With the exception of a few of the larger cities, the water‐supply of
Japan is by means of wooden wells sunk in the ground. In Tokio, besides
the ordinary forms of wells which are found in every portion of the city,
there is a system of aqueducts conveying water from the Tamagawa a
distance of twenty‐four miles, and from Kanda a distance of ten miles or
more. It is hardly within the province of this work to call attention to
the exceeding impurity of much of the well‐water in Tokio and elsewhere in
Japan, as shown by many analyses, or to the imperfect way in which water
is conveyed from remote places to Tokio and Yokohama. For valuable and
interesting papers on this subject the reader is referred to the Journal
of the Asiatic Society of Japan.(23)
The aqueducts in the city are made of wood, either in the shape of heavy
square plank tubes or circular wooden pipes. These various conductors are
intersected by open wells, in which the water finds its natural level,
only partially filling them. These wells are to be found in the main
streets as well as in certain open areas; and to them the people come, not
only to get their water, but often to do light washing.
The time must soon come when the authorities of Tokio will find it
absolutely necessary to establish water‐works for the supply of the city.
Such a change from the present system would require an enormous
expenditure at the outset, but in the end the community will be greatly
benefited, not only in having more efficient means to quell the awful
conflagrations which so frequently devastate their thoroughfares, but also
in having a more healthful water‐supply for family use. In their present
imperfect method of water‐service it is impossible to keep the supply free
from local contamination; and though the death‐rate of the city is low
compared with that of many European and American cities, it would
certainly be still further reduced by pure water made available to all.
[Fig. 287.—Ancient form of well‐curb.]
Fig. 287.—Ancient form of well‐curb.
In many country villages, where the natural conditions exist, a mountain
brook is conducted by a rock‐bound canal through the centre of the village
street; and thus the water for culinary and other purposes is brought
directly to the door of every house on that street.
The wells are made in the shape of barrels of stout staves five or six
feet in height. These taper slightly at their lower ends, and are fitted
one within another; and as the well is dug; deeper the sections are
adjusted and driven down. Wells of great depth are often sunk in this way.
The well made in this manner has the appearance, as it projects above the
ground, of an ordinary barrel or hogshead partially buried.
Stone curbs of a circular form are often seen. An ancient form of well‐
curb is a square frame, made of thick timber in the shape shown in fig.
287. The Chinese character for “well” is in the shape of this frame; and
as one rides through the city or village he will often notice this
character painted on the side of a house or over a door‐way, indicating
that in the rear, or within the house, a well is to be found. A
picturesque well‐curb of stone, made after this form, is shown in _fig.
288_, from a private garden in Tokio.
[Fig. 288.—Stone well‐curb in private garden.]
Fig. 288.—Stone well‐curb in private garden.
While the water is usually brought up by means of a bucket attached to the
end of a long bamboo, there are various forms of frames erected over the
well to support a pulley, in which runs a rope with a bucket attached to
each end. _Fig. 289_ is an illustration of one of these frames. Sometimes
the trunk of a tree is made to do service, as shown in fig 290. In this
case the old trunk was densely covered with a rich growth of Japanese ivy.
In the country kitchen the well is often within the house, as shown in the
sketch _fig. 167_ (page 186). In the country, as well as in the city, the
regular New England well‐sweep is now and then seen. In the southern part
of Japan particularly the well‐sweep is very common; one is shown in the
picture of a southern house (_fig. 54_, page 73).
[Fig. 289.—Wooden well‐frame.]
Fig. 289.—Wooden well‐frame.
[Fig. 290.—Rustic well‐frame.]
Fig. 290.—Rustic well‐frame.
There are many ways of conveying water to villages by bamboo pipes. In
Kioto many places are supplied by water brought in this way from the
mountain brooks back of the city. At Miyajima, on the Inland Sea, water is
brought, by means of bamboo pipes, from a mountain stream at the western
end of the village. The water is first conveyed to a single shallow tank,
supported on a rough pedestal of rock. The tank is perforated at intervals
along its sides and on its end, and by means of bamboo gutters the water
is conveyed to bamboo tubes standing vertically,—each bamboo having at its
top a box or bucket, in which is a grating of bamboo to screen the water
from the leaves and twigs. These bamboo tubes are connected with a system
of bamboo tubes under‐ground, and these lead to the houses in the village
street below. _Fig. 291_ is an illustration of this structure. It was an
old and leaky affair, but formed a picturesque mass beside the mountain
road, covered as it was by a rich growth of ferns and mosses, and
brightened by the water dripping from all points.
