JOHN L. STODDARD'S LECTURES
JAPAN I JAPAN II
CHINA
_Norwood Press_
_F. S. Gushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co._
_Norwood, Mass., U.S.A._
_Boston Bookbinding, Co., Cambridge, Mass._
[Illustration: FRIENDS IN COUNCIL.]
John L. Stoddard's
LECTURES
[Illustration]
_COMPLETE IN TEN VOLUMES_
_VOLUME THREE_
BOSTON
BALCH BROTHERS CO.
MCMVIII
CHICAGO: GEO. L. SHUMAN & CO.
Copyright, 1897
By John L. Stoddard
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
* * * * *
JAPAN
I
[Illustration: FOREST SOLITUDE]
JAPAN
LECTURE I
[Illustration: EMPEROR.]
It is now nearly four hundred years since the brave discoverer,
Magellan, first sailed around the world. Yet, till comparatively recent
times, three years were necessary to complete the circuit. To-day,
some Phineas Fogg can put a girdle round the earth in less than eighty
days, and messages are flashed to us from China and Ceylon in less than
eighty seconds. The old-time spirit of adventure amid unknown scenes,
which thrilled the traveler of former years, has, therefore, well-nigh
disappeared. Of all the surface of our globe, the Polar Seas alone still
bid defiance to the approach of man; though every year the ultimate
capitulation of those ice-bound areas, lit by the aurora, becomes less
remote.
[Illustration: MOUNT STEPHEN.]
The broad Atlantic has now dwindled to an ocean ferry. Europe is
measured, not by weeks, but by hours. Constantinople, once so remotely
Oriental, is but five days from London,--Cairo only six. Even the vast
Pacific glides beneath our keel in thirteen days. Two centuries ago, the
man who had achieved a journey around the globe would have been called
a hero. One century since, he would have been remarkable. To-day the
name he earns is merely--"Globe-trotter." In consequence of this, to
certain minds our vanquished earth seems like a squeezed and juiceless
orange. Material forces have deprived it of romance, as age has robbed
the moon of atmosphere and life. And yet, the fact that we move rapidly
from point to point need not lessen our interest in the places that we
visit. The wondrous beauty of the Taj Mahal and the incomparable majesty
of the Himalayas are not less enjoyed because we can make a pilgrimage
to them with comparative comfort. Japan's awakened empire, China's four
hundred millions, the toiling myriads of India, with history, customs and
religions antedating those of Christendom, present the same stupendous
problems, whether we visit them in an antique sailing-craft or in a
modern steamer. Despite the speed with which we flit from continent to
continent, the actual distance is still there. Let but the steamer's
shaft become disabled in mid-ocean, and the fact will not be doubted. But
of whatever size our earth may now appear to us, the time has never been
when travel upon its surface offered such attractions. Its countries now
are like a series of intensely interesting books--each the sequel of its
predecessor--which science, commerce, and navigation have laid open for
our scrutiny.
A tour around the world, therefore, is vastly more instructive than a
journey through the principal European cities. Mere Occidental travel,
though delightful, is but fragmentary and one-sided. The unbroken circle
is alone the symbol of completeness; and only when the traveler has
sailed away from our Pacific coast, and journeyed on and on toward the
setting sun, until he sees the shores of our Republic (never before so
beloved) rise from the waves of the Atlantic, can he in truth exclaim,
with Monte Cristo, "The world is mine!"
[Illustration: A JAPANESE PAGODA.]
The route which we selected for our journey to Japan was the superbly
built and admirably equipped highway to the Orient, the "Canadian
Pacific." This magnificent transcontinental system comprises, first,
the gleaming path of steel which crosses Canada from sea to sea; and,
second, a fleet of steamers at the western terminus of the road--the
largest, swiftest, and most modern boats that ply between the North
American continent and the land of the Mikado. The various railway lines
from the Atlantic to the centre of the continent are too well-known
to require description; but since some starting-point is necessary,
we may well choose, as the most appropriate one, the vast plains of
Manitoba, midway between the Atlantic and Pacific, and only eighteen
hours by rail from Minneapolis. Mile after mile, and hour after hour,
we sped through these prairies as level as a tranquil sea. Sometimes,
like wreckage floating on the waves, we saw great sun-bleached heaps of
skulls and bones--pathetic relics of the herds of buffaloes which only
thirty years ago existed here in millions, but which man's cruelty and
recklessness have almost totally destroyed. At other times, the railroad
cut its silvery furrow through a boundless area of golden rod and
daisies,--apparently a shoreless ocean of red, green, and gold, upon the
verge of which the sky seemed to rest like an azure dome. But presently
we realized that the plains were being left behind us. In fact, between
these prairies and the vast Pacific rise three great mountain-ranges
almost parallel to one another. They are the Rocky, the Selkirk, and the
Cascade mountains.
[Illustration: BANFF.]
[Illustration: ON THE PORCH AT BANFF]
[Illustration: A VIEW FROM THE HOTEL.]
It was already evening when we approached the "Rockies." We tried to
catch their outline, but in vain. Behind a veil of impenetrable gloom,
the morrow's splendid spectacle awaited us. Accordingly, at five o'clock
in the morning, the subtle nervousness which usually heralds any long
anticipated pleasure woke me with a start. I raised the curtain of my
berth, and from my lips there came an exclamation of delight. There were
the "Rockies," as I had so often pictured them; no longer vague creations
of some other man's enthusiasm, but glorious realities awakening mine. A
rugged wall of granite met my gaze, seamed here and there with silver, as
the pure snow sparkled in its crevices; while all along its crest, five
thousand feet above our heads, the dawn had traced a parapet of gold.
