CHAPTER XXXII
Post-houses—Imperial Messengers—Inns—Houses—Their Furniture and Interior Arrangements—Bathing and Sweating House—Gardens—Refreshment Houses—What they provide—Tea.
“To accommodate travellers, there is, in all the chief villages and hamlets, a post-house, belonging to the lord of the place, where, at all times, they may find horses, porters, footmen, etc., in readiness, at certain settled prices. Travellers, of all ranks and qualities, with their retinues, resort to these post-houses, which lie at from six to sixteen English miles distance from each other, but are, generally speaking, not so good nor so well furnished upon Kiūshiū as upon the great island Nippon, where we came to fifty-six in going from Ōsaka to Yedo. These post-houses are not built for inn-keeping, but only for stabling and exchange of horses, for which reason there is a spacious court belonging to each; also clerks and bookkeepers enough, who keep accounts, in their master’s name, of all the daily occurrences. The price of all such things as are to be hired at these post-houses is settled, not only according to distances, but with regard to the goodness or badness of the roads, to the price of victuals, forage, and the like. One post-house with another, a horse to ride on, with two portmantles and an atotsuke, may be had for eight sen a mile. A horse, which is only saddled, and hath neither men nor baggage to carry, will cost six sen; porters and kago-men, five sen, and so on.
“Messengers are waiting, day and night, at all these post-houses, to carry the letters, edicts, proclamations, etc., of the emperor and the princes of the empire, which they take up the moment they are delivered at the post-house, and carry to the next with all speed. They are kept in a small, black varnished box, bearing the coat of arms of the emperor or prince who sends them, which the messenger carries upon his shoulder, tied to a small staff. Two of these messengers always run together, that in case any accident should befall either of them upon the road, the other may take his place, and deliver the box at the next post-house. All travellers, even the princes of the empire and their retinues, must retire out of the way and give a free passage to the messengers who carry letters or orders from the emperor, which they take care to signify at a due distance by ringing a small bell.
“There are inns enough, and tolerable good ones, all along the road. The best are in those villages where there are post-houses. At these even princes and princely retinues may be conveniently lodged, treated suitably to their rank, and provided with all necessaries. Like other well-built houses, they are but one story high, or, if there be two stories, the second is low, and good for little else but stowage. The inns are not broader in front than other houses, but considerably deep, sometimes forty ken, or two hundred and forty feet, with a Tsubo—that is, a small pleasure-garden—behind, enclosed with a neat white wall. The front hath only lattice windows, which, in the daytime, are kept open. The folding screens and movable partitions which divide the several apartments, unless there be some man of quality with his retinue at that time lodged there, are also so disposed as to lay open to travellers, as they go along, a very agreeable perspective view across the whole house into the garden behind. The floor is raised about three feet above the level of the street, and by jetting out, both towards the street and garden, forms a sort of gallery, which is covered with a roof, and on which travellers pass their time, diverting themselves with sitting or walking. From it, also, they mount their horses, for fear of dirtying their feet by mounting in the street.
“In some great inns there is a passage, contrived for the conveniency of people of quality, that, coming out of their norimono, they may walk directly to their apartments, without being obliged to pass through the fore part of the house, which is commonly not over clean, and makes but an indifferent figure, being covered with poor, sorry mats, and the rooms divided only by ordinary screens. The kitchen is in this fore part of the house, and often fills it with smoke, as they have no chimneys, but only a hole in the roof to let the smoke through. Here foot travellers and ordinary people live, among the servants. People of fashion are accommodated in the back part of the house, which is kept clean and neat to admiration. Not the least spot is to be seen upon the walls, floors, carpets, window screens, in short, nowhere in the room, which looks as if it were quite new, and but newly furnished. There are no tables, chairs, benches, or other furniture in these rooms. They are only adorned with some Miseratsie (?), of which more presently, put into or hung up in the rooms, for travellers to amuse their leisure by examining, which, indeed, some of them very well deserve. The Tsubo, or garden behind the house, is also very curiously kept, for travellers to divert themselves with walking in it, and beholding the beautiful flowers it is commonly adorned with.
“The rooms in Japanese houses have seldom more than one blank wall, which is plastered with clay of Ōsaka, a good fine sort, and so left bare, without any other ornament. It is so thin that the least kick would break it to pieces. On all other sides the room has either windows or folding-screens, which slide in grooves, as occasion requires. The lower groove is cut in a sill, which runs even with the mats, and the upper one in a beam, which comes down two or three feet from the ceiling. The beams in which the grooves run are plastered with clay of Ōsaka. The ceiling, to show the curious running of the veins and grain of the wood, is sometimes only covered with a thin, slight layer of a transparent varnish. Sometimes they paste it over with the same sort of variously colored and flowered paper of which their screens are made. The paper windows, which let light into the room, have wooden shutters on both sides, taken off in the daytime, but put on at night.
“In the solid wall of the room there is always a Toko, as they call it, or sort of cupboard, raised about a foot or more above the floor, and very near two feet deep. It commonly stands in that part of the wall which is just opposite to the door, that being reckoned the most honorable. Just before this toko two extraordinarily fine mats are laid, one upon the other, and both upon the ordinary mats which cover the floor. These are for people of the first quality to sit upon, for, upon the arrival of travellers of less note, they are removed out of the way. At the side of the toko is a Tokowaki, as they call it, or side cupboard, with some few shelves which serve the landlord or travellers, if they please, to lay their most esteemed book upon, they holding it, as the Mahometans do their Alcoran, too sacred to be laid on the ground. Upon the arrival of the Dutch, this sacred book of the landlord is put out of the way. Above is a drawer, where they put up the inkhorn, paper, writings, books, and other things of this kind. Here, also, travellers find sometimes the wooden box which the natives use at night, instead of a pillow. It is almost cubical, hollow, and made of six thin boards joined together, curiously varnished, smoothed, and very neat, about a span long, but not quite so broad, that travellers by turning it may lay their head in that posture which they find the most easy.[1] Besides this wooden pillow, travellers have no other bedding to expect from the landlord, and must carry their own along with them or lie on the mats, covering themselves with their clothes. In that side of the room next to the toko is commonly a balcony, serving the person lodged in this, the chief room, to look out upon the neighboring garden, fields, or water, without stirring from the carpets placed below the toko.
“Beneath the floor, which is covered with fine, well-stuffed mats, is a square walled hole, which, in the winter season, after having first removed the mats, they fill with ashes and lay coals upon them to keep the room warm. The landladies in their room put a low table upon this fire-hole, and spread a large carpet or tablecloth over it, for people to sit underneath, and to defend themselves against the cold. In rooms where there are no fire-holes they use in the winter brass or earthen pots, very artfully made, and filled with ashes, with two iron sticks, which serve instead of fire-tongs, much after the same manner as they use two other small sticks at table instead of forks.
“I come now to the above mentioned Miseratsie (?), as they call them, being curious and amusing ornaments of their rooms. In our journey to court I took notice of the following: 1. A paper neatly bordered with a rich piece of embroidery, instead of a frame, either with the picture of a saint done apparently with a coarse pencil, and in a few, perhaps three or four, strokes, wherein, however, the proportions and resemblance have been so far observed, that scarce anybody can miss finding out whom it was designed to represent, nor help admiring the ingenuity and skill of the master; or else a judicious moral sentence of some noted philosopher or poet, writ with his own hand, or the hand of some noted writing-master, who had a mind to show his skill by a few hasty strokes or characters, indifferent enough at first sight, but nevertheless very ingeniously drawn, and such as will afford sufficient matter of amusement and speculation to a curious and attentive spectator; and, lest anybody should call their being genuine in question, they are commonly signed, not only by the writing-masters themselves, but have the hands and seals of some other witnesses put to them. They are hung up nowhere else but in the toko, as the most honorable place of the room, and this because the Japanese set a great value upon them.
2. “Pictures of Chinese, as also of birds, trees, landskips, and other things, upon white screens, done by some eminent master, or rather scratched with a few hasty, affected strokes, after such a manner that, unless seen at a proper distance, they scarce appear natural.
3. “A flower-vase filled with all sorts of curious flowers, and green branches of trees, such as the season affords, curiously ranged according to the rules of art, it being as much an art in this country to arrange a flower-vase as it is in Europe to carve, or to lay a table.[2] Sometimes there is, instead, a perfuming-pan, of excellent good workmanship, cast in brass or copper, resembling a crane, lion, dragon, or other strange animal. I took notice once that there was an earthen pot of Cologne, such as is used to keep Spauwater in, with all the cracks and fissures carefully mended, used in lieu of a flower-vase, it being esteemed a very great rarity, because of the distant place it came from, the clay it was made of, and its uncommon shape.
