the book of tea-第8节

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regard　is　apt　to　become　monotonous。

In　the　tea…room　the　fear　of　repetition　is　a　constant　presence。　The　various　objects　for　the　decoration　of　a　room　should　be　so　selected　that　no　colour　or　design　shall　be　repeated。　　If　you　have　a　living　flower；　a　painting　of　flowers　is　not　allowable。　If　you　are　using　a　round　kettle；　the　water　pitcher　should　be　angular。　A　cup　with　a　black　glaze　should　not　be　associated　with　a　tea…caddy　of　black　laquer。　　In　placing　a　vase　of　an　incense　burner　on　the　tokonoma；　care　should　be　taken　not　to　put　it　in　the　exact　centre；　lest　it　divide　the　space　into　equal　halves。　　The　pillar　of　the　tokonoma　should　be　of　a　different　kind　of　wood　from　the　other　pillars；　in　order　to　break　any　suggestion　of　monotony　in　the　room。

Here　again　the　Japanese　method　of　interior　decoration　differs　from　that　of　the　Occident；　where　we　see　objects　arrayed　symmetrically　on　mantelpieces　and　elsewhere。　　In　Western　houses　we　are　often　confronted　with　what　appears　to　us　useless　reiteration。　　We　find　it　trying　to　talk　to　a　man　while　his　full…length　portrait　stares　at　us　from　behind　his　back。　　We　wonder　which　is　real；　he　of　the　picture　or　he　who　talks；　and　feel　a　curious　conviction　that　one　of　them　must　be　fraud。　　Many　a　time　have　we　sat　at　a　festive　board　contemplating；　with　a　secret　shock　to　our　digestion；　the　representation　of　abundance　on　the　dining…room　walls。　　Why　these　pictured　victims　of　chase　and　sport；　the　elaborate　carvings　of　fishes　and　fruit？　　Why　the　display　of　family　plates；　reminding　us　of　those　who　have　dined　and　are　dead？

The　simplicity　of　the　tea…room　and　its　freedom　from　vulgarity　make　it　truly　a　sanctuary　from　the　vexations　of　the　outer　world。　There　and　there　alone　one　can　consecrate　himself　to　undisturbed　　adoration　of　the　beautiful。　　In　the　sixteenth　century　the　tea…room　　afforded　a　welcome　respite　from　labour　to　the　fierce　warriors　and　　statesmen　engaged　in　the　unification　and　reconstruction　of　Japan。　In　the　seventeenth　century；　after　the　strict　formalism　of　the　　Tokugawa　rule　had　been　developed；　it　offered　the　only　opportunity　possible　for　the　free　communion　of　artistic　spirits。　　Before　a　great　　work　of　art　there　was　no　distinction　between　daimyo；　samurai；　and　　commoner。　Nowadays　industrialism　is　making　true　refinement　more　　and　more　difficult　all　the　world　over。　Do　we　not　need　the　tea…room　　more　than　ever？



V。　Art　Appreciation


Have　you　heard　the　Taoist　tale　of　the　Taming　of　the　Harp？

Once　in　the　hoary　ages　in　the　Ravine　of　Lungmen　stood　a　　Kiri　tree；　a　veritable　king　of　the　forest。　　It　reared　its　head　to　talk　to　the　stars；　its　roots　struck　deep　into　the　earth；　mingling　their　bronzed　coils　with　those　of　the　silver　　dragon　that　slept　beneath。　　And　it　came　to　pass　that　a　　mighty　wizard　made　of　this　tree　a　wondrous　harp；　whose　stubborn　spirit　should　be　tamed　but　by　the　greatest　of　musicians。　　For　long　the　instrument　was　treasured　by　the　Emperor　of　China；　but　all　in　vain　were　the　efforts　of　those　who　in　turn　tried　to　draw　melody　from　its　strings。　　In　response　to　their　utmost　strivings　there　came　from　the　harp　but　harsh　notes　of　disdain；　ill…according　with　the　songs　they　fain　would　sing。　　The　harp　refused　to　recognise　a　master。

