their clasped hands and air
of rapt mysticism; in front are the altars, loaded with marvellous vases
in metalwork, whence spring graceful clusters of gold and silver lotus.
From the very entrance one is greeted by the sweet odor of the
incense-sticks unceasingly burned by the priests before the gods.

To penetrate into the dwelling of our friends the bonzes, which is
situated on the right side as you enter, is by no means an easy matter.

A monster of the fish tribe, but having claws and horns, is hung over
their door by iron chains; at the least breath of wind he swings
creakingly. We pass beneath him and enter the first vast and lofty hall,
dimly lighted, in the corners of which gleam gilded idols, bells, and
incomprehensible objects of religious use.

Quaint little creatures, choir-boys or pupils, come forward with a
doubtful welcome to ask what is wanted.

"Matsou-San!! Dondta-San!!" they repeat, much astonished, when they
understand to whom we wish to be conducted. Oh! no, impossible, they can
not be seen; they are resting or are in contemplation. "Orimas! Orimas!"
say they, clasping their hands and sketching a genuflection or two to
make us understand better. ("They are at prayer! the most profound
prayer!")

We insist, speak more imperatively; even slip off our shoes like people
determined to take no refusal.

At last Matsou-San and Donata-San make their appearance from the tranquil
depths of their bonze-house. They are dressed in black crape and their
heads are shaved. Smiling, amiable, full of excuses, they offer us their
hands, and we follow, with our feet bare like theirs, to the interior of
their mysterious dwelling, through a series of empty rooms spread with
mats of the most unimpeachable whiteness. The successive halls are
separated one from the other only by bamboo curtains of exquisite
delicacy, caught back by tassels and cords of red silk.

The whole wainscoting of the interior is of the same wood, of a pale
yellow shade made with extreme nicety, without the least ornament, the
least carving; everything seems new and unused, as if it had never been
touched by human hand. At distant intervals in this studied bareness,
costly little stools, marvellously inlaid, uphold some antique bronze
monster or a vase of flowers; on the walls hang a few masterly sketches,
vaguely tinted in Indian ink, drawn upon strips of gray paper most
accurately cut but without the slightest attempt at a frame. This is all: