Often at night your attention will be drawn to a large, silent, admiring group of people standing before some little booth. They will be looking at a few vases of sprays of flowers--an exhibition of skill in their arrangement.

Returning homeward, there is seen a poor woman scattering some white papers into a stream of water, and, as she throws each one in, murmuring something sweet in a low voice. She is praying for her little dead child, and these are little prayers that she has written to Jizo.

Kitzuki is the most ancient shrine in j.a.pan, and it is the living centre of Shinto. There the ancient faith burns as brightly as ever it did in the unknown past. Buddhism may be doomed to pa.s.s away, but Shinto "unchanging and vitally unchanged remains dominant, and appears but to gain in power and dignity." Many of the wisest scholars have tried to define Shinto.

But the reality of Shinto lives not in books, nor in rites, nor in commandments, but in the national heart, of which it is the highest emotional religious expression, immortal and ever young. Far underlying all the surface crop of quaint superst.i.tions and artless myths and fantastic magic, there thrills a mighty spiritual force, the whole soul of a race with all its impulses and powers and intuitions. He who would know what Shinto is must learn to know that mysterious soul in which the sense of beauty and the power of art and the fire of heroism and magnetism of loyalty and the emotion of faith have become inherent, immanent, unconscious, instinctive.

At Kaka is the Cave of the Children's Ghosts. No evil person may enter the Shin-Kukedo, for if he does, a large stone will detach itself and fall down upon him. Here in this great vault, lifting forty feet above the water, and with walls thirty feet apart, is a white rock out of which drips a water apparently as white as the rock itself. This is the Fountain of Jizo, which gives milk to the souls of little dead children.

And mothers suffering from want of milk come hither to pray that milk may be given unto them; and their prayer is heard. And mothers having more milk than their infants need come hither also, and pray to Jizo that so much as they can give may be taken for the dead children; and their prayer is heard and their milk diminishes.

At least thus the peasants of Izumo say.

In another cavern are countless little piles of stones and pebbles, which must have been made by long and patient labour. It is the work of the dead children. One must step carefully, for the sake of these little ones, for if any work is spoiled, they will cry. In the sand are prints of little naked feet, "_the footprints of the infant ghosts_." Strewn here and there on the rocks are tiny straw sandals, pilgrims' offerings to keep the baby feet from being bruised by the stones.

In the temple of Hojinji of the Zen sect at Mionoseki, there is an altar which bears many images of Kwannon, the G.o.ddess of Mercy. Before the altar, and hung from the carven ceiling, is a bright coloured ma.s.s of embroidered purses, patterns of silk-weaving and of cotton-weaving, also b.a.l.l.s of threads and worsted and silk. These are the first offerings of little girls. As soon as a baby girl learns how to sew or knit or embroider, she brings to the Maid-Mother of all grace and sweetness and pity, the first piece that she has made successfully.

Even the infants of the j.a.panese kindergarten bring their first work here,--pretty paper-cuttings, scissored out and plaited into divers patterns by their own tiny flower-soft hands.

Among the many Notes on Kitzuki which interest, is the annual festival of the Divine Scribe, the Tenjin-Matsuri, to which every school-boy sends a specimen of his best writing. The texts are in Chinese characters, and are generally drawn from the works of Confucius or Mencius. And Hearn remarks that the children of other countries can never excel in the art of j.a.panese writing. The inner ancestral tendencies will not let them catch the secret of the stroke with the brush. It is the fingers of the dead that move the brush of the j.a.panese boy.

At every temple festival in j.a.pan there is a sale of toys. And every mother, however poor, buys her child a toy. They are not costly, and are charming. Many of these toys would seem odd to a little English child.

There is a tiny drum, a model of the drum used in the temples; or a miniature sambo table, upon which offerings are presented to the G.o.ds.

There is a bunch of bells fastened to a wooden handle. It resembles a rattle, but it is a model of the sacred _suzu_ which the virgin priestess uses in her dance before the G.o.ds. Then there are tiny images of priests and G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses. There is little of grimness in the faiths of the Far East; their G.o.ds smile. "Why religion should be considered too awful a subject for children to amuse themselves decently with never occurs to the common j.a.panese mind."

