Chapter II: Types of Houses (1)

Writers on Japan have often commented upon the absence of any grand or imposing architectural edifices in that country; and they have offered in explanation, that in a country shaken by frequent earthquakes no stately structures or buildings of lofty proportions can endure. Nevertheless, many such structures do exist, and have existed for centuries,—as witness the old temples and lofty pagodas, and also the castles of the Daimios, notably the ones at Kumamoto and Nagoya. If the truth were known, it would be found that revolution and rebellion have been among the principal destructive agencies in nearly obliterating whatever may have once existed of grand architectural structures in Japan.

Aimé Humbert finds much to admire in the castles of the Daimios, and says, with truth: “In general, richness of detail is less aimed at than the general effect resulting from the grandeur and harmony of the proportions of the buildings. In this respect some of the seigniorial residences of Japan deserve to figure among the architectural monuments of Eastern Asia.”

In regard to the architecture of Japan, as to other matters, one must put himself in an attitude of sympathy with her people, or at least he must become awakened to a sympathetic appreciation of their work and the conditions under which it has arisen. Above all, he must rid himself of all preconceived ideas as to what a house should be, and judge the work of a Japanese builder solely from the Japanese stand‐point. Architectural edifices, such as we recognize as architectural, do not exist outside her temples and castles. Some reason for this condition of things may be looked for in the fact that the vast majority of the Japanese are poor,—very poor; and further, in the fact that the idea of co‐operative buildings, with the exception of the Yashiki barracks, has never entered a Japanese mind,—each family, with few exceptions, managing to have a house of its own. As a result of this, a vast number of the houses are shelters merely, and are such from necessity; though even among these poorer shelters little bits of temple architecture creep in,—quite as scanty, however, in that respect as are similar features in our two‐storied wooden boxes at home, which may have a bit of Grecian suggestion in the window caps, or of Doric in the front door‐posts.

In considering the temples of the Japanese, moreover, one should take into account their methods of worship, and precisely what use the worshippers make of these remarkable edifices. And so with intelligent sympathy finally aroused in all these matters, they begin to wear a new aspect; and what appeared grotesque and unmeaning before, now becomes full of significance and beauty. We see that there is something truly majestic in the appearance of the broad and massive temples, with the grand upward sweep of their heavily‐tiled roofs and deep‐shaded eaves, with intricate maze of supports and carvings beneath; the whole sustained on colossal round posts locked and tied together by equally massive timbers. Certainly, to a Japanese the effect must be inspiring beyond description; and the contrast between these structures and the tiny and perishable dwellings that surround them renders the former all the more grand and impressive. Foreigners, though familiar with the cathedral architecture of Europe, must yet see much to admire in these buildings. Even in the smaller towns and villages, where one might least expect to find such structures, the traveller sometimes encounters these stately edifices. Their surroundings are invariably picturesque; no sterile lot, or worthless sand‐hill outside the village, will suit these simple people, but the most charming and beautiful place is always selected as a site for their temples of worship.

Whatever may be said regarding the architecture of Japan, the foreigner, at least, finds it difficult to recognize any distinct types of architecture among the houses, or to distinguish any radical differences in the various kinds of dwellings he sees in his travels through the country. It may be possible that these exist, for one soon gets to recognize the differences between the ancient and modern house. There are also marked differences between the compact house of the merchant in the city and the country house; but as for special types of architecture that would parallel the different styles found in our country, there are none. Everywhere one notices minor details of finish and ornament which he sees more fully developed in the temple architecture, and which is evidently derived from this source; and if it can be shown, as it unquestionably can, that these features were brought into the country by the priests who brought one of the two great religions, then we can trace many features of architectural detail to their home, and to the avenues through which they came.

In connection with the statement just made, that it is difficult to recognize any special types of architecture in Japanese dwellings, it may be interesting to mention that we found it impossible to get books in their language treating of house architecture. Doubtless books of this nature exist,—indeed, they must exist; but though the writer had a Japanese bookseller, and a number of intelligent friends among the Japanese, looking for such books, he never had the good fortune to secure any. Books in abundance can be got treating of temple architecture, from the plans of the framing to the completed structure; also of _kura,_ or go‐downs, gateways, _tori‐i,_ etc. Plans of buildings for their tea‐ ceremonies, and endless designs for the inside finish of a house,—the recesses, book‐shelves, screens, and indeed all the delicate cabinet‐ work,—are easily obtainable; but a book which shall show the plans and elevations of the ordinary dwelling the writer has never yet seen. A number of friends have given him the plans of their houses as made by the carpenter, but there were no elevations or details of outside finish represented. It would seem as if, for the ordinary houses at least, it were only necessary to detail in plan the number and size of the rooms, leaving the rest of the structure to be completed in any way by the carpenter, so long as he contrived to keep the rain out.

If there is no attempt at architectural display in the dwelling‐houses of Japan the traveller is at least spared those miserable experiences he so often encounters in his own country, where to a few houses of good taste he is sure to pass hundreds of perforated wooden boxes with angular roofs and red chimneys unrelieved by a single moulding; and now and then to meet with one of those cupola‐crowned, broad‐brimmed, corinthian‐columned abominations, as well as with other forms equally grotesque and equally offending good taste.

