on the shores of the Pacific. Neither the European coast, nor yet our
own, can now materially change; but over the mightiest ocean on our globe
new constellations have arisen. Another Oriental horoscope must now be
cast. Dormant so long, the East is re-awakening from her sleep of ages.
Russia, the grim Colossus of the North,--facing, Janus-like, both east
and west,--is making there a depot for her navy. Meantime she pushes on
by day and by night her trans-Siberian railway, whose bars of steel will
soon unite the Baltic and Pacific and revolutionize the commerce of the
world. In the Northern Pacific, England and France have interests which
are steadily increasing. Southward, Australia, and New Zealand too,
must be considered carefully in any forecast of the future. Last, but
not least, our own Pacific coast, with its magnificent shore-front of
California and Alaska, and the boundless possibilities of Puget Sound,
will fifty years hence have enormous interests at stake. Meanwhile,
Japan, central to all these various lands, keen, bold, and active, both
in war and peace, has suddenly surpassed all records in her wonderful
development, and even now can almost keep step with the great Western
Powers.
[Illustration: A DISTANT MARKET FOR CONNECTICUT CLOCKS.]
In 1892, the writer visited the Mikado's empire, and on his return spoke
enthusiastically of its people. But what he said of China was precisely
the reverse. On this account, some thought that he exaggerated the
virtues of the one and the vices of the other. But the events of 1895
verified his words. China has sunk still lower in the estimation of
mankind, while Japan has risen far above the expectations of her warmest
friends. In fact, Japan, in many ways, is now the most interesting
country in the world. She is the pioneer of progress in the Orient.
Consider her amazing growth in manufactures. By these she may ere long
control the commerce of the entire East. Look at her admirable schools
and universities. They can be favorably compared with not a few in
Europe. Think of her government, which in less than twenty-five years
has achieved what it took Europe centuries to accomplish,--to rid herself
of feudalism and become a constitutional monarchy. Regard her army, which
accomplished marvels in the recent war; and her navy, which elicited the
admiration of the world.
[Illustration: THE EDWIN BOOTH OF JAPAN.]
In all these respects we find a national transformation, which in
rapidity at least has had no parallel in history. It is, then, this
extraordinary land, which has a long and brilliant past, and is
apparently to have a still more brilliant future, that we are now to
explore still farther.
However novel and attractive the cities of the Mikado's empire may be,
it is from traveling through the country of Japan that one derives the
greatest pleasure and instruction. For it is not what Japan has borrowed
from the western world that most delights the foreign tourist. On the
contrary, the more he sees of their artistic, happy, natural life, away
from foreign contact, the better he likes it.
It was on a beautiful October morning, that, leaving cities and railways
for a time behind us, we began our journey through a few of the Mikado's
provinces. Seating ourselves in jinrikishas, we dashed across a little
bridge and up a mountain gorge which led to Miyanóshita. There are few
things more thoroughly delightful than traveling through a mountainous
country in a carriage or on horseback. On a former trip I had thought
that nothing could approach in pleasure this mode of traveling in Norway.
But here it proved fully as enjoyable. It is true, the grandeur of
Norwegian scenery is not met with in Japan; but, on the other hand, the
charming novelty of everything one sees makes such excursions peerless in
the traveler's memory.
[Illustration: APPROACHING MIYANÓSHITA.]
At first, our road was an embowered lane winding along a mountain-side,
green to the summit with luxuriant foliage. There was no parapet
along the edge, as on the mountain roads of Switzerland; but, as a
reassuring compensation, we had no horses here to back or shy or roll
us down the precipices. The steeds that drew us up the narrow path were
copper-colored athletes, driven tandem, and without need of rein or
whip. On, on they went with ceaseless energy, their splendid muscles
working like machinery. Insensible to fatigue, they laughed and talked
incessantly, asking only one favor of their drivers,--that of being
allowed to reduce their clothing to the scantiest limits. Below us, as
we rode along, was an impetuous stream, which lured from time to time
adventurous water-falls to join its course. We halted to admire one of
these at our leisure. Its special charm was not its height, though it
descends several hundred feet: it was the wealth of colored foliage that
made for it a frame of green and gold. A little to the left, an opening
in the trees revealed a tiny shrine, and in the foreground stood an aged
priest, who had stopped to gaze in wonder at such strange intruders.