I felt at once that thrill of satisfaction which every traveler prizes
more and more as years roll on and fewer famous sights are left him to
explore. It was the consciousness of one more conquest made, not merely
for the excitement of a first possession, but for the calmer and more
abiding pleasure of retrospection.
[Illustration: THE THREE SISTERS.]
An hour later, we had left the train to spend two days at Banff,--a
place unknown before the advent of the railroad, but forming now the
centre of a charming region, four thousand five hundred feet above the
sea, reserved by the Canadian Government as a national park. Above us,
in the morning light, like some old Rhenish castle on a wooded cliff,
appeared a picturesque hotel, within whose ample hall we found a huge
log blazing in the fireplace; while modern luxuries, such as bath-rooms
and electric-lights, assured us a delightful resting-place. Yet this is
but one of several hotels built by the railroad company at points of
special interest, so that the traveler by this route may halt and view
its scenery amid comfortable surroundings.
[Illustration: VANCOUVER.]
Soon after our arrival, we started on a tour of exploration, and found
the situation worthy of its fame. Over the best of roads Canadian ponies
whirled us along the windings of the Bow river, green as emerald. The
air was as pure as that of Norway. A breath of it was like a draught of
wine. So transparent was the atmosphere, that mountains miles away seemed
close at hand. Strange mountains these! Their color is an ashen gray, now
darkened by a passing cloud, now almost white with vivid sunlight. They
have no vegetation on their rugged slopes, save a few pine-trees, which
suggest the "forlorn hope" of an army struggling toward a citadel.
[Illustration: HOTEL VANCOUVER.]
Had time permitted, we should have gladly lingered in this glorious
region,--but with so much before us, we were compelled to take our leave
of Banff and enter on the last great section of our journey toward the
sea. In making this, we were for hours surfeited with grandeur. Our chief
desire was to retard the train, and check the rapid shifting of imposing
scenery. Our brains at last refused to receive additional impressions.
One could spend weeks upon this portion of the route alone. Sometimes our
train wound like a serpent around the mountain sides,--now on a narrow
ledge three hundred feet above a foaming torrent, now gliding through
a tunnel in the solid rock. Three million dollars' worth of snow-sheds
guard this railway from the avalanche, and rivers even have been forced
to turn aside and yield their immemorial pathways to the iron conqueror.
But now farewell to railroads and to mountains! We have reached the sea.
Who that has ever crossed our mighty continent can quite forget the
moment when, after all the plains and mountains he has traversed, he
gains his first glimpse of the blue Pacific? It is at once a startling
revelation of the distance he has come, and a reminder of those Orient
lands whose misty shores still seem so fabulously tar away.
[Illustration: THE EMPRESS OF JAPAN.]
Our ocean gateway, and place of embarkation for Japan, was
Vancouver,--one of those marvels of the West, which, notwithstanding
all our previous reading, astonish us when actually seen. Ten years ago
Vancouver was a wilderness; a forest covered every portion of the present
city. To-day it has good streets and sidewalks, electric-lights and
trolley-cars, banks, churches, some extremely pretty houses, and a good
hotel.
What an excitement marks the embarkation-day at this Hotel Vancouver!
What searching glances pass from one strange group of travelers to
another, as if to read the characters and dispositions of the men and
women who are to be their fellow-passengers for fourteen days,--aye, more
than that;--to be, perchance, their fellow-travelers for many months,
meeting on other steamers, or in Chinese streets, or possibly in the
palm-groves of Ceylon. No gaiety is yet discernible. It is the hour for
farewells. The reading-room is filled with busy scribes, whose scratching
pens and long-drawn sighs alone disturb the silence of the place.
[Illustration: THE "EMPRESS" IN A STORM.]
We saw, on the last day, at least a score of ladies, bent almost double
on divans or arm-chairs, using alternately their writing-tablets and
their handkerchiefs,--their tears apparently flowing much more freely
than the ink from their fountain pens. Telegraph boys were meanwhile
running to the various rooms with good-bye messages from eastern friends.
"No use in sending them out," the blase operator told me; "they are all
alike. Might just as well hoist a flag with the letters 'B. V.' on it;
for every message ends with the same words: 'Bon Voyage!'"
[Illustration: A JAPANESE VILLAGE.]
But now the actual sailing-time has come; the last fond messages have
been received; the gang-plank is thrown off; the huge propeller moves;
and we have left our native land to make the circuit of the world. Of
course some tears are shed; some cheeks grow paler at the thought of
all that lies before us in the twenty-five thousand miles of land and
water we must traverse; but these are soon forgotten in contemplation
of the ship itself,--the Empress of Japan. This is one of the finest
steamers in the world, and like her sister ships, the Empress of China
and the Empress of India, is a vessel of six thousand tons and of ten
thousand horse-power. Graceful and beautiful she looked,--her great hull
snow-white to the water's edge, to shield it better from the tropic sun.
[Illustration: MISSISSIPPI BAY.]
