Here again the Japanese method of interior decoration differs from
that of the Occident, where we see objects arrayed symmetrically
on mantelpieces and elsewhere. In Western houses we are often
confronted with what appears to us useless reiteration. We find
it trying to talk to a man while his full-length portrait stares at us
from behind his back. We wonder which is real, he of the picture
or he who talks, and feel a curious conviction that one of them must
be fraud. Many a time have we sat at a festive board contemplating,
with a secret shock to our digestion, the representation of abundance
on the dining-room walls. Why these pictured victims of chase and
sport, the elaborate carvings of fishes and fruit? Why the display
of family plates, reminding us of those who have dined and are dead?

The simplicity of the tea-room and its freedom from vulgarity
make it truly a sanctuary from the vexations of the outer world.
There and there alone one can consecrate himself to undisturbed
adoration of the beautiful. In the sixteenth century the tea-room
afforded a welcome respite from labour to the fierce warriors and
statesmen engaged in the unification and reconstruction of Japan.
In the seventeenth century, after the strict formalism of the
Tokugawa rule had been developed, it offered the only opportunity
possible for the free communion of artistic spirits. Before a great
work of art there was no distinction between daimyo, samurai, and
commoner. Nowadays industrialism is making true refinement more
and more difficult all the world over. Do we not need the tea-room
more than ever?