CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II. TYPES OF HOUSES.

CHAPTER III. INTERIORS

CHAPTER IV. INTERIORS (Continued).

CHAPTER V. ENTRANCES AND APPROACHES.

CHAPTER VI. GARDENS.

CHAPTER VII. MISCELLANEOUS MATTERS.

CHAPTER VIII. THE ANCIENT HOUSE.

CHAPTER IX. THE NEIGHBORING HOUSE.

GLOSSARY.

Footnotes

ILLUSTRATIONS

Fig. 1.—View in Tokio, showing shops and houses. (Copied from a

Photograph).

Fig. 2.—View in Tokio, showing temples and gardens. (Copied from a

Photograph).

Fig. 3.—View of Enoshima (Copied from a Photograph).

Fig. 4.—Side Framing.

Fig 5.—Pounding Down Foundation Stones.

Fig. 6.—Foundation Stones.

Fig. 7.—Section of Framing.

Fig. 8.—Framing.

Fig. 9.—End‐framing of Large Building.

Fig 10.—Roof‐frame of Large Building.

Fig. 11.—Roof‐framing of a Kura.

Fig. 12.—Framing of an Ordinary Two‐stored House.

Fig. 13.—Outside Braces.

Fig. 14.—Outside Brace.

Fig. 15.—Ornamental Brace.

Fig. 16.—Method of Cutting Timber for House‐Finish.

Fig. 17.—Section of Post Grooved for Partition.

Fig. 18.—Bundle of Boards.

Fig. 19.—Section of ceiling.

Fig. 20.—Ceiling‐rafters Supported Temporarily.

Fig. 21.—Method of Suspending Ceiling as Seen from Above.

Fig. 22.—Ceiling‐Board Weighted with Stones.

Fig. 23.—Ceiling‐Board in Closet.

Fig. 24.—Method of Removing Boards from a Bundle to Preserve Uniformity of

Grain.

Fig. 25.—Arrangement of Square Tiles on Side of House.

Fig. 26.—A Japanese Carpenter’s Vice.

Fig. 27.—Carpenters’ Tools in Common Use.

Fig. 28.—A Japanese Nail‐Basket.

Fig. 29.—A Carpenter’s Marking‐Brush Made of Wood.

Fig. 30.—The Sumi‐Tsubo.

Fig. 31.—The Japanese Plumb‐Line.

Fig. 32.—Ancient Carpenter (copied from an old painting).

Fig. 33.—Street in Kanda Ku, Tokio.

Fig. 34.—Street in Kanda Ku, Tokio.

Fig. 35.—Block of Cheap Tenements in Tokio.

Fig. 36.—Street View of Dwelling in Tokio.

Fig. 37.—View of Dwelling from Garden, Tokio.

Fig. 38.—Dwelling Near Kudan, Tokio.

Fig. 39.—Country Inn in Rikuzen.

Fig. 40.—Country Inn in Rikuzen.

Fig. 41.—House Near Mororan, Yezo.

Fig. 42.—Bay Window, Village of Odzuka, Rikuzen.

Fig. 43.—Three‐storied House in Rikuchiu.

Fig. 44.—Street in the Suburbs of Morioka.

Fig. 45.—Old Farm‐house in Kabutoyama.

Fig. 46.—Entrance to Court‐yard of Old House in Kioto.

Fig. 47.—Old house in Kioto. Court‐yard view.

Fig. 48.—Old House in Kioto, Garden View.

Fig. 49.—House in Tokio.

Fig. 50.—View from the Second Story of Dwelling in Imado, Tokio.

Fig. 51.—Old Inn in Mishima, Suruga.

Fig. 52.—Village Street in Nasaike, Yamashiro.

Fig. 53.—Shore of Osumi.

Fig. 54.—Farmer’s Houses in Mototaru‐Midsu, Osumi.

Fig. 55.—Fishermen’s Huts in Hakodate.

Fig. 56.—Fishermen’s Huts in Enoshima.

Fig. 57.—Kura in Tokio.

Fig. 58.—Kura, or Fire‐proof Buildings in Tokio.

Fig. 59.—Old House in Hakodate.

Fig. 60.—Hisashi.

Fig. 61.—Bunch of shingles, nails, and hammer.

Fig. 62.—Shingler’s Hand.

Fig. 63.—Bamboo Strips on Shingle‐Roof.

Fig. 64.—Roof with shingles partly laid.

Fig. 65.—Ridge on shingle‐roof in Musashi.

Fig. 66.—Water‐conductor.

Fig. 67.—Ridge of tiled roof.

Fig. 68.—Ornamental coping of tiles.

Fig. 69.—Ornamental coping of tiles.

Fig. 70.—Ornamental coping of tiles.

Fig. 71.—Eaves of tiled roof.

Fig. 72.—Nagasaki tiled roof.

Fig. 73.—Hon‐gawara, or True Tile.

Fig. 74.—Yedo‐gawara, or Yedo‐tile eaves.

Fig. 75.—French tile eaves.

Fig. 76.—Itami tile for ridge.

Fig. 77.—Stone roof.

Fig. 78.—Thatch, and thatcher’s implements.

Fig. 79.—End of roof in Fujita, Iwaki.

Fig. 80.—Tiled ridge of thatched roof in Iwaki.

Fig. 81.—Tiled ridge of thatched roof in Musashi.

Fig. 82.—Bamboo‐ridge of thatched roof in Musashi.

Fig. 83.—Thatched Roof, near Tokio.

Fig. 84.—Thatched roof, near Tokio.

Fig. 85.—Ridge of thatched roof at Kabutoyama, Musashi.

Fig. 86.—Crest of thatched roof in Omi.

Fig. 87.—Tile and bamboo ridge of thatched roof, Takatsuki, Setsu.

Fig. 88.—Crest of thatched roof in Mikawa.

Fig. 89.—Crest of thatched roof in Kioto.

Fig. 90.—Crest of thatched roof in Mikawa.

Fig. 91.—Crest of thatched roof in Kii.

Fig. 92.—Thatched roof in Totomi.

Fig. 93.—Crest of thatched roof in Kii.

Fig. 94.—Crest of thatched roof in Ise.

Fig. 95.—Paved space under eaves of thatched roof.

Fig. 96.—Guest‐room in Hachi‐ishi.

Fig. 97.—Plan of dwelling‐house in Tokio. _P,_ Parlor or Guest‐room; _S,_

Sitting‐room; _D,_ Dining‐room; _L,_ Library, _St,_ Study, _SR_ Servants’

Room; _B,_ Bed‐room, _K,_ Kitchen, _H,_ Hall; _V_ Vestibule; _C,_ Closet;

_T_ Tokonoma; _Sh,_ Shrine, _U_ and _L,_ Privy.

Fig. 98.—Plan of dwelling‐house in Tokio. _P,_ Parlor or Guest‐room; _B,_

Bed‐room, _K,_ Kitchen, _SR_ Servants’ Room; _BR,_ Bath Room, _E, E,_

Side‐entrances, _V_ Vestibule; _H,_ Hall; _WR,_ Waiting‐room; _C,_ Closet;

_T_ Tokonoma; _U_ and _L,_ Privy.

Fig. 99.—Plan of a portion of a Daimyo’s residence.

Fig. 100.—Mat.

Fig. 101.—Arrangement of mats in different‐sized rooms.

Fig. 102.—Attitude of woman in sitting.

Fig. 103.—Section through verandah and guest‐room.

Fig. 104.—Reed‐screen.

Fig. 105.—Sliding panel.

Fig. 106.—Hikite.

Fig. 107.—Hikite.

Fig. 108.—Hikite.

Fig. 109.—Hikite.

Fig. 110.—Hikite with cord.

Fig. 111.—Straightening shōji frame.

Fig. 112.—Shōji with ornamental frame.

Fig. 113.—Portion of Toko‐Bashira.

Figs. 114, 115, 116, and 117. Ornamental‐headed nails.

Fig. 118.—Shelves contrasted with conventional drawing of mist, or clouds.

Fig. 119.—Guest‐room.

Fig. 120.—Guest‐room, with recesses in corners.

Fig. 121.—Guest‐room showing circular window.

Fig. 122.—Guest‐room showing writing‐place.

Fig. 123.—Guest‐room with wide tokonoma.

Fig. 124.—Small guest‐room.

Fig. 125.—Guest‐room of dwelling in Tokio.

Fig. 126.—Guest‐koom in Kiyomidzu, Kioto.

Fig. 127.—Guest‐room of dwelling in Tokio.

Fig. 128.—Guest‐room of a country house.

Fig. 129.—Corner of guest‐room.

Fig. 130.—Tea‐room in Nan‐en‐ji temple, Kioto.

Fig. 131.—Tea‐room in Fujimi pottery, Nagoya.

Fig. 132.—Tea‐room in Miyajima.

Fig. 133.—Kitchen for tea‐utensils.

Fig. 134.—Tea‐room in Imado, Tokio.

Fig. 135.—Corner of the tea‐room shown in Fig. 134.

Fig. 136.—Room in second story of an old building in Kawagoye, Musashi.

Fig. 137.—Room in kura fitted up as a library, Tokio.

Fig. 138.—Framework for draping room in kura.

Fig. 139.—Space between dwelling and kura, roofed over and utilized as a

kitchen in Tokio.

Fig. 140.—Doorway of an old kura in Kioto.

Fig. 141.—Key to kura, and bunch of keys.

Fig. 142.—Padlock to kura.

Fig. 143.—Panelled ceiling.

Fig. 144.—Ramma in Hakòne Village.

Fig. 145.—Bamboo ramma.

Fig. 146.—Porcelain ramma in Tokio.

Fig. 147.—Ramma of bamboo and perforated panel.

Fig. 148.—Carved wood ramma in Gojio Village, Yamato.

Fig. 149.—Carved wood ramma in town of Yatsushiro, Higo.

Fig. 150.—Ramma, composed of two thin boards, in Nagoya, Owari.

Fig. 151.—Shōji for window.

Fig. 152.—Shōji‐frame for window.

Fig. 153.—Shōji‐frame for window.

Fig. 154.—Window.

Fig. 155.—Biyō‐bu, or folding screen.

Fig. 156.—Wrought metallic mounting of screen frame.

Fig. 157.—Screen‐box.

Fig. 158.—Foot‐weight for screen.

Fig. 159.—Furosaki Biyō‐bu.

Fig. 160.—Model of tsui‐tate in pottery.

Fig. 161.—Tsui‐tate.

Fig. 162.—Bamboo curtains.

Fig. 163.—Bamboo curtain.

Fig. 164.—Curtain screen.

Fig. 165.—Fringed curtains.

Fig. 166.—Slashed curtain.

Fig. 167.—Kitchen in old farmhouse at Kabutoyama.

Fig. 168.—Kitchen range.

Fig. 169.—Kitchen range, with smoke‐conductor.

Fig. 170.—Kitchen in city house.

Fig. 171.—Braziers.

Fig. 172.—Bamboo rack and knife case.

Fig. 173.—Ji‐zai

Fig. 174.—Fireplace in country house.

Fig. 175.—The best fireplace.

Fig. 176.—An adjustable device for supporting a kettle.

Fig. 177.—Kitchen closet, drawers, cupboard, and stairs combined.

Fig. 178.—Stair‐rail.

