[Illustration: BATH IN AN AGRICULTURAL SCHOOL]
[Illustration: JŪJITSU (AND RIFLES) AT THE SAME SCHOOL.]
YOUNG JAPAN
[_Frontispiece_
THE FOUNDATIONS OF JAPAN
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
FAR EASTERN
THE PEOPLE OF CHINA
JAPAN, GREAT BRITAIN AND THE WORLD.
(Nippon Eikoku oyobi Sekai.)
THE IGNOBLE WARRIOR. (Koredemo Bushika.)
THE NEW EAST. (Tokyo.) Vols. I, II & III.
(Edited.)
AGRICULTURAL
A FREE FARMER IN A FREE STATE. (Holland.)
WAR TIME AND PEACE IN HOLLAND. (With
an Introduction by the late LORD REAY.)
THE LAND PROBLEM: AN IMPARTIAL SURVEY
SUGAR BEET: SOME FACTS AND SOME CONCLUSIONS.
A Study in Rural Therapeutics.
THE TOWNSMAN'S FARM
THE SMALL FARM
POULTRY FARMING: SOME FACTS AND SOME
ILLUSIONS
THE CASE FOR THE GOAT. (With Introductions
by the DUCHESS OF HAMILTON and SIR H.
RIDER HAGGARD.)
COUNTRY COTTAGES
THE STORY OF THE DUNMOW FLITCH
IN SEARCH OF AN £150 COTTAGE. (Edited.)
THE JOURNAL OF A JOURNEYMAN FARMER.
(Edited.)
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
THE FOUNDATIONS
OF JAPAN
NOTES MADE DURING JOURNEYS OF
6,000 MILES IN THE RURAL DISTRICTS AS
A BASIS FOR A SOUNDER KNOWLEDGE
OF THE JAPANESE PEOPLE
BY J.W. ROBERTSON SCOTT
("HOME COUNTIES")
WITH 85 ILLUSTRATIONS
"In good sooth, my masters, this is no door, yet it is a little window"
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1922
TO
SCOTT SAN NO OKUSAN
FOR WHOLESOME CRITICISM
A concern arose to spend some time with them that I might feel and
understand their life and the spirit they live in, if haply I might
receive some instruction from them, or they might be in any degree
helped forward by my following the leadings of truth among them when
the troubles of War were increasing and when travelling was more
difficult than usual. I looked upon it as a more favourable
opportunity to season my mind and to bring me into a nearer sympathy
with them.--_Journal of John Woolman_, 1762.
I determined to commence my researches at some distance from the
capital, being well aware of the erroneous ideas I must form should I
judge from what I heard in a city so much subjected to foreign
intercourse.--BORROW.
INTRODUCTION
The hope with which these pages are written is that their readers may
be enabled to see a little deeper into that problem of the relation of
the West with Asia which the historian of the future will
unquestionably regard as the greatest of our time.
I lived for four and a half years in Japan. This book is a record of
many of the things I saw and experienced and some of the things I was
told chiefly during rural journeys--more than half the population is
rural--extending to twice the distance across the United States or
nearly eight times the distance between the English Channel and John
o' Groats.
These pages deal with a field of investigation in Japan which no other
volume has explored. Because they fall short of what was planned, and
in happier conditions might have been accomplished, a word or two may
be pardoned on the beginnings of the book--one of the many literary
victims of the War.
The first book I ever bought was about the Far East. The first leading
article of my journalistic apprenticeship in London was about Korea.
When I left daily journalism, at the time of the siege of the Peking
Legations, the first thing I published was a book pleading for a
better understanding of the Chinese.
After that, as a cottager in Essex, I wrote--above a _nom de guerre_
which is better known than I am--a dozen volumes on rural subjects.
During a visit to the late David Lubin in Rome I noticed in the big
library of his International Institute of Agriculture that there was
no took in English dealing with the agriculture of Japan.[1] Just
before the War the thoughts of forward-looking students of our home
affairs ran strongly on the relation of intelligently managed small
holdings to skilled capitalist farming.[2] During the early "business
as usual" period of the War, when no tasks had been found for men over
military age--Mr. Wells's protest will be remembered--it occurred to
me that it might be serviceable if I could have ready, for the period
of rural reconstruction and readjustment of our international ideas
when the War was over, two books of a new sort. One should be a
stimulating volume on Japan, based on a study, more sociological than
technically agricultural, of its remarkable small-farming system and
rural life, and the other a complementary American volume based on a
study of the enterprising large farming of the Middle West. I proposed
to write the second book in co-operation with a veteran rural reformer
who had often invited me to visit him in Iowa, the father of the
present American Minister of Agriculture. Early in 1915 I set out for
Japan to enter upon the first part of my task. Mr. Wallace died while
I was still in Japan, and the Middle West book remains to be
undertaken by someone else.
The Land of the Rising Sun has been fortunate in the quality of the
books which many foreigners have written.[3] But for every work at the
standard of what might be called the seven "M's"--Mitford, Murdoch,
Munro, Morse, Maclaren, "Murray" and McGovern--there are many volumes
of fervid "pro-Japanese" or determined "anti-Japanese" romanticism.
The pictures of Japan which such easily perused books present are
incredible to readers of ordinary insight or historical imagination,
but they have had their part in forming public opinion.
The basic fact about Japan is that it is an agricultural country.
Japanese æstheticism, the victorious Japanese army and navy, the
smoking chimneys of Osaka, the pushing mercantile marine, the
Parliamentary and administrative developments of Tokyo and a costly
worldwide diplomacy are all borne on the bent backs of _Ohyakusho no
Fufu_,[4] the Japanese peasant farmer and his wife. The depositories
of the authentic _Yamato damashii_ (Japanese spirit) are to be found
knee deep in the sludge of their paddy fields.
One book about Japan may well be written in the perspective of the
village and the hamlet. There it is possible to find the way beneath
that surface of things visible to the tourist. There it is possible to
discover the _foundations_ of the Japan which is intent on cutting
such a figure in the East and in the West. There it is possible to
learn not only what Japan is but what she may have it in her to
become.
A rural sociologist is not primarily interested in the technique of
agriculture. He conceives agriculture and country life as Arthur Young
and Cobbett did, as a means to an end, the sound basis, the touchstone
of a healthy State. I was helped in Japan not only by my close
acquaintance with the rural civilisation of two pre-eminently
small-holdings countries, Holland and Denmark, but by what I knew to
be precious in the rural life of my own land.
An interest in rural problems cannot be simulated. As I journeyed
about the country the sincerity of my purpose--there are few words in
commoner use in the Far East than sincerity--was recognised and
appreciated. I enjoyed conversations in which customary barriers had
been broken down and those who spoke said what they felt. We
inevitably discussed not only agricultural economy but life, religion
and morality, and the way Japan was taking.
I spoke and slept in Buddhist temples. I was received at Shinto
shrines. I was led before domestic altars. I was taken to gatherings
of native Christians. I planted commemorative trees until more
persimmons than I can ever gather await my return to Japan. I wrote so
many _gaku_[5] for school walls and for my kind hosts that my memory
was drained of maxims. I attended guileless horse-races. I was present
at agricultural shows, fairs, wrestling matches, _Bon_ dances, village
and county councils and the strangest of public meetings. I talked not
only with farmers and their families but with all kinds of landlords,
with schoolmasters and schoolmistresses, policemen, shopkeepers,
priests, co-operative society enthusiasts, village officials, county
officials, prefectural officials, a score of Governors and an Ainu
chief. I sought wisdom from Ministers of State and nobles of every
rank, from the Prince who is the heir of the last of the Shoguns down
to democratic Barons who prefer to be called "Mr.", I chatted with
farmers' wives and daughters, I interrogated landladies and mill
girls, and I paid a memorable visit to a Buddhist nunnery. I walked,
talked, rode, ate and bathed with common folk and with dignitaries. I
discussed the situation of Japan with the new countryman in college
agricultural laboratories and classrooms, and, in a remote region,
beheld what is rare nowadays, the old countryman kneeling before his
cottage with his head to the ground as the stranger rode past.
I made notes as I traversed paddy-field paths, by mountain ways, in
colleges, schools, houses and inns. It can only have been when
crossing water on men's backs that I did not make notes. I jotted
things down as I walked, as I sat, as I knelt, as I lay on my _futon_,
as I journeyed in _kuruma_, on horseback, in jolting _basha_, in
automobiles, in shaking cross-country trains and in boats; in
brilliant sunshine and sweltering heat, in the shade and in dust; in
the early morning with chilled fingers or more or less furtively as I
crouched at protracted private or official repasts, or late at night
endeavoured to gather crumbs from the wearing conversation of polite
callers who, though set on helping me, did not always find it easy to
understand the kind of information of which I was in search. One of
these asked my travelling companion _sotto voce_, "Is he after metal
mines?"
I went on my own trips and on routes planned out for me by
agricultural and social zealots, and from time to time I returned
physically and mentally fatigued to my little Japanese house near
Tokyo to rest and to write out from my memoranda, to seek data for new
districts from the obliging Department of Agriculture and the
Agricultural College people at the Imperial University, and to eat and
drink with rural authorities who chanced to be visiting the capital
from distant prefectures. I had many setbacks. I was misinformed, now
and then intentionally and often unintentionally. There were many days
which were not only harassing but seemingly wasted. I often despaired
of achieving results worth all the exertion I was making and the money
I was spending. I must have worn to shreds the patience of some
English-speaking Japanese friends, but they never owned defeat. In the
end I found that I made progress.
But so did the War, which when I set out from London few believed
would last long. I was troubled by continually meeting with incredible
ignorance about the War, the issues at stake and the certain end. The
Japanese who talked with me were 10,000 miles away from the fighting.
Japan had nothing to lose, everything indeed to gain from the
abatement of Europe's activities in Asia. Not only Japanese soldiers
but many administrative, educational, agricultural and commercial
experts had been to school in Germany. There was much in common in the
German and Japanese mentalities, much alike in Central European and
Farthest East regard for the army and for order, devotion to
regulations, habit of subordination and deification of the State.
Eventually the well-known anti-Ally campaign broke out in Tokyo, a
thing which has never been sufficiently explained. Soon I was pressed
to turn aside from my studies and attempt the more immediately useful
task: to explain why Western nations, whose manifest interests were
peace, were resolutely squandering their blood and wealth in War.
If what I published had some measure of success,[6] it was because by
this time, unlike some of the critics who sharply upbraided Japan and
made impossible proposals in impossible terms, I had learnt something
at first hand about the Japanese, because I wrote of the difficulties
as well as the faults of Japan, and because I was now a little known
as her well-wisher. One of the two books I published was translated as
a labour of love, as I shall never forget, by a Japanese public man
whose leisure was so scant that he sat up two nights to get his
manuscript finished. Before long I had involved myself in the arduous
task of founding and of editing for two years a monthly review, _The
New East (Shin Toyo)_,[7] with for motto a sentence of my own which
expresses what wisdom I have gained about the Orient, _The real
barrier between East and West is a distrust of each other's morality
and the illusion that the distrust is on one side only._
The excuse for so personal a digression is that, when this period of
literary and journalistic stress began, my rural notebooks and MSS.,
memoranda of conversations on social problems and a heterogeneous
collection of reports and documents had to be stowed into boxes. There
they stayed until a year ago. The entries in a dozen of my little
hurriedly filled notebooks have lost their flavour or are
unintelligible: I have put them all aside. Neither is it possible to
utilise notes which were submarined or lost in over-worked post
offices. This book--I have had to leave out Kyushu entirely--is not
the work I planned, a complete account of rural life and industry in
every part of Japan, with an excursus on Korea and Formosa, and
certain general conclusions: a standard work, no doubt, in, I am
afraid, two volumes, and forgetful at times of the warning that "to
spend too much Time in Studies is Sloth."
What I had transcribed before leaving Japan I have now been able in
the course of a leisured year in England to overhaul and to supplement
by up-to-date statistics in an extensive Appendix. In the changed
circumstances in which the book is completed I have also ruthlessly
transferred to this Appendix all the technical matter in the text, so
that nothing shall obstruct the way of the general reader. At some
future date there may be by another hand a book about Japan in terms
of soils, manures and crops. That is the book the War saved me from
writing. In the present work I have the opportunity which so few
authors have enjoyed of jettisoning all technics into an Appendix.
[Illustration: _Shin Koron_
"BYGONE DAYS IN JAPAN" IS THE TITLE OF THIS CARTOON]
"It is necessary," says a wise modern author, "to meditate over one's
impressions at leisure, to start afresh again and again with a clearer
vision of the essential facts." And a Japanese companion of my
journeys writes, "Never can you be sorry that this book is coming
late. This time of delay has been the best time; we have had enough
of first impressions." The justification for this volume is that, in
spite of the difficulties attending the composition of it, it may be
held to offer a picture of some aspects of modern Japan to be found
nowhere else. Politics is not for these pages, nor, because there are
so many charming books on æsthetic and scenic Japan, do I write on Art
or about Fuji, Kyoto, Nara, Miyanoshita and Nikko. I went to Japan to
see the countryman. The Japanese whom most of the world knows are
townified, sometimes Americanised or Europeanised, and, as often as
not, elaborately educated. They are frequently remarkable men. They
stand for a great deal in modern Japan. But their untownified
fellow-countrymen, with the training of tradition and experience, of
rural schoolmasters and village elders, and, as frequently, of the
carefully shielded army, are more than half of the nation.
What is their health of mind and body? By what social and moral
principles and prejudices are they swayed? To what extent are they
adequate to the demand that is made and is likely to be made upon
them? In what respects are they the masters of their lives or are
mastered? In what ways are they still open to Western influences? And
in what directions are they now inclined to trust to "themselves
alone"?
If the masters of the rural journal were sometimes mistaken in the
observations they made from horseback, I cannot have escaped
blundering in passing through more dimly lit scenes than they visited.
"If there appears here and there any uncorrectness, I do not hold
myself obliged to answer for what I could not perfectly govern."[8]
But I have laboriously taken all the precautions I could and I have
obeyed as far as possible a recent request that "visitors to the Far
East should confine themselves to what they have seen with their own
eyes." As Huxley wrote, "all that I have proposed to myself is to say,
This and this have I learned."
I take pleasure in recalling that some years ago I was approached with
a view to undertaking for the United States Government a
socio-agricultural investigation in a foreign country. Reared as I
have been in the whole faith of a citizen of the English-speaking
world, I am glad to think that the present volume may be of some
service to American readers. The United States is within ten
days--Canada is within nine--of Japan against Great Britain's month by
the Atlantic-C.P.R.-Pacific route and eight weeks by Suez. There are
more American visitors than British to Japan. It was America that
first opened Japan to the West, and the debt of Japan to American
training and stimulus is immense. But British services to Japan have
also been substantial. Great Britain was the first to welcome her
within the circle of the Great Powers, and the Anglo-Japanese Alliance
did more for Japan than some Japanese have been willing to admit. The
problem of Japan is the problem of the whole English-speaking world.
Rightly conceived, the interests of the British Empire and the United
States in the Far East are one and indivisible.
The Japanese version of the title of this book (kindly suggested by
Mr. Seichi Narusé) is _Nihon no Shinzui_, literally, "The Marrow" or
"The Core of Japan." His Excellency the Japanese Ambassador, the
beauty of whose calligraphy is well known, was so very kind as to
allow me to requisition his clever brush for the script for the
engraver; but it must be understood that Baron Hayashi has seen
nothing of the volume but the cover.
I greatly regret that the present conditions of book production make
it impossible to reproduce more than one in thirty of my photographs.
It is in no spirit of ingratitude to my hosts and many other kind
people in Japan that I have taken the decision resolutely to strike
out of the text all those names of places and persons which give such
a forbidding air to a traveller's page. I have pleasure in
acknowledging here the particular obligations I am under to Kunio
Yanaghita, formerly Secretary of the Japanese House of Peers and a
distinguished and disinterested student of rural conditions, Dr.
Nitobe, assistant secretary of the League of Nations, and his wife,
Professor Nasu, Imperial University, Mr. Yamasaki, Mr. M. Yanagi, Mr.
Kanzō Uchimura, Mr. Bernard Leach, Mr. M. Tajima, Mr. Ono and two
young officials in Hokkaido, who each in turn found time to join me on
my journeys and showed me innumerable kindnesses. It was a piece of
good fortune that while these pages were in preparation Mr. Yanaghita,
Professor Nasu and other fellow-travellers were in Europe and
available for consultation. Professor Nasu unweariedly furnished
painstaking answers to many questions, and was kind enough to read all
of the book in proof; but he has no responsibility, of course, for the
views which I express. I am also specially indebted to Dr. Kozai,
President of the Imperial University, to Mr. Ito and other officials
of the Ministry of Agriculture, to Mr. Tsurimi, one of the most
understanding of travelled Japanese, to Mr. Iwanaga, formerly of the
Imperial Railway Board, to Dr. Sato, President of Hokkaido University,
and his obliging colleagues, to the Imperial Agricultural Society, to
Professors Yahagi and Yokoi, and to Viscount Kano, Dr. Kuwada, Mr. I.
Yoshida, Mr. K. Ohta, Mr. H. Saito, Mr. S. Hoshijima, and many
provincial agricultural and sociological experts.
Portions of drafts for this book have appeared in the _Daily
Telegraph, World's Work, Manchester Guardian, New East, Asia, Japan
Chronicle_ and _Christian World_. I am indebted to the _World's Work_
and _Asia_ for some additional illustrations from blocks made from my
photographs, and to the _New East_ for some sketches by Miss Elizabeth
Keith.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] There is a small book by an able American soil specialist, the
late Professor King, which describes through rose-tinted glasses the
farming of Japan, and of China and Korea as well, on the basis of a
flying trip to countries the population of which is thrice that of
Great Britain and the United States together. The author of another
book, published last year, delivers himself of this astonishing
opinion: "The Japanese is no better fitted to direct his own
agriculture than I am to steer a rudderless ship across the Atlantic."
[2] _Vide_ Sir Daniel Hall's _Pilgrimage of English Farming_ and
articles of mine in the _Nineteenth Century_ and _Times_, and my _Land
Problem_.
