OSAKA
Osaka, the great commercial city of Japan, with its population of over
361,000 souls, stretches out its square miles of gray-roofed houses at
the edge of the plain, where the waters of the Yodogawa reach Osaka Bay.
Bars and shallows prevent large vessels from reaching the city, and
Kobé-Hiogo, twenty miles across the arc of the bay, is its seaport. The
branching river and the innumerable canals intersecting the city have
given Osaka the name of the “Venice of Japan;” as if a trading city,
built on a level plain, with canals too wide and houses too low and dull
in color to be in the least picturesque, could be considered even a poor
relation of the “Bride of the Sea.” The “Chicago of Japan” is a fitter
title, for if no pork-packing establishments exist, the whole community
is as energetically absorbed in money-making, the yen, instead of the
almighty dollar, being the god chiefly worshipped, and Osaka’s Board of
Trade the most exciting and busy one in the empire.
Osaka has been prominent in the history of Japan from the very earliest
times, and at the time of the Restoration the rebel Shogun made his last
stand and fought his last battle at Osaka castle. The next great event in
Osaka’s annals was the flood of 1885, which was without parallel in this
country of floods. During the last weeks of the rainy season of June the
rain fell in torrents for more than a week, and a typhoon, sweeping the
region, deluged the adjoining provinces. Lake Biwa rose many feet above
its usual level, the rivers doubled and redoubled their size, and the
whole Osaka plain was a lake. The rivers having been raised artificially
above the level of the surrounding country for the irrigation of the rice
fields, their banks and levees melted away before the rush of waters,
and the plain was scoured by swift currents running eight and fifteen
feet deep over the rice fields. Farm-houses and villages disappeared in
a day, and the wretched people saved themselves and their few effects by
taking to boats and rafts or seeking refuge in trees. After two weeks
of high-water and continuing rains, the flood subsided and the wreck
was more apparent. A few farmers, by replanting and careful tending,
obtained crops that season, but hundreds and hundreds of the homeless and
destitute were sheltered and fed in the unused barracks at Osaka castle.
In the city itself only the castle and a few business streets were
left above water, and thousands of houses and godowns were ruined; the
mud-walls under the heavy tiled roofs collapsing like card-houses in the
current. One hundred and forty-six bridges were carried away, and, for
a time, boats were the only vehicles and means of communication. The
suffering and destitution were terrible, and Osaka’s many industries were
paralyzed. But in the shortest time after the subsidence of the waters
temporary bridges and ferries were established, embankments patched
up, houses rebuilt, and the city returned to its busy ways. Except for
the mud-stained walls and the heaps of drift and débris on roof-tops,
little reminded one of the disaster as we sped through the stone-paved
streets. House-boats went up and down the river each evening with geisha
and maiko singing happily, and koto and samisen ringing on the air till
midnight. Jiutei’s queer hotel, a foreign inn up-stairs and a Japanese
tea-house below stairs, was the scene of as much feasting as ever, and
the recuperative power of Osaka’s people surprised one at every turn.
The castle is the great show-place of Osaka, and although the palace,
which was the heart of the great fortress, was burned in 1868, much
remains to be seen. The area enclosed by the massive outer walls and the
great moat is immense, and the clustered towers, and buildings, crowning
the one elevation on all the Osaka plain, show commandingly from every
point. The angles of the walls are sharpened and curve inward like the
bow of a battle-ship, and on each corner remain quaint white towers with
curving black roofs piled one upon another. The castle walls are wonders
of masonry; single stones forty-six feet in length and ten or twelve feet
square being built in on either side of the main gate. Other stones,
twenty feet in height, and roughhewn as they came from the quarry, stand
at angles of the walls like miniature El Capitans. Nearly all these
titanic blocks are known to the Japanese by particular names, each with
its legends attached; but the foreigner puzzles long to decide how those
primitive builders brought such masses of granite from the quarries on
the island of Kiushiu and placed them in these walls without the aid of
steam or modern appliances. Three massive walls of defense, one within
another, separate the castle proper from the surrounding barracks and
parade-ground, and the headquarters are within the third enclosure. A
dapper little lieutenant in spotless white uniform received our party at
the temple-like headquarters building, one scorching August morning, and
conducted us through a fourth wall, and up broad stone stair-ways to the
lookout of the old citadel. His orderly ran ahead with field-glasses, and
from that airy perch, three hundred feet above the city, we could look
over an immense stretch of country and down upon the city roof-tops, from
which the air rose quivering with heat. At eight o’clock in the morning
at that high point the air was intensely hot, and the stones seemed to
scorch our feet; yet up there was a well of deliciously cool water, an
unfailing supply for the garrison at all times and through many sieges.
Returning to headquarters we met the commandant in such a beautiful
snow-white uniform, covered with so many fine lines of white braid,
as must make any man regret having to lay it aside for the dark and
sombre winter regimentals. The bowing and interchange of conventionally
courteous greetings between the commandant and the two Tokio officials
whom we accompanied was a charming exhibition of the old etiquette, just
a little modified by the new. The cool, shady room, where tea and cake
and wine awaited us, had been built on the foundations of the old house
where Hideyoshi lived, and its interior was panelled and ceiled with
wondrous paintings and carvings brought from one of the Taiko’s distant
castles. Before it stood a pine-tree, planted by the daughter of that
Napoleon of Japan, and there had been enacted the brilliant drama of
feudal life which Judith Gautier has immortalized in _The Usurper_, a
story which invests Osaka’s castle with romance.
Then we spent two scorching hours in the gun-foundery and arsenal
outside the castle walls, where the machinery was German from Chemnitz
founderies, and the guns were made on Italian models. No foreigners
were visible about the place, and the machinery was managed by Japanese
workmen.
Next to its arsenal, Osaka takes pride in its mint, which is larger and
better supplied with machinery than any of the Government mints in the
United States. An army of workmen and workwomen in uniform tend the
machines, and melt, cast, cut, stamp, weigh, and finish the coins, which,
under the values of yens and sens, correspond exactly to our coinage
of dollars and cents. The mint possesses a fine collection of coins,
including the coins and medals of all countries, as well as a complete
set of Japanese coins from the earliest days.
Another interesting Government institution is the bazaar for the
exhibition and sale of goods of Osaka manufacture. All Japanese cities
have these _hakurankwai_ (exposition), but no other is on so great a
scale and so crowded with beautiful things as this one. There one may
see all that any workshop turns out or any dealer has for sale without
the tedious process of bowing, taking off one’s shoes, and sitting in
tailor-fashion for an hour before the desired articles are shown. All
the goods are marked in plain figures, and the fixed price obviates the
bargaining and the rattle of the soroban. There is an admission fee of
a few coppers, and a percentage is charged on all sales to support the
institution. One may spend a day in the labyrinth of rooms studying
Osaka’s many industries; and everything, from gold and silver ware,
crapes, brocades, lacquers, enamels, porcelains and carvings to food
preparations, patent medicines, and imitations of foreign goods, is to
be found there. There is even a department of plants and flowers, a hall
of antiquities, a section of toys, acres of china shops, and specimens
of everything made, sold, or used in that bustling city. Evening brings
electric lights and a military band, and this industrial fair is made
popular and profitable all the year round.
Osaka is the centre of great iron, copper, and bronze industries.
Its artists decorate the finest modern Satsuma in microscopically
fine designs, and the mark of Gioksen, of Osaka, on tiny vase or koro
stamps the piece as the best example of the day. The soft yellow and
richly-toned wares of Idzumi kilns find their market through Osaka, and
the carving of blackwood into cabinets and stands, or mounts, for vases
and tokonoma ornaments, is held almost as a monopoly by a great company
of Osaka artisans. Its book trade and dry-goods trade are very great,
and its chief silk-store, which is still purely Japanese, displays
the choicest fabrics of Kioto looms, and stuffs that only after much
searching are seen elsewhere. The straw goods trade is an important one,
and its paper industries are on an even greater scale. Fans are exported
from Osaka by millions, the United States taking one fan for each
inhabitant of the great republic.
Stamped leather is another product of Osaka, but is chiefly exported
to Trieste, to be made up there and at Vienna into the pocket-books,
portfolios, card and cigar cases that cost so much in American jewelry
and stationery stores. At Toyono’s, the largest leather factory, squares
of stamped leather were shown us in more than a hundred designs of bugs,
birds, and fish, covering the ground, each piece of leather being about
twenty-four inches square, and selling at one or two dollars for the
single piece. Larger pieces, stamped with large and elaborate designs
in gold or colors, and used for the foreign trade as panels for wall
decorations, mounted to ten and fifteen dollars each, the size and
quality of the leather and work of the artist enhancing the price. The
cost of one of the large square brass dies from which the impressions
are made averages one hundred and fifty dollars. In the old days the
two-feet-square surface of brass could be engraved in the finest all-over
designs for half that sum. The leather is stamped from these dies by a
hand-press, and after the stamping workmen sit on their heels and color
the designs.
An industry peculiar to Osaka is the manufacture of floor rugs of cotton
or hemp. These Osaka rugs were much esteemed in feudal days, when the
daimio had the monopoly and sent them as gifts; but in these prosaic days
a stock company and a large factory supply the home market and the great
foreign demand for these inexpensive and pleasing articles.
