It would be an extremely interesting line of research to follow out the history of the development of the house in Japan. The material for such a study may possibly be in existence, but unfortunately there are few scholars accomplished enough to read the early Japanese records. Thanks to the labors of Mr. Chamberlain, and to Mr. Satow, Mr. Aston, Mr. McClatchie, and other members of the English legation in Japan,26 students of Ethnology are enabled to catch a glimpse of the character of the early house in that country.

From the translations of ancient Japanese Rituals,27 by Ernest Satow, Esq.; of the Kojiki, or “Records of Ancient Matters,”28 by Basil Hall Chamberlain, Esq.; and an ancient Japanese Classic29, by W. G. Aston, Esq.,—we get a glimpse of the Japanese house as it was a thousand years or more ago.

Mr. Satow claims that the ancient Japanese Rituals are “the oldest specimens of ancient indigenous Japanese literature extant, excepting only perhaps the poetry contained in the ‘Kojiki’ and ‘Nihongi;’ ” and Mr. Chamberlain says the [pg 324] “Kojiki” is “the earliest authentic connected literary product of that large division of the human race which has been variously denominated Turanian, Scythian, and Altaïc, and it if even precedes by at least a century the most ancient extant literary compositions of non-Aryan India.”

The allusions to house-structure in the “Kojiki,” though brief, are suggestive, and carry us back without question to the condition of the Japanese house in the seventh and eighth centuries.

Mr. Satow, in his translation of the Rituals, says that the period when this service was first instituted was certainly before the tenth century, and probably earlier. From these records he ascertains that “the palace of the Japanese sovereign was a wooden hut, with its pillars planted in the ground, instead of being erected upon broad, flat stones, as in modern buildings. The whole frame-work, consisting of posts, beams, rafters, door-posts, and window-frames, was tied together with cords, made by twisting the long fibrous stems of climbing plants,—such as Pueraria Thunbergiana (kuzu) and Wistaria Sinensis (fuji). The floor must have been low down, so that the occupants of the building, as they squatted or lay on their mats, were exposed to the stealthy attacks of venomous snakes, which were probably far more numerous in the earliest ages when the country was for the most part uncultivated than at the present day…There seems some reason to think that the yuka, here translated ‘floor,’ was originally nothing but a couch which ran around the sides of the hut, the rest of the space being simply a mud-floor; and that the size of the couch was gradually increased until it occupied the whole interior. The rafters projected upward beyond the ridge-pole, crossing each other as is seen in the roofs of modern Shin-tau temples, whether their architecture be in conformity with early traditions (in which case all the rafters are so crossed), or modified [pg 325] in accordance with more advanced principles of construction, and the crossed rafters retained only as ornaments at the two ends of the ridge. The roof was thatched, and perhaps had a gable at each end, with a hole to allow the smoke of the wood-fire to escape,—so that it was possible for birds flying in and perching on the beams overhead, to defile the food, or the fire with which it was cooked.”

From the “Kojiki” we learn that even in those early days the house was sufficiently differentiated to present forms referred to as temples or palaces, houses of the people, storehouses, and rude huts. That the temples or palaces were more than rude huts is shown by references to the verandah, the great roof, stout pillars, and high cross-beams. They were at least two stories high, as we read of people gazing from an upper story. The peasants were not allowed to build a house with a raised roof frame,—that is, a roof the upper portion or ridge of which was raised above the roof proper, and having a different structure. This indicates the existence at that time of different kinds of roofs, or ridges. Fire-places were in the middle of the floor, and the smoke-outlet was in the gable end of the roof protected by a lattice,—as seen in the Japanese country houses of to-day. The posts or pillars of the house were buried deep in the ground, and not, as in the present house, resting on a stone foundation.

The allusions in the “Kojiki,” where it says, “and if thou goest in a boat along that road there will appear a palace built like fish-scales,” and again, “the ill-omened crew were shattered like tiles,” show the existence of tiles at that time. A curious reference is also made to using cormorants' feathers for thatch. There were front doors and back doors, doors to be raised, and windows and openings.

It is mentioned that through the awkwardness of the carpenter the farther “fin” of the great roof is bent down at the [pg 326] corner,—probably indicating wide over-hanging eaves, the corners of which might easily be called “fins.” Within the house were mats of sedge, skin, and silk, and ornamental screens protect the sleepers from draughts of air.30 The castles had back gates, side gates, and other gates. Some of these gates, at least, had a roof-like structure above, as we read in the “Kojiki,” “Come under the metal gate; we will stand till the rain stops.”