[3] The Japanese have only lately, however, made some acknowledgment
of their debt to Hearn, and in an eight-page bibliography of the best
books about Japan in the _Japan Year Book_ Murdoch's as yet unrivalled
_History_ is not even mentioned.
[4] _Ohyakusho_ must not be confused with _Oo-hyakusho_ or
_Oo-byakusho_, which means a large farmer. _O_ is a polite prefix;
_Oo_ or _O_ means large.
[5] Horizontal wall writings.
[6] About 35,000 copies of my two bilingual books were circulated.
[7] With the backing of a London Committee composed of Lord Burnham,
Sir G.W. Prothero, Mr. J. St. Loe Strachey and Mr. C.V. Sale.
[8] Tenison, 1684.
CONTENTS
STUDIES IN A SINGLE PREFECTURE (AICHI)
CHAPTER
I. THE MERCY OF BUDDHA
II. "GOOD PEOPLE ARE NOT SUFFICIENTLY PRECAUTIOUS"
III. EARLY-RISING SOCIETIES AND OTHER INGENUOUS ACTIVITIES
IV. "THE SIGHT OF A GOOD MAN IS ENOUGH"
V. COUNTRY-HOUSE LIFE
VI. BEFORE OKUNITAMA-NO-MIKO-KAMI
VII. OF "DEVIL-GON" AND YOSOGI
THE MOST EXACTING CROP IN THE WORLD
VIII. THE HARVEST FROM THE MUD
IX. THE RICE BOWL, THE GODS AND THE NATION
BACK TO FIRST PRINCIPLES: THE APOSTLE AND THE ARTIST
X. A TROUBLER OF ISRAEL
XI. THE IDEA OF A GAP
ACROSS JAPAN (TOKYO TO NIIGATA AND BACK)
XII. TO THE HILLS (TOKYO, SAITAMA, TOCHIGI AND FUKUSHIMA)
XIII. THE DWELLERS IN THE HILLS (FUKUSHIMA)
XIV. SHRINES AND POETRY (NIIGATA AND TOYAMA)
XV. THE NUN'S CELL (NAGANO)
IN AND OUT OF THE SILK PREFECTURE
XVI. PROBLEMS BEHIND THE PICTURESQUE
(SAITAMA, GUMMA, NAGANO AND YAMANASHI)
XVII. THE BIRTH, BRIDAL AND DEATH OF THE
SILK-WORM (NAGANO)
XVIII. "GIRL COLLECTORS" AND FACTORIES
(NAGANO AND YAMANASHI)
XIX. "FRIEND-LOVE-SOCIETY'S" GRIM TALE
FROM TOKYO TO THE NORTH BY THE WEST COAST
XX. "THE GARDEN WHERE VIRTUES ARE
CULTIVATED" (FUKUSHIMA AND YAMAGATA)
XXI. THE "TANOMOSHI" (YAMAGATA)
BACK AGAIN BY THE EAST COAST
XXII. "BON" SONGS AND THE SILENT PRIEST
(YAMAGATA, AKITA, AOMORI, IWATE,
MIYAGI, FUKUSHIMA AND IBARAKI)
XXIII. A MIDNIGHT TALK
THE ISLAND OF SHIKOKU
XXIV. LANDLORDS, PRIESTS AND "BASHA"
(TOKUSHIMA, KOCHI AND KAGAWA)
XXV. "SPECIAL TRIBES" (EHIME)
XXVI. THE STORY OF THE BLIND HEADMAN (EHIME)
THE SOUTH-WEST OF JAPAN
XXVII. UP-COUNTRY ORATORY (YAMAGUCHI)
XXVIII. MEN, DOGS AND SWEET POTATOES (SHIMANE)
XXIX. FRIENDS OF LAFCADIO HEARN (SHIMANE, TOTTORI AND HYOGO)
TWO MONTHS IN TEMPLE (NAGANO)
XXX. THE LIFE OF THE PEASANTS AND THEIR PRIESTS
XXXI. "BON" SEASON SCENES
IN AND OUT OF THE TEA PREFECTURE
XXXII. PROGRESS OF SORTS (SHIDZUOKA AND KANAGAWA)
XXXIII. GREEN TEA AND BLACK (SHIDZUOKA)
EXCURSIONS FROM TOKYO
XXXIV. A COUNTRY DOCTOR AND HIS NEIGHBOURS (CHIBA)
XXXV. THE HUSBANDMAN, THE WRESTLER AND
THE CARPENTER (SAITAMA, GUMMA AND TOKYO)
XXXVI. "THEY FEEL THE MERCY OF THE SUN"
(GUMMA, KANAGAWA AND CHIBA)
REFLECTIONS IN HOKKAIDO
XXXVII. COLONIAL JAPAN AND ITS UN-JAPANESE WAYS
XXXVIII. SHALL THE JAPANESE EAT BREAD AND MEAT?
XXXIX. MUST THE JAPANESE MAKE THEIR OWN "YOFUKU"?
XL. THE PROBLEMS OF JAPAN
APPENDICES
INDEX
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
BATH IN AN AGRICULTURAL SCHOOL _facing title-page_
JŪJITSU (AND RIFLES) AT THE SAME SCHOOL
BYGONE DAYS IN JAPAN
THE ROOM IN WHICH THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN
THE MERCY OF BUDDHA
"TO ROUSE THE VILLAGE YOU MUST FIRST ROUSE THE PRIEST"
PLAN OF THE FARMER'S SYMBOLIC TREES
ADJUSTED RICE-FIELDS
LIBRARY AND WORKSHED OF A Y.M.A.
LANDOWNER'S SON AND DAUGHTER
SHRINE IN A LANDOWNER'S HOUSE
MR. YAMASAKI, DR. NITOBE, AUTHOR AND PROF. NASU
THE HOUSE IN WHICH THE TEA CEREMONY TOOK PLACE
AUTHOR QUESTIONING OFFICIALS
AUTHOR PLANTING COMMEMORATIVE TREES
RICE POLISHING BY FOOT POWER
"HIBACHI," A FLOWER ARRANGEMENT AND "KAKEMONO"
SCHOOL SHRINE CONTAINING EMPEROR'S PORTRAIT
FENCING AT AN AGRICULTURAL SCHOOL
WAR MEMENTOES--ALL SCHOOLS HAVE SOME
A 200-YEARS-OLD DRAWING OF THE RICE PLANT
SCATTERING ARTIFICIAL MANURE IN ADJUSTED
PADDIES
PLANTING OUT RICE SEEDLINGS
PUSH-CART FOR COLLECTION OF FERTILISER
MINISTER OF AGRICULTURE'S EFFORTS TO KEEP PRICE OF RICE DOWN
MUZZLED EDITORS
"THE JAPANESE CARLYLE"
MR. AND MRS. YANAGI
CHILDREN CATCHING INSECTS ON RICE-SEED BEDS
MASTERS OF A COUNTRY SCHOOL AND SOME CHILDREN
CULTIVATION TO THE HILL-TOPS
IMPLEMENTS, MEASURES AND MACHINES, AND A BALE OF RICE
MOVABLE STAGE AT A FESTIVAL
FARMHOUSE AT WHICH MR. UCHIMURA PREACHED
TENANT FARMERS' HOUSES
AUTHOR AT THE "SPIRIT MEETING"
SOME PERFORMERS AT THE "SPIRIT MEETING"
IN A BUDDHIST NUNNERY
JAPANESE GRASS-CUTTING TOOLS COMPARED WITH A SCYTHE
CHILD-COLLECTORS OF VILLAGERS' SAVINGS
NUNS PHOTOGRAPHED IN A "CELL"
STUDENTS' STUDY AT AN AGRICULTURAL SCHOOL
TEACHERS OF A VILLAGE SCHOOL
GIRLS CARRYING BALES OF RICE
SERICULTURAL SCHOOL STUDENTS
SILK FACTORIES IN KAMISUWA
VILLAGE ASSEMBLY-ROOM
ARCHERY AT AN AGRICULTURAL SCHOOL
CULTIVATION OF THE HILLSIDE
RAILWAY STATION "BENTO" AND POT OF TEA
A SCARECROW
THE BLIND HEADMAN AND HIS COLLECTING-BAG
MR. YANAGHITA IN HIS CORONATION CEREMONY ROBES
PORTABLE APPARATUS FOR RAISING WATER
VILLAGE SCHOOL WITH PORTRAIT OF FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE
RIVER-BEDS IN THE SUMMER
SCHOOL SHRINE FOR EMPEROR'S PORTRAIT
AUTHOR ADDRESSING LAFCADIO HEARN MEETING
A PEASANT PROPRIETOR'S HOUSE
GRAVESTONES REASSEMBLED AFTER PADDY ADJUSTMENT
TEMPLE IN WHICH THIS CHAPTER WAS WRITTEN
FIRE ENGINE AND PRIMITIVE FIGURES
YOUNG MEN'S CLUB-ROOM
MEMORIAL STONES
ROOF PROTECTED AGAINST STORMS BY STONES
OFF TO THE UPLAND FIELDS
FARMER'S WIFE
MOTHER AND CHILD
A CRADLE
FIRE ALARM AND OBSERVATION POST
RACK FOR DRYING RICE
VILLAGE CREMATORIUM
DOG HELPING TO PULL JINRIKISHA
AUTHOR, MR. YAMASAKI AND YOUNGEST INHABITANTS
"TORII" AT THE SHRINE OF THE FOX GOD
TABLETS RECORDING GIFTS TO A TEMPLE
INSIDE THE "SHOJI"
AUTOMATIC RICE POLISHER
AUTHOR IN A CRATER
A TYPE OF WAYSIDE MONUMENTS
GIANT RADISH OR "DAIKON"
CUTTING GRASS
CURRENCY, WEIGHTS AND MEASURES
AND OFFICIAL TERMS
The prices given in the text (but not in the footnotes and Appendix) were
recorded before the War inflation began. The War was followed by a
severe financial crisis. Professor Nasu wrote to me during the summer of
1921:
"You are very wise to leave the figures as they stood. It is useless
to try to correct them, because they are still changing. The price of
rice, which did not exceed 15 yen per koku when you were making your
research work, exceeded 50 yen in 1919, and is now struggling to
maintain the price of 25 yen. Taking at 100 the figures for the years
1915 or 1916--fortunately there is not much difference between these
two years--the prices of six leading commodities reached in 1919 an
average of about 250. After 1919 the prices of some commodities went
still higher, but mostly they did not change very much; on the other
hand, recently the prices of many commodities--among them rice and raw
silk especially--have been coming down and this downward movement is
gradually extending to all other commodities. From these
considerations I deduce that the index number of general commodities
may be safely taken as 200 when your book appears. _The reader of your
book has simply to double the figures given by you--that is the
figures of_ 1915 _and_ 1916--_in order to get a rough estimate of
present prices._"
Where exact statements of area and yield are necessary, as in the
study of the intense agriculture of Japan, local measures are
preferable to our equivalents in awkward fractions. Further, the
measures used in this book are easily remembered, and no serious study
of Japanese agriculture on the spot is possible without remembering
them. While, however, Japanese currency, weights and measures have
been uniformly used, equivalents have been supplied at every place in
the book where their omission might be reasonably considered to
interfere with easy reading. The following tables are restricted to
currency, weights and measures mentioned in the book.
MONEY[9]
_Yen_ = roughly (at the time notes for the book were made) a florin or half
a dollar = 100 sen.
_Sen_ = a farthing or half cent = 10 rin.
LONG
_Ri_ = roughly 2-1/2 miles.
_Shaku_ (roughly 1 ft.) = 11.93 in.
Ri are converted into miles by being multiplied by 2.44.
SQUARE
_Ri_ (roughly 6 sq. miles) = 5.955 sq. miles.
_Chō_ (sometimes written, _Chōbu_) (roughly 2-1/2 acres) = 2.450 acres =
10 tan = 3,000 tsubo.
_Tan_ or _Tambu_ (roughly 1/4 acre) = 0.245 acres = 10 se = 300 bu.
_Bu_ or _Tsubo_ (roughly 4 sq. yds.) = 3.953 sq. yds.
An acre is about 4 tan 10 bu or 1,200 bu or tsubo (an urban measure).
The size of rooms is reckoned by the number of mats, which are ordinarily
6 shaku in length and 3 shaku in breadth.
CAPACITY
_Koku_ (roughly 40 gals, or 5 bush.) = 39.703 gals, or 4.960 bush. =
10 tō. According to American measurements, there are 47.653 gals,
(liquid) and 5.119 bush, (dry) in a koku. A koku of rice is 313-1/2 lbs.
(British).
A koku of imported rice is, however, 330-1/2 lbs. The following koku must
also be noted: ordinary barley, 231 lbs.; naked barley 301.1 lbs.; wheat
288.7 lbs.; proso millet, 247.9 lbs.; foxtail millet, 280.9 lbs.; barnyard
millet, 165.2 lbs.; brickaheat, 247.9 lbs.; maize, 289.2 lbs.; soya beans,
286.5 lbs.; azuki (red) beans, 319.9 lbs.; horse beans, 266.6 lbs.; peas,
306.5 lbs.
_Hyō_ (roughly 2 bush.) = 1.985 bush. = 4 tō = bale of rice.
_Tō_ (roughly 4 gals, or 1/2 bush.) = 3.970 gals, or .496 bush, or
1.985 pecks = 10 shō.
_Shō_ (roughly 1-1/2 qts.) = 1.588 qts. or 0.198 pecks or 108-1/2
cub. in. = 10 gō.
_Gō_ (roughly 1/3 pint) =.3176 pints or 0.019 pecks.
Rice is not bagged but baled, and a bale is 4 tō or 1 hyō.
WEIGHT
_Kwan_ or _kwamme_ (roughly 8-1/4 lbs.) = 8.267 lbs. av. or 10.047 lbs.
troy = 1,000 momme.
_Kin_ (catty) = 1.322 lbs. av. or 1.607 troy = 160 momme.
_Momme_ = 2.116 drams or 2.411 dwts. According to American measurements
a momme is 0.132 oz. av. and 0.120 oz. troy.
_Hyakkin_ (_picul_) = 100 kin = 132.277 lbs.
A stone is 1.693, a cwt. is 13.547, and a ton 270.950 kwamme.
LOCAL ADMINISTRATIVE TERMS
_Ken_.--Prefecture. There are forty-three ken and Hokkaido. Ken
and fu are made up of the former sixty-six provinces. Sometimes the name
of the ken and the name of the capital of the ken are the same: example,
Shidzuoka-ken, capital Shidzuoka.
_Fu_.--Three prefectures are municipal prefectures and are called not
ken but fu. They are Tokyo-fu, Kyoto-fu and Osaka-fu.
_Gun_ (_kōri_).--Division of a prefecture, a county or rural district.
There are 636 gun. Gun are now being done away with.
_Shi_.--City. There are seventy-nine cities.
_Cho_.--A town or rather a district preponderatingly urban. There are
1,333 cho.
_Machi_.--Japanese name for the Chinese character cho.
_Son_.--A village or rather a district preponderatingly rural. There are
10,839 son.
_Mura_.--Japanese name for a Chinese character son.
A true idea of the Japanese village is obtained as soon as one mentally
defines it as a commune. There may be a rural community called son
or a municipal community called cho. The cho or son consists of a number of
oaza, that is, big aza, which in turn consists of a number of ko-aza or
small aza. A ko-aza may consist of twenty or thirty dwellings, that is,
a hamlet, or it may be only one dwelling. It may be ten acres in extent
or fifty. I found that the population of a particular municipality was
10,000 in seven big oaza comprising twenty-two ko-aza.
[Illustration: THE ROOM, OVERLOOKING THE PACIFIC, IN WHICH MUCH OF
THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN
The feet of the chair and table are fitted with wooden slats so as not
to injure the _tatami_. Electricity as a matter of course!]
[Illustration: THE MERCY OF BUDDHA
The worshippers in the front row lost relatives by a flood.
This is not the priest referred to in Chapter I.]
THE
FOUNDATIONS OF JAPAN
STUDIES IN A SINGLE PREFECTURE
(AICHI)[10]
CHAPTER I
THE MERCY OF BUDDHA
The only hard facts, one learns to see as one gets older, are the
facts of feeling. Emotion and sentiment are, after all, incomparably
more solid than any statistics. So that when one wanders back in
memory through the field one has traversed in diligent search of hard
facts, one comes back bearing in one's arms a Sheaf of
Feelings.--HAVELOCK ELLIS.
One day as I walked along a narrow path between rice fields in a
remote district in Japan, I saw a Buddhist priest coming my way. He
was rosy-faced and benign, broad-shouldered and a little rotund. He
had with him a string of small children. I stood by to let him pass
and lifted my hat. He bowed and stopped, and we entered into
conversation. He told me that he was taking the children to a
festival. I said that I should like to meet him again. He offered to
come to see me in the evening at my host's house. When he arrived, and
I asked him, after a little polite talk, what was the chief difficulty
in the way of improving the moral condition of his village, he
answered, "I am."
We spoke of Buddhism, and he complained that its sects were "too
aristocratic." When his own sect of Buddhism, Shinshu, was started, he
said, it was something "quite democratic for the common people." But
with the lapse of time this democratic sect had also "become
aristocratic." "Though the founder of Shinshu wore flaxen clothing,
Shinshu priests now have glittering costumes. And everyone has heard
of the magnificence of the Kyoto Hongwanji" (the great temple at
Kyoto, the headquarters of the sect).[11] "Contrary to the principles
of religion and democracy," people thought of the priest and the
temple "as something beyond their own lives." All this stood in the
way of improvement.
The fashion in which many landowners "despised exertion and lived
luxuriously" was another hindrance. These men looked down on
education, "thinking themselves clever because they read the
newspapers." Landlords of this sort were fond of curios, and kept
their capital in such things instead of in agriculture. Sellers of
curios visited the village too often. A wise man had called the
curio-seller the "Spirit of Poverty" (_Bimbogami_). He said that the
Spirit visited a man when he became rich--in order to bring curios to
him; and again when he became poor--in order to take them away from
him! After he became poor the Spirit of Poverty never visited him
again.
Yet another drawback to rural progress was petty political ambition.
People slandered neighbours who belonged to another party and they
would not associate with them. Such party feeling was one of the bad
influences of civilisation.
