the significance of japanese art
sir alfred east, in lecturing on the subject of japanese art, described it as "great in small things, but small in great things," and this, generally speaking, is very true. the japanese artist excels in depicting flowers and insects and birds. he is triumphant in portraying the curl of a wave, a branch of cherry-blossom against a full moon, a flight of heron, a group of pine-trees, and carp swimming in a stream; but that genius for minute and accurate detail seems to have prevented him from depicting what we understand as a great subject-picture, an historical scene crowded with many figures. this zest to portray various fragments from nature was no narrow and academic affair. art was not intended solely for the kakemono, or hanging scroll, to be suspended in the alcove of a japanese home, to be admired for a time, and then to be replaced by another. art in japan was universal to an extent not to be found in any other country, where a cheap towel had a pleasing design upon it, and where the playing cards, unlike our own, were works of art.
it has been said that the woman in japanese art is wooden. this is not really so, if by wooden we mean entirely without expression; but it is necessary first of all to know something about the japanese woman in actual life before we can understand her representation in art. there is a wealth of old tradition behind that apparently immobile face. it is a curious fact that until we get accustomed to the various japanese types one face so closely resembles another that discrimination is out of the question, and we are apt to run away with[pg 113] the idea that nature in japan has been content to repeat the same physiognomy over and over again, forgetting that we in turn present no diversity of type to the japanese on first acquaintance. the japanese face in art is not without expression, only it happens to be an expression rather different from that with which we are familiar, and this is particularly true in regard to the portrayal of japanese women. most of us have seen a number of colour-prints devoted to this subject in which we find no shading in the face. we are apt to exclaim that this omission gives an extremely flat effect to the face, and to observe in consequence that the work before us must be very bad art. but it is not bad art, for the japanese face is flat, and the artists of that country never fail to reflect this characteristic. colour-prints depicting nipponese women do not reveal emotion—a smile, a gesture of yearning, are absent; but because we find so much negation we should be very far from the truth to suppose that a colour-print of this kind expresses no feeling, that the general effect is doll-like and uninteresting. we must take into consideration the long period of suppression through which the japanese woman had to pass. a superficial study of that extraordinary treatise by kaibara known as onna daigaku, or "the greater learning for women," will help us to realise that it was the duty of every japanese woman to be sweet, amiable, virtuous; to obey those in authority without demur, and above all to suppress her feelings. when we have taken these points into consideration we shall very slowly perceive that there is strength and not weakness in a portrait of a japanese woman; a quiet and dignified beauty in which impulse is held in check, veiled, as it were, behind a cloud of rigid tradition. the japanese woman, though she has been surrounded at every turn by severe discipline, has, nevertheless,[pg 114] given us a type of womanhood supreme in her true sweetness of disposition, and the japanese artist has caught the glamour of her charm. in the curve of her form he suggests the grace of a wind-blown willow, in the designs upon her robe the promise of spring, and behind the small red mouth a wealth of infinite possibilities.
japan owed her art to buddhism, and it was quickened and sustained by chinese influence. buddhism gave nippon her pictorial art, her mural decoration and exquisite carving. shinto temples were severe and plain, those of buddhism were replete with all that art could give them; and last, but not least, it was buddha's teaching that brought into japan the art of gardening, with all its elaborate and beautiful symbolism.
a japanese art critic wrote: "if in the midst of a stroke a sword-cut had severed the brush it would have bled." from this we may gather that the japanese artist put his whole heart into his work; it was a part of him, something vital, something akin to religion itself. with this great force behind his brush it is no wonder that he was able to give that extraordinary life and movement to his work, so strikingly depicted in portraits of actors.
though we have so far only shown the japanese artist as a master of little things, he has, nevertheless, faithfully and effectively represented the gods and goddesses of his country, and many of the myths and legends connected with them. if he excelled in the beautiful, he no less excelled in depicting the horrible, for no artists, excepting those of china, have succeeded in portraying the supernatural to more effect. what a contrast there is between an exquisite picture of jizo or buddha or kwannon and the pictorial representation[pg 115] of a japanese goblin! extreme beauty and extreme ugliness are to be found in japanese art, and those who love the many pictures of mount fuji and the moth-like colouring of utamaru's women will turn in horror from the ghastly representations of supernatural beings.
the gods of good fortune
many of the legendary stories given in this volume have been portrayed by japanese artists, and in the present chapter we propose to deal with the legends in japanese art not hitherto mentioned. the favourite theme of the japanese artist is undoubtedly that of the seven gods of good fortune, nearly always treated with rollicking good-humour. there was fukurokuju, with a very long head, and attended by a crane, deer, or tortoise; daikoku, who stood upon rice-bales and was accompanied by a rat; ebisu, carrying a fish; hotei, the merry god of laughter, the very embodiment of our phrase "laugh and grow fat." there was bishamon, resplendent in armour, and bearing a spear and toy pagoda; benten, the goddess of beauty, wealth, fertility, and offspring; while jurojin was very similar to fukurokuju. these seven gods of good fortune, or, to be more accurate, six gods and one goddess, seem to have sprung from shintoism, taoism, buddhism, and brahmanism, and apparently date from the seventeenth century.
the treasure ship
in connection with this theme the japanese artist is fond of portraying the gods of good fortune as jovial passengers on the takara-bune, or treasure ship, which is said to come to port on new year's eve, with no less a cargo than the hat of invisibility, the lucky raincoat,[pg 116] coat, the sacred key, the inexhaustible purse, and other curious and magical treasures. at this time of the year pictures of the treasure ship are placed under children's wooden pillows, and the practice is said to bring a lucky dream.
"sleep, my own, till the bell of dusk
bring the stars laden with a dream.
with that dream you shall awake
between the laughters and the song."
yone noguchi.
the miraculous in japanese art
among other legends is the story of hidari jingoro, the famous sculptor, whose masterpiece came to life when finished, which reminds us not a little of the story of pygmalion. there are other legendary stories connected with the coming to life of japanese works of art. on a certain occasion a number of peasants were much annoyed by the destruction of their gardens caused by some wild animal. eventually they discovered that the intruder was a great black horse, and on giving chase it suddenly disappeared into a temple. when they entered the building they found kanasoka's painting of a black steed steaming with its recent exertion! the great artist at once painted in a rope tethering the animal to a post, and from that day to this the peasants' gardens have remained unmolested.
when the great artist sesshiu was a little boy the story goes that he was, by way of punishment, securely bound in a buddhist temple. using his copious tears for ink and his toe for a brush, the little fellow sketched some rats upon the floor. immediately they came to life and gnawed through the rope that bound their youthful creator.
[pg 117]
hokusai
there is something more than mere legend in these stories, if we may believe the words of the famous artist hokusai, whose "hundred views of fuji" are regarded as the finest examples of japanese landscape-painting. he wrote in his preface to this work: "at ninety i shall penetrate the mystery of things; at a hundred i shall certainly have reached a marvellous stage; and when i am a hundred and ten everything i do, be it a dot or a line, will be alive." needless to say, hokusai did not reach the age of a hundred and ten. in his last hours he wrote the following lines, which were afterwards inscribed upon his tomb:
"my soul, turned will-o'-the-wisp,
can come and go at ease over the summer fields."
with that strong poetic feeling so characteristic of the japanese, eternity meant for hokusai an infinite time in which to carry on his beloved work—to perfect, to make alive all the wonderful strokes of his brush. as in ancient egypt, so in old japan, the future life could only mean real happiness with periodic visits to this world again, and there is a subtle and almost pathetic paradox in this conception, suggesting, as it were, the continual loading of eternity with fresh earthly memories. in both countries we find the spirit hankering after old human haunts. in egypt the soul returned through the medium of its preserved body, and in japan the festival of the dead, described elsewhere, afforded a joyous exit from the world of emma-Ō, a three days' visit in the middle of july to japan, a land more beautiful, more dear, it would seem, than any japanese conception of a future world. but hokusai appears to suggest that his visits would not be made merely in the[pg 118] summer season—rather a frequent coming and going at all times of the year.
a japanese poet has written:
"it is an awesome thing
to meet a-wandering,
in the dark night,
the dark and rainy night,
a phantom greenish-grey,
ghost of some wight,
poor mortal wight!
wandering
lonesomely
through
the black
night."
translated by clara a. walsh.
ghosts and goblins
it is scarcely less awesome to come across ghosts, goblins, and other supernatural beings in a japanese picture. we find ghosts with long necks supporting horribly leering faces. their necks are so long that it would seem that the ghastly heads could look above and into everything with a fiendish and dreadful relish. the ghoul, though represented in japanese art as a three-year-old child, has reddish-brown hair, very long ears, and is often depicted as eating the kidneys of dead people. the horrible in this phase of japanese art is emphasised to an almost unbearable degree, and a living japanese artist's conception of a procession of ghosts[1] is so uncanny, so weird, that we certainly should not like to meet them in broad daylight, much less "through the dark night!"
[pg 119]
a garden of skulls
the japanese artist's conception of a garden, with its pine-trees, and stone lanterns, and azalea-bordered lakes, is usually extremely beautiful. hiroshige, like so many japanese artists, has painted a garden touched with snow; but in one of his pictures he portrays the snow as turning into a number of skulls, and has borrowed this fantastic conception from the heike monogatari.
it must not be thought that the japanese artist, when portraying some supernatural being, or in depicting some scene from a legendary story, exclusively catches the grim and horrible. the grim and horrible are certainly portrayed with considerable spirit and dramatic force, but many of the japanese works of art depict the gods and goddesses of old japan with much grace and charm.
the dream of rose[2]
japanese ornament frequently illustrates some ancient legend. we may see on a certain tsuba (sword-guard) a pine-tree with people sitting in the branches. one man carries a banner, while two others are playing on musical instruments. there is an exquisite legend connected with this quaint design, and, though it is of chinese origin, it deserves to find a place in this volume because it is one of those fantastic chinese legends that has been woven into japanese literature and art—has become, in short, one of the favourite themes of japanese artists, and of those who witness the no, or lyrical drama, of nippon.
rosei, in ancient times, reached the little inn of[pg 120] kantan, so weary with his travel that he fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. it was no ordinary pillow, but might well be described as the magic pillow of dreams, for directly rosei was asleep an envoy approached him, and said: "i am sent by the emperor of ibara to inform you that his majesty wishes to relinquish the throne and to install you in his place. be pleased to enter the palanquin that awaits you, and the bearers will quickly carry you to the capital."
rosei, much amazed by what he had heard and seen, entered the palanquin, "strewn with gems of radiant hue," and was borne to a wonderful country, best described in the following verse:
"for ne'er in those old vasty halls imperial,
bath'd in the moonbeams bright,
or where the dragon soars on clouds ethereal,
was ought like this to entrance the sight:
with golden sand and silvern pebbles white
was strewn the floor;
and at the corners four,
through gates inlaid
with diamonds and jade,
pass'd throngs whose vestments were of radiant light,—
so fair a scene,
that mortal eye might ween
it scann'd the very heav'ns' unknown delight.
here countless gifts the folk came bearing,
precious as myriad coins of finest gold;
and there, the lesser with the greater sharing,
advanc'd the vassals bold,
their banners to display
that paint the sky with colours gay,
while rings the air as had a thunder roll'd."
trans. by b. h. chamberlain.
rosei found himself in a magical country where nature either forgot her natural laws or was led into fresh wonders by the people of that land. in the east there was a silver hill over which the gold sun shone,[pg 121] and in the west there was a gold hill over which the moon shone.
"no spring and autumn mark the time,
and o'er that deathless gate
the sun and moon their wonted speed forget."
trans, by b. h. chamberlain.
the whole idea of this charming story seems to suggest that this country was not only a land of eternal youth, but a land, too, where nature marshalled her seasons together, where there were always colour and blossom, and where no flower faded.
when rosei had lived and reigned for fifty years in this glorious country a minister came to him one day and bade him drink of the elixir of life, in order that he might, like his subjects, live for ever.
the monarch drank the elixir, "'mid dazzling pomp and joys more ravishing than e'er before were shower'd on mortal sight." rosei believed that he had cheated death of his due, and lived the life of poetic, if sensuous, ecstasy. he gave sumptuous feasts to his courtiers, feasts which saw the sun and moon without intermission, where lovely maidens danced, and where there were endless music and song.
it so happened, however, that these joyous feasts, these pageants of colour, were not endless after all, for eventually rosei awoke to find himself resting upon "kantan's pillow." the moralist steps in at this juncture with the following:
"but he that ponders well
will find all life the self-same story tell,—
that, when death comes, a century of bliss
fades like a dream."
trans. by b. h. chamberlain.
rosei, after this fantastic experience, came to the conclusion that "life is a dream," that ambition is[pg 122] a dream too, and, having accepted this buddhistic teaching, he returned to his own home.
a kakemono ghost[3]
sawara was a pupil in the house of the artist tenko, who was a kind and able master, while sawara, even at the commencement of his art studies, showed considerable promise. kimi, tenko's niece, devoted her time to her uncle and in directing the affairs of the household generally. kimi was beautiful, and it was not long before she fell desperately in love with sawara. this young pupil regarded her as very charming, one to die for if need be, and in his heart he secretly loved her. his love, however, unlike kimi's, was not demonstrative, for he had his work to attend to, and so, to be sure, had kimi; but work with sawara came before his love, and with kimi it was only love that mattered.
one day, when tenko was paying a visit, kimi came to sawara, and, unable to restrain her feelings any longer, told him of her love, and asked him if he would like to marry her. having made her request, she set tea before her lover, and awaited his answer.
sawara returned her affection, and said that he would be delighted to marry her, adding, however, that marriage was not possible until after two or three years, when he had established a position for himself and had become a famous artist.
sawara, in order to add to his knowledge of art, decided to study under a celebrated painter named myokei, and, everything having been arranged, he bade farewell to his old master and kimi, promising that he would return as soon as he had made a name for himself and become a great artist.
[pg 123]
two years went by and tenko and kimi heard no news of sawara. many admirers of kimi came to her uncle with offers of marriage, and tenko was debating as to what he should do in the matter, when he received a letter from myokei, saying that sawara was doing good work, and that he desired that his excellent pupil should marry his daughter.
tenko imagined, perhaps not without some reason, that sawara had forgotten all about kimi, and that the best thing he could do was to give her in marriage to yorozuya, a wealthy merchant, and also to fulfil miyokei's wish that sawara should marry the great painter's daughter. with these intentions tenko resolved to employ strategy, so he called kimi to him, and said:
"kimi, i have had a letter from myokei, and i am afraid the sad news which it contains will distress you. myokei wishes sawara to marry his daughter, and i have told him that i fully approve of the union. i feel sure that sawara has neglected you, and i therefore wish that you should marry yorozuya, who will make, i am sure, a very good husband."
when kimi heard these words she wept bitterly, and without a word went to her room.
in the morning tenko entered kimi's apartment, but his niece had gone, and the protracted search that followed failed to discover her whereabouts.
when myokei had received tenko's letter he told the promising young artist that he wished him to marry his daughter, and thus establish a family of painters; but sawara was amazed to hear this extraordinary news, and explained that he could not accept the honour of becoming his son-in-law because he was already engaged to tenko's niece.
sawara, all too late, sent letters to kimi, and, receiving[pg 124] no reply, he set out for his old home, shortly after the death of myokei.
when he reached the little house where he had received his first lessons in the art of painting he learnt with anger that kimi had left her old uncle, and in due time he married kiku ("chrysanthemum"), the daughter of a wealthy farmer.
shortly after sawara's marriage the lord of aki bade him paint the seven scenes of the islands of kabakari-jima, which were to be mounted on gold screens. he at once set out for these islands, and made a number of rough sketches. while thus employed he met along the shore a woman with a red cloth round her loins, her hair loose and falling about her shoulders. she carried shell-fish in her basket, and as soon as she saw sawara she recognised him.
"you are sawara and i am kimi," said she, "to whom you are engaged. it was a false report about your marriage with myokei's daughter, and my heart is full of joy, for now nothing prevents our union."
"alas! poor, much-wronged kimi, that cannot be!" replied sawara. "i thought that you deserted tenko, and that you had forgotten me, and believing these things to be true i have married kiku, a farmer's daughter."
a kakemono ghost.
kimi, without a word, sprang forward like a hunted animal, ran along the shore, and entered her little hut, sawara running after her and calling her name over and over again. before his very eyes he saw kimi take a knife and thrust it into her throat, and in another moment she lay dead upon the ground. sawara wept as he gazed upon her still form, noticed the wistful beauty of death upon her cheek, and saw a new glory in her wind-blown hair. so fair and wonderful was her presence now that when he had controlled his[pg 125] weeping he made a sketch of the woman who had loved him so well, but so pitifully. above the mark of the tide he buried her, and when he reached his own home he took out the rough sketch, painted a picture of kimi, and hung the kakemono on the wall.
kimi finds peace
that very night he awoke to find that the figure on the kakemono had come to life, that kimi with the wound in her throat, the dishevelled hair, stood beside him. night after night she came, a silent, pitiful figure, until at last sawara, unable to bear these visitations any longer, presented the kakemono to the korinji temple and sent his wife back to her parents. the priests of the korinji temple prayed every day for the soul of kimi, and by and by kimi found peace and troubled sawara no more.
[1] see ancient tales and folk-lore of japan, by r. gordon smith.
[2] adapted from the no drama, translated by b. h. chamberlain.
[3] ancient tales and folk-lore of japan, by r. gordon smith.