[Fig. 291.—Aqueduct reservoir at Miyajima, Aki.]
Fig. 291.—Aqueduct reservoir at Miyajima, Aki.
Just beyond this curious reservoir I saw a group of small aqueducts,
evidently for the supply of single houses. _Fig. 292_ illustrates one of a
number of these seen along the road. Fig. 293 represents one of the old
wells still seen in the Kaga Yashiki, in Tokio,—an inclosure of large
extent formerly occupied by the Daimio of Kaga, but now overgrown with
bamboo grass and tangled bushes, while here and there evidences of its
former beauty are seen in neglected groves of trees and in picturesque
ponds choked with plant growth. The buildings of the Tokio Medical College
and Hospital occupy one portion of the ground; and the new brick building
of the Tokio University, a few dwellings for its foreign teachers, and a
small observatory form another group.
[Fig. 292.—Aqueducts at Miyajima, Aki.]
Fig. 292.—Aqueducts at Miyajima, Aki.
Scattered over this large inclosure are a number of treacherous holes
guarded only by fences painted black. These are the remains of wells; and
by their number one gets a faint idea of the dense commununity that filled
this area in the days of the Shogunate. During the Revolution the houses
were burned, and with them the wooden curbs of the wells, and for many
years these deep holes formed dreadful pitfalls in the long grass.
[Fig. 293.—Well at Kaga Yashiki, Tokio.]
Fig. 293.—Well at Kaga Yashiki, Tokio.
The effect of rusticity which the Japanese so much admire, and which they
show in their gateways, fences, and other surroundings, is charmingly
carried out in the wells; and the presence of a well in a garden is looked
upon as adding greatly to its beauty. Hence, one sees quaint and
picturesque curbs, either of stone and green with plant growth, or of wood
and fairly dropping to pieces with decay. One sees literally a moss‐
covered bucket and well, too; but, alas! the water is not the cold, pure
fluid which a New Englander is accustomed to draw from similar places at
home, but often a water far from wholesome, and which to make so is
generally boiled before drinking. We refer now to the city wells; and yet
the country wells are quite as liable to contamination.
Having described in the previous pages the permanent features of the house
and its surroundings, a few pages may be properly added concerning those
objects which are hung upon the walls as adornments. A few objects of
household use have been mentioned, such as pillows, _hibachi, tabako‐
bon,_ candlesticks, and towel‐racks, as naturally associated with mats,
kitchen, bathing conveniences, etc. Any further consideration of these
movable objects would lead us into a discussion of the bureaus, chests,
baskets, trays, dishes, and the whole range of domestic articles of use,
and might, indeed, furnish material enough for another volume.
A few pages, however, must be added on the adornments of the room, and the
principles which govern the Japanese in these matters. As flowers form the
most universal decoration of the rooms from the highest to the lowest
classes, these will be first considered.
The love of flowers is a national trait of the Japanese. It would be safe
to say that in no other part of the world is the love of flowers so
universally shown as in Japan. For pictorial illustration flowers form one
of the most common themes; and for decorative art in all its branches
flowers, in natural or conventional shapes, are selected as the leading
motive. In their light fabrics,—embroidery, pottery, lacquers, wall‐
papers, fans,—and even in their metal work and bronzes, these charming and
perishable objects are constantly depicted and wrought. In their social
life, also, these things are always present. From birth to death, flowers
are in some way associated with the daily life of the Japanese; and for
many years after their death their graves continue to receive fresh floral
tributes.
A room in the very humblest of houses will have in its place of honor—the
_tokonoma—_ a flower‐vase, or a section of bamboo hanging from its side,
or some form of receptacle suspended from the open portion of the room
above, or in front of some ornamental opening in which flowers are
displayed. On the street one often meets the flower vendor; and at night,
flower fairs are one of the most common attractions.
The arrangement of flowers forms a part of the polite education of the
Japanese, and special rules and methods for their appropriate display have
their schools and teachers. Within the house there are special places
where it is proper to display flowers. In the _tokonoma,_ as we have
said, is generally a vase of bronze or pottery in which flowers are
placed,—not the heterogeneous mass of color comprised in a jumble of
flowers, as is too often the case with us; but a few flowers of one kind,
or a big branch of cherry or plum blossoms are quite enough to satisfy the
refined tastes of these people. Here, as in other matters, the Japanese
show their sense of propriety and infinite refinement. They most
thoroughly abominate our slovenly methods, whereby a clump of flowers of
heterogeneous colors are packed and jammed together, with no room for
green leaves: this we call a bouquet; and very properly, since it
resembles a ball,—a variegated worsted ball. These people believe in the
healthy contrast of rough brown stem and green leaves, to show off by
texture and color the matchless life‐tones of the delicate petals. We,
however, in our stupidity are too often accustomed to tear off the flowers
that Nature has so deftly arranged on their own wood stems, and then with
thread and bristling wire to fabricate a feeble resemblance to the
milliner’s honest counterfeit of cloth and paper; and by such treatment,
at the end of a few hours, we have a mass equally lifeless.