Owing to the former somewhat isolated life of the different provinces, the style of building in Japan varies considerably; and this is more particularly marked in the design of the roof and ridge. Though the Japanese are conservative in many things concerning the house, it is worthy of note that changes have taken place in the house architecture within two hundred and fifty years; at all events, houses of the olden times have much heavier beams in their frame and wider planks in their structure, than have the houses of more recent times. A probable reason is that wood was much cheaper in past times; or it is possible that experience has taught them that sufficiently strong houses can be made with lighter material.

The Japanese dwellings are always of wood, usually of one story and unpainted. Rarely does a house strike one as being specially marked or better looking than its neighbors; more substantial, certainly, some of them are, and yet there is a sameness about them which becomes wearisome. Particularly is this the case with the long, uninteresting row of houses that border a village street; their picturesque roofs alone save them from becoming monotonous. A closer study, however, reveals some marked differences between the country and city houses, as well as between those of different provinces.

The country house, if anything more than a shelter from the elements, is larger and more substantial than the city house, and with its ponderous thatched roof and elaborate ridge is always picturesque. One sees much larger houses in the north,—roofs of grand proportions and an amplitude of space beneath, that farther south occurs only under the roofs of temples. We speak now of the houses of the better classes, for the poor farm‐ laborer and fisherman, as well as their prototypes in the city, possess houses that are little better than shanties, built, as a friend has forcibly expressed it, of “chips, paper, and straw.” But even these huts, clustered together as they oftentimes are in the larger cities, are palatial in contrast to the shattered and filthy condition of a like class of tenements in many of the cities of Christian countries.

In travelling through the country the absence of a middle class, as indicated by the dwellings, is painfully apparent. It is true that you pass, now and then, large comfortable houses with their broad thatched roofs, showing evidences of wealth and abundance in the numerous _kura_ and outbuildings surrounding them; but where you find one of these you pass hundreds which are barely more than shelters for their inmates; and within, the few necessary articles render the evidences of poverty all the more apparent.

Though the people that inhabit such shelters are very poor, they appear contented and cheerful notwithstanding their poverty. Other classes, who though not poverty‐stricken are yet poor in every sense of the word, occupy dwellings of the simplest character. Many of the dwellings are often diminutive in size; and as one looks in at a tiny cottage containing two or three rooms at the most, the entire house hardly bigger than a good‐sized room at home, and observes a family of three or four persons living quietly and in a cleanly manner in this limited space, he learns that in Japan, at least, poverty and constricted quarters are not always correlated with coarse manners, filth, and crime.

Country and city houses of the better class vary as greatly as with us,—the one with its ponderous thatched roof and smoke‐blackened interior, the other with low roof neatly tiled, or shingled, and the perfection of cleanliness within.

In Tokio, the houses that abut directly on the street have a close and prison‐like aspect. The walls are composed of boards or plaster, and perforated with one or two small windows lightly barred with bamboo, or heavily barred with square wood‐gratings. The entrance to one of these houses is generally at one corner, or at the side. The back of the house and one side, at least, have a verandah. I speak now of the better class of houses in the city, but not of the best houses, which almost invariably stand back from the street and are surrounded by gardens.

The accompanying sketch (_fig. 33_) represents a group of houses bordering a street in Kanda Ku, Tokio. The windows are in some cases projecting or hanging bays, and are barred with bamboo or square bars of wood. A sliding‐screen covered with stout white paper takes the place of our glass‐windows. Through these gratings the inmates of the house do their bargaining with the street venders. The entrance to these houses is usually by means of a gate common to a number. This entrance consists of a large gate used for vehicles and heavy loads, and by the side of this is a smaller gate used by the people. Sometimes the big gate has a large square opening in it, closed by a sliding‐door or grating,—and through this the inmates have ingress and egress.

[Fig. 33.—Street in Kanda Ku, Tokio.]

Fig. 33.—Street in Kanda Ku, Tokio.

The houses, if of wood, are painted black; or else, as is more usually the case, the wood is left in its natural state, and this gradually turns to a darker shade by exposure. When painted, a dead black is used; and this color is certainly agreeable to the eyes, though the heat‐rays caused by this black surface become almost unendurable on hot days, and must add greatly to the heat and discomfort within the house. With a plastered outside wall the surface is often left white, while the frame‐work of the building is painted black,—and this treatment gives it a decidedly funereal aspect.

[Fig. 34.—Street in Kanda Ku, Tokio.]

Fig. 34.—Street in Kanda Ku, Tokio.

In _fig. 34_ two other houses in the same street are shown, one having a two‐storied addition in the rear. The entrance to this house is by means of a gate, which in the sketch is open. The farther house has the door on the street.

It is not often that the streets are bordered by such well‐constructed ditches on the side, as is represented in the last two figures; in these cases the ditches are three or four feet wide, with well‐built stone‐walls and stone or wooden bridges spanning them at the doors and gateways. Through these ditches the water is running, and though vitiated by the water from the kitchen and baths is yet sufficiently pure to support quite a number of creatures, such as snails, frogs, and even fishes. In the older city dwellings of the poorer classes a number of tenements often occur in a block, and the entrance is by means of a gateway common to all.

Since the revolution of 1868 there has appeared a new style of building in Tokio, in which a continuous low of tenements is under one roof, and each tenement has its own separate entrance directly upon the street. _Fig. 35_ gives a sketch of a row of these tenements. These blocks, nearly always of one story, are now quite common in various parts of Tokio. In the rear is provided a small plot for each tenement, which may be used for a garden. People of small means, but by no means the poorer classes, generally occupy these dwellings. I was informed by an old resident of Tokio that only since the revolution have houses been built with their doors or main entrances opening directly on the street. This form of house is certainly convenient and economical, and is destined to be a common feature of house‐building in the future.