[Illustration: A JAPANESE VILLAGE NEAR MIYANÓSHITA.]
[Illustration: A BIT OF JAPAN.]
What pictures thus disclose themselves at every turn throughout this
marvelous country! Anywhere else you would pronounce them stage
effects--the cataracts which resemble tangled skeins of silken floss; the
miniature pagodas interspersed among the trees; and, brightening all with
life and color, the Japanese women with their brilliant sashes, as if the
vanished nymphs and dryads of the place had now assumed material shapes,
intending to be worshiped somehow, even by the skeptics.
[Illustration: RURAL SCENERY IN JAPAN.]
[Illustration: A MOUNTAIN STREAM.]
[Illustration: A JAPANESE FAIR.]
[Illustration: A JAPANESE BRIDGE.]
Yet this is what one sees continually in Japan. What would in other lands
seem artificial, is here only natural. Accordingly, the charm of Japanese
scenery is enhanced by the surroundings given it by man. Picturesque
figures, clad in robes as multicolored as the trees themselves; bridges,
temples, and pagodas, often as brilliant as the autumnal leaves around
them--these make the landscapes irresistibly attractive, as if both man
and Nature had agreed to wear at the same time their holiday attire. One
feels that he is traveling through a land where Nature is adored, where
animals are kindly treated, and where such pleasing and poetic myths as
we associate only with ancient Greece and Rome are still believed by
many faithful souls, and make each forest the abode of rural deities and
every mountain rivulet a place of prayer.
[Illustration: A FARMER IN HIS WORKING SUIT.]
As we moved farther up the valley, we found at every turn some new source
of enjoyment; first, in the vivid foliage, which made the mountains seem
like huge bouquets of ferns; then, in the silvery stream whose voice
would shout a welcome to us as it hurried on; and lastly, in the little
Japanese inns, along whose carved-wood balconies were hung red paper
lanterns, that glowed at night like monster rubies, and gave to the whole
scene that charmingly unreal, or theatrical effect, so characteristic of
Japan.
[Illustration: A RUSTIC BRIDGE.]
Seeing some buildings on the opposite bank, we asked: "How do you
cross here from shore to shore? Boats surely are not possible; nor are
there any bridges, unless--but certainly those tiny structures yonder,
stretched like a spider's web across the flood, cannot be bridges!" Yet
closer scrutiny revealed the fact that they are really used as a means
of transportation. Long poles of bamboo, bound about with reeds, and
supported in the centre by a rough-hewn tripod,--such are the structures
often spanning mountain-torrents in Japan! If swept away, they can easily
be replaced; and, while they last, the peasants cross them fearlessly.
[Illustration: A CHARACTERISTIC VIEW.]
"But how about wagons, carriages, and horses?" we inquired, only to be
again reminded, with a laugh, that no provision need be made for them,
for carriage-roads do not yet exist in these mountain regions, and
horses are almost as rare as centaurs. In fact, one of the first things
to impress us in these rural districts was the absence of animals. We
saw no oxen, sheep, or donkeys, and only in rare instances a pony.
Japanese farmers hardly know what meat, milk, and butter are, and
when one recollects that they have never eaten bread, and have no word
for it in their language, one naturally asks, "On what do they live?"
Through our interpreter, we questioned a young laborer who was returning
homeward from the fields in his everyday working-suit of clothes. He was
well-formed and looked well-nourished, like most of his fellows, yet he
assured us that only fish, rice, and vegetables formed his diet. When,
therefore, one considers how much hard work the Japanese perform, and
thinks of all the thousands here, who, in lieu of horses, haul heavy
loads of wood and stone, it cannot be denied that they derive from their
food quite as much strength as we do from ours. It is true, doctors
declare that Japanese food, while good for peasants working in the open
air, is bad for those who lead a sedentary life. But is anything good for
those who lead a sedentary life?
[Illustration: A JAPANESE MEAL.]
[Illustration: A POSTMAN.]
[Illustration: GATHERING SEA FOOD.]
