint blue mists, faint blues and greens and greys of peaks looming through varying distance, and beyond all, towering ghost-white into the east, the glorious spectre of Daisen.

And my heart sinks a moment under the rush of those vivid memories which always crowd upon one the instant after parting--memories of all that make attachment to places and to things. Remembered smiles; the morning gathering at the threshold of the old yas.h.i.+ki to wish the departing teacher a happy day; the evening gathering to welcome his return; the dog waiting by the gate at the accustomed hour; the garden with its lotus-flowers and its cooing of doves; the musical boom of the temple bell from the cedar groves; songs of children at play; afternoon shadows upon many-tinted streets; the long lines of lantern-fires upon festal nights; the dancing of the moon upon the lake; the clapping of hands by the river sh.o.r.e in salutation to the Izumo sun; the endless merry pattering of geta over the windy bridge: all these and a hundred other happy memories revive for me with almost painful vividness--while the far peaks, whose names are holy, slowly turn away their blue shoulders, and the little steamer bears me, more and more swiftly, ever farther and farther from the Province of the G.o.ds.

NOTES for Chapter One

1 Such as the garden attached to the abbots palace at Tokuwamonji, cited by Mr. Conder, which was made to commemorate the legend of stones which bowed themselves in a.s.sent to the doctrine of Buddha. At Togo-ike, in Tottori-ken, I saw a very large garden consisting almost entirely of stones and sand. The impression which the designer had intended to convey was that of approaching the sea over a verge of dunes, and the illusion was beautiful.

2 The Kojiki, translated by Professor B. H. Chamberlain, p. 254.

3 Since this paper was written, Mr. Conder has published a beautiful ill.u.s.trated volume,-Landscape Gardening in j.a.pan. By Josiah Conder, F.R.I.B.A. Tokyo 1893. A photographic supplement to the work gives views of the most famous gardens in the capital and elsewhere.

4 The observations of Dr. Rein on j.a.panese gardens are not to be recommended, in respect either to accuracy or to comprehension of the subject. Rein spent only two years in j.a.pan, the larger part of which time he devoted to the study of the lacquer industry, the manufacture of silk and paper and other practical matters. On these subjects his work is justly valued. But his chapters on j.a.panese manners and customs, art, religion, and literature show extremely little acquaintance with those topics.

5 This att.i.tude of the shachihoko is somewhat de rigueur, whence the common expression shachihoko dai, signifying to stand on ones head.

6 The magnificent perch called tai (Serra.n.u.s marginalis), which is very common along the Izumo coast, is not only justly prized as the most delicate of j.a.panese fish, but is also held to be an emblem of good fortune. It is a ceremonial gift at weddings and on congratu-latory occasions. The j.a.panese call it also the king of fishes.

7 Nandina domestica.

8 The most lucky of all dreams, they say in Izumo, is a dream of Fuji, the Sacred Mountain. Next in order of good omen is dreaming of a falcon (taka). The third best subject for a dream is the eggplant (nasubi). To dream of the sun or of the moon is very lucky; but it is still more so to dream of stars. For a young wife it is most for tunate to dream of swallowing a star: this signifies that she will become the mother of a beautiful child. To dream of a cow is a good omen; to dream of a horse is lucky, but it signifies travelling. To dream of rain or fire is good.

Some dreams are held in j.a.pan, as in the West, to go by contraries.

Therefore to dream of having ones house burned up, or of funerals, or of being dead, or of talking to the ghost of a dead person, is good.

Some dreams which are good for women mean the reverse when dreamed by men; for example, it is good for a woman to dream that her nose bleeds, but for a man this is very bad. To dream of much money is a sign of loss to come. To dream of the koi, or of any freshwater fish, is the most unlucky of all. This is curious, for in other parts of j.a.pan the koi is a symbol of good fortune.

9 Tebushukan:Citrus sarkodactilis.

10 Yuzuru signifies to resign in favour of another; ha signifies a leaf.

The botanical name, as given in Hepburns dictionary, is Daphniphillum macropodum.

11 Cerasus pseudo-cerasus (Lindley).

12 About this mountain cherry there is a humorous saying which ill.u.s.trates the j.a.panese love of puns. In order fully to appreciate it, the reader should know that j.a.panese nouns have no distinction of singular and plural. The word ha, as p.r.o.nounced, may signify either leaves or teeth; and the word hana, either flowers or nose. The yamazakura puts forth its ha (leaves) before his hana (flowers).

Wherefore a man whose ha (teeth) project in advance of his hana (nose) is called a yamazakura. Prognathism is not uncommon in j.a.pan, especially among the lower cla.s.ses.

