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MUSIC AND PHILOSOPHY IN THE ROMAN
EMPIRE
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MUSIC AND PHILOSOPHY
edited by
FRANCESCO PELOSI
University of Pisa
FEDERICO M. PETRUCCI
University of Turin
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www.cambridge.org
doi: 10.1017/9781108935753
Petrucci.
classification: lcc ml169 .m9 2020 (print) | lcc ml169 (ebook) | ddc
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EMPIRE
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edited by
FRANCESCO PELOSI
University of Pisa
FEDERICO M. PETRUCCI
University of Turin
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doi: 10.1017/9781108935753
Petrucci.
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MUSIC AND PHILOSOPHY IN THE ROMAN
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MUSIC AND PHILOSOPHY
edited by
FRANCESCO PELOSI
University of Pisa
FEDERICO M. PETRUCCI
University of Turin
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www.cambridge.org
doi: 10.1017/9781108935753
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classification: lcc ml169 .m9 2020 (print) | lcc ml169 (ebook) | ddc
781.1/70937–dc23
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Contents
Notes on Contributors
page vii
Acknowledgements
xi
List of Abbreviations
xii
Introduction
1
Francesco Pelosi and Federico M. Petrucci
Carlos Lévy
38
Bram Demulder
60
Federico M. Petrucci
85
Laura M. Castelli
Máté Veres
131
Andrew Barker
153
Francesco Pelosi
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vi
Contents
178
Alexandra Michalewski
198
Harold Tarrant
Dominic J. O’Meara
242
Stephen Gersh
262
Christina Hoenig
Bibliography
303
Index Locorum
327
General Index
346
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Notes on Contributors
vii
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viii
Notes on Contributors
giovanna r. giardina is Professor of Ancient Philosophy at the
University of Catania. Her studies focus in particular on the
Aristotelian philosophy and on Neoplatonism. Among her recent
studies are Fisica del movimento e teoria dell’infinito. Analisi critica
di Aristotele, Phys. III (Sankt Augustin 2012); ‘Providence in John
Philoponus’ Commentary on Aristotle’s Physics’, CHORA 13 (2015),
149–72; ‘Jean Philopon Commentateur d’Aristote, Physique II 8’,
Revue de Philosophie Ancienne 32 (2014), 177–221; ‘Aristotle vs.
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Notes on Contributors
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Notes on Contributors
a Postdoctoral Researcher at the University of Hamburg, at the
University of Geneva, and at Eötvös Loránd University, Budapest. He
works mainly on Hellenistic philosophy, with a focus on epistemology
and ethics. He received his PhD from the Central European
University in November 2016, and was a postdoctoral researcher at
the University of Hamburg and at the University of Geneva. His
recent publications include ‘Sextus Empiricus on Religious
Dogmatism’, Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy 58 (2020); ‘Keep
Calm and Carry On: Sextus Empiricus on the Origins of Pyrrhonism’,
History of Philosophy and Logical Analysis 23 (2020); ‘Theology,
Innatism, and the Epicurean Self’, Ancient Philosophy 37 (2017).
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Acknowledgements
This volume has its roots in the International Conference ‘The
Harmony of Reason. Music and Philosophy from the Early Imperial
Age to Late Antiquity’, held at the Scuola Normale Superiore (Pisa) in
September 2016, in the framework of the three-year Research
Project ‘I filosofi e la musica’
xi
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Abbreviations
***
***
xii
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Introduction
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Introduction
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The point is even more astonishing if one considers that from the
Imperial Age to Late Antiquity, especially in the context of the
Platonist tradition, music and harmonic theory are mostly exploited
from a philosophical point of view. During these centuries music
becomes a privileged instrument to conceptualise philosophical
doctrines and discuss them. Notions borrowed from the musical
culture are employed in the investigation of fundamental
philosophical fields, such as ethics, cosmology, and metaphysics, and
strongly contribute to shaping them. More specifically, in works from
this period, an interest in music lies at the core of fundamental
philosophical activities, from exegetical practices to the development
of ethical, epistemological, and cosmological doctrines. This makes
an enquiry into the philosophical use of music and harmonics in this
period not only promising but also crucial for getting to the core of
the links between music and philosophy in Antiquity and for
exploring a new and effective path towards a fresh understanding of
post-Hellenistic and late antique philosophy.
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Introduction
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between music and philosophy, are far more diverse than this
feature might suggest. Indeed, they provide insights into central
areas of ancient philosophical thought, such as the philosophy of
science, and in particular acoustics, epistemology, and cosmology.6
Therefore, at the beginning of the Classical age the encounter
between music and philosophy already shows its thought-provoking
potential and produces some important outcomes.
With Plato’s reflection, which stands out as the first articulate and
sustained analysis of the philosophical import of music, the link
between the two fields is further explored and definitively
established as the fundamental interaction between two central
areas of ancient Greek culture. As is well known, music plays a
crucial role in Plato’s accounts of ethics and politics, both in the
Republic (books 2–3) and in the Laws (books 2 and 7).
DK, 47B2 DK), and his authority in the musical field is acknowledged
throughout Antiquity. On the Pythagorean view and use of music,
see especially Burkert 1972, 350–400, Barker 2007, 263–307, Zhmud
2012a, 285–313, and Horky 2013, 222–58.
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Introduction
The first view of Tokio, like the first view of Yokohama, disappoints
the traveller. The Ginza, or main business street, starting from the
bridge opposite the station, goes straight to Nihombashi, the
northern end of the Tokaido, and the recognized centre of the city,
from which all distances are measured. Most of the road-way is lined
with conventional houses of foreign pattern, with their curb-stones
and shade-trees, while the tooting tram-car and the rattling basha, or
light omnibus, emphasize the incongruities of the scene. This is not
the Yeddo of one’s dreams, nor yet is it an Occidental city. Its stucco
walls, wooden columns, glaring shop-windows, and general air of
tawdry imitation fairly depress one. In so large a city there are many
corners, however, which the march of improvement has not reached,
odd, unexpected, and Japanese enough to atone for the rest.
Through the heart of Tokio winds a broad spiral moat, encircling
the palace in its innermost ring, and reaching, by canal branches, to
the river on its outer lines. In feudal days the Shogun’s castle
occupied the inner ring, and within the outer rings were the yashikis,
or spread-out houses, of his daimios. Each gate-way and angle of
the moat was defended by towers, and the whole region was an
impregnable camp. Every daimio in the empire had his yashiki in
Tokio, where he was obliged to spend six months of each year, and
in case of war to send his family as pledges of his loyalty to the
Shogun. The Tokaido and the other great highways of the empire
were always alive with the trains of these nobles, and from this
migratory habit was developed the passion for travel and excursion
that animates every class of the Japanese people. When the
Emperor came up from Kioto and made Tokio his capital, the
Shogun’s palace became his home, and all the Shogun’s property
reverted to the crown, the yashikis of the daimios being confiscated
for government use. In the old days the barrack buildings
surrounding the great rectangle of the yashiki were the outer walls,
protected by a small moat, and furnished with ponderous, gable-
roofed gate-ways, drawbridges, sally-ports, and projecting windows
for outlooks. These barracks accommodated the samurai, or
soldiers, attached to each daimio, and within their lines were the
parade ground and archery range, the residence of the noble family,
and the homes of the artisans in his employ. With the new
occupation many yashiki buildings were razed to the ground, and
imposing edifices in foreign style erected for government offices. A
few of the old yashiki remain as barracks, and their white walls,
resting on black foundations, suggest the monotonous street views
of feudal days. Other yashiki have fallen to baser uses, and sign-
boards swing from their walls.
Modern sanitary science has plucked up the miles of lotus beds
that hid the triple moats in midsummer. From the bridges the lounger
used to overlook acres of pink and white blossoms rising above the
solid floors of bluish-green leaves; but the Philistines could not
uproot the moats, which remain the one perfect feudal relic of
Japanese Yeddo. The many-angled gate-ways, the massive stone
walls, and escarpments, all moss and lichen-grown, and sloping from
the water with an inward curve, are noble monuments of the past.