"What," we inquired somewhat impatiently, "is the meaning of this dearth
of animal life,--here, where a million acres on these verdant hills would
give the best of pasturage for cattle?" The explanation given us was a
religious one; for the Buddhist faith declares that to destroy any living
creature is a sin. This doctrine, through successive centuries, has had a
great effect upon the people. It practically forbids them to eat meat. If
the United States, therefore, should ever become Buddhistic, a colossal
industry of the West would disappear. No doubt, in time, stock-farms will
be established in Japan, as foreigners create a large demand for beef,
butter, milk, and cream; but agricultural customs are always slow to
change. One might have supposed that catching fish would also have been
prohibited by Buddhism, since that involves the sacrifice of life. But,
as the waters around the Japanese islands fairly swarm with them, to
have forbidden the people fish would have removed their staple article of
diet, and caused a positive hatred for the new religion. It is probable,
therefore, that the Buddhist priests knew (just as well as the Japanese
fishermen) where to draw the line.
[Illustration: HOTEL AT MIYANÓSHITA.]
One day, as we were rolling through the country in jinrikishas, we saw
approaching us an extraordinary apparition.
"What is it," we exclaimed, "a winged Mercury, or a Coney Island bather
rushing to the beach?"
"That is the letter-carrier," was the reply; "and the small waterproof
paper bag at the end of his bamboo pole contains the mail."
[Illustration: TATTOOED MAN.]
[Illustration: A POST-OFFICE.]
In fact, where villages are not reached by a railroad, the old system
of swift couriers still prevails. Let us not laugh, however, at Japan's
postal service. It was only started in 1871; but it is already extended
over the entire country, with more than five thousand post-offices and
postal savings-banks. In 1881, after only ten years' growth, it carried
ninety-five million letters and postal-cards, and its rate of postage
is the cheapest in the world. A country postman, it is true, is rather
oddly dressed. One thinks, at first, perhaps, that he is wearing a
gaily-colored jersey. Not at all--his only garment is a cloth about
the waist, with a kerchief around his head to keep the perspiration
out of his eyes, and he has straw sandals on his feet. He is tattooed.
It seems impossible, at a first glance, that such elaborate decoration
is produced by sepia and vermilion alone, carefully pricked in with
needles; nevertheless it is a fact. These brilliant hues are proof
against the greatest amount of washing, tattooed man could no more
change his colors than could an Ethiopian his skin or a leopard his
spots. In feudal times this style of ornamentation was resorted to by
the Japanese for the same reason that their hideous masks were worn in
battle,--in order to inspire fear. Even now, although the custom is
prohibited, some wonderful specimens of tattooing can be seen; and from
actual observation we were forced to believe the statement that artists
in that line are able to prick into the skin a fairly faithful likeness
of the man himself, or perchance of a friend. Such workmen now complain
that they have little opportunity to practice their profession. Some
patronage, however, still comes to them from youthful foreigners. Two
sons of the Prince of Wales, for example, as well as Prince George of
Greece, have on their bodies specimens of this ornamentation; and if some
travelers whom we met here could be induced to raise their sleeves they
would display to their astonished friends one or two very pretty Japanese
views,--"colored,"--though not "dissolving."
[Illustration: AT MIYANÓSHITA.]
[Illustration: RURAL SCENERY.]
One of the first and most delightful halting-places in our trip across
Japan was the hotel at Miyanóshita. It is as dainty as a lacquered box,
with floors, chairs, and balustrades as neat as wax and beautifully
polished. The rooms are furnished simply, but in European style; the food
is specially prepared for foreigners; and in cold weather the corridors
can be enclosed in glass. What wonder, then, that tourists resort to
Miyanóshita? For, in addition to its good hotel, it has the best of
mountain air and delightful hot baths from a natural spring, and is a
starting-point for many notable excursions. On most of these, however,
jinrikishas cannot be used.
From this point on, the beaten roads are left, and only narrow paths
ascend the hills. Hence, on the morning after our arrival, we found
ourselves confronted by the most novel style of conveyance we had thus
far seen. "What under heaven is this?" I cried, as I caught sight of
it. "Must I get into this thing, and haven't you any blankets for these
horses?"
[Illustration: A KAGO.]
My friend sat down upon a rock and vowed he would not go. "Give me a
jinrikisha," he moaned; "I'd rather be once more a baby-jumper in my
little carriage than a mere stone in a sling, as you will be in that!"
He finally compromised on an armchair, hung on bamboo poles and carried
by four men; but I resolved to give this vehicle a thorough trial. So
crawling in, like a dog into its basket, I crossed my legs after the
fashion of a Turk who had fallen over backward, and told my well-groomed
steeds to go ahead. The unique and novel instrument of torture to which
I thus subjected myself is called a "kago." It is a shallow basket,
suspended from a bamboo pole, on which it swings irregularly like an
erratic pendulum. Two men take this upon their shoulders, while a third
follows as a substitute; for they change places usually every fifteen
minutes.