At　last　came　Peiwoh；　the　prince　of　harpists。　　With　tender　hand　he　caressed　the　harp　as　one　might　seek　to　soothe　an　unruly　horse；　and　softly　touched　the　chords。　　He　sang　of　nature　and　the　seasons；　of　high　mountains　and　flowing　waters；　and　all　the　memories　of　the　tree　awoke！　　Once　more　the　sweet　breath　of　spring　played　amidst　its　branches。　　The　young　cataracts；　as　they　danced　down　the　ravine；　laughed　to　the　　budding　flowers。　　Anon　were　heard　the　dreamy　voices　of　summer　with　its　myriad　insects；　the　gentle　pattering　of　rain；　the　wail　of　the　cuckoo。　　Hark！　a　tiger　roars；the　valley　answers　again。　　It　is　autumn；　in　the　desert　night；　sharp　like　　a　sword　gleams　the　moon　upon　the　frosted　grass。　　Now　　winter　reigns；　and　through　the　snow…filled　air　swirl　flocks　　of　swans　and　rattling　hailstones　beat　upon　the　boughs　with　fierce　delight。

Then　Peiwoh　changed　the　key　and　sang　of　love。　　The　forest　　swayed　like　an　ardent　swain　deep　lost　in　thought。　　On　high；　like　a　haughty　maiden；　swept　a　cloud　bright　and　fair；　but　　passing；　trailed　long　shadows　on　the　ground；　black　like　despair。　　Again　the　mode　was　changed；　Peiwoh　sang　of　　war；　of　clashing　steel　and　trampling　steeds。　　And　in　the　　harp　arose　the　tempest　of　Lungmen；　the　dragon　rode　the　lightning；　the　thundering　avalanche　crashed　through　the　hills。　　In　ecstasy　the　Celestial　monarch　asked　Peiwoh　wherein　lay　the　secret　of　his　victory。　　〃Sire；〃　he　replied；　〃others　have　failed　because　they　sang　but　of　themselves。　　I　left　the　harp　to　choose　its　theme；　and　knew　not　truly　whether　the　harp　had　　been　Peiwoh　or　Peiwoh　were　the　harp。〃

This　story　well　illustrates　the　mystery　of　art　appreciation。　The　masterpiece　is　a　symphony　played　upon　our　finest　feelings。　　True　art　is　Peiwoh；　and　we　the　harp　of　Lungmen。　At　the　magic　touch　of　the　beautiful　the　secret　chords　of　our　being　are　awakened；　we　vibrate　and　thrill　in　response　to　its　call。　　Mind　speaks　to　mind。　　We　listen　to　the　unspoken；　we　gaze　upon　the　unseen。　　The　master　calls　forth　notes　we　know　not　of。　　Memories　long　forgotten　all　come　back　to　us　with　a　new　significance。　　Hopes　stifled　by　fear；　yearnings　that　we　dare　not　recognise；　stand　forth　in　new　glory。　　Our　mind　is　the　canvas　on　which　the　artists　lay　their　colour；　their　pigments　are　our　emotions；　their　chiaroscuro　the　light　of　joy；　the　shadow　of　sadness。　　The　masterpiece　is　of　ourselves；　as　　we　are　of　the　masterpiece。