Aside, however, from the speed, strength, and comfort of the steamers,
the voyage across the North Pacific does not call forth enthusiastic
praise. It is a lonely, unfrequented route. We saw no sign of land or
life for thirteen days. The cold, too, was excessive. Unless wrapped up
with extra care, we could not sit on deck with any comfort, although
protected from the wind by canvas screens. Moreover, in its sudden
changes, this North Pacific rivals the Mediterranean in winter, and when
aroused, its billows are colossal. During our voyage there were some
hours, and even days, when all was reasonably calm; but there were others
when tremendous winds tore into shreds the crests of white-capped waves
and filled the air with blinding spray. Hours there were, when trunks
not merely slid, but bounded, clear across the room, and landed with
their casters in the air, like the hoofs of a rolling horse; hours when
even the pantry stove revolted at such treatment and hurled its glowing
coals about the floor. I recall an unusually stormy period when the diet
of at least two wretched passengers for an entire day consisted of one
grape,--and my companion ate the grape!
The day which passed most quickly on this voyage was that which we
deliberately dropped from the calendar, on crossing the one hundred
and eightieth meridian of longitude, just half-way around the world
from London, and equidistant, east and west, from the observatory at
Greenwich. Some wicked passengers ascribed our stormy weather to the
missionaries on board, claiming that gales at sea are their invariable
attendants. However that may be, there certainly were times when all
the passengers (missionaries included) would have agreed with the old
Japanese proverb--"A stormy sea-voyage is an inch of hell."
[Illustration: COMING TO MEET US.]
Nothing stands out more clearly in my recollection of the Orient
than the bright, long anticipated hour when, after thirteen days of
dreary ocean travel, we suddenly beheld, emerging from the waves, that
strange, unique, and fascinating land, which promised so much novelty
and pleasure,--old Japan. Old, and yet new; for the fair sheet of water
which first greeted us was Mississippi Bay, named from the flagship of
Commodore Perry, which, with the remainder of his American fleet, dropped
anchor here in 1854. The coming of this envoy to the East was not for the
purpose of war or invasion, but to request that this important empire,
our nearest neighbor westward, lying directly in the path of commerce
between Asia and America, should, for the sake of mutual benefit, open
its doors (till then resolutely closed to foreigners) and become, to some
degree, accessible to the outer world.
Impatient to explore this land, we swept the shore with field-glasses,
and saw, with much amusement, some natives hastening to launch their
boats and row out to us. But were they really coming in just that
economical style of dress? They were, and did; but in five minutes we
forgot their costumes (or rather their want of them) in admiration of the
men themselves. It was, however, not their faces, but their forms, which
so attracted us. Never in marble or in bronze have I seen finer specimens
of limbs and muscles than those displayed by the compactly built and
copper-colored boatmen of Japan. Some of them looked like masterpieces of
antiquity, suddenly endowed with life and motion.
Taking the hotel steam-launch, in preference to the native boats, we
quickly reached the landing-pier of Yokohama. A slight examination of
our trunks was made by officers polite enough to beg our pardon for the
trifling delay. There is a duty in Japan on photographic cameras. One of
our party was, therefore, called upon to pay the stipulated sum. "I have
no Japanese money," he faltered; "I must leave my camera here, and call
again."
[Illustration: THE CUSTOM-HOUSE, YOKOHAMA.]
"Not at all," replied the official courteously; "I will lend you
the money; here it is." I thought my friend, accustomed only to the
refinements of the New York Custom-house, would faint away. At last he
gathered strength enough to ask: "But what security have you that I will
repay you?"
"Ah!" replied the officer, smiling, "you are an American."
[Illustration: AS THE NATIVES TRAVEL.]
"Truly," he exclaimed, as we walked away, "the Japanese are the French of
Asia."
[Illustration: A JINRIKISHA.]
On leaving the Custom-house I laughed aloud to see awaiting us the almost
universal means of locomotion in Japan--the jinrikisha. Shades of our
childhood!--what are these? Big-wheeled baby-carriages surely, and yet
used altogether by adults. They looked as though a heavy man could crush
them to earth, or a strong wind might blow them against the wall. When
we stepped into ours, we did so cautiously, lest we should suddenly go
over backward; and at the sight of some of our more stalwart passengers
thus installed, the air was filled with peals of laughter. One portly
traveler, weighing at least two hundred pounds, wagged his head feebly at
an equally heavy comrade, and shook a "da-da" at him, as if they had both
gone back to the state of babyhood. Yet, incredible as it would at first
appear, the traveler soon comes to like these little vehicles. Their
running-gear, though light, is strong. A breakdown in them is practically
unknown. The steeds which draw them harness and unharness themselves,
never shy nor kick, and are obedient to the slightest command.
Jinrikishas are so cheap that one can hire them all day long and never
feel the expense. Ten cents an hour is the usual price, or seventy-five
cents for an entire day. One's packages and valises follow in another
jinrikisha. The speed at which one travels in them is astonishing. Even
with only one man in the shafts, the usual rate is at least five miles an
hour. With one man pushing, and two pulling tandem, you actually seem to
fly. On good roads with two men we sometimes made ten miles an hour. And
what is most delightful to the traveler, the runners themselves seem to
enjoy it thoroughly. Time and again in the country, when they had drawn
us twenty or thirty miles with but occasional halts, they actually raced
each other on the last half-mile, laughing and capering like boys at play.
