Rare days in Japan

by George Trumbull Ladd

Near the priests-house a young acolyte met us; and under his escort we visited the sacred library, the shrine which covers the relics of Nichiren,—although most of his bones were taken to the monastery he had founded at Minobu,—the temple and house where he spent his last days, under the hill, and the well from which the saint of such olden time drew the water to make his tea. Then climbing the hill again we wandered in the ancient cemetery where for so many centuries so many hundreds of the faithful have esteemed it a last privilege to lay themselves to rest. The tombs of some of the Tokugawa family, descendants of the great Iyéyasu, who have been patrons of the sect, are among the number buried here. At some distance from the burial ground stands the monument which was erected to commemorate the ship-wrecked American sailors to whose bodies the hospitable monks of Ikegami had given a lodgment under the trees of the consecrated grove.

“[WHERE NICHIREN SPENT HIS LAST DAYS]”

On returning to the monastery we were received with great distinction by the temple servants and taken almost immediately to the rooms in which luncheon was to be served. These rooms looked out through shoji on a beautiful garden of gibbous-moon shape, lying far down below the bank on whose edge the building was placed, and backed by a circular row of pines, cryptomerias, and maples, which climbed high up the opposite bank. In the garden was a lotus pond and a goodly variety of shrubs and flowers. But the distinctive thing in the garden, as well as in the neighbouring vale near the house [where Nichiren spent his last days], and, elsewhere in the grounds, was the “kaeri-sakura,” or “second-time-blooming cherry tree.” It ministers to the faith and affection of believers to know that these trees customarily bloom for the second time each season at about the date of the death of the founder saint. And, indeed, the one which we had just seen in blossom, in the valley, was an offshoot of a stock, a fragment of whose decayed trunk is still preserved, and which may easily have been in blossom a century ago this very day.

Our entertainment was evidently planned to be in princely fashion. The rooms had been especially decorated; and the finest of the lacquer trays and bowls and the best of the porcelain, such as were customarily used when the Tokugawas were the guests of the abbot, had been brought out of the store-house in honour of the occasion. The venerable and kindly abbot soon appeared. But our host instead of proceeding at once to luncheon, wished in person to show us the garden, the ceremonial tea-house, and some of the choicest of the temple’s curiosities and treasures. Among all these he seemed to take a special pride and pleasure in the so-called “turtle-room.” Here was a collection of representations of this animal, of varied sorts—dried turtle-shells, turtles wrought in bronze, and turtles painted on kakemonos. But our good abbot’s first name was Hikamé (kamé is the Japanese word for turtle),—a sufficient explanation of his peculiar interest in the collections in this room.

The luncheon was in purely Japanese style. On the cushions on the floor, at the head of one room sat the abbot, and on his left, so that they might look out upon the garden, were the two principal guests; while in the second room, which was, however, completely opened into the first, were the young Japanese. The food was such as is strictly suitable for a Buddhist monk,—wholly of fruit and vegetables and nuts, but deliciously prepared with modifications of the native manner which had been learned by the cook, who, after taking a course in law in Japan, had spent some years in the United States. Before sitting down to the meal we had exchanged photographs, and had secured the consent of the abbot to write his name in the autograph-book of his guests. This consent turned out in a manner disastrous in its effect upon the part played at the table by the host. For the holy father had scarcely begun to eat, when he rose somewhat hastily and disappeared, not to return until the luncheon was nearly over. It was then discovered that he had been inspired with a poem which was duly presented to us, beautifully inscribed upon the page that had been designated for his signature. Now every scholar knows that it is quite impossible to render the delicate suggestiveness and subtle shades of meaning of a Japanese poem into any other language, no matter how expert a linguist the translator may have become. But here is an attempt at giving some idea of what the Abbot of Ikegami wrote in the autograph-book of his guests, about noon of November 17, 1906.

Tō-ten hachi-da awogeba ki-gi tari.

Ai wo haki en wo nomu, shiru iku-i zo?

Saku-ya san-kō ren-gaku wo yumemu.

Kin-ryū takaku maki koku-un tobu.