There being no hotel near Yamada’s dwelling, he secured me a room in a geisha-house, with the result that late revelry made sleep impossible. But a bathe next morning in the rushing Tonegawa, with the exciting diversion of shooting some rapids in a crazy punt, invigorated me and amused a crowd of urchins, who shouted from the bank, “We want to see the naked foreigner!” By the end of the second day I felt at home with the older generation of both families, and was shown over warehouse, mill, and granary. Having not omitted to present miage on arrival, I departed in a shower of good wishes and small souvenirs. Yamada senior, who had never before (so his son declared) been willing to make the acquaintance of a foreigner, insisted on my accepting a roll of habutai (white silk, resembling taffeta), while Tanaka Okusama met me at the station with a parting gift of pickles and poetry. She had made the one, her husband the other. In fact, he had added this haikai to his published works:
“You, like a bird, pass,
Joyous, untrammelled;
Sad our farewell, when
Kiri-trees fall.”
II
The holy province of Izumo should be visited in October. Then the Shintō gods and goddesses, deserting every other part of Japan, assemble at the great shrine of Kizuki under the presidency of Ōnamuji. But every year Ōnamuji must have sadder news to tell his dwindling fellow-deities. At one time his own temples on Mount Daisen were as many as two hundred and fifty; these have crumbled to a few mossy ruins. The goddess Inada-hime, whose lover intoxicated with saké the eight-headed serpent and cut the monster in pieces, that she might become his spouse, is invoked by fewer youths and maidens desiring happy marriages. On all hands the Shintō Pantheon is being undermined by two strangely allied foes—by atheism and Christianity. Though full of sympathy for the august descendants of Izanagi and Izanami, the creator and creatress of the Japanese universe, I could not refuse the hospitality of a Japanese Christian, whose unremitting kindness will always be associated for me with the romantic beauty of Matsuë.
From my hotel, which stood on the edge of the blue Shinjiko lagoon, I was watching the little steamers puff angrily to and fro, the endless procession of passengers across the long curving bridge, and one or two old fishermen wading in the shallows, when a message arrived inviting me to take tea with Assistant-Judge Nomura at his house on Castle-hill. Happening to arrive before the other guests, I was first shown a curious collection of prints, illustrating the costumes and customs of ancient Korea, and a series of pictures of all the ironclads belonging to the Japanese navy. This mixture of old and new was very characteristic of Mr. Nomura, who admired with enthusiasm Western dress, furniture, and religion, but reverenced at the same time his own national traditions. Naturally his knowledge of the two was one-sided, and he was happily unconscious that his fine collection of Inari and Satsuma ware was simply insulted by the base intrusion of a sixpenny London saucer. Four inhabitants of Matsuë—two young lawyers, a musician, and an old painter—were announced, and the host at once took a more ceremonious tone. We all entered the tiny tea-room, nine feet square, containing four and a half mats, and were occupied for more than half an hour with cha-no-yu, the august tea-making, which seemed to me unnecessarily long, perhaps because it was conducted by a wizard in a grey coat and blue tie. I preferred the dainty witches of the Miyako-odori. Besides the formal ablution and handling of accessory instruments, at stated intervals a bell was rung, the room was swept, we walked from the house to the garden and back from the garden to the house with a scrupulosity that would have satisfied Hideyoshi himself. At last the august tea, thick and green and hot, was presented to each visitor, who drank with slow but noisy demonstrations of lip-homage, to testify polite satisfaction.