The gorgeous kimonos of actors and geishas offered at such shops far outnumber those richly-wrought gowns worn by women of rank at holiday times and at the palace, and most of the showy and gorgeously-decorative gowns displayed in western drawing-rooms have questionable histories. Even the stores of No dance costumes have been drawn upon, and choice old brocades are rarer now than good old embroideries. The priest’s kesa, or cloak, a symbolic patchwork of many pieces, and the squares and bits from temple tables, for a long time offered exquisite bits of meshed gold-thread and colors, and on the back of such pieces one often found poems, sacred verses, and fervent vows, written by the pious ones who had made offerings of them to the temples.
FUKUSA
The stores of fukusas seemed inexhaustible a few years ago, and I can remember days of delight in that ill-smelling old corner of Awata, when one out of every five fukusa was a treasure, while now there are hardly five good ones in a hundred of those needle pictures. The finest work was lavished on these squares of satin or crape, which former etiquette demanded to have laid over the boxes containing gifts or notes, both box and fukusa to be duly admired and returned to the sender. These ceremonial cloths were part of the trousseau of every bride of high degree, and old families possess them by scores. The nicest etiquette ordered the choice of the fukusa, and the season, the gift, the giver, and the receiver were considered in selecting the particular wrapping. The greatest artists have made designs for them, and a few celebrated ones, bearing Hokusai’s signature, are owned by European collectors. The crests of the feudal families become familiar to one from their constant repetition on fukusas. Numberless Japanese legends, and symbols as well, constantly reappear, and no two are ever exactly alike in design or execution, however often one may see the same subject treated. Equally popular are all the symbols of long life—the pine, the plum, the bamboo; the tortoise with the fringed shell that lives for a thousand years; the peach that took a thousand years to ripen; the stork, the old man and woman under the pine-tree hailing the rising sun—and all, when wrapping a gift, equally convey a delicately expressed wish for length of days. The fierce old saints and disciples, who with their dragons and tigers live on old Satsuma surfaces, keep company with the sages who rode through the air on storks, tortoises, or carp, or stand unrolling sacred scrolls beneath bamboo groves. And the Seven Household Gods of Luck, the blessed Shichi Fukujin, are on the fukusa as well. There smile Daikoku, the god of riches, upon his rice-bags, hammer and purse in hand; Ebisu, the god of plenty, with his little red fish; Jurojin, the serene old god of longevity, with his mitred cap, white beard, staff, and deer; high-browed Fukurokujin, lord of popularity and wisdom; Hotei, spirit of goodness and kindness, sack on back, fan in hand, and children climbing and tumbling over him; black-faced Bishamon, god of war and force, holding his lance and miniature pagoda; and Benten Sama, goddess of grace and beauty, playing the lute.
Takara Buné, the good-luck ship, the New-year’s junk, with dragon beak and silken sail, bearing rich gifts from the unknown land, is another favorite subject. To sleep with takara buné’s image under one’s wooden pillow on New-year’s night insures good-luck and good dreams for the rest of the year. Quite as significant are the takara mono, the ancient and classic good-luck symbols, which are the hat, hammer, key, straw coat, bag or purse, sacred gem or pearl, the scrolls, the clove, the shippo, or seven precious things, and the weights. These emblems, introduced everywhere, fill flower-circles, or the spaces and groundwork of geometrical designs, and are always received with favor. The shojo, who have drunk saké until their hair has turned red, the rats and the radish, the cock on the temple drum, poems in superb lettering, all ornament the fukusa, and there the mysterious manji, or hook-cross, and the mitsu tomoyé, or three commas curved within a circle, are continually reproduced.
This manji is the Svastika, or Buddhist cross of India, which appears in the frescos of the Pyramids and the Catacombs, in Greek art, in Etruscan tombs, in the embroideries and missals of mediæval Europe, in the Scandinavian design known as Thor’s hammer, in old English heraldry, in the Chinese symbol called the “tablet of honor,” and on innumerable temple ornaments.
Five of the old daimio families had the manji as their crest, and it came to Japan from China and India, along with the Buddhist religion. On old armor, flags, and war fans it is constantly found, and it is the sign of life, of the four elements, of eternity; the portent of good-luck, the talisman of safety from evil spirits, and an amulet against threats or harm from any of the four quarters; while the word “manji” is derived from the Chinese word “mantse,” meaning ten thousand.
The mitsu tomoyé is another universal symbol of innumerable meanings. It occurs on the crests of eight daimio families; on temple drums, lanterns, the ends of tiles, and on Daikoku’s mallet. It is variously said to represent falling snow, leaping flames, dashing water, and clouds; the thongs of a warrior’s glove, uncurling fern-fronds, the down of seed pods; the three great elements, fire, air, and water, the origin of matter, the great principles of nature, an oriental trinity. On house-tiles and ridge-poles it invokes protection from the three evils—fire, thieves, and flood, and everywhere these two mysterious symbols confront one.