Fences are also alluded to. The latrine is mentioned several times as being away from the house, and having been placed over running water,—“whence doubtless the name Kaha-ya; that is, river-house.” This feature is specially characteristic of the latrine, from Siam to Java. This suggestion of early finities with the Malay people is seen in an ancient Japanese Classic, dating from the tenth century, entitled Monogatari, or “Tales of Japan,” translated by Mr. Chamberlain,31 in which we read, “Now, in olden days the people dwelt in houses raised on platforms built out in the river Ikuta.” In the “Kojiki”, we also read, “They made in the middle of the river Hi a black plaited bridge, and respectfully offered a temporary palace to dwell in.” The translator says the significance of this passage is: “They built as a temporary abode for the prince a house in the river Hi (whether with its foundations actually in the water or on an island is left undetermined), connecting it with the main-land by a bridge made of branches of trees; twisted together, and with their bark left on them (this is here the import of the word black).”

The “Kojiki” mentions a two-forked boat: may this be some kind of a catamaran? Mention is also made of eating from leaf-platters: this is a marked Malay feature.

These various statements—particularly those concerning the latrine, and building houses over the water—are significant indications of the marked southern affinities of the Japanese. Other features of similarity with southern people are seen in the general structure of the house.

The principal references which have been made to the “Kojiki” are quoted here for the convenience of the reader. For the history of the origin of this ancient record, methods of translation, etc., the reader is referred to Mr. Chamberlain's Introduction accompanying the translation.

The translator says “the ‘ornamented fence’ is supposed to mean ‘a curtain round the sleeping-place.’ ”

In the ancient Japanese Rituals, Mr. Satow finds that the rafters projected upward beyond the ridge-pole of the roof crossing each other,—as is seen in the roofs of modern Shin-tō temples. A curious feature is often seen on the gable ends of the roofs of the Malay houses near Singapore, consisting of projecting pieces crossing each other at the two ends of the roof; [pg 329] and these are ornamented by being cut in odd sweeps and curves (fig. 303). Survivals of these crossing rafters are seen in the modern Japanese dwelling; that is, if we are to regard as such the wooden X's which straddle the roof at intervals, as shown in figs. 45 (page 62) and 85 (page 98). A precisely similar feature is seen on the roofs of houses along the river approaching Saigon, and on the road leading from Saigon to Cholon, in Anam (fig. 304).

It has been customary to regard the tokonoma, or bed-place, in the Japanese house as being derived from the Aino house. The suggestion of such a derivation seems to me to have no foundation. In the Aino house the solid ground is the floor; sometimes, but not always, a rush mat is spread along the side of the fireplace, which is in the centre of the hut. The slightest attention to comfort would lead the Ainos to erect a platform of boards,—and such a platform is generally found next to the wall in the Aino hut. This platform not only serves as a sleeping-place, but holds also boxes and household goods, as well as such objects as were not suspended to the sides of the houses or from poles stretched across. In no case did I see a raised platform protected by a partition, or one utilized solely for a sleeping-place. If it were safe to venture upon any conjecture as to the origin of the tokonoma, or if external resemblances had any weight in affinities of structure, one might see the prototype of this feature in the Malay [pg 330] house. In the Malay villages near Singapore, one may see not only a slightly raised place for the bed exclusively, but also a narrow partition jutting out from the side of the wall, not unlike that which separates the tokonoma from its companion recess (fig. 305).

Whether these various relations pointed out between the Japanese house and similar features in the Malay house are of any weight or not, they must be recognized in any attempt to trace the origin of those features in house-structure which have originated outside of Japan. From all that we can gather relating to the ancient house of the Japanese, it would seem that certain important resemblances must be sought for among the southern nations of Anam, Cochin China, and particularly those of the Malay peninsula.

Ernest Satow, Esq., in an article on the Shin-tō temples of Ise,33 which, as the author says, “rank first among all the Shin-tō temples in Japan in point of sanctity, though not the most ancient,” has some interesting matter concerning the character of the ancient house. He says:—

“Japanese antiquarians tell us that in early times, before carpenters' tools had been invented, the dwellings of the people who inhabited these islands were constructed of young trees with the bark on, fastened together with ropes made of the rush (suge,—Scirpus maritimus), or perhaps with the tough shoots of the wistaria (fuji), and thatched with the grass called kaya. In modern buildings the uprights of a house stand upon large stones laid on the surface of the earth; but this precaution against decay had not occurred to the ancients, who planted the uprights in holes dug in the ground.”

