Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 3/Japanese fragments - Part 6

by Sherard Osborn

JAPANESE FRAGMENTS.

BY CAPTAIN SHERARD OSBORN, R.N.

 

CHAPTER VI.

We have sat long enough indoors, making notes of Japan, historically, geographically, and politically speaking; we will now go into her streets and highways and study these people, as their native artist appears to do, by sketching from nature. I have not, it is true, seen in the flesh all the varied phases of Japanese life that are pourtrayed in the plates before me; but they agree so admirably with the notices of men like Saris, Cocks, Golowin, and Kœmpfer, that I may be forgiven for trying to reproduce the picture of every-day life by the way-sides of Japan. Those way-sides will, no doubt, be again one day open to the English traveller, they were once traversed by Christian priests, as well as by merchants and sailors, and are still visited, at periodical intervals, by the tribute-bearers from the long-oppressed Dutch factory of Nangasaki. In addition to what these various authorities relate, I shall avail myself of what passed under the observation of more recent visitors to Yedo, Simoda, and Nangasaki, so as to endeavour to reproduce photographs of the Japan to-day.

The spring has dawned on Nipon; the April sun has left the winter snows clinging to the crests of the mountain ranges around the matchless Fusi-hama, who, queen-like, rises clothed in glittering white and crowned with golden clouds from amidst a throng of jagged peaks and suspiciously picturesque craters. Beautiful valleys lie deeply embossed amongst the many spurs which shoot out from this the mountain-heart of Japan. We descend into these vales through which the road leads between the two capitals of Yedo and Miaco. The fields are already green with the young upland rice and tender wheat plants. The gardens—and they are as numerous and as well kept as in England—are bright with many a flower seen in Europe. The peach and other old familiar fruit trees bend under the weight of blossoms; streams leap downward through pretty copses already covered with tender leaflets. The fir-tree waves from the mountain crest overhead, the cedar overshadows the road, and the bamboo throws out its graceful plumes in the dell below. Asia and Europe have thus in this favoured land each contributed their share to make it rich in products conducive to the happiness of man—and man has done much; his industry gladdens us on every side, and as the soil is fertile, the valley may be said to be one great garden dotted with villages and neat cottages, whilst everywhere we see proofs of the redundancy of human life thronged into the space. Inhabitants and travellers, labourers, mendicants and priests, nobles, followers and ladies, children, jugglers and porters, who shall tell them all,—a human living kaleidoscope-full of beauty and interest are streaming along the road. We will travel a stage down it with the host of pilgrims who are going from Yedo to Yesi, the great shrine of the believers in Sin-too. The work is a good work, for they go there to be shrived of their sins—to obtain absolution, and by the toil and suffering undergone in the journey to give a living proof of the warmth of their faith.

Apart from the travellers, the road itself is worthy of notice. It runs in an excellent direction, so far as engineering skill is concerned, winds along many an ugly precipice, and crosses rapid mountain streams at places where they can be most conveniently bridged. The Taikoon’s highway would compare with many of our best; it is drained at the sides, it is arched to allow the water to fall off, and strangely enough, in many places, it is macadamised. Trees have been carefully planted in situations where they would afford shade, and a mound of earth, of conical form, marks every mile passed, and tells the pilgrim how far he is distant from Nipon-bas, the great bridge of Yedo, the London Bridge of eastern land.

The traveller notices, by certain characters upon a post erected by the way-side, that he has passed out of one district or country into another, and that he is now under the authority of such a prince or such a governor. We desire local information as to that portion of Nipon through which we pass, and our servant, for a small sum, procures from an itinerant book-hawker, an excellent guide-book, giving all the facts we require. We note that this Japanese institution, for imparting knowledge, is more than three centuries old, although the work is corrected and much improved by the increased modern knowledge of the art of wood-cutting. Perhaps Mr. Murray may smile and look forward to being able, before long, to give them a Japanese guide-book, which shall excel that modest and cheap itinerary; but there are many things in which he will never surpass it, amongst others in cost, and the confidence with which the days are predicted upon which it shall be fortunate to travel.