Fig. 179.—Steps to verandah.

Fig. 180.—Bath‐tub with side oven.

Fig. 181.—Bath‐tub with inside flue.

Fig. 182.—Bath‐tub in section, with oven outside the room.

Fig. 183.—Bath‐tub with outside heating‐chamber.

Fig. 184.—Bath‐tub with iron base.

Fig. 185.—Lavatory in country inn.

Fig. 186.—Lavatory in private house.

Fig. 187.—Lavatory copied from Japanese book.

Fig. 188‐192.—Forms of towel‐racks.

Fig. 193.—Forms of pillow in common use.

Fig. 194.—Showing position of head in resting on pillow.

Fig. 195.—Heating arrangement in floor.

Fig. 196.—Elbow‐rest.

Fig. 197.—Common hibachi.

Fig. 198.—Hibachi.

Fig. 199.—Hibachi.

Fig. 200.—Hibachi arranged for company.

Fig. 201.—Tabako‐bon.

Fig. 202.—Tabako‐box.

Fig. 203.—Tabako‐box.

Fig. 204.—Pan for holding burning charcoal.

Fig. 205.—Iron candlestick.

Fig. 206.—Lamp.

Fig. 207.—Lamp.

Fig. 208.—Lamp and laquered stand.

Fig. 209.—Wall‐lamp.

Fig. 210.—Lamp.

Fig. 211.—Pottery lamp.

Fig. 212.—Pottery lamp.

Fig. 213.—Pottery candlestick.

Fig. 214.—Fixed street‐lantern.

Fig. 215.—Household shrine.

Fig. 216.—Swallows’ nests in private house.

Fig. 217.—Interior of privy.

Fig. 218.—Privy of inn in Hachi‐ishi village, Nikko.

Fig. 219.—Privy connected with a merchant’s house in Asakusa.

Fig. 220.—Interior of a privy in Asakusa.

Fig. 221.—Main entrance to house.

Fig. 222.—Plan of vestibule and hall.

Fig. 223.—Shoe‐closet.

Fig. 224.—Lantern‐shelf in hall.

Fig. 225.—Grated entrance, with sliding door.

Fig. 226.—Verandah floor.

Fig. 227.—Verandah of an old Kioto house.

Fig. 228.—Balcony rail.

Fig. 229.—Balcony rail and perforated panels.

Fig. 230.—Balcony rail.

Fig. 231.—Balcony rail.

Fig. 232.—Balcony rail.

Fig. 233.—Rain‐door lock unbolted.

Fig. 234.—Rain‐door lock bolted.

Fig. 235.—Knob for rain‐door.

Fig. 236.—Corner‐roller for rain‐door.

Fig. 237.—Verandah showing swinging closet for rain‐doors, and also

Chōdzu‐bachi.

Fig. 238.—Chōdzu‐bachi.

Fig. 239.—Chōdzu‐bachi.

Fig. 240.—Chōdzu‐bachi.

Fig. 241.—Chōdzu‐bachi and Hisashi‐yen.

Fig. 242.—Gateway in yashiki building.

Fig. 243.—Gateway of city house from within.

Fig. 244.—Gate‐rattle.

Fig. 245.—Bolt for little sliding door in gateway.

Fig. 246.—Gateway to city residence.

Fig. 247.—Gateway to city residence.

Fig. 248.—Gateway near Tokio.

Fig. 249.—Gateway.

Fig. 250.—Rustic gateway.

Fig. 251.—Rustic gateway.

Fig. 252.—Rustic garden gate.

Fig. 253.—Garden gateway.

Fig. 254.—Ordinary wooden fence.

Fig. 255.—Stake fence.

Fig. 256.—Bamboo fence.

Fig. 257.—Fence in Hakòne village.

Fig. 258.—Rustic garden‐fence.

Fig. 259.—Sode‐gaki.

Fig. 260.—Sode‐gaki.

Fig. 261.—Sode‐gaki.

Fig. 262.—Barred opening in a fence.

Fig. 263.—Garden tablet.

Fig. 264.—Ishi‐dōrō in Tokio

Fig. 265.—Ishi‐dōrō in Miyajima

Fig. 266.—Ishi‐dōrō in Shirako, Musashi.

Fig. 267.—Ishi‐dōrō in Utsunomiya.

Fig. 268.—Stone foot‐bridge.

Fig. 269.—Stone foot‐bridge.

Fig. 270.—Garden brook and foot‐bridge.

Fig. 271.—Summer‐house in private garden, Tokio.

Fig. 272.—Summer‐house in imperial garden, Tokio.

Fig. 273.—Rustic opening in summer‐house, Kobe.

Fig. 274.—Rustic opening in summer‐house, Okazaki.

Fig. 275.—Various forms of garden paths.

Fig. 276.—Wooden trough for plants.

Fig. 277.—Plant‐pot of old plank.

Fig. 278.—Dwarf plum.

Fig. 279.—Dwarf pine.

Fig. 280.—Curiously trained pine‐tree.

Fig. 281.—Dwarfed pine.

Fig. 282.—Shrubs wrapped in straw for winter.

Fig. 283.—Showing approaches to house. (Reproduced from “Chikusan

teizoden”, a Japanese work.)

Fig. 284.—Little garden belonging to the priests of a buddhist temple.

(Reproduced from “Chikusan teizoden”, a Japanese work.)

Fig. 285.—Garden of a merchant. (Reproduced from “Chikusan teizoden”, a

Japanese work.)

Fig. 286.—Garden of a daimio. (Reproduced from “Chikusan teizoden”, a

Japanese work.)

Fig. 287.—Ancient form of well‐curb.

Fig. 288.—Stone well‐curb in private garden.

Fig. 289.—Wooden well‐frame.

Fig. 290.—Rustic well‐frame.

Fig. 291.—Aqueduct reservoir at Miyajima, Aki.

Fig. 292.—Aqueducts at Miyajima, Aki.

Fig. 293.—Well at Kaga Yashiki, Tokio.

Fig. 294.—Hanging flower‐holder of bamboo.

Fig. 295.—Hanging flower‐holder of basket‐work.

Fig. 296.—Cheap bracket for flower‐pots.

Fig. 297.—Curious combination of buckets for flowers.

Fig. 298.—Framed picture, with supports.

Fig. 299.—Hashira kakushi.

Fig. 300.—Writing‐desk.

Fig. 301.—Staging on house‐roof, with bucket and brush.

Fig. 302.—Box for transporting articles.

Fig. 303.—Malay house near singapore.

Fig. 304.—Ridge of roof in Cholon, Anam.

Fig. 305.—Interior of Malay house, showing bed‐place. Singapore.

Fig. 306.—Aino house, Yezo.

Fig. 307.—Aino house, Yezo.

To William Sturgis Bigelow, M.D. In memory of the delightful experiences

in the “Heart of Japan” this volume is affectionately inscribed by the

AUTHOR.

PREFACE

In an exceedingly interesting article on the early study of the Dutch in

Japan, by Professor K. Mitsukuri,(1) the author has occasion to refer to

the uncle of one of the three famous Japanese scholars who translated into

Japanese a Dutch book on anatomy. He says this uncle “Miyada was almost

eccentric in his disposition. He held it to be a solemn duty to learn any

art or accomplishment that might be going out of the world, and then

describe it so fully that it might be preserved to posterity.” The nephew

was faithful to his uncle’s instructions, and “though following medicine

for his profession, he took it upon himself to learn ‘hitoyogiri,’—a

certain kind of music which was well‐nigh forgotten,—and even went so far

as to study a kind of dramatic acting.”

Though not animated by Miyada’s spirit when I set about the task of

collecting the material embodied in this work, I feel now that the labor

has not been altogether in vain, as it may result in preserving many

details of the Japanese house,—some of them trivial, perhaps,—which in a

few decades of years may be difficult, if not impossible, to obtain.

Whether this has been accomplished or not, the praiseworthy ambition of

the old Japanese scholar might well be imitated by the ethnological

student in his investigations,—since nothing can be of greater importance

than the study of those nations and peoples who are passing through

profound changes and readjustments as a result of their compulsory contact

with the vigorous, selfish, and mercantile nations of the West,

accompanied on their part by a propagandism in some respects equally

mercenary and selfish.

Thanks to the activity of a number of students of various nationalities in

the employ of the Japanese government, and more especially to the

scholarly _attachés_ of the English legation in Japan, much information

has been obtained concerning this interesting people which might otherwise

have been lost. If investigators and students would bear in mind the

precept of Miyada, and seize upon those features in social life—forms of

etiquette, frames, ceremonies, and other manners and customs—which are the

first to change in any contact with alien races, a very important work

would be accomplished for the future sociologist. The native Japanese

student might render the greatest service in this work by noting down from

the older persons, before it is too late, the social features and habits

of his own people as they were before the late Revolution. Profound

changes have already taken place in Japan, and other changes are still in

progress. As an indication of the rapidity of some of these changes,

reference might be made to an interesting memoir, by Mr. McClatchie, on

“The Feudal Mansions of Yedo;” and though this was written but ten years

after the revolution of 1868, he speaks of the _yashiki, _or fortified

mansions where dwelt the feudal nobles of Japan, as in “many cases

deserted, ruined, and fallen into decay;” and he describes observances and

manners connected with the _yashiki,_ such as “etiquette of the gates,”

“exchange of yashiki,” “rules relating to fires,” etc., which were then

obsolete at the time of his writing, though in full force but a few years

before.

I shall be particularly grateful for any facts concerning the Japanese

house beyond those recorded in this book, or which may be already in my

possession, as also for the correction of any errors which may have

unavoidably been made in the text. Should a second edition of this work be

called for, such new information and corrections will be incorporated

therein, with due acknowledgments.

I wish to express my gratitude to Dr. W. S. Bigelow, whose delightful

companionship I enjoyed during the collection of many of the facts and

sketches contained in this volume, and whose hearty sympathy and judicious

advice were of the greatest service to me. To Professor and Mrs. E. F.

Fenollosa, also, my thanks are especially due for unnumbered kindnesses

during my last visit to Japan.

I would also here return my thanks to a host of Japanese friends who have

at various times, in season and out of season, granted me the privilege of

sketching their homes and examining their dwellings from top to bottom in

quest of material for this volume; who furthermore have answered

questions, translated terms, hunted up information, and in many ways aided

me,—so that it may be truly said, that had this assistance been withheld,

but little of my special work could have been accomplished. Any effort to

recall the names of all these friends would lead to the unavoidable

omission of some; nevertheless, I must specially mention Mr. H. Takamine,

Director of the Tokio Normal School; Dr. Seiken Takenaka; Mr. Tsunejiro

Miyaoka; Mr. S. Tejima, Director of the Tokio Educational Museum;

Professors Toyama, Yatabe, Kikuchi, Mitsukuri, Sasaki, and Kozima, and Mr.

Ishikawa and others, of the University of Tokio; Mr. Isawa and Mr. Kodzu,

Mr. Fukuzawa, the distinguished teacher and author; Mr. Kashiwagi, Mr.

Kohitsu, and Mr. Masuda. I must also acknowledge my indebtedness to Mr. H.