[Illustration: A JAPANESE MACKINTOSH.]
In stormy weather these human horses wore blankets that excited both our
laughter and amazement. They are a kind of Japanese mackintosh, composed
of grass and straw, which, though they are quite effectual in shedding
rain and snow, give to the wearer the appearance of a fretful porcupine.
A certain patriotic feeling draws Americans to the jinrikisha; for this
convenient little chaise was the invention of a Yankee missionary. He
ought to have made a fortune by it, for in Yokohama alone there are
five thousand of these vehicles, and in Japan more than two hundred and
fifty thousand; while they are also numerous now in China, India, and
Singapore. But the missionary has had the usual fate of inventors, and is
said to be, at present, an inmate of an Old Men's Home near Philadelphia.
[Illustration: PECULIAR TRAVELING.]
[Illustration: "A BIG-WHEELED BABY-CARRIAGE."]
The Japanese word, jinrikisha, is worth explaining, "jin" means man,
"riki" denotes power, and "sha" signifies wheel. A "man-power-carriage"
is therefore the correct translation; but the wittiest and most
appropriate title is the one given to it by an American tourist,--the
"Pull-man-car." Delighted with our first experiences in these little
vehicles, we left the Custom-house in Yokohama, and were quickly trundled
to the Grand Hotel. This is one of the best hotels in the entire East.
It fronts directly on the sea, and one can sit for hours on its long
verandas and watch the animated scenes of street-life in the foreground;
or else look off upon the lovely bay, where ships and steamers of all
nations lie at anchor, among which glide the native boats, propelled by
the bronzed athletes of Japan. My mind goes back with positive delight to
some cool morning hours at my window here, but oftener still to moonlit
evenings passed upon my balcony. At such a time, the scene recalled a
painting in some cyclorama,--so difficult was it to discern where fancy
ended and reality began; so smooth appeared the harbor's silvered breast;
so motionless the mighty steamers stationed there like sentinels; so
still their tapering masts, rising like minarets against the sky; while
here and there a red or green light on a steamer's side flashed like a
ruby or an emerald. Moreover, as the hours moved on, breaking the solemn
stillness of the scene, the ship's bells followed one another through the
watches of the night, and stole across the water like a silvery chime.
[Illustration: WAITING FOR A "FARE."]
[Illustration: A DISTANT VIEW OF FUJI-YAMA.]
[Illustration: IN YOKOHAMA BAY.]
Yokohama is divided into three sections. The first is the original
business settlement, where the hotels are located; the second is the
strictly Japanese quarter; the third lies on an eminence called "The
Bluff." The summit of this hill is reached, not merely by a winding
road, but also by a stairway commonly known as the "Hundred Steps." Upon
this height most of the foreigners reside; here also are the hospitals
of different nations, the foreign cemetery, and several consulates.
Wishing one day to make a call upon a resident on this hill, and being
unable to make our human pony understand his name, we asked the aid of
the hotel proprietor. To our astonishment, he said to us: "No name is
necessary. I shall merely tell him to take you to gentleman No. 35." A
moment's thought explained to us the reason for this custom; for "No.
35 gentleman" or "No. 76 lady" are terms which "'rikisha men" can much
more easily understand than foreign names. Yet even this system has its
difficulties; for all the houses on the Bluff are numbered, not in the
sequence of location, but in the order of their erection. Thus, the first
residence constructed there is No. 1, but the dwelling next to it, if
recently erected, may be called No. 500.
[Illustration: AN OLD-FASHIONED CRAFT.]
[Illustration: A RESIDENCE ON THE BLUFF.]
Some of the houses on the Bluff are quite attractive; and life in them
must be in many respects delightful. We met here two American ladies,
who, having taken a furnished house for several months, were actually
housekeeping in Japan. They told us that they had never had so pleasant
an experience, and that the markets of Yokohama abounded in meat, fish,
fruit, and vegetables, all at reasonable prices, while their Japanese
servants had been so devoted and respectful that they were spoiled for
housekeeping with any others. The summer, they confessed, had been hot,
and varied by an occasional earthquake; but on the Bluff the air was pure
and cool, and they had at least been exempt from thunder-storms.
Yet Yokohama's climate is not always tropical, or even mild. Winter also
can assert itself here, and boats and buildings sometimes wear a robe of
snow. Such a wintry temperature makes, of course, little difference in
the comfort of foreigners; but, to the Japanese themselves, one might
suppose the winter months would be a season of protracted misery, since
the vast majority of the natives have no fire in their houses save that
in a charcoal brazier; the partitions in their dwellings are mere paper
screens; and they themselves rarely wear woolen garments, much less
flannel ones. Yet the people are hardy. Jinrikisha men, we were told,
will run about the snow-covered streets with only cotton sandals on their
feet.
"How can your people live thus thinly clad, and with so little fire?" we
asked our guide.
"Oh, they become used to it," he answered. "You never cover up your face
in winter. It is accustomed to the cold. So we subject our bodies to the
same endurance."
[Illustration: YOKOHAMA IN WINTER.]
One day, in strolling through a street in Yokohama, we came upon two
little Japanese women doing laundry work and spreading garments out to
dry upon a smooth, flat board. Following the pleasant custom of the
country, they laughingly called out to us, "Ohaio--Ohaio,"--the Japanese
expression for "Good Morning!" One of our party, a judge from Covington,
Kentucky, did not understand the meaning of that word. Accordingly, when
one of these Japanese maidens smiled sweetly in his face, and said, with
a slightly rising inflection, "Ohaio!" he faltered, and replied, "Well,
not exactly; I come from Covington, just across the river!"
