The Curse of Koshiu: A Chronicle of Old JapanWingfield, Lewis
History
The Curse of Koshiu: A Chronicle of Old Japan
Wingfield, Lewis
Historical fiction; Hojo family -- Fiction; Japan -- History -- Kamakura period, 1185-1333 -- Fiction
The chief abode of the Mikado occupies a vast space of ground in
the centre of the city of Ki[^y]oto, surrounded by a high white
wall, devoid of windows. Passing through a postern in a huge and
highly-decorated gate, crowned by an immense tiled roof, you find
yourself in a labyrinth, where you would speedily be lost without a
guide, for long low buildings meander in and out, and meet at angles,
one exactly like another, forming a series of little courtyards,
adorned with prim grey bushes. The walls of these are of one pattern,
formed of white plaster in timber settings, with heavy roofs and
eaves. None of the buildings boast of more than a single storey, which
is elevated on posts, a yard above the ground; this by reason of
earthquakes, and unclean insects, which have no respect for Emperors.
The long outer passages are protected from the weather by verandahs,
because persons below a certain rank may not venture to breathe under
the same roof as the Fountain of Honour, but must squat humbly in the
air without. All the inner wood-work is of pine, smoothly planed, and
left unpolished, set at points of junction with sumptuously sculptured
nails; while mats are of the finest kind, trimmed white and red with
the imperial braid. Within, the sliding screens which at will divide
most of the space into small or large chambers, are of drab silk,
spotted with gold dots, in form of clouds. There is no furniture,
except a few low red lacquer tables.
The private suite of the Mikado saddens the soul, so small, and
dismal, and uncomfortable are the rooms, or rather hutches, with no
prospect or view outside, but three bare walls, a flag-pavement, and
half-a-dozen bushes; and the mind turns involuntarily to the thought
of Spanish Queens, whose drear existences must have been hilariously
gay when compared with those of the Mikados. Sure many of these must
have gone melancholy mad, or have sought relief from despondency by
drowning care in the saké-cup. For the better protection of the
Fountain of Honour, the two closets he inhabits are buried away in the
centre of the labyrinth. There is nothing for him to hear but low,
respectful sibillation, and the tramp of guards; nothing to see but
nobles sprawling on their faces, with a glum background of whitewash,
and a few tortoises wandering over the stones.
At the period which now concerns us, the Mikado usually sat upon a
chair, while the kuges, in court trousers (Uye no Bakama) many yards
under their feet, wearing high black crape hats, and brocaded
trains--narrow and stiff, and of exceeding length--(kiy[=o]) reclined
around him on the mat. When the potentate felt more bored than usual,
he retired into a square tent (of the size of an old-fashioned
European bed) in the middle of the room; which tent was composed of
snowy silk, embroidered with bamboo and storks, and garnished with
long streamers, red and black, decorated with butterflies. Inside the
tent was placed a chair, and two low stools.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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