Further, "a mercenary spirit and materialism" had to be fought in the
village. There was not, however, much trouble due to drink, and there
was no gambling now. There might still be impropriety between young
people--formerly young men used to visit the factory girls--but it was
rare. Lately there had been land speculation, and some of those who
made money went to tea-houses to see geisha.
There was in the neighbourhood, this Buddhist pastor went on, a temple
belonging to the same sect as his own, and he was on friendly terms
with its priest. It was good discipline, he said, for two priests to
be working near one another if they were of the same sect, for their
work was compared. In answer to my enquiry, the old man said that he
preached four days a month. Each service consisted of reading for an
hour and then preaching for two hours. About 150 or 200 persons would
attend. He had also a service every morning from five to six. In
addition to these gatherings in the temple he conducted services in
farmers' houses. "I feel rather ashamed sometimes," he said, "when I
listen to the good sermons of Christians."
As the priest was taking leave he told me that he was going to a
farmer's house in order to conduct a service. I asked to be allowed to
accompany him. He kindly agreed, and invited me to stay the night in
his temple.
When I reached the farmhouse there were there about two dozen kneeling
people, including members of the family. On the coming of the priest,
who had gone to the temple to put on his robes, the farmer threw open
the doors of the family shrine and lighted the candles in it. The
priest knelt down by the shrine and invited me to kneel near him. In a
few words he told the people why I was in the district. Whereupon the
farmer's aged mother piped, "We heard that a tall man had come, but to
think that we should see him and be in the same room with him!"
When he had prayed, the priest read from a roll of the Shinshu
scripture which he had taken reverently from a box and a succession of
wrappings. Afterwards he preached from a "text," continuing, of
course, to kneel as we did. A flickering light fell upon us from a
lamp hanging from a beam. The room was pervaded with incense from an
iron censer which the farmer gently swung. The worshippers told their
beads, and in intervals between the priest's sentences I heard the
murmur of fervent prayer. The priest preached his sermon with his eyes
shut, and I could watch him narrowly. It is not so often that one sees
an old man with a sweet face. But there was sweetness in both the face
and voice of this priest. He spoke slowly and clearly, sometimes
pausing for a little between his sentences as if for better
inspiration, as a Quaker will sometimes do in speaking at meeting. His
tones were no higher than could be heard clearly in the room. There
was nothing of the exhorter in this man. His talk did not sound like
preaching at all. It was like kind, friendly talk at the fireside at a
solemn time. "Faith, prayer, morality: these alone are necessary," was
the burden of the simple address. "We have faith by divine providence;
out of our thanksgiving comes prayer, and we cannot but be good." It
was plain that the old women loved their priest. In the front of the
congregation were three crones gnarled in hands and face. When the
sermon of an hour or so came to an end they spoke quaveringly of the
mercy of Buddha to them, and of their own feebleness to do well. The
old priest gently offered them comfort and counsel.
After the service, in the light of the priest's paper lantern, I made
my way along the road to the temple. At length I found myself mounting
the lichened stone steps to the great closed gates. The priest drew
the long wooden bolt and pushed one gate creakingly back. We went by a
paved pathway into the deeper shadow of the temple. Then a light
glowed from the side of the building, and we were in the priest's
house. It was like a farmer's house only more refined in detail.
About half-past four in the morning I was awakened by the booming of
the temple bell. It is the sound which of all delights in the Far East
is most memorable. I got up, and, following the example of my host,
had a bath in the open, and dressed.
Then I was lighted along passages into the public part of the temple.
The priest with an acolyte began service at the middle altar.
Afterwards he proceeded to a side altar. At one stage of the service
he chanted a hymn which ran something like this:
From the virtues and the mercies of divine providence we
get faith, the worth of which is boundless.
The ice of petty care and trouble which froze our hearts
is melted.
It has become the water of divine illumination, bearing
us on to peace.
The more care and trouble, the greater the illumination
and the reward.
I knelt on the outside of the congregational group. It was cold as
the great doors were slid open from time to time and the kneeling
figures grew in number to about forty. Day broke and a few sparrows
twittered by the time the first part of the service was over.
The priest then took up his lamp and low table, and, coming without
the altar rail, knelt down in the midst of the congregation. In this
familiar relation with his people he delivered a homily in a
conversational tone. Buddha was to mankind as a father to his
children, he said. If a man did bad things but repented, his father
would be more delighted than if he got rich. The way of serving Buddha
was to feel his love. To ask of the rich or of a master was
supplication, but we did not need to supplicate Buddha. Our love of
Buddha and his love for us would become one thing. Carelessness, an
evil spirit, doubt: these were the enemies. Gold was beautiful to look
at, but if the gold stuck in one's eyes so that one could not see, how
then? The true essence of belief was the abandonment of ourselves to
divine providence.
So the speaker went on, pressing home his thoughts with anecdote or
legend. There was the tale of a woman whose character benefited when
her husband became a leper. Another story was of an injured lizard
which was fed for many days by its mate. We were also told of a
mischievous fellow who tried to anger a believer. The ne'er-do-weel
went to the man's house and called him a liar. The believer thanked
him for his faithful dealing, and said that it might be true that he
was a liar. He would be glad, he said, to be given further advice
after his wife had warmed water in order that his visitor might wash
his feet. "The mind of the vagabond was thereupon changed."
The rays of light from the lamp illumined the large Buddha-like shaven
head and mild countenance of the priest and the labour-worn faces of
his flock around him. Two weatherbeaten men curiously resembled
Highland elders. I saw that they, an old woman and a young mother with
a child tied on her back kept their eyes fixed on the preacher. It was
plain that in the service they found strength for the day.
I was in a reverie when the priest ended his talk. To my
embarrassment he begged me to come with him within the altar rail and
speak to the people. I had been quickened to such a degree by the
experience of the previous night and by this service at dawn that I
stood up at once. But there seemed to be not one word at my call, and
my knees knocked because of cold and shyness. I grasped the chilly
brass altar rail, and, as I met the gaze of friendly, sun-tanned,
care-rutted alien faces, which yet had the look of "kent folk," I
marvellously found sentence following sentence. What I said matters
nothing. What I felt was the unity of all religion, my veneration for
this rare priest, a sense of kinship with these worshippers of another
race and faith, and a realisation of the elemental things which lie at
the basis of international understanding. Several old men and women
came up to me and bowed and made little speeches of kindness and
cordiality. Six was striking on a clock in the priest's house as the
doors of the temple were slid open, the great cryptomeria[12] which
guard the village fane stood forth augustly in the morning light, and
the congregation went out to its labour.
As I knelt at breakfast and ate my rice and pickles and drank my
_miso_ soup,[13] the priest, after the manner of a Japanese with an
honoured guest, did not take food but waited upon me. He asked if the
English clergy wore a costume which marked them off from the people.
He liked the way of some of our preachers who wore ordinary clothes
and eschewed the title of "reverend." He was also taken by the idea of
the Quaker meeting at which there is silence until someone feels he
has a message to utter. As to the future of Buddhism, he deeply
regretted to say that many priests were a generation behind the age.
If the priests were "more democratic, better educated and more truly
religious," then they might be able to keep hold of young men. He knew
of one priest in Tokyo who had a dormitory for university students.
The priest presented his wife, a kindly woman full of character. "This
is my wife," he said; "please teach her." I spoke of a kind of
kindergarten which I had learnt had been conducted at the temple for
five years. "We merely play with the children," she said. "I had the
plan of it from the kindergarten of a missionary," her husband added.
The priest and his wife were kneeling side by side in the still
temple-room looking out on their restful garden. Behind them was a
screen the inscription on which might be translated, "We are to be
thankful for our environment; we are to become content quite naturally
by the gracious influence of the universe and by the strength of our
own will."
I could learn nothing from the priest concerning several helpful
organisations which I had heard that the villagers owed to his
influence and exertions. But the manager of the village agricultural
association told me that for a quarter of a century Otera San (Mr.
Temple) had superintended the education of the young people, that
under his guidance the village had a seven years' old co-operative
credit and selling society, 294 families belonged to a poultry
society, 320 men and women gathered to study the doctrines of Ninomiya
(whom we in the West know from a little book by a late Japanese
Ambassador in London, called _For His People_), and the young men's
association performed its discipline at half-past five in the morning
in the winter and at four o'clock in the summer.
[Illustration: "TO ROUSE THE VILLAGE YOU MUST FIRST ROUSE THE PRIEST"
(Autograph of Otera San)]
FOOTNOTES:
[9] Exchange in 1916; in 1921 the yen is worth 2s. 8d.
[10] The chapters in this section are based on notes of several visits
paid to Aichi, which is in the middle of Japan, and agriculturally and
socially one of the most interesting of the prefectures. It is three
prefectures distant from Tokyo.
[11] Throughout this book an attempt has been made to preserve in
translation something of the character of the Japanese phraseology.
[12] _Cryptomeria japonica_, or in Japanese, _sugi_, allied to the
sequoia, yew and cypress.
[13] _Miso_, bean paste.
CHAPTER II
"GOOD PEOPLE ARE NOT SUFFICIENTLY PRECAUTIOUS"
Je ne propose rien, je n'impose rien, j'expose.--_De la liberté du travail_
He had been through Tokyo University, but his hands were rough with
the work of the rice fields. "I resent the fact that a farmer is
considered to be socially inferior to a townsman," he said. "I am
going to show that the income of a farmer who is diligent and skilful
may equal that of a Minister of State. I also propose to build a fine
house, not out of vanity, but in order to show that an honest farmer
can do as well for himself as a townsman."
When I asked the speaker to tell me something about himself he went
on: "My father was a follower of a pupil of the great Ninomiya.
Schools of frugal living and high ideals were common in the Tokugawa
period.[14] The object sought was the education of heart and spirit.
At night when I was in bed my father used to kneel by me,[15] his
eldest son, and say, 'When you grow big you must become a great man
and distinguish our family name.' This instruction was given to me
repeatedly and it went deeply into my heart."
"When I became a young man," he continued, "I had two friends. We made
promises to each other. One said, 'I will become the greatest scholar
in Japan.' The second said, 'I will become the greatest statesman.'
The third, myself, said, 'I will be the greatest rice grower in this
country.' If we all succeeded we were to build beautiful houses and
invite each other to them.
"I did not graduate at the University because, by the entreaty of my
father, when I reached twenty-one, I left Tokyo in order to become a
practical farmer. It is twenty-one years since I began farming. I
consulted with skilful agriculturists and then I saw my way to make a
plan. Rice in my native place is inferior. I improved it for three or
four years. I gained the first gold prize at the prefectural show.
Some years later I obtained the first prize at the exhibition which
was held by five prefectures together. Later still I received the
first prize at the exhibition for eighteen prefectures, also the first
prize at the exhibition of the National Agricultural Association.
Further, I was appointed a judge of rice and travelled about.
"I consumed a great deal of time in doing this public work. One day I
was made to think. A collector for a charity said in my hearing that
he expected larger subscriptions from practical men because though
public men were esteemed by society their economic power was small. I
at once resolved that before doing any more public work I should put
myself in a sound financial position.
"As I thought over the matter it seemed to me that it was not to be
expected that a public man should be able to do his really best work
if his financial position were not sound. Again, could he have lasting
influence with people in practical affairs if his own practical
affairs were not in good order?[16] At any rate I determined not to go
out to any more exhibitions or lectures except those which were
remunerative, and I resolved to devote myself as my first duty to my
farming.
"I set to work and managed my land, 3 _chō_ (a _chō_ is 2-1/2 acres),
so as to obtain the gross income of an M.P. [The reader could scarcely
have a more striking illustration of the intensity with which Japanese
land is cultivated--the average area is under 3 acres per family.] I
am now working about 4 _chō_ (10 acres). Later on I am going to farm 7
_chō_ (15-1/2 acres) and from that I am expecting the income of a
Minister.[17] I have already collected the materials for my villa, for
I am approaching my goal. One of my two friends, who is also forty
years of age, is a distinguished chemist in the Imperial Agricultural
College. My other friend, who is forty-four, is Secretary of the
Korean Government."
The indomitable experimenter swallowed another cupful of tea and
declared that "in order to be prosperous, all the members of the
family must work." All the members of his family did work. His wife
was strong and there were five healthy children. He used the ordinary
farm implements and his livestock consisted of only a horse and a few
hens. The home farm was five miles from the station. The outlying
farms were scattered in five villages--"there are always spendthrift
lazy fellows willing to sell their land." "I have a firm belief," the
speaker added complacently, "that agriculture is the most honest, the
most sincere, the most interesting, the most secure and the most
profitable calling."
"Very often," he went on, "good people are not sufficiently
precautious"--I give the excellent word coined by my interpreter.
"They spend for the public good, and in the end they are left poor.
Renowned, rich families have come to a miserable condition by such
action. What they have done may have been good. But they are reduced
to pauperism and they are laughed at by many persons. People jeer that
they pretended to do good, yet they could not do good to themselves.
If all people who work for the public benefit are laughed at at
last--and many are--it will come to be thought that to work for the
public benefit is not good. Therefore I think that the man who would
work for the public good must be careful in his own affairs. He must
not be a poor man if he is to help public business. However
philanthropic he may be, if his financial position is not strong he
cannot go on long. He will be stopped on his good way. He cannot help
other people. Therefore I am now gathering wealth for strengthening
my financial position as a means to attain the higher end."
As the speaker awaited my judgment on his career, I ventured to
suggest that gifts, qualities and inspiration which made a man a
public man did not necessarily equip him for being a great success in
business life. The question was, perhaps, whether the type of man who
was pre-eminently successful in promoting his own pecuniary interests
was necessarily the best type of public man. Was the average character
equal to the strain of many years of concentration on money-making to
the exclusion of public interests? When men emerged from the sphere of
concentrated money-making, were they worth so very much as public men?
Might not the values of things have altered a little for them? Might
it not have a shrivelling effect on the heart to resist applications
which must be refused when the strengthening of one's financial
position was regarded as the chief object in life?
At this point our host, Mr. Yamasaki, the respected principal of the
big agricultural school of the prefecture and a well-known rural
author and speaker, broke in with the ejaculation, "He has got a
needle in your head"--the Japanese equivalent for "touching the
spot"--and continued: "Surely he is right who through his life offers
freely what he may have as to members of his own family. I give away
many pamphlets and I have guests. I could save in these directions.
But I am not doing it. I am content if I can support my family. I gave
a savings book to each of my five children. When the boy becomes
twenty-one he will have enough to finish at the university or start as
a small merchant so as not to be a parasite. My girls will be provided
with enough to furnish the costs of modest marriage. If I did more I
might perhaps become greedy."
I cannot say that the farmer who had so kindly outlined his life's
programme was impressed either by our host's views or by mine, but he
told us that he now spent 5 per cent. of his income on public
purposes, and that 150 yen received for giving lectures was spent on
books and recreation "for enlarging mind and heart." He happened to
mention that, though his family was of the Zen sect of Buddhism, he
was a Shintoist. It is difficult to believe that a genuine Buddhist
could have evolved such a life scheme. There is certainly a Shinto
symbolism in his plan of tree planting before his house. He has set
there, in the order shown, eleven pines which he named as marked:
[Illustration: PLAN OF THE ELEVEN SYMBOLIC TREES WHICH THE FARMER PLANTED
OUTSIDE HIS HOUSE AND THE EVILS (REPRESENTED BY ARROWS)
FROM WHICH THEY ARE SHIELDING HIM]
The virtues inscribed on this plan are the guardians of the farmer and
his family, which is represented in the middle of it. The words behind
the arrows represent the character of the attacks to which the farmer
conceives himself and his family to be exposed. Courage is imagined as
going before and Wisdom as protecting the rear.
The talk turned to some advice which had been given to farmers to lay
out "economic gardens." They were to plant no trees but fruit trees.
To this an old farmer of our company replied: "If you are too
economical your children will become mercenary. Some families were too
economical and cut down beautiful trees, planting instead economical
ones. Those families I have seen come to an evil end. The man who
exercises rigid economy may be a good man, but his children can know
little of his real motives and must be wrongly influenced by his
conduct." We all agreed that there was nowadays too much talk about
money-making in rural Japan. "Even I," laughed the owner of the
symbolic trees, "planted not persimmons but pines."
FOOTNOTES:
[14] That is, before the Revolution of half a century ago, when the
Tokugawa Shogun resigned his powers to the Emperor.
[15] The Japanese bed, _futon_, consists of a soft mattress of cotton
wool, two or three inches thick. It is spread on the floor, which
itself consists of mats of almost the same thickness, 6 ft. long by 3
ft. wide.
[16] Most of the really big men of Australia have left political life
in comparatively impoverished circumstances. Not only did Sir Henry
Parkes die poor. Sir George Reid took the High Commissionership in
London; Sir Graham Berry was provided with a small annuity; Sir George
Dibbs was made the manager of a State savings bank; Sir Edmund Barton
was lifted to the High Court Bench.--_Times_, January 11, 1921.
To the last day of his life, executions were levied in his
house.--Rosebery on Pitt.
[17] For his figures see Appendix I.
CHAPTER III
EARLY-RISING SOCIETIES AND OTHER INGENUOUS
ACTIVITIES
I should be heartily sorry if there were no signs of partiality. On the
other hand, there is, I trust, no importunate advocacy or tedious
assentation.--MORLEY
"The alarum clocks for waking us at four o'clock in the summer and
five in the winter"--it was the chairman of a village Early-Rising
Society who was speaking to me--are placed at the houses of the
secretaries, and each member is in turn a secretary. The duty of a
secretary, when the alarum clock strikes, is to get up and visit the
houses of all the members allotted to him and to shout for the young
men until they answer. Each member on rising walks to the house of the
secretary of his division and writes his name on the record of
attendances. Then the member goes to the shrine, where we fence and
wrestle for a time. At first we thought that if we fenced and wrestled
early in the morning we should be tired for our work, but we found
that it was not so.
"Sometimes a clock gets damaged and does not ring, so a few of us may
be getting up later that morning. Or a man becomes afraid of sleeping
too late, fears his clock is wrong, and gets up at 3 o'clock and then
goes off to waken members. Hence complaints. Some cunning fellows ask
their friends or brothers to write down for them their names on the
list of attendances. But we find out their deceit by their
handwriting. It is very difficult to form the habit of early rising,
because members are not expected to report at the secretaries' houses
on a rainy day. As there is no control over them that day, they are
easy in their minds and sleep on. Thus they break the habit of early
rising that they are forming. Getting up early is necessary not only
because it is good to begin work early but because early rising
overcomes the habit of gadding about at night which is customary in
many villages.