[Illustration: ON THE WAY TO KAMAKURA.]
The foreign cemetery of Yokohama is beautifully situated on the Bluff,
above the tumult of the town. It is well-kept, and many of its monuments
are elaborate. Numerous epitaphs in English, French, German, and Italian
attest the cosmopolitan character of the place. As we were walking there
one Sunday afternoon, we met a lady deeply veiled, leaning upon her
husband's arm, and giving way to uncontrollable grief. When they were
gone we ventured to approach the grave which they had left. The tombstone
bore a recent date, and on it were four lines that deeply moved us by
their sad simplicity; for, stooping down to a low headstone wreathed in
flowers, we read these words:
"A little grave, but oh, have care,
For world-wide hopes are lying there;
How much of light, how much of joy
Are buried with a darling boy!"
[Illustration: A JAPANESE CEMETERY.]
[Illustration: PATH TO THE SHOGUN'S HOUSE.]
[Illustration: THE FOREIGN CEMETERY, YOKOHAMA.]
The day after our arrival in Yokohama, we drove out into the surrounding
country. It was historically very interesting. Upon the plain where we
saw laborers harvesting their crops, once stood the ancient capital of
the empire,--Kamakura. It was then the residence of a million people, and
was, no doubt, a scene of splendor, war, and intrigue; yet of the men
and deeds which moved it centuries ago we know comparatively nothing. We
sometimes think ourselves familiar with the history of our race; and so
we are, along the lines of Egypt, Rome, and mediæval Europe. But when the
traveler visits China, India, and Japan, he realizes the fact that he has
come to the other side of the globe,--to lands whose histories are more
remote than those of even Greece and Rome, and yet utterly distinct from
all the streams of civilization which have flowed toward him. He begins
to feel as men might who, having always thought the Rhine to be the only
river of any magnitude on earth, should suddenly find themselves beside
the Nile, whose mighty volume has been rolling onward for unnumbered
ages, and over whose distant origin there hangs the halo of mystery.
[Illustration: DOING LAUNDRY WORK.]
[Illustration: A BUDDHIST PAGODA.]
One thing, however, still remains at Kamakura to tell us of its
unrecorded past. It is the world-renowned statue of Buddha,--one
of the largest works in bronze that man has ever made. Upon a huge
stone pedestal, in the form of a lotus-flower, one hundred feet in
circumference, this monstrous figure has been seated here in solemn
contemplation for seven hundred years. It is a noble representation of
the man before whose shrines more knees are bent in prayer to-day than
before those of any other founder of religion whom this earth has known.
Close by, beneath the trees, are pedestals of enormous columns, the
relics of a splendid temple which once formed the canopy of the statue,
but which was swept away by a huge tidal wave, four hundred years ago.
The statue itself, however, was too immense and weighty to be thus
destroyed; hence, as it sits here now in solitary grandeur on a plain,
beneath which sleeps a vanished world, the only columns that surround
it are majestic trees, the only roof that shelters it is the arch of
the immeasurable sky, and the only tapers on its ruined altar are the
unchanging stars.
[Illustration: THE BRONZE BUDDHA AT KAMAKURA.]
It is easy to enumerate statistics here; to call to mind the fact that
this statue is fifty feet in height; that underneath its drooping lids
are eyes of purest gold; that the face alone is eighteen feet in length;
that the circumference of the thumb is three feet; and, finally, that
within this statue is a chapel for a hundred worshipers. But these are
not the things which most impress one here. We can find other statues
for statistics. This has something better. It is the indescribable,
passionless expression of the face, that grows upon the traveler as he
studies it, and haunts his memory forever more--a look which in some way
suggests the Sphinx, in its superiority to present evils, its dreamful
contemplation of the infinite, its calm appeal from time to all eternity.
[Illustration: ENOSHIMA.]
[Illustration: JACOB'S LADDER, ENOSHIMA.]
Leaving the great Buddha to his meditations, we continued our homeward
journey by the sea,--that ocean which, although tranquil now, has more
than once sent tidal waves upon this shore to wreck the temples and the
homes of Kamakura, and in their swift retreat to leave a hideous trail of
death and devastation. A little distance from the land, we saw the pretty
island of Enoshima. It is a sacred island, said to have sprung, like
Venus, from the ocean in a single night. It is regarded, therefore, as a
gift from God. It may be that the legend has some truth in it, for almost
every portion of Japan is of volcanic origin; and mountains have arisen,
lakes have been produced, and landscapes wholly changed by earthquake
shocks, even within historical times.
[Illustration: A FOREST MONARCH.]
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE CAVERN TEMPLE.]
[Illustration: THE SACRED CAVE.]
