the soul of the far east-第17章

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up　to　a　terrace　whose　parapet；　also　of　stone；　is　diapered　for　half　its　height　and　open　latticework　the　rest。　　This　piazza　gives　entrance　to　a　building　or　set　of　buildings　whose　every　detail　challenges　the　eye。　Twelve　pillars　of　snow…white　wood　sheathed　in　part　with　bronze；　arranged　in　four　rows；　make；　as　it　were；　the　bones　of　the　structure。　The　space　between　the　centre　columns　lies　open。　　The　other　triplets　are　webbed　in　the　middle　and　connected；　on　the　sides　and　front；　by　grilles　of　wood　and　bronze　forming　on　the　outside　a　couple　of

embrasures　on　either　hand　the　entrance　in　which　stand　the　guardian　Nio；　two　colossal　demons；　Gog　and　Magog。　　Instead　of　capitals　；a　frieze　bristling　with　Chinese　lions　protects　the　top　of　the　pillars。　Above　this　in　place　of　entablature　rises　tier　upon　tier　of　decoration；　each　tier　projecting　beyond　the　one　beneath；　and　the　topmost　of　all　terminating　in　a　balcony　which　encircles　the　whole　second　story。　　The　parapet　of　this　balcony　is　one　mass　of　ornament；　and　its　cornice　another　row　of　lions；　brown　instead　of　white。　　The　second　story　is　no　less　crowded　with　carving。　　Twelve　pillars　make　its　ribs；　the　spaces　between　being　filled　with　elaborate　woodwork；　while　on　top　rest　more　friezes；　more　cornices；　clustered　with　excrescences　of　all　colors　and　kinds；　and　guarded　by　lions　innumerable。　　To　begin　to　tell　the　details　of　so　multi…faceted　a　gem　were　artistically　impossible。　It　is　a　jewel　of　a　thousand　rays；　yet　whose　beauties　blend　into　one　as　the　prismatic　tints　combine　to　white。　　And　then；　after　the　first　dazzle　of　admiration；　when　the　spirit　of　curiosity　urges　you　to　penetrate　the　centre　aisle；　lo　and　behold　it　is　but　a　gate！　　The　dupe　of　unexpected　splendor；　you　have　been　paying　court　to　the　means　of　approach。　　It　is　only　a　portal　after　all。　　For　as　you　pass　through；　you　catch　a　glimpse　of　a　building　beyond　more　gorgeous　still。　Like　in　general　to　the　first；　unlike　it　in　detail；　resembling　it　only　as　the　mistress　may　the　maid。　　But　who　shall　convince　of　charm　by　enumerating　the　features　of　a　face！　From　the　tiles　of　its　terrace　to　the　encrusted　gables　that　drape　it　as　with　some　rich　bejewelled　mantle　falling　about　it　in　the　most　graceful　of　folds；　it　is　the　very　eastern　princess　of　a　building　standing　in　the　majesty　of　her　court　to　give　you　audience。

A　pebbly　path；　a　low　flight　of　stone　steps；　a　pause　to　leave　your　shoes　without　the　sill；　and　you　tread　in　the　twilight　of　reverence　upon　the　moss…like　mats　within。　　The　richness　of　its　outer　ornament；　so　impressive　at　first；　is；　you　discover；　but　prelude　to　the　lavish　luxury　of　its　interior。　　Lacquer；　bronze；　pigments；　deck　its　ceiling　and　its　sides　in　such　profusion　that　it　seems　to　you　as　if　art　had　expanded；　in　the　congenial　atmosphere；　into　a　tropical　luxuriance　of　decoration；　and　grew　here　as　naturally　on　temples　as　in　the　jungle　creepers　do　on　trees。　　Yet　all　is　but　setting　to　what　the　place　contains；　objects　of　bigotry　and　virtue　that　appeal　to　the　artistic　as　much　as　to　the　religious　instincts　of　the　devout。　　More　sacred　still　are　the　things　treasured　in　the　sanctum　of　the　priests。　　There　you　will　find　gems　of　art　for　whose　sake　only　the　most　abnormal　impersonality　can　prevent　you　from　breaking　the　tenth　commandment。　Of　the　value　set　upon　them　you　can　form　a　distant　approximation　from　the　exceeding　richness　and　the　amazing　number　of　the　silk　cloths　and　lacquered　boxes　in　which　they　are　so　religiously　kept。　　As　you　gaze　thus；　amid　the　soul…satisfying　repose　of　the　spot；　at　some　masterpiece　from　the　brush　of　Motonobu；　you　find　yourself　wondering；　in　a　fanciful　sort　of　way；　whether　Buddhist　contemplation　is　not　after　all　only　another　name　for　the　contemplation　of　the　beautiful；　since　devotees　to　the　one　are　ex　officio　such　votaries　of　the　other。

Dissimilar　as　are　these　two　glimpses　of　Japanese　existence；　in　one　point　the　bustling　street　and　the　hushed　temple　are　alike；in　the　nameless　grace　that　beautifies　both。