Half the _kairos_ sold in Japan are marked with an Osaka manufacturer’s
name, and in cold weather or in illness the possessor of the kairo
calls Osaka blessed. For be it known that the kairo is a little tin
box with perforated sides and a sliding top covered with cloth. _Kairo
zumi_ are three-inch paper cases filled with the finest persimmon-leaf
charcoal. You light one end of a paper, drop it in the kairo, and blow it
until it glows; slip the cover in and wrap the kairo in a handkerchief
or special bag. The little charcoal stick will burn for three, or even
six hours, giving a steady, even heat all the time. It comes in many
sizes, is curved in many ways to fit closely to the body, and its weight
is almost nothing. The commonest kairo, about four inches long by two
inches high, costs three or five cents, according to the quality of
cloth pasted over it, and each package of the zumi costs a cent and a
half. On winter days one often sees the Japanese holding kairos in their
hands, tucking them in their obis, and slipping them down their backs.
They are serviceable in keeping dampness out of the piles of linen in
house-keeper’s closets, and at night they assume the function of the
ancient warming-pan. In America it has been considered only as a toy, a
muff-warmer, or a pocket-stove. But its best use is in the sick-room,
where it will keep a poultice or hot cloth at an even heat for days. A
chill, a cramp, or a rheumatic pain is charmed away by its steady, gentle
heat; and in neuralgia, bound on the aching nerves, it soothes them.
Headaches have been known to yield to it, and in sea-sickness the kairo
overcomes the agonizing chills and relieves the suffering. Our heavy
rubber hot-water bags, that are always leaking and suddenly cooling, may
well be superseded by the little kairo.
Osaka has curio-shops that are small museums filled with the choicest
industrial art of old Japan, and this rich commercial city rivals Tokio
and Kioto in its amusement world, and has a theatre street a mile long.
Its theatres, its wrestlers, its maiko and geisha are as well known as
its industries, and its jinrikisha runners are reckoned the swiftest in
the empire. The latter spin over the stone-paved streets and bridges
and round corners at a terrifying pace, all for six cents an hour, and
usually speed the departing guest to the station early enough to allow
him a half-hour at the little tea-houses in the park, to eat cubes of
the superlative Osaka sponge-cake. The maiko and geisha of this southern
capital are renowned for their grace, beauty, and wit; their taste in
arranging the obi and dressing the hair; their cleverness in inventing
new dances; and the entertainments in which they figure, under the
lanterned awnings of the house-boats as they float up and down the river
at night, are unique among such fêtes.
There are many rich and splendid temples in Osaka that seem to have
suffered little since the protection of the Shogun and the court were
withdrawn. Osaka, Tokio, and Kioto, the three capitals, are the three
religious centres; and the Buddhist establishments, the extensive
yellow-walled monastery grounds in the district beyond the Osaka castle
are worthy of a capital. The numbers of priests in the streets, the
thousands of summer pilgrims, and the scores of shops for the sale of
temple ornaments, altar furnishings, rosaries, and brocade triangles for
the shelf of household images, give a certain sacerdotal aspect to the
busy town. One temple possesses many relics of the Forty-seven Ronins,
and at its annual matsuri, when these are exhibited, the surrounding
courts are almost impassable with the crowds and the merry fair. The
twin Monto temples are splendid structures, and priests from the Kioto
Hongwanjis often assist in their ceremonials.
As one approaches Osaka from Nara, Tennoji’s roofs and pagoda are seen at
the same moment with the castle towers. This pagoda is one of the few in
Japan which visitors are allowed to climb, and contains enough wood and
rough timber to build twenty like it after occidental methods. Such steep
and clumsy stairs and ladders are harder to climb than mountains; for
the climber crawls over and creeps under heavy beams, and fairly twists
himself upward, getting an occasional peep down the dark well-hole, where
the builders’ secret is hidden. Visitors wonder how pagodas are made to
stand in an earthquake country, and why these spindling edifices should
be built up without regard to the inevitable tremble, until they see in
the hollow chamber, or well, an exaggerated tongue or pendulum hanging
from the topmost beams.
This tongue, made of heavy beams bolted together in a mass, is equal to
about half the weight of the whole structure. It descends nearly to the
base of the pagoda, and at the shock of an earthquake the large pendulum
slowly swings, the structure sways, and settles back safely to its base.
In a tall sheathed bell-tower near the pagoda there is a most interesting
shrine where parents hang the garments of sick and dying children. The
whole interior is filled with little kimonos and bibs, and the long rope
of the gong overhead is covered with them, while tearful women cluster
round the priests in the small interior, and a continuous service seems
to go on before the altar. In the court-yard a large stone water-tank,
sunk a few steps and covered with a pavilion roof, contains a stone
tortoise pouring a constant stream of water into the reservoir, on whose
surface the faithful, buying wooden shavings or prayer-papers from the
priests, cast these petitions and go away content.
Others fill little bottles with the water and carry it home as a specific
against many ills. In a pond near by live hundreds of turtles. The _kamé_
climb up on wooden platforms in the pond and sun themselves, but at the
clap of the hand and the sight of popped beans floating about, the whole
colony dive off and swim towards their benefactor.
All around Tennoji are the yellow walls of the monasteries, with
miniature moats and heavy gate-ways, and this quarter is a religious city
by itself, which was once a separate suburb with a population of 30,000.