[Illustration: 1. A RAIN-COAT. 2. AMONG THE FLOWERS. 3. A KAGO.]
Mine changed every five. The man who invented the iron cage, within which
the unhappy prisoner could neither stand up nor lie down, must have heard
of a Japanese kago. The basket is too near the pole to let the occupant
sit erect, and much too short for him to extend his feet without giving
the bearer in front a violent prod in the small of the back. After many
frantic experiments, I found that the easiest fashion of kago-riding was
to lie upon my side, my head lolling about in one direction, and my feet
in the other. Even then, the lower half of my body kept falling asleep,
and I was frequently obliged to get out and walk, to avoid curvature of
the spine. Yet, incredible though it seems, Japanese women often travel
by these kagos. They certainly looked a thousand times more comfortable
than I felt; but then, the Japanese are short, and, moreover, are used to
bending up their limbs like knife-blades when they seat themselves.
[Illustration: SWINGING LIKE A PENDULUM.]
On a broad road, one experiences no sense of danger in these swinging
cars; but, once in a while, when I was being carried thus along a path
two feet in width,--a mountain grazing my right elbow, and a ravine one
thousand feet in depth just under my left shoulder-blade, I used to
wonder just what would happen if one of these men should stumble; or if,
becoming weary of their load, they should suddenly shoot me outward into
space like a stone from a catapult. I prudently kept on good terms with
my kago-men, and never refused them when they asked the privilege of
halting to take a smoke.
[Illustration: HUMAN PONIES.]
Almost everything in Japan is small; nor is a Japanese pipe an exception
to the rule. It is about as large as a lead-pencil with a child's thimble
at the end. Three whiffs are all that any man can take from them, and
the wad of tobacco thus consumed is just about the size of a two-grain
quinine pill. Hence, the long inhalations of our smokers, the drooping
backward of the head, the languid lifting of the eyes to watch the rings
of perfumed smoke float lazily away,--all these are unknown to the
Japanese. With them,--three little puffs, and all is over. This seems,
however, to satisfy them completely, and with the air of one who has
dined well, they knock the ashes from the tiny thimbles, and resume their
march. After about four hours of this kago-riding we reached the summit
of a mountain pass, called Otemetoge. From this point a glorious vista
met our gaze.
[Illustration: STOPPING FOR A SMOKE.]
[Illustration: A JAPANESE LADY EN ROUTE.]
Behind us, in the distance, lay Miyanóshita and its neighboring villages,
resembling a group of islands in an ocean of green foliage. Far off
upon the heights a line of sunlit buildings gleamed like whitecaps
on a bright-green sea. Nearer, and almost at our feet, some objects
glittering in the noonday light attracted our attention, and these,
examined through a field-glass, proved to be a foaming mountain stream
and silvery cascade. At first we hardly dared to look on the other side
of the pass, lest we should experience disappointment. But fortune
favored us. The sky was clear; and gazing eagerly toward the west, we
saw, directly opposite our point of observation, the grand old sacred
mountain of Japan,--the world-renowned Fuji-yama.
[Illustration: FUJI-YAMA.]
It made me fairly catch my breath to look for the first time upon this
noble peak, whose form had been portrayed on almost every specimen of
Japanese art that I had seen from childhood. I felt as if I had been
ushered into the presence of some mighty sovereign, whose name and deeds
and splendid court had from my earliest years called forth my admiration.
A score of interesting traits render a study of this mountain valuable.
It is, in the first place, a volcano,--the tallest of those fiery
furnaces whose devastations cast a lurid light along the path of Japanese
history. Its last eruption was in 1707, when all the plain around its
base was buried deep with cinders, and ashes fell fifty miles away. Yet
even now, although no wreathe of smoke surrounds its brow, it sends forth
steam through several apertures, much as a captive serpent hisses though
its fangs are drawn. The little spur upon its southern slope is due to
the last eruption. Before that, both of its curving sides were perfectly
symmetrical.