Our bearers rejoice in the fact of our luck being great upon the latter point, and we push on merrily, yet for a people who travel much they do not, it would appear, at first sight, study comfort. The sedans or palanquins are wretchedly uncomfortable, and attest the fact that they are rather adapted to mountain-paths, than to the broad and level roads of the plains. We may not at present stay to described those vehicles, for we approach a post-house, and our bearers have to be exchanged and paid. There are, we may find, no less than fifty-six of these establishments between Yedo and Meaco. The lords of the various manors are compelled by the authorities to maintain these places of refreshment for travellers, they are vastly superior to the caravanserais of the east, and relays of horses or porters are always ready at these Japanese post-houses, and must do all work at a regular fixed charge, ridiculously small, according to English notions. Another and still more onerous duty falls to these establishments, and that is the responsibility of forwarding all imperial despatches between the two capitals, or from Yedo to any part of the empire. Runners are consequently ever ready to execute this task. Haste!—post haste!—is no idle injunction in Japan, where the Taikoon or Mikado despatches are in question.

We see an instance of it whilst dismounting from our uncomfortable chair. A bell is heard! Out of the way!—out of the way! shouts a Japanese official, and two men hasten out of the house and look expectantly up the road; the crowd divides as if cleft with a sword, and at a swinging pace the couriers are seen approaching,—a pair of stalwart bronze-hued fellows, strong of limb and sound of wind; their garments are few, and those few of the official black-colour, stamped with the imperial crest, a white trefoil. One of the runners has a short bamboo-pole over his shoulder, and suspended from it a black lacquer despatch-box, formidable for its size, and we recognise the strength that has brought it to our feet so rapidly—no, not to our feet, for it never touches the ground. In a second it is slipped from the tired man’s shoulder to that of the fresh runner, who starts down the road like a hare, his comrade’s bell ringing to warn all travellers to make way. Thus the Taikoon’s despatches speed through the land; if one man drops, the other takes up the burden. If a bridge is broken down they must swim the torrent. Haste!—post haste!—must be seen in Japan to be understood.

People enjoying themselves in Harvest-Time. (Fac-simile.)

Whilst our morning meal is preparing, we stand under the over-hanging porch, and look upon the throng in the road. “How clean it is!” is the first involuntary exclamation; even the ordinary dirt created by the passage of so many animals and men disappears as fast as it is created. They are great economists these good Japanese, and they know how precious for the field is the dirt of the highroad; there is quite a competition for it; women and children, with little baskets and brooms, are collecting it for the husbandman, whose intelligent industry is so conspicuous in the well-tilled fields and terrace-sided hills. Agriculture in Japan, as in China, is considered the most honourable of pursuits; and, by the many pictorial allusions to the peace, contentment, and abundance resulting from agricultural labours, we see that it is still as esteemed as in the days of the great Taiko-sama, who told the soldiers and priests of Europe that he especially viewed with favour the tillers of the ground; “for they,” said the Japanese conqueror, “by their labours fill my kingdom with abundance.” Naked, swarthy, coarse, but hearty, look those tillers of the fields, as we view them in the midst of their labours transplanting the rice plants from their damp bed, in which they have been closely reared, into more open order, where each stem shall have room to grow and ripen. Mark the neat regularity of the drills, the cleanliness of the soil—not a weed or tare—what an abundance of labour must be at command. That the grateful soil fully repays farmer and labourer for time and trouble, we have proof in many a Japanese sketch. Behold the harvest time of Nipon—the reapers enjoying their noon-tide meal. Was there ever a more perfect picture of animal enjoyment? Luke Stodges, the farmer’s-boy, may pray for a belly-full of fat bacon, and to be allowed to pass life swinging on a gate; but even then, in that state of bliss, he would hardly excel our Japanese friends in sensual delight; filled to distension with rice, a ripe harvest waving around them, smoking, drinking, and basking under a sun of Italian fervour. Nay more, we question whether the contrast between the condition of the tramp, who begs food at the English farm-labourer’s door, and the honest fellow himself, is as great as we have authority for saying must be the case in Japan, when we contemplate the lean and hungry creature who is holding out his platter to the well-fed woman on the left of our engraving. What a world of wit there is in this sketch—this native woodcut! The woman taking off the lid of the well-filled saucepan, but before helping the mendicant she appeals half-jocularly to the only one of the party who has not done eating, whether he can spare any of the rice? That persevering feeder has distended his skin until we begin to feel anxiety as to its farther elasticity. The rest of the reapers have indeed fed, and are either smoking languidly, or drinking a little sakee to assist digestion. What perfect repose and contentment are visible in every figure! And we ask ourselves, what is there we can give these of God’s creatures that will make them happier? More calico, Manchester will suggest. Possibly Manchester may be right. But where there are no musquitoes, and the sun is bearable, such an al fresco feast must be tolerable after all.