Kato, Director of the University of Tokio, to Mr. Hattori, Vice‐director,

and to Mr. Hamao and other officers of the Educational Department, for

many courtesies, and for special accommodations during my last visit to

Japan. Nor must I omit to mention Mr. Tachibana, Director of the nobles’

school; Mr. Kikkawa, Mr. Tahara, Mr. Kineko, Mr. Ariga, Mr. Tanada, Mr.

Nakawara, Mr. Yamaguchi, Mr. Negishi of Kabutoyama, and many others, who

supplied me with various notes of interest. In this country I have been

specially indebted to Mr. A. S. Mihara and Mr. S. Fukuzawa, for valuable

assistance during the preparation of the text; and to Mr. Arakawa, Mr.

Shiraishi, Mr. Shugio, and Mr. Yamada of New York, for timely aid.

To the Board of Trustees of the Peabody Academy of Science, who,

recognizing the ethnological value of the work I had in hand, granted me a

release from my duties as Director until I could complete it; and to

Professor John Robinson, Treasurer of the Academy, and Mr. T. F. Hunt, for

friendly suggestions and helpful interest, as also to Mr. Percival Lowell

for numerous courtesies,—my thanks are due. I must not forget to record

here my indebtedness to Mr. A. W. Stevens, chief proof‐reader of the

University Press, for his invaluable assistance in the literary part of my

labors, and for his faithful scrutiny of the proof‐sheets. At the same

time I desire to thank Miss Margarette W. Brooks for much aid given to me

in my work; my daughter, Miss Edith O. Morse, for the preliminary tracings

of the drawings from my journals; Mr. L. S. Ipsen, who drew the unique and

beautiful design for the cover of this book; Mr. A. V. S. Anthony for

judicious supervision of the process‐work in the illustrations; the

University Press for its excellent workmanship in the printing of the

book; and the Publishers for the generous manner in which they have

supported the undertaking. I will only add, that the excellent Index to be

found at the end of this book was prepared by Mr. Charles H. Stevens.

EDWARD S. MORSE.

Salem, Mass., U. S. A.

November, 1885.

INTRODUCTION

Within twenty years there has gradually appeared in our country a variety

of Japanese objects conspicuous for their novelty and beauty,—lacquers,

pottery and porcelain, forms in wood and metal, curious shaped boxes,

quaint ivory carvings, fabrics in cloth and paper, and a number of other

objects as perplexing in their purpose as the inscriptions which they

often bore. Most of these presented technicalities in their work as

enigmatical as were their designs, strange caprices in

their ornamentation which, though violating our hitherto recognized

proprieties of decoration, surprised and yet delighted us. The

utility of many of the objects we were at loss to understand; yet somehow

they gradually found lodgment in our rooms, even displacing certain

other objects which we had been wont to regard as decorative, and

our rooms looked all the prettier for their substitution. We found it

difficult to formulate the principles upon which such art was based, and

yet were compelled to recognize its merit. Violations of perspective,

and colors in juxtaposition or coalescing that before we had regarded as

inharmonious, were continually reminding us of Japan and her curious

people. Slowly our methods of decoration became imbued with these

ways so new to us, and yet so many centuries old to the people

among whom these arts had originated. Gradually yet surely, these

arts, at first so little understood, modified our own methods of

ornamentation, until frescos wall‐papers, wood‐work and carpets,

dishes and table‐cloth metal work and book‐covers, Christmas cards and

even railroad advertisements were decorated, modelled, and designed after

Japanese style.

It was not to be wondered at that many of our best artists,—men like

Coleman, Vedder, Lafarge, and others,—had long fore recognized the

transcendent merit of Japanese decorative art. It was however somewhat

remarkable that the public at large should come so universally to

recognize it, and in so short a time. Not only our own commercial

nation, but art‐loving France, musical Germany, and even conservative

England yielded to this invasion. Not that new designs were evolved by

us; on the contrary, we were content to adopt Japanese designs outright,

oftentimes with a mixture of incongruities that would have driven Japanese

decorator stark mad. Designs appropriate for the metal mounting of a

sword blazed out on our ceilings; motives fror a heavy bronze formed the

theme for the decoration of friable pottery; and suggestions from light

crape were woven into hot carpets to be trodden upon. Even with this

mongrel admixture, it was a relief by any means to have driven out of our

dwelling the nightmares and horrors of design we had before endured so

meekly,—such objects, for example, as a child in dead brass, kneeling in

perpetual supplication on a dead brass cushion, while adroitly balancing

on its head a receptacle for kerosene oil; and a whole regiment of

shapes equally monstrous. Our walls no longer assailed us with

designs that wearied our eyes and exasperated our brains by their

inanities. We were no longer doomed to wipe our feet on cupids, horns

of plenty, restless tigers, or scrolls of architectural magnitudes.

Under the benign influence of this new spirit it came to be realized that

it was not always necessary to tear a flower in bits to recognize its

decorative value; and that the simplest objects in Nature—a spray of

bamboo, a pine cone, a cherry blossom—in the _right place_ were quite

sufficient to satisfy our craving for the beautiful.

The Japanese exhibit at the Centennial exposition in Philadelphia came to

us as a new revelation; and the charming onslaught of that unrivalled

display completed the victory. It was then that the Japanese craze took

firm hold of us. Books on Japan rapidly multiplied, especially books on

decorative art; but it was found that such rare art could be properly

represented only in the most costly fashion, and with plates of marvellous

elaboration. What the Japanese were able to do with their primitive

methods of block‐printing and a few colors, required the highest genius of

our artists and chromo‐lithographers; and even then the subtile spirit

which the artist sought for could not be caught.

The more intelligent among our collectors soon recognized that the

objects from Japan divided themselves into two groups,—the one represented

by a few objects having great intrinsic merit, with a refinement and

reserve of decoration; the other group, characterized by a more florid

display and less delicacy of treatment, forming by far the larger

number, consisting chiefly of forms in pottery, porcelain, lacquer and

metal work. These last were made by the Japanese expressly for the foreign

market, many of them having no place in their economy, and with few

exceptions being altogether too gaudy and violent to suit the Japanese

taste. Our country became flooded with them; even the village grocery

displayed them side by side with articles manufactured at home for the

same class of customers, and equally out of place in the greater marts

of the country. To us, however, these objects were always pretty, and

were moreover so much cheaper, with all their high duties and importer’s

profits, than the stuff to which we had been accustomed, that they helped

us out amazingly at every recurring Christmas. Of the better class of

objects, nearly all of them were originally intended either for personal

use or adornment,—such as clasps, little ivory carvings, sectional

lacquer‐boxes, fans, etc.; or mere objects of household use, such as

hanging flower‐holders, bronze and pottery vases, incense burners,

lacquer cabinets, dishes, etc.

Naturally great curiosity was awakened to know more about the social life

of this remarkable people; and particularly was it desirable to know the

nature of the house that sheltered such singular and beautiful works of

art. In response to the popular demand, book after book appeared; but with

some noteworth exceptions they repeated the same information, usually

prefaced by an account of the more than special privileges accorded to

their authors by the Japanese government, followed by history of the

Japanese empire from its first emperor down the present time,—apparently

concise enough, but interminable with its mythologies, wars, decays,

restorations, etc. Then we had the record of an itinerary of a few weeks

at some treaty port, or of a brief sojourn in the country, where, to

illustrate the bravery of the author, imaginary dangers were conjured up;

a wild guess at the ethnical enigma, erroneous conceptions of Japanese

character and customs,—the whole illustrated by sketches derived from

previous works on the same subject, or from Japanese sources, often

without due credit being given; and finally we were given a forecast of

the future of Japan, with an account of the progress its public were

making in adopting outside customs, with no warning of the acts of _hara‐

kiri_ their arts would be compelled to perform in the presence of so many

influences alien to their nature. As an illustration of this, could the

force of absurdity go further than the attempt to introduce the Italian

school of painting,—and this in the land of a Kano; or the melancholy act

of a foreign employé of one of the colleges in Tokio, in inducing or

compelling all its pupils to wear hot woollen Scotch caps,—converting a

lot of handsome dark‐haired boys, with graceful and picturesque dress,

into a mob of ridiculous monkeys?

In these books on Japan we look in vain for any but the most general

description of what a Japanese home really is; even Rein’s work, so

apparently monographic, dismisses the house and garden in a few pages.(2)

The present work is an attempt to fill this deficiency, by describing not

only the variety of dwellings seen in Japan, but by specializing more in

detail the variety of structure seen within the building.

In the following pages occasion has often led to criticism and comparison.

Aside from any question of justice, it would seem as if criticism, to be

of any value, should be comparative; that is to say, in any running

commentary on Japanese ways and conditions the parallel ways and

conditions of one’s own people should be as frankly pointed out, or at

least recognized. When one enters your city,—which is fairly clean and

tidy—complains of its filthy streets, the assumption is that the streets

of his own city are clean; and when these are found to dirty beyond

measure, the value of the complaint or criticism is at once lost, and the

author immediately set down as a wilful maligner. Either we should follow

the dictum of the great moral Teacher, and hesitate to behold the mote in

others’ eyes or else in so doing we should consider the beam in our own.

This duty, however, even to fair and unprejudiced minds, becomes a

matter of great difficulty. It is extraordinary how blind one may be to

the faults and crimes of his own people, and how reluctant to admit them.

We sing heroic soldier‐songs with energy and enthusiasm, and are amazed to

find numbers in a Japanese audience disapproving, because of

the bloody deeds celebrated in such an exultant way. We read daily our

papers the details of the most blood‐curdling crimes, and often of the

most abhorrent and unnatural ones; and yet we make no special reflections

on the conditions of society where such things are possible, or put

ourselves much out of the way to arouse the people to a due sense of the

degradation and stain on the community at large because of such things.

But we go to another country and perhaps find a new species of vice; its

novelty at once arrests our attention, and forthwith we howl at the

enormity of the crime and the degradation of the nation in which such a

crime could originate, send home the most exaggerated accounts, malign

the people without stint, and then prate to them about Christian charity!

In the study of another people one should if possible look through

colorless glasses; though if one is to err in this respect, it were better

that his spectacles should be rose‐colored than grimed with the smoke of

prejudice. The student of Ethnology as a matter of policy, if he can put

himself in no more generous attitude, had better err in looking kindly and

favorably at a people whose habits and customs he is about to study. It is

human nature the world over to resist adverse criticism; and when one is

prowling about with his eyes darkened by the opaquest of uncorrected

provincial glasses, he is repelled on all sides; nothing is accessible to

him; he can rarely get more than a superficial glance at matters. Whereas,

if he tries honestly to seek out the better attributes of a people, he is

only too welcome to proceed with any investigation he wishes to make; even

customs and ways that appear offensive are freely revealed to him, knowing

that he will not wilfully distort and render more painful what is at the

outset admitted on all hands to be bad.

We repeat that such investigation must be approached in a spirit of

sympathy, otherwise much is lost or misunderstood. This is not only true

as to social customs, but also as to studies in other lines of research as

well. Professor Fenollosa, the greatest authority on Japanese pictorial

art, says most truthfully that “it is not enough to approach these

delicate children of the spirit with the eye of mere curiosity, or the

cold rigid standard of an alien school. One’s heart must be large enough

to learn to love, as the Japanese artist loves, before the veil can be

lifted to the full splendor of their hidden beauties.”