Besides these, there are pretty toys ill.u.s.trating some fairy-tale or superst.i.tion and many other playthings of clever devices, and the little doll, O-Hina-San (Honourable Miss Hina), which is a type of j.a.panese girl beauty. The doll in j.a.pan is a sacred part of the household. There is a belief that if it is treasured long enough it becomes alive. Such a doll is treated like a real child: it is supposed to possess supernatural powers. One had such rare powers that childless couples used to borrow it. They would minister to it, and would give it a new outfit of clothes before returning it to its owners. All who did this became parents. To the j.a.panese a new doll is only a doll; but a doll that has received the love of many generations acquires a soul. A little j.a.panese girl was asked, "How can a doll live?" "Why," was the lovely answer, "_if you love it enough_, it will live!"

Never is the corpse of a doll thrown away. When it has become so worn out that it must be considered quite dead, it is either burned or cast in running water, or it is dedicated to the G.o.d Kojin. In almost every temple ground there is planted a tree called _enoki_, which is sacred to Kojin. Before the tree will be a little shrine, and either there or at the foot of the sacred tree, the sad little remains will be laid. Seldom during the lifetime of its owner is a doll given to Kojin.

When you see one thus exposed, you may be almost certain that it was found among the effects of some poor dead woman--the innocent memento of her girlhood, perhaps even also of the girlhood of her mother and of her mother's mother.

There is a sad and awful tradition in the history of the Kengyos, the oldest of the n.o.ble families of Izumo. Seven generations ago the Daimyo of Izumo made his first official visit to the temples of Hinomisaki, and was entertained royally by the Kengyo. As was the custom, the young wife served the royal visitor. Her simple beauty unfortunately enchanted him, and he demanded that she leave her husband and go with him. Terrified, but like a brave loving wife and mother, she answered that sooner than desert her husband and child she would kill herself.

The Lord of Izumo went away, but the little household well knew the evil that now shadowed it. And shortly the Kengyo was suddenly taken from his family; tried at once for some unknown offence, and banished to the islands of Oki, where he died. The Daimyo was exultant, for no obstacle was in the way of his desire. The wife of the dead Kengyo was the daughter of his own minister, whose name was Kamiya. Kamiya was summoned before the Daimyo, who told him that there was no longer any reason why Kamiya's daughter should not enter his household, and bade Kamiya bring her to him.

The next day Kamiya returned, and with the utmost ceremony announced that the command had been fulfilled--the victim had arrived.

Smiling for pleasure, the Matsudaira ordered that she should be brought at once into his presence. The Karo prostrated himself, retired, and presently returned, placed before his master a _kubi-oke_ upon which lay the freshly-severed head of a beautiful woman,--the head of the young wife of the dead Kengyo,--with the simple utterance:

"This is my daughter."

Dead by her own brave will,--but never dishonoured.

"None love life more than the j.a.panese; none fear death less." So it is that when two lovers find that they can never wed, they keep the love death together, which is _joshi_ or _shinju_. By dying they believe that they will at once be united in another world. They always pray that they may be buried together. (In other books are written additional stories ill.u.s.trating the touching custom.)

At the temple of Yaegaki at Sakusa, are the Deities of Wedlock and of Love, and thither go all youths and maidens who are in love. Hundreds of strips of soft white paper are knotted to the gratings of the doors of the shrine. These are the prayers of love. Also there are tresses of girls' hair, love-sacrifices, and offerings of sea-water and of sea-weed. In the soil around the foundation of the shrine are planted quant.i.ties of small paper flags.

All over j.a.pan there are little Shinto shrines before which are images in stone of foxes.

