A tea-house garden, Tokyo.—"The artist in landscape gardening should go for his themes to places of volcanic origin."
I must own that I did not speak without a certain complacency. I had the comfortable feeling that always comes to one who hears a subject broached and feels himself well equipped to discuss it.
"That is very gratifying," said the philosopher, politely.
It was indeed very gratifying. My memory was good. I casually mentioned the four periods of Japanese landscape gardening, making easy references to the Emperor Shomu, the scenery near the mouth of the Yangtse River, and the Chinese master Shunsui. Then I began to file my bill of particulars.
"Of course," I said, "the one great secret of the art is to apply the volcanic principle. One should go for themes to places of volcanic origin—places like Lake Chuzenji and Nikko, places where lakes, formed in the beds of extinct volcanoes, overflow, making beautiful waterfalls and torrents which rush through rocky valleys. There, of course, is the basis for your entire garden composition."
He sat staring at me. His eyes shone. Evidently I was making a deep impression on him.
"Of course," I resumed, "volcanic explosions throw rich soil into——"
"Stop!" he cried, half rising from his chair. "Who gave you those theories? Where did you learn all this?"