In this spirit I have endeavored to give an account of Japanese homes and

their surroundings. I might have dealt only with the huts of the poorest,

with the squalor of their inmates, and given a meagre picture of Japanese

life; or a study might have been made of the homes of the wealthy

exclusively, which would have been equally one‐sided. It seemed to me,

however, that a description of the homes of the middle classes, with

occasional reference to those of the higher and lower types, would perhaps

give a fairer picture of the character and structure of Japanese homes and

houses, than had I pursued either of the other courses. I may have erred

in looking through spectacles tinted with rose; but if so, I have no

apology to make. Living for some time among a people with whom I have had

only the most friendly relations, and to whom I still owe a thousand debts

of gratitude, it would be only a contemptible and jaundiced temperament

that could under such circumstances write otherwise than kindly, or fail

to make generous allowance for what appear to others as grave faults and

omissions.

In regard to Japanese houses, there are many features not to my liking;

and in the ordinary language of travellers I might speak of these houses

as huts and hovels, cold and cheerless, etc., and give such a generic

description of them as would include under one category all the houses on

the Pacific coast from Kamtchatka to Java. Faults these houses have; and

in criticising them I have endeavored to make my reflections comparative;

and I have held up for comparison much that is objectionable in our own

houses, as well as the work done by our own artisans. But judging from the

rage and disgust expressed in certain English publications, where one

writer speaks of “much of the work for wage as positively despicable,” and

another of the miseries entailed by the unscientific builder, my

comparison may legitimately extend to England also.(3)

In the present volume the attempt has been made to describe the Japanese

house and its immediate surroundings in general and in detail. No one

realizes better than the author the meagreness in certain portions of this

work. It is believed, however, that with the many illustrations, and the

classification of the subject‐matter, much will be made clear that before

was vague. The figures are in every case fac‐similes by one of the relief

processes of the author’s pen‐and‐ink drawings, and with few exceptions

are from his own sketches made on the spot; so that whatever they lack in

artistic merit, they make up in being more or less accurate drawings of

the objects and features depicted. The material has been gleaned from an

illustrated daily journal, kept by the author during three successive

residences in that delightful country, embracing travels by land from the

northwest coast of Yezo to the southernmost parts of Satsuma.

The openness and accessibility of the Japanese house are a distinguishing

feature of Japan; and no foreigner visits that country without bringing

away delightful memories of the peculiarly characteristic dwellings of the

Japanese. On the occasion of the author’s last visit to Japan he also

visited China, Anam, Singapore, and Java, and made studies of the houses

of these various countries, with special reference to the Japanese house

and its possible affinities elsewhere.

CHAPTER I.

THE HOUSE.

A BIRD’S‐EYE view of a large city in Japan presents an appearance quite

unlike that presented by any large assemblage of buildings at home. A view

of Tokio, for example, from some elevated point reveals a vast sea of

roofs,—the gray of the shingles and dark slate‐color of the tiles, with

dull reflections from their surfaces, giving a sombre effect to the whole.

The even expanse is broken here and there by the fire‐proof buildings,

with their ponderous tiled roofs and ridges and pure white or jet‐black

walls. These, though in color adding to the sombre appearance, form, with

the exception of the temples, one of the most conspicuous features in the

general monotony. The temples are indeed conspicuous, as they tower far

above the pigmy dwellings which surround them. Their great black roofs,

with massive ridges and ribs, and grand sweeps and white or red gables,

render them striking objects from whatever point they are viewed. Green

masses of tree‐foliage springing from the numerous gardens add some life

to this gray sea of domiciles.

It is a curious sight to look over a vast city of nearly a million

inhabitants, and detect no chimney with its home‐like streak of blue

smoke. There is of course no church spire, with its usual architectural

inanities. With the absence of chimneys and the almost universal use of

charcoal for heating purposes, the cities have an atmosphere of remarkable

clearness and purity; so clear, indeed, is the atmosphere that one may

look over the city and see distinctly revealed the minuter details of the

landscape beyond. The great sun‐obscuring canopy of smoke and fumes that

forever shroud some of our great cities is a feature happily unknown in

Japan.

Having got such a bird’s‐eye view of one city, we have seen them all,—the

minor variations consisting, for the most part, in the inequalities of the

sites upon which they rest. A view of Kioto, for example, as seen from

some high point, is remarkably beautiful and varied, as the houses creep

out between the hills that hem it in. In Nagasaki the houses literally

rise in tiers from the water’s edge to the hills immediately back, there

to become blended with the city of the dead which caps their summits. A

view of Nagasaki from the harbor is one of surpassing interest and beauty.

Other large cities, such as Sendai, Osaka, Hiroshima, and Nagoya present

the same uniform level of roofs.

The compact way in which in the cities and towns the houses are crowded

together, barely separated by the narrow streets and lanes which cross

like threads in every direction, and the peculiarly inflammable material

of which most of the buildings are composed, explain the lightning‐like

rapidity with which a conflagration spreads when once fairly under way.

In the smaller villages the houses are stretched along the sides of a

single road, nearly all being arranged in this way, [Fig. 1.—View in

Tokio, showing shops and houses. (Copied from a Photograph).]

Fig. 1.—View in Tokio, showing shops and houses. (Copied from a

Photograph).

[Fig. 2.—View in Tokio, showing temples and gardens. (Copied from a

Photograph).]

Fig. 2.—View in Tokio, showing temples and gardens. (Copied from a

Photograph).

sometimes extending for a mile or more. Rarely ever does one see a cross

street or lane, or evidences of compactness, save that near the centre of

this long street the houses and shops often abut, while those at the end

of the streets have ample space between them. Some villages, which from

their situation have no chance of expanding, become densely crowded: such

for example is the case of Enoshima, near Yokohama, wherein the main

street runs directly from the shore, by means of a series of steps at

intervals, to a flight of stone steps, which lead to the temples and

shrines at the summit of the island. This street is flanked on both sides

by hills; and the ravine, of which the street forms the central axis, is

densely crowded with houses, the narrowest of alley‐ways leading to the

houses in the rear. A fire once started would inevitably result in the

destruction of every house in the village.

It is a curious fact that one may ride long distances in the country

without passing a single dwelling, and then abruptly enter a village. The

entrance to a village is often marked by a high mound of earth on each

side of the road, generally surmounted by a tree; or perhaps the evidences

of an old barrier are seen in the remains of gate‐posts or a stone‐wall.

Having passed through the village one enters the country again, with its

rice‐fields and cultivated tracts, as abruptly as he had left it. The

villages vary greatly in their appearance: some are extremely trim and

pretty, with neat flower‐plats in front of the houses, and an air of taste

and comfort everywhere apparent; other villages present marked evidences

of poverty, squalid houses with dirty children swarming about them.

Indeed, the most striking contrasts are seen between the various villages

one passes through in a long overland trip in Japan.

It is difficult to imagine a more dreary and dismal sight than the

appearance of some of these village streets on a rainy night. No brightly‐

lighted window cheers the traveller; only lines of light glimmer through

the chinks of the wooden shutters with which every house is closed at

night. On pleasant evenings when the paper screens alone are closed, a

ride through a village street is often rendered highly amusing by the

grotesque shadow‐pictures which the inmates are unconsciously projecting

in their movements to and fro.

[Fig. 3.—View of Enoshima (Copied from a Photograph).]

Fig. 3.—View of Enoshima (Copied from a Photograph).

In the cities the quarters for the wealthier classes are not so sharply

defined as with us, though the love for pleasant outlooks and beautiful

scenery tends to enhance the value of certain districts, and consequently

to bring together the wealthier classes. In nearly all the cities,

however, you will find the houses of the wealthy in the immediate vicinity

of the habitations of the poorest. In Tokio one may find streets, or

narrow alleys, lined with a continuous row of the cheapest shelters; and

here dwell the poorest people. Though squalid and dirty as such places

appear to the Japanese, they are immaculate in comparison with the

unutterable filth and misery of similar quarters in nearly all the great

cities of Christendom. Certainly a rich man in Japan would not, as a

general thing, buy up the land about his house to keep the poorer classes

at a distance, for the reason that their presence would not be

objectionable, since poverty in Japan is not associated with the

impossible manners of a similar class at home.

Before proceeding with a special description of Japanese homes, a general

description of the house may render the chapters that are to follow a

little more intelligible.

The first sight of a Japanese house,—that is, a house of the people,—is

certainly disappointing. From the infinite variety and charming character

of their various works of art, as we had seen them at home, we were

anticipating new delights and surprises in the character of the house; nor

were we on more intimate acquaintance to be disappointed. As an American

familiar with houses of certain types, with conditions among them

signifying poverty and shiftlessness, and other conditions signifying

refinement and wealth, I was not competent to judge the relative merits of

a Japanese house.

The first sight, then, of a Japanese house is disappointing; it is

unsubstantial in appearance, and there is a meagreness of color. Being

unpainted, it suggests poverty; and this absence of paint, with the gray

and often rain‐stained color of the boards, leads one to compare it with

similar unpainted buildings at home,—and these are usually barns and sheds

in the country, and the houses of the poorer people in the city. With

one’s eye accustomed to the bright contrasts of American houses with their

white, or light, painted surfaces; rectangular windows, black from the

shadows within, with glints of light reflected from the glass; front door

with its pretentious steps and portico; warm red chimneys surmounting all,

and a general trimness of appearance outside, which is by no means always

correlated with like conditions within,—one is too apt at the outset to

form a low estimate of a Japanese house. An American finds it difficult

indeed to consider such a structure as a dwelling, when so many features

are absent that go to make up a dwelling at home,—no doors or windows such

as he had been familiar with; no attic or cellar; no chimneys, and within

no fire‐place, and of course no customary mantle; no permanently enclosed

rooms; and as for furniture, no beds or tables, chairs or similar

articles,—at least, so it appears at first sight.

One of the chief points of difference in a Japanese house as compared with

ours lies in the treatment of partitions and outside walls. In our houses

these are solid and permanent; and when the frame is built, the partitions

form part of the framework. In the Japanese house, on the contrary, there

are two or more sides that have no permanent walls. Within, also, there

are but few partitions which have similar stability; in their stead are

slight sliding screens which run in appropriate grooves in the floor and

overhead. These grooves mark the limit of each room. The screens may be

opened by sliding them back, or they may be entirely removed, thus

throwing a number of rooms into one great apartment. In the same way the

whole side of a house may be flung open to sunlight and air. For

communication between the rooms, therefore, swinging doors are not

necessary. As a substitute for windows, the outside screens, or _shōji,_

are covered with white paper, allowing the light to be diffused through

the house.

Where external walls appear they are of wood unpainted, or painted black;

and if of plaster, white or dark slate colored. In certain classes of

buildings the outside wall, to a height of several feet from the ground,

and sometimes even the entire wall, may be tiled, the interspaces being

pointed with white plaster. The roof may be either lightly shingled,

heavily tiled, or thickly thatched. It has a moderate pitch, and as a

general thing the slope is not so steep as in our roofs. Nearly all the

houses have a verandah, which is protected by the widely‐overhanging eaves

of the roof, or by a light supplementary roof projecting from beneath the

eaves.