[Fig. 35.—Block of Cheap Tenements in Tokio.]

Fig. 35.—Block of Cheap Tenements in Tokio.

On the business streets similar rows of buildings are seen, though generally each shop is an independent building, abutting directly to the next; and in the case of all the smaller shops, and indeed of many of the larger ones, the dwelling and shop are one, the goods being displayed in the room on the street, while the family occupy the back rooms. While one is bartering at a shop, the whole front being open, he may often catch a glimpse of the family in the back room at dinner, and may look entirely through a building to a garden beyond. It is a source of amazement to a foreigner to find in the rear of a row of dull and sombre business‐houses independent dwellings, with rooms of exquisite taste and cleanliness. I remember, in one of the busiest streets of Tokio, passing through a lithographer’s establishment, with the inky presses and inky workmen in full activity, and coming upon the choicest of tiny gardens and, after crossing a miniature foot‐bridge, to a house of rare beauty and finish. It is customary for the common merchant to live under the same roof with the shop, or in a closely contiguous building; though in Tokio, more than elsewhere, I was informed it is the custom among the wealthy merchants to have their houses in the suburbs of the city, at some distance from their place of business.

[Fig. 36.—Street View of Dwelling in Tokio.]

Fig. 36.—Street View of Dwelling in Tokio.

The sketch shown in _Fig. 36_ is a city house of one of the better classes. The house stands on a new street, and the lot on one side is vacant; nevertheless, the house is surrounded on all sides by a high board‐fence,—since, with the open character of a Japanese house, privacy, if desired, can be secured only by high fences or thick hedges. The house is shown as it appears from the street. The front‐door is near the gate, which is shown on the left of the sketch. There is here no display of an architectural front; indeed, there is no display anywhere. The largest and best rooms are in the back of the house; and what might be called a back‐ yard, upon which the kitchen opens, is parallel with the area in front of the main entrance to the house, and separated from it by a high fence. The second story contains one room, and this may be regarded as a guest‐ chamber. Access to this chamber is by means of a steep flight of steps, made out of thick plank, and unguarded by hand‐rail of any kind. The roof is heavily tiled, while the walls of the house are outwardly composed of broad thin boards, put on vertically, and having strips of wood to cover the joints. A back view of this house is shown in _Fig. 37_. Here all the rooms open directly on the garden. Along the verandah are three rooms _en suite._ The balcony of the second story is covered by a light supplementary roof, from which hangs a bamboo screen to shade the room from the sun’s rays. Similar screens are also seen hanging below.

[Fig. 37.—View of Dwelling from Garden, Tokio.]

Fig. 37.—View of Dwelling from Garden, Tokio.

The verandah is quite spacious; and in line with the division between the rooms is a groove for the adjustment of a wooden screen or shutter when it is desired to separate the house into two portions temporarily. At the end of the verandah to the left of the sketch is the latrine. The house is quite open beneath, and the air has free circulation.

[Fig. 38.—Dwelling Near Kudan, Tokio.]

Fig. 38.—Dwelling Near Kudan, Tokio.

Another type of a Tokio house is shown in _Fig. 38_. This is a low, one‐ storied house, standing directly upon the street, its tiled roof cut up into curious gables. The entrance is protected by a barred sliding door. A large hanging bay‐window is also barred. Just over the fence a bamboo curtain may be seen, which shades the verandah. The back of the house was open, and probably looked out on a pretty garden,—though this I did not see, as this sketch, like many others, was taken somewhat hastily.

From this example some idea may be got of the diminutive character of many of the Japanese dwellings, in which, nevertheless, families live in all cleanliness and comfort.

[Fig. 39.—Country Inn in Rikuzen.]

Fig. 39.—Country Inn in Rikuzen.

In the northern part of Japan houses are often seen which possess features suggestive of the picturesque architecture of Switzerland,—the gable ends showing, in their exterior, massive timbers roughly hewn, with all the irregularities of the tree‐trunk preserved, the interstices between these beams being filled with clay or plaster. The eaves are widely overhanging, with projecting rafters. Oftentimes delicately‐carved wood is seen about the gable‐ends and projecting balcony. As a still further suggestion of this resemblance, the main roof, if shingled, as well as the roof that shelters the verandah, is weighted with stones of various sizes to prevent its being blown away by the high winds that often prevail. This feature is particularly common in the Island of Yezo.

_Fig. 39_ gives a house of this description near Matsushima, in Rikuzen. An opening for the egress of smoke occurs on the side of the roof, in shape not unlike that of a round‐topped dormer window. This opening in almost every instance is found on the gable end, directly beneath the angle formed at the peak of the roof.

[Fig. 40.—Country Inn in Rikuzen.]

Fig. 40.—Country Inn in Rikuzen.

Another house of this kind, seen in the same province, is shown in _fig. 40_. Here the smoke‐outlet is on the ridge in the shape of an angular roof, with its ridge running at right angles to the main ridge; in this is a latticed window. This ventilator, as well as the main roof, is heavily thatched, while the supplementary ridge is of boards and weighted with stones. A good example of a heavily‐tiled and plastered wooden fence is seen on the left of the sketch. In the road a number of laborers are shown in the act of moving a heavy block of stone.

[Fig. 41.—House Near Mororan, Yezo.]

Fig. 41.—House Near Mororan, Yezo.