The ground-plan of the hut was oblong, with four corner uprights, and one in the middle of each of the four sides,—those in the sides which formed the ends being long enough to support the ridge-pole. Other trees were fastened horizontally from corner to corner,—one set near the ground, one near the top, and one set on the top, the latter of which formed what we call the wall-plates. Two large rafters, whose upper ends crossed each other, were laid from the wall-plates to the heads of the taller uprights. The ridge-pole rested in the fork formed by the upper ends of the rafters crossing each other. Horizontal poles were then laid along each slope of the roof, one pair being fastened close up to the exterior angle of the fork. The rafters were slender poles, or bamboos, passed over the ridge-pole and fastened down on each end to the wall-plates. Next followed the process of putting on the thatch. In order to keep this in its place, two trees were laid along the top resting in the forks; and across these two trees were placed short logs at equal distances, which being fastened to the poles in the exterior angle of the forks by ropes passed through the thatch, bound the ridge of the roof firmly together.

“The walls and doors were constructed of rough matting. It is evident that some tool must have been used to cut the trees to the required length; and for this purpose a sharpened stone was probably employed. Such [pg 332] stone implements have been found imbedded in the earth in various parts of Japan, in company with stone arrow-heads and clubs. Specimens of the ancient style of building may even yet be seen in remote parts of the country,—not perhaps so much in the habitations of the peasantry, as in sheds erected to serve a temporary purpose.”

“The architecture of the Shin-tō temples is derived from the primeval hut, with more or less modification in proportion to the influence of Buddhism in each particular case. Those of the purest style retain the thatched roof; others are covered with the thick shingling called hiwada-buki, while others have tiled and even coppered roofs. The projecting ends of the rafters called chigi have been somewhat lengthened, and carved more or less elaborately. At the new temple at Kudanzaka in Yedo they are shown in the proper position, projecting from the inside of the shingling; but in the majority of cases they merely consist of two pieces of wood in the form of the letter X, which rest on the ridge of the roof like a pack-saddle on a horse's back, to make use of a Japanese writer's comparison. The logs which kept the two trees laid on the ridge in their place have taken the form of short cylindrical pieces of timber tapering towards each extremity, which have been compared by foreigners to cigars. In Japanese they are called katsuo-gi, from their resemblance to the pieces of dried bonito sold under the name of katsuo-bushi. The two trees laid along the roof over the thatch are represented by a single beam, called Munaosae, or ‘roof-presser.’ Planking has taken the place of the mats with which the sides of the building were originally closed, and the entrance is closed by a pair of folding doors, turning not on hinges, but on what are, I believe, technically called ‘journals.’ The primeval hut had no flooring; but we find that the shrine has a wooden floor raised some feet above the ground, which arrangement necessitates a sort of balcony all round, and a flight of steps up to the entrance. The transformation is completed in some cases by the addition of a quantity of ornamental metal-work in brass.”

Coming down to somewhat later times, we find a charming bit of description of the house in an ancient Japanese Classic34 entitled Tosa Nikki, or “Tosa Diary,” translated by W. [pg 333] G. Aston. This Diary was written in the middle of the tenth century, and is the record of a court noble who lived in Kioto, but who was absent from his home five or six years as Prefect of Tosa. The Diary was a record of his journey home, and the first entry in it was in the fourth year of Shohei, which according to our reckoning must have been in the early part of 935 A.D., or nearly one thousand years ago. During his absence from home, news had come to him of the death of his little daughter nine years old; and he says, “With the joyful thought, ‘Home to Kioto!’ there mingles the bitter reflection that there is one who never will return.”