In their flower‐vases, too, they show the most perfect knowledge of
contrasts. To any one of taste it is unnecessary to show how inappropriate
our gilt and often brilliantly colored; flower‐vases are for the objects
they are to hold. By employing such receptacles, all effects of color and
pleasing contrasts are effectually ruined. The Japanese flower‐vase is
often made of the roughest and coarsest pottery, with rough patches of
glaze and irregular contour; it is made solid and heavy, with a good
bottom, and is capable of holding a big cherry branch without up‐setting.
Its very roughness shows off by contrast the delicate flowers it holds.
With just such rough material as we use in the making of drain‐tiles and
molasses jugs, the Japanese make the most fascinating and appropriate
flower‐vases; but their potters are artists, and, alas! ours are not.
In this connection it is interesting to note that in our country, artists,
and others having artistic tastes, have always recognized the importance
of observing proper contrasts between flowers and their holders, and until
within a very few years have been forced, for want of better receptacles,
to arrange flowers in German pottery‐mugs, Chinese ginger‐jars, and the
like. Though these vessels were certainly inappropriate enough, the
flowers looked vastly prettier in them than they ever could in the
frightful wares designed expressly to hold them, made by American and
European manufacturers. What a satire on our art industries,—a despairing
resort to beer‐mugs, ginger‐jars and blacking‐pots, for suitable flower‐
vases! Who does not recall, indeed cannot see to‐day on the shelves of
most “crockery shops,” a hideous battalion of garish porcelain and
iniquitous parian vases, besides other multitudinous evidences of utter
ignorance as to what a flower‐vase should be, in the discordantly colored
and decorated glass receptacles designed to hold these daintiest bits of
Nature’s handiwork?
Besides the flower‐vase made to stand on the floor, the Japanese have
others which are made to hang from a hook,—generally from the post or
partition that divides the _tokonoma_ from its companion recess, or
sometimes from a corner‐post. When a permanent partition occurs in a room,
it is quite proper to hang the vase from the middle post. In all these
cases it is hung midway between the floor and the ceiling. These hanging
flower‐vases are infinite in form and design, and are made of pottery,
bronze, bamboo, or wood. Those made of pottery and bronze may be in the
form of simple tubes; often, however, natural forms are represented,—such
as fishes, insects, sections of bamboo, and the like.
[Fig. 294.—Hanging flower‐holder of bamboo.]
Fig. 294.—Hanging flower‐holder of bamboo.
The Japanese are fond of ancient objects, and jars which have been dug up
are often mutilated, at least for the antiquarian, by having rings
inserted in their sides so that they may be hung up for flower‐holders.
A curious form of holder is made out of a rugged knot of wood. Any quaint
and abnormal growth of wood, in which an opening can be made big enough to
accommodate a section of bamboo to hold the water, is used for a flower‐
vase. Such an object will be decorated with tiny bronze ants, a silver
spider’s web with bronze spider, and pearl wrought in the shape of a
fungus. These and other singular caprices are worked into and upon the
wood as ornaments.
A very favorite form of flower‐holder is one made of bamboo. The bamboo
tube is worked in a variety of ways, by cutting out various sections from
the sides. _Fig. 294_ represents an odd, yet common shape, arranged for
_cha‐no‐yu_ (tea‐parties), and sketched at one of these parties. The
bamboo is an admirable receptacle for water, and a section of it is used
for this purpose in many forms of pottery and bronze flower‐holders.
[Fig. 295.—Hanging flower‐holder of basket‐work.]
Fig. 295.—Hanging flower‐holder of basket‐work.