The rustic foxes of Izumo have no grace: they are uncouth; but they betray in countless queer ways the personal fancies of their makers. They are of many moods,--whimsical, apathetic, inquisitive, saturnine, jocose, ironical; they watch and snooze and squint and wink and sneer; they wait with lurking smiles; they listen with c.o.c.ked ears most stealthily, keeping their mouths open or closed. There is an amusing individuality about them all, and an air of knowing mockery about most of them, even those whose noses have been broken off. Moreover, these ancient foxes have certain natural beauties which their modern Tokyo kindred cannot show. Time has bestowed upon them divers speckled coats of beautiful colours while they have been sitting on their pedestals, listening to the ebbing and flowing of the centuries and snickering weirdly at mankind. Their backs are clad with finest green velvet of old mosses; their limbs are spotted and their tails are tipped with the dead gold or the dead silver of delicate fungi. And the places they most haunt are the loveliest,--high shadowy groves where the _uguisu_ sings in green twilight, above some voiceless shrine with its lamps and its lions of stone so mossed as to seem things born of the soil--like mushrooms.

It is difficult to define the Fox superst.i.tion, chiefly because it has sprung from so many elements. The origin is Chinese, and in j.a.pan it has become mixed with the worship of a Shinto deity, and further enlarged by the Buddhist belief of thaumaturgy and magic. The peasants worship foxes because they fear them. But there are good foxes and bad ones. The country holds legend after legend of goblin foxes and ghost foxes, and foxes that take the form of human beings. Every j.a.panese child knows some of them.

Seldom is a j.a.panese garden a flower-garden: it may not contain a flower. It is a landscape garden, and its artistic purpose is to give the impression of a real scene. Besides, it is supposed to express "a mood in the soul." Such abstract ideas as Chast.i.ty, Faith, Connubial Bliss were expressed by the old Buddhist monks who first brought the art into j.a.pan. Little hills, and slopes of green, tiny river-banks, and little islands, together with trees, and stones, and flowering shrubs are combined by the artist. All these things have their poetry and legend, and sometimes have a special name signifying their position and rank in the whole design.

In the ponds little creatures such as the frog and water-beetle live, and they too have their legends. The children make all of these creatures and the insects their playmates. Then there are the _semi_, which are musicians, and lovely dragon-flies which skim over the ponds; and back on the hill above the garden are many birds. It is not necessary to have a garden outdoors, for there are indoor gardens too which can even be put into a _koniwa_, the size of a fruit-dish.

The dead are never dead with the j.a.panese; they become even more important members of the family, for the spirits of the dead control the lives of the living. Each day there is some ceremony in memory of these blessed dead; and no home is so poor but it has its household shrine.

And Shinto, ancestor-worship,

signifies character in the higher sense,--courage, courtesy, honour, and above all things loyalty. The spirit of Shinto is the spirit of filial piety, the zest of duty, the readiness to surrender life for a principle without a thought of wherefore.

It is the docility of the child; it is the sweetness of the j.a.panese woman. It is conservatism likewise; the wholesome check upon the national tendency to cast away the worth of the entire past in rash eagerness to a.s.similate too much of the foreign present. It is religion,--but religion transformed into hereditary moral impulse,--religion trans.m.u.ted into ethical instinct. It is the whole emotional life of the race,--the Soul of j.a.pan.

Self-sacrifice, loyalty, the deepest spirit of Shinto, is born with the child. If you ask any j.a.panese student what his dearest wish is he will surely answer,--"To die for His Majesty, our Emperor." It is impossible in this limited s.p.a.ce to give an adequate idea of all that Shintoism implies.

The dressing of the hair is a very important part of a j.a.panese woman's toilet. It is dressed once in every three days, and the task takes probably two hours. The elaborateness of the coiffure changes with the growing age of the maiden. But when she is twenty-eight, she is no longer young, and so thereafter only one style is left, that worn by old women. Of course, there are many superst.i.tions about women's hair. It is the j.a.panese woman's dearest possession, and she will undergo any suffering not to lose it. At one time it was considered a fitting vengeance to shear the hair of an erring wife, and then turn her away.

Only the greatest faith or the deepest love can prompt a woman to the voluntary sacrifice of her entire _chevelure_, though partial sacrifices, offerings of one or two long thick cuttings, may be seen suspended before many an Izumo shrine.