The ascent of Fuji involves a long, hard climb for weary miles through
lava-ashes, sometimes ankle-deep. The violence of the wind on certain
portions of the mountain is proverbial, and by some travelers has been
described as so appalling that they were fearful lest some furious
blast might blow them into space and scatter their remains over a dozen
provinces.
[Illustration: THE SACRED PEAK.]
[Illustration: APPROACH TO A SHRINE.]
[Illustration: THE GOD OF WIND.]
One cannot wonder that the Japanese have always deemed this mountain
sacred. A perfect, silver-crested pyramid, over twelve thousand feet
in height, rising in one majestic sweep from sea to sky; changing its
color constantly from dawn to dusk, like some officiating priest, a
mediator between God and man, assuming consecrated robes of purple,
orange, violet, green, and gold,--how could man help regarding it as a
glorious shrine inhabited by Deity itself? To its mighty base, as to
some incense-burning altar, more than ten thousand reverent pilgrims
annually come to make the arduous ascent; and to relieve their hardships,
"rest-houses" have been built at intervals along the path, while, even on
the summit, the three entrances to the volcano's crater, which is four
hundred feet deep, are marked by sacred gateways.
[Illustration: MENDICANT PILGRIMS.]
Most of these pilgrims wear upon their shoulders the garments almost
universally worn in stormy weather by the Japanese peasants,--a kind of
water-proof, made of straw or grass, to shed the rain and snow. These
vary from a finely-plaited matting to the cheaper, rougher grades,
which make the wearer's back look like the roof of a thatched cottage.
Upon their heads are hats of split bamboo or straw, that bear a comical
resemblance to enormous mushrooms, and serve as sunshades or umbrellas,
according to the condition of the weather. We met such pilgrims
everywhere throughout Japan. At least a hundred thousand people thus
become, in summer-time, religious tramps, and make their way to sacred
islands, holy mountain-tops, and shrines whose names would fill a lengthy
catalogue.
[Illustration: THE PILGRIM GARB.]
[Illustration: STATUE OF JIZO]
[Illustration: CROSSING THE TEN-PROVINCE PASS.]
[Illustration: VILLAGE STREET.]
[Illustration: A LOVELY WALK NEAR HAKONE.]
Many of these itinerant worshipers solicit alms to help them on their
way; but there are also associations of these pilgrims, whose members
pay one cent a month into a common treasury. From such a tax as that,
however, the treasury never becomes congested, and hence the number of
those who travel is necessarily limited. When, therefore, the pilgrim
season opens, a certain number of the wanderers, chosen by lot, visit
the shrines and represent those whose circumstances compel them to
remain at home. These pilgrimages, it is said, are on the wane, but they
are still popular. Only five years ago, at the festival of one famous
shrine, twenty-one thousand people alighted in two days at a country
railway station where the daily average is three hundred and fifty; and
to another sacred shrine about two hundred and fifty thousand pilgrims
annually come.
[Illustration: APPROACH TO THE TEMPLE AT NARA.]
Another charming excursion in Japan led us across the "Ten-province pass"
to Atami on the southern coast. Of course it had to be made in chairs
or kagos; but such slight hardships sink to insignificance when one
recalls delightful days spent in enjoying lovely scenery, inhaling pure,
invigorating air, and riding over mountain-paths on which the sunlight,
filtering through the trees, traced tremulous mosaics of alternate light
and shade.
[Illustration: ON THE SHORE OF HAKONE LAKE.]
Occasionally on this journey we came upon the sculptured effigy of some
protecting deity. We were especially impressed by one that was colossal
in dimensions, and had been carved laboriously from the natural cliff
eleven hundred years before. It represents the Buddhist god, Jizo, who
is the especial guardian of travelers and little children. Around
the base of this extraordinary figure were heaps of pebbles which had
been placed there, one by one, by wayfarers for centuries. This custom
originated in one of the most singular myths which religion has ever
produced, and is a striking proof of the fondness of the Japanese for
children. Upon the banks of the river, in the lower world, is said to
live a demon who catches little children as they try to cross, and makes
them work for him at his eternal task of piling stones upon the shore.
Every pebble laid at the statue's feet is thought to lighten the burden
of some little one below! Smilingly yielding to the influence of this
pathetic superstition, we ourselves left some pebbles, and then moved
onward down the mountain-side, in the same path pursued by all the
thousands who had here preceded us, like little boats upon the stream of
Time.
[Illustration: THE MIKADO'S PALACE, HAKONE.]