The journey home was mostly by sea; and finally, having entered the Osaka River, and spent several days in struggling against the strong current, he reaches Yamazaki, from which place he starts for Kioto. He expresses great delight in recognizing the old familiar landmarks as he rides along. “He mentions the children's playthings and sweetmeats in the shops as looking exactly as when he went away, and wonders whether he will find as little change in the hearts of his friends. He had purposely left Yamazaki in the evening in order that it might be night when he reached his own dwelling.” Mr. Aston translates his account of the state in which he found it:—

“The moon was shining brightly when I reached my house and entered the gate, so that its condition was plainly to be seen. It was decayed and ruined beyond all description,—worse even than I had been told. The house35 of the man in whose charge I left it was in an equally dilapidated condition. The fence between the two houses had been broken down, so that both seemed but one, and he appeared to have fulfilled his charge by looking in through the gaps. And yet I had supplied him, by every opportunity, with the means of keeping it in repair. To-night, [pg 334] however, I would not allow him to be told this in an angry tone, but in spite of my vexation offered him an acknowledgment for his trouble. There was in one place something like a pond, where water had collected in a hollow, by the side of which grew a fir-tree. It had lost half its branches, and looked as if a thousand years had passed during the five or six years of my absence. Younger trees had grown up round it, and the whole place was in a most neglectful condition, so that every a one said that it was pitiful to see. Among other sad thoughts that rose spontaneously to my mind was the memory—ah! how sorrowful!—of one who was born in this house, but who did not return here along with me. My fellow-passengers were chatting merrily with their children in their arms, but I meanwhile, still unable to contain my grief, privately repeated these lines to one who knew my heart.”

In this pathetic account one gets a glimpse of the house as it appeared nearly a thousand years ago. The broken fence between the houses; the gateway, probably a conspicuous structure then as it is to-day, in a dilapidated condition; and the neglected garden with a tangle of young trees growing up,—all show the existence in those early days of features similar to those which exist to-day.

The history of house development in Japan, if it should ever be revealed, will probably show a slow but steady progress from the rude hut of the past to the curious and artistic house of to-day,—a house as thoroughly a product of Japan as is that of the Chinese, Korean, or Malay a product of those respective peoples, and differing from all quite as much as they differ from one another. A few features have been introduced from abroad, but these have been trifling as compared to the wholesale imitation of foreign styles of architecture by our ancestors, the English; and until within a few years we have followed England's example in perpetuating the legacy it left us, in the shape of badly imitated foreign architecture, classical and otherwise. As a result, we have scattered over the land, among a few public buildings of good taste, a countless [pg 335] number of ill-proportioned, ugly, and entirely inappropriate buildings for public use. Had the exuberant fancies of the village architect revelled in woodsheds or one-storied buildings, the harm would have been trifling; but the desire for pretentious show, which seems to characterize the average American, has led to the erection of these architectural horrors on the most conspicuous sites,—and thus the public taste is vitiated.

The Japanese, while developing an original type of house, have adopted the serviceable tile from Korea, and probably also the economical transverse framing and vertical struts from China, and bits of temple architecture for external adornments. As to their temple architecture, which came in with one of their religions, they had the good sense to leave it comparatively as it was brought to them. Indeed, the temples seem in perfect harmony with the country and its people. What shall we say, however, to the taste displayed by the English, who in the most servile manner have copied foreign styles of architecture utterly unsuited to their climate and people! In the space of an English block one may see not only Grecian, Roman, Italian, and Egyptian, as well as other styles of architecture, but audaciously attempted crosses between some of these; and the resulting hybrids have in consequence rendered the modern English town the most unpicturesque muddle of buildings in Christendom outside our own country.36

Briefly, the Aino house, as I saw it, consists of a rude frame-work of timber supporting a thatched roof; the walls being [pg 338] made up of reeds and rush interwoven with stiffer cross-pieces. Within, there is a single room the dimensions of the house. In most houses there is an L, in which is the doorway, which may in some cases be covered with a rude porch. The thatched roof is well made and quite picturesque, differing somewhat in form from any thatched roof among the Japanese,—though in Yamato, as already mentioned, I saw features in the slope of the roof quite similar to those shown in some of the Aino roofs.

Entering the house by the low door, one comes into a room so dark that it is with difficulty one can see anything. The inmates light rolls of birch-bark that one may be enabled to see the interior; but every appearance of neatness and picturesqueness which the hut presented from without vanishes when one gets inside. Beneath one's feet is a hard, damp, earth floor; directly above are the blackened and soot-covered rafters. Poles supported horizontally from these rafters are equally greasy and blackened, and pervading the darkness is a dirty and strong fishy odor. In the middle of the floor, and occupying considerable space, is a square area,—the fireplace. On its two sides mats are spread. A pot hangs over the smoke, for there appears to [pg 339] be but little fire; and at one side is a large bowl containing the remains of the last meal, consisting apparently of fish-bones,—large sickly-looking bones, the sight of which instantly vitiates one's appetite. The smoke, rebuffed at the only opening save the door,—a small square opening close under the low eaves,—struggles to escape through a small opening in the angle of the roof. On one side of the room is a slightly raised floor of boards, upon which are mats, lacquer-boxes, bundles of nets, and a miscellaneous assortment of objects. Hanging from the rafters and poles are bows, quivers of arrows, Japanese daggers mounted on curious wooden tablets inlaid with lead, slices of fish and skates' heads in various stages, not of decomposition, as the odors would seem to imply, but of smoke preservation. Dirt everywhere, and fleas. And in the midst of the darkness, smoke, and squalor are the inmates,—quiet, demure, and gentle to the last degree. Figs. 306 and 307 give an idea of the appearance of two Aino houses of the better kind, but perhaps cannot be taken as a type of the Aino house farther north on the island.

Let us now glance at the house of the natives of the Hachijô Islanders, as described by Mr. Dickins and Mr. Satow.37 From their communication the following account is taken:—

“As may readily be supposed, there are no shops or inns on the island, but fair accommodation for travellers can be obtained at the farmers' houses. These are for the most part substantially-built cottages of two or three rooms, with a spacious kitchen, constructed with the timber of Quercus cuspidata, and with plank walls, where on the mainland it is usual to have plastered wattles. The roof is invariably of thatch, with a very high pitch,—necessitated, we were told, by the extreme dampness of the climate, which renders it desirable to allow as little rain as [pg 340] possible to soak into the straw. Many of the more prosperous farmers have a second building, devoted to the rearing of silkworms, which takes its name (kaiko-ya) from the purpose to which it is destined. There are also sheds for cattle, usually consisting of a thatched roof resting on walls formed of rough stone-work. Lastly, each enclosure possesses a wooden godown, raised some four feet from the ground on stout wooden posts, crowned with broad caps, to prevent the mice from gaining an entrance. The style resembles that of the storehouses constructed by the Ainos and Loochooans.”

“The house and vegetable-garden belonging to it are usually surrounded by a stone wall, or rather bank of stones and earth, often six feet high, designed to protect the buildings from the violent gales which at certain seasons sweep over the island, and which, as we learned, frequently do serious injury to the rice-fields by the quantity of salt spray which they carry a long distance inland from the shore.”

From this general description of the house which incidentally accompanies a very interesting sketch of the physical peculiarities of the island, its geology, botany, and the customs and dialect of the people, we get no idea of the special features the house,—as to the fireplace or bed-place; whether there be shōji or ordinary windows, matted floor, or any of those details which would render a comparison with the Japanese house of value.

As Mr. Satow found in the language of the Hachijô Islander a number of words which appeared to be survivals of archaic Japanese, and also among their customs the curious one, which existed up to within very recent times, of erecting parturition houses,—a feature which is alluded to in the very earliest records of Japan,—a minute description of the Hachijô house with sketches might possibly lead to some facts of interest.

The Loochoo, or Riukiu Islands, now known as Okinawa Shima, lie nearly midway between the southern part of Japan and the Island of Formosa. The people of this group differ [pg 341] but little from the Japanese,—their language, according to Mr. Satow and Mr. Brunton, having in it words that appear obsolete in Japan. In many customs there is a curious admixture of Chinese and Japanese ways; and Mr. Brunton sees in the Loochooan bridge and other structures certain resemblances to Chinese methods.

The following extract regarding the house of the Loochooans is taken from an account of a visit to these islands, by Ernest Satow, Esq., published in the first volume of the “Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan:”—

Another extract is here given in regard to the house of the Loochooans, by R. H. Brunton, Esq., published in the “Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan38 ”:—

Considering the presence for so many centuries of strong Chinese influence which Mr. Brunton sees in the Loochooans, it is rather surprising to find so many features of the Japanese house present in their dwellings. Indeed, Mr. Brunton goes so far as to say that the Loochooan house presents no peculiar differences from the Japanese style of construction; and as he has paid special attention to the constructive features of Japanese buildings, we must believe that had differences existed they would have been noted by him.