13 If one should ask you concerning the heart of a true j.a.panese, point to the wild cherry flower glowing in the sun.

14 There are three noteworthy varieties: one bearing red, one pink and white, and one pure white flowers.

15 The expression yanagi-gos.h.i.+, a willow-waist, is one of several in common use comparing slender beauty to the willow-tree.

16 Peonia albiflora, The name signifies the delicacy of beauty. The simile of the botan (the tree peony) can be fully appreciated only by one who is acquainted with the j.a.panese flower.

17 Some say kesbiyuri (poppy) instead of himeyuri. The latter is a graceful species of lily, Lilium callosum.

18 Standing, she is a shakuyaku; seated, she is a botan; and the charm of her figure in walking is the charm of a himeyuri.

19 In the higher cla.s.ses of j.a.panese society to-day, the honorific O is not, as a rule, used before the names of girls, and showy appellations are not given to daughters. Even among the poor respectable cla.s.ses, names resembling those of geisha, etc., are in disfavour. But those above cited are good, honest, everyday names.

20 Mr. Satow has found in Hirata a belief to which this seems to some extent akin--the curious s.h.i.+nto doctrine according to which a divine being throws off portions of itself by a process of fissure, thus producing what are called waki-mi-tama--parted spirits, with separate functions. The great G.o.d of Izumo, Oho-kuni-nus.h.i.+-no-Kami, is said by Hirata to have three such parted spirits: his rough spirit (ara-mi- tama) that punishes, his gentle spirit (nigi-mi-tama) that pardons, and his benedictory or beneficent spirit (saki-mi-tama) that blesses, There is a s.h.i.+nto story that the rough spirit of this G.o.d once met the gentle spirit without recognising it,

21 Perhaps the most impressive of all the Buddhist temples in Kyoto. It is dedicated to Kwannon of the Thousand Hands, and is said to contain 33,333 of her images.

22 Daidaimus.h.i.+ in Izunio. The dictionary word is dedemus.h.i.+. The snail is supposed to be very fond of wet weather; and one who goes out much in the rain is compared to a snail,--dedemus.h.i.+ no yona.

23 Snail, snail, put out your horns a little it rains and the wind is blowing, so put out your horns, just for a little while.

24 A Buddhist divinity, but within recent times identified by s.h.i.+nto with the G.o.d Kotohira.

25 See Professor Chamberlains version of it in The j.a.panese Fairy Tale Series, with charming ill.u.s.trations by a native artist.

26 b.u.t.terfly, little b.u.t.terfly, light upon the na leaf. But if thou dost not like the na leaf, light, I pray thee, upon my hand.

27 Bos.h.i.+ means a hat; tsukeru, to put on. But this etymology is more than doubtful.

28 Some say Chokko-chokko-uisu. Uisu would be p.r.o.nounced in English very much like weece, the final u being silent. Uiosu would be something like ' we-oce.

29 p.r.o.nounced almost as geece.

30 Contraction of kore noru.

31 A kindred legend attaches to the s.h.i.+wan, a little yellow insect which preys upon cuc.u.mbers. The s.h.i.+wan is said to have been once a physician, who, being detected in an amorous intrigue, had to fly for his life; but as he went his foot caught in a cuc.u.mber vine, so that he fell and was overtaken and killed, and his ghost became an insect, the destroyer of cuc.u.mber vines. In the zoological mythology and plant mythology of j.a.pan there exist many legends offering a curious resemblance to the old Greek tales of metamorphoses. Some of the most remarkable bits of such folk- lore have originated, however, in comparatively modern time. The legend of the crab called heikegani, found at Nagato, is an example. The souls of the Taira warriors who perished in the great naval battle of Dan-no- ura (now Seto-Nakai), 1185, are supposed to have been transformed into heikegani. The sh.e.l.l of the heikegani is certainly surprising. It is wrinkled into the likeness of a grim face, or rather into exact semblance of one of those black iron visors, or masks, which feudal warriors wore in battle, and which were shaped like frowning visages.

32 Come, firefly, I will give you water to drink. The water of that.

place is bitter; the water here is sweet.

33 By honzon is here meant the sacred kakemono, or picture, exposed to public view in the temples only upon the birthday of the Buddha, which is the eighth day of the old fourth month. Honzon also signifies the princ.i.p.al image in a Buddhist temple.

34 A solitary voice! Did the Moon cry? Twas but the hototogisu.

35 When I gaze towards the place where I heard the hototogisu cry, lol there is naught save the wan morning moon.

36 Save only the morning moon, none heard the hearts-blood cry of the hototogisu.

37 A sort of doughnut made of bean flour, or tofu.