Desiring to see some features of this island, we crossed the narrow
channel, and climbed to one of its numerous points of observation. It is
a fascinating place. Delightful paths wind up the wooded hills, marked
here and there by little stations, where one halts for tea. Beyond these
are long flights of steps, on which, that afternoon, Japanese girls, in
gaily-colored robes, were passing up and down, like angels upon Jacob's
ladder. Some were at work, while others were at play; others, again, were
returning from a place of prayer. They looked as curiously at us as we
at them. We seemed to them, no doubt, like beings from another world;
probably not a better one, for, when we had walked on, we heard them
merrily discussing us with peals of child-like laughter. One part of
Enoshima is deemed especially sacred. It is a natural cavern, somewhat
resembling the Blue Grotto on the Island of Capri. In stormy weather it
is inaccessible, for furious waves then thunder for admission here, and
fill the entrance with a mass of foam. But on a pleasant day, like that
which we enjoyed, it is not very difficult, on coming down the hill, to
cross a wooden bridge and a few slippery rocks, and finally pass beneath
a frowning arch to the interior.
[Illustration: A RUSTIC BUDDHA.]
It is a singular opening,--a crack in the volcanic cliff, three hundred
feet in length and thirty in height. From its obscure recesses, we gained
a charming telescopic vista of the broad Pacific. To our astonishment,
we found within this cave an altar to the goddess of Good Fortune, a
deity that from remotest ages has been worshiped here. It is a wonderful
situation for an altar, this rock-hewn temple built by Nature's
architect. A kind of mystery surrounds it, for mortals cannot always
worship here. When the divinity allows them to approach, this inlet of
the ocean lies in absolute tranquillity, extending inward to the shrine,
like a long path of malachite. But there are times when she excludes
all worshipers, bars the majestic portal with a watery wall, and hears,
instead of humanity's feeble voice, the awe-inspiring anthem of the sea.
[Illustration: A JAPANESE RAILWAY.]
One beautiful October morning, leaving the Grand Hotel, we drove to
the railway station to take a train for the Japanese capital, Tokio,
eighteen miles distant. It seemed a wonderful transition to whirl through
Yokohama streets in baby-carriages drawn by half-naked natives, and in a
moment more to find ourselves in railroad cars, better arranged in some
respects than most trains that run in Europe. Such sudden contrasts
between the past and present are now found only in Japan. Twenty-five
years ago there were no railways here, and hardly a jinrikisha. To-day,
throughout this sea-girt empire is spread a network of two thousand miles
of well-built paths of steel, which have stone ballast, massive bridges,
fine rolling-stock, and well-appointed stations. And yet one travels
first-class in Japan almost as cheaply as third-class in Europe. Nor is
traveling in the Mikado's realm confined to foreigners. Never in any
portion of the world have I seen trains so uniformly thronged as here,
and ninety out of every hundred of the passengers were Japanese.
[Illustration: THE IMPERIAL HOTEL, TOKIO.]
Tokio is the same old Yeddo that figured in our school-books--no matter
how many years ago. The first thing to impress me in the place was its
enormous size. It is, in truth, a city of magnificent distances, for
its area surpasses that of London. Together with its suburbs, it has
a population of one million eight hundred thousand. Save for its vast
extent, however, the Japanese capital is not imposing. Seen from an
elevation Tokio displays an almost limitless expanse of wooden roofs,
whose trifling inequalities recall the undulating surface of a cold, gray
sea. From this there rises, here and there, a solitary tower or pagoda,
like a lighthouse from the waves.
[Illustration: A TORII.]
Four hundred years ago Tokio was a fishing hamlet. Not until 1603 did
it become the military capital; and since that time it has been so
frequently burned down and rebuilt, that it may be compared to the human
body, the particles of which are said at certain intervals to be entirely
renewed. In fact, statistics prove that, on an average, the city every
thirty years has risen anew from its ashes. In 1895, at a single fire,
four thousand houses were destroyed.
[Illustration: LOOKING DOWN UPON TOKIO.]
It is no easy task to explore thoroughly the Japanese labyrinth
called Tokio, but one great central object forms, at least, a
starting-point,--the imperial palace. Around it, like a warrior's belt,
is drawn a moat so broad and deep that it might easily be deemed a river.
The vast extent of this enclosure, its highly finished wall of stone,
the silent, waveless stretch of water which surrounds it,--all these add
mystery to one whose residence is so secluded from the eyes of men. Yet
it is only recently that the Mikado has lived here. Thirty years ago the
residence of Japanese sovereigns was a retired palace in the ancient city
of Kioto. It may well be called "retired," for previous to the revolution
of 1869 (which may be called the new birth of Japan) the Japanese for
centuries had never seen the face of the Mikado. In giving audiences,
even to his priests and nobles, he sat invisible behind a screen. When
he walked out within his garden, carpets were spread before him to keep
his sacred feet from contact with the earth. If he drove out, it was in a
covered carriage, closed by screens, and as he passed along his subjects
knelt in the attitude of prayer. Thus, century after century, these
sovereigns lived,--each one in turn a monarch yet a captive, a god and
yet a slave.
[Illustration: BRIDGE TO THE EMPEROR'S PALACE, TOKIO.]
Meanwhile, in one of the stately castles of Japan there lived the
Mikado's representative, or viceroy; for, of course, the Japanese
emperors did not govern. How could they? They were imprisoned by their
own divinity. A mediator between the monarch and his subjects had
to be appointed, to act as overseer of the realm. Previous to 1869
therefore--for nearly seven hundred years--two rulers had existed in
Japan. One was the theoretical sovereign, to whom all gave allegiance,
but who accomplished nothing,--the Mikado; the other was the practical
executive,--the military regent, called the Shogun.
