Neither of the lads remembered afterward much of what happened when they were once inside of the spacious receiving tent; its walls hung with flags to represent one great red and white chrysanthemum, emblematic of both the flower and the Mikado’s family crest. To Phil the Emperor’s face had been a blur, while the Empress he could recall only as a slight figure in black with many sparkling jewels. It was over in a moment, and the three young people found themselves strolling together along one of the beautifully kept garden paths.
“Isn’t it marvelous?” Helen exclaimed as she saw the wonder in the lads’ faces. “The Japanese are the most artistic people in the world. Every place they touch turns into a fairy-land.”
“What strikes me most forcibly,” Phil replied enthusiastically, “is how such matter-of-fact, serious people as they are can find time to be so artistic. Now with us in America we find ourselves too busy keeping up with the progress of the day to indulge in art and beauty. We leave that to those who have nothing else to do.”
“I know,” Helen said sorrowfully, “and more’s the pity. We are so prosaic in America; while here even the poorest artisan has the magic gift of beautifying what he creates. A thing that displeases the eye, never mind how strongly it is made, is a failure.”
“And all this fuss is being made over the blooming of a flower,” Sydney said questioningly. “We don’t have any such fête in our country.”
“I see you don’t know your own country,” Helen replied banteringly. “In California they have the flower battles when the roses are in full bloom, and they crown a king and queen, while in New Orleans they have the winter carnival. Both ideas are very similar to the flower fêtes in Japan, only here there is no necessity to crown a king.”
They stopped before a number of large plants which appeared covered with flowers; the stalk of each had been secured to a stick stuck in the ground to support its burden of blossoms.
“There is the highest chrysanthemum cultivation,” Helen said, indicating the bush; “you may count sometimes one thousand flowers on a single plant.”
The lads looked disappointedly at the tiny blossoms.
“They don’t look like the chrysanthemums we know,” Phil said. “They are so small. Ours are big and massive.”