We turn from the field labourers and the sketch which has diverted us from our village, and note how much the residents appear to live in public. The fronts of most of the houses open out into the street, and have no windows; the overhanging porch serving to shield the front apartment from rain or sun. We can therefore see all the various trades pursuing their callings; and between them and the itinerant vendors one need be at no loss for any articles of general use, of ornament, food, or raiment. The “cries” are as numerous as in the London of the olden time. They do not all, however, bawl out their various callings: some beat bits of stick together, others sound articles like Jew’s harps, another beats a gong, another a drum. The fisherman, however, makes noise enough, and plants his load before us. Two huge tubs, suspended at either end of a bamboo, contain live fish and eels; and there is no question about their being “all alive, oh!” Fair mullet, how it wags its tail! gentle carp, how inquisitively it looks up at your gourmandising self! The eels, however, have evidently a presentiment of their fate, or from native bashfulness try to get under one another, and form an apparently inextricable knot. Poor miserables! Fancy if the Budhist priest should be right after all—and he is very positive about it, and can produce any proof you require upon the subject—fancy, I say, good friend, our returning hereafter in some such piscine form, and think what are our dumb sensations at such a moment as this, when the servant slips his hand into the tubs, selects a fat mullet, weighs, and decides upon purchasing it. No wonder the poor priest, believing in transmigration of souls, shudders and passes on, singing his hymn invoking humanity to all animate creatures, and wonders in his heart whether you are about to eat his long-departed mother! We however approve of fish being sold alive as a guarantee for freshness, and prefer it either in sight or smell to the “fine fresh mack’rill!” which that loud-lunged costermonger is yelling under our windows on a sweltering July day.

Live Conger-Eels escaping from Boys. (Fac-simile.)

Itinerant British fish-vendors avaunt! methinks I hear the guitar notes of the Japanese minne-singers. Yes, here they are; we passed them in the early dawn, as they were singing to some native noble who had camped by the roadside; they have followed, and are about to try their way to our purse strings. They approach dancing, or rather waving their bodies, in cadence to their music, playing upon a guitar which looks uncommonly Portuguese or Spanish in its origin. They are prettily dressed in robes of simple patterns, confined by broad and ample scarfs round the waist. And as these scarfs are tied behind in large bows, and hang down, they serve to give great finish to their toilet—a finish that the want of many under garments or crinolines might otherwise render remarkable. Their faces are pretty and arch; they are quite young, not more than fifteen or sixteen at the utmost; and their glossy black hair is gathered under a broad hat, from under the rim of which they cast most sly bewitching smiles, or give zest to their song, which is said to partake of the double entendre; and they exchange witty repartee with some fast young men who happen to be passing, in terms which send a shout of laughter through the hostelry. Not that laughter is confined to the moments when mirth may be excited by these glee-singers, for everybody seems to laugh here; and if laughter is a sign of happiness, old and young are blessed enough. There, fair minstrels! speed on your way; I, for one, feel no wrath at your following the vocation which it has pleased God to call you to; and would no more wish to cut off all your hair, put you into flannel petticoats, and imprison you in a penitentiary, than I should like to make your sempstress sisters change places with those of our great Babel.

