The plain upon which Kyoto sits is inclined slightly toward the north and sheltered on the east, west and north sides by low, rounded mountains, giving it a very human scale. The Kamo River, entering the city from the north is joined by the Takano at Demachiyanagi to flow straight down the east side and out toward the southwest. Laid out on a grid plan after the T'ang capital of Ch'ang-an, Kyoto was sited not only for its central location in the Kansai region but for its supposed geomantic properties. A site cradled by protective mountains on three sides with the highest mountain, Mt. Hiei, to the northeast (the
direction from which evil spirits were thought to come) and an opening to the south was seen as particularly auspicious. Kyoto residents have since come to see the mountains in their backyards as a mixed blessing as not only they block the cooling winds that might ease the humid summer, but also prevent the cold, damp air of winter from being swept away.
Nonetheless, proximity to these mountains has long been the site of choice for the well-to-do citizen. If one maps out the gardens and villas of Kyoto, they are almost all located on the outskirts of the original city grid, usually at the very foot of the mountains. When one could not have a mountain actually in the backyard, a superior view of it would suffice. These north, east and west "suburbs" that afforded such siting had been attractive almost from the founding of the capital in 794, but by the 16th century they were the only place of refuge for those who could afford it. Two hundred years of internecine warfare and numerous fires had taken its toll and any location of note within the city grid had been destroyed.
Tokugawa Ieyasu finally brought peace and reunification to the country in 1603, but despite its imp'verishment, the court aristocracy continued to seek refuge outside the city. The seat of government was moved to Edo ('Tokyo' after 1868),
a long trip to the east from Kyoto, but the Tokugawa continued to give financial aid to the imperial court in order to legitimize its own rule. The degree of support was much reduced, however. From its very establishment the Tokugawa government was beset with financial difficulty and could not afford to support a lavish imperial lifestyle. Like the temples of the time, the imperial family was forced to make do with less.
Despite its limited means, over the next one hundred years, the imperial family would be responsible for some the finest gardens ever constructed then or since, including: Sento Gosho, Entsuji, Shodenji, Shugakuin, and Katsura. In many ways this period was one of synthesis of the eclectic mixture of forms that had emerged from the previous period of chaos
before a long decline characterized by imitation and stagnation of the garden traditions.
In 1629, the Emperor Gomizuno (1596-1680) abdicated the throne while still a young man, following a long imperial tradition of relinquishment of power that had probably kept the succession of shogunates from exterminating the imperial line and setting up one of their own. While possessing no real political power, his strong personality had often set him at odds with the military government. The shogunate was grateful to see him step down and encouraged him to seek pastimes other than politics. Like his predecessors, he turned his attention to the cultivation of aesthetic pursuits, the most significant of which was garden and villa construction, and in the ensuing years he established three villas at Hataeda, Iwakura and Nagatani on the northern outskirts of the city. His primary residence was the imperial palace at Sento Gosho, but as the villas were completed from 1644 to 1650, he began taking retreats, alternating between them with the change of the seasons.
The modest "detached palace" at Hataeda, located about a kilometer due north of the city near what is
A Pair of Stones
Two chunks of gray-green stone,
their shapes grotesque and unsightly,
wholly unfit for practical uses --
ordinary people despise them, leave them untouched.
Formed in the time of primal chaos,
they took their place at the mouth of Lake Taihu,
ten thousand ages resting by the lakeshore,
in one morning coming into my hands!
Pole-bearers have brought them to my prefectural office
where I wash and scrub away mud and stains.
The hollows are black, deeply scarred in mist,
crevices green with the rich hue of moss.
Aged dragons coiled to form their feet,
old swords stuck in for the crown,
I suddenly wonder if they didn't plummet from Heaven,
so different from anything in this human realm!
One will do to prop up my lute,
one to be a reservoir for my wine.
The tip of one shoots up several yards,
the other has a hollow, will hold a gallon of liquid!
My five-stringed instrument leaning on the left one,
my single wine cup set on the right,
I'll dip from the hollowed cask and it will never go dry,
though drunkenness long since has toppled me over.
Every person has something he loves,
and things all yearn for a companion.
More and more I fear that gatherings of the young
no longer will welcome a white-haired gentleman.
I turn my head, ask this pair of stones
if they'd consent to keep an old man company.
And though the stones are powerless to speak,
they agree that we three should be friends.