It seems to me that the wide distribution of certain identical features in Japanese house-structure, from the extreme north of Japan to the Loochoo Islands, is something remarkable. Here is a people who for centuries lived almost independent provincial lives, the northern and southern provinces speaking different dialects, even the character of the people varying, and yet from Awomori in the north to the southernmost parts of Satsuma, and even farther south to the Loochoos, the use of fusuma, shōji, mats, and thin wood-ceilings seems well-nigh universal. The store-houses standing on four posts are referred to in the description of the Hachijô Islanders as well as in that of the Loochooans as resembling those constructed by the Ainos; yet [pg 343] these resemblances must not be taken as indicating a community of origin, but simply as the result of necessity. For travellers in Kamtchatka, and farther west, speak of the same kind of store-houses; and farther south they may be seen in Singapore and Java,—in fact, in every country town in New England; and indeed all over the United States the same kind of storehouse is seen. Probably all over the world a store-house on four legs, even to the inverted box or pan on each leg, may be found.

Through the courtesy of Percival Lowell, Esq., I am enabled to see advanced sheets of his work on Korea, entitled “The Land of the Morning Calm;” and from this valuable work the author has permitted me to gather many interesting facts concerning the Korean dwellings. The houses are of one story; a flight of two or three steps leads to a narrow piazza, or very wide sill, which encircles the entire building. The apartment within is only limited by the size of the building; in other words, there is only one room under the roof. The better class of dwellings, however, consist of groups of these buildings. The house is of wood, and rests upon a stone foundation. This foundation consists of a series of connecting chambers, or flues; and at one side is a large fireplace, or oven, in which the fire is built. The products of combustion circulate through this labyrinth of chambers, and find egress, not by a chimney, but by an outlet on the opposite side. In this way the room above is warmed. There are three different types of this oven-like foundation. In the best type a single slab of stone is supported by a number of stout stone pillars; upon this stone floor is spread a layer of earth, and upon this earth is spread oil-paper like a carpet. In another arrangement, ridges of earth and small stones run lengthwise from front to back; on top of this the same arrangement is made of stone, earth, and oil-paper. In the third type, representing a [pg 344] still poorer class, the oven and flues are hollowed out of the earth alone. Mr. Lowell remarks that the idea is a good one, if it were only accompanied by proper ventilation. Unfortunately, he says, the room above is no better than a box, in which the occupant is slowly roasted. Another disadvantage is experienced in the impossibility of warming a room at once. He says: “The room does not even begin to get warm until you have passed through an agonizing interval of expectancy. Then it takes what seems forever to reach a comfortable temperature, passes this brief second of happiness before you have had time to realize that it has attained it, and continues mounting to unknown degrees in a truly alarming manner, beyond the possibility of control.” This curious and ingenious method of warming houses is said to have been introduced from China some one hundred and fifty years ago.

A house of the highest order is simply a frame-work,—a roof supported on eight or more posts according to the size of the building; and this with a foundation represents the only fixed structure. In summer it presents a skeleton-like appearance; in winter, however, it appears solid and compact, as a series of folding-doors,—a pair between each two posts,—closes it completely. These are prettily latticed, open outward, and are fastened from within by a hook and knob. By a curious arrangement these doors can be removed from their hinges, the upper parts only remaining attached, and fastened up by hooks to the ceiling. This kind of a house and room is used as a banqueting hall and a room for general entertainment. It may be compared to our drawing-room.

Dwelling-rooms are constructed on quite a different plan. Instead of continuous doors, the sides are composed of permanent walls and doors. The wall is of wood, except that in the poorer house it consists of mud. Says Mr. Lowell: “In these buildings we have an elaborate system of three-fold aperture [pg 345] closers,—a species of three skins, only that they are for consecutive, not simultaneous, use. The outer is the folding-door above mentioned; the other two are a couple of pairs of sliding panels,—the survivors in Korea of the once common sliding screens, such as are used to-day in Japan. One of the pairs is covered with dark green paper, and is for night use; the other is of the natural yellowish color of the oil-paper, and is used by day. When not wanted, they slide back into grooves inside the wall, whence they are pulled out again by ribbons fastened near the middle of the outer edge. All screens of this sort, whether in houses or palanquins, are provided, unlike the Japanese, with these conveniences for tying the two halves of each pair together, and thus enabling easier adjustment.” The house-lining within is oil-paper. “Paper covers the ceiling, lines the wall, spreads the floor. As you sit in your room your eye falls upon nothing but paper; and the very light that enables you to see anything at all sifts in through the same material.”

It will be seen by these brief extracts how dissimilar the Korean house is to that of the Japanese. And this dissimilarity is fully sustained by an examination of the photographs which Mr. Lowell made in Korea, and which show among other things low stone-walled houses with square openings for windows, closed by frames covered with paper, the frames hung from above and opening outside, and the roof tiled; also curious thatched roofs, in which the slopes are uneven and rounding, and their ridges curiously knotted or braided, differing in every respect from the many forms of thatched roof in Japan.

The Chinese house, as I saw it in Shanghai and its suburbs, and at Canton as well as up the river, shows differences from the Japanese house quite as striking as those of the Korean house. Here one sees, in the cities at least, solid [pg 346] brick-walled houses, with kitchen range built into the wall, and chimney equally permanent; tiled-roof, with tiled ridges; enclosed court-yard; floors of stone, upon which the shoes are worn from the street; doorways, with doors on hinges; window openings closed by swinging frames fitted with the translucent shells of Placuna, or white paper, the latter usually in a dilapidated condition; and for furniture they have tables, chairs, bedsteads, drawers, babies' chairs, cradles, foot-stools, and thel like. The farm-houses of China in those regions that I visited were equally unlike similar houses in Japan.

From this superficial glance at the character of the house in the outlying Islands of the Japanese Empire, as well as at the houses of the neighboring countries, Korea and China, I think it will be conceded that the Japanese house is typically a product of the people, with just those features from abroad incorporated in it that one might look for, considering the proximity to Japan of China and Korea. When we remember that these three great civilizations of the Mongoloid race approximate within the radius of a few hundred miles, and that they have been in more or less intimate contact since early historic times, we cannot wonder that the germs of Japanese art and letters should have been adopted from the continent. In precisely the same way our ancestors, the English, drew from their continent the material for their language, art, music, architecture, and many other important factors in their civilization; and if history speaks truly, their refinement even in language and etiquette was imported. But while Japan, like England, has modified and developed the germs ingrafted from a greater and older civilization, it has ever preserved the elasticity of youth, and seized upon the good things of our civilization,—such as steam, electricity, and modern methods of study and research,—and utilized them promptly. Far different is it from the mother [pg 347] country, where the improvements and methods of other nations get but tardy recognition.

It seems to give certain English writers peculiar delight to stigmatize the Japanese as a nation of imitators and copyists. From the contemptuous manner in which disparagements of this nature are flung into the faces of the Japanese who are engaged in their heroic work of establishing sound methods of government and education, one would think that in England had originated the characters by which the English people write, the paper upon which they print, the figures by which they reckon, the compass by which they navigate, the gunpowder by which they subjugate, the religion with which they worship. Indeed, when one looks over the long list of countries upon which England has drawn for the arts of music, painting, sculpture, architecture, printing, engraving, and a host of other things, it certainly comes with an ill-grace from natives of that country to taunt the Japanese with being imitators.

It would be obviously absurd to suggest as a model for our own houses such a structure as a Japanese house. Leaving out the fact that it is not adapted to the rigor of our climate or to the habits of our people, its fragile and delicate fittings if adopted by us, would be reduced to a mass of kindlings in a week, by the rude knocks it would receive; and as for exposing on our public thoroughfares the delicate labyrinth of carvings often seen on panel and post in Japan, the wide-spread vandalism of our country would render futile all such attempts to civilize and refine. Fortunately, in that land which we had in our former ignorance and prejudice regarded as uncivilized, the malevolent form of the genus homo called “vandal” is unknown.

Believing that the Japanese show infinitely greater refinement in their methods of house-adornment than we do, and convinced that their tastes are normally artistic, I have [pg 348] endeavored to emphasize my convictions by holding up in contrast our usual methods of house-furnishing and outside embellishments. By so doing I do not mean to imply that we do not have in America interiors that show the most perfect refinement and taste; or that in Japan, on the other hand, interiors may not be found in which good taste is wanting.

I do not expect to do much good in thus pointing out what I believe to be better methods, resting on more refined standards. There are some, I am sure, who will approve; but the throng—who are won by tawdry glint and tinsel; who make possible, by admiration and purchase, the horrors of much that is made for house-furnishing and adornment—will, with characteristic obtuseness, call all else but themselves and their own ways heathen and barbarous.