Every wall and embankment is crowned with crooked, twisted,
creeping, century-old pines, that fling their gaunt arms wildly out, or
seem to grope along the stones. Here and there on the innermost
rings of the moat still rise picturesque, many-gabled towers, with
white walls and black roofs, survivors from that earlier day when they
guarded the shiro, or citadel, and home of the Shogun.
The army is always in evidence in Tokio, and the little soldiers in
winter dress of dark-blue cloth, or summer suits of white duck,
swarm in the neighborhood of the moats. In their splendid uniforms,
the dazzling officers, rising well in the saddle, trot by on showy
horses. On pleasant mornings, shining companies of cavalry file
down the line of the inner moat and through the deep bays of the
now dismantled Cherry-Tree gate to the Hibiya parade-ground,
where they charge and manœuvre. When it rains, the files of
mounted men look like so many cowled monks, with the peaked
hoods of their great coats drawn over their heads, and they charge,
gallop, and countermarch through mud and drizzle, as if in a real
campaign. Taking the best of the German, French, Italian, and British
military systems, with instructors of all these nationalities, the
Japanese army stands well among modern fighting forces. There is
a military genius in the people, and the spirit of the old samurai has
leavened the nation, making the natty soldiers of to-day worthy the
traditions of the past.
A large foreign colony is resident in Tokio, the diplomatic corps,
the great numbers of missionaries, and those employed by the
Government in the university, schools, and departments constituting
a large community. The missionary settlement now holds the Tsukiji
district near the railway station; that piece of made ground along the
shore first ceded for the exclusive occupation of foreigners. Besides
being malarial, Tsukiji was formerly the rag-pickers’ district, and its
selection was not complimentary to the great powers, all of whose
legations have now left it. To reside outside of Tsukiji was permitted
to non-officials in extra-territorial times only when in Japanese
employ. Any who chose to live in Tokio were claimed as teachers by
some kindly Japanese friend, who became responsible for the
stranger’s conduct. Before the revision of the treaties with foreign
powers, which compacts became operative July 17, 1899, a
foreigner could not go twenty-five miles beyond a treaty-port without
a passport from the Japanese foreign office issued after a personal
application to his legation in Tokio. Each place which he wished to
visit had to be named, and immediately upon his arrival at a tea-
house, the district policeman called for the passport and registered
the stranger. Any one attempting to travel without a passport was
promptly escorted to the nearest treaty-port. European tourists had a
formidable list of rules of conduct which their ministers exhorted
them to observe—that they should not quarrel, deface monuments,
destroy trees or shrubs, break windows, or go to fires on horseback.
The American tourist was trusted to behave without such minute
instructions, and at Kobé could visit the Kencho and ask a permit to
visit Kioto without the intervention of his consul—a recognition of the
freedom and independence of the American citizen, and a tribute to
the individual sovereignty of his nation, concerning which a
Japanese poet wrote:
All the legations are now on the high ground in the western part of
the city near the castle moats. All legation buildings are owned and
kept up by their respective governments. The Japanese
Government, having offered to give the land if the United States
would erect a permanent legation, finally built and rented the present
structure to the great republic before it was purchased.
The English possess a whole colony of buildings in the midst of a
large walled park, affording offices and residences for all the staff.
Germany, Russia, France, and the Netherlands own handsome
houses with grounds. The Chinese legation occupied part of an old
yashiki until a beautiful modern structure replaced the “spread-out-
house” of such picturesqueness, and iron grilles succeeded the
quaint, old pea-green and vermilion gate-way.
The show places of Tokio are the many government museums at
Uyéno Park, the many mortuary temples of the Tokugawa Shoguns
at Shiba and Uyéno, the popular temple of Asakusa, and the Shinto
temple at the Kudan, with its race-course and view of the city; but the
Kanda, the Kameido, the Hachiman temples, many by-streets and
queer corners, the out-door fairs, the peddlers, and shops give the
explorer a better understanding of the life of the people than do the
great monuments. Here and there he comes upon queer old
nameless temples with ancient trees, stones, lanterns, tanks, and
urns that recall a forgotten day of religious influence, when they
possessed priests, revenues, and costly altars.