The　sympathetic　communion　of　minds　necessary　for　art　appreciation　must　be　based　on　mutual　concession。　　The　　spectator　must　cultivate　the　proper　attitude　for　receiving　the　message；　as　the　artist　must　know　how　to　impart　it。　　The　tea…master；　Kobori…Enshiu；　himself　a　daimyo；　has　left　to　us　　these　memorable　words：　〃Approach　a　great　painting　as　thou　wouldst　approach　a　great　prince。〃　　In　order　to　understand　a　masterpiece；　you　must　lay　yourself　low　before　it　and　await　with　bated　breath　its　least　utterance。　　An　eminent　Sung　critic　once　made　a　charming　confession。　　Said　he：　〃In　my　young　　days　I　praised　the　master　whose　pictures　I　liked；　but　as　my　judgement　matured　I　praised　myself　for　liking　what　the　masters　had　chosen　to　have　me　like。〃　　It　is　to　be　deplored　that　so　few　of　us　really　take　pains　to　study　the　moods　of　the　masters。　　In　our　stubborn　ignorance　we　refuse　to　render　them　this　simple　courtesy；　and　thus　often　miss　the　rich　repast　of　beauty　spread　before　our　very　eyes。　　A　master　has　always　something　to　offer；　while　we　go　hungry　solely　because　of　our　own　lack　of　appreciation。

To　the　sympathetic　a　masterpiece　becomes　a　living　reality　towards　which　we　feel　drawn　in　bonds　of　comradeship。　　The　masters　are　immortal；　for　their　loves　and　fears　live　in　us　over　　and　over　again。　　It　is　rather　the　soul　than　the　hand；　the　man　than　the　technique；　which　appeals　to　us；the　more　human　the　call　the　deeper　is　our　response。　　It　is　because　of　this　secret　understanding　between　the　master　and　ourselves　that　in　poetry　or　romance　we　suffer　and　rejoice　with　the　hero　and　heroine。　Chikamatsu；　our　Japanese　Shakespeare；　has　laid　down　as　one　of　the　first　principles　of　dramatic　composition　the　importance　of　taking　the　audience　into　the　confidence　of　the　author。　Several　of　his　pupils　submitted　plays　for　his　approval；　but　only　one　of　the　pieces　appealed　to　him。　　It　was　a　play　somewhat　resembling　the　Comedy　of　Errors；　in　which　twin　brethren　suffer　through　mistaken　identity。　　〃This；〃　said　Chikamatsu；　〃has　the　proper　spirit　of　the　drama；　for　it　　takes　the　audience　into　consideration。　　The　public　is　permitted　to　know　more　than　the　actors。　　It　knows　where　the　mistake　lies；　and　pities　the　poor　figures　on　the　board　who　innocently　rush　to　their　fate。〃

The　great　masters　both　of　the　East　and　the　West　never　forgot　　the　value　of　suggestion　as　a　means　for　taking　the　spectator　into　their　confidence。　　Who　can　contemplate　a　masterpiece　without　being　awed　by　the　immense　vista　of　thought　presented　to　our　consideration？　　How　familiar　and　sympathetic　are　they　all；　how　cold　in　contrast　the　modern　commonplaces！　　In　the　former　we　feel　the　warm　outpouring　of　a　man's　heart；　in　the　latter　only　a　formal　salute。　　Engrossed　in　his　technique；　the　modern　rarely　rises　above　himself。　　Like　the　musicians　who　vainly　invoked　the　Lungmen　harp；　he　sings　only　of　himself。　His　works　may　be　nearer　science；　but　are　further　from　　humanity。　　We　have　an　old　saying　in　Japan　that　a　woman　cannot　love　a　man　who　is　truly　vain；　for　their　is　no　crevice　in　his　heart　for　love　to　enter　and　fill　up。　　In　art　vanity　is　equally　fatal　to　sympathetic　feeling；　whether　on　the　part　of　the　artist　or　the　public。

Nothing　is　more　hallowing　than　the　union　of　kindred　spirits　in　art。　　At　the　moment　of　meeting；　the　art　lover　transcends　himself。　At　once　he　is　and　is　not。　　He　catches　a　glimpse　of　Infinity；　but　words　cannot　voice　his　delight；　for　the　eye　has　no　tongue。　　　Freed　from　the　fetters　of　matter；　his　spirit　moves　in　the　rhythm　of　things。　　It　is　thus　that　art　becomes　akin　to　religion　and　ennobles　mankind。　　It　is　this　which　makes　a　masterpiece　something　sacred。　　In　the　old　days　the　veneration　in　which　the　Japanese　held　the　work　of　the　grea