THE RISE AND FALL OF THE KAKEMONO.
It was our last night in Kioto. We had spent the day in the temples, and though we were somewhat tired, we still managed to keep up a desultory conversation upon the interesting things we had seen. Suddenly we were interrupted by a shy knock. Before any one had time to prevent it, a handsome Japanese face thrust itself through the gradually opening door; it was immediately followed by the handsome figure of a young man. Perhaps it was because of the good looks that the intrusion was not resented. The new-comer possessed large brown eyes, bushy black hair, and beautiful white teeth, and in addition to this spoke English.
“Can look see some of goods. Have very beautiful things.”
This is the way they teach it—or, at least, learn it—at the mission schools.
The speaker continued: Would Madame be so kind as to glance at the charming wares at present gracefully reposing in a pack on his shoulders? They were something out of the usual run, and he had brought them especially for her inspection. To tell the truth, Madame was very tired, and murmured an objection; but a beautiful face has always touched her artistic sensibilities, and here was one of the finest she had yet seen in Japan. The new-comer seemed to notice this, for he entered without more ado. He immediately dropped to the floor and began to unpack his bundles. We were all soon interested in other things than our visitor’s face, for he had hardly begun to display his wares, before we saw something novel ahead. Japanese peddlers usually have an innumerable collection of small boxes, but our friend’s were larger and heavier and of a much richer kind. With the usual number of bows and smiles he began to reveal his treasures to our gaze, when we were honoured by the entrance of a small counterpart of himself, who had evidently been waiting outside until the coast was clear. Apparently they were brothers, and together they began to arrange their merchandise in a way to catch the American eye most temptingly.
We had already seen many of those hanging pictures which figure so prominently in Japanese art, but nothing of so delicate a texture as those our visitor now laid before us. They were for the most part representations of religious emblems, but there was one of a more secular kind of which the young man was particularly proud. It was rather large, with a dark background on which was exquisitely embroidered a tall, white cock with head erect, crowing to his heart’s content, and strutting about in all the majesty of a flaming red comb.
But this was only a beginning. Evidently our friend had brought these merely to see whether we were people of taste and could properly appreciate the untold treasures he had at his command. In his Mikado’s English he informed us that our artistic eye had touched him profoundly and had caused him to call to mind a kakemono of unparalleled beauty, that would delight us still more. Whereupon, he ruthlessly folded up the cock with the flaming comb, placed it with the rest on the floor, and set the boy down upon the pile to guard matters until his return. It did not seem to occur to him that this latter act was a slur at our honesty—things are different in Japan, you know.
“Have got house very beautiful kakemono. Priest won’t sell.” So he said, and so we understood him; giving him credit for grammatical correctness, when really he meant “want to sell.” Here, we thought, is a touching example of Japanese politeness! Our visitor is so impressed by our appreciation of his embroideries that he is about to show us one of the treasures of the temple, for the sole purpose of gratifying our taste for art. Soon this obliging Oriental returned, bearing a large bundle over his shoulder, which he immediately spread before our astonished gaze, all the while murmuring, as we thought, a repetition of the fact that the priest would not sell. We were further mystified by an occasional reference to a tea-house that seemed to disturb the young man’s peace of mind.