An army of jinrikisha coolies waits for passengers at the station,
and among them is that Japanese Mercury, the winged-heeled
Sanjiro, he of the shaven crown and gun-hammer topknot of samurai
days. His biography includes a tour of Europe as the servant of a
Japanese official. On returning to Tokio he took up the shafts of his
kuruma again, and is the fountain-head of local news and gossip. He
knows what stranger arrived yesterday, who gave dinner parties, in
which tea-house the “man-of-war gentlemen” had a geisha dinner,
where your friends paid visits, even what they bought, and for whom
court or legation carriages were sent. He tells you whose house you
are passing, what great man is in view, where the next matsuri will
be, when the cherry blossoms will unfold, and what plays are coming
out at the Shintomiza. Sanjiro is cyclopædic at the theatre, and as a
temple guide he exhales ecclesiastical lore. To take a passenger on
a round of official calls, to and from state balls or a palace garden
party, he finds bliss unalloyed, and his explanations pluck out the
heart of the mystery of Tokio. “Mikado’s mamma,” prattles Sanjiro in
his baby-English, as he trots past the green hedge and quiet gate of
the Empress Dowager’s palace, and “Tenno San,” he murmurs, in
awed tones, as the lancers and outriders of the Emperor appear.
First, he carries the tourist to Shiba, the old monastery grounds
that are now a public park. Under the shadow of century-old pines
and cryptomeria stand the mortuary temples of the later Shoguns,
superb edifices ablaze with red and gold lacquer, and set with panels
of carved wood, splendid in color and gilding, the gold trefoil of the
Tokugawas shining on every ridge-pole and gable. These temples
and tombs are lesser copies of the magnificent shrines at Nikko, and
but for those originals would be unique. On a rainy day, the green
shadow and gloom, the cawing of the ravens that live in the old pine-
trees, and their slow flight, are solemn as death itself; and the
solitude of the dripping avenues and court-yards, broken only by the
droning priests at prayer, and the musical vibrations of some bell or
sweet-voiced gong, invite a gentle melancholy. On such a day, the
priests, interrupted in their statuesque repose, or their pensive
occupation of sipping tea and whiffing tiny pipes in silent groups
around a brazier, display to visitors the altars and ceilings and
jewelled walls with painstaking minuteness, glad of one ripple of
excitement and one legitimate fee. Led by a lean, one-toothed priest,
you follow, stocking-footed, over lacquer floors to behold gold and
bronze, lacquer and inlaying, carving and color, golden images
sitting in golden shadows, enshrined among golden lotus flowers,
and sacred emblems. In one temple the clear, soft tones of the
bronze gong, a bowl eighteen inches in diameter and a little less in
depth, vibrate on the air for three full minutes before they die away.
Up mossy stair-ways, between massive embankments, and
through a shady grove, the priest’s clogs scrape noisily to the
hexagonal temple, where the ashes of Hidetada, the Ni Dai Shogun,
Iyeyasu’s son, lie in a great gold lacquer cylinder, the finest existing
specimen of the lacquer of that great art age. The quiet of Shiba, the
solemn background of giant trees, the deep shadows and green
twilight of the groves, the hundreds of stone lanterns, the ponds of
sacred lotus, the succession of dragon-guarded gate-ways, and
carved and gorgeously-colored walls, crowd the memory with lovely
pictures. Near a hill-top pagoda commanding views of the Bay and of
Fuji, stands the tateba of a cheerful family, who bring the visitor a
telescope and cups of cherry-blossom tea.
A colony of florists show gardens full of wonderful plants and
dwarf-trees, and then Sanjiro minces, “I think more better we go see
more temples;” and we go, spinning past the giant Shiba gate and up
the road to Atago Yama, a tiny temple on the edge of a precipitous
hill-top, approached by men’s stairs, an air-line flight of broad steps,
and women’s stairs, curving by broken flights of easier slope. A
leper, with scaly, white skin and hideous ulcers, extends his
miserable hand for alms, and picturesque, white-clad pilgrims, with
staff and bell, go up and down those breathless flights. The tateba,
with their rows of lanterns, where the nesans offer tea of salted
cherry blossoms, that unfold again into perfect flowers in the bottom
of the cup, overhang the precipice wall, and look down upon the
Shiba quarter as upon a relief map.
