one of these we are now invited. At the sound of the gong they make
their entrance before the idols with a stately ritual; twenty or
thirty priests officiate in gala costumes, with genuflections,
clapping of hands and movements to and fro, which look like the
figures of some mystic quadrille.

But for all that, let the sanctuary be ever so immense and imposing in
its somber gloom, the idols ever so superb, all seems in Japan but a
mere semblance of grandeur. A hopeless pettiness, an irresistible
feeling of the ludicrous, lies at the bottom of all things.


And then the congregation is not conducive to thoughtful
contemplation, for among it we generally discover some acquaintance:
my mother-in-law, or a cousin, or the woman from the china-shop who
sold us a vase only yesterday. Charming little mousmés,
monkeyish-looking old ladies enter with their smoking-boxes, their
gayly-daubed parasols, their curtsies, their little cries and
exclamations; prattling, complimenting each other, full of restless
movement, and having the greatest difficulty in maintaining a serious
demeanor.




XLI.


_September 3rd_.