"You may say that all this is a great deal to ask of young men," the
chairman continued. "But if you ask from them comfortable practices
only, how can you expect from them a remarkable result? Young men
should ponder this and be willing to exert themselves." Later on it
was explained to me that it had been found that it took a great deal
of time for the secretaries to call up all the members in the morning
by shouting to them, "so the secretary obtained bugles; but even the
bugles were not heard everywhere, so they were changed to drums, and
now five drums go round our village every morning."
In every village of Japan there is a young men's association, which is
by no means to be confounded with the world-encircling Y.M.C.A.[18]
The village Y.M.A. of Japan is an institution of some antiquity and it
has nothing whatever to do with religious effort. One day, when I was
staying in a rural district, I was invited to a remoter part in order
to see something of the discipline that the members of a group of
young men's associations were imposing on themselves. The members of
this group of Y.M.A. belonged to the branches established in a village
of nineteen _aza_, that is hamlets. This fact, with the further fact
that the village containing the nineteen _aza_ had four elementary
schools and one higher school, will show that a Japanese village may
be much larger than a Western one.
Nearly six hundred young men were in the parade. They were dressed
exactly alike in the tight blue calico trousers and kimono of jacket
length which the Japanese farmer ordinarily wears. Each man had the
usual _obi_ (waist scarf) tied round his kimono, and in the _obi_ was
thrust the small cotton towel which Japanese carry with them
everywhere. The young men wore puttees, _waraji_ (straw sandals) and
caps. It is only of late that the Japanese worker has taken to wearing
head-gear, or at any rate head-gear other than he could contrive with
his towel. The physical condition of the young fellows was good and
their evolutions with dummy "rifles" were smart and skilful. The
paraders seemed lost in their desire to do their best for their
credit's sake and their own good. After the first movements, the
"troops" with "rifles" held as if there were bayonets at the end, made
rushes with loud cries. The secret of this somewhat surprising display
far away in the heart of Japan was that the work of the young men had
been done under the direction of two fit, be-medalled army surgeons,
reserve officers, who were present in order to answer my questions.
Every morning half an hour before sunrise these Y.M.A. members
assemble in the grounds of their Shinto shrine or of their school,
where they exercise until the sun shows itself. In the evenings after
work they also fence, wrestle, lift weights and develop their wrists.
This wrist development is done by two youths grasping a pole, one at
either end, and then trying to rotate it one against the other.
The members endeavour to cultivate their minds as well as their
bodies, and they also observe in their dress a self-denying ordinance.
On ceremonial occasions they permit themselves to wear a full-length
kimono and the _hakama_ or divided skirt, but they deny themselves the
third article of a Japanese man's full dress, the _haori_ or silk
overcoat. An effort is also made to dispense with the use of
"luxurious" _geta_ (the national wooden pattens).[19]
The object of all this varied discipline is to develop physique,
self-control, self-respect and what the Japanese call the spirit of
association, or, as we might say, good fellowship. The spirit of
association is needed in order to promote greater administrative,
educational and social efficiency. The modern Japanese village is no
longer an historical but a political unit which covers a considerable
district. It is, as I have explained, a combination of clusters of
_aza_ (hamlets). Each of these _aza_ has its local sentiment, and this
local sentiment when untouched by outside influences tends to become
selfish, narrow and prejudiced. If, however, anything is to be done in
the development of rural life there must be co-operation between
_aza_ for all sorts of objects.
I was assured that in addition to the development of physique, _moral_
and the spirit of association, there was to be seen, under the
influence of the Y.M.A., a development of good manners and mental
nimbleness. A special result of early rising and discipline in one
area had been that "the habit of spending evening hours idly has died
away, immorality has diminished, singing loudly and foolishly and
boasting oneself have disappeared, while punctuality and respect for
old age have increased." I was even assured that parents--whom no true
Japanese would ever dream of attempting to reform at first
hand--parents, I say, moved by the physical and mental advance in
their sons, have "begun to practise greater punctuality."
After the drilling was over I was taken to a large elementary school
and was called upon to address the young men, who were kneeling in
perfect files. Mr. Yamasaki followed me and told the youths that
Japanese were not so tall as they might be, and that therefore their
physique "must be continuously developed." Nor were rural conditions
all they should be from a moral point of view. Therefore, "every
desire which interferes with the development of your health or
morality must be overcome."
Let me speak of another village. It numbers a thousand families and it
rises in the morning and goes to bed at night by the sound of the
bugle. It has five public baths and a notice-board of news "to enlarge
people's ideas." The shopkeepers are said to "work very diligently, so
things are cheaper." The education of such of the young men as are
exempted from military service is continued on Saturday evenings for
four years. The Y.M.A., in addition to the military discipline,
fencing, wrestling, weight-lifting and pole-twisting of which I have
spoken, exercises itself in handwriting--which many Japanese practise
as an art during their whole lifetime--and in composing the
conventional short poem. I was gravely informed that "the custom of
spending money on sweet-stuff is decreasing." What this really means
is that the young men were not frequenting the sweet-stuff shops,
which are staffed by girls who are in many cases a greater temptation
than the sweets. The worthy members of this association had "burnt
their _geta_."
In some places Y.M.A. members give their labour when a school teacher
or a fellow member is building his house, or they do repairs at the
school. Bicycle excursions are made to neighbouring villages in order
to participate in inter-Y.M.A. debates, or to study vegetable raising,
fruit culture or poultry keeping. The Japanese are much given to
"taking trips," and the special training which they receive at school
in making notes and plans results in everybody having a notebook and
being able to sketch a rough route-plan for personal use, or for a
stranger who may ask his way.
Not a few associations favour members cutting each other's hair once a
fortnight, thus at one and the same time saving money and curbing
vanity. Several Y.M.A.s publish cyclostyled monthlies. Others minutely
investigate the economic condition of their villages. Some Y.M.A.s
provide public "complaint boxes," and have boards up asking for
friendly help for soldiers billeted in the district. One association
has issued instructions to its members that they are not to ride when
in charge of ox-drawn carts. The reason is that the ox is only
partially under control and may injure a pedestrian--unwittingly, I am
sure, for the gentleness of the ox and even of the bull in harness
arrests one's attention. Many Y.M.A.s devote themselves to cultivating
improved qualities of rice or to breaking up new land. Sometimes the
land of the Shinto shrine is cultivated. I have heard of Y.M.A.s in
remote parts having handed over to them the exclusive sale of _saké_.
I find a Y.M.A. counselling its members "not to speak vulgar words in
a crowd." There is also among the members of Y.M.A.s a certain
addiction to diary keeping for moral as well as economic purposes. The
diaries are distributed by the associations and "afterwards examined
and rewarded"--a plan which would hardly work in the West. There are
Y.M.A.s which make a point of seeing off conscripts with flags and
music. Others have fallen on the more economical plan of "writing to
the conscript as often as possible and helping with labour the family
which is suffering from the loss of his services." By some Y.M.A.s
"old people are respected and comforted." More than one association
has a practice of serving out red and black balls to its members at
the opening of every new year, when good resolutions are in order, and
at the end of the year recalling either the red or the black according
to the degree to which the publicly announced good resolutions have
been kept. Among the good resolutions are: to worship at the Shinto
shrine or the Buddhist temple regularly, to be tidier, to be more
efficient in cropping the land, to undertake work for the common good,
to have a secondary occupation in addition to farming, to sit with
more decorum at meals, to rise earlier, to visit the graves of
ancestors monthly, to be more considerate to parents or elder
brothers, and "not to remain idly at people's houses."
One Y.M.A. decrees that a member found in a tea-house in conversation
with a geisha shall be fined 20 yen. There is even a village in which
the young men's association and the young women's association have
united to issue a regulation providing that at night time members, in
order that their doings shall be public, shall carry lanterns painted
with the ideographs of their societies.[20]
With regard to the young women's associations, I found that one of
them studied domestic matters and good manners, "asking questions and
receiving answers." The motto of the organisation was "Good Wives and
Good Mothers." A member, this Society believes, should be "polite,
gentle and warm-hearted, but with a strong will inside and able to
meet difficulties." Her hairdressing and clothes "should not be
luxurious," and she "must not run after fashions." She must "respect
Buddha and abandon sweet-eating," for "taking food between meals is
bad for your health, for economy and for your posterity."
Let us now hear something of Societies for the Cultivation of Rice by
Schoolboys. The lads become responsible for the cultivation of a _tan_
of their family land, or of a small paddy, and they work it themselves
with the help of such advice as the schoolmaster may give them. (The
cultivation of a _tan_ of a paddy, a quarter of an acre, is supposed
to need in a year about twenty-one days' labour of a man working from
sunrise to sunset.) The report of one boy to which I turned in a
collection of reports by members of a rice-cultivation society showed
that he was between fourteen and fifteen. His diary of work and
observations was as follows:
_June_ 5.--4 _to_ of herring applied.
_June_ 7.--Locusts and other insects arrive.[21]
_June_ 20.--153 clumps of rice transplanted from the seed bed.[22]
_July_ 11.--Rice cultivated and 4 _to_ of herring applied.
_July_ 27.--First weeding.
_Aug_. 6.--Second weeding.
_Aug_. 8.--Locusts again.
_Aug_. 11.--Third weeding.
_Sept_. 10.--All ears shot.
_Oct_. 10.--Some plants suffering from bacillus.
It was further noted that the soil was sandy, that cold spring water
was percolating through the bottom of the paddy field, that the
aeration of the soil was bad and that some plants were laid by wind.
The young farmer appended to his report an excellent plan. He received
marks as follows: Method of planting, 15; levelling, 20; provision
against insects, 5; general attention, 25; total, 65. Some boys got as
many as 99 marks.
A word concerning a Village Association for Promoting Morality. One of
the things it does is to assemble yearly the whole population, old and
young, "in order to get friendly." The police meanwhile keep an eye
open for strangers who might take it into their heads to visit the
village on that day and help themselves from the houses. I may quote
three poems in rough translations from a speech made by a priest at
the annual meeting:
The legs of a horse, the rudder of a boat, the pin of a fan,
and the sincerity of a man.
Let your heart be pure and true and you need not pray
for the protection of the gods.
The bride brings many things with her to her new home,
but one thing more, the spirit of sincerity, will not
encumber her.
After these varied accounts of rural merit, I could not but listen
with attention to a tale of village gamblers, the offence of gambling
having been "introduced by the excavators on the new railway." First
the headman fined a dozen young men. Then he made a raid and found
among the village sinners several members of his own council. "The
salaried officials were at a loss to know what to do, and proposed to
resign. But the headman brought the prisoners together before the
whole body of officials. He spoke of the sufferings of the troops in
Manchuria and the heroic deaths among them. (It was the time of the
Russian war.) 'Lest your offences should come to be known by our
soldiers and discourage them,' said the headman, 'I cannot but
overlook your conduct.' It is thought that gambling practically ceased
from that time."
Local officials have a way of making the most of historic events in
order to touch the imagination of their villagers. Many original
undertakings were begun, for example, under the inspiration of the
Coronation. One village set about raising a fund by a system of
taxation under which inhabitants contribute according to the following
tariff:
Birth of a child, 10 sen (that is, 2-1/2 d. or 5 cents).
Wedding, 15 sen.
Adoption, 15 sen.
Graduation from the primary school, 10 sen; advanced
school, 20 sen.
Teacher or official on appointment, 2 per cent. of salary;
when salary is increased, 10 per cent. of increase.
When an official receives a prize of money from his
superior, 5 per cent.
Every villager to pay every quarter, 1 sen.
On the basis of this assessment it is expected that fifty-seven years
after the Coronation such a sum will have been accumulated as will
enable the villagers to live rate free. Some villages have
thanksgiving associations in connection with Shinto shrines. Aged
villagers are "respected by being blessed before the shrine and by
being given a present." Worthy villagers who are not aged "receive
prizes and honour."
More than once when I went to a village I was welcomed first by a
parade of the Y.M.A., then by the school children in rows, and finally
in the school grounds by two lines of venerable members of an
Ex-Public Servants' Association. The object of an E.P.S.A. is to
strengthen the hands of the present officials and to give honour to
their predecessors. A headman explained to me: "If ex-officials fell
into poverty or lacked public respect, people would not be inclined to
work for the public good. A former clerk in the village office whom
everybody had forgotten was working as a labourer. But as a member of
the association he was seen to be treated with honour, so the children
were impressed. The funeral of such a man is apt to be lonely, but
when this man died all the members of the association attended his
funeral in ceremonial dress and offered some money to his memory.[23]
His honour is great and the villagers say, 'We may well work for the
public benefit.'"
Every village in Japan has a Village Agricultural Association. One
V.A.A., which belongs to a village of less than 6,000 people, sees the
fruit of its labours in the existence of "322 good manure houses." The
gift of a plan and the grant of a yen had prompted the building of
most of them. Then the organisation incites its members to cement the
ground below their dwellings. This is not so much for the benefit of
the farmer and his family as for the welfare of their silkworms. A fly
harmful to silkworms winters in the soil, but it cannot find a
resting-place in concrete.
[Illustration: A WIDE EXPANSE OF ADJUSTED RICE-FIELDS.]
A word may also be said about the way in which silkworm rearers have
been induced by the V.A.A. to keep the same breed of caterpillar, so
facilitating bulking of cocoons at the association's co-operative
sales. A small library of silkworm-culture books has been started in
the village, and there is a special pamphlet for young men which
they are urged to keep in "their pockets and to study ten minutes each
day." A general library has 2,400 volumes divided into eight
circulating libraries. The cost of the building which provides the
library in chief, a meeting hall and also a storehouse for cocoons has
been defrayed by the commissions charged for the co-operative sale of
cocoons.
[Illustration: LIBRARY AND WORKSHED OF A YOUNG MEN'S ASSOCIATION.]
Again, there used to be no cattle in the village, but now, thanks to
the purchase of young animals by the association, and thanks to
village shows, there are 103.
There is a competition to get the biggest yield of rice, and there is
also "an exhibition of crops." This exhibition incidentally aims at
ending trouble between landlord and tenants due to complaints of the
inferiority of the rice brought in as rent. (Paddy-field rent is
invariably paid in rice.) These complaints are more directly dealt
with by the V.A.A. arbitrating between landlords and tenants who are
at issue. In addition to rice crop and cattle shows in the village,
there is a yearly exhibition of the prod ucts of secondary industries,
such as mats, sandals and hats.
The V.A.A. is also working to secure the planting of hill-side waste.
Some 300,000 tree seedlings have been distributed to members of the
Y.M.A., who "grow them on," and, after examination and criticism,
plant them out. I must not omit to speak of the V.A.A.s' distribution
of moral and economic diaries of the type already referred to. The
villagers, in the spirit of boy-scoutism, are "advised to do one good
thing in a day." I saw several of these diaries, well thumbed by their
authors after having been laboured at for a year. One young farmer
noted down on the space for January 2 that he said his prayers and
then went _daikon_[24] pulling, and that _daikon_ pulling (like our
mangold pulling) is a cold job.
FOOTNOTES:
[18] There are, however, 11,000 members of Y.M.C.A. in Japan. There is
also a Y.W.C.A. with a considerable membership.
[19] See Appendix II.
[20] For official action in regard to the Y.M.A.s, see later.
[21] The damage done by insects is estimated at 10 million yen a year.
In some parts locusts are roasted and eaten.
[22] For an account of the processes of rice cultivation, see Chapter
IX.
[23] It is the practical Japanese custom to make a gift of money to a
family on the occasion of a death. The Emperor makes a present to the
family of a deceased statesman.
[24] The giant white radish which reaches 2 or 3 ft. in length and 3
in. or more in diameter. There is also a correspondingly large
turnip-shaped sort.
CHAPTER IV
"THE SIGHT OF A GOOD MAN IS ENOUGH"
It has been said that we should emulate rather than imitate them.
All I say is, Let us study them.--MATTHEW ARNOLD
For seven years in succession the men, old, middle-aged and young, who
had done the most remarkable things in the agriculture of the
prefecture had been invited to gather in conference. I went to this
annual "meeting of skilful farmers." Among the speakers were the local
governor and chiefs of departments who had been sent down by the
Ministry of Agriculture and the Home Office. According to our ideas,
everybody but the unpractised speakers--the expert farmers who were
called from time to time to the platform--spoke too long. But the
kneeling audience found no fault. Indeed, a third of it was taking
notes. It was an audience of seeking souls.
One of the impromptu speakers, a white-haired, toil-marked farmer,
told how forty years before he had gone to the next prefecture and
opened new land. "With his spectacles and moustache," explained the
chairman--if the man who takes the initiative from time to time at a
Japanese meeting may be properly called a chairman--"he looks like a
gentleman; but he works hard." And the man showed his hands as a
testimony to the severity of his labours.
"It was in the winter," he said, "that I went away from my home and
obtained a certain tract of waste. I had no acquaintance near. I
brought some food, but when I fell short I had no more. I had gone
with my third boy. We lived in a small hut and were in a miserable
condition. Then a fierce wind took off the roof. It was at four in the
morning when the roof blew off. In February I began to open a rice
field. Gradually we got a _chō_. At length I opened another _chō_,
but there was much gravel. Some of my newly opened fields are very
high up the hill. If you chance to pass my house please come to see
me. The maple leaves are very beautiful and you can enjoy the sight of
many birds."
The early meetings of the expert farmers used to last not one day but
two, for the men delighted in narrating their experiences to one
another. Some of the audience used to weep as the older men told their
tales. The farmers would sit up late round a farmer or a professor who
was talking about some subject that interested them. The originator of
these gatherings, Mr. Yamasaki, told me that he was "more than once
moved to tears by the merits and pure hearts of the farmer speakers."
Of the regard and respect which the farmers had for this man I had
many indications. Like not a few agricultural authorities, he is a
samurai.[25] He is exceptionally tall for a Japanese, looks indeed
rather like a Highland gillie, and when one evening I prevailed on him
to put on armour, thrust two swords in his _obi_ and take a long bow
in his hand, he was an imposing figure. He carries the ideals of
_bushido_ into his rural work. He does not sleep more than five hours,
and he is up every morning at five.