While most houses of the better class have a definite porch and vestibule,

or _genka,_ in houses of the poorer class this entrance is not separate

from the living room; and since the interior of the house is accessible

from two or three sides, one may enter it from any point. The floor is

raised a foot and a half or more from the ground, and is covered with

thick straw mats, rectangular in shape, of uniform size, with sharp square

edges, and so closely fitted that the floor upon which they rest is

completely hidden. The rooms are either square or rectangular, and are

made with absolute reference to the number of mats they are to contain.

With the exception of the guest‐room few rooms have projections or bays.

In the guest‐room there is at one side a more or less deep recess divided

into two bays by a slight partition; the one nearest the verandah is

called the _tokonoma._ In this place hang one or more pictures, and upon

its floor, which is slightly raised above the mats, rests a flower vase,

incense burner, or some other object. The companion bay has shelves and a

low closet. Other rooms also may have recesses to accommodate a case of

drawers or shelves. Where closets and cupboards occur, they are finished

with sliding screens instead of swinging doors. In tea‐houses of two

stories the stairs, which often ascend from the vicinity of the kitchen,

have beneath them a closet; and this is usually closed by a swinging door.

The privy is at one corner of the house, at the end of the verandah;

sometimes there are two at diagonal corners of the house. In the poorer

class of country houses the privy is an isolated building with low

swinging door, the upper half of the door‐space being open.

In city houses the kitchen is at one side or corner of the house;

generally in an L, covered with a pent roof. This apartment is often

towards the street, its yard separated from other areas by a high fence.

In the country the kitchen is nearly always under the main roof. In the

city few out‐buildings such as sheds and barns are seen. Accompanying the

houses of the better class are solid, thick‐walled, one or two storied,

fire‐proof buildings called _kura,_ in which the goods and chattels are

stored away at the time of a conflagration. These buildings, which are

known to the foreigners as “godowns,” have one or two small windows and

one door, closed by thick and ponderous shutters. Such a building usually

stands isolated from the dwelling, though often in juxtaposition; and

sometimes, though rarely, it is used as a domicile.

In the gardens of the better classes summer‐houses and shelters of rustic

appearance and diminutive proportions are often seen. Rustic arbors are

also to be seen in the larger gardens. Specially constructed houses of

quaint design and small size are not uncommon; in these the ceremonial

tea‐parties take place. High fences, either of board or bamboo, or solid

walls of mud or tile with stone foundations, surround the house or enclose

it from the street. Low rustic fences border the gardens in the suburbs.

Gateways of various styles, some of imposing design, form the entrances;

as a general thing they are either rustic and light, or formal and

massive.

Whatever is commonplace in the appearance of the house is towards the

street, while the artistic and picturesque face is turned towards the

garden, which may be at one side or in the rear of the house,—usually in

the rear. Within these plain and unpretentious houses there are often to

be seen marvels of exquisite carving, and the perfection of cabinet work;

and surprise follows surprise, as one becomes more fully acquainted with

the interior finish of these curious and remarkable dwellings.

In the sections which are to follow, an attempt will be made by

description and sketches to convey some idea of the details connected with

the structure and inside finish of the Japanese house.

There is no object in Japan that seems to excite more diverse and adverse

criticism among foreigners than does the Japanese house; it is a constant

source of perplexity and annoyance to most of them. An Englishman

particularly, whom Emerson says he finds “to be him of all men who stands

firmest in his shoes,” recognizes but little merit in the apparently frail

and perishable nature of these structures. He naturally dislikes the

anomaly of a house of the lightest description oftentimes sustaining a

roof of the most ponderous character, and fairly loathes a structure that

has no king‐post, or at least a queen‐post, truss; while the glaring

absurdity of a house that persists in remaining upright without a

foundation, or at least without his kind of a foundation, makes him

furious. The mistake made by most writers in criticising Japanese house‐

structure, and indeed many other matters connected with that country, is

that these writers do not regard such matters from a Japanese stand‐point.

They do not consider that the nation is poor, and that the masses are in

poverty; nor do they consider that for this reason a Japanese builds such

a house as he can afford, and one that after all is as thoroughly adapted

to his habits and wants as ours is to our habits and wants.

The observation of a Japanese has shown him that from generation to

generation the houses of his people have managed to sustain themselves;

and if in his travels abroad he has chanced to visit England, he will

probably recall the fact that he saw more dilapidated tenements, tumble‐

down shanties, broken‐backed farm‐houses, cracked walls, and toppling

fences in a single day in that virtuous country where there are no

typhoons or earthquakes, than he would see in a year’s travel in his own

country.

When one of these foreign critical writers contemplates the framework of a

Japanese house, and particularly the cross‐beams of the roof, and finds no

attempt at trussing and bracing, he is seized with an eager desire to go

among these people as a missionary of trusses and braces,—it is so obvious

that much wood might be saved! In regard to the Japanese house‐frame,

however, it is probable that the extra labor of constructing braces and

trusses would not compensate for the difference saved in the wood.

Rein, in his really admirable book on Japan, says “the Japanese house

lacks chiefly solidity and comfort.” If he means comfort for himself and

his people, one can understand him; if he means comfort for the Japanese,

then he has not the faintest conception of the solid comfort a Japanese

gets out of his house. Rein also complains of the evil odors of the closet

arrangements, though his complaints refer more particularly to the crowded

inns, which are often in an exceedingly filthy condition as regards these

necessary conveniences,—and one is led to inquire what the Japanese would

think of similar features in Germany, where in the larger cities the

closet may be seen opening directly into the front hall, and in some cases

even from the dining‐room! Bad as some of these conditions are in Japan,

they are mild in comparison with like features in Germany. The filthy

state of the larger cities, in this respect, may be indicated by the fact

that the death‐rate of Munich a few years ago was forty‐four, and Kaulbach

died of cholera in that city in mid‐winter! Indeed, the presence of

certain features in every bed‐chamber at home and abroad are looked upon

as surpassingly filthy by every Japanese,—as they truly are.

Rein and other writers speak of the want of privacy in Japanese dwellings,

forgetting that privacy is only necessary in the midst of vulgar and

impertinent people,—a class of which Japan has the minimum, and the so‐

called civilized races—the English and American particularly—have the

maximum.

For my part, I find much to admire in a Japanese house, and some things

not to my comfort. The sitting posture on the floor is painful until one

gets accustomed to it; and, naturally, I find that our chairs are painful

to the Japanese, until they become accustomed to them. I found the

Japanese house in winter extremely cold and uncomfortable; but I question

whether their cold rooms in winter are not more conducive to health than

are our apartments with our blistering stoves, hot furnaces or steam‐

heaters; and as to the odors arising from the closet in certain country

inns, who does not recall similar offensive features in many of our

country inns at home, with the addition of slovenly yards and reeking

piggeries? I question, too, whether these odors are more injurious to the

health than is the stifling air from a damp and noisome cellar, which not

only filters through our floors, but is often served to us hot through

scorching furnaces. Whittier’s description of the country house,—

The best room

Stifling with cellar‐damp, shut from the air

In hot midsummer,—

is only too true of many of our American houses both in the country and

city.

Whether the Japanese house is right or wrong in its plan and construction,

it answers admirably the purposes for which it was intended. A fire‐proof

building is certainly beyond the means of a majority of this people, as,

indeed, it is with us; and not being able to build such a dwelling, they

have from necessity gone to the other extreme, and built a house whose

very structure enables it to be rapidly demolished in the path of a

conflagration. Mats, screen‐partitions, and even the board ceilings can be

quickly packed up and carried away. The roof is rapidly denuded of its

tiles and boards, and the skeleton framework left makes but slow fuel for

the flames. The efforts of the firemen in checking the progress of a

conflagration consist mainly in tearing down these adjustable structures;

and in this connection it may be interesting to record the curious fact

that oftentimes at a fire the streams are turned, not upon the flames, but

upon the men engaged in tearing down the building!

The improvements, however, that are imperatively demanded in Japanese

house‐structure are such modifications as shall render the building less

inflammable. While these inflammable houses may be well enough in the

suburbs or in country villages, they are certainly quite out of place in

cities; and here, indeed, the authorities are justified in imposing such

restrictions as shall not bear too heavily upon the people.

The Japanese should clearly understand that insuperable difficulties are

to be encountered in any attempt to modify their style of dwellings, and

that many of such proposed modifications are neither judicious nor

desirable. That slight changes for safety may be effected, however, there

can be no doubt. Through the agency of science, means may be found by

which outside woodwork may be rendered less inflammable,—either by fire‐

proof paint or other devices.

The mean path of Tokio conflagrations has been ingeniously worked out by

Professor Yamakawa, from data extending back two hundred years; and in

this path certain areas might be left open with advantage. Fire‐proof

blocks in foreign style, such as now exist on the Ginza, may be ultimately

constructed in this path. Since the last great conflagration, the Tokio

authorities have specified certain districts within which shingled roofs

shall not be made; and where such roofs existed, the authorities have

compelled the substitution of tin, zinc, or tiled roofs. Above all, let

there be a reorganization, under Government, of the present corrupt fire‐

brigades. Such changes will certainly lead to good results; but as to

altering the present plan of house‐building and present modes of living,

it is not only impracticable but well‐nigh impossible. If such changes are

effected, then will perish many of the best features of true Japanese art,

which has been the surprise and admiration of Western nations, and of

which in the past they have been the unwitting cause of the modification

and degradation it has already undergone.

[Fig. 4.—Side Framing.]

Fig. 4.—Side Framing.

The frame‐work of an ordinary Japanese dwelling is simple and primitive in

structure; it consists of a number of upright beams which run from the

ground to the transverse beams and inclines of the roof above. The

vertical framing is held together either by short strips which are let in

to appropriate notches in the uprights to which the bamboo lathing is

fixed, or by longer strips of wood which pass through mortises in the

uprights and are firmly keyed or pinned into place (_fig. 4_). In larger

houses these uprights are held in position by a frame‐work near the

ground. There is no cellar or excavation beneath the house, nor is there a

continuous stone foundation as with us. The uprights rest directly, and

without attachment, upon single uncut or rough‐hewn stones, these in turn

resting upon others which have been solidly pounded into the earth by

means of a huge wooden maul worked by a number of men (_fig. 5_). In this

way the house is perched upon these stones, with the floor elevated at

least a foot and a half or two feet above the ground. In some cases the

space between the uprights is boarded up; this is generally seen in Kioto

houses. In others the wind has free play beneath; and while this exposed

condition renders the house much colder and more uncomfortable in winter,

the inmates are never troubled by the noisome air of the cellar, which, as

we have said, too often infects our houses at home. Closed wooden fences

of a more solid character are elevated in this way; that is, the lower

rail or sill of the fence rests directly upon stones placed at intervals

apart of six or eight feet. The ravages of numerous ground‐insects, as

well as larvae, and the excessive dampness of the ground at certain

seasons of the year, render this method of building a necessity.

[Fig 5.—Pounding Down Foundation Stones.]

Fig 5.—Pounding Down Foundation Stones.

The accurate way in which the base of the uprights is wrought to fit the

inequalities of the stones upon which they rest, is worthy of notice. In

the Emperor’s garden we saw a two‐storied house finished in the most

simple and exquisite manner. It was, indeed, like a beautiful cabinet,

though disfigured by a bright‐colored foreign carpet on its lower floor.

The uprights of this structure rested on large oval beach‐worn stones

buried endwise in the ground; and upon the smooth rounded portions of the

stones, which projected above the level of the ground to a height of ten

inches or more, the uprights had been most accurately fitted (_fig. 6_).

