One of the most celebrated classical No dances of Japan has wistaria as its theme. The little square boxes in front of the stage, with its long gallery or bridge (along which the No actors make their entrances and exits), are filled by the audience, apparently patiently waiting in quiet, somewhat sleepy expectancy. The long piercing sound of flutes mingled with the curiously sad rhythm of Tsuzumi drums has ceased; and the high distinct declamation of the libretto begins. The priest, who is a necessary part of any No dance, is the first to appear on the stage; he is supposed to reach Taka no Ura in the province of Ecchu, a place famous for wistaria, and here he meets a country girl who in a short time will reappear as the spirit of the wistaria; she entreats him to pray for her, so that through the virtue of his prayer her flower spirit may enter into Nirvana or Paradise; doubtless the spirit of the last flower of spring is not able to release herself from the world to attain Buddhistic perfection, so she hates to say her quick
WISTARIA, NAGAOKA
farewell to spring. Presently the flower spirit, arrayed in gorgeous purple brocade, dances her last spring dance, and then, after receiving the priest’s repeated prayer, she will disappear with joy. So ends the No play, so full of emblematical meaning to the minds of the Japanese.
The wistaria and pæony seem to be closely associated, as not only do they flower at the same time and many gardens seem devoted to their combined culture, but just as in Japanese literature the wistaria is an emblem of womanhood, so in Chinese literature the pæony is compared to a beautiful woman. The pæony seems to be a plant of Chinese origin, and though it can hardly be classed as one of the most popular flowers of Japan, it plays an important part in the art of the country. The tree pæony is a delicate plant and requires scrupulous care and nursing in order that its blooms should attain their full size and colour. It is regarded as essentially the rich man’s flower, and therefore it is often called the “flower of prosperity”; another fancy name by which it is known is the “plant of twenty days,” because it will preserve its freshness and beauty for that time. The celebrated garden at Honjo in Tokyo combines the cultivation of botan (tree pæony) with that of wistaria. A fine old vine of multijuga overhangs the pond; but one of the especial features of the garden is the cultivation of wistarias in pots and tubs—some grand old plants, flowering as though they would flower themselves to death. Others there were of all sizes and shapes; some bent and leaning, some bearing veritable canopies of blossoms; some pure white, some the pale mauve sinensis, and others the deeper-coloured multijuga.
My first visit to “view the pæonies” was rather a disappointment to me, as, in order to protect the blooms from heavy rain or wind storms, the plants are all placed under the cover of temporary matting sheds. They seemed mostly to be grown in pots, and the effect of these rows of plants, each with its large and heavy blossoms supported by bamboo stakes, was somewhat stiff and prim. A few stray plants there were, which, possibly for some slight defect in the shape or colour of the blooms, had not been included in the show collection; and to the uninitiated these gave most pleasure, left standing in the open, their colour blending harmoniously with that of the wistaria blossoms. The pæony gardens seemed no haunt for the holiday-maker, but rather for the serious-minded gardener, who, truly interested in their culture, would spend