But I am getting away from the meeting. There was a priest who spoke,
a man curiously like Tolstoy. (He had, no doubt, Ainu blood in him.)
He wore the stiff buttoned-up jacket of the primary school teacher and
spoke modestly. "Formerly the rice fields of my village suffered very
much from bad irrigation," he said, "but when that was put right the
soil became excellent. In the days when the soil was bad the people
were good and no man suspected another of stealing his seal.[26] But
when the soil became good the disposition of the people was influenced
in a bad way, and they brought their seals to the temple to be kept
safe.
"At that time the organiser of this meeting came and made a speech in
my village. On hearing his speech I thought it an easy task to make my
village good. At once I began to do good things. I formed several
men's and women's associations, all at once, as if I were Buddha. But
the real condition of the people was not much improved. There came
many troubles upon me, and our friend wrote a letter. I was very
thankful, and I have been keeping that letter in the temple and bowing
there morning and evening.
"I began to ask many distinguished persons to help me. They influenced
the farmers. The sight of a good man is enough. Speech is unnecessary.
The villagers were not educated enough to understand moralisings or
thinking, but the kind face of a good man has efficacy. There was a
man in the village who was demoralised, and when I told of him to a
distinguished man who lives near our village he sympathised very much.
That distinguished man is eighty-four years old, but he accompanied
that demoralised man for three days, giving no instruction but simply
living the same life, and the demoralised man was an entirely changed
man and ever thankful.
"I am a sinful man. Sometimes it happens that after I have been
working for the public benefit I am glad that I am offered thanks. I
know it is not a good thing when people express gratitude to me, for I
ought not to accept it. When I know I am doing a good thing and
expecting thanks, I am not doing a good thing. My thanks must not come
from men but from Buddha. I am trying to cast out my sinful feelings.
It must not be supposed that I am leading these people. You skilful
farmers kindly come to my village if you pass. You need not give any
speech. Your good faces will do."
But the two speeches I have reported are hardly a fair sample of the
discourses which were delivered. The addresses of the earnest Tokyo
officials and the Governor were directed towards urging on the farmers
increased production and increased labour, and the duty was pressed
upon them, as I understood, in the name of the highest patriotism and
of devotion to their ancestors. This talk was excellent in its way,
but when I got up I hazarded a few words on different lines. If I
venture to summarise my somewhat elementary address it is because it
furnishes a key to some of the enquiries I was to make during my
journeys. I was told the next day that the local daily had declared
that my "tongue was tipped with fire," which was a compliment to my
kind and clever interpreter, who, when he let himself go, seemed to be
able to make two or three sentences out of every one of mine:
I said that my Japanese friends kept asking me my impressions, and one
thing I had to say to them was that I had got an impression in many
quarters of spiritual dryness. I dared to think that some
responsibility for a materialistic outlook must be shared by the
admirable officials and experts who moved about among the farmers.
They were always talking about crop yields and the amount of money
made, and they unconsciously pressed home the idea that rural progress
was a material thing.
But the rural problem was not only a problem of better crops and of
greater production. Man did not live by food alone. Tolstoy wrote a
book called _What Men Live By_, and there was nothing in it about
food. Men lived not by the number of bales of rice they raised, but by
the development of their minds and hearts. It might be asked if it was
not the business of rural experts to teach agriculture. But a poet of
my country had said that it took a soul to move a pig into a cleaner
sty. It was necessary for a man who was to teach agriculture well to
know something higher than agriculture. The teacher must be more
advanced than his pupils. There must be a source from which the energy
of the rural teacher must be again and again renewed. There must be a
well from which he must be continually refreshed and stimulated. Some
called that well by the name of religion, unity with God. Some called
it faith in mankind, faith in the destiny of the world, that faith in
man which is faith in God. But it must be a real belief, not a
half-hearted, shivering faith.
Agriculture was not only the oldest and the most serviceable calling,
it was the foundation of everything. But the fact must not be lost
sight of that agriculture, important and vital though it was, was only
a means to an end. The object in view was to have in the rural
districts better men, women and children. The highest aim of rural
progress was to develop the minds and hearts of the rural population,
and in all discussion of the rural problems it was necessary not to
lose in technology a clear view of the final object.
But when account is taken of all the drab materialism in the rural
districts there remains a leaven of unworldliness. It takes various
forms. Here is the story of a landlord at whose beautiful house I
stayed. "When a tenant brings his rent rice to this landlord's
storehouse," a fellow-guest told me, "it is never examined. The door
of the storehouse is left unpadlocked, and the rent rice is brought by
the tenant when he is minded to do so. No one takes note of his
coming. If he meets his landlord on the road he may say, 'I brought
you the rent,' and the landlord says, 'It is very kind of you.' It is
an old custom not to supervise the tenants' bringing of the rent.
"Nowadays, however, some tenants are sly. They say, 'Our landlord
never looks into our payments. Therefore we can bring him inferior
rice or less than the quantity.' The landlord loses somewhat by this,
but it is not in accordance with the honour of his family to change
the method of collecting his rent. He is now chairman of the village
co-operative society as well as of the young men's society, and he
aims to improve his village fundamentally."
I also heard this narrative. The tenants in a certain place wished to
cultivate rice land rather than to farm dry land. But when silkworm
cultivation became prosperous they began to prefer dry land again in
order that they might extend the area of mulberries. Therefore the
landlords raised the rents of the dry farms. But there was one
landlord who said, "If this dry farm land had been improved by me I
should be justified in raising the rent. But I did not improve it.
Therefore it would be base to take advantage of economic conditions to
raise the rent."
So he did not raise the rent. Then he was excluded from social
intercourse by the other landlords because their tenants grumbled.
These landlords said to him, "You can afford not to raise your rents,
but we cannot." Therefore the landlord who had not raised his rents
called his tenants together. He said to them, "It is a hard thing for
me to have no social intercourse with my equals. Therefore I will now
raise the rents. But I cannot accept that raised portion, and I will
take care of it for you, and in ten years I think it will amount to
enough for you to start a cooperative society."
That was eight years ago and the formation of the society was now
proceeding. In order that the reader may not forget on what a very
different scale landlordism exists in Japan, I may mention that the
area owned by this landlord was only 10 _chō_.
I was told the story of a landlord's solution of the rent reduction
problem. "Tenants," the narrator said, "sometimes pretend that their
crops are poorer than they are. Landlords may reduce the payment due,
but sometimes with a certain resentment. One landowner was asked for a
reduction for several years in succession on account of poor crops,
and gave it. But he was trying to think of a plan to defeat the
pretences of his tenants. At last he hit on one. While the tenants'
rice was young he often visited the fields, and when any insects were
to be seen he sent his labourers secretly to destroy them. In the same
way, when crops seemed to be under-manured, he secretly cast
artificial manure on them. At last his tenants found out what he was
doing, and they said, 'As our landlord is so kind to us, we must not
pretend that we need a reduction.' And they did not, and things are
going on very well there. This is an illustration of the fact that our
people are moved more by feeling than by logic."
This was capped by another story. "A landlord, a samurai, has for his
tenants his former subjects, so something of the relation of master
and servant still remains. He wished to raise his tenants to the
position of peasant proprietors, so when land was for sale in the
village he advised them to buy. They said they had no money, but he
answered, 'Means may perhaps be found.' He secretly subscribed a sum
to the Shinto shrine and then advised the formation of a co-operative
society, which could borrow from the shrine for a tenant, so that the
tenant need not go to the landlord to thank him and feel patronised by
him. He need only to go to the shrine and give thanks there." "The
landlord," added the speaker in his imperfect English, "has entirely
hided himself from the business." A third of the tenants had become
peasant proprietors.
In order to better the feeling between the farmers and landowners this
landlord and several others had begun to ask their tenants to their
gardens, where they were given tea and fruit. "In Japan," said one man
to me, "we see feudal ideas broken down by the upper, not the lower
class."
I visited the romantic coast of a peninsula a dozen miles from the
railway. Some 10,000 pilgrims come in a year to the eighty-eight
temples on the peninsula, and in some parts the people are such strict
Buddhists that in one village the county authorities find great
difficulty in overcoming an objection to destroying the insect life
which preys on the rice crops. When rice land does not yield well, one
landlord causes an investigation to be made and gives advice based
upon it to the tenant, saying, "Do this, and if you lose I will
compensate you. If you gain, the advantage will be yours." Money is
also contributed by the landlord to enable tenants to make journeys in
order to study farming methods.
A landlord here--I had the pleasure of being his guest--had started an
agricultural association. It had developed the idea of a secondary
school for practical instruction, "rich men to give their money and
poor men their labour." In order to obtain a fund to enable tenants to
get money with which to set up as peasant proprietors, this landlord
had thought of the plan of setting aside each harvest 250 _shō_[27] of
rice to each tenant's 3 _shō_.
Good work was done in teaching farmers' wives. "When no instruction is
given," I was informed, "a wife may say, when her husband is testing
his rice seed with salt water, 'Salt is very dear, nowadays, why not
fresh water?' If a husband is kind he will explain. If not, some
unpleasantness may arise, so wives are taught about the necessity of
selecting by salt water."
[Illustration: LANDOWNER'S SON AND DAUGHTER OFF TO THE VILLAGE
SCHOOL.]
[Illustration: BUDDHIST SHRINE IN A LANDOWNER'S HOUSE.]
Tenants are advised to save a farthing a day. In order to keep them
steadfast in their thriftiness they are asked to bring their savings
to their landlord every ten days. It is troublesome to be
constantly receiving so many small sums, but the landlord and his
brother think that they should not grudge the trouble. In two years
nearly 1,000 yen have been saved. Said one tenant to his landlord, "I
know how to save now, therefore I save."
[Illustration: MR. YAMASAKI, DR. NITOBE, THE AUTHOR AND PROFESSOR
NASU.]
[Illustration: THE HOME IN WHICH THE TEA CEREMONY TOOK PLACE.]
One of my hosts, who was thirty-two, hoped to see all his tenants
peasant proprietors before he was fifty. The relation of this landlord
and his tenants was illustrated by the fact that on my arrival several
farmers brought produce to the kitchen "because we heard that the
landlord had guests." The village was very kind in its reception of
the foreign visitor. A meeting was called in the temple. I told the
story of Wren's _Si monumentum requiris circumspice_ and pointed a
rural moral. Some months afterwards I received a request from my host
to write a word or two of preface to go with a report of my address
which he was giving to each of his tenants as a New Year gift.
This landlord's family had lived in the same house for eleven
generations. The courtesy of my host and his relatives and the beauty
of their old house and its contents are an ineffaceable memory. From
the time my party arrived until the time we left no servant was
allowed to do anything for us. The ladies of the house cooked our food
and the landlord and his younger brother brought it to us. The younger
brother waited upon us throughout our meals, even peeling our pears.
At night he spread our silk-covered _futon_ (mattresses). In the
morning he folded them up, arranged my clothes, swept the room and
stood at hand with towels, all of which were new, while I washed.
When on our arrival in the house we sat and talked in the first
reception-room we entered, I noticed that outside the lattice a
company of villagers was listening with no consciousness of intrusion,
in full view of our host, to the sound of foreign speech. It was a
Shakespearean scene.
Out of its setting, as it is often witnessed to-day, the tea ceremony
seems meaningless and wearisome, an affected simplicity of the idle.
But as a guest of this old house of fine timbers weathered to
silver-grey I found the secret of _Cha-no-yu_. This flower of Far
Eastern civilisation is an æsthetic expression of true
good-fellowship, and a gentle simplicity and sincerity are of its
essence. The admission of a foreigner to a family _Cha-no-yu_ was a
gesture of confidence.
Five of us gathered late in the afternoon of an August day in the cool
matted rest-room in the garden. We looked on the beauty that
generations of gardeners of a single vision had created. Our minds
rested in the quiet as in the quaint phrase, we "tasted the sound of
the kettle and listened to the incense." At length at a signal we
rose. Led by the priestess of the ceremony, our host's aunt, a slight
figure in grey with snow-white _tabi_ and new straw sandals, we passed
by the dripping rocky fountain, with its lilies, and the azure
hydrangea of the hills which, some say, suggests distance. The
hut-like tea-room, traditionally rude in the material of which it was
built but perfect in every detail of its workmanship, we entered one
by one. According to old custom we humbly crept through the small
opening which serves as entrance, the idea being that all worldly rank
must bow at the sanctuary of beauty. The tiny chamber held, besides
the wonderful vessels of the ceremony, a flower arrangement of blue
Michaelmas daisies, and an exquisite scroll of wild duck in flight in
the miniature _tokonoma_,[28] the tea mistress, our host and four
guests. We drank from a black daimyo bowl which had been made four
hundred years before. We passed an hour together and in the twilight
we came out from the little room as from a sacrament of friendship. A
year afterwards my host wrote to me, "Yesterday we had _Cha-no-yu_
again and you were in our thoughts. During the ceremony we placed your
photograph in the _tokonoma_."
After dinner we had _kyōgen_[29] by distinguished amateurs, one of
whom, a neighbouring landowner, had lately appeared before the
Emperor. After the plays he painted _kyōgen_ scenes for us on
_kakemono_ and fans. He painted the _kakemono_ as he knelt with his
paper lying on a square of soft material on the floor.
The plays were performed in ancient costumes or copies of old ones
and of course without scenery. The players were lighted by oily
candles two inches in diameter, which flamed and guttered in
candlesticks not of this century nor of the last. A player may make
his exit merely by sitting down. The players are men; masks are used
in playing women's parts. The stories are of the simplest. There was
the well-known tale of the sly servant who was sent to town by a
stupid daimyo in order to buy a fan, and, though he brought back an
umbrella, succeeded in imposing it on his master. There was also the
play of the fox who comes to a farmer to advise him not to kill foxes,
but is himself caught in a trap. I also recall a story of two good
tenants who had been rewarded by their landlord with an order that
they should receive hats. Owing to an oversight they received one hat
only between the two. Problem, how to meet the difficulty. It was
solved by the rustics fastening two pieces of wood together T-shape,
raising the hat of honour upon the structure and walking home in
triumph under either side of the T.
The next morning I was greeted by the aged father and mother of our
host. The household was an interesting one, for the landlord and his
brother were married to two sisters. Before taking our departure we
knelt with our landlord and his father before the Buddhist shrine on
which rested the memorial tablets of former heads of the house. I
expressed my sense of the privilege extended to strangers. The reply
was, "Our ancestors will feel pleasure in your being among us."
FOOTNOTES:
[25] Samurai or _shizoku_ comprise about a twentieth of the
population.
[26] Every Japanese signs by means of a stone or hard-wood seal which
he keeps in a case and ordinarily carries with him.
[27] A _shō_ is about a quart and a half.
[28] The raised recess in which is usually displayed the flower
arrangement, a piece of pottery and a _kakemono_. (See Note, page 35.)
[29] Farcical interludes of the _Nō_ stage.
CHAPTER V
COUNTRY-HOUSE LIFE
The sense of a common humanity is a real political force.--J.R. GREEN
The stranger in Japan sees so little of the intimacies of country life
that I shall say something of further visits to what we should call
county families. My hosts, who seemed to be active to a greater or
less degree in promoting the welfare of their tenants, lived in purely
Japanese style. Yet now and then in a beautiful house there was a
showy gilt timepiece or some other thing of a deplorable Western
fashion. At all the houses without exception we were waited upon by
the host and his son, son-in-law or brother, and for some time after
our arrival our host and the members of his family would kneel, not in
the apartment in which our _zabuton_ (kneeling cushions) were
arranged, but in the adjoining apartment with its screens pushed back.
Even when the time of sweets and tea had passed and a regular meal was
served, all the little tables of food were brought in not by servants
but by the master of the house and such male relatives as were at
home.
When the duration of a Japanese meal is borne in mind, some idea may
be gained of the fatigue endured by the head of a house in serving
many guests. The host sometimes honours his guests still further by
eating apart from them or by partaking of a portion only of the meal.
The name of a feast in Japanese is significant, "a running about." The
ladies of the house are usually seen for only a few minutes, when they
come with the children to welcome the guests on their arrival; but on
the second day of the visit the ladies may bring in food or tea or
play the _koto_.
The foreigner, though on his knees, feels a little at a loss to know
how to acknowledge politely the repeated bows of so many kneeling men
and women. He watches with appreciation the perfect response of his
Japanese travelling companions. It is difficult to convey a sense of
the charm and dignity of old courtesies exchanged with sincerity
between well-bred people in a fine old house. Although all the
_shoji_[30] are open, the trees of the beautiful garden cast a pensive
shade. The ancient ceremonial of welcome and introduction would seem
ludicrous in the full light of a Western drawing-room, but in the
perfectly subdued light of these romantically beautiful apartments,
charged with some strange and melancholy emotion, the visitor from the
West feels himself entering upon the rare experience of a new world.
Everyone knows how few are the treasures that a Japanese displays in
his house. His heirlooms and works of art are stored in a fireproof
annexe. For the feasting of the eye of every guest or party of
visitors the appropriate choice of _kakemono_,[31] carving or pottery
is made. I had the delight of seeing during my country-house visiting
many ancient pictures of country life and of animals and birds. It was
also a precious opportunity to inspect armour and wonderful swords and
stands of arrows in the houses in which the men who had worn the
armour and used the weapons had lived. The way of stringing the
seven-feet-high bow was shown to me by a kimono-clad samurai, as has
been recorded in the previous chapter. When he threw himself into a
warlike attitude and with an ancient cry whirled a gleaming two-handed
sword in the dim light thrown by lanterns which had lighted the house
in the time of the Shoguns, the figures on old-time Japanese prints
had a new vividness.
What also helped in illuminating for me the old prints of warlike
scenes was a display of a remarkable kind of fencing with naked
weapons which one of my hosts kindly provided in his garden one
evening. The tournament was conducted by the village young men's
association. The exercises, which, as I saw them, are peculiar to the
district, are called _ki-ai_, which means literally "spirit meeting."