This　spirit　is　even　more　remarkable　for　its　all…pervasiveness　than　for　its　inherent　excellence。　　Both　objectively　and　subjectively　its　catholicity　is　remarkable。　　It　imbues　everything；　and　affects　everybody。　　So　universally　is　it　applied　to　the　daily　affairs　of　life　that　there　may　be　said　to　be　no　mechanical　arts　in　Japan　simply　because　all　such　have　been　raised　to　the　position　of　fine　arts。　　The　lowest　artisan　is　essentially　an　artist。　　Modern　French　nomenclature　on　the　subject；　in　spite　of　the　satire　to　which　the　more　prosaic　Anglo…Saxon　has　subjected　it；　is　peculiarly　applicable　there。　To　call　a　Japanese　cook；　for　instance；　an　artist　would　be　but　the　barest　acknowledgment　of　fact；　for　Japanese　food　is　far　more　beautiful　to　look　at　than　agreeable　to　eat；　while　Tokio　tailors　are　certainly　masters　of　drapery；　if　they　are　sublimely　oblivious　to　the　natural　modelings　of　the　male　or　female　form。

On　the　other　hand；　art　is　sown；　like　the　use　of　tobacco；　broadcast　among　the　people。　　It　is　the　birthright　of　the　Far　East；　the　talent　it　never　hides。　　Throughout　the　length　and　breadth　of　the　land；　and　from　the　highest　prince　to　the　humblest　peasant；　art　reigns　supreme。

Now　such　a　prevalence　of　artistic　feeling　implies　of　itself　impersonality　in　the　people。　　At　first　sight　it　might　seem　as　if　science　did　the　same；　and　that　in　this　respect　the　one　hemisphere　offset　the　other；　and　that　consequently　both　should　be　equally　impersonal。　　But　in　the　first　place；　our　masses　are　not　imbued　with　the　scientific　spirit；　as　theirs　are　with　artistic　sensibility。　Who　would　expect　of　a　mason　an　impersonal　interest　in　the　principles　of　the　arch；　or　of　a　plumber　a　non…financial　devotion　to　hydraulics？　Certainly　one　would　be　wrong　in　crediting　the　masses　in　general　or　European　waiters　in　particular　with　much　abstract　love　of　mathematics；　for　example。　　In　the　second　place；　there　is　an　essential　difference　in　the　attitude　of　the　two　subjects　upon　personality。　Emotionally；　science　appeals　to　nobody；　art　to　everybody。　　Now　the　emotions　constitute　the　larger　part　of　that　complex　bundle　of　ideas　which　we　know　as　self。　　A　thought　which　is　not　tinged　to　some　extent　with　feeling　is　not　only　not　personal；　properly　speaking；　it　is　not　even　distinctively　human；　but　cosmical。　　In　its　lofty　superiority　to　man；　science　is　unpersonal　rather　than　impersonal。　　Art；　on　the　other　hand；　is　a　familiar　spirit。　　Through　the　windows　of　the　senses　she　finds　her　way　into　the　very　soul　of　man；　and　makes　for　herself　a　home　there。　But　it　is　to　his　humanity；　not　to　his　individuality；　that　she　whispers；　for　she　speaks　in　that　universal　tongue　which　all　can　understand。

Examples　are　not　wanting　to　substantiate　theory。　　It　is　no　mere　coincidence　that　the　two　most　impersonal　nations　of　Europe　and　Asia　respectively；　the　French　and　the　Japanese；　are　at　the　same　time　the　most　artistic。　　Even　politeness；　which；　as　we　have　seen；　distinguishes　both；　is　itself　but　a　form　of　art；the　social　art　of　living　agreeably　with　one's　fellows。

This　impersonality　comes　out　with　all　the　more　prominence　when　we　pass　from　the　consideration　of　art　in　itself　to　the　spirit　which　actuates　that　art；　and　especially　when　we　compare　their　spirit　with　our　own。　　The　mainsprings　of　Far　Eastern　art　may　be　said　to　be　three：　Nature；　Religion；　and　Humor。　　Incongruous　collection　that　they　are；　all　three　witness　to　the　same　trait。　　For　the　first　typifies　concrete　impersonality；　the　second　abstract　impersonality；　while　the　province　of　the　last　is　to　ridicule　personality　generally。　　Of　the　trio　the　first　is　altogether　the　most　important。　　Indeed；　to　a　Far　Oriental；　so　fundamental　a　part　of　himself　is　his　love　of　Nature　that　before　we　view　its　mirrored　image　it　will　be　well　to　look　the　emotion　itself　in　the　face。　　The　Far　Oriental　lives　in　a　long　day…dream　of　beauty。　　He　muses　rather　than　reasons；　and　all　musing；　so　the　word　itself　confesses；　springs　from　the　inspiration　of　a　Muse。　　But　this　Muse　appears　not　to　him；　as　to　the　Greeks；　after　the　fashion　of　a　woman；　nor　even　more　prosaically　after　the　likeness　of　a　man。　Unnatural　though　it　seem　to　us；　his　inspiration　seeks　no　human　symbol。　　His　Muse　is　not　kin　to　mankind。　　She　is　too　impersonal　for　any　personification；　for　she　is　Nature。

That　poet　whose　name　carries　with　it　a　certain