The effect was extremely light and buoyant, though apparently insecure to

the last degree; yet this building had not only withstood a number of

earthquake shocks, but also the strain of severe typhoons, which during

the summer months sweep over Japan with such violence. If the building be

very small, then the frame consists of four corner‐posts running to the

roof. In dwellings having a frontage of two or more rooms, other uprights

occur between the corner‐posts. As the rooms increase in number through

the house, uprights come in the corners of the rooms, against which the

sliding‐screens, or _fusuma,_ abut. The passage of these uprights through

the room to the roof above gives a solid constructive appearance to the

house. When a house has a verandah,—and nearly every house possesses this

feature on one or more of its sides,—another row of uprights starts in a

line with the outer edge of the verandah. Unless the verandah be very

long, an upright at each end is sufficient to support the supplementary

roof which shelters it. These uprights support a crossbeam, upon which the

slight rafters of the supplementary roof rest.

[Fig. 6.—Foundation Stones.]

Fig. 6.—Foundation Stones.

[Fig. 7.—Section of Framing.]

Fig. 7.—Section of Framing.

[Fig. 8.—Framing.]

Fig. 8.—Framing.

This cross‐beam is often a straight unhewn stick of timber from which the

bark has been removed (_fig. 49_). Indeed, most of the horizontal framing‐

timbers, as well as the rafters, are usually unhewn,—the rafters often

having the bark on, or perhaps being accurately squared sticks; but in

either case they are always visible as they project from the sides of the

house, and run out to support the overhanging eaves. The larger beams and

girders are but slightly hewn; and it is not unusual to see irregular‐

shaped beams worked into the construction of a frame, often for their

quaint effects (_fig. 7_), and in many cases as a matter of economy (fig.

39).

[Fig. 9.—End‐framing of Large Building.]

Fig. 9.—End‐framing of Large Building.

For a narrow house, if the roof be a gable, a central upright at each end

of the building gives support to the ridge‐pole from which the rafters run

to the eaves (_fig. 8_). If the building be wide, a transverse beam

traverses the end of the building on a level with the eaves, supported at

intervals by uprights from the ground; and upon this short uprights rest,

supporting another transverse beam above, and often three or more tiers

are carried nearly to the ridge. Upon these supports rest the horizontal

beams which run parallel with the ridge‐pole, and which are intended to

give support to the rafters (_fig. 9_).

In the case of a wide gable‐roof there are many ways to support the frame,

one of which is illustrated in the following outline (_fig. 10_). Here a

stout stick of timber runs from one end of the house to the other on a

vertical line with the ridge‐pole, and on a level with the eaves. This

stick is always crowning, in order to give additional strength. A few

thick uprights start from this to support the ridge‐pole above; from these

uprights beams run to the eaves; these are mortised into the uprights, but

at different levels on either side in order not to weaken the uprights by

the mortises. From these beams run short supports to the horizontal

rafters above.

[Fig 10.—Roof‐frame of Large Building.]

Fig 10.—Roof‐frame of Large Building.

The roof, if it be of tile or thatch, represents a massive weight,—the

tiles being thick and quite heavy, and always bedded in a thick layer of

mud. The thatch, though not so heavy, often becomes so after a long rain.

The roof‐framing consequently has oftentimes to support a great weight;

and though in its structure looking weak, or at least primitive in design,

yet experience must have taught the Japanese carpenter that their methods

were not only the simplest and most economical, but that they answered all

requirements. One is amazed to see how many firemen can gather upon such a

roof without its yielding. I have seen massive house‐roofs over two

hundred years old, and other frame structures of a larger size and of far

greater age, which presented no visible signs of weakness. Indeed, it is a

very unusual sight to see a broken‐backed roof in Japan.

The beams that support the roofs of the fire‐proof buildings, or _kura,_

are usually rough‐hewn and of ponderous dimensions. It would seem that

here, at least, the foreign method of trussing might be an economy of

material, besides giving much greater strength; and yet the expense of

reducing these beams to proper dimensions, in the absence of saw‐mills and

other labor‐saving machinery, with the added expense of iron rods, bolts,

etc., would more than counterbalance the saving of material (_fig. 11_).

In _Fig. 11_ is shown the universal method of roof support; namely,

horizontal beams resting upon perpendicular walls, these in turn

supporting vertical beams, which again give support to horizontal beams.

That the Japanese have been familiar with the arch is seen in some of

their old stone bridges; but they seem as averse to using this principle

in their house‐architecture as were the Egyptians and Hindus. Fergusson,

in his illustrated Handbook of Architecture, page xxxv, says: “So

convinced were the Egyptians and Greeks of this principle, that they never

used any other construction‐expedient than a perpendicular wall or prop,

supporting a horizontal beam; and half the satisfactory effect of their

buildings arises from their adhering to this simple though expensive mode

of construction. They were perfectly acquainted with the use of the arch

and its properties, but they knew that its employment would introduce

complexity and confusion into their designs, and therefore they wisely

rejected it. Even to the present day the Hindus refuse to use the arch,

though it has long been employed in their country by the Mahometans. As

they quaintly express it, ‘an arch never sleeps;’ and it is true that by

its thrusting and pressure it is always tending to tear a building to

pieces. In spite of all counterpoises, whenever the smallest damage is

done it hastens the ruin of a building which, if more simply constructed,

might last for ages.”

[Fig. 11.—Roof‐framing of a Kura.]

Fig. 11.—Roof‐framing of a Kura.

When the frame is mortised, the carpenter employs the most elaborate

methods of mortising, of which there are many different formulas; yet I

was informed by an American architect that their ways had no advantage as

regards strength over those employed by our carpenters in doing the same

work. There certainly seems to be much unnecessary work about many of

their framing‐joints. This same gentleman greatly admired the way in which

the Japanese carpenter used the adze, and regretted that more of this kind

of work was not done in America. In scarfing beams a common form of joint

is made, precisely similar to that made by our carpenters (_fig. 4_). This

joint is called a _Samisen tsugi,_ it being similar to the joint in the

handle of a guitar‐like instrument called a _samisen._(4)

[Fig. 12.—Framing of an Ordinary Two‐stored House.]

Fig. 12.—Framing of an Ordinary Two‐stored House.

Diagonal bracing in the frame‐work of a building is never seen. Sometimes,

however, the uprights in a weak frame are supported by braces running from

the ground at an acute angle, and held in place by wooden pins (_fig.

13_). Outside diagonal braces are sometimes met with as an ornamental

feature. In the province of Ise one often sees a brace or bracket made out

of an unhewn piece of timber, generally the proximal portion of some big

branch. This is fastened to an upright, and appears to be a brace to hold

up the end of a horizontal beam that projects beyond the eaves. These

braces, however, are not even notched into the upright, but held in place

by square wooden pins, and are of little use as a support for the

building, though answering well to hold fishing‐rods and other long poles,

which find here convenient lodgment (_fig. 14_).

[Fig. 13.—Outside Braces.]

Fig. 13.—Outside Braces.

In the village of Naruge, in Yamato, I noticed in an old inn a diagonal

brace which made a pleasing ornamental feature to a solid frame‐work, upon

which rested a ponderous supplementary roof, heavily tiled. As the

horizontal beams were supported by uprights beyond the ends of the

brackets, no additional strength was gained by these braces in question,

except as they might prevent fore and aft displacement. They were placed

here solely for their ornamental appearance; or at least that was all the

function they appeared to perform (_fig. 15_).

[Fig. 14.—Outside Brace.]

Fig. 14.—Outside Brace.

The frame‐work of a building is often revealed in the room in a way that

would delight the heart of an Eastlake. Irregularities in the form of a

stick are not looked upon as a hindrance in the construction of a

building. From the way such crooked beams are brought into use, one is led

to believe that the builder prefers them. The desire for rustic effects

leads to the selection of odd‐shaped timber. _Fig. 7_ represents the end

of a room, wherein is seen a crooked cross‐piece passing through a central

upright, which sustains the ridge‐pole.

In the finish of the rooms great care is shown in the selection and

preparation of the wood. For the better rooms the wood is selected as

follows: First, a stick of timber is sawed (_fig. 16_),—the central piece

_(A)_ being rejected as liable to split. Second, in the round upright post

that in most instances forms the front of the shallow partition that

divides one end of the best room into two bays or recesses, a deep groove

is cut, to admit the edge of the partition (fig. 17). By this treatment

the wood is not so apt to check or split.

[Fig. 15.—Ornamental Brace.]

Fig. 15.—Ornamental Brace.

Special details of the room will be described in other chapters. It may be

well to state here, however, that in the finish of the interior the

_daiku,_ or carpenter, has finished his work, and a new set of workmen,

the _sashi‐mono‐ya,_ or cabinetmakers, come in,—the rough framing and

similar work being done by the carpenter proper. Great care is taken to

secure wood that matches in grain and color; and this can be done only by

getting material that has come from the same log. In the lumberyard one

notices boards of uniform lengths tied up in bundles,—in fact tied up in

precisely the same position that the wood occupied in the trunk before it

was sawed into boards (_fig. 18_). So with other wood material,—the pieces

are kept together in the same manner. One never sees in a lumber‐yard a

promiscuous pile of boards, but each log having been cut into boards is

securely tied without displacement. As the rooms are made in sizes

corresponding to the number of mats they are to contain, the beams,

uprights, rafters, flooring‐boards, boards for the ceiling, and all strips

are got out in sizes to accommodate these various dimensions. The

dimensions of the mats from one end of the Empire to the other are

approximately three feet wide and six feet long; and these are fitted

compactly on the floor. The architect marks on his plan the number of mats

each room is to contain,—this number defining the size of the room; hence

the lumber used must be of definite lengths, and the carpenter is sure to

find these lengths at the lumber‐yard. It follows from this that but

little waste occurs in the construction of a Japanese house. Far different

is it with us in our extravagant and senseless methods of house‐building.

In our country, a man after building a wooden house finds his cellar and

shed choked to repletion with the waste of his new house, and for a year

or more at least has the grim comfort of feeding his fireplaces and

kitchen stove with rough and finished woods which have cost him at the

rate of four to eight cents per square foot!

[Fig. 16.—Method of Cutting Timber for House‐Finish.]

Fig. 16.—Method of Cutting Timber for House‐Finish.

[Fig. 17.—Section of Post Grooved for Partition.]

Fig. 17.—Section of Post Grooved for Partition.

[Fig. 18.—Bundle of Boards.]

Fig. 18.—Bundle of Boards.

[Fig. 19.—Section of ceiling.]

Fig. 19.—Section of ceiling.