They call not only for long training but for courage and ardour. The
combats took place on a small patch of grass which was fenced by four
bamboo branches. These were connected by a rope of paper streamers
such as are used to distinguish a consecrated place. Before the first
bout the bamboos and rope were taken away and a handful of salt was
thrown on the grass. Salt was similarly thrown on the grass before
every contest. The idea is that salt is a purifier. It signifies, like
the handshake of our boxers, that the feelings of the combatants are
cleansed from malice.
Most of the events were single combats, but there were two meetings in
which a man confronted a couple of assailants. The contests I recall
were spear _v_. spear, spear _v_. sword, sword _v_. long billhook,
spear _v_. the short Japanese sickle and a chain, spear _v_. paper
umbrella and sword, pole _v_. wooden sword, pole _v_. pole, and long
billhook _v_. fan and sword. The weapons were sharp enough to inflict
serious wounds if a false move should be made or there should be a
momentary lack of self-control. The flashing steel gave an impression
of imminent danger. There was also the feeling aroused in the
spectators by the way in which the combatants sought to gain advantage
over one another by fierce snarls, stamping on the ground and
appalling gestures. The neck veins of the fighters swelled and their
faces flamed with mock defiance. Their agility in escaping descending
blades was amazing. But the _ki-ai_ player's dexterity is famous. It
is his boast that with his sword he could cut a straw on a friend's
head. I noticed that no women were present at the "spirit meeting."
More than once I found that my landlord host was accustomed to make a
circuit of his village once or twice a week in order to see how things
were going with his tenants. Public-spirited landlords were working
for their people by means of co-operation, lectures and prizes, the
distribution of leaflets and the giving of from 2-1/2 to 7-1/2 per
cent. discount in rent when good rice was produced. The rural
philanthropist in Japan sees himself as the father of his village.[32]
The Japanese word for landlord is "land master" and for tenant "son
tiller." The old idea was patronage on the one side and respect on the
other. This idea is disappearing. "We wish," said one landlord to me,
"to pass through the transition stage gradually. We do not feel the
same responsibility to our people, perhaps, now that they do not show
the same reverence for us, but we do not say to them that they may go
to the factory and we will invest our money for our children. We check
ourselves. We know well, however, that things will change in our
grandsons' time. We therefore try to mix our grandfathers' ideas and
modern ideas. We are believers in co-operation and we try to be
counsellors and to work behind the curtain."
From time to time there are such things as tenants' strikes. Mr.
Yamasaki assured me that the problem of the rural districts can be
solved only by appealing to the feelings of the people in the right
way. He said that "the Japanese are largely moved by feelings, not by
convictions." In some coastwise counties, someone told me, a hurricane
destroyed the crops to such an extent that the tenants could not pay
rent, and the landlords who depended on their rents were impoverished.
Things reached such a pass that a hundred thousand peasants signed a
paper swearing fidelity to an anti-landlord propaganda. Officials and
lawyers achieved nothing. Then Mr. Yamasaki went, and, sitting in the
local temple, talked things over with both sides for days. He got the
landlords to say that they were sorry for their tenants and the
tenants to say that they were sorry for the landlords, and eventually
he was allowed to burn the oath-attested document in the temple.[33]
Many landlords are "endeavouring to cultivate a moral relation"
between themselves and their tenants. They have often the advantage
that their ancestors were the landlords of the same peasant families
for many generations. But there are still plenty of absentee landlords
and landlords who are usurers. There are also the landlords who have
let their lands to middlemen. The cultivator therefore pays out of all
proportion to what the landlord receives. Of landlords generally, an
ex-daimyo's son said to me: "Many landlords treat their tenants
cruelly. The rent enforced is too high. In place of the intimate
relations of former days the relations are now that of cat and dog.
The ignorance of the landlords is the cause of this state of things.
It is very important that the landlord's son shall go to the
agricultural school, where there is plenty of practical work which
will bring the perspiration from him." The object of most good
landlords is to increase the income of their tenants. It is felt that
unless the farmers have more money in their hands, progress is
impossible. There is one direction in which the landlords are not
tried. The franchise is so narrow that farmers cannot vote against
their landlords.
In the house of one old landowning family in which I was a guest I saw
a _gaku_ inscribed, "Happiness comes to the house whose ancestors were
virtuous." I was admitted to the family shrine. Round the walls of the
small apartment in which the shrine stood were the autographs or
portraits of distinguished members of the house going back four or
five hundred years. It was easy to see that the inspiring force of
this family was its untarnished name. It was a crime against the
ancestors to reduce the prestige or merit of the family. No stronger
influence could be exerted upon an erring member of such a family than
to be brought by his father or elder brother before the family shrine
and there reprimanded in the presence of the ancestral spirits. The
head of this house is at present a schoolboy of twelve and the
government of the family is in the hands of a "regent," the lad's
uncle. I saw the boy and his younger sister trot off in the morning
with their satchels on their backs to the village school in democratic
Japanese fashion. Japan is a much more democratic country than the
tourist imagines. Distinctions of class are accompanied by easy
relations in many important matters.
I went for a second time to the restful city of Nagoya. It is out of
the sphere of influence of Tokyo and is conservative of old ideas.
People live with less display than in the capital and perhaps pride
themselves on doing so. But if the houses of even the well-to-do are
small and inconspicuous, the interiors are of satisfying quality in
materials and workmanship, and the family godowns bring forth
surprises. Here as elsewhere the guest is served in treasured lacquer
and porcelain. (While we are not accustomed in the West to look at the
marks on our host's table silver, it is perfect Japanese manners to
admire a food bowl by examining the potter's marks.) My host hung a
rural _kakemono_ in my room, one day a fine old study of poultry,
another an equally beautiful painting of hollyhocks.
As we left the town my attention was attracted by a commemorative
stone overlooking rice fields. The inscription proclaimed the fact
that at that spot the late Emperor Meiji,[34] as a lad of fifteen, on
his historic first journey to Tokyo, "beheld the farmers reaping."
The matron of a farmhouse two centuries old showed me a tub containing
tiny carp which she had hatched for her carp pond, the inmates of
which, as is common, came to be fed when she clapped her hands. In the
garden there was an old clay butt still used for archery. In the
farmhouse I was taken into a room in which in the old days the daimyo
overlord had rested, into another room which had a secret door and
into a third room where--an electric fan was buzzing.
At a school I had to face the usual ordeal of having to "write" as
best I could a motto for use as a wall picture. Our lettering, when
done with a brush, falls pitifully behind Chinese characters in
decorative value, and our mottoes will not readily translate into
Japanese. I was often grateful to Henley for "I am the master of my
fate, I am the captain of my soul," because with the substitution of
"commander" for captain, the lines translate literally.
We left the village through arches which had been erected by the young
men's association. At an old country house four interesting things
were shown to me. There was, first, a phial of rice seed 230 years
old. The agricultural professor who was my fellow-guest told me that
he had germinated some of the grains, but they did not produce rice
plants. The second thing was a fine family shrine before which a
religious ceremony had been performed twice a day by succeeding
generations of the same family for 350 years. The third object of
interest was a little, narrow, flat steel dagger about eight inches
long, sheathed in the scabbard of a sword. The dagger was used for
"fastening an enemy's head on." After the owner of the sword had
beheaded his foe, he drew the smaller weapon, and, thrusting one end
into the headless trunk and the other end into the base of the head,
politely united head and body once more, thus making it possible "to
show due respect and sympathy towards the dead." Finally, I had the
privilege of handling a wonderful suit of armour which was fitted
slowly together for me out of many pieces. Although it had been made
several centuries ago, this rich suit of lacquered leather had been a
Japanese general's wear on the field of battle within living memory.
One of the landowners I met was a poet who had been successful in the
Imperial poem competition which is held every New Year. A subject is
set by His Majesty and the thousands of pieces sent in are submitted
to a committee. The dozen best productions are read before the
sovereign himself, and this is the honour sought by the competitors.
The subject for competition in the year in which the landowner had
been successful was, "The cryptomeria in a temple court." His poem was
as follows:
In transplanting
The young cryptomeria trees
Within the sacred fence
There is a symbol
Of the beginning of the reign.
The New Year poems come from every class of the community and there
is seldom a year in which landowners or farmers are not among the
fortunate twelve.
As we rode along a companion spoke of the force of public opinion in
keeping things straight in the countryside, also of the far-reaching
control exercised by fathers and elder brothers. But the good
behaviour of some people was due, he said, to a dread of being
ridiculed in the newspapers, which allow themselves extraordinary
freedom in dealing with reputations.
I met a man who had had a monument erected to him. He was a member of
a little company which received me in a farmer's house. He was
formerly the richest man in the village, that is to say, he owned 20
_chō_ and was worth about 100,000 yen. Moved by the poverty of his
neighbours, he devoted his substance to improving their condition. Now
many of them are well off, the village has been "praised and rewarded"
by the prefecture for its "good farming and good morals," and the
philanthropist is worth only 50,000 yen. Impressed by his
unselfishness, the village has raised a great slab of stone in his
honour.
I made enquiries continually about the influence exerted by priests. I
was told of many "careless" priests, but also of others who delivered
sermons of a practical sort. A few of the younger priests were
described as "philosophical" and some preached "the kingdom of God is
within you." Many people laid stress on the necessity for a better
education of the priesthood and for combating superstition among the
peasantry, though the schools had already had a powerful influence in
shaking the faith of thousands of the common people in charms and
suchlike. Many folk put up charms because it was the custom or to
please their old parents or because it could do no harm.
I was told that the Government does not encourage the erection of new
temples. Its notion is that it is better to maintain the existing
temples adequately. When I went to see a gorgeous new temple, I found
that official permission for its erection had been obtained because
the figures, vessels and some of the fittings of an old and
dilapidated temple were to be used in the new edifice. This temple
was on a large tract of land which had recently been recovered from
the sea. The building had cost between 80,000 and 90,000 yen. It stood
on piles on rising ground and had a secondary purpose in that it
offered a place of refuge to the settlers on the new land if the sea
dike should break.
The founder of the temple was the man who had drained the land and
established the colony. He had given an endowment of 500 yen a year,
three-quarters of which was for the priest. This functionary had also
an income of 150 yen from a _chō_ of land attached to the temple.
Further he received gifts of rice and vegetables. I noticed that the
gifts of rice--acknowledged on a list hung up in his house--varied in
quantity from four pecks to half a cupful. Probably the priest bought
very little of anything. If he needed matting for his house, which was
attached to the temple, or if he had to make a journey, the villagers
saw that his requirements were met. And he was always getting presents
of one kind or another. "A man says to the priest," I was told, "'This
is too good for me; please accept it.'" The villagers on their side
sat and smoked in one of the temple rooms and drank his reverence's
tea for hours before and after service.[35]
The building of the temple was not only an act of piety but a work of
commercial necessity. The colonists on the reclaimed land would never
have settled there if there had not been a temple to hold them to the
place and to provide burial rites for their old parents. Not all the
people were of the same sect of Buddhism, but "they gradually came
together." A third of what a tenant produced went for rent and another
third for fertilisers, the remaining third being his own. The
population was 1,800 in 300 families. The average area per family was
2 _chō_ and colonists were expected to start with about 200 yen of
capital. Some unpromising tenants had been sent away and "some had
left secretly." Half of the people were in debt to the landlord--the
total indebtedness was about 15,000 yen--for the erection of houses
and the purchase of implements and stock. The rate was 8 per cent. In
the district 10 per cent. was quite usual and 12 per cent. by no means
rare. The co-operative society lent at the daily rate of 2-1/2 sen per
100 yen.
The landlord told me that the sea dikes took two years to build and
that most of the earth was carried by women, 5,000 of them. Their
labour was cheap and the small quantities of earth which each woman
brought at a time permitted of a better consolidation of an embankment
that was 240 feet wide at the base. More than a million yen were laid
out on the work. The reclaimed land was free of State taxes for half a
century, but the landlord made a voluntary gift to the village of
2,000 yen a year. The yearly rent coming in was already nearly 56,000
yen. The cost of the management of the drained land and of repairs to
the embankment, 20,000 yen a year, was just met by the profits of a
fishpond. A valuable edible seaweed industry was carried on outside
the sea dikes. The landlord mentioned that he had had great difficulty
in overcoming the objections of his grandfather to the investment, but
that eventually the old man got so much interested that at
ninety-three he used to march about giving orders.
One day in the course of my journeying I was near a railway station
where country people had assembled to watch the passing of a train by
which the Emperor was travelling. No one was permitted along the line
except at specified points which were carefully watched. A young
constable who wore a Russian war medal was opposite the spot where I
stood. He politely asked me to keep one _shaku_ (foot) or so away from
the paling. When someone's child pushed itself half-way through the
paling the police instruction was, "Please keep back the little one
for, if it should pass through, other children will no doubt wish to
follow." A later request by the constable was to take off our hats and
keep silence when he raised his hand on the approach of the Imperial
train. We were further asked not to point at the Emperor and on no
account to cry Banzai. (The Japanese shout _Banzai_ for the Emperor in
his absence and cry _Banzai_ to victorious generals and admirals, but
perfect silence is considered the most respectful way of greeting the
Emperor himself.) The Imperial train, which was preceded by a pilot
engine drawing a van full of rather anxious-looking police, slowed
down on approaching the station so that everyone had a chance of
seeing the Emperor, who was facing us. All the school children of the
district had been marshalled where they could get a good view. The
Japanese bow of greatest respect--it has been introduced since the
Restoration, I was told--is an inclination of the head so slight that
it does not prevent the person who bows seeing his superior. This bow
when made by rows of people is impressive. Undoubtedly the crowd was
moved by the sight of its sovereign. Not a few people held their hands
together in front of them in an attitude of devotion. The day before I
had happened to see first a priest and then a professor examining a
magazine which had a portrait of the Emperor as frontispiece. Both
bowed slightly to the print. Coloured portraits of the Emperor and
Empress are on sale in the shops, but in many cases there is a little
square of tissue paper over the Imperial countenances.
FOOTNOTES:
[30] _Shoji_ are the screens which divide a room from the outside.
They are a dainty wooden framework of many divisions, each of which is
covered by a sheet of thin white paper. The _shoji_ provide light and
are never painted. The sliding doors between two rooms are _karakami
(fusuma_ is a literary word). They are a wooden framework with thick
paper or cloth on both sides of it and with paper packing between the
layers. _Karakami_ are often decorated with writing or may be painted.
No light passes through them.
[31] A writing or a picture on a long perpendicular strip of paper or
silk or of paper mounted on silk, with rollers. The length is about
three times the width, which is usually 1 ft. 3 in. or 1 ft. 10 in.
The _kakemono_ in the _tokonoma_ of tea-ceremony rooms is about 10 in.
wide.
[32] For budgets of large property owners, see Appendix III.
[33] There have been several serious tenants' demonstrations in Aichi
during 1921. See Chapter XIX.
[34] Each Emperor receives on his succession a name which is applied
to the period of his reign. The period of Mutsuhito's reign,
1868-1912, is called _Meiji_; that of the present Emperor _Taisho_.
Thus the year 1912 would be _Taisho_ I.
[35] It will be remembered that there is only one prefecture in which
tea is not grown in larger or smaller areas, and that it is served
economically without sugar or milk.
CHAPTER VI
BEFORE OKUNITAMA-NO-MIKO-NO-KAMI[36]
Nor do I see why we should take it for granted that their gods are
unworthy of respect.--_Valerius_
In Aichi prefecture I was asked to plant trees (persimmons) in the
grounds of three temples or shrines and on the land of several
farmers. In an exposed position on a hill-top I found persimmons being
grown on a system under which the landlord provided the land, trees
and manures and the farmer the labour, and the produce was equally
divided.
The cryptomeria at one of the shrines I visited were of great age. All
of them had lost their tops by lightning. It cannot be easy for those
who have never seen cryptomeria or the redwoods of California to
realise the impression made by dark giant trees that have stood before
some shrine for generations. At the approach to the shrine of which I
speak there were venerable wooden statues. I recall one figure carved
in wood as full of life as that of the famous Egyptian headman.
The aged chief priest, who was assisted by two younger priests, kindly
invited me to take part in a Shinto service. First, I ceremonially
washed my hands and rinsed my mouth. Then, having ascended the steps,
my shoes were removed for me so that my hands should not be defiled.
On entering the shrine I knelt opposite the young priests, one of whom
brought me the usual evergreen bough with paper streamers. On
receiving it I rose to my feet, passed through the beautiful building
and advanced to what I may call, for the lack of a more accurate term,
the altar table. On this table, which, as is usual in Shinto
ceremonies, was of new white wood following the ancient design, I laid
the offering. Then I bowed and gave the customary three smart
hand-claps which summon the attention of the deity of the shrine, and
bowed again. On returning to my former kneeling-place one of the
priests offered me _saké_ and a small piece of dried fish in
paper.[37] The chief priest was good enough to read and to hand to me
an address headed, "Words of Congratulation to the Investigator,"
which may be Englished as follows:
"I, Yukimichi Otsu, the chief priest, speak most respectfully and
reverently before the shrine of the august deity,
Okunitama-no-miko-no-kami, and other deities here enshrined: Dr.
Robertson Scott, of England, is here this good day. He comes to see
the things of Japan under the governance of our gracious Emperor. I,
having made myself quite pure and clean, open the door of gracious
eyes that they may look upon those who are here. May Dr. Robertson
Scott be protected during night and day, no accident happening
wherever he may go. Dr. Robertson Scott goes everywhere in this
country; he may cross a hundred rivers and pass over many hills. May
there be no foundering of his boat, no stumbling of his horse.
Offering produce of land and sea, I say this most respectfully before
the shrine."
After the shrine I visited a co-operative store, curiously reminiscent
of many a similar rural enterprise I had seen in Denmark. Sugar,
coarser than anything sold at home, was dear. Half the price paid for
sugar in Japan is tax. I was informed that there were no fewer than
400 cooperative organisations in the prefecture.
[Illustration: AUTHOR QUESTIONING OFFICIALS--]
[Illustration: AND PLANTING COMMEMORATIVE TREES]
At several places, although the villagers were busy rice planting, the
young men's association turned out. The young men were reinforced by
reservists and came sharply to attention as our _kuruma_
(_jinrikisha_, usually pneumatic-tyred) passed. Some of the villages
we bowled through were off the ordinary track, and the older villagers
observed the ancient custom of coming out from their houses or farm
plots, dropping on their knees and bowing low as we passed.[38] All
over Japan, a villager encountered on the road removed the towel from
his head before bowing. If a cloak or outer coat was worn, it was
taken off or the motion of taking it off was made. Frequently, in
showery weather, cyclists who were wearing mackintoshes or capes,
alighted and removed these outer garments before saluting.