Rich brown‐colored baskets are also favorite receptacles for flowers, a
segment of bamboo being used to hold the water. The accompanying figure
(_fig. 295_) is a sketch of a hanging basket, the flowers having been
arranged by a lover of the tea‐ceremonies and old pottery. Many of these
baskets are quite old, and are highly prized by the Japanese. At the
street flower‐fairs cheap and curious devices are often seen for holding
flower‐pots. The annexed figure (fig. 296) illustrates a form of bracket
in which a thin irregular‐shaped slab of wood has attached to it a crooked
branch of a tree, upon the free ends of which wooden blocks are secured as
shelves upon which the flower‐pots are to rest. A hole is made at the top
so that it may be hung against the wall, and little cleats are fastened
crosswise to hold long strips of stiff paper, upon which it is customary
to write stanzas of poetry. These objects are of the cheapest description,
can be got for a few pennies, and are bought by the poorest classes.
[Fig. 296.—Cheap bracket for flower‐pots.]
Fig. 296.—Cheap bracket for flower‐pots.
For flower‐holders suspended from above, a common form is a square wooden
bucket, or one made out of pottery or bronze in imitation of this form.
Bamboo cut in horizontal forms is also used for suspended flower‐holders.
Indeed, there seems to be no end of curious objects used for this
purpose,—a gourd, the semi‐cylindrical tile, sea‐shells, as with us, and
forms made in pottery or bronze in imitation of these objects.
Quaint and odd‐shaped flower‐stands are made in the form of buckets. The
following figure (_fig. 297_) represents one sketched at the National
Exposition at Tokio in 1877. Its construction was very ingenious; three
staves of the low bucket were continued upward to form portions of three
small buckets above, and each of these, in turn, contributed a stave to
the single bucket that crowned the whole. Another form, made by the same
contributor thought not so symmetrical, was quite as odd.
[Fig. 297.—Curious combination of buckets for flowers.]
Fig. 297.—Curious combination of buckets for flowers.
Curious little braided‐straw affairs are made to hold flowers, or rather
the bamboo segments in which the flowers are kept. These are made in the
form of insects, fishes, mushrooms, and other natural objects. These are
mentioned, not that they have a special merit, but to illustrate the
devices used| by the common people in decorating their homes. Racks of
wood richly lacquered are also used, from which hanging flower‐holders are
suspended. These objects are rarely seen now, and I have never chanced to
see one in use.
In the chapter on Interiors various forms of vases are shown in the
_tokonoma._
My interest in Japanese homes was first aroused by wishing to know
precisely what use the Japanese made of a class of objects with which I
had been familiar in the Art Museums and private collections at home;
furthermore, a study of their houses led me to search for those evidences
of household decoration which might possibly parallel the hanging baskets,
corner brackets, and especially ornaments made of birch bark, fungi, moss,
shell‐work, and the like, with which our humbler homes are often
garnished. It was delightful to find that the Japanese were susceptible to
the charms embodied in these bits of Nature, and that they too used them
in similar decorative ways. At the outset, search for an object aside from
the bare rooms seemed fruitless enough. At first sight these rooms
appeared absolutely barren; in passing from one room to another one got
the idea that the house was to be let. Picture to yourself a room with no
fire‐place and accompanying mantel,—that shelf of shelves for the support
of pretty objects; no windows with their convenient interspaces for the
suspension of pictures or brackets; no table, rarely even cabinets, to
hold bright‐colored bindings and curious bric‐a‐brac; no side‐boards upon
which to array the rich pottery or glistening porcelain; no chairs, desks,
or bedsteads, and consequently no opportunity for the display of elaborate
carvings or rich cloth coverings. Indeed, one might well wonder in what
way this people displayed their pretty objects for household decorations.