The ordinary ceiling in a Japanese house consists of wide thin boards,

with their edges slightly overlapping. These boards at first sight appear

to be supported by narrow strips of wood like slender beams, upon which

the boards rest (_fig. 96_). On reflection, however, it soon becomes

apparent that these diminutive cross‐beams, measuring in section an inch

square or less, are altogether inadequate to support the ceiling, thin and

light as the boards composing it really are. As one examines the ceiling,

he finds no trace of pin or nail, and finally comes to wonder how the

strips and boards are held in place, and why the whole ceiling does not

sag.(5) The explanation is that the strips upon which the boards are to

rest are first stretched across the room at distances apart varying from

ten to eighteen inches. The ends of these strips are supported by a

moulding which is secured to the uprights of the wall. In cheap houses

this moulding in section is angular; notches are cut in the uprights, and

into these notches the sharp edge of the angular moulding rests and is

secured (_fig. 19_). The moulding is cut in this way to economize

material. The strips having been adjusted, they are brought to a uniform

level, but crowning slightly,—that is, the centre is a little higher than

the sides,—and are held in place either by a long board being placed

temporarily beneath them, and propped up from the floor below; or else a

long stick is placed beneath them, which is supported by a stout string

from the rafters above (_fig. 20_). A low staging is then erected on the

floor (the stud of the room rarely being over seven or eight feet); and

the carpenter standing between the cross‐strips, while elevated upon the

staging, adjusts the boards, one after the other, as they are passed up to

him. The first board is placed against the wall, its edge fitting into a

groove in the uprights; the next board is placed with its edge on the

first board, and then nailed from above, with wooden or bamboo pegs, to

the cross‐strips. Thus it is that no nail or peg holes appear in the

ceiling from below. Board after board is thus placed in position, each

board lapping slightly over the one before it, and each in turn being

slightly nailed to the strips. Each board has a deep wide groove ploughed

out near its lapping edge, so that it bends very readily, and is thus

brought down on the strip below. When the boards are carried in this

manner half way across the room, a long, narrow, and thick piece of wood,

say six feet in length, is placed on the last board laid, within an inch

of its free edge and parallel to it. This piece is firmly nailed to the

board upon which it rests, and into the cross‐strips below. To the edge of

this piece two or three long strips of wood are nailed vertically, the

upper ends being nailed to the nearest rafters above. In this way is the

ceiling suspended (_fig. 21_). After this has been done, the remaining

boards of the ceiling are placed in position and secured, one after

another, until the last is reached. To secure the last one in position the

carpenter gets down from his position and adopts other methods. One method

is to place this board on the last one secured and weight it with a few

heavy stones, and then it is moved along from below and placed in

position, where it remains quite as firm as if it had been lightly nailed

(_fig. 22_). In case there is a closet in the room or a recess, the last

board is sawed into two or three lengths, and these are placed in

position, one after another, and nailed from above to the cross‐

strips,—care being taken to have these sections come directly over the

cross‐strips, so that from below the appearance is that of a continuous

board. The sections are so arranged, as to length, that the last piece

comes in the closet; and this may either be weighted with stones or left

out altogether (_fig. 23_)

[Fig. 20.—Ceiling‐rafters Supported Temporarily.]

Fig. 20.—Ceiling‐rafters Supported Temporarily.

[Fig. 21.—Method of Suspending Ceiling as Seen from Above.]

Fig. 21.—Method of Suspending Ceiling as Seen from Above.

[Fig. 22.—Ceiling‐Board Weighted with Stones.]

Fig. 22.—Ceiling‐Board Weighted with Stones.

[Fig. 23.—Ceiling‐Board in Closet.]

Fig. 23.—Ceiling‐Board in Closet.

We have been thus explicit in describing the ceiling, because so few even

among the Japanese seem to understand precisely the manner in which it is

suspended.

In long rooms one is oftentimes surprised to see boards of great width

composing the ceiling, and apparently continuous from one end of the room

to the other. What appears to be a single board is in fact composed of a

number of short lengths. The matching of the grain and color is

accomplished by taking two adjacent boards in a bundle of boards, as

previously figured and described, and placing them so that the same ends

come together (_fig. 24_),—care being taken, of course, to have the joints

come directly over the cross‐pieces. The graining of the wood becomes

continuous, each line of the grain and the color being of course

duplicated and matched in the other board. Sometimes a number of lengths

of board may be continued in this way, and yet from below the appearance

is that of a single long piece.

[Fig. 24.—Method of Removing Boards from a Bundle to Preserve Uniformity

of Grain.]

Fig. 24.—Method of Removing Boards from a Bundle to Preserve Uniformity of

Grain.

The advantage of keeping all the boards of a given log in juxtaposition

will be readily understood. In our country a carpenter has to ransack a

lumber‐yard to find wood of a similar grain and color; and even then he

generally fails to get wood of precisely the same kind.

The permanent partitions within the house are made in various ways. In one

method, bamboo strips of various lengths take the place of laths. Small

bamboos are first nailed in a vertical position to the wooden strips,

which are fastened from one upright to another; narrow strips of bamboo

are then secured across these bamboos by means of coarse cords of straw,

or bark fibre (_fig. 4_). This partition is not unlike our own plaster‐

and‐lath partition. Another kind of partition may be of boards; and

against these small bamboo rods are nailed quite close together, and upon

this the plaster is put. Considerable pains are taken as to the

plastering. The plasterer brings to the house samples of various‐colored

sands and clays, so that one may select from these the color of his wall.

A good coat of plaster comprises three layers. The first layer, called

_shita‐nuri,_ is composed of mud, in which chopped straw is mixed; a

second layer, called _chu‐nuri,_ of rough lime, mixed with mud; the third

layer, called _uwa‐nuri,_ has the colored clay or sand mixed with

lime,—and this last layer is always applied by a skilful workman. Other

methods of treating this surface will be given in the chapter on

interiors.

Many of the partitions between the rooms consist entirely of light sliding

screens, which will be specially described farther on. Often two or more

sides of the house are composed entirely of these simple and frail

devices. The outside permanent walls of a house, if of wood, are made of

thin boards nailed to the frame horizontally,—as we lay clapboards on our

houses. These may be more firmly held to the house by long strips nailed

against the boards vertically. The boards may also be secured to the house

vertically, and weather‐strips nailed over the seams,—as is commonly the

way with certain of our houses. In the southern provinces a rough house‐

wall is made of wide slabs of bark, placed vertically, and held in place

by thin strips of bamboo nailed cross‐wise. This style is common among the

poorer houses in Japan; and, indeed, in the better class of houses it is

often used as an ornamental feature, placed at the height of a few feet

from the ground.

Outside plastered walls are also very common, though not of a durable

nature. This kind of wall is frequently seen in a dilapidated condition.

In Japanese picture‐books this broken condition is often shown, with the

bamboo slats exposed, as a suggestion of poverty.

In the cities, the outside walls of more durable structures, such as

warehouses, are not infrequently covered with square tiles, a board wall

being first made, to which the tiles are secured by being nailed at their

corners. These may be placed in diagonal or horizontal rows,—in either

case an interspace of a quarter of an inch being left between the tiles,

and the seams closed with white plaster, spreading on each side to the

width of an inch or more, and finished with a rounded surface. This work

is done in a very tasteful and artistic manner, and the effect of the

dark‐gray tiles crossed by these white bars of plaster is very striking

(_fig. 25_).

[Fig. 25.—Arrangement of Square Tiles on Side of House.]

Fig. 25.—Arrangement of Square Tiles on Side of House.

As the fire‐proof buildings, or _kura,_ are often used as dwelling—places,

a brief mention of their structure may be proper here. These buildings are

specially designed for fire‐proof storehouses. They are generally two

stories in height, with walls eighteen inches to two feet or more in

thickness, composed of mud plastered on to a frame‐work of great strength

and solidity. The beams are closely notched, and bound with a coarse‐

fibred rope; and small bamboos are closely secured to the beams. Short

coarse‐fibred ropes, a foot in length, are secured in close rows to the

crossbeams and uprights. All these preparations are made for the purpose

of more securely holding the successive layers of mud to be applied. As a

preliminary to this work a huge and ample staging is erected to completely

envelop the building. The staging, indeed, forms a huge cage, and upon

this straw mattings are hung so that the mud plastering shall not dry too

quickly. This cage is sufficiently ample to allow the men to work freely

around and beneath it. Layer after layer is applied, and a long time

elapses between these applications, in order that each layer may dry

properly. Two years or more are required in the proper construction of

one of these fire‐proof buildings. The walls having been finished, a coat

of plaster, or a plaster mixed with lamp‐black, is applied, and a fine

polished surface, like black lacquer, is produced. This polished black

surface is made by first rubbing with a cloth, then with silk, and finally

with the hand.

A newly‐finished _kura_ presents a remarkably solid and imposing

appearance. The roofs are of immense thickness, with enormous ridges

ornamented with artistic designs in stucco, and the ridges terminating

with ornamental tiles in high‐relief. The fine polish of these buildings

soon becomes impaired, and they finally assume a dull black or slaty

color; sometimes a coat of white plaster is applied. Upon the outside of

the wall a series of long iron hooks are seen_;_ these are to hold an

adjustable wooden casing which is often used to cover the walls, and thus

to protect them from the eroding action of the elements. These wooden

casings are placed against the buildings, proper openings being left

through which the iron hooks project, and long slender bars of wood

stretch across the wall, held in place by the upturned ends of the iron

hooks, and in turn holding the wooden casing in place.

The windows of the buildings are small, and each is closed either by a

sliding‐door of great thickness and solidity, or by double‐shutters

swinging together. The edges of these shutters have a series of rabbets,

or steps, precisely like those seen in the heavy doors of a bank‐safe. At

the time of a fire, additional precautions are taken by stopping up the

chinks of these closed shutters with mud, which is always at hand, ready

mixed for such an emergency. These buildings, when properly constructed,

seem to answer their purpose admirably; and after a conflagration, when

all the surrounding territory is absolutely flat;—for there are no

tottering chimneys or cavernous cellars and walls to be seen, as with

us,—these black, grimy _kura_ stand conspicuous in the general ruin. They

do not all survive, however, as smoke is often seen issuing from some of

them, indicating that, as in our own country, safes are not always fire‐

proof.

A somewhat extended experience with the common everyday carpenter at home

leads me to say, without fear of contradiction, that in matters pertaining

to their craft the Japanese carpenters are superior to American. Not only

do they show their superiority in their work, but in their versatile

ability in making new things. One is amazed to see how patiently a

Japanese carpenter or cabinet‐maker will struggle over plans, not only

drawn in ways new and strange to him, but of objects equally new,—and

struggle successfully. It is a notorious fact that most of the carpenters

in our smaller towns and villages are utterly incompetent to carry out any

special demand made upon them, outside the building of the conventional

two‐storied house and ordinary roof. They stand bewildered in the presence

of a window‐projection or cornice outside the prescribed ruts with which

they and their fathers were familiar. Indeed, in most cases their fathers

were not carpenters, nor will their children be; and herein alone the

Japanese carpenter has an immense advantage over the American, for his

trade, as well as other trades, have been perpetuated through generations

of families. The little children have been brought up amidst the odor of

fragrant shavings,—have with childish hands performed the duties of an

adjustable vise or clamp; and with the same tools which when children they

have handed to their fathers, they have in later days earned their daily

rice.

When I see one of our carpenters’ ponderous tool‐chests, made of polished

woods, inlaid with brass decorations, and filled to repletion with several

hundred dollars’ worth of highly polished and elaborate machine‐made

implements, and contemplate the work often done with them,—with everything

binding that should go loose, and everything rattling that should be

tight, and much work that has to be done twice over, with an indication

everywhere of a poverty of ideas,—and then recall the Japanese carpenter

with his ridiculously light and flimsy tool‐box containing a meagre

assortment of rude and primitive tools,—considering the carpentry of the

two people, I am forced to the conviction that civilization and modern

appliances count as nothing unless accompanied with a moiety of brains and

some little taste and wit.