A breathless rush of two miles or more straight across the city,
past flying shops, beside the tooting tram-way and over bridges, and
Sanjiro runs into Uyéno Park, with its wide avenues, enormous trees,
and half-hidden temple roofs. The ground slopes away steeply at the
left, and at the foot of the hill lies a lotus lake of many acres that is a
pool of blossoms in midsummer. A temple and a tiny tea-house are
on an island in the centre, and around the lake the race-course is
overarched with cherry-trees. Great torii mark the paths and stairs
leading from the shore to the temples above.
At Uyéno are more tombs and more sanctuaries, avenues of
lanterns, bells, and drinking-fountains, and a black, bullet-marked
gate-way, where the Yeddo troops made their last stand before the
Restoration. Near this gate-way is the sturdy young tree planted by
General Grant. Far back in the park stand the mortuary temples,
splendid monuments of Tokugawa riches and power, though the
most splendid, here as at Shiba, have been destroyed by fire.
When the Tokio Fine Arts Club holds one of its loan exhibitions in
its Uyéno Park house, Sanjiro is inexorable, deposits his fare at the
door-way, shows the way to the ticket-office, and insists upon his
seeing the best work of the great artists. The noble club-men
contribute specimens from their collections of lacquer, porcelain,
ivories, bronzes, and kakemonos. Behind glass doors hang
kakemonos by the great artists, and Japanese visitors gaze with
reverence on the masterpieces of the Kano and Tosa schools. The
great art treasures of the empire are sequestrated in private houses
and godowns, and to acquire familiarity with them, to undertake an
art education in semiannual instalments by grace of the Fine Arts
Club, is a discouraging endeavor. It would be more hopeful to seek
the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, the British Museum, or Mr.
Walters’s Baltimore galleries, which contain an epitome of all
Japanese art. At the Tokio Club, however, works of Sosen and
Hokusai, the two masters of the last century, are often exhibited.
Sosen painted inimitable monkeys, and connoisseurs of to-day
award him the tardy fame which his contemporaries failed to give. As
a rule, foreigners prefer Hokusai to all other masters, and they
search old book-shops in the hope of stumbling upon one of the
innumerable books illustrated and sometimes engraved by this
prolific genius. His genius never lacked recognition, and a century
ago all feudal Yeddo went wild over his New-year’s cards, each one
a characteristic and unique bit of landscape, caricature, or fantasy.
His fourteen volumes of Mangwa, or rough sketches, and his One
Hundred Views of Fuji are most celebrated; but wonderfully clever
are his jokes, his giants, dwarfs, demons, goblins, and ghosts; and
when he died, at the age of ninety, he sighed that he could not live
long enough to paint something which he should himself esteem.
After the visit to the club Sanjiro takes his patron to the tomb of
Hokusai, in a near-by temple yard, and shows the brushes hung up
by despairing and prayerful artists, who would follow his immortal
methods.
East of Uyéno stands the great Asakusa temple, shrine of one of
the most famous of the thirty-three famous Kwannons of the empire,
the great place of worship for the masses, and the centre of a Vanity
Fair unequalled elsewhere. Every street leading to the temple
grounds is a bazaar and merry fair, and theatres, side shows,
booths, and tents, and all the devices to entrap the idle and the
pleasure-seeking, beset the pilgrim on his way to the sanctuary. In
florists’ gardens are shown marvels of floriculture, in their ponds
swim goldfish with wonderfully fluted tails, and in tall bamboo cages
perch Tosa chickens with tail feathers ten and twelve feet long.
Menageries draw the wondering rustics, and they pay their coppers
for the privilege of toiling up a wood, canvas, and pasteboard
Fujiyama to view the vast plain of the city lying all around it, and on
timbered slopes enjoy tobogganing in midsummer. Penetrating to the
real gate-way, it is found guarded by giant Nio, whose gratings are
spotted with the paper prayers that the worshipful have chewed into
balls and reverently thrown there. If the paper wad sticks to the
grating, it is a favorable omen, and the believer may then turn the
venerable old prayer-wheel, and farther on put his shoulder to the
bar, and by one full turn of the revolving library of Buddhist scriptures
endow himself with all its intellectual treasure.