After studying the Japanese home for a while, however, one comes to
realize that display as such is out of the question with them, and to
recognize that a severe Quaker‐like simplicity is really one of the great
charms of a Japanese room. Absolute cleanliness and refinement, with very
few objects in sight upon which the eye may rest contentedly, are the main
features in household adornment which the Japanese strive after, and which
they attain with a simplicity and effectiveness that we can never hope to
reach. Our rooms seem to them like a curiosity shop, and “stuffy” to the
last degree. Such a maze of vases, pictures, plaques, bronzes, with
shelves, brackets, cabinets, and tables loaded down with bric‐a‐brac, is
quite enough to drive a Japanese frantic. We parade in the most
unreasoning manner every object of this nature in our possession; and with
the periodical recurrence of birthday and Christmas holidays, and the
consequent influx of new things, the less pretty ones already on parade
are banished to the chambers above to make room for the new ones; and as
these in turn get crowded out they rise to the garret, there to be
providentially broken up by the children, or to be preserved for future
antiquarians to contemplate, and to ponder over the condition of art in
this age. Our walls are hung with large fish‐plates which were intended to
hold food; heavy bronzes, which in a Japanese room are made to rest
solidly on the floor, and to hold great woody branches of the plum or
cherry with their wealth of blossoms, are with us often placed on high
shelves or perched in some perilous position over the door. The ignorant
display is more rarely seen of thrusting a piece of statuary into the
window, so that the neighbor across the way may see it; when a silhouette,
cut out of stiff pasteboard, would in this position answer all the
purposes so far as the inmates are concerned. How often we destroy an
artist’s best efforts by exposing his picture against some glaring fresco
or distracting wall‐paper! And still not content with the accumulated
misery of such a room, we allow the upholsterer and furnisher to provide
us with a gorgeously framed mirror, from which we may have flashed back at
us the contents of the room reversed, or, more dreadful still, a
reverberation of these horrors through opposite reflecting surfaces,—a
futile effort of Nature to sicken us of the whole thing by endless
repetition.(24)
That we in America are not exceptional in these matters of questionable
furnishing, one may learn by listening to an English authority on this
subject,—one who has done more than any other writer in calling attention
not only to violations of true taste in household adornment, but who
points out in a most rational way the correct paths to follow, not only to
avoid that which is offensive and pretentious, but to arrive at better
methods and truer principles in matters of taste. We refer to Charles L.
Eastlake and his timely work entitled “Hints on Household Taste.” In his
animadversions on the commonplace taste shown in the furnishing of English
houses, he says “it pervades and vitiates the judgment by which we are
accustomed to select and approve the objects of every‐day use which we see
around us. It crosses our path in the Brussels carpet of our drawing‐room;
it is about our bed in the shape of gaudy chintz; it compels us to rest on
chairs, and to sit at tables which are designed in accordance with the
worst principles of construction, and invested with shapes confessedly
unpicturesque. It sends us metal‐work from Birmingham, which is as vulgar
in form as it is flimsy in execution. It decorates the finest modern
porcelain with the most objectionable character of ornament. It lines our
walls with silly representations of vegetable life, or with a mass of
uninteresting diaper. It bids us, in short, furnish our houses after the
same fashion as we dress ourselves,—and that is with no more sense of real
beauty than if art were a dead letter.” Let us contrast our tastes in
these matters with those of the Japanese, and perhaps profit by the
lesson.
In the previous chapters sufficient details have been given for one to
grasp the structural features of a Japanese room. Let us now observe that
the general tone and color of a Japanese apartment are subdued. Its
atmosphere is restful; and only after one has sat on the mats for some
time do the unostentatious fittings of the apartment attract one’s notice.
The papers of the _fusuma_ of neutral tints; the plastered surfaces, when
they occur equally tinted in similar tones, warm browns and stone‐colors
predominating; the cedar‐board ceiling, with the rich color of that wood;
the wood‐work everywhere modestly conspicuous, and always presenting the
natural colors undefiled by the painter’s miseries,—these all combine to
render the room quiet and refined to the last degree. The floor in bright
contrast is covered with its cool straw matting,—a uniform bright surface
set off by the rectangular black borders of the mats. It is such an
infinite comfort to find throughout the length and breadth of that Empire
the floors covered with the unobtrusive straw matting. Monotonous some
would think: yes, it has the monotony of fresh air and of pure water. Such
a room requires but little adornment in the shape of extraneous objects;
indeed, there are but few places where such objects can be placed. But
observe, that while in our rooms one is at liberty to cover his wall with
pictures without the slightest regard to light or effect, the Japanese
room has a recess clean and free from the floor to the hooded partition
that spans it above, and this recess is placed at right angles to the
source of light; furthermor it is exalted as the place of highest honor in
the room—and here, and here alone, hangs the picture. Not a varnished
affair, to see which one has to perambulate the apartment with head awry
to get a vantage point of vision, but a picture which may be seen in its
proper light from any point of the room. In the _tokonoma_ there is
usually but one picture exposed,—though, as we have seen, this recess may
be wide enough to accommodate a set of two or three.
[Fig. 298.—Framed picture, with supports.]
Fig. 298.—Framed picture, with supports.