We send for specimens of embroidery. This village, we are told, is famed for its handiwork in gold and silver thread upon rich silk and satin. A respectable looking woman shortly appears, accompanied by her husband. She was fair to loak upon once upon a time; but Japanese husbands sacrifice their personal gratification, provided they can insure that no man when looking upon their partners shall break the Tenth Commandment. The lady has pulled out her eye-brows, and blackened her teeth! The effect is most marvellous, you take one glance at her face, and at the black gulf which is scored across it, and you never again covet that man his wife, though you may the wares she exhibits. Poor soul, how good, and self-sacrificing of her; yet it is a pity, for there is a grace and beauty about her voice, her hand, and manner which you cannot but admire. Another look at that mouth! and your eye involuntarily turns to the many pretty faces and white teeth in the street for refreshment and repose. But what taste, what skill, and handiwork we have in the tapestry and embroidery displayed. Where could these Japanese have learnt this art? It is not monstrous, heavy, overladen with ornament, or, grotesque as in China; but delicate, refined, artistic, and such as we believe women’s, or men’s work seldom, if ever, equalled. Gobelin never excelled it, Bayeux is hideous beside it, and the drawing and shading of many of the pieces are so perfect, that they may be safely framed as pictures. The vendors of embroidery are dismissed just as the porch is suddenly intruded upon by a gang of native jugglers and showmen surrounded by a troop of children, all whooping with delight, and as free, and evidently as well loved, as they would be in England. A man in the garb of a Japanese sailor, leads a large monkey which climbs up a pole, and seats itself on the summit, and to the delight of the villagers fans itself à la Japonaise. The mountebank climbs on top of a pile of tea-cups, and stands on one foot on the summit of fragile crockery; the clown chaffs, and excites ridicule, and the peep-showman vaunts his marvels, and beseeches the patronage of your distinguished self.

Curious to know what a Japanese show may be like, you peep into one lens—brilliant—a vivid life-like scene, a Japanese earthquake, everything topsy-turvey, wreck, fire, death, and horror, quite worth the fraction of a penny charged. The next one is hardly inferior in interest; a great battle against rebels. They are valiant, and stand in firm array, discharging clouds of arrows, which perpetually darken the sky; but nothing avails against duty and loyalty. Men clad in armour, lance in hand, are charging down, and it is evidently certain that the rebels will be exterminated, and the Divine Warrior’s kingdom be still intact. We pass on to the next picture. Oh, fie! it cannot be, surely we were mistaken. No, by Jove! there is no doubt of it. A picture to be viewed by all at which Holywell Street would stand aghast! We express indignation, the showman laughs immoderately at our squeamishness, and everybody joins in the joke against us. Even the two nuns, who have just joined, and are humming a plaintive native air, raise their hoods, and smile, coupling their mirth with sly remarks as to our mock modesty. How is this we ask? Elsewhere in the East we are told, that it is the exclusion of the female element from society which renders it when unrestrained by ceremony or etiquette, so hideous, so unrefined. Here we have women everywhere; here is a nation which has attained a wonderful degree of civilisation and good government, a people possessing much delicacy, sensitiveness, and good feeling; yet in some points so coarse, so wanting in decency as to shock the lowest Europeans.

Breakfast is announced and we have another stage to travel to-day, so we hasten to it. Piles of white rice, surrounded with a multitude of small made dishes, in which fish generally prevails. A roasted rock-cod rises before us, a real pièce-de-resistance, flanked by many curious sauces, that would puzzle Soyer, or Francatelli; all to the purpose, however, and grand incentives to feeding, if more than the bracing air of those mountains were necessary. Seizing our lacquer-bowl and two chop-sticks, as well as a wooden-spoon, we progress apace; pulling our fragments of fish, and dipping them into the sauces before eating. There is abundance of rice-beer, or sakee, the constant beverage of the jovial souls of Japan, as well as other stronger beverages, made by vintners, cunning in such matters. In deference to our wish, tea is constantly supplied; a strong, coarse-flavoured description, which is much more like what we drink in England as good tea, than like anything met with in China. We are told that it is grown in most places, where the hills are too steep for terrace cultivation; that it was imported from China, and has been acclimatised in Japan; that formerly a cup of tea in Meaco cost an English shilling, but that the herb now abounds on the Eastern coast near the sea-side so much that they can sell it as an article of export. There is great consolation in these facts; who knows but that one day we too in Europe may learn, like these good people, to acclimatise the herb called tea. All the conditions of soil, climate, temperature, and locality found on the east coast of Japan, are to be found repeated in parts of Europe, if not in the United Kingdom. Elated at the prospect of being rid of Chinese questions and Chinese difficulties, we hob and nob, in sakee, to our shadow, a Japanese funcionary, who follows us and reports all we say and do to his masters. We pay our far from exorbitant bill, gravely confer little courtesies upon the fair handmaidens, amidst the cheers of the small boys, and shout to horse in good Saxon, which is readily understood by our eager-eyed attendants.