Japanese Gardens/Chapter 4
NANJENJI BUDDHIST TEMPLE GARDEN
KYOTO
CHAPTER IV
GARDEN STONES
“So wise was Buddha’s prophet in old days,
He spoke, and lo!
The very stones which Nature locks
In silence, listened, and to give him praise,
The great gods changed them into living rocks.”
At first glance it would seem rather absurd to devote a whole chapter to stones, since this book does not pretend to go into the geology of Japan, or even into that of its gardens only; but to slight this subject would be as if, in one’s study of the human body, one neglected the skeleton. The rocks and stones of a garden in Japan are its bones and ribs. Its muscles, nervous system, veins and arteries, and beautiful outer covering of flesh, are its trees and shrubs, its watercourses, pools and wells, its flowering plants. I cannot quote Walt Whitman and say, as he did to the child who asked, “What is the grass?”—“And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves,” because a lawn is, more often than not, absent from a Japanese garden, and hard-beaten, purply red earth, or finely raked sand, or beautifully patterned gravel, takes its place. From a plan of the distribution and situation of its principal stones an expert could determine, as scientific men make up the picture of a prehistoric beast from a few bones, the character—I had almost said the age and sex—of the garden, but that would be hardly accurate, as some of the bones are masculine and some feminine, and both come into the same plan, the one to strengthen, the other to soften and beautify the whole.
But if I do not go into the geology of the country it does not mean that the landscape gardener has not done so. He has studied it in a very thorough way, and has applied with a most careful and subtle art the deductions he has drawn from his observations. As usual, in this subject as in that of any other art or craft in Japan, there are classical rules made by the masters of their profession which are founded upon perfectly scientific principles, as well as upon æsthetic ones, handed on and rigidly adhered to by those who come after. But although the rules are rigid, much latitude is not only allowed, but almost demanded, in the carrying out of details. For it must never be forgotten in anything bearing on this subject of landscape gardening in Japan, that the first and greatest master is Nature. As the idea is, primarily, to present an interpretation of Nature—a transcription, but not a literal copy—so licence within certain limits is allowed. The great brute force of Nature, however, is acknowledged to be capable of effects stupendous, extraordinary, even unnatural, that a man would be a fool to try to imitate. Rocks, for instance, that in mountain scenery frowningly overhang a valley, like the shaggy eyebrows of a stern and scowling god, are not copied by the landscape artist, because they would give the observer a sense of insecurity, exactly opposite to the effect which the natural object has. Balanced rocks, and gigantic boulders poised on insecure-looking foundations, are also barred, and rightly, from the garden, although they are immensely admired, perhaps even worshipped, in Nature. Rocks which are larger at the top than at the bottom would not be employed, for the same reason. Those with distorted tops, twisted, seamed, or with holes in their sides, are called ‘Diseased Stones,’ and should not be—although I fear occasionally they are—admitted into a proper garden. Vertical stones which more or less resemble the human body (what the Japanese call Taido-seki, and Mr. Conder translates as ‘Statue Stones’) are never, if they have fallen flat instead of standing upright, permitted in a well-conducted garden. They call them ‘Dead Stones,’ and they instil life into them by setting them up on end, or else oust them altogether.
The Japanese in no way resemble the ancient Romans in wanting a skeleton at the feast, or a skull crowned with roses and filled with wine. They never, as most Western nations do, even make their cemeteries into parks, where young lovers may wander, and mingle present hopes with past sorrows, sentiment with grief. Gardens are for contemplation, recreation, communion with Nature and one’s own soul, and into them death, except as it comes in the falling petal, the withered leaf, the flaming embers of the dying fires of the Maple, is not permitted to intrude.
I never saw a pet dog’s grave, or even that of one of their little friends the birds, in a Japanese garden, though I know of many such fondly loved spots, in stately as well as humble gardens, in my two homelands, America and England.