Another house, shown in _fig. 41_, was seen on the road to Mororan, in Yezo. Here the smoke‐outlet was in the form of a low supplementary structure on the ridge. The ridge itself was flat, and upon it grew a luxuriant mass of lilies. This roof was unusually large and capacious.

At the place where the river Kitakami empties into the Bay of Sendai, and where we left our boat in which we had come down the river from Morioka, the houses were all of the olden‐style,—a number of these presenting some good examples of projecting windows. _Fig. 42_ represents the front of a house in this place. This shows a large gable‐roof, with broad overhanging eaves in front,—the ends of the rafters projecting to support the eaves and the transverse‐beams of the gable ends being equally in sight. The projecting window, which might perhaps be called a bay, runs nearly the entire length of the gable. The panels in the frieze were of dark wood, and bore perforated designs of pine and bamboo alternating.

The larger houses of this description are always inns. They usually abut directly upon the road, and have an open appearance and an air of hospitality about them which at once indicates their character. One encounters such places so frequently in Japan, that travelling in the interior is rendered a matter of ease and comfort as compared with similar experiences in neighboring countries. The larger number of these inns in the north are of one‐story, though many may be seen that are two‐storied. Very rarely does a three‐storied building occur. _Fig. 43_ represents one of this nature, that was seen in a small village north of Sendai.

[Fig. 42.—Bay Window, Village of Odzuka, Rikuzen.]

Fig. 42.—Bay Window, Village of Odzuka, Rikuzen.

[Fig. 43.—Three‐storied House in Rikuchiu.]

Fig. 43.—Three‐storied House in Rikuchiu.

Houses of the better classes stand back from the road, and have bordering the road high and oftentimes ponderous ridged walls, with gateways of similar proportions and character, or fences of various kinds with rustic gateways. Long, low out‐buildings, for servants’ quarters, also often form portions of the boundary wall. In the denser part of larger cities it is rare to find an old house,—the devastating conflagrations that so often sweep across the cities rendering the survival of old houses almost an impossibility. In the suburbs of cities and in the country, however, it is not difficult to find houses one hundred, and even two or three hundred years old. The houses age as rapidly as the people, and new houses very soon turn gray from the weather; the poorer class of houses in particular appear much older than they really are.

[Fig. 44.—Street in the Suburbs of Morioka.]

Fig. 44.—Street in the Suburbs of Morioka.

In entering Morioka, at the head of navigation on the Kitakami River, the long street presents a remarkably pretty appearance, with its odd low‐ roofed houses (_fig. 44_), each standing with its end to the street,—the peak of the thatched roof overhanging the smoke‐outlet like a hood. The street is bordered by a high, rustic, bamboo fence; and between the houses are little plats filled with bright‐colored flowers, and shrubbery clustering within the fences, even sending its sprays into the footpath bordering the road.

The country house of an independent _samurai,_ or rich farmer, is large, roomy, and thoroughly comfortable. I recall with the keenest pleasure the delightful days enjoyed under the roof of one of these typical mansions in Kabutoyama, in the western part of the province of Musashi. The residence consisted of a group of buildings shut in from the road by a high wall. Passing through a ponderous gateway, one enters a spacious court‐yard, flanked on either side by long, low buildings used as store‐houses and servants’ quarters. At the farther end of the yard, and facing the entrance, was a comfortable old farmhouse, having a projecting gable‐wing to its right (_fig. 45_). The roof was a thatched one of unusual thickness. At the end of the wing was a triangular latticed opening, from which thin blue wreaths of smoke were curling. This building contained a few rooms, including an unusually spacious kitchen,—a sketch of which is given farther on. The kitchen opened directly into a larger and unfinished portion of the house, having the earth for its floor, and used as a wood‐ shed. The owner informed me that the farm‐house was nearly three hundred years old. To the left of the building was a high wooden fence, and passing through a gateway one came into a smaller yard and garden. In this area was another house quite independent of the farmhouse; this was the house for guests. Its conspicuous feature consisted of a newly‐thatched roof, surmounted by an elaborate and picturesque ridge,—its design derived from temple architecture. Within were two large rooms opening upon a narrow verandah. These rooms were unusually high in stud, and the mats and all the appointments were most scrupulously clean. Communication with the old house was by means of a covered passage. Back of this dwelling, and some distance from it, was still another house, two stories in height, and built in the most perfect taste; and here lived the grandfather of the family,—a fine old gentleman, dignified and courtly in his manners.

[Fig. 45.—Old Farm‐house in Kabutoyama.]

Fig. 45.—Old Farm‐house in Kabutoyama.

The farm‐house yard presented all the features of similar areas at home. A huge pile of wood cut for the winter’s supply was piled up against the L. Basket‐like coops, rakes, and the customary utensils of a farmer’s occupation were scattered about. The sketch of this old house gives but a faint idea of the massive and top‐heavy appearance of the roof, or of the large size of the building. The barred windows below, covered by a narrow tiled roof, were much later additions to the structure.

In the city houses of the better class much care is often taken to make the surroundings appear as rural as possible, by putting here and there quaint old wells, primitive and rustic arbors, fences, and gateways. The gateways receive special attention in this way, and the oddest of entrances are often seen in thickly‐settled parts of large cities.