[Illustration: SHOGUN'S PALACE, OSAKA.]
[Illustration: THE MOAT AROUND THE PALACE, TOKIO.]
In the small town of Shizuoka we saw the modest house where was still
residing, like a country gentleman, the last of the once powerful Shoguns
of Japan; for a change has taken place in the Mikado's empire. The
Shoguns, who for centuries had been the actual sovereigns of the realm,
and one of whom was in full power when the American fleet arrived in
Yokohama, have now completely disappeared. Less than thirty years ago,
from the secret precincts of his palace in Kioto, the lawful ruler, the
present Mikado, was brought to light, like one who had been immured
within a dungeon. In 1872, for the first time in a thousand years, a
Japanese emperor freely appeared before his subjects. He was at that time
a young man, twenty-two years of age, and was actually traveling by
rail from Yokohama to Tokio, thenceforth to make that city his abode and
capital. On that occasion, we are told, the loyalty and enthusiasm of his
subjects knew no bounds. As the train moved off with the young emperor,
restored to his ancestral power, there rang out on the air a melody which
thrilled all hearts. It was the national anthem of Japan, the strains of
which were first heard when savage tribes were hunting by the Thames and
Rome was mistress of the world.
[Illustration: HOME OF THE RETIRED SHOGUN, SHIZUOKA.]
[Illustration: WHERE SOME OF THE SHOGUNS ARE BURIED.]
[Illustration: NEAR A HERO'S GRAVE.]
[Illustration: SHOGUN'S RESIDENCE, NAGOYA.]
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE SHOGUNS TEMPLE, TOKIO.]
One might suppose that such a sudden rise in power, combined with the
amazing changes in his empire, would have been ruinous to this young
sovereign, for at the time of the restoration he was but sixteen years
old. But he was evidently the man for the occasion, and has since proved
himself an assiduous student and enlightened ruler. This man, who, as a
youth, knew almost nothing of the existence of such foreign lands, now
reads the literatures of England, France, and Germany.
[Illustration: OLD FEUDAL RESIDENCE, TOKIO.]
Moreover, this hundred and twenty-first Mikado of his line--the
representative of the oldest dynasty on earth, whose founder reigned
here five hundred years before the death of Julius Cæsar,--has not only
adopted European dress and customs, but has favored the introduction
of all the great inventions of the present age. Nevertheless, he had
the wisdom to restrain his subjects in their first eagerness to adopt
everything European, when they were even ready to destroy, as worthless,
some of their ancient castles, shrines, and statues. And now that a
reaction has set in, and the Japanese are once more proud to cherish
the memorials of their ancestors, they are sincerely grateful to their
emperor, because at the great national crisis he showed sufficient tact
and independence to steer between the rocks of servile imitation on the
one side and dull conservatism on the other, and, while the ship of state
was trembling in the rapids of that flood of progress, he maintained a
firm hand on the helm.
[Illustration: A MODERN CASTLE.]
[Illustration: A LADY OF TOKIO.]
The houses of the old Japanese nobles in Tokio recall many other striking
contrasts between the past and the present. Until recently, for nearly a
thousand years, Japan had many feudal lords, called Daimios. Most of them
lived in Tokio for at least six months of every year, under the Shogun's
watchful eye. But the great revolution of 1869 completely swept away the
feudalism of centuries, and one by one, at the command of the Mikado, the
Daimios gave up their swords, dismissed their armed retainers, renounced,
to some extent, their vast estates and revenues, and, as a rule, retired
to private life.
Yet one must not suppose that the Japan of the present day has no
nobility. Some years ago there was a grand revision of all ranks and
titles. The old, distinguished families still form the nucleus of the
aristocracy; but to their ranks have been added many men conspicuous
for their talents, or for their loyalty to the new _régime_. We had the
pleasure of meeting one who lives in close relations with the emperor. We
found him a refined and courteous gentleman, dressed in a faultless suit
of broadcloth, and speaking French and English fluently. As we conversed
with him, however, our thoughts would stray from his appearance to that
which his own father, doubtless, had presented, when Commodore Perry
moored his fleet in Mississippi Bay. For his father had been one of those
warriors of old Japan, called Samurai.
[Illustration: AN OLD-TIME SWORDSMAN.]
[Illustration: AN OLD-FASHIONED DUEL, AND UMPIRE.]
[Illustration: CENTENARIAN TREES.]
A certain number of these men adhered to every Daimio, lived at his
castle, fought his battles, and, not content with one sword, always
carried two, as distinctive symbols of their rank. Yet now the old-time
swordsman, if alive, has no doubt ceased to shave his head, has laid
aside his singular costume, and has even put his swords away as relics of
his youthful days, since no civilian is at present allowed to wear them.
It is said that this class of Japanese suffered most from the revolution,
for they suddenly found their occupation completely gone. Untrained for
work and ill-adapted to the sudden change, their situation was at first
deplorable. Hence it is little short of marvelous that such a radical
transformation could have been effected in Japan without frequent
insurrections. The sight of this great nation turning from feudalism to
a constitutional monarchy, at the cost of rank, fame, wealth, and even
livelihood, for tens of thousands of its foremost citizens, gives proof
of a wide-spread, unselfish patriotism, perhaps unequaled in the world's
history.
[Illustration: THE PRINCIPAL THEATRE IN TOKIO.]
