Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan (21 page)

Over a long bridge and under a tall torii we roll into upward-sloping
streets. Like Enoshima, Kitzuki has a torii for its city gate; but the
torii is not of bronze. Then a flying vision of open lamp-lighted shop-
fronts, and lines of luminous shoji under high-tilted eaves, and
Buddhist gateways guarded by lions of stone, and long, low, tile-coped
walls of temple courts overtopped by garden shrubbery, and Shinto
shrines prefaced by other tall torii; but no sign of the great temple
itself. It lies toward the rear of the city proper, at the foot of the
wooded mountains; and we are too tired and hungry to visit it now. So we
halt before a spacious and comfortable-seeming inn,—the best, indeed,
in Kitzuki—and rest ourselves and eat, and drink sake out of exquisite
little porcelain cups, the gift of some pretty singing-girl to the
hotel. Thereafter, as it has become much too late to visit the Guji, I
send to his residence by a messenger my letter of introduction, with an
humble request in Akira's handwriting, that I may be allowed to present
myself at the house before noon the next day.

Then the landlord of the hotel, who seems to be a very kindly person,
comes to us with lighted paper lanterns, and invites us to accompany him
to the Oho-yashiro.

Most of the houses have already closed their wooden sliding doors for
the night, so that the streets are dark, and the lanterns of our
landlord indispensable; for there is no moon, and the night is starless.
We walk along the main street for a distance of about six squares, and
then, making a tum, find ourselves before a superb bronze torii, the
gateway to the great temple avenue.

Effacing colours and obliterating distances, night always magnifies by
suggestion the aspect of large spaces and the effect of large objects.
Viewed by the vague light of paper lanterns, the approach to the great
shrine is an imposing surprise—such a surprise that I feel regret at
the mere thought of having to see it to-morrow by disenchanting day: a
superb avenue lined with colossal trees, and ranging away out of sight
under a succession of giant torii, from which are suspended enormous
shimenawa, well worthy the grasp of that Heavenly-Hand-Strength Deity
whose symbols they are. But, more than by the torii and their festooned
symbols, the dim majesty of the huge avenue is enhanced by the
prodigious trees—many perhaps thousands of years old—gnarled pines
whose shaggy summits are lost in darkness. Some of the mighty trunks are
surrounded with a rope of straw: these trees are sacred. The vast roots,
far-reaching in every direction, look in the lantern-light like a
writhing and crawling of dragons.

The avenue is certainly not less than a quarter of a mile in length; it
crosses two bridges and passes between two sacred groves. All the broad
lands on either side of it belong to the temple. Formerly no foreigner
was permitted to pass beyond the middle torii The avenue terminates at a
lofty wall pierced by a gateway resembling the gateways of Buddhist
temple courts, but very massive. This is the entrance to the outer
court; the ponderous doors are still open, and many shadowy figures are
passing in or out.

Within the court all is darkness, against which pale yellow lights are
gliding to and fro like a multitude of enormous fireflies—the lanterns
of pilgrims. I can distinguish only the looming of immense buildings to
left and right, constructed with colossal timbers. Our guide traverses a
very large court, passes into a second, and halts before an imposing
structure whose doors are still open. Above them, by the lantern glow, I
can see a marvellous frieze of dragons and water, carved in some rich
wood by the hand of a master. Within I can see the symbols of Shinto, in
a side shrine on the left; and directly before us the lanterns reveal a
surface of matted floor vaster than anything I had expected to find.
Therefrom I can divine the scale of the edifice which I suppose to be
the temple. But the landlord tells us this is not the temple, but only
the Haiden or Hall of Prayer, before which the people make their
orisons, By day, through the open doors, the temple can be seen But we
cannot see it to-night, and but few visitors are permitted to go in.
'The people do not enter even the court of the great shrine, for the
most part,' interprets Akira; 'they pray before it at a distance.
Listen!'

All about me in the shadow I hear a sound like the plashing and dashing
of water—the clapping of many hands in Shinto prayer.

'But this is nothing,' says the landlord; 'there are but few here now.
Wait until to-morrow, which is a festival day.'

As we wend our way back along the great avenue, under the torii and the
giant trees, Akira interprets for me what our landlord tells him about
the sacred serpent.

'The little serpent,' he says, 'is called by the people the august
Dragon-Serpent; for it is sent by the Dragon-King to announce the coming
of the gods. The sea darkens and rises and roars before the coming of
Ryu-ja-Sama. Ryu-ja. Sama we call it because it is the messenger of
Ryugu-jo, the palace of the dragons; but it is also called Hakuja, or
the 'White Serpent.'
[45]

'Does the little serpent come to the temple of its own accord?'

'Oh, no. It is caught by the fishermen. And only one can be caught in a
year, because only one is sent; and whoever catches it and brings it
either to the Kitzuki-no-oho-yashiro, or to the temple Sadajinja, where
the gods hold their second assembly during the Kami-ari-zuki, receives
one hyo
[46]
of rice in recompense. It costs much labour and time to
catch a serpent; but whoever captures one is sure to become rich in
after time.'
[47]

'There are many deities enshrined at Kitzuki, are there not?' I ask.

'Yes; but the great deity of Kitzuki is Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami,
[48]
whom the people more commonly call Daikoku. Here also is worshipped his
son, whom many call Ebisu. These deities are usually pictured together:
Daikoku seated upon bales of rice, holding the Red Sun against his
breast with one hand, and in the other grasping the magical mallet of
which a single stroke gives wealth; and Ebisu bearing a fishing-rod, and
holding under his arm a great tai-fish. These gods are always
represented with smiling faces; and both have great ears, which are the
sign of wealth and fortune.'

A little wearied by the day's journeying, I get to bed early, and sleep
as dreamlessly as a plant until I am awakened about daylight by a heavy,
regular, bumping sound, shaking the wooden pillow on which my ear rests
-the sound of the katsu of the kometsuki beginning his eternal labour
of rice-cleaning. Then the pretty musume of the inn opens the chamber to
the fresh mountain air and the early sun, rolls back all the wooden
shutters into their casings behind the gallery, takes down the brown
mosquito net, brings a hibachi with freshly kindled charcoal for my
morning smoke, and trips away to get our breakfast.

Early as it is when she returns, she brings word that a messenger has
already arrived from the Guji, Senke Takanori, high descendant of the
Goddess of the Sun. The messenger is a dignified young Shinto priest,
clad in the ordinary Japanese full costume, but wearing also a superb
pair of blue silken hakama, or Japanese ceremonial trousers, widening
picturesquely towards the feet. He accepts my invitation to a cup of
tea, and informs me that his august master is waiting for us at the
temple.

This is delightful news, but we cannot go at once. Akira's attire is
pronounced by the messenger to be defective. Akira must don fresh white
tabi and put on hakama before going into the august presence: no one may
enter thereinto without hakama. Happily Akira is able to borrow a pair
of hakama from the landlord; and, after having arranged ourselves as
neatly as we can, we take our way to the temple, guided by the
messenger.

I am agreeably surprised to find, as we pass again under a magnificent
bronze torii which I admired the night before, that the approaches to
the temple lose very little of their imposing character when seen for
the first time by sunlight. The majesty of the trees remains
astonishing; the vista of the avenue is grand; and the vast spaces of
groves and grounds to right and left are even more impressive than I had
imagined. Multitudes of pilgrims are going and coming; but the whole
population of a province might move along such an avenue without
jostling. Before the gate of the first court a Shinto priest in full
sacerdotal costume waits to receive us: an elderly man, with a pleasant
kindly face. The messenger commits us to his charge, and vanishes
through the gateway, while the elderly priest, whose name is Sasa, leads
the way.

Already I can hear a heavy sound, as of surf, within the temple court;
and as we advance the sound becomes sharper and recognisable—a
volleying of handclaps. And passing the great gate, I see thousands of
pilgrims before the Haiden, the same huge structure which I visited last
night. None enter there: all stand before the dragon-swarming doorway,
and cast their offerings into the money-chest placed before the
threshold; many making contribution of small coin, the very poorest
throwing only a handful of rice into the box.
[49]
Then they clap their
hands and bow their heads before the threshold, and reverently gaze
through the Hall of Prayer at the loftier edifice, the Holy of Holies,
beyond it. Each pilgrim remains but a little while, and claps his hands
but four times; yet so many are coming and going that the sound of the
clapping is like the sound of a cataract.