Stones which have a haphazard appearance, which fulfil no useful purpose, either as stepping-stones or in carrying out the design of the artist, are called ‘Poor Stones.’ They are treated with far scantier courtesy than are poor relations in this kind and pleasant land, for they are incontinently cast forth if they cannot be fitted into the family of rocks in the garden, or if they cannot be made to do their share towards its uses or pleasures.
There is never any Early Victorian profusion of unmeaning alleged ornament in these little paradises. Like the exquisite simplicity of a Japanese room, each stone has a certain use, a certain meaning, a certain sentiment attached to it. It usually fills a double purpose, and is of use as well as a thing of beauty; for although, if any people ever did believe that beauty is its own excuse for being, these do, they make their beautiful things useful, and their useful things are invariably beautiful.
Again, as in all this gentle people’s arts, the most delicate and perfect sense of proportion prevails. Large stones and boulders are for large gardens, for big scenic effects; small stones for small and intimate scenes. The same careful grading is again observed as regards the number of stones employed. In a large garden there are a hundred and thirty-eight principal rocks and stones (as well as others not so important), all named and classified, which may be employed, according to size and scope. This number reduces itself, until it reaches, in a tiny garden,—and there are thousands of them in this land, where every one, rich and poor, has something of the kind,—what is practically the irreducible minimum, five.
This sounds perhaps arbitrary and artificial—as who should say of one of the usually horrible montrosities which we call a ‘rockery’ or a ‘rock grotto’ that it may contain so many rocks, of such and such a prescribed shape and size, and no more. But when we compare the finished products of the two systems, the sweet reasonableness of the Eastern method becomes apparent. In no other particular do our home gardens suffer so much by contrast as in the arrangement of rocks. Ours are clumsy, hideously artificial, futile, altogether acts of supererogation itself, compared with theirs. In a very few points we can teach the Japanese something in gardening—but not in this. I think (apologies for the implied pun) rocks are the very strongest features of their gardens.
Our methods in this line, although perhaps governed by that inscrutable thing called the law of chance, which we are assured is a deep but definite science, give, instead of the unstudied and casual effect desired, only one of laboured ignorance and haphazard ugliness. Their ways, governed by rules which are based on careful and exact observation of Nature herself, give an effect at once beautiful and, as it were, inevitable. We feel as if only a happy accident has made their stony beds for water, that by good luck they have stumbled on their felicitous combinations of trees and shrubs; and, with a self-accusing excuse, we pretend to believe that since Nature has really made the garden for them, anyone, even we ourselves, must have had the sense to leave it so!
The high monetary as well as æsthetic value with which Japanese gardens are adorned would probably amaze the average foreigner beyond words. Their designers will bring great boulders from almost incredible distances (not, however, from foreign countries, as a rule, for that would not be in line with their artistic notions as to the fitness of things), and will pay large sums for them. So extravagant were the prices paid for beautiful and appropriate stones in the Tempo Period (1830 to 1844), that an Imperial Edict had to be issued to curb the liberality of rock fanciers, and a limit was placed on the sum that might be paid for one stone.
Great ingenuity is sometimes shown in transporting the big boulders which are considered so necessary to any garden in the attempt to portray mountain scenery or that of a rocky river bed. These great blocks are, with the most delicate precision (for the Japanese are wonderful stone masons), split apart into portable pieces, each of which is marked and arranged, so that it may, like a Japanese puzzle, be put together again. On arrival at the scene of its new home, it is stuck together without any break being left to show, with the universal cement of the Far East, chunam—clay mixed with lime.
But to return to the stones, and their quaint but intelligent method and rules for employment, I feel that I cannot do better than quote from Mr. Conder’s illuminating book. For although my Japanese friends, who were always almost gratefully glad to help me to information on a subject at the same time so near to their hearts and so deeply interesting to me, have given me almost the same facts and many of the same names, I could not begin to present the rules as clearly as he does, or to be sure that, in my inability to read the Japanese characters, I could even approach it in the same spirit.