Between the _kamoi,_ or lintel, and the ceiling is a space say of eighteen
inches or more, according to the height of the room; and here may
sometimes be seen a long narrow picture, framed in a narrow wood‐border,
or secured to a flat frame, which is concealed by the paper or brocade
that borders the picture. This picture tips forward at a considerable
angle, and is supported on two iron hooks. In order that the edge of the
frame may not be scarred by the iron, it is customary to interpose
triangular red‐crape cushions. A bamboo support is often substituted for
the iron hooks, as shown in the sketch (_fig. 298_). The picture may be a
landscape, or a spray of flowers; but more often it consists of a few
Chinese characters embodying some bit of poetry, moral precept, or
sentiment,—and usually the characters have been written by some poet,
scholar, or other distinguished man. The square wooden post which comes in
the middle of a partition between two corners of the room may be adorned
by a long, narrow, and thin strip of cedar the width of the post, upon
which is painted a picture of some kind. This strip, instead of being of
wood, may be of silk and brocade, like a _kake‐mono,_ having only one
_kaze‐obi_ hanging in the middle from above. Cheap ones may be of straw,
rush, or thin strips of bamboo. This object, of whatever material, is
called _hashira kakushi,_—literally meaning “post‐hide.” If of wood, both
sides are decorated; so that after one side has done duty for awhile the
other side is exposed. The wood is usually of dark cedar evenly grained,
and the sketch is painted directly on the wood. _Fig. 299_ shows both
sides of one of these strips.
[Fig. 299.—Hashira kakushi.]
Fig. 299.—Hashira kakushi.
The decoration for these objects is very skilfully treated by the artist;
and while it might bother our artists to know what subject to select for a
picture on so awkward and limited surface, it offers no trouble to the
Japanese decorator. He simply takes a vertical slice out of some good
subject, as one might get a glimpse of Nature through a slightly open
door,—and imagination is left to supply the rest. These objects find their
way to our markets, but the bright color used in their decoration show
that they have been painted for the masses in this country. The post upon
which this kind of picture is hung, as well as the _toko‐bashira,_ may
also adorned with a hanging flower‐holder such as has already been
described.
A Japanese may have a famous collection of pictures, yet these are stowed
away in his _kura,_ with the exception of the one exposed in the
_tokonoma._ If he is a man of taste, he changes the picture from time to
time according to the season, the character of his guests, or for special
occasions. In one house where I was a guest for a few days the picture
was changed every day. A picture may do duty for a few weeks or months,
when it is carefully rolled up, stowed away in its silk covering and box,
and another one is unrolled. In this way a picture never becomes
monotonous. The listless and indifferent way in which an American will
often regard his own pictures when showing them to a friend, indicates
that his pictures have been so long on his walls that they no longer
arouse any attention or delight. It is true, one never wearies in
contemplating the work of the great masters; but one should remember that
all pictures are not masterpieces, and that by constant exposure the
effect of a picture becomes seriously impaired. The way in which pictures
with us are crowded on the walls,—many of them of necessity in the worst
possible light, or no light at all when the windows are muffled with heavy
curtains,—shows that the main interest centres in their embossed gilt
frames, which are conspicuous in all lights. The principle of constant
exposure is certainly wrong; a good picture is all the more enjoyable if
it is not forever staring one in the face. Who wants to contemplate a
burning tropical sunset on a full stomach, or a drizzling northern mist on
an empty one? And yet these are the experiences which we are often
compelled to endure. Why not modify our rooms, and have a bay or
recess,—an alcove in the best possible light,—in which one or two good
pictures may be properly hung, with fitting accompaniments in the way of a
few flowers, or a bit of pottery or bronze? We have never modified the
interior arrangement of our house in the slightest degree from the time
when it was shaped in the most economical way as a shelter in which to
eat, sleep, and die,—a rectangular kennel, with necessary holes for light,
and necessary holes to get in and out by. At the same time, its inmates
were saturated with a religion so austere and sombre that the possession
of a picture was for a long time looked upon as savoring of worldliness
and vanity, unless, indeed, the subject suggested the other world by a
vision of hexapodous angels, or of the transient resting‐place to that
world in the guise of a tombstone and willows, or an immediate departure
thereto in the shape of a death‐bed scene.
Among the Japanese all collections of pottery and other bric‐a‐brac are,
in the same way as the pictures, carefully enclosed in brocade bags and
boxes, and stowed away to be unpacked only when appreciative friends come
to the house; and then the host enjoys them with equal delight. Aside from
the heightened enjoyment sure to be evoked by the Japanese method, one is
spared an infinite amount of chagrin and misery in having an
unsophisticated friend become enthusiastic over the wrong thing, or
mistake a rare etching of Dante for a North American savage, or manifest a
thrill of delight over an object because he learns incidentally that its
value corresponds with his yearly grocery bill.
Nothing is more striking in a Japanese room than the harmonies and
contrasts between the colors of the various objects and the room itself.
