Impressions of Ukiyo-E. Dora Amsden

the dainty inmates of their castles languished idly during these stirring times. Often they defended their honour and their homes against treacherous neighbours. It was a Japanese woman who led her conquering countrymen into Korea. In the arts of peace the cultured women of Japan kept pace with their lovers and husbands. A woman revised and enlarged the alphabet, and some of the most beautiful classic poems are ascribed to them. Well might the Japanese fight fiercely for his altar and home, with the thought of the flower-soft hands that were waiting to strip him of his armour and stifle with caresses the recollection of past conflict. The early history of Japan suggests a comparison with ancient Greece, and the Japanese poets might have encapsulated their country, as did Byron the land of his adoption:

      “The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!

      Where burning Sappho loved and sung,

      Where grew the arts of war and peace —

      Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!”

      Happily Japan, unlike Greece, withstood the enervating influences of luxury and the passionate adoration of beauty. Princes laboured alike with chisel and with brush, and the loftiest rulers disdained not the tools of the artisan. Art Industrial kissed Grand Art, which remained virile beneath the sturdy benediction. Therefore Japan lives, unlike Greece, whose beauty in decay called forth that saddest of dirges, ending,

      “‘Tis Greece,

      but living Greece no more.”

      In Japan, art lightens the burden of labour, utility and beauty go hand in hand, and the essential and the real reach upward, and touch the beautiful and the ideal.

      Okuruma Masanobu, Scene from the Nakamura Theatre, 1721.

      Katsushika Hokusai, Dragon Flying over Mount Fuji, 1849.

      Hanging scroll, ink with light colour on silk, 95.8 × 36.2 cm.

      The Hokusai Museum, Obuse.

      Genroku. The Golden Era of Romance and Art

      The era of Genroku (“Original happiness”), from 1688 to 1703, was that period of incomparable glory which the Japanese revere – as the French do the time of Louis XIV. Peace had long reigned and art flourished under the fostering care of the Tokugawa Shoguns.

      Then lived the great worker in lacquer, Ogata Korin, pupil of Sotatsu Tawaraya, the flower painter, both unrivalled artists who had absorbed the secrets of both Kanō and Tosa. Hanabusa Itcho, the grand colourist, flourished, and Ogata Kenzan, brother of Korin, the “Exponent in pottery decoration of the Korin School.”

      Edo (now Tokyo), the new capital of the usurping Tokugawas, now became the Mecca of genius, rivalling the ancient metropolis Kyoto, for the great Shoguns encouraged art in all forms, not disdaining to enrol themselves as pupils to the masters in painting and lacquer. The greatest ruler became one of the greatest artists, even assuming the art title of Sendai Shogun. In this age the height of perfection was reached in metal work, both chased and cast.

      “The sword is the soul of the Samurai,” says the old Japanese motto, therefore its decoration and adornment was a sacred service to which genius delighted to dedicate itself. In Japan the greatest artists were sometimes carvers and painters and workers in metals in one, and suggest comparison with the European masters of two centuries earlier. Did not Botticelli take his name from the goldsmith for whom he worked, and Leonardo da Vinci began his art life by “twisting metal screens for the tombs of the Medici”?

      Also in Japan, as in Europe, the genius of the nation was consecrated to the dead. More than half of Michelangelo’s life was devoted to the decoration of tombs, and the shrines of the Shoguns are the greatest art monuments in Japan. Preoccupation with graves perhaps enabled the Japanese to face death so readily, even embracing it upon the slightest pretext.

      Genroku was the acme of the age of chivalry. Its tales of deadly duels and fierce vendettas are the delight of the nation. The history of the forty-seven Ronin equals any mediaeval tale of bloodthirsty vengeance and feudal devotion. This Japanese vendetta of the seventeenth century is still re-enacted upon the stage, and remains the most popular drama of the day, and the actor designers of Torii delighted in it as a subject for illustration. A brief outline of the story may be of interest and serve to recall its charming interpretation by Mitford.

      The cause of this famous drama of vendetta was the avarice of Kira Kozuke-no-Suke Yoshinaka, a courtier of the Shogun at Edo. This pompous official was detailed to receive two provincial noblemen at his castle and instruct them in court etiquette. Asano Naganori Takumi-no-Kami and Kamei Sama had been assigned the onerous task of entertaining the Emperor’s envoy from Kyoto. In return for this tutelage they duly sent many gifts to Kira, but not costly enough to gratify the rapacity of the minister, who day by day became more insufferably arrogant, not having been “sufficiently insulted”.

      Then a counsellor of one of these great lords, Kamei, being wise in his generation, and fearing for his master’s safety, rode at midnight to the castle of the greedy official, leaving a present or bribe of a thousand pieces of silver. This generous donation had the desired effect.

      “You have come early to court, my lord,” was the suave welcome the unconscious nobleman received the next morning. “I shall have the honour of calling your attention to several points of etiquette today.” The next moment the countenance of Kira clouded, and, turning haughtily toward his other pupil from whom no largesse had been received, he cried, “Here, my lord of Takumi, be so good as to tie for me the ribbon of my sock,” adding under his breath, “boor of the provinces”.

      “Stop, my lord!” cried Asano Naganori Takumi-no-Kami, and, drawing his dirk, he flung it at the insolent nobleman’s head. Then a great tumult arose. His court cap had saved Kira from death, and he fled from the spot, whilst Asano was arrested, and to divert the disgrace of being beheaded, hastily performed seppuku; his goods and castle were confiscated and his retainers became Ronin (literally “Wave Men”), cast adrift to follow their fortunes, roving at will.

      The vendetta, sworn to and carried out by these forty-seven faithful servants, is the sequel of the story. Oishi Kuranosuke Yoshio, the chief of the Ronin, planned the scheme of revenge. To put Kira off his guard, the band dispersed, many of them under the disguise of workmen taking service in the yashiki of their enemy in order to become familiar with the interior of the fortification.

      Meanwhile Oishi, to further mislead his enemies, plunged into a life of wild dissipation, until Kira, hearing of his excesses, relaxed his own vigilance, only keeping half the guard he had at first appointed. The wife and friends of Oishi were greatly grieved at his loose conduct, for he took nobody into his confidence. Even a man from Satsuma, seeing him lying drunk in the open street, dared to kick his body, muttering, “Faithless beast, thou givest thyself up to women and wine, thou art unworthy of the name of a Samurai.”

      But Oishi endured the arrogant remarks, biding his time, and at last, in the winter of the following year, when the ground was white with snow, the carefully planned assault was successfully attempted. The castle of Kira was taken, but what was the consternation of the brave Ronin, when, after a prolonged search, they failed to discover their victim! In despair, they were about to despatch themselves, in accordance with their severe code of honour, when Oishi, pushing aside a hanging picture, discovered a secret courtyard. There, hidden behind some sacks of charcoal, they found their enemy, and dragged him out, trembling with cold and terror, clad in his costly night robe of embroidered white satin. Then humbly kneeling, Oishi thus addressed him: “My lord, we beseech you to perform seppuku. I shall have the honour to act as your lordship’s second, and when, with all humility, I shall have received your lordship’s head, it is my intention to lay it as an offering upon the grave of our master, Asano Naganori Takumi-no-Kami.” Unfortunately, the carefully planned programme of the Ronin failed to recommend itself to Kira, and he declined their polite invitation to disembowel himself, whereupon Oishi at one stroke cut off the craven head, with the blade used by his master in taking his own life.