The soaring roof of the great temple is fitly shadowed by camphor-
trees and cryptomeria that look their centuries of age, and up the
broad flagging there passes the ceaseless train of believers. One
buys corn and feeds the hundreds of pigeons, messengers of the
gods, who live secure and petted by all the crowds in the great
enclosure, or pays his penny to secure the release of a captive
swallow, that flies back every night to its owner. At the foot of the
steps the pilgrim begins to pray, and, ascending, mumbles his way to
the altar. The colossal money-box, which is said to gather in over a
thousand dollars on great holidays, rings and echoes well to the fall
of the smallest coin. The sides of the temple are open to the air, and
the visitor may retain shoes and clogs, so that the clatter of these
wooden soles, the pilgrims’ clapping and mumbling, mingle in one
distracting roar.
Tame pigeons fly in and out through the open walls, and children
chase each other across the floor; but behind the grating candles
burn, bells tinkle, priests chant, and rows of absorbed worshippers
clap, toss their coppers, and pray, oblivious of all their surroundings.
CHAPTER VII
TOKIO—CONTINUED
The first week of March is gala time for the small girls of Japan,
when their Hina Matsuri, or Feast of Dolls, is celebrated. Then do toy
shops and doll shops double in number and take on dazzling
features, while children in gay holiday clothes animate the streets.
Little girls with hair elaborately dressed, tied with gold cords and
bright crape, and gowns and girdles of the brightest colors, look like
walking dolls themselves. The tiniest toddler is a quaint and comical
figure in the same long gown and long sleeves as its mother, the
gay-patterned kimono, the bright inner garments showing their edges
here and there, and obis shot with gold threads, making them
irresistible. Nothing could be gentler or sweeter than these Japanese
children, and no place a more charming play-ground for them. In the
houses of the rich the Dolls’ Festival is second only to the New Year
in its importance. The family don their richest clothing, and keep
open house for the week. The choicest pictures and art treasures are
displayed, and with these the hina or images that have been
preserved from grandmothers’ and great-grandmothers’ time,
handed down and added to with the arrival of each baby daughter.
These dolls, representing the Emperor, Empress, nobles, and ladies
of the old Kioto court, are sometimes numbered by dozens, and are
dressed in correct and expensive clothing. During the holiday the
dolls are ranged in a row on a shelf like an altar or dais, and food
and gifts are placed before them. The tiny lacquer tables, with their
rice-bowls, teapots, cups, plates, and trays, are miniature and
exquisite likenesses of the family furnishings. Each doll has at least
its own table and dishes, and often a full set of tableware, with which
to entertain other dolls, and amazing prices have been paid for sets
of gold and carved red lacquer dishes, or these Lilliputian sets in
wonderful metal-work. After the festival is over, the host of dolls and
their belongings are put away until the next March; and when the
beautiful images emerge from the storehouses after their long hiding
they are as enchanting as if new. Nothing better illustrates inherent
Japanese ideas of life and enjoyment, and gentleness of manners,
than this bringing out of all the dolls for one long fête week in the
year, and the handing them down from generation to generation.
On the fifth day of the fifth month comes the boys’ holiday. The
outward sign is a tall pole surmounted with a ball of open basket-
work, from which hang the most natural-looking fish made of cloth or
paper. Such a pole is set before every house in which a boy has
been born during the year, or where there are young boys, and some
patriarchal households display a group of poles and a school of carp
flying in the air. These nobori, as the paper carp are called, are of
course symbolic, the carp being one of the strongest fish, stemming
currents, mounting water-falls, and attaining a great age. Many of
these nobori are four or five feet in length, and a hoop holding the
mouth open lets them fill and float with as life-like a motion as if they
were flapping their fins in their own element. In-doors, images and
toys are set out in state array—miniature warriors and wrestlers,
spears, banners, and pennants, and all the decorative paraphernalia
that once enriched a warrior’s train. In all classes children’s parties