Between the picture and the brocades with which it is mounted, and the
quiet and subdued color of the _tokonoma_ in which it is hung, there is
always the most refined harmony, and such a background for the delicious
and healthy contrasts of color when a spray of bright cherry blossoms
enlivens the quiet tones of this honored place! The general tone of the
room sets off to perfection the simplest spray of flowers, a quiet
picture, a rough bit of pottery or an old bronze; and at the same time a
costly and magnificent piece of gold lacquer blazes out like a gem from
these simple surroundings,—and yet the harmony is not disturbed.
It is an interesting fact that the efforts at harmonious and decorative
effects which have been made by famous artists and decorators in this
country and in England have been strongly imbued by the Japanese spirit,
and every success attained is a confirmation of the correctness of
Japanese taste. Wall‐papers are now more quiet and unobtrusive; the merit
of simplicity and reserve where it belongs, and a fitness everywhere, are
becoming more widely recognized.
It is rare to see cabinets or conveniences for the display of bric‐a‐brac
in a Japanese house, though sometimes a lacquer‐stand with a few shelves
may be seen,—and on this may be displayed a number of objects consisting
of ancient pottery, some stone implements, a fossil, old coins, or a few
water‐worn fragments of rock brought from China, and mounted on dark
wood stands. The Japanese are great collectors of autographs, coins,
brocades, metal‐work, and many other groups of objects; but these are
rarely exposed. In regard to objects in the _tokonoma,_ I have seen in
different _tokonoma,_ variously displayed, natural fragments of quartz,
crystal spheres, curious water‐worn stones, coral, old bronze, as well as
the customary vase for flowers or the incense‐burner. These various
objects are usually, but not always, supported on a lacquer‐stand. In the
_chigai‐dana_ I have also noticed the sword‐rack, lacquer writing‐box,
_maki‐mono,_ and books; and when I was guilty of the impertinence of
peeking into the cupboards, I have seen there a few boxes containing
pottery, pictures, and the like,—though, as before remarked, such things
are usually kept in the _kura._
[Fig. 300.—Writing‐desk.]
Fig. 300.—Writing‐desk.
Besides the lacquer cabinets, there may be seen in the houses of the
higher class an article of furniture consisting of a few deep shelves,
with portions of the shelves closed, forming little cupboards. Such a
cabinet is used to hold writing‐paper, toilet articles, trays for flowers,
and miscellaneous objects for use and ornament. These cases are often
beautifully lacquered.
The usual form of writing‐desk consists of a low stool not over a foot in
height, with plain side‐pieces or legs for support, sometimes having
shallow drawers; and this is about the only piece of furniture that would
parallel our table. The illustration (_fig. 300_) shows one of these
tables, upon which may be seen the paper, ink‐stone, brush, and brush‐
rest.
In the cities and large villages the people stand in constant fear of
conflagrations. Almost every month they are reminded of the instability of
the ground they rest upon by tremors and slight shocks, which may be the
precursors of destructive earthquakes, usually accompanied by
conflagrations infinitely more disastrous. Allusion has been made to the
little portable engines with which houses are furnished. In the city
house one may notice a little platform or staging with hand‐rail erected
on the ridge of the roof (_fig. 301_); a ladder or flight of steps leads
to this staging, and on alarms of fire anxious faces may be seen peering
from these lookouts in the direction of the burning buildings. It is usual
to have resting on the platform a huge bucket or half barrel filled with
water, and near by a long‐handled brush; and this is used to sprinkle
water on places threatened by the sparks and fire‐brands, which often fill
the air in times of great conflagrations.
[Fig. 301.—Staging on house‐roof, with bucket and brush.]
Fig. 301.—Staging on house‐roof, with bucket and brush.
During the prevalence of a high wind it is a common sight to see the small
dealers packing their goods in large baskets and square cloths to tie up
ready to transport in case of fire. At such times the windows and doors of
the _kura_ are closed and the chinks plastered with mud, which is always
at hand either under a platform near the door or in a large earthen jar
near the openings. In private dwellings, too, at times of possible danger,
the more precious objects are packed up in a square basket‐like box,
having straps attached to it, so that it can easily be transported on
one’s shoulders (_fig. 302_).
[Fig. 302.—Box for transporting articles.]
Fig. 302.—Box for transporting articles.