Houses with thatched roofs, belonging to the wealthiest classes, are frequently seen in the suburbs of Tokio and Kioto, and, strange as it may appear, even within the city proper. One might be led to suppose that such roofs would quickly fall a prey to the sparks of a conflagration; but an old thatched roof gets compacted with dust and soot to such an extent that plants and weeds of various kinds, and large clumps of mosses, are often seen flourishing in luxuriance upon such surfaces, offering a good protection against flying sparks. In Kioto we recall a house of this description which was nearly three centuries old; and since we made sketches of its appearance from the street, from just within the gateway, and from the rear, we will describe these views in sequence.

[Fig. 46.—Entrance to Court‐yard of Old House in Kioto.]

Fig. 46.—Entrance to Court‐yard of Old House in Kioto.

The first view, then (_fig. 46_), is from the street, and represents a heavily‐roofed gateway, with a smaller gateway at the side. The big gates had been removed, and the little gateway was permanently closed. This ponderous structure was flanked on one side by a low stretch of buildings, plastered on the outside, having small barred windows on the street, and a barred look‐out commanding the gateway both outside and within. On the other side of the gateway was a high, thick wall, also furnished with a window or lookout. The outer walls rose directly from the wall forming the gutter, or, more properly speaking, a diminutive moat that ran along the side of the street. Blocks of worked stone formed a bridge across this moat, by which access was gained to the enclosure. The old dwelling, with its sharp‐ridged roof, may be seen above the buildings just described.

[Fig. 47.—Old house in Kioto. Court‐yard view.]

Fig. 47.—Old house in Kioto. Court‐yard view.

_Fig. 47_ represents the appearance of this old house from just within the gateway. The barred window to the left of the sketch may be seen through the open gateway in _fig. 46_, and the tree which showed over the top of the gateway in that sketch is now in full view. The old house has a thatched roof with a remarkably steep pitch, surmounted by a ridge of tiles; a narrow tiled roof runs about the house directly below the eaves of the thatched roof. Suspended below this roof is seen a ladder and fire‐ engine, to be ready in case of emergency. The truth must be told, however, that these domestic engines are never ready; for when they are wanted, it is found that the square cylinders are so warped and cracked by the hot summers that when they are brought into action their chief accomplishment consists in squirting water through numerous crevices upon the men who are frantically endeavoring to make these engines do their duty properly.

[Fig. 48.—Old House in Kioto, Garden View.]

Fig. 48.—Old House in Kioto, Garden View.

The yard was well swept, and quite free from weeds, though at one side a number of shrubs and a banana tree were growing in a luxuriant tangle. A single tree, of considerable age, rose directly in a line with the entrance to the yard.

The house, like all such houses, had its uninteresting end toward the street; and here, attached to the house, was a “lean‐to,” or shed, with a small circular window. This was probably a kitchen, as a gateway is seen in the sketch, which led to the kitchen‐garden.

In _Fig. 48_ a sketch of this house is given from the garden in the rear. The house is quite open behind, and looks out on the garden and fish‐pond, which is seen in the foreground. The tiled roof which covers the verandah, and the out‐buildings as well, was a subsequent addition to the old house. The sole occupants consisted of the mother and maiden sister of the famous antiquarian Ninagawa Noritani. The garden, with its shrubs, plats of flowers, stepping‐stones leading to the fish‐pond filled with lotus and lilies, and the bamboo trellis, is a good specimen of an old garden upon which but little care has been bestowed.

In the cities nothing is more surprising to a foreigner than to go from the dust and turmoil of a busy street directly into a rustic yard and the felicity of quiet country life. On one of the busy streets of Tokio I had often passed a low shop, the barred front of which was never opened to traffic, nor was there ever any one present with whom to deal. I used often to peer between the bars; and from the form of the wooden boxes on the step‐like shelves within, I knew that the occupant was a dealer in old pottery. One day I called through the bars several times, and finally a man pushed back the screen in the rear of the shop and bade me come in by way of a narrow alley a little way up the street. This I did, and soon came to a gate that led me into one of the neatest and cleanest little gardens it is possible to imagine. The man was evidently just getting ready for a tea‐party, and, as is customary in winter, the garden had been liberally strewn with pine‐needles, which had then been neatly swept from the few paths and formed in thick mats around some of the shrubs and trees. The master had already accosted me from the verandah, and after bringing the customary _hibachi,_ over which I warmed my hands, and tea and cake, he brought forth some rare old pottery.

[Fig. 49.—House in Tokio.]

Fig. 49.—House in Tokio.

The verandah and a portion of this house as it appeared from the garden are given in _fig. 49_. At the end of the verandah is seen a narrow partition, made out of the planks of an old ship; it is secured to the side of the house by a huge piece of bamboo. One is greatly interested to see how curiously, and oftentimes artistically, the old worm‐eaten and blackened fragments of a shipwreck are worked into the various parts of a house,—this being an odd fancy of the Japanese house‐builder. Huge and irregular‐shaped logs will often form the cross‐piece to a gateway; rudder‐posts fixed in the ground form the support of bronze or pottery vessels to hold water. But fragments of a shipwreck are most commonly seen. This wood is always rich in color, and has an antique appearance,—these qualities commending it at once to the Japanese eye, and rendering it, with its associations, an attractive object for their purposes.

In the house above mentioned a portion of a vessel’s side or bottom had been used bodily for a screen at the end of the verandah,—for just beyond was the latrine, from the side of which is seen jutting another wing, consisting of a single weatherworn plank bordered by a bamboo‐post. This was a screen to shut out the kitchen‐yard beyond. Various stepping‐stones of irregular shape, as well as blackened planks, were arranged around the yard in picturesque disorder. The sketch conveys, with more or less accuracy, one of the many phases of Japanese taste in these matters.

The wood‐work from the rafters of the verandah roof above, to the planks below, was undefiled by oil, paint, wood‐filling, or varnish of any kind. The carpentry was light, yet durable and thoroughly constructive; while outside and inside every feature was as neat and clean as a cabinet. The room bordering this verandah is shown in _fig. 125_.

[Fig. 50.—View from the Second Story of Dwelling in Imado, Tokio.]

Fig. 50.—View from the Second Story of Dwelling in Imado, Tokio.

_Fig. 50_ gives a view from the L of a gentleman’s house in Tokio, from which was seen the houses and gardens of the neighborhood. The high and close fence borders a roadway which runs along the bank of the Sumida‐ gawa. A short fence of brush juts out obliquely from the latrine, and forms a screen between the house and the little gate. From this sketch some idea may be formed of the appearance of the balcony and verandah, and how well they are protected by the overhanging roofs.

The inns, particularly the country inns, have a most cosey and comfortable air about them. One always has the freedom of the entire place; at least a foreigner generally makes himself at home everywhere about the public houses, and in this respect impress a Japanese with his boorish ways, since the native guests usually keep to their own rooms. The big, capacious kitchen, with its smoke‐blackened rafters overhead, its ruddy glow of wood‐fire (a sight rarely seen in the cities, where charcoal is the principal fuel), and the family busy with their various domestic duties, is a most cosey and agreeable region.

[Fig. 51.—Old Inn in Mishima, Suruga.]

Fig. 51.—Old Inn in Mishima, Suruga.

On the ride across Yezo, from Otarunai to Mororan, one passes a number of inns of the most ample proportions; and their present deserted appearance contrasts strangely with their former grandeur, when the Daimio of the province, accompanied by swarms of _samurai_ and other attendants, made his annual pilgrimage to the capital.

At Mishima, in the province of Suruga, a curious old inn was seen (_fig. 51_). The second story overhung the first story in front, and the eaves were very widely‐projecting. At the sides of the building a conspicuous feature was the verge boards, which were very large, with their lower margins cut in curious sweeps. This may have been intended for an architectural adornment, or possibly for a wind or sun screen; at all events it was, as we saw it, associated with buildings of considerable antiquity. In the middle and southern provinces of Japan the feature of an over‐hanging second story is by no means uncommon.

[Fig. 52.—Village Street in Nasaike, Yamashiro.]

Fig. 52.—Village Street in Nasaike, Yamashiro.

A group of houses in a village street is shown in _fig. 52_. The nearest house is a resting‐place for travellers; the next is a candle‐shop, where the traveller and _jinrikisha_ man may replenish their lanterns; the third is a _jinrikisha_ stand, and beyond this is a light board‐structure of some kind. All of these are dwellings as well. This street was in the village of Nagaike, between Nara and Kioto.

The country houses on the east coast of Kagoshima Gulf, in the province of Osumi, as well as in the province of Satsuma, have thatched roofs of ponderous proportions, while the walls supporting them are very low. These little villages along the coast present a singular aspect, as one distinguishes only the high and thick roofs. _Fig. 53_ is a sketch of Mototaru‐midsu as from the water, and _fig. 54_ represents the appearance of a group of houses seen in the same village, which is on the road running along the gulf coast of Osumi. The ridge is covered by a layer of bamboo; and the ends of the ridge, where it joins the hip of the roof, are guarded by a stout matting of bamboo and straw. In this sketch a regular New England well‐sweep is seen, though it is by no means an uncommon object in other parts of Japan. Where the well is under cover, the well‐ sweep is so arranged that the well‐pole goes through a hole in the roof.

[Fig. 53.—Shore of Osumi.]

Fig. 53.—Shore of Osumi.

[Fig. 54.—Farmer’s Houses in Mototaru‐Midsu, Osumi.]

Fig. 54.—Farmer’s Houses in Mototaru‐Midsu, Osumi.

The fishermen’s houses are oftentimes nothing more than the roughest shelters from the elements, and being more closed than the peasants’ houses are consequently darker and dirtier. In the neighborhood of larger towns, where the fishermen are more prosperous, their houses compare favorably with those of the peasant class. _Fig. 55_ shows a group of fishermen’s huts on the neck of sand which connects Hakodate with the main island. The high stockade fences act as barriers to the winds which blow so furiously across the bar at certain seasons. Fig. 56 represents a few fishermen’s huts at Enoshima, a famous resort a little south of Yokohama. Here the houses are comparatively large and comfortable, though poor and dirty at best. The huge baskets seen in the sketch are used to hold and transport fish from the boat to the shore.

[Fig. 55.—Fishermen’s Huts in Hakodate.]

Fig. 55.—Fishermen’s Huts in Hakodate.

[Fig. 56.—Fishermen’s Huts in Enoshima.]

Fig. 56.—Fishermen’s Huts in Enoshima.

In the city no outbuildings, such as sheds and barns, are seen. Accompanying the houses of the better class are solid, thick‐walled, fire‐ proof buildings called _kura,_ in which the goods and chattels are stowed away in times of danger from conflagrations. These buildings, which are known to the foreigner as “go‐downs,” are usually two stories in height, and have one or two small windows, and one door, closed by thick and ponderous shutters. Such a building usually stands isolated from the dwelling, and sometimes, though rarely, they are converted into domiciles. Of such a character is the group of buildings in Tokio represented in _fig. 57_, belonging to a genial antiquary, in which he has stored a rare collection of old books, manuscripts, paintings, and other antique objects.

[Fig. 57.—Kura in Tokio.]

Fig. 57.—Kura in Tokio.

[Fig. 58.—Kura, or Fire‐proof Buildings in Tokio.]

Fig. 58.—Kura, or Fire‐proof Buildings in Tokio.

Fig. 58, copied from a sketch made by Mr. S. Koyama, represents another group of these buildings in Tokio. These _kura_ belonged to the famous antiquarian Ninagawa Noritani. In these buildings were stored his treasures of pottery and painting. Often light wooden extensions are built around the _kura,_ and in such cases the family live in the outside apartments. An example of this kind is shown in _fig. 59_, which is an old house in a poor quarter of the city of Hakodate. The central portion represents the two‐storied _kura,_ and around it is built an additional shelter having a tiled roof. In case of fire the contents of the outer rooms are hurriedly stowed within the fire‐proof portion, the door closed, and the crevices chinked with mud. These buildings usually survive in the midst of a wide‐spread conflagration, while all the outer wooden additions are consumed. Further reference will be made to these structures in other portions of the work. It may be proper to state, however, that nearly every shop has connected with it a fire‐proof building of this nature.

[Fig. 59.—Old House in Hakodate.]

Fig. 59.—Old House in Hakodate.

It hardly comes within the province of this work to describe or figure buildings which are not strictly speaking homes; for this reason no reference will be made to the monotonous rows of buildings so common in Tokio, which form portions of the boundary‐wall wall of the _yashiki;_ and, indeed, had this been desirable, it would have been somewhat difficult to find the material, in their original condition, for study. Many of the _yashikis_ have been destroyed by fire; others have been greatly modified, and are now occupied by various Government departments. In Tokio, for example, the _yashiki_ of the Daimio of Kaga is used by the educational department, the Mito _yashiki_ for the manufacture of war material, and still others are used for barracks and other Government purposes. As one rides through the city he often passes these _yashikis,_ showing from the street as long monotonous rows of buildings, generally two stories in height, with heavy tiled roofs. The wall of the first story is generally tiled or plastered. The second‐story wall may be of wood or plaster. This wall is perforated at intervals with small heavily‐barred windows or hanging bays. The entrance, composed of stout beams, is closed by ponderous gates thickly studded with what appear to be massive‐headed bolts, but which are, however, of fictitious solidity. The buildings rest on stone foundations abutting directly on the street, or interrupted by a ditch which often assumes the dignity of a castle moat. These buildings in long stretches formed a portion of the outer walls of the _yashikis_ within which were the separate residences of the Daimios and officers, while the buildings just alluded to were used by the soldiers for barracks.

The great elaboration and variety in the form and structure of the house‐ roof almost merit the dignity of a separate section. For it is mainly to the roof that the Japanese house owes its picturesque appearance; it is the roof which gives to the houses that novelty and variety which is so noticeable among them in different parts of the country. The lines of a well‐made thatched roof are something quite remarkable in their proportions. A great deal of taste and skill is displayed in the proper trimming of the eaves; and the graceful way in which the eaves of the gable are made to join the side eaves is always attractive and a noticeable feature in Japanese architecture, and the admirable way in which a variety of gables are made to unite with the main roof would excite praise from the most critical architect.

The elaborate structure of the thatched and tiled roofs, and the great variety in the design and structure of the ridges show what might be done by a Japanese architect if other portions of the house‐exterior received an equal amount of ingenuity and attention.

Japanese roofs are either shingled, thatched, or tiled. In the country, tiled roofs are the exception, the roofs being almost exclusively thatched,—though in the smaller houses, especially in the larger country villages, the shingled and tiled roofs are often seen. In the larger towns and cities the houses are usually tiled; yet even here shingled roofs are not uncommon, and though cheaper than the tiled roofs, are by no means confined to the poorer houses. In the suburbs, and even in the outskirts of the cities, thatched roofs are common: in such cases the thatched roof indicates either the presence of what was at one time an old farm‐house to which the city has extended, or else it is the house of a gentleman who prefers such a roof on account of its picturesqueness and the suggestions of rural life that go with it.

The usual form of the roof is generally that of a hip or gable. In the thatched roof, the portion coming directly below the ridge‐pole is in the form of a gable, and this blends into a hip‐roof. A curb‐roof is never seen. Among the poorer classes a simple pent roof is common; and additions or attachments to the main building are generally covered with a pent roof. A light, narrow, supplementary roof is often seen projecting just below the eaves of the main roof; it is generally made of wide thin boards (_fig. 60_). This roof is called _hisashi._ It commonly shelters from the sun and rain an open portion of the house or a verandah. It is either supported by uprights from the ground, or by slender brackets which are framed at right angles to the main uprights of the building proper. Weak and even flimsy as this structure often appears to be, it manages to support itself, in violation of all known laws of structure and gravitation. After a heavy fall of damp snow one may see thick accumulations covering these slight roofs, and yet a ride through the city reveals no evidences of their breaking down. One recalls similar structures at home yielding under like pressure, and wonders whether gravitation behaves differently in this land of anomalies.

[Fig. 60.—Hisashi.]

Fig. 60.—Hisashi.

In the ordinary shingled roof a light boarding is first nailed to the rafters, and upon this the shingles are secured in close courses. The shingles are always split, and are very thin,—being about the thickness of an ordinary octavo book‐cover, and not much larger in size, and having the same thickness throughout. They come in square bunches (_fig. 61_, A), each bunch containing about two hundred and twenty shingles, and costing about forty cents.

Bamboo pins, resembling attenuated shoe‐pegs, are used as shingle‐nails. The shingler takes a mouthful of these pegs, and with quick motions works precisely and in the same rapid manner as a similar class of workmen do at home. The shingler’s hammer is a curious implement (_fig. 61_, B, C). The iron portion is in the shape of a square block, with its roughened face nearly on a level with its handle. Near the end of the handle, and below, is inserted an indented strip of brass (_fig. 61_, B). The shingler in grasping the handle brings the thumb and forfinger opposite the strip of brass; he takes a peg from his mouth with the same hand with which he holds the hammer, and with the thumb and forefinger holding the peg against the brass strip (_fig. 62_), he forces it into the shingle by a pushing blow. By this movement the peg is forced half‐way down; an oblique blow is then given it with the hammer‐head, which bends the protruding portion of the peg against the shingle,—this broken‐down portion representing the head of our shingle‐nail. The bamboo being tough and fibrous can easily be broken down without separating. In this way is the shingle held to the roof. The hammer‐handle has marked upon it the smaller divisions of a carpenter’s measure, so that the courses of shingles may be properly aligned. The work is done very rapidly,—for with one hand the shingle is adjusted, while the other hand is busily driving the pegs.

[Fig. 61.—Bunch of shingles, nails, and hammer.]

Fig. 61.—Bunch of shingles, nails, and hammer.

[Fig. 62.—Shingler’s Hand.]

Fig. 62.—Shingler’s Hand.

[Fig. 63.—Bamboo Strips on Shingle‐Roof.]

Fig. 63.—Bamboo Strips on Shingle‐Roof.

That the shingles are not always held firmly to the roof by this method of shingling is seen in the fact that oftentimes long narrow strips of bamboo are nailed obliquely across the roof, from the ridge‐pole to the eaves (_fig. 63_). These strips are placed at the distance of eighteen inches or two feet apart. Yet even in spite of this added precaution, in violent gales the roof is often rapidly denuded of its shingles, which fill the air at such times like autumn leaves.

_Fig. 64, A_, represents a portion of a shingled roof with courses of shingles partially laid, and a shingler’s nail‐box held to the roof. The box has two compartments,—the larger compartment holding the bamboo pegs; and the smaller containing iron nails, used for nailing down the boards and for other purposes.

There are other methods of shingling, in which the courses of shingles are laid very closely together, and also in many layers. Remarkable examples of this method may be seen in some of the temple roofs, and particularly in the roofs of certain temple gateways in Kioto, where layers of the thinnest shingles, forming a mass a foot or more in thickness, are compactly laid, with the many graceful contours of the roof delicately preserved. The edges of the roof are beautifully rounded, and the eaves squarely and accurately trimmed. On seeing one of these roofs one is reminded of a thatched roof, which this style seems evidently intended to imitate. The rich brown bark of the _hi‐no‐ki_ tree is also used in a similar way; and a very compact and durable roof it appears to make. In better shingled house‐roofs it is customary to secure a wedge‐shaped piece of wood parallel to the eaves, to which the first three or four rows of shingles are nailed; other courses of shingles are then laid on very closely, and thus a thicker layer of shingles is secured (_fig. 64_, B).

[Fig. 64.—Roof with shingles partly laid.]

Fig. 64.—Roof with shingles partly laid.

But little variety of treatment of the ridge is seen in a shingled roof. Two narrow weather‐strips of wood nailed over the ridge answer the purpose of a joint, as is customary in our shingled roofs. A more thorough way is to nail thin strips of wood of a uniform length directly over the ridge and at right angles to it. These strips are thin enough to bend readily. Five or six layers are fastened in this way, and then, more firmly to secure them to the roof, two long narrow strips of wood or bamboo are nailed near the two edges of this mass, parallel to the ridge (_fig. 65_).

[Fig. 65.—Ridge on shingle‐roof in Musashi.]

Fig. 65.—Ridge on shingle‐roof in Musashi.

The shingled roof is the most dangerous element of house‐structure in the cities. The shingles are nothing more than thick shavings, and curved and warped by the sun are ready to spring into a blaze by the contact of the first spark that falls upon them, and then to be sent flying by a high wind to scatter the fire for miles. A very stringent law should be passed, prohibiting the use of such material for roofing in cities and large villages.

[Fig. 66.—Water‐conductor.]

Fig. 66.—Water‐conductor.

The usual form of gutter for conveying water from the roof consists of a large bamboo split lengthwise, with the natural partitions broken away. This is held to the eaves by iron hooks, or by long pieces of wood nailed to the rafters,—their upper edges being notched, in which the bamboo rests. This leads to a conductor, consisting also of a bamboo, in which the natural partitions have likewise been broken through. The upper end of this bamboo is cut away in such a manner as to leave four long spurs; between these spurs a square and tapering tunnel of thin wood is forced,—the elasticity of the bamboo holding the tunnel in place (_fig. 66_).

Attention has so often been drawn, in books of travels, to the infinite variety of ways in which Eastern nations use the bamboo, that any reference to the subject here would be superfluous. I can only say that the importance of this wonderful plant in their domestic economy has never been exaggerated. The more one studies the ethnographical peculiarities of the Japanese, as displayed in their houses, utensils, and countless other fabrications, the more fully is he persuaded that they could more easily surrender the many devices and appliances adopted from European nations, than to abandon the ubiquitous bamboo.