Not less remarkable is the recent progress of education in this "Land
of the Rising Sun." The educational systems of all other nations have
ripened slowly, and rest on centuries of experience. But twenty-five
years ago, Japan had practically nothing of the kind. Accordingly, her
brightest and most promising youths went forth to gather knowledge in
the western world. She was eclectic in her method. Some were sent
to England, some to Germany, others to France, and many to America.
Accomplished foreign teachers also were induced to come and give
instruction in Japanese schools; and how astonishing has been the result!
In Tokio the buildings of the Imperial University cover fifteen acres of
ground, and include admirable class-rooms, dormitories, laboratories,
a hospital, and residences for the faculty. Here, in one department,
are taught mathematics, astronomy, chemistry and geology; in another,
civil and electrical engineering, naval architecture and metallurgy;
in another, philosophy and the modern European languages; in still
another, Japanese and Chinese history and literature. The University
has also a Law School and a College of Medicine and Pharmacy, in each
of which a four years' course is required. There are in all one hundred
and twenty-three professors in the institution, fifteen of whom are
foreigners, while more than fifty lecturers are also in the employ of the
directors. Nor is this all, for in addition to this splendid University,
there are in Tokio private colleges, commercial schools, military and
naval academies, and a school of fine arts, besides an educational
institution for the dumb and the blind; and not the least noteworthy is
a common school system whereby the poorest child in Japan may obtain at
least a rudimentary education.
[Illustration: A JAPANESE ACTOR.]
[Illustration: A SACRED GATE.]
Let no one think, however, that all these changes, surprising though
they are, have wholly done away with "old" Japan. The contrary is proved
by countless characteristic sights, even in modernized Tokio. In their
houses, theatres, shops, and festivals, and in their modes of bathing,
eating, drinking, sleeping, and working, the vast majority of Japanese
are to-day what they were centuries ago.
[Illustration: IN WINTER COSTUME.]
[Illustration: A DAIMIO'S HOME, TOKIO.]
On our first day in Tokio, as we descended from the hill where we had
gained a comprehensive view of the great city, we paused to note, at the
foot of a long stone staircase, a singular gateway built of granite. The
tourist may well observe such structures closely, for one of the most
common architectural features of Japan is this peculiar style of portal,
called a _torii_. In granite, wood, or bronze, such gateways usually mark
the approach to a temple, shrine, or sacred statue. Nothing could be more
simple. Two upright shafts are met and crossed by horizontal bars, the
higher ones curving slightly upward at the ends. This is in one sense
all, and the beholder at first sees little in them to admire; but, after
a time, the foreigner in Japan expects them as essential features of
every landscape, and welcomes them, like some sweet refrain, which, first
heard in the overture, repeats itself in various disguises through the
music of an opera.
[Illustration: A TORII OR SACRED GATE.]
There are two theories in regard to the origin of these sacred portals.
The first maintains that they were intended originally for perches,
upon which birds (which are occasionally liberated even now at Japanese
temples) might pause before they took their heavenward flight to bear
aloft the prayers of those who gave them freedom. The second theory
affirms that these straight columns, with their curving cross-pieces, are
derivative forms of the Chinese letter, or ideograph, which signifies
Heaven.
[Illustration: A RUSTIC TORII.]
The latter explanation appears to be the more probable one; at all
events, whatever may have been their origin, the architectural design
of these peculiar structures is of immense antiquity. Such gateways,
tradition hints, were extant twenty centuries ago; and it is worthy of
remark that, despite the marvelous changes that have recently transformed
Japan, no hand has ever been raised to mutilate these memorials of the
past, or even to change a line of that mysterious hieroglyph which they
so sharply outline against the sky.
[Illustration: GROUP OF TORII.]
In the immediate vicinity of these sacred arches, one usually sees a
multitude of monuments, from five to seven feet in height. Sometimes
these line, for a considerable distance, the avenues of approach to tombs
and temples, and are compactly ranged in serried ranks, like soldiers at
a dress parade, or people waiting for some grand procession. They are
called lanterns, from the fact that, on special festivals, a lamp is
placed in each of them, in honor of the hallowed dead. But the chief part
they play is ornamental. Most of them are of stone; but some consist of
beautifully decorated bronze,--real masterpieces of that art in which
the Japanese excel. To many are attached bronze bells and circular
medallions, bearing the crests of the imperial family or those of the
military chieftains of Japan. With few exceptions, the finest ones have
been presented by Japanese nobles, as proofs of their devotion to the
shrine itself, or their esteem for those who are buried there.
[Illustration: JAPANESE LANTERNS.]
[Illustration: APPROACH TO THE TEMPLES, NIKKO.]
[Illustration: IN SERRIED RANKS.]
[Illustration: A BRONZE LANTERN.]
[Illustration: BLOSSOM-LADEN BANKS.]
One of the principal pleasure-resorts of Tokio is Ueno Park. It is
especially attractive in the month of April, when all its cherry-trees
are radiant with blossoms. These lovely flowers are usually pink in
color, and grow in clusters several inches wide. Poets have sung their
praises here for centuries. They are to Japan what roses are to western
nations. Their blooming-time is one of the national festivals. Some
avenues in the Mikado's capital are lined with these resplendent trees,
and are famous throughout the country for their wealth of coloring.
[Illustration: A JAPANESE TEMPLE.]