[Illustration: RICE POLISHING BY FOOT POWER.]
I saw a village which a few years ago had been "disorderly and poor"
and in continual friction with its landlord. Eventually this man
realised his responsibility, and, inspired by Mr. Yamasaki, took the
situation in hand. He talked in a straightforward way with his
villagers, reduced a number of rents and spent money freely in
ameliorative work. To-day the village is "remarkable for its good
conduct" and the relation between landlord and tenant seems to be
everything that can be desired. The landlord is not only the moving
spirit of the co-operative store but has started a school for girls of
from fifteen to twenty. They bring their own food but the schooling is
free.
On the gables of one or two houses near the roof I noticed ventilators
which were cut in the form of the Chinese ideograph which means water,
a kind of charm against fire. At the door of one rather well-to-do
peasant house I saw several paper charms against toothache. There was
also an inscription intimating that the householder was a director of
the co-operative society and another announcing that he was an expert
in the application of the moxa.[39] Every house I went into had a
collection of charms. One charm, a verse of poetry hung upside-down,
as is the custom, was against ants. Another was understood to ensure
the safe return of a straying cat.
In one house in the village my attention was drawn to the fact that
the rice pot contained a large percentage of barley.
In two or three places I passed pits for the excavation of lignite,
which does not look unlike the wood taken out of bogs. A pit I stopped
at was twenty-two fathoms deep. There were twenty miners at work and
air was being pumped down.
One of the things we in the West might imitate with advantage is the
village crematorium. In Japan it is of the simplest construction. The
rate for villagers was 50 sen, that for outsiders 2 yen. No doubt
there would be an additional yen for the priest. In a little building
which was thirty years old 200 bodies had been cremated.
I looked into a small co-operative rice storehouse. The building was
provided by a number of members "swearing" to save at the rate of a
yen and a half a month each until the funds needed had accumulated.
The money was obtained by extra labour in the evening. Just before I
left Japan the Department of Agriculture was arranging to spend 2
million yen within a ten-years' period to encourage the building of
4,000 rice storehouses.
As I watched the water pouring from one rice field to another and
wondered how the rights of landowners were ever reconciled, someone
reminded me of the phrase, "water splashing quarrels," that is
disputes in which each side blames the other without getting any
farther forward. To take an unfair advantage in controversy is to draw
water into one's own paddy. The equivalent for "pouring water on a
duck's back" is "flinging water in a frog's face." A Western European
is always astonished in Japan by the lung power of Far Eastern frogs.
The noise is not unlike the bleating of lambs.
Every now and again one comes on a fragrant bed of lotus in its paddy
field. It seems odd at first that lotus--and burdock--should be
cultivated for food. As a pickle burdock is eatable, but lotus and
some unfamiliar tuberous plants are pleasant food resembling in
flavour boiled chestnuts. _Konnyaku_ (_hydrosme rivieri_), a near
relative of the arum lily, is produced to the weight of 11 million
_kwan_--a _kwan_ is roughly 8-1/4 lbs.[40] The yield of burdock is
about 44 million _kwan_. The chief of all vegetables is the giant
radish, of which 7-1/4 million _kwan_ are grown. Taro yields about 150
million _kwan_. Foreigners usually like the young sprouts taken from
the roots of the bamboo, a favourite Japanese vegetable.
This is as convenient a place as any to speak of an important
agricultural fact, the enormous amount of filth worked into the
paddies. As is well known, hardly any of the night soil of Japan is
wasted. Japanese agriculture depends upon it. Formerly the night soil
was removed from the houses after being emptied into a pair of tubs
which the peasant carried from a yoke. Such yoke-carried tubs are
still seen, but are chiefly employed in carrying the substance to the
paddies. The tubs which are taken to dwellings are now mostly borne on
light two-wheeled handcarts which carry sometimes four and sometimes
six. A farmer will push or pull his manure cart from a town ten or
twelve miles off. It is difficult to leave or enter a town without
meeting strings of manure carts. The men who haul the carts get
together for company on their tedious journey. They seem insensible to
the concentrated odour. Often the wife or son or daughter may be seen
pushing behind a cart. There is a certain amount of transportation by
horse-drawn frame carts, carrying a dozen or sixteen tubs, and by
boats. I was told of a city of half a million inhabitants which had
thirty per cent. of its night soil taken ten miles away. The work was
undertaken by a co-operative society which paid the municipality the
large sum of 70,000 yen a year. The removal of night soil, its storage
in the fields in sunken butts and concrete cisterns--carefully
protected by thatched, wooden or concrete roofs--and its constant
application to paddy fields or upland plots cause an odour to prevail
which the visitor to Japan never forgets.[41]
It must not be supposed that, because the Japanese are careful to
utilise human waste products, no other manure is employed. There is an
enormous consumption of chemical fertilisers. Then there are brought
into service all sorts of crop-feeding materials, such as straw,
grass, compost, silkworm waste, fish waste, and of course the manure
produced by such stock as is kept.[42] In Aichi the value of human
waste products used on the land is only a quarter of the value of the
bean cake and fish waste similarly employed.
At Mr. Yamasaki's excellent agricultural school (prefectural), which
I visited more than once,[43] I was struck by the grave bearing of the
students. I saw them not only in their classrooms but in their large
hall, where I was invited to speak from a platform between the busts
of two rural worthies, Ninomiya, of whom we have heard before, and
another who was "distinguished by the righteousness of his public
career." As in the Danish rural high schools, store is set on hard
physical exercise. An hour of exercise--_judō_ (jujitsu), sword play
or military drill--is taken from six to seven in the morning and
another at midday with the object of "strengthening the spirit" and
"developing the character," for "our farmers must not only be honest
and determined but courageous." Severe physical labour, shared by the
teacher, is also given out of doors, for example, in heaping manure.
"We believe," said one of the instructors, "in moral virtue taught by
the hands."
For an hour a day "the main points of moral virtue" are put before the
different grades of students, according to their ages and development.
The school has a guild to which the twenty teachers and all the
students belong. It is a kind of co-operative society for the
"purchase and distribution of daily necessities," but one of its
objects is "the maintenance of public morality." Then there is the
students' association which has literary and gymnastic sides, the one
side "to refine wisdom and virtue," the other "for the rousing of
spirit." Mention may also be made of a "discipline calendar" of fixed
memorial days and ceremonies "that all the students should observe":
the ceremony of reading the Imperial Rescript on education, thrift and
morality, and the ceremonies at the end of rice planting, at harvest
and at the maturity of the silk-worm. The fitting-up of the school is
Spartan but the rooms are high and well lighted and ventilated. The
students' hot bath accommodates a dozen lads at a time. The studies
are also the dormitories, and in the corner of each there is stored a
big mosquito netting. Except for a few square yards near the doors,
these rooms consist of the usual raised platform covered with the
national _tatami_ or matting.
I heard a characteristic story of the Director. During the
Russo-Japanese war everybody was economising, and many people who had
been in the habit of riding in _kuruma_ began to walk. Our
agricultural celebrity had always had a passion for walking, so it was
out of his power to economise in _kuruma_. What he did was to cease
walking and take to _kuruma_ riding, for, he said, "in war time one
must work one's utmost, and if I move about quickly I can get more
done."
I may add a story which this rare man himself told me. I had seen in
his house a photograph of a memorial slab celebrating the heroic death
of a peasant. It appeared that in a period of scarcity there was left
in this peasant's village only one unbroken bale of rice. This rice
was in the possession of the peasant, who was suffering from lack of
food. But he would not cook any of the rice because he knew that if he
did the village would be without seed in spring. Eventually the brave
man was found dead of hunger in his cottage. His pillow had been the
unopened bale of rice.
In the house of a small peasant proprietor I visited the inscriptions
on the two _gaku_ signified "Buddha's teaching broken by a beautiful
face" and "Cast your eyes on high." On the wall there was also a copy
of a resolution concerning a recent Imperial Rescript which 500 rural
householders, at a meeting in the county, had "sworn to observe," and,
as I understood, to read two or three times a year.
Japan, as I have already noted, has always been a more democratic
country than is generally understood; but the people have been
accustomed to act under leaders. Some time ago an official of the
Department of Agriculture visited a certain district in order to speak
at the local temple in advocacy of the adjustment of rice fields. (See
Chapter VIII.) A dignitary corresponding to the chairman of an English
county council was at the temple to receive the official, but at the
time appointed for the meeting to begin the audience consisted of one
old man. Although the official from Tokyo and the _gunchō_ (head of a
county) waited for some time, no one else put in an appearance. So
they asked the old man the reason. He replied by asking them the
object of the meeting. They told him. He said that he had so
understood and that the community had so understood, but the farmers
were very busy men. Therefore, as he was the oldest man in the
district, they had sent him as their representative. Their
instructions were that he would be able to tell from his experience of
the district whether what the authorities proposed would be a good
thing for it or not. If he considered it to be a bad thing they would
not do it, but if he thought it to be a good thing they would do it.
He was to hear all that was said and then to give a decision on the
community's behalf to the officials who might attend. "So," said the
old man to the Tokyo official and the _gunchō_, "if you convince me
you have convinced the village." And after two hours' explanation they
convinced him!
There are in Japan hydraulic engineering works as remarkable in their
way as any I have seen in the Netherlands. Some of these works, for
example the tunnels for conducting rice-field water through
considerable hills, have been the work of unlettered peasants. In one
place I found that 80 miles or more of irrigation was based on a canal
made two centuries ago. It is good to see so many embankings of
refractory streams and excavations of river beds commemorated by slabs
recording the public services of the men who, often at their own
charges, carried out these works of general utility.
In various parts of the country I came upon smallholders who had
reached a high degree of proficiency in the fine art of dwarfing
trees. One day I stopped to speak with a farmer who by this art had
added 1,000 yen a year to his agricultural income. A thirty-years-old
maple was one of his triumphs. Another was a pomegranate about a foot
and a half high. It was in flower and would bear fruit of ordinary
size. The wonder of dwarfing is wrought, as is now well known, by
cramping the roots in the pot and by extremely skilful pruning,
manuring and watering. While we drank tea some choice specimens were
displayed before a screen of unrelieved gold. In the room in which we
sat the farmer had arranged in a bowl of water with great
effectiveness hydrangea, a spray of pomegranate and a cabbage.
One marks the respect shown to the rural policeman. In his summer
uniform of white cotton, with his flat white cap and white gloves, and
an imposing sword, he looks like a naval officer, even if, as
sometimes happens, his feet are in _zori_. He gets respect because of
his dignified presence and sense of official duty, because of the
considerable powers which he is able to exercise, because he stands
for the Government, and because he is sometimes of a higher social
grade than that to which policemen belong in other countries. At the
Restoration many men of the samurai class did not think it beneath
them to enter the new sword-wearing police force and they helped to
give it a standing which has been maintained. As to the policeman
being a representative of the Government, the ordinary Japanese has a
way of speaking of the Government doing this or that as if the
Government were irresistible power. Average Japanese do not yet
conceive the Government as something which they have made and may
unmake[44]. But is it likely that they should, parliamentary history,
the work of their betters, being as short as it is? It is not whithout
significance that the Chambers of the Diet are housed in temporary
wooden buildings.
The rural policeman is not only a paternal guardian of the peace but
an administrative official. He keeps an eye on public health. He is
charged with correctly maintaining the record of names and
addresses--and some other particulars--of everybody in the village. It
is his duty to secure correct information as to the name, age, place
of origin and real business of every stranger. He attends all public
meetings, even of the young men's and young women's associations, and
no strolling players can give their entertainment without his
presence. As to the movements of strangers, my own were obviously well
known. Indeed a friend told me that in the event of my losing myself I
had only to ask a policeman and he would be able to tell me where I
was expected next! At the houses of well-to-do people I was struck by
the way in which the local police officer--sometimes, no doubt, a
sergeant or perhaps a man of the rank of our superintendent or chief
constable--called with the headman and joined our kneeling circle in
the reception-room. Nominally he came to pay his respects, but his
chief object, no doubt, was to take stock of what was going on. I
invariably took the opportunity of closely interviewing him.
The extraordinary degree to which Japanese are commonly accustomed in
their differences of opinion to refrain from blows makes many of their
quarrels harmless. The threat to send for the policeman or the actual
appearance of the policeman has an almost magical effect in calming a
disturbance. The Japanese policeman believes very much in reproving or
reprimanding evil doers and in reasoning with folk whose
"carelessness" has attracted attention. Sometimes for greater
impressiveness the admonitions or exhortations are delivered at the
police station[45]. In more than one village I heard a tribute paid to
the good influence exerted on a community by a devoted policeman.
The chief of an agricultural experiment station also seems to obtain a
large measure of respect, to some extent, no doubt, because he
occupies a public office. The regard felt for Mr. Yamasaki goes
deeper. A few years ago he was sent on a mission abroad and in his
absence his local admirers cast about for a way of showing their
appreciation of his work. They began by raising what was described to
me as "naturally not a large but an honourable sum." With this money
they decided to add three rooms to his dwelling. They had noted how
visitors were always coming to his house in order to profit by his
experience and advice. Mr. Yamasaki uses the rooms primarily as "an
hotel for people of good intentions--those who work for better
conditions." I was proud to stay at this "hotel" and to receive as a
parting gift an old _seppuku_ blade.
Which reminds me that one night at a house in the country I found
myself sitting under photographs of the late General and Countess Nogi
and of the gaunt bloodstained room of the depressing "foreign style"
house in which they committed suicide on the day of the funeral of
the Emperor Meiji[46]. One of my fellow-guests was a professor at the
Imperial University; the other was a teacher of lofty and unselfish
spirit. They were both samurai. I mentioned that a man of worth and
distinction has said to me that, while he recognised the nobility of
Nogi's action, he could but not think it unjustifiable. I was at once
told that Japanese who do not approve of Nogi's action "must be
over-influenced by Western thought." "Those who are quintessentially
Japanese," it was explained, "think that Nogi did right. Bodily death
is nothing, for Nogi still lives among us as a spirit. He labours with
a stronger influence. Many hearts were purified by his sacrifice. One
of Nogi's reasons for suicide was no doubt that he might be able to
follow his beloved Emperor, but his intention was also to warn many
vicious or unpatriotic people. Some politicians and rich people say
they are patriotic, but they are animated by selfish motives and
desires. Nogi's suicide was due to his loving his fellow-countrymen
sincerely. Surely he was acting after the manner of Christ. Nogi
crucified himself for the people in order to atone in a measure for
their sins and to lead them to a better way of life."
I heard from my friends something of Nogi's demeanour. The old general
was a familiar figure in Tokyo. In the street cars--those were the
days when they were not over-crowded--he was always seen standing. His
admirers used to say that his face "beamed with beneficence." But
Nogi, though he loved to be within reach of the Emperor and did his
part as head of the Peers' School, liked nothing better than to get
away to the country. He was originally a peasant and he still
possessed a _chō_ of upland holding. He was glad to work on it with
the digging mattock of the farmer.
FOOTNOTES:
[36] Son-God-of-the-Spirit-of-the-Province.
[37] It was a tiny squid. There are seventy sorts of cuttlefish and
octopuses in Japanese waters. Value of dried cuttlefish in 1917, 4
million yen.
[38] The hands are laid flat on the ground with finger-tips meeting
and the forehead touches the hands.
[39] See Chapter XX.
[40] The root grows to about the size of a big apple. It may be seen
in the shops in white dried sections. A stiff greyish jelly made from
it is eaten with rice. It is also eaten as _oden_ or _dengaku_.
[41] See Appendix IV.
[42] See Appendix XX.
[43] See Appendix V.
[44] The truth is being learnt by the younger generation.
[45] For crime statistics, see Appendix VI.
[46] _Harakiri_ (_seppuku_ is the polite word) still happens. Just
before writing this note I read of the captain of the first company of
the Japanese garrison in a Korean town having committed _seppuku_
because of a sense of responsibility for the irregularities of
subordinates. But of 7,239 suicides of men in 1916 only 308 were by
cold steel. Of 4,558 cases of women suicides 140 were by steel.
CHAPTER VII
OF "DEVIL-GON" AND YOSOGI
The consciousness of a common purpose in mankind, or even the
acknowledgment that such a common purpose is possible, would alter the
face of world politics at once.--GRAHAM WALLAS
There was a bad landlord who was nicknamed "Devil-gon." He was shot.
There was another bad landlord who, as he was crossing a narrow bridge
over a brook, was "pistolled through the sleeve and tumbled into the
water." Although the murderer was well known, his name was never
revealed to the police, and the family of the dead man was glad to
leave the district. The villagers celebrated their freedom by eating
the "red rice" which is prepared on occasions of festivity. In another
village, the _gunchō_ who spoke to me of these things said, there were
several usurious landlords. "The village headman got angry. He called
the landlords to him. He said to them that if they continued to lend
at high interest the people would set fire to their houses and he
would not proceed against them. So the landlords became affrighted and
amended their lives." The rural people of Japan have always three
weapons against usury, it was explained to me. First, there may be
tried injuring the offending person's house--rural dwellings are
mainly bamboo work and mud--by bumping into it with the heavy
palanquin which is carried about the roadway at the time of the annual
festival. If such a hint should prove ineffective, recourse may be had
to arson. Finally, there is the pistol. I remember someone's remark,
"A man does not lose a common mind and heart by becoming a landowner."
I could not travel about the rural districts without there being
brought under my eyes the conditions which lead country girls to go to
the towns as _joro_ (prostitutes). A considerable agricultural
authority who had been all over Japan told me that he was in no doubt
that most of the girls adopted an immoral life through poverty. I
spoke to this man, who had been abroad, of the disgrace to Japan
involved in the presence of thousands of Japanese _joro_ at Singapore
and so many other ports of the Asiatic mainland. Did these women go
there of their free will? My informant was of opinion that "half are
deceived." I remember that on the Japanese steamship by which I went
out to Japan there were several Japanese girls, degraded in aspect and
apparently in ill health, who were returning from Singapore. They were
shepherded by an evil-looking fellow. The parting of these
unfortunates from their girl friends as the vessel was about to start
was a piteous sight. An official who called on me in Aichi--I
understood that he was the chief of the prefectural police--told me
that there were in the prefecture 2,011 girls in 222 houses, and that
there were in a year 725,598 customers, of whom 2,147 were foreigners.