The five radical shapes for garden stones are given as follows:—
“A tall vertical stone, bulging out towards the middle and finishing conically at the top, called the Taido-seki,—the nearest intelligible translation of which is ‘Statue Stone,’—on account of its supposed resemblance in form to that of the human body.
“A shorter vertical stone, rounded slightly at the base, finishing in an irregular blunted cone, and resembling the bud of a Magnolia flower, the name applied to which is Reijo-seki, which may be rendered as ‘Low Vertical Stone.’
“A low broad stone of irregular shape and horizontal character, with a flat top, rather higher than the ordinary stepping-stone, and called the Shintai-seki, or ‘Flat Stone.’
“Another stone of medium height, with a broad flat top, bent over to one side in an arched manner: this is called the Shigio-seki, here freely translated as ‘Arching Stone.’
“The fifth is a long curved and bent boulder of horizontal character, rising higher at one end than at the other, and somewhat resembling the trunk of a recumbent animal; it is called the Kikiaku-seki, or ‘Recumbent-ox Stone.’
“Of the above five shapes, the Statue Stone, the Low Vertical Stone, and the Arching Stone are vertical in character, or what henceforth will be termed ‘Standing Stones,’ and the Flat Stone and Recumbent-ox Stone are of horizontal character, or ‘Reclining Stones.’ They are variously arranged in combinations of two, three, and five to form groups in the different parts of gardens, assisted by trees, shrubs, grasses, water-basins, and other ornamental objects. It is not to be supposed that such shapes are by any means exact; but natural rocks are chosen which approach as nearly as possible to the character indicated.”
These form the basis of the garden’s arrangement, and are almost invariably placed so that the upright stones serve as a foil for the recumbent ones. I may add that the artistic principle of triangles in composition—the eye being carried from the plane of the two sides to the apex—is practically never forgotten in any form of Japanese art, and reigns subtly and unobtrusively, but supremely, in their rock arrangements. Their gardens always ‘compose.’ Even a person who is not an artist will sit down at the ‘best viewing point’ in any Japanese landscape; he will ‘find a picture,’ and one ruled by this simple but excellent law of the triangle of beauty.
The highest parts of a garden are usually made to represent the hills or mountains of the particular scene which has been chosen to be represented. The stones which may be employed to assist in this scheme—perhaps as hills themselves of lesser height, or as the débris on the sides—have their names and functions also laid down by the laws of classical precedent. The main ones used Mr. Conder gives as follows:—
“Mountain-summit Stone (Sancho-seki).—Placed on or near the summit of a hill.
“Mountain-base Stone (Reikiaku-seki).—Situated near the base of a hill.
“Mountain-side Stone (Sanyo-seki) and Mountain-path Stone (Hioin-seki).—Both arranged on the slope of a hill.
“Propitious-cloud Stone (Keiun-seki).—Placed upon a hill-top.
“Mist-enveloped Stone (Muin-seki), Clear-moon Stone (Seigetsu-seki), Moon-shadow Stone (Getsu-in-seki), and Cave Stone (Teito-seki or Taido-seki).—All occupying different positions on the sides of hills, the ‘Cave Stone’ being always near the ‘Kwannon Stone.’
“Kwannon Stone (Kwannon-seki) is the name given to a stone symbolical of Kwannon,
A ROCK GARDEN AT NIKKO
WITH KWANNON IMAGE
a deity worshipped on mountain heights, and often represented as seated in a cave; this is also placed on the side of a hill. (See picture on page opposite.)
“Moss-grown Stone (Seitai-seki).—Near the base of a hill, but only employed when water is represented beneath. Of the above names, the first five refer to position, and are self-explanatory; the remainder mostly allude to certain effects in mountain scenery which the stones are supposed to typify.”
The valley stones have also their list, nearly as important. As a recital of their names and qualities explains more than a ream of writing would, I again quote:—
“Stones of the Two Gods (Nijin-seki or Ni-O-seki).—A pair of similar ‘Standing Stones’ intended to represent the guardian deities of the site, and arranged in the flat portion of a garden, near the entrance, just as two statues of Buddhist Devas are placed in the entrance gates of temples. Formerly the ceremony of erecting these stones in position constituted a sort of dedication of the garden. They were washed perfectly clean, and rice and wine were placed before them.