Passing by the multitude of worshippers to the other side of the Haiden,
we find ourselves at the foot of a broad flight of iron-bound steps
leading to the great sanctuary—steps which I am told no European
before me was ever permitted to approach. On the lower steps the priests
of the temple, in full ceremonial costume, are waiting to receive us.
Tall men they are, robed in violet and purple silks shot through with
dragon-patterns in gold. Their lofty fantastic head-dresses, their
voluminous and beautiful costume, and the solemn immobility of their
hierophantic attitudes make them at first sight seem marvellous statues
only. Somehow or other there comes suddenly back to me the memory of a
strange French print I used to wonder at when a child, representing a
group of Assyrian astrologers. Only their eyes move as we approach. But
as I reach the steps all simultaneously salute me with a most gracious
bow, for I am the first foreign pilgrim to be honoured by the privilege
of an interview in the holy shrine itself with the princely hierophant,
their master, descendant of the Goddess of the Sun—he who is still
called by myriads of humble worshippers in the remoter districts of this
ancient province Ikigami, 'the living deity.' Then all become absolutely
statuesque again.

I remove my shoes, and am about to ascend the steps, when the tall
priest who first received us before the outer gate indicates, by a
single significant gesture, that religion and ancient custom require me,
before ascending to the shrine of the god, to perform the ceremonial
ablution. I hold out my hands; the priest pours the pure water over them
thrice from a ladle-shaped vessel of bamboo with a long handle, and then
gives me a little blue towel to wipe them upon, a Votive towel with
mysterious white characters upon it. Then we all ascend; I feeling very
much like a clumsy barbarian in my ungraceful foreign garb.

Pausing at the head of the steps, the priest inquires my rank in
society. For at Kitzuki hierarchy and hierarchical forms are maintained
with a rigidity as precise as in the period of the gods; and there are
special forms and regulations for the reception of visitors of every
social grade. I do not know what flattering statements Akira may have
made about me to the good priest; but the result is that I can rank only
as a common person—which veracious fact doubtless saves me from some
formalities which would have proved embarrassing, all ignorant as I
still am of that finer and more complex etiquette in which the Japanese
are the world's masters.

The priest leads the way into a vast and lofty apartment opening for its
entire length upon the broad gallery to which the stairway ascends. I
have barely time to notice, while following him, that the chamber
contains three immense shrines, forming alcoves on two sides of it. Of
these, two are veiled by white curtains reaching from ceiling to matting
-curtains decorated with perpendicular rows of black disks about four
inches in diameter, each disk having in its centre a golden blossom. But
from before the third shrine, in the farther angle of the chamber, the
curtains have been withdrawn; and these are of gold brocade, and the
shrine before which they hang is the chief shrine, that of Oho-kuni-
nushi-no-Kami. Within are visible only some of the ordinary emblems of
Shinto, and the exterior of that Holy of Holies into which none may
look. Before it a long low bench, covered with strange objects, has been
placed, with one end toward the gallery and one toward the alcove. At
the end of this bench, near the gallery, I see a majestic bearded
figure, strangely coifed and robed all in white, seated upon the matted
floor in hierophantic attitude. Our priestly guide motions us to take
our places in front of him and to bow down before him. For this is Senke
Takanori, the Guji of Kitzuki, to whom even in his own dwelling none may
speak save on bended knee, descendant of the Goddess of the Sun, and
still by multitudes revered in thought as a being superhuman.
Prostrating myself before him, according to the customary code of
Japanese politeness, I am saluted in return with that exquisite courtesy
which puts a stranger immediately at ease. The priest who acted as our
guide now sits down on the floor at the Guji's left hand; while the
other priests, who followed us to the entrance of the sanctuary only,
take their places upon the gallery without.