Sums of from 200 to 500 yen might be paid to parents for a girl for a
three-years term. Food and clothes were also provided, but the girls
were almost invariably drawn into debt to the keepers, and not more
than 15 per cent. were able to return to their villages. All the girls
in the houses had alleged poverty as the reason for their being
there.[47]
Because I was told that the moral condition of the town of
Anjo--population 17,000--where the agricultural school of the
prefecture is situated, had improved since its establishment, I asked
for some statistics. I found that there were 23 registered geisha, no
_joro_, 50 teahouse girls with dubious characters and 55 sellers of
_saké_. Against these figures were to be counted 19 Buddhist temples
of four sects with 19 priests and 20 Shinto shrines with 4 priests.
I met a schoolmaster who had prepared a history of his village in a
dozen beautifully written volumes. He had been a vegetarian for
fifteen years because, as a Buddhist, he believed that "all living
things are in some degree my relatives." I picked up from him a
variant on "the early bird catches the worm." It was, "The early riser
may find a lost _rin_" (tenth of a farthing). He gave me another
proverb, "The contents of a spitting pot, like riches, become fouler
the more they accumulate."
I heard of temples which were promoting rural improvement by means of
lanterns. In one village the lanterns were at the service of borrowers
at three different places. The inscription on the lanterns says,
"Think of the mercy of Buddha who illuminates the darkness of your
heart." There is written in smaller characters, "If you live half a
_ri_ away you need not return this lantern." Three hundred lanterns
are lost or damaged in a year, but paper lanterns are cheap.
One temple has a society composed of those who have family graves in
its grounds. These people "study how to get the most abundant crop."
There is a prize for the best cultivated _tan_. Under this temple's
auspices there is not only a co-operative credit and purchase
association, a poultry society and an annual exhibition of
agricultural products, but a school for nurses--they are "taught to be
nurses not only physically but morally." The boys and girls of the
village are invited to the temple once a month and "told a story." The
youngsters are asked to come to a "learning meeting" where they must
recite or exhibit something they have written or drawn; "blockheads as
well as clever children are encouraged." A fund is being raised so
that "a genius who may be suffering from poverty may be able to get
proper education." Then there is a Women's Religious Association which
aims at "the improvement, necessary from a religious point of view, in
the home and of agricultural business." Sermons are given to 500 women
monthly. The society sent comfort bags, containing letters,
tooth-brushes and sweets, to soldiers at the taking of Tsingtao. A
similar organisation for men had for thirteen years listened to a
monthly lecture by a well-known priest. It sends occasional
subscriptions outside the village. Finally, this praiseworthy temple
issues every month 20,000 copies of a 4-1/2-sen magazine.
The Shinto shrines of the prefecture have in all a little more than 40
_chō_ of land. Someone has hit on the plan of getting the
agricultural societies of the county and villages to provide the
priests with rice seed of superior varieties, the crop of which can be
exchanged with farmers for common rice. This is done on a profitable
basis, because the shrines exchange unpolished rice for polished. A
_gō_ of seed rice makes only about .5 _gō_ when husked.
I walked along the road some little way with a Buddhist priest. In
answer to my enquiry he said that as a Buddhist he felt no difficulty
about the bag strung across his shoulders being of leather, for the
founder of his sect (Shinshu) ate meat. Even a strict Buddhist might
nowadays eat animals not intentionally killed, animals which had not
been seen alive and animals which were killed painlessly. But my
companion abstained as much as possible from meat. As to the reason
why some priests were inactive in the work of rural amelioration, he
supposed that their poverty, the tradition of devoting themselves to
unworldly business and the fact that many of them were hereditary
priests accounted for it. He dwelt on the things in common between
Shinshu and Christianity and said that, next to the teaching of the
head of the agricultural college in the prefecture, the preaching of a
missionary had led him to work for the good of his village.
In my host's house in the evening someone happened to quote the
proverb, "Richer after the fire." It means, of course, that after the
fire the neighbours are so ready with help that the last state of the
victim of the fire is better than the first. The view was expressed
that hitherto charitable institutions of some Western patterns had not
been so much needed in Japan as might be supposed.[48] "Those who go
to Europe from Japan are indeed much surprised by the number of
institutions to help people." Here, however, is the story of an
institution coming into existence in a village: "There was a man who
was thought to be rich, but he lived like a miser. His _shoji_ were
made of waste paper and his guests received tea only. So he was
despised. But many years afterwards it was found that for a long time
he had been collecting books. Then, to the surprise of everybody, he
built a library for his village. He is not at all proud of this and
those who ridiculed him are now ashamed."
I was invited to a "Rural Life Exhibition." Some agricultural produce
was shown, but three hundred of the exhibits were manuscript books or
diagrams. One diagram illustrated the development in a particular
county of the use of two bactericides, formalin and carbon bisulphide.
The formalin was in use to the value of 2,000 yen. Then there was a
wall picture, a sort of Japanese "The Child: What will he Become?" The
good boy, aged fifteen, was shown spending his spare time in making
straw rope to the value of 3 sen 3 rin nightly, with the result that
after thirty years of such industry he became a rural capitalist who
possessed 1,000 yen and lived in circumstances of dignity. In contrast
with this virtuous career there was shown the rural rake's progress. A
youth who was in the habit of laying out 3 sen 3 rin riotously in
sweet-shops was proved to have wasted 1,000 yen in thirty years: the
prodigal was justly exhibited fleeing from his home in debt.
One of the books on exhibition mentioned the volumes most in demand at
some village library. I translate the titles:
Physical and Intellectual Training
About being Ambitious
The Housewife of a Peasant Family
The Management of a Farm
The Days when Statesmen were Boys
Culture and Striving
Essence of Rural Improvement
A Hundred Beautiful Stories
The Art of Composition
The Preparation of the Conscript
A Medical Treatise
A Translation of "Self-Help"
Nature and Human Life
The Glories of Native Places
Anecdotes concerning Culture
Lives of Distinguished Peasants
Mulberry Planting
Chinese Romances
Glories of this Peaceful Reign
Ninomiya Sontoku
I noticed among the exhibits a short autobiography of a farmer, an
engaging egoist who wrote:
"As a young man my will was not in study and though I used my wits I
did many stupid things and the results were bad. Then I became a
little awakened and for two years I studied at night with the primary
school teacher. After that I thought to myself in secret, 'Shall I
become a wise man in this village, or, by diligently farming, a rich
man?' That was my spiritual problem. Then all my family gathered
together and consulted and decided[49] that it would suit the family
better if I were to become a rich man, and I also agreed. To
accomplish that aim I increased my area under cultivation and worked
hard day and night. I cut down the cryptomeria at my homestead and
planted in their stead mulberries and persimmons. And I slowly changed
my dry land into rice fields (making it therefore more valuable). The
soil I got I heaped up at the homestead for eighteen years until I had
28,000 cubic feet. I was able then to raise the level of my house
which had become damp and covered with mould. The increase of my
cultivated area and of the yield per _tan_ and the improvement of my
house and the practice of economy were the delight of my life. I felt
grateful to my ancestors who gave me such a strong body. Sometimes I
kept awake all night talking with my wife about the goodness of my
ancestors. Also when in bed I planned a compact homestead. I once read
a Japanese poem, 'What a joy to be born in this peaceful reign and to
be favoured by ploughs and horses.' (Most Japanese farming is done
without either horses or ploughs.) It went deeply into my heart. Also
I heard from the school teacher of four loves: love of State, love of
Emperor, love of teacher and love of parent. I have been much favoured
by those loves. I also heard the doctrines of Ninomiya: sincerity,
diligence, moderate living, unselfishness. I felt it a great joy to
live remembering those doctrines. I also went to the prefectural
experiment station and studied fruit growing and my spirit was much
expanded. I returned again to the station and the expert talked to me
very earnestly. I asked for a special variety of persimmon. The expert
sent to Gifu prefecture for it. I planted the tree and made its top
into six grafts. It bore fruit and many passers-by envied it. Two
years after that I grafted five hundred trees and sold the grafted
stock."
Several villages sent to the exhibition statistics of great interest.
One village set forth the changes which had taken place in the social
status of its inhabitants[50]. Some communities were represented by
statements of their hours of labour[51]. One small community's tables
showed how many of its inhabitants were "diligent people," how many
"average workers" and how many "other people[52]." A county
agricultural association had painstakingly collected information not
only about the work done in a year[53] and the financial returns
obtained by three typical farmers but about the way in which they
spent what they earned.[54]
On my way back from the exhibition I heard the story of a priest. When
fourteen years of age he obtained seeds of cryptomeria and planted
them in a spot in the hills. He also practised many economies. When
still in his teens he asked permission to take two shares in a 50-yen
money-sharing club, but was not allowed to do so as no one would
believe that he could complete his payments. He persisted, however,
that he would be able to pay what was required and he was at length
accepted as a member. At twenty he became priest of a small temple
which was in bad repair and had a debt of 125 yen. He brought with him
his 100 yen from the club and the young cryptomeria. He planted the
trees in the temple grounds. He said, "I wish to rebuild the temple
when these trees grow up." He cultivated the land adjoining his temple
and contrived to employ several labourers. At last the cryptomeria
grew large enough for his purpose and he rebuilt the temple, expending
on the work not only his trees but 600 yen which he had by this time
saved. Then he proceeded to bring waste land into cultivation. At the
age of sixty-two he gave his temple to another priest and went to live
in a hut on the waste land. There came a tidal wave near the place, so
he went to the sufferers and invited five families to his now
cultivated waste land. He gave them each a _tan_ of land and the
material for building cottages and showed them how to open more land.
[Illustration: "HIBACHI" AND, IN "TOKONOMA," FLOWER ARRANGEMENT AND
"KAKEMONO."]
[Illustration: SCHOOL SHRINE CONTAINING EMPEROR'S PORTRAIT.]
A good judge expressed the opinion that Buddhism was flourishing in 80
per cent. of the villages of Aichi, but this was in a material and
ceremonial sense. The prefectures of Aichi and Niigata had been called
the "kitchens of Hongwanji"[55] (the great temple at Kyoto), such
liberal contributions were forthcoming from them. "A belief in
progress," this speaker said, "may be a substitute for religion for
many of our people; another substitute is a belief in Japan." A
village headman from the next prefecture (Shidzuoka) said: "People in
my village do not omit to perform their Buddhist ceremonies, but they
are not at their hearts religious. In our prefecture the influence of
Ninomiya is greater than that of Buddhism. If the villagers are good
it is Ninomiyan principles that make them so. Under Ninomiyan
influence the spirit of association has been aroused, thriftiness has
been encouraged and extravagance reprimanded."
[Illustration: FENCING AT AN AGRICULTURAL SCHOOL.]
[Illustration: WAR MEMENTOES AT THE SAME SCHOOL--ALL SCHOOLS HAVE SOME]
I told Mr. Yamasaki one day that there was an old Scotswoman who
divided good people into "rael Christians and guid moral fowk." What I
was curious to know was what proportion of Japanese rural people might
be fairly called "real Buddhists" and what proportion "good moral
folk." "There are certainly some real Buddhists, not merely good moral
folk," he assured me. "If you penetrate deeply into the lives of the
people you will be able to find a great number of them. In ordinary
daily life, during a period when nothing extraordinary happens, it is
not easy to distinguish the two classes; but when any trouble comes
then those real religious people are undismayed, while the ordinarily
good moral people may sometimes go astray. The proportion of religious
people is rather large among the poor compared with the middle and
upper classes. These poor people are always weighted with many
troubles which would be a calamity to persons of the middle or upper
classes. Such humble folk get support for their lives from what is in
their hearts. Though they may suffer privation or loss they are glad
that they can live on by the mercy of Buddha. There are some religious
people even among those who are not poor. They are usually people who
have lost some of their riches suddenly, or a dear child, or have been
deprived of high position, or have met some kind of misfortune.
Sometimes a man may become religious because he feels deeply the
misfortunes or miseries of a neighbour or the miseries of war. Or his
religion may come by meditation. A man who begins to be religious is
not, however, at once noticed. On the contrary, if he is a true
believer his daily life will be most ordinary."
One day I passed a primary school playground. The girls had just
finished and the boys were beginning Swedish drill. Everyone engaged
in the drill, including the master, was barefoot.
I saw that some of the cottages were built in an Essex fashion, of
puddled clay and chopped straw faced with tarred boards. Some
dwellings, however, were faced with straw instead of boards. They had
just had their wall thatch renewed for the winter.
In one spot there was a quarter of a mile of wooden aqueduct for the
service of the paddy fields. Much agricultural pumping is done in
Aichi. I visited an irrigation installation where pumps (from London)
were turning barren hill tops into paddy fields.[56] The work was
being done by a co-operative society of 550 members who had borrowed
the 40,000 yen they needed from a bank on an undertaking to repay in
fifteen years.
It was stated that common paddy near Anjo had been bought at 5,000 yen
per _chō_ and not for building purposes. When one member of our
company said, "The farmers here are rivalling each other in hard
work," the weightiest authority among us replied: "What the farmer
must do is to work not harder but better. At present he is not working
on scientific principles. The hours he is spending on really
profitable labour are not many. He must work more rationally. In 26
villages in the south-west of Japan, where farming calls for much
labour, it was found that the number of days' work in the year was
only 192. Statistics for Eastern Japan give 186 days.[57] As to a
secondary industry, one or two hours' work a night at straw rope
making for a month may bring in a yen because the market for rope is
confined to Japan. The same with _zori_, a coarse sort being
purchasable for 2 sen a pair. But supplementary work like silk-worm
culture produces an article of luxury for which there is a world
market."
When we returned home my host was kind enough to summarise for me--the
general reader may skip here--some of the reasons set forth by a
professor of agricultural politics for the farmer's position being
what it is:
1. The average area cultivated per family is very small.
2. The law of diminishing return.
3. Imperfection of the agricultural system. Mainly crop raising, not a
combination of crop and stock raising, as in England. No profitable
secondary business but silkworm culture. Therefore the distribution of
labour throughout the year is not good and the number of days of
effective labour is relatively small.
4. The commercial side of agriculture has not been sufficiently
developed.
5. There has been a rise in the standard of living. In the old days
the farmer did not complain; he thought his lot could not be changed.
He was forbidden to adopt a new calling and he was restricted by law
to a frugal way of living. Now farmers can be soldiers, merchants or
officials and can live as they please. They begin to compare their
standard of living with that of other callings. What were once not
felt to be miseries are now regarded as such.
6. Formerly the farmer had not the expense of education and of losing
the services of his sons to the army. There is also an increase in
taxation. A representative family which incurred a public expenditure,
not including education, of 12.86 yen in 1890, paid in 1898 19.68 yen.
In 1908 it was faced by a claim for 34.28 yen.[58]
7. Although the area of land does not increase in relation to the
increase of population, the size of the peasant family is increasing
owing to the decrease of infanticide and abortion and the development
of sanitation.
8. The farmer suffers from debts at high interest.
9. The character, morality and ability of the farmer are not yet fully
developed.
10. Formerly the farmer lived an economically self-contained
existence. He had no great need of money. He must now sell his produce
on a market with wider and wider fluctuations.
11. There are many expensive customs and habits, for instance the two
or three days' feasting at weddings and funerals.
During the evening I was told this story. In a village in a far part
of the prefecture there lived a farmer called Yosōgi. He was a thrifty
and diligent man. When he became old he gave all that he had to his
son. But the old man could not stop working. He would go to the farm
and help his son. The son did not like this. He wanted his old father
to rest. In the end he found that the only way to cope with his
industrious parent was to work very hard and leave him nothing to do.
But the old man was not to be balked. He took himself off to the
hillside and began to make a paddy field where there had never been a
paddy field before. To make a paddy field on such a slope is a
difficult task. The land must be embanked with stones and then
levelled. The building of the strong embankment alone calls for much
labour. The old man toiled very hard at his job and sometimes his son
in despair sent his labourers to help him. At length the paddy field
was finished. But it was only a tenth of a _tan_ in area. When the son
saw the small result of so much labour he said to his father, "I
grieve for the way you have toiled. You have laboured hard for many
days and my labourers have helped you, but all that has been
accomplished is the making of a paddy field so small and distant that
it is uneconomical."
To this the old man replied: "When you go to Tokyo and see the
graveyard at Aoyama you will behold there many monuments of generals
and ministers of State. Their merits and their works in this world are
described on those monuments. But do you know where the monument of
the famous hero Kusunoki Masashige is? It is near Kobe, and it is not
more than half as big as those monuments at Tokyo. Do you know where
the monument of the great Taiko is? It is in Kyoto, but it is only
recently that this monument was put up. Thus the monuments of our
greatest heroes are small or have been erected recently. The reason is
that it is unnecessary to raise big monuments for them because what
they did in their lives was in itself their monument. They built their
monument in the hearts of the people. Therefore we can never judge
from the size of the monument the kind of work which was accomplished
by the man who sleeps under it. Monuments are not only for ministers
and warriors. We peasants can also erect monuments in our own way. To
open a new paddy field, to plant the bare hillside with trees, these
are our monuments. How lonely it would be for me if there were no
monument left after my death. However small this paddy field may be,
it will not be forgotten so long as it yields for your posterity the
blessing of its rice crop." "Happily," the interpreter added, "the old
man did not die so soon as he thought he would do. He lived for
several years and planted the bare hillside with trees. Now the wood
which grows there is worth 10,000 yen."
A peasant proprietor expressed the conviction that goodness in a
family was "not the result of its own efforts but of the accumulation
of ancestral effort." The "ancestral merits and good spirit remain in
the family." On the problem of rich and poor he quoted the proverb,
"The very rich cannot remain very rich for more than three
generations; a poor family cannot long remain poor." He said that he
would be interested to know what I found to be "the causes of our
villagers becoming good or bad." "For ourselves," he said, quoting
another proverb, "'At the foot of the lighthouse it is dark.'"
THE MOST EXACTING CROP IN THE WORLD