Japanese Plays and Playfellows

by Osman Edwards

III

Kose is an ideal lovers’ nest, hidden in the heart of thick forests, where steep hills dip to a stream, now visible, now invisible, but always to be tracked by its trickling or tumbling song. Shady rambles and cool retreats invite whispering confidence, but, to gain a view of the rolling country, which culminates in volcanic peaks eight thousand feet high, hard climbing or riding is inevitable. O Maru was much too timid and delicate to accompany Beauregard on these tiring expeditions, and replied one day to a question as to how she liked Kose, “Taihen yoroshi: ke’ domo miru koto arimasen.” (It was very nice, but there was nothing to see there.) Then he discovered that what she most wanted to see, more even than the sights of Tōkyō or Kyōto, was the famous temple of Zenkōji at Nagano. It was believed by the members of the Buddhist sect to which her family belonged that the souls of the dead were first given rendezvous at Zenkōji, immediately after death, before departing on their long journey to other worlds. Her great wish, therefore, was to make offerings of rice and incense to Amida on the spot where her father and mother had passed away, that they might know how lovingly she cherished their memory. Two days later her wish was accomplished. As they climbed the broad avenue, lined with little booths, at which were sold rosaries, candles, breviaries, incense, toys, and sweetmeats, Beauregard realised for the first time what vast influence is still wielded in Japan by the Buddhist faith. Hundreds of pilgrims, in curiously-patterned white dresses and palmer hats, moved with chatter and laughter towards the chief gateway. On the left of the entrance stands a nunnery, ruled by an abbess of high rank, and those who cross a graceful bridge to enter it find themselves between two large ponds of pink-flowered and white-flowered lotos, about the roots of which crawl sacred tortoises. Where the shops end an avenue of gods extends up to the main temple. Not only Monju and Shi Tenno and images of the chief rakan or disciples of Buddha alternate with lanterns of bronze or stone, but the six Jizō, elsewhere so humbly carved in common wood, sit proudly prominent in white marble. O Maru had bought a packet of rice, some sticks of incense, and a little rosary, whose beads were daintily strung on purple cord. Beauregard took off his shoes and followed her into the main temple. In that enormous building, two hundred feet in depth by one hundred in width, the huge outlines of gilded gods glimmered darkly, while rustling priests moved to and fro on mysterious errands. From the multitudinous rafters, whose number, 69,384, is said to correspond with the number of Chinese characters in the Buddhist scriptures, pigeons flew continually, and the flutter of their wings, together with the jingle of copper rin tossed lightly into the money-box, accompanied, without distracting, the low mutter of perpetual prayer. When O Maru approached one of the priests with her filial offerings, the old man looked rather inquisitively at the handsome foreigner, but said nothing, and, signing a certificate of piety, on which her name and the death-names of her parents were inscribed, gave it to her together with a circular pink sweetmeat, on which was stamped a sacred wheel, typical of the law. Then, twining the mauve rosary about her chubby hands, she murmured three times “Namu Amida Butsu”—(“I adore thee, O eternal Buddha”), and, as she left the altar-rails, threw five rin into the treasury. Her devotions were accomplished, and, much lightened in heart, she rejoined Beauregard, who was inspecting the precincts of the temple. Chief of the treasures is a sacred golden group, representing Amida and his two followers, Kwannon and Daiseishi, which is supposed to have been made by Shaka Muni himself from gold found in Mount Shumi, the centre of the universe. Legend relates that the foes of the true faith had done their worst to destroy this image: all attempts to abolish it by fire and water and the sword had failed: since the fourteenth century it has rested inviolate in a shrine, shrouded by a curtain of rich brocade. So carefully is it now guarded, that the pious are only allowed, on payment of a small fee, to behold the outermost of seven boxes in which it is enclosed. Far more accessible is Binzuru, a hideous brick-red deity, whose image stands outside the chancel, to which position he is expelled for having “remarked upon the beauty of a female” in violation of the vows of chastity incumbent on Buddha’s disciples. Binzuru is amply avenged for this harsh expulsion. Wherever his ugly visage is seen, you will find him caressed and surrounded by women and girls, who firmly believe that they have only to touch his body and then rub their own in the same part, to banish every pain, great or small, to which the human frame is subject. As they wandered from one god to another, Beauregard questioned O Maru about her faith, which he found to be simple and firm. Once she had seen with O Kiku a picture of hell at a temple festival, in which fiery demons were inflicting such tortures on unbelievers that, though their own belief was orthodox, she and her friend had cried themselves to sleep. It occurred to the Frenchman to ask whether she had no fear of being punished for living with him as his wife, but she replied that she had never heard that that was sinful, unless she had been promised to some one else. He asked her what was the use of giving rice to the souls of the dead, and whether she thought they would eat it; but she explained that, whereas living people eat rice, the hotoke, or spirits, only eat the soul of the rice, which is there, although we cannot see it. She believed in prayer, fasting, and amulets, but thought it wasteful to spend more than five rin (about one halfpenny) a month on the gods, since they required no clothing and very little food.