In drawing to a close this description of Japanese homes and their
surroundings, I have to regret that neither time, strength, nor
opportunity enabled me to make it more complete by a description,
accompanied by sketches, of the residences of the highest classes in
Japan. Indeed, it is a question whether any of the old residences of the
Daimios remain in the condition in which they were twenty years ago, or
before the Revolution. Even where the buildings remain, as in the castles
of Nagoya and Kumamoto, busy clerks and secretaries are seen sitting in
chairs and writing at tables in foreign style; and though in some cases
the beautifully decorated _fusuma,_ with the elaborately carved _ramma_
and rich wood‐ceiling are still preserved,—as in the castle of Nagoya, as
well as in many others doubtless,—the introduction of varnished furniture
and gaudy‐colored foreign carpets in some of the apartments has brought
sad discord into the former harmonies of the place.
In Tokio a number of former Daimios have built houses in foreign style,
though these somehow or other usually lack the peculiar comforts of our
homes. Why a Japanese should build a house in foreign style was somewhat
of a puzzle to me, until I saw the character of their homes and the manner
in which a foreigner in some cases was likely to behave on entering a
Japanese house. If he did not walk into it with his boots on, he was sure
to be seen stalking about in his stockinged feet, bumping his head at
intervals against the _kamoi,_ or burning holes in the mats in his clumsy
attempts to pick up coals from the _hibachi,_ with which to light his
cigar. Not being able to sit on the mats properly, he sprawls about in
attitudes confessedly as rude as if a Japanese in our apartments were to
perch his legs on the table. If he will not take off his boots, he
possibly finds his way to the garden, where he wanders about, indenting
the paths with his boot‐heels or leaving scars on the verandah, possibly
washing his hands in the _chōdzu‐bachi,_ and generally making himself the
cause of much discomfort to the inmates.
It was a happy idea when those Japanese who from their prominence in the
affairs of the country were compelled to entertain the “foreign barbarian”
conceived the idea of erecting a cage in foreign fashion to hold
temporarily the menageries which they were often compelled to receive.
Seriously, however, the inelastic character of most foreigners, and their
inability to adapt themselves to their surroundings have rendered the
erection of buildings in foreign style for their entertainment not only a
convenience but an absolute necessity. It must be admitted that for the
activities of business especially, the foreign style of office and shop is
not only more convenient but unquestionably superior.
The former Daimio of Chikuzen was one of the first, I believe, to build a
house in foreign style in Tokio, and this building is a good typical
example of an American two‐story house. Attached, however, to this house
is a wing containing a number of rooms in native style. _Fig. 123_ (page
142) shows one of these rooms. The former Daimio of Hizen also lives in a
foreign house, and there are many houses in Tokio built by Japanese after
foreign plans.
In an earlier portion of this work an allusion was made to the absence of
those architectural monuments which are so characteristic of European
countries. The castles of the Daimios, which are lofty and imposing
structures, have already been referred to. There are fortresses also of
great extent and solidity,—notably the one at Osaka, erected by Hideyoshi
on an eminence near the city; and though the wooden structures formerly
surmounting the walls were destroyed by Iyeyasŭ in 1615, the stone
battlements as they stand to‐day must be considered as among the marvels
of engineering skill, and the colossal masses of rock seem all the more
colossal after one has become familiar with the tiny and perishable
dwellings of the country. In the walls of this fortress are single blocks
of stone—at great heights, too, above the surrounding level of the
region—measuring in some cases from thirty to thirty‐six feet in length,
and at least fifteen feet in height. These huge blocks have been
transported long distances from the mountains many miles away from the
city.
Attention is called to the existence of these remarkable monuments as an
evidence that the Japanese are quite competent to erect such buildings, if
the national taste had inclined them in that way. So far as I know, a
national impulse has never led the Japanese to commemorate great deeds in
the nation’s life by enduring monuments of stone. The reason may be that
the plucky little nation has always been successful in repelling invasion;
and a peculiar quality in their temperament has prevented them from
perpetuating in a public way, either by monuments or by the naming of
streets and bridges, the memories of victories won by one section of the
country over another.
Rev. W. E. Griffis, in an interesting article on “The Streets and Street‐
names of Yedo,”(25) in noticing the almost total absence of the names of
great victories or historic battlefields in the naming of the streets and
bridges in Tokio, says: “It would have been an unwise policy in the great
unifier of Japan, Iyeyasŭ, to have given to the streets in the capital of
a nation finally united in peaceful union any name that would be a
constant source of humiliation, that would keep alive bitter memories, or
that would irritate freshly‐healed wounds. The anomalous absence of such
names proves at once the sagacity of Iyeyasŭ, and is another witness to
the oft‐repeated policy used by the Japanese in treating their
enemies,—that is, conquer them by kindness and conciliation.”