It is a very serious fact that now‐a‐days no one in our country is

acquiring faithfully the carpenter’s trade. Much of this lamentable

condition of things is no doubt due to the fact that machine‐work has

supplanted the hand‐work of former times.(6) Doors, blinds, sashes,

mouldings are now turned out by the cord and mile, and all done in such

greedy haste, and with the greenest of lumber, that if it does not tumble

to pieces in transportation it is sure to do so very soon after entering

into the house‐structure. Nevertheless, the miserable truth yet remains

that any man who has nailed up a few boxes, or stood in front of a

circular saw for a few months, feels competent to exercise all the duties

of that most honorable craft,—the building of a house.(7)

It may be interesting, in this connection, to mention a few of the

principal tools one commonly sees in use among the Japanese carpenters.

After having seen the good and serviceable carpentry, the perfect joints

and complex mortises, done by good Japanese workmen, one is astonished to

find that they do their work without the aid of certain appliances

considered indispensable by similar craftsmen in our country. They have no

bench, no vise, no spirit‐level, and no bit‐stock; and as for labor‐saving

machinery, they have absolutely nothing. With many places which could be

utilized for water‐power, the old country saw‐mill has not occurred to

them.(8) Their tools appear to be roughly made, and of primitive design,

though evidently of the best‐tempered steel. The only substitute for the

carpenter’s bench is a plank on the floor, or on two horses; a square,

firm, upright post is the nearest approach to a bench and vise, for to

this beam a block of wood to be sawed into pieces is firmly held (_fig.

26_). A big wooden wedge is bound firmly to the post with a stout rope,

and this driven down with vigorous blows till it pinches the block which

is to be cut into the desired proportions.

[Fig. 26.—A Japanese Carpenter’s Vice.]

Fig. 26.—A Japanese Carpenter’s Vice.

In using many of the tools, the Japanese carpenter handles them quite

differently from our workman; for instance, he draws the plane towards him

instead of pushing it from him. The planes are very rude‐looking

implements. Their bodies, instead of being thick blocks of wood, are quite

wide and thin (_fig. 27_, _D, E),_ and the blades are inclined at a

greater angle than the blade in our plane. In some planes, however, the

blade stands vertical; this is used in lieu of the steel scrapers in

giving wood a smooth finish, and might be used with advantage by our

carpenters as a substitute for the piece of glass or thin plate of steel

with which they usually scrape the surface of the wood. A huge plane is

often seen, five or six feet long. This plane, however, is fixed in an

inclined position, upside down; that is, with the blade uppermost. The

board, or piece to be planed, is moved back and forth upon it.

Draw‐shaves are in common use. The saws are of various kinds, with teeth

much longer than those of our saws, and cut in different ways. Some of

these forms reminded me of the teeth seen in certain recently patented

saws in the United States. Some saws have teeth on the back as well as on

the front, one edge being used as a cross‐cut saw (_fig. 27_ _B, C)._ The

hand‐saw, instead of having the curious loop‐shaped handle made to

accommodate only one hand as with us, has a simple straight cylindrical

handle as long as the saw itself, and sometimes longer. Our carpenters

engage one hand in holding the stick to be sawed, while driving the saw

with the other hand; the Japanese carpenter, on the contrary, holds the

piece with his foot, and stooping over, with his two hands drives the saw

by quick and rapid cuts through the wood. This style of working and doing

many other things could never be adopted in this country without an

importation of Japanese backs. It was an extraordinary sight to see the

attitudes these people assumed in doing work of various kinds. A servant

girl, for example, in wiping up the floor or verandah with a wet cloth,

does not get down on her knees to do her work, but bending over while

still on her feet, she pushes the cloth back and forth, and thus in this

trying position performs her task.

[Fig. 27.—Carpenters’ Tools in Common Use.]

Fig. 27.—Carpenters’ Tools in Common Use.

The adze is provided with a rough handle bending considerably at the lower

end, not unlike a hockey‐stick (_fig. 27_, _A)._ In summer the carpenters

work with the scantiest clothing possible, and nearly always barefooted.

It is a startling sight to a nervous man to see a carpenter standing on a

stick of timber, hacking away in a furious manner with this crooked‐

handled instrument having an edge as sharp as a razor, and taking off

great chips of the wood within an inch of his naked toes. Never having

ourselves seen a toeless carpenter, or one whose feet showed the slightest

indication of his ever having missed the mark, we regarded as good

evidence of the unerring accuracy with which they use this serviceable

tool.

For drilling holes a very long‐handled awl is used. The carpenter seizing

the handle at the end, between the palms of his hands, and moving his

hands rapidly back and forth, pushing down at the same time, the awl is

made rapidly to rotate back and forth; as his hands gradually slip down on

the handle he quickly seizes it at the upper end again, continuing the

motion as before. One is astonished to see how rapidly holes are drilled

in this simple, yet effective way. For large holes, augers similar to ours

are used. Their chisel is also much like ours in shape. For nailing in

places above the easy reach of both hands they use a hammer, one end of

which is prolonged to a point; holding, then, a nail between the thumb and

finger with the hammer grasped in the same hand, a hole is made in the

wood with the pointed end of the hammer, the nail inserted and driven in.

A portable nail‐box is used in the shape of a round basket, to which is

attached a short cord with a button of wood or bamboo at the end; this is

suspended from a sash or cord that encircles the waist (_fig. 28_). The

shingler’s nail‐box has the bottom prolonged and perforated, so that it

may be temporarily nailed to the roof (_fig. 64_).

[Fig. 28.—A Japanese Nail‐Basket.]

Fig. 28.—A Japanese Nail‐Basket.

There are three implements of the Japanese carpenter which are inseparable

companions; these are the _magari‐gane,_ _sumi‐sashi,_ and _sumi‐tsubo._

The _magari‐gane_ is an iron square rather narrower than our square. The

_sumi‐sashi_ is a double‐ended brush made out of fibrous wood, rounded at

one end, and having a wide sharp edge at the other (_fig. 29_). The

carpenter always has with him a box containing cotton saturated with ink;

by means of the _sumi‐sashi_ and ink the carpenter can mark characters and

signs with the rounded end, or fine black lines with the sharp edge. One,

advantage attending this kind of a brush is that the carpenter can make

one at a moment’s notice. The _sumi‐tsubo_(_fig. 30_, _A, B_) is the

substitute for our carpenter’s chalk‐line; it is made of wood, often

curiously wrought, having at one end a cavity scooped out and filled with

cotton saturated with ink, and the other end has a reel with a little

crank. Upon the reel is wound a long cord, the free end of which passes

through the cotton and out through a hole at the end of the instrument. To

the end of the cord is secured an object resembling an awl. To make a line

on a plank or board the awl is driven into the wood, the cord is unreeled,

and in this act it becomes blackened with ink; by snapping the cord in the

usual way, a clear black line is left upon the surface of the wood. It is

then quickly reeled up again by means of a little crank. This instrument

is an improvement in every way over the chalk‐line, as it is more

convenient, and by its use a clear black line is left upon the wood,

instead of the dim chalk‐line which is so easily effaced. This implement

is often used as a plumb‐line by giving a turn to the cord about the

handle, thus holding it firmly, and suspending the instrument by means of

the awl.

[Fig. 29.—A Carpenter’s Marking‐Brush Made of Wood.]

Fig. 29.—A Carpenter’s Marking‐Brush Made of Wood.

[Fig. 30.—The Sumi‐Tsubo.]

Fig. 30.—The Sumi‐Tsubo.

A plumb‐line is made with a strip of wood four or five feet in length, to

each end of which is nailed, at right angles, a strip of wood four or five

inches long, projecting an inch on one side. These two transverse strips

are of exactly the same length, and are so adjusted to the longer strip as

to project the same distance. From the longer arm of one of these pieces

is suspended a cord with a weight at the lower end. In plumbing a wall,

the short ends of the transverse pieces are brought against the wall or

portion to be levelled, and an adjustment is made till the cord just

touches the edge of the lower arm. The accompanying sketch (_fig. 31_)

will make clear the appearance and method of using this simple device.

[Fig. 31.—The Japanese Plumb‐Line.]

Fig. 31.—The Japanese Plumb‐Line.

In gluing pieces of wood together, more especially veneers, the Japanese

resort to a device which is common with American cabinet‐makers,—of

bringing into play a number of elastic or bamboo rods, one end coming

against a firm ceiling or support, and the other end pressing on the wood

to be united. In polishing and grinding, the same device is used in

getting pressure.

This necessarily brief description is not to be regarded in any way as a

catalogue of Japanese carpenters’ tools, but is intended simply to

describe those more commonly seen as one watches them at their work. The

chief merit of many of these tools is that they can easily be made by the

users; indeed, with the exception of the iron part, every Japanese

carpenter can and often does make his own tools.

[Fig. 32.—Ancient Carpenter (copied from an old painting).]

Fig. 32.—Ancient Carpenter (copied from an old painting).

By an examination of old books and pictures one gets an idea of the

antiquity of many objects still in use in Japan. I was shown, at the house

of a Japanese antiquary, a copy of a very old _maki‐mono_ (a long scroll

of paper rolled up like a roll of wall‐paper, on which continuous stories

or historical events are written or painted). This _maki‐mono_ in question

was painted by Takakana, of Kioto, five hundred and seventy years ago, and

represented the building of a temple, from the preliminary exercises to

its completion. One sketch showed the carpenters at work hewing out the

wood and making the frame. There were many men at work; a few were eating

and drinking; tools were lying about. In all the tools represented in the

picture,—of which there were chisels, mallets, hatchets, adzes, squares,

and saws,—there was no plane or long saw. A piece of timber was being cut

longitudinally with a chisel. The square was the same as that in use to‐

day. The tool which seemed to take the place of a plane was similar to a

tool still used by coopers, but I believe by no other class of workmen,

though I remember to have seen a man and a boy engaged in stripping bark

from a long pole with a tool similar to the one seen in the sketch (_fig.

32_).

The _sumi‐tsubo_ was much more simple and primitive in form in those

times, judging from the sketch given on page 42 (_fig. 30_, _C)._ A

carpenter’s tool‐box is shown quite as small and light as similar boxes in

use to‐day. To the cover of this box (fig. 32) is attached a curious hand‐

saw with a curved edge. Large saws with curved edges, having handles at

both ends, to be worked by two men, are in common use; but I have never

seen a hand‐saw of this shape. All the saws represented in the picture had

the same curved edge.

Nothing is more to be commended than the strong, durable, and sensible way

in which the Japanese carpenter erects his staging. The various parts of a

staging are never nailed together, as this would not only weaken the

pieces through which spikes and nails have been driven, but gradually

impair its integrity. All the pieces, upright and transverse, are firmly

tied together with tough, strong rope. The rope is wound about, again and

again, in the tightest possible manner. Buddhist temples of lofty

proportions are reared and finished, and yet one never hears of the

frightful accidents that so often occur at home as the results of stagings

giving way in the erection of similar lofty structures. How exceedingly

dull and stupid it must appear to a Japanese carpenter when he learns that

his Christian brother constructs a staging that is liable, sooner or

later, to precipitate him to the ground.