“Stones of the Three Gods (Sanjin-seki).—Three vertical rocks sometimes used in combination instead of the above.
“Stone of Worship (Reihai-seki or Hai-seki).—Generally placed near a sacred stone, such as the ‘Stone of the Two Deities,’ and at some point in the front of a garden, to form a station from which the best view may be obtained. It is a broad, flat stone, upon which one stands in a posture of veneration.
“Waiting Stone (Hikae-seki).—The name given to a ‘Standing Stone,’ more or less conical in shape, placed in the foreground of a garden.
“View-receiving Stone (Shozo-seki).—The meaning of which term is not quite clear. It probably indicates a point from which the finest prospect of the garden can be had.
“View-completing Stone (Taito-seki).—Probably referring to the importance of this stone in the distant view.
“Distancing Rock (Mikoshi-Iwa).—A rock partly hidden behind a hill, or placed in some shady part of the background, and intended to increase the idea of distance in a garden.
“Peeping Stone (Nozoki-ishi).—A stone screened partially from view by shrubs and trees.
“Wine-cup Stone (Sakazuki-ishi).—So named from its supposed resemblance in shape to a Japanese wine-cup.
“Wayside Stone (Dokio-seki).—Situated on the side of a real or imaginary pathway, and suitable for resting upon.
“Passing-on Stone (Koro-seki).—Placed at the side of a walk, like a milestone; it should be a vertical stone, unsuitable as a seat, and contrasting in character with the ‘Wayside Stone.’ ”
There are also the religious stones, as well as those—long lists of each—for water gardens, stones of lake and river, cascade stones, and stones also for tea-gardens. In this chapter there have been enumerated only those stones that are likely to occur in any garden. Strictly speaking, the various water stones should be given here, for that reason; for seldom does a Japanese garden lack water, or the appearance of water, in its scenery. I feel, however, that it will make for clearness if they are spoken of in later chapters.
This now brings us to the stones that, in this moist land, seem perhaps the most important to the foreigner, namely, stepping-stones. But these stepping-stones, it must be remembered, are not for crossing a stream, nor even for getting through wet grass (for turf is hardly ever used), but they form, in little islands, as it were, the garden paths. The ground having been cleared of every blade of grass, and of weeds, is pounded down firmly and left in that way, or else covered with fine sand or gravel, or perhaps little hard round stones. Nevertheless, with the almost constant rain one could not wander about the garden much without these convenient slabs of stone to step upon, for the ground when wet becomes very greasy and slippery, and the sand and gravel are never supposed to be trodden on, as they are also part of the design, and are strewn down in some sort of a pattern. As for the hard round pebbles, no one would want to step on them, except a Japanese or a foreigner wearing clogs, as they hurt one’s feet. But besides their usefulness in wet weather, their shape and manner of laying are a great addition to the garden. They carry the eye, as well as the feet, to the point of vantage best for viewing the whole scene, or to the central place of interest. The reader will notice, from Mr. Tyndale’s pictures, that his foregrounds are almost invariably made more interesting by the introduction of this very characteristic feature. Stepping-stones carry the eye to the central point of the picture.
That to the Japanese mind these stepping-stones are not without their poetic suggestion may be inferred by the ideas and images their names imply. The favourite way of laying them, in fours and threes or in twos and threes, in an irregular zigzag, is called ‘Wild-goose Flight,’ or ‘Seagull Style.’ They are also called ‘Flying Stones,’ and ‘Wild-duck Winging Stones.’ Again, where the sand has been combed to represent the waves of the sea, these stones are called Shiki Shima, or ‘Scattered Islands,’ and even the most casual tourist who has been through the Inland Sea will appreciate the association. This allusion occurs not infrequently in poetry:
“My garden’s waves of white sand break
In lines upon its beach;
But stony isles sure passage make.