What faith can do in the way of such sacrifice, he best knows who has seen the great cables, woven of women's hair, that hang in the vast Hongwanji temple at Kyoto. And love is stronger than faith, though much less demonstrative. According to an ancient custom a wife bereaved sacrifices a portion of her hair to be placed in the coffin of her husband, and buried with him.

The quant.i.ty is not fixed: in the majority of cases it is very small, so that the appearance of the coiffure is thereby no wise affected. But she who resolves to remain for ever faithful to the memory of the lost yields up all. With her own hand she cuts off her hair, and lays the whole glossy sacrifice--emblem of her youth and beauty--upon the knees of the dead.

It is never suffered to grow again.

The "Diary of a Teacher" gives a careful picture of the school-life in j.a.pan as Hearn finds it. At the Normal School, which is a state inst.i.tute, the young man student has no expenses. In return for these kindnesses, when he graduates he serves as a teacher for five years.

Discipline is severe, and deportment is a demand. "A spirit of manliness is cultivated, which excludes roughness but develops self-reliance and self-control."

The silence of study hours is perfect, and without permission no head is ever raised from a book.

The female department is in a separate building. Girls are taught the European sciences, and are trained in all the j.a.panese arts, such as embroidery, decoration, painting; and of course that most delicate of arts--the arranging of flowers. Drawing is taught in all the schools. By fifty per cent. do j.a.panese students excel the English students in drawing.

There is also a large elementary school for little boys and girls connected with the Normal School. These are taught by the students in the graduating cla.s.ses. Noteworthy is the spirit of peace prevailing at the recesses that occur for ten minutes between each lesson. The boys romp and shout and race, but never quarrel. Hearn says that among the 800 scholars whom he has taught, he has never even heard of a fight, nor of any serious quarrel. The girls sing or play some gentle game, and the teachers are kind and watchful of the smaller scholars. If a dress is torn or soiled the child is cared for as carefully as if she were a younger sister.

No teacher would ever think of striking a scholar. If he did so he would at once have to give up his position. In fact, punishments are unknown.

"The spirit is rather reversed. In the Occident the master expels the pupil. In j.a.pan it happens quite as often that the pupil expels the master."

It takes the j.a.panese student seven years to acquire the triple system of ideographs, which is the alphabet of his native literature. He must also be versed in the written and the spoken literature. He must study foreign history, geography, arithmetic, astronomy, physics, geometry, natural history, agriculture, chemistry, drawing.

Worst of all he must learn English,--a language of which the difficulty to the j.a.panese cannot be even faintly imagined by any one unfamiliar with the construction of the native tongue,--a language so different from his own that the very simplest j.a.panese phrase cannot be intelligibly rendered into English by a literal translation of the words or even the form of the thought.

And he studies all this upon the slimmest of diets, clad in thin clothes in cold rooms. No wonder many fall by the way.

The students have been trained to find a moral in all things. If the theme given to them for a composition is a native one, they will never fail to find it. For instance,--a peony is very beautiful, but it has a disagreeable odour; hence we should remember that "To be attracted by beauty only may lead us into fearful and fatal misfortune." The sting of the mosquito is useful, for "then we shall be bringed back to study."

There is nothing distinctive about the j.a.panese countenance, but there is an intangible pleasantness that is common to all. Contrasted with Occidental faces they seem "half-sketched." The outlines are very soft, there is "neither aggressiveness nor shyness, neither eccentricity nor sympathy, neither curiosity nor indifference.... But all are equally characterized by a singular placidity,--expressing neither love nor hate, nor anything save perfect repose and gentleness,--like the dreamy placidity of Buddhist images." Later, these faces become individualized.

In another chapter Hearn tells of Two Festivals: one the festival of the New Year; and the other, the Festival of Setsubun, which is the time for the casting out of devils. On the eve of this latter festival, the Yaku-otoshi, who is the caster-out of the demons, goes around, to any houses that may desire his services, and performs his exorcism, for which he receives a little fee. The rites consist of the recitation of certain prayers, and the rattling of a _shakujo_. The _shakujo_ is an odd-shaped staff. There is a tradition that it was first used by Buddhist pilgrims to warn little creatures and insects to get out of the way.

I quote from a French review for the description of one of Hearn's stories:--