From Nagano the pair travelled to Kyōto, where they remained until the end of their six weeks’ honeymoon. There I saw a great deal of Beauregard, who was equally enamoured of Japanese art and his Japanese wife. His days would be spent in visits to those temples where good specimens of the Shijō and Kōrin schools were jealously kept, but as he had letters of introduction from an eminent professor and painter to the authorities, he had exceptional opportunities of pursuing his passionate study of the Kyōto Renaissance painters. All the treasures of Daitokuji and Chionin, of Kinkakuji and Ginkakuji, were shown to him. Sometimes he would spend many hours among the early sculptures of Nara, or avail himself of an invitation to scan the private collection of a rich shipowner at Ōsaka. His contempt for Hokusai and Hiroshigi was unbounded; words could not express his dislike for what he called “the shallow, meretricious judgment of de Goncourt.” I await with considerable interest the brochure which he intends to publish by means of the Mercure de France for the edification and confusion of French connoisseurs. But O Maru interested me more than Okyō’s fish and Sōsen’s monkeys. I would often spend the evening with them, and, as we conversed hotly in our barbarian tongues, she would sit contentedly sewing and humming to herself, delighted to make tea or furnish information about her fatherland. Her own curiosity was seldom excited, but now and then she betrayed depths of astounding ignorance. One night Beauregard had been reading me a chapter from Anatole France’s delightful “Le Livre de mon Ami,” in which that writer thus describes a characteristic reminiscence of childhood:

“J’étais bien payé de ma peine dès que j’entrais dans la chambre de ces dames; car il y avait là mille choses qui me plongeaient dans l’extase. Mais rien n’égalait les deux magots de porcelaine qui se tenaient assis sur la cheminée, de chaque côté de la pendule. D’eux-mêmes, ils hochaient la tête et tiraient la langue. J’appris qu’ils venaient de Chine et je me promis d’y aller. La difficulté était de m’y faire conduire par ma bonne. J’avais acquis la certitude que la Chine était derrière l’Arc-de-Triomphe, mais je ne trouvais jamais moyen de pousser jusque-là.”

With unconscious appropriateness she suddenly asked, “Shina no kuni, Furansu no kuni, onaji koto des ka?” (Are France and China the same country?) Nothing could persuade her that thunder was not a phenomenon peculiar to Japan, for she had always associated it with the wrath of a Japanese deity. Any breach of etiquette shocked her sense of propriety, and she spent many unhappy moments because of René’s remissness in two particulars. He always accepted hospitality when offered by a Japanese friend, instead of refusing at least twice for politeness’ sake: he often forgot to beat down the price of something which took his fancy, depriving both seller and buyer of the joy of bargaining. These faults lowered him in the otherwise indulgent eyes of his little consort. Her delicacy in the matter of presents was very marked. Though her lover was anxious that she should buy a souvenir at every place they visited together, he could never induce her to choose any but an inexpensive trinket. To remedy this he occasionally relied on his own judgment, but the result was unfortunate. I remember that we returned from Ōsaka with the prettiest roll of kimono silk to be found in the bazaar, but when this was given to O Maru she rejected it, explaining that such bright colours could only be worn by a girl of fifteen or eighteen. Her own age was twenty-two. On another occasion he chose a sober, stuff of silver-grey, but this, it appeared, was only suitable to a woman of forty. After that he gave up using his judgment, and begged her to spend what money she wanted in her own way.

Her own way was extravagant, as we discovered afterwards: it was only his money that she was chary of spending. For, when he presented her with sixty yen on the eve of departure, to his surprise she clung to him and cried out excitedly, “Watakusi hachiju yen hoshii!” (I want eighty yen!) As she had never seemed mercenary, and had at first stipulated for fifty, he could not account for this eager demand, which was of course immediately accorded. But the next day O Maru appeared in a very beautiful cloak, lined with white satin, on which were hand-painted designs by a well-known painter of Kyōto. She had spent nearly the whole of her present, fifty-five yen (about £5 10s.), on that royal garment, which would certainly be the most handsome of its kind in Ishinomaki. Her parting presents to René were some prettily embroidered handkerchiefs of silk and an original poem, which had more “actuality” than literary merit. In fact, it was a very artless cri de cœur, and ran thus:

“Sad is my love for

Beaurega Sama: