In Ghostly Japan by Lafcadio Hearn
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Lafcadio Hearn >> In Ghostly Japan
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The original thirteen packages having thus by "experimenting"
been reduced to ten, each player is given one set of ten small
tablets--usually of gold-lacquer,--every set being differently
ornamented. The backs only of these tablets are decorated; and
the decoration is nearly always a floral design of some sort:--
thus one set might be decorated with chrysanthemums in gold,
another with tufts of iris-plants, another with a spray of plum-
blossoms, etc. But the faces of the tablets bear numbers or
marks; and each set comprises three tablets numbered "1," three
numbered "2," three numbered "3," and one marked with the
character signifying "guest." After these tablet-sets have been
distributed, a box called the "tablet-box" is placed before the
first player; and all is ready for the real game.
The incense-burner retires behind a little screen, shuffles the
flat packages like so many cards, takes the uppermost, prepares
its contents in the censer, and then, returning to the party,
sends the censer upon its round. This time, of course, he does
not announce what kind of incense he has used. As the censer
passes from hand to hand, each player, after inhaling the fume,
puts into the tablet-box one tablet bearing that mark or number
which he supposes to be the mark or number of the incense he has
smelled. If, for example, he thinks the incense to be "guest-
incense," he drops into the box that one of his tablets marked
with the ideograph meaning "guest;" or if he believes that he has
inhaled the perfume of No. 2, he puts into the box a tablet
numbered "2." When the round is over, tablet-box and censer are
both returned to the incense-burner. He takes the six tablets out
of the box, and wraps them up in the paper which contained the
incense guessed about. The tablets themselves keep the personal
as well as the general record,--since each player remembers the
particular design upon his own set.
The remaining nine packages of incense art consumed and judged in
the same way, according to the chance order in which the
shuffling has placed them. When all the incense has been used,
the tablets are taken out of their wrappings, the record is
officially put into writing, and the victor of the day is
announced. I here offer the translation of such a record: it will
serve to explain, almost at a glance, all the complications of
the game.
According to this record the player who used the tablets
decorated with the design called "Young Pine," made but two
mistakes; while the holder of the "White-Lily" set made only one
correct guess. But it is quite a feat to make ten correct
judgments in succession. The olfactory nerves are apt to become
somewhat numbed long before the game is concluded; and, therefore
it is customary during the Ko-kwai to rinse the mouth at
intervals with pure vinegar, by which operation the sensitivity
is partially restored.
RECORD OF A KO-KWAI.
Order in which the ten packages of incense were
used:--
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Names given
to the six No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.
No.
tablets used, III I GUEST II I III II I III
II
according to
decorative
designs on the
back: Guesses recorded by nos. on tablet; correct
being marked *
No. of correct
guesses
"Gold
Chrysanthemum" 1 3 1 2* Guest 1 2* 2 3*
3 3
"Young Bamboo" 3* 1* 1 2* 1* Guest 3 2 1
3 4
"Red Peony" Guest 1* 2 2* 3 1 3 2 3*
1 3
"White Lily" 1 3 1 3 2 2 1 3 Guest
2* 1
"Young Pine" 3* 1* Guest* 3 1* 2 2* 1* 3*
2* 8 (Winner)
"Cherry-Blossom
-in-a-Mist" 1 3 Guest* 2* 1* 3* 1 2 3*
2* 6
NAMES OF INCENSE USED.
I. "Tasogare" ("Who-Is-there?" I. e. "Evening-Dusk").
II. "Baikwa" ("Plum Flower").
III. "Wakakusa" ("Young Grass").
IV. ("Guest Incense") "Yamaji-no-Tsuyu"
("Dew-on-the-Mountain-Path"). To the Japanese original of the
foregoing record were appended the names of the players, the date of
the entertainment, and the name of the place where the party was
held. It is the custom In some families to enter all such records in
a book especially made for the purpose, and furnished with an index
which enables the Ko-kwai player to refer immediately to any
interesting fact belonging to the history of any past game.
The reader will have noticed that the four kinds of incense used
were designated by very pretty names. The incense first
mentioned, for example, is called by the poets' name for the
gloaming,--Tasogare (lit: "Who is there?" or " Who is it?")--a
word which in this relation hints of the toilet-perfume that
reveals some charming presence to the lover waiting in the dusk.
Perhaps some curiosity will be felt regarding the composition of
these incenses. I can give the Japanese recipes for two sorts;
but I have not been able to identify all of the materials
named:--
Recipe for Yamaji-no-Tsuyu.
Ingredients Proportions.
about
Jinko (aloes-wood) 4 momme (1/2 oz.)
Choji (cloves) 4 " "
Kunroku (olibanum) 4 " "
Hakko (artemisia Schmidtiana) 4 " "
Jako (musk) 1 bu (1/8 oz.)
Koko(?) 4 momme (1/2 oz.)
To 21 pastilles
Recipe for Baikwa.
Ingredients Proportions.
about
Jinko (aloes) 20 momme (2 1/2 oz.)
Choji (cloves) 12 " (1 1/2 oz.)
Koko(?) 8 1/3 " (1 1/40 oz.)
Byakudan (sandal-wood) 4 " (1/2 oz.)
Kansho (spikenard) 2 bu (1/4 oz.)
Kwakko (Bishop's-wort?) 1 bu 2 sbu (3/16 oz.)
Kunroku (olibanum) 3 " 3 " (15/22 oz.)
Shomokko (?) 2 " (1/4 oz.)
Jako (musk) 3 " 2 sbu (7/16 oz.)
Ryuno (refined Borneo Camphor) 3 sbu (3/8 oz.)
To 50 pastilles
The incense used at a Ko-kwai ranges in value, according to the
style of the entertainment, from $2.50 to $30.00 per envelope of
100 wafers--wafers usually not more than one-fourth of an inch in
diameter. Sometimes an incense is used worth even more than
$30.00 per envelope: this contains ranjatai, an aromatic of which
the perfume is compared to that of "musk mingled with orchid-
flowers." But there is some incense,--never sold,--which is much
more precious than ranjatai,--incense valued less for its com-
position than for its history: I mean the incense brought
centuries ago from China or from India by the Buddhist
missionaries, and presented to princes or to other persons of
high rank. Several ancient Japanese temples also include such
foreign incense among their treasures. And very rarely a little
of this priceless material is contributed to an incense-party,--
much as in Europe, on very extraordinary occasions, some banquet
is glorified by the production of a wine several hundred years
old.
Like the tea-ceremonies, the Ko-kwai exact observance of a very
complex and ancient etiquette. But this subject could interest
few readers; and I shall only mention some of the rules regarding
preparations and precautions. First of all, it is required that
the person invited to an incense-party shall attend the same in
as _odorless_ a condition as possible: a lady, for instance, must
not use hair-oil, or put on any dress that has been kept in a
perfumed chest-of-drawers. Furthermore, the guest should prepare
for the contest by taking a prolonged hot bath, and should eat
only the lightest and least odorous kind of food before going to
the rendezvous. It is forbidden to leave the room during the
game, or to open any door or window, or to indulge in needless
conversation. Finally I may observe that, while judging the
incense, a player is expected to take not less than three
inhalations, or more than five.
In this economical era, the Ko-kwai takes of necessity a much
humbler form than it assumed in the time of the great daimyo, of
the princely abbots, and of the military aristocracy. A full set
of the utensils required for the game can now be had for about
$50.00; but the materials are of the poorest kind. The old-
fashioned sets were fantastically expensive. Some were worth
thousands of dollars. The incense-burner's desk,--the writing-
box, paper-box, tablet-box, etc.,--the various stands or dai,--
were of the costliest gold-lacquer;--the pincers and other
instruments were of gold, curiously worked;--and the censer--
whether of precious metal, bronze, or porcelain,--was always a
chef-d'oeuvre, designed by some artist of renown.
1 Girls are still trained in the art of arranging flowers, and in
the etiquette of the dainty, though somewhat tedious, cha-no-yu.
Buddhist priests have long enjoyed a reputation as teachers of
the latter. When the pupil has reached a certain degree of
proficiency, she is given a diploma or certificate. The tea used
in these ceremonies is a powdered tea of remarkable fragrance,--
the best qualities of which fetch very high prices.
2 The places occupied by guests in a Japanese zashiki, or
reception room are numbered from the alcove of the apartment. The
place of the most honored is immediately before the alcove: this
is the first seat, and the rest are numbered from it, usually to
the left.
