670 



The National Geographic Magazine 



After long waiting, which was sup- 

 posed to be spent in meditation, that we 

 might approach in a properly reverent 

 frame of mind, we were conducted to the 

 veranda, to again cleanse hands and 

 mouth before the solemn young priest led 

 the way into the temple, where richly 

 carved panels and beams were devoid of 

 gold, or lacquer, or color. Immediately 

 at the front of the great hall, in the full 

 light reflected from the court, hung the 

 three scrolls that combine in the one great 

 painting. Before lifting our eyes to the 

 luminous deity and the angelic host in the 

 golden glory of paradise, we were given 

 a pinch of incense to rub on the hands 

 and a clove to hold in the mouth. Stand- 

 ing with hands clasped in prayer like our 

 priestly leader, we knelt, prostrated our 

 heads to the mats three times, and then 

 were free to sit back on our heels and 

 look at what is certainly one of the 

 world's greatest paintings, the most splen- 

 did picture which any Buddhist temple in 

 Japan has ever possessed. This and the 

 Mokkei "Kwannon" of the Daitokuji are 

 admittedly the greatest creations of 

 Buddhist art. It has once been photo- 

 graphed, but in black and white the wear 

 and tear of ages are too conspicuous and 

 disturbing ; and once a painted copy was 

 made, but these copies are all difficult to 

 get and unsatisfactory. This incompa- 

 rable picture makes a fresh and first im- 

 pression, when one's eye rests upon the 

 golden Godhead, or, Amida — Buddha of 

 all Buddhas, Lord of the Western Para- 

 dise — floating in a golden cloudland with 

 a host of angels in brilliant garments 

 sweeping through the flame-like clouds, 

 escorting souls to paradise. The whole 

 is the richest color study, the noblest com- 

 position, eloquent of the deepest religious 

 sentiment and the most poetic feeling, 

 and the action, the movement of the an- 

 gels, and the flame-like clouds are mar- 

 velous. We sat rapt before the radiant 

 scrolls, in the damp and lonely hall of the 

 temple, drinking in and trying to memo- 

 rize this supreme sight of a lifetime, this 

 greatest picture of the middle ages, 

 painted by the priestly Eishin, or Gen- 



shin, one of the founders of the Jodo sect, 

 the Fra Angelico of Japan. 



The solemn young priest broke the 

 spell by a slight sound in his throat, when 

 he thought our trance had lasted long 

 enough. We offered incense, laid our 

 thank-ofl^ering of money folded in, soft 

 white paper on the low stand, and reve- 

 rently withdrew. 



We went back to our monastery of 

 Eternal Felicity and followed the broad 

 avenue to the Dai Mon, the great south 

 gate of the Koyasan enclosure. Pilgrims 

 from Wakayama still arrive by that path, 

 but the massive gateway has a sadly de- 

 serted air, its niches are empty, and it is 

 blocked by the huge timbers that are 

 being assembled for rebuilding the great 

 pagoda. The view from this gateway is 

 one of the renowned landscapes of Japan, 

 and not the humblest pilgrim passes on 

 without stopping on the plateau terrace 

 outside the Dai Mon to look out over the 

 descending woody foreground to the nar- 

 row valley cutting southward, and on 

 across over all of Kiishiu province and 

 the Kii Channel to the long point of 

 Awaji Island cutting the Inland Sea, 

 with the blue crests of the Sanuki Moun- 

 tains on the horizon. 



"I have never been to Koyasan," in- 

 numerable Japanese have said to me, 

 "but of course I shall go there finally — 

 when I am dead. We all do — we must." 



"And I went there in 1868," said the 

 Grand Master of Ceremonies at the Im- 

 perial Court. "I led 2,000 men from: 

 Kyoto around through Yamato to Koy- 

 asan, to come down upon the Shogun's 

 forces at Osaka from the rear. I would 

 like to see my samurai now, as they 

 marched through the cemetery. We all 

 wore armor and helmets and long swords. 

 We were a picturesque company of fight- 

 ing men then. It is not the same now,, 

 when war is all machinery. But Koy- 

 asan is at least unchanged. It never can 

 change, nor our souls change. It is Ya- 

 mato Daimashi, the Soul of Japan. We 

 all go there. They cannot disestablish 

 nor purify the dead." 