Though wind and storm their safety shake.
In wild-gull’s flights my way I take,
Secure my haven reach.”
But, again, a real science governs the placing of these slabs. If the distances are planned for the scale of their own people’s size, and not for our large feet and longer stride, it only proves their careful accuracy. Steps are shorter where legs are shorter too, and there is no doubt that these sturdy little people have dwarfed theirs by incessant suari-ing—their hereditary custom of sitting on their feet instead of on chairs. The length of pace is also restricted by the bind of the kimono; and even when this is tied back, as it so often is in the case of the men, or tucked up, as in the case of working-women, who have no false modesty about their legs, the habit of taking short steps has been formed irrevocably.
Of course if these stones were all of a size and shape, and were laid down according to our mathematics, in the shortest line between two objects, the effect would be hideous, but the longest way round is usually the fittest way home for them, as it generally provides a view, or a surprise of some pleasant sort, somewhere along the route; therefore they place this path of stones as Nature herself would, never straight, but with the winds and curves and twists a river might take. Some stones are large and some are small, but all are of a height, so as to avoid any unevenness of tread which might cause feet to stumble; but perhaps you can take two steps, or even three or four, on a big flat stone, and then, for the next two or three smaller stones, only one step on each. They are not put close together, however, and never are cemented to make a regular pavement, but enough space is left between to enable the favourite Japanese pastime of cleaning to be fully indulged in. All this apparent irregularity, although fully worked out beforehand, gives these stepping-stones the most delightful air of having been thrown down a few minutes before you came, so that you need not wet your feet when you go out to look at the Irises slowly unfurling their delicate flags, or to watch the goldfish in the little pond, as the children throw them food. It is the perennially interesting thing about a Japanese garden that it seems as if, like Topsy, it had ‘just growed.’
But, however casual they may appear, these stones invariably serve a purpose, and that purpose is usually shown in the nomenclature. The ‘Step-dividing Stones’ at the branching point of a path; the ‘Shoe-removing Stone’ and the ‘Sword-hanging Stone’ at the house entrance; the ‘Worshipping Stone,’ from which the best and most worshipful view is to be obtained; the ‘Lantern-lighting Stone’; the ‘Water-falling Stone’ beside the water-basin—all explain themselves.
In front of the veranda there is usually an extra big slab, to allow, as I suppose, of several opinions regarding the weather before venturing out to view the latest garden curiosity; and this stone Mr. Tyndale—and I too, in my humbler way—found most useful as a base from which to paint, for it practically always commands a choice view, and yet is sufficiently close to shelter to save oneself and one’s drawing, even at the last moment, from a sudden downpour.
Sometimes two long strips of stone border a flower-bed or overlapping well, of course being so placed for the convenience of flower-gazers. They are rather like the bits of cardboard on which these poetic people write verses, to hang like Orlando’s in the trees, and so are called ‘Label Stones.’ Others, longer and not so wide in proportion, are designated ‘Obi Stones’—‘obi’ being, of course, the indispensable sash of the whole nation.
This is but a meagre list of the many stones used in a Japanese garden, for wherever the ‘art of utility,’ if I may so call it, demands a stone, there is one placed, never without due thought and a just weighing of need and effect, of classic precedent and of present necessity; and, these permitting, an honourable name is given, and it becomes a respected member of the family stones.
As a final word, I may say that I believe the Japanese ascribe more humanity to their stones than they do to their flowers or trees, or even—with the exception of the fox and badger—to their animals. Perhaps it is because of rock their gods are carven, on rock their eulogies to great men are inscribed, of rock their gravestones are made,—which every year are tended and honoured as if, for a day, the dead lived again,—that the personality of the stones becomes a more reasonable suggestion.
But even if, in their names, they did not seem to be endowed with character and personality, their very position and situation in the garden takes them out of the class of dead, inanimate things, gives to them the responsibility of definite duties, and makes them, at the very least, into living rocks.