V
Although the original signification of incense in Buddhist
ceremonies was chiefly symbolical, there is good reason to
suppose that various beliefs older than Buddhism,--some, perhaps,
peculiar to the race; others probably of Chinese or Korean
derivation,--began at an early period to influence the popular
use of incense in Japan. Incense is still burned in the presence
of a corpse with the idea that its fragrance shields both corpse
and newly-parted soul from malevolent demons; and by the peasants
it is often burned also to drive away goblins and the evil powers
presiding over diseases. But formerly it was used to summon
spirits as well as to banish them. Allusions to its employment in
various weird rites may be found in some of the old dramas and
romances. One particular sort of incense, imported from China,
was said to have the power of calling up human spirits. This was
the wizard-incense referred to in such ancient love-songs as the
following:--
"I have heard of the magical incense that summons the souls
of the absent:
Would I had some to burn, in the nights when I wait alone!"
There is an interesting mention of this incense in the Chinese
book, Shang-hai-king. It was called Fwan-hwan-hiang (by Japanese
pronunciation, Hangon-ko), or "Spirit-Recalling-Incense;" and it
was made in Tso-Chau, or the District of the Ancestors, situated
by the Eastern Sea. To summon the ghost of any dead person--or
even that of a living person, according to some authorities,--it
was only necessary to kindle some of the incense, and to
pronounce certain words, while keeping the mind fixed upon the
memory of that person. Then, in the smoke of the incense, the
remembered face and form would appear.
In many old Japanese and Chinese books mention is made of a
famous story about this incense,--a story of the Chinese Emperor
Wu, of the Han dynasty. When the Emperor had lost his beautiful
favorite, the Lady Li, he sorrowed so much that fears were
entertained for his reason. But all efforts made to divert his
mind from the thought of her proved unavailing. One day he
ordered some Spirit-Recalling-Incense to be procured, that he
might summon her from the dead. His counsellors prayed him to
forego his purpose, declaring that the vision could only
intensify his grief. But he gave no heed to their advice, and
himself performed the rite,--kindling the incense, and keeping
his mind fixed upon the memory of the Lady Li. Presently, within
the thick blue smoke arising from the incense, the outline, of a
feminine form became visible. It defined, took tints of life,
slowly became luminous, and the Emperor recognized the form of
his beloved At first the apparition was faint; but it soon became
distinct as a living person, and seemed with each moment to grow
more beautiful. The Emperor whispered to the vision, but received
no answer. He called aloud, and the presence made no sign. Then
unable to control himself, he approached the censer. But the
instant that he touched the smoke, the phantom trembled and
vanished.
Japanese artists are still occasionally inspired by the legends
of the Hangon-ho. Only last year, in Tokyo, at an exhibition of
new kakemono, I saw a picture of a young wife kneeling before an
alcove wherein the smoke of the magical incense was shaping the
shadow of the absent husband.(1)
Although the power of making visible the forms of the dead has
been claimed for one sort of incense only, the burning of any
kind of incense is supposed to summon viewless spirits in
multitude. These come to devour the smoke. They are called Jiki-
ko-ki, or "incense-eating goblins;" and they belong to the
fourteenth of the thirty-six classes of Gaki (pretas) recognized
by Japanese Buddhism. They are the ghosts of men who anciently,
for the sake of gain, made or sold bad incense; and by the evil
karma of that action they now find themselves in the state of
hunger-suffering spirits, and compelled to seek their only food
in the smoke of incense.
1 Among the curious Tokyo inventions of 1898 was a new variety of
cigarettes called Hangon-so, or "Herb of Hangon,"--a name
suggesting that their smoke operated like the spirit-summoning
incense. As a matter of fact, the chemical action of the tobacco-
smoke would define, upon a paper fitted into the mouth-piece of
each cigarette, the photographic image of a dancing-girl.
A Story of Divination
I once knew a fortune-teller who really believed in the science
that he professed. He had learned, as a student of the old
Chinese philosophy, to believe in divination long before he
thought of practising it. During his youth he had been in the
service of a wealthy daimyo, but subsequently, like thousands of
other samurai, found himself reduced to desperate straits by the
social and political changes of Meiji. It was then that he became
a fortune-teller,--an itinerant uranaiya,--travelling on foot
from town to town, and returning to his home rarely more than
once a year with the proceeds of his journey. As a fortune-teller
he was tolerably successful,--chiefly, I think, because of his
perfect sincerity, and because of a peculiar gentle manner that
invited confidence. His system was the old scholarly one: he used
the book known to English readers as the Yi-King,--also a set of
ebony blocks which could be so arranged as to form any of the
Chinese hexagrams;--and he always began his divination with an
earnest prayer to the gods.
The system itself he held to be infallible in the hands of a
master. He confessed that he had made some erroneous predictions;
but he said that these mistakes had been entirely due to his own
miscomprehension of certain texts or diagrams. To do him justice
I must mention that in my own case--(he told my fortune four
times),--his predictions were fulfilled in such wise that I
became afraid of them. You may disbelieve in fortune-telling,--
intellectually scorn it; but something of inherited superstitious
tendency lurks within most of us; and a few strange experiences
can so appeal to that inheritance as to induce the most
unreasoning hope or fear of the good or bad luck promised you by
some diviner. Really to see our future would be a misery. Imagine
the result of knowing that there must happen to you, within the
next two months, some terrible misfortune which you cannot
possibly provide against!
He was already an old man when I first saw him in Izumo,--
certainly more than sixty years of age, but looking very much
younger. Afterwards I met him in Osaka, in Kyoto, and in Kobe.
More than once I tried to persuade him to pass the colder months
of the winter-season under my roof,--for he possessed an
extraordinary knowledge of traditions, and could have been of
inestimable service to me in a literary way. But partly because
the habit of wandering had become with him a second nature, and
partly because of a love of independence as savage as a gipsy's,
I was never able to keep him with me for more than two days at a
time.
Every year he used to come to Tokyo,--usually in the latter part
of autumn. Then, for several weeks, he would flit about the city,
from district to district, and vanish again. But during these
fugitive trips he never failed to visit me; bringing welcome news
of Izumo people and places,--bringing also some queer little
present, generally of a religious kind, from some famous place of
pilgrimage. On these occasions I could get a few hours' chat with
him. Sometimes the talk was of strange things seen or heard
during his recent journey; sometimes it turned upon old legends
or beliefs; sometimes it was about fortune-telling. The last time
we met he told me of an exact Chinese science of divination which
he regretted never having been able to learn.
"Any one learned in that science," he said, "would be able, for
example, not only to tell you the exact time at which any post or
beam of this house will yield to decay, but even to tell you the
direction of the breaking, and all its results. I can best
explain what I mean by relating a story.
"The story is about the famous Chinese fortune-teller whom we
call in Japan Shoko Setsu, and it is written in the book Baikwa-
Shin-Eki, which is a book of divination. While still a very young
man, Shoko Setsu obtained a high position by reason of his
learning and virtue; but he resigned it and went into solitude
that he might give his whole time to study. For years thereafter
he lived alone in a hut among the mountains; studying without a
fire in winter, and without a fan in summer; writing his thoughts
upon the wall of his room--for lack of paper;--and using only a
tile for his pillow.
"One day, in the period of greatest summer heat, he found himself
overcome by drowsiness; and he lay down to rest, with his tile
under his head. Scarcely had he fallen asleep when a rat ran
across his face and woke him with a start. Feeling angry, he
seized his tile and flung it at the rat; but the rat escaped
unhurt, and the tile was broken. Shoko Setsu looked sorrowfully
at the fragments of his pillow, and reproached himself for his
hastiness. Then suddenly he perceived, upon the freshly exposed
clay of the broken tile, some Chinese characters--between the
upper and lower surfaces. Thinking this very strange, he picked
up the pieces, and carefully examined them. He found that along
the line of fracture seventeen characters had been written within
the clay before the tile had been baked; and the characters read
thus: 'In the Year of the Hare, in the fourth month, on the
seventeenth day, at the Hour of the Serpent, this tile, after
serving as a pillow, will be thrown at a rat and broken.' Now the
prediction had really been fulfilled at the Hour of the Serpent
on the seventeenth day of the fourth month of the Year of the
Hare. Greatly astonished, Shoko Setsu once again looked at the
fragments, and discovered the seal and the name of the maker. At
once he left his hut, and, taking with him the pieces of the
tile, hurried to the neighboring town in search of the tilemaker.
He found the tilemaker in the course of the day, showed him the
broken tile, and asked him about its history.
"After having carefully examined the shards, the tilemaker said:
--'This tile was made in my house; but the characters in the clay
were written by an old man--a fortune-teller,--who asked
permission to write upon the tile before it was baked.' 'Do you
know where he lives?' asked Shoko Setsu. `He used to live,' the
tilemaker answered, 'not very far from here; and I can show you
the way to the house. But I do not know his name.'
"Having been guided to the house, Shoko Setsu presented himself
at the entrance, and asked for permission to speak to the old
man. A serving-student courteously invited him to enter, and
ushered him into an apartment where several young men were at
study. As Shoko Setsu took his seat, all the youths saluted him.
Then the one who had first addressed him bowed and said: 'We are
grieved to inform you that our master died a few days ago. But we
have been waiting for you, because he predicted that you would
come to-day to this house, at this very hour. Your name is Shoko
Setsu. And our master told us to give you a book which he
believed would be of service to you. Here is the book;--please to
accept it.'
"Shoko Setsu was not less delighted than surprised; for the book
was a manuscript of the rarest and most precious kind,--
containing all the secrets of the science of divination. After
having thanked the young men, and properly expressed his regret
for the death of their teacher, he went back to his hut, and
there immediately proceeded to test the worth of the book by
consulting its pages in regard to his own fortune. The book
suggested to him that on the south side of his dwelling, at a
particular spot near one corner of the hut, great luck awaited
him. He dug at the place indicated, and found a jar containing
gold enough to make him a very wealthy man."
***
My old acquaintance left this world as lonesomely as he had lived
in it. Last winter, while crossing a mountain-range, he was
overtaken by a snowstorm, and lost his way. Many days later he
was found standing erect at the foot of a pine, with his little
pack strapped to his shoulders: a statue of ice--arms folded and
eyes closed as in meditation. Probably, while waiting for the
storm to pass, he had yielded to the drowsiness of cold, and the
drift had risen over him as he slept. Hearing of this strange
death I remembered the old Japanese saying,--Uranaiya minouye
shiradzu: "The fortune-teller knows not his own fate."
Silkworms
I was puzzled by the phrase, "silkworm-moth eyebrow," in an old
Japanese, or rather Chinese proverb:--The silkworm-moth eyebrow
of a woman is the axe that cuts down the wisdom of man. So I went
to my friend Niimi, who keeps silkworms, to ask for an
explanation.
"Is it possible," he exclaimed, "that you never saw a silkworm-
moth? The silkworm-moth has very beautiful eyebrows."
"Eyebrows?" I queried, in astonishment. "Well, call them what you
like," returned Niimi;--"the poets call them eyebrows.... Wait a
moment, and I will show you."
He left the guest-room, and presently returned with a white
paper-fan, on which a silkworm-moth was sleepily reposing.
"We always reserve a few for breeding," he said;--"this one is
just out of the cocoon. It cannot fly, of course: none of them
can fly.... Now look at the eyebrows."
I looked, and saw that the antennae, very short and feathery, were
so arched back over the two jewel-specks of eyes in the velvety
head, as to give the appearance of a really handsome pair of eye-
brows.
Then Niimi took me to see his worms.
In Niimi's neighborhood, where there are plenty of mulberrytrees,
many families keep silkworms;--the tending and feeding being
mostly done by women and children. The worms are kept in large
oblong trays, elevated upon light wooden stands about three feet
high. It is curious to see hundreds of caterpillars feeding all
together in one tray, and to hear the soft papery noise which
they make while gnawing their mulberry-leaves. As they approach
maturity, the creatures need almost constant attention. At brief
intervals some expert visits each tray to inspect progress, picks
up the plumpest feeders, and decides, by gently rolling them
between forefinger and thumb, which are ready to spin. These are
dropped into covered boxes, where they soon swathe themselves out
of sight in white floss. A few only of the best are suffered to
emerge from their silky sleep,--the selected breeders. They have
beautiful wings, but cannot use them. They have mouths, but do
not eat. They only pair, lay eggs, and die. For thousands of
years their race has been so well-cared for, that it can no
longer take any care of itself.
It was the evolutional lesson of this latter fact that chiefly
occupied me while Niimi and his younger brother (who feeds the
worms) were kindly explaining the methods of the industry. They
told me curious things about different breeds, and also about a
wild variety of silkworm that cannot be domesticated:--it spins
splendid silk before turning into a vigorous moth which can use
its wings to some purpose. But I fear that I did not act like a
person who felt interested in the subject; for, even while I
tried to listen, I began to muse.
II
First of all, I found myself thinking about a delightful revery
by M. Anatole France, in which he says that if he had been the
Demiurge, he would have put youth at the end of life instead of
at the beginning, and would have otherwise so ordered matters
that every human being should have three stages of development,
somewhat corresponding to those of the lepidoptera. Then it
occurred to me that this fantasy was in substance scarcely more
than the delicate modification of a most ancient doctrine, common
to nearly all the higher forms of religion.
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