4. “Some strange, uncommon pieces of wood, wherein the colors and grain either naturally run after a curious and unusual manner, or have been brought by art to represent something.
5. “Some neat and beautiful network, adorning either the balcony and windows towards the garden, or the tops of the doors, screens, and partitions of the chief apartments.
6. “A bunch of a tree, or a piece of a rotten root, or of an old stump, remarkable for their monstrous deformed shape.
“After this manner the chief and back apartments are furnished in great inns, and houses of substantial people. The other rooms gradually decrease in cleanliness, neatness, and delicacy of furniture; the screens, windows, mats, and other ornaments and household goods, after they have for some time adorned the chief apartments, and begin to be spotted and to grow old, being removed into the other rooms successively, there to be quite worn out. The chief of the other rooms is that where they keep their plate, china ware, and other household goods, ranged upon the floor in curious order, according to their size, shape, and use. Most of these are made of wood, thin, but strongly varnished, the greatest part upon a dark red ground. They are washed with warm water every time they have been used, and wiped clean with a cloth; by which means they will, though constantly used, keep clean and neat, and in their full lustre for several years.
A Scene in a Tea Garden
“The small gallery or walk which jets out from the house towards the garden leads to the house of office and to a bathing-stove, or hot-house. The house of office is built on one side of the back part of the house, and hath two doors to go in. Not far off stands a basin filled with water to wash your hands, commonly an oblong, rough stone, the upper part curiously cut out into the form of a basin. A new pail of bamboo hangs near it, and is covered with a neat fir or cypress board, to which they put a new handle every time it hath been used, to wit, a fresh stick of the bamboo cane, it being a very clean sort of a wood, and in a manner naturally varnished. The bathing-place, commonly built on the back side of the garden, contains either a hot-house to sweat in, or a warm bath, and sometimes both. It is made warm and got ready every evening, because the Japanese usually bathe or sweat after their day’s journey is over, thinking by this means to refresh themselves, and to sweat off their weariness. As they can undress themselves in an instant, so they are ready at a minute’s warning to go into it; for they need but untie their sash, and all their clothes fall down at once, leaving them quite naked, excepting a small band which they wear close to the body about their waist. Their hot-house, which they go into only to sweat, is an almost cubical trunk, or stove, raised about three feet above the ground, and built close to the wall of the bathing-place, on the outside,—not quite six feet high, but about nine feet long, and of the same breadth. The floor is laid with small planed laths or planks, some few inches distant from each other, both for the easy passage of the rising vapors and the convenient outlet of the water. You go, or rather creep in, through a small door or shutter. There are two other shutters, one on each side, to let out the superfluous vapor. The empty space beneath, down to the ground, is enclosed with a wall to prevent the vapors from getting out on the sides. Towards the yard, just beneath the hot-house, is a furnace, part of which stands out towards the yard, where they put in the necessary water and plants. This part is shut with a clapboard when the fire is burning, to make all the vapors ascend through the inner and open part into the hot-house. There are always two tubs, one of warm, the other of cold water, for such as have a mind to wash themselves.
“The garden is the only place in which we Dutchmen, being treated in all respects little better than prisoners, have liberty to walk. It is commonly square, with a back door, and walled in very neatly. There are few good houses or inns without one. If there be not room enough for a garden, they have at least an old ingrafted plum, cherry, or apricot tree; and the older, the more crooked and monstrous, the greater value they put upon it. Sometimes they let the branches grow into the rooms. In order to make it bear larger flowers and in greater quantity, they trim it to a few, perhaps two or three, branches. It cannot be denied but that the great number of beautiful, incarnadine double flowers are a curious ornament to this back part of the house, but they have this disadvantage, that they bear no fruit. In some small houses and inns of less note, where there is not room enough neither for a garden nor trees, they have at least an opening or window, to let the light fall into the back rooms, before which, for the amusement and diversion of travellers, is put a small tub full of water, wherein they commonly keep alive some gold or silver fish; and for further ornament there is generally a flower-pot or two standing there. Sometimes they plant dwarf trees, which will grow easily upon pumice or other porous stones, without any earth at all, provided the root be put into the water, whence it will suck up sufficient nourishment. Ordinary people often plant the same kind of trees before their street-doors.
“But to return to the Tsubo, or garden. A good one must include at least thirty feet square, and consist of the following essential parts: 1. The ground is covered partly with roundish stones of different colors, gathered in rivers or upon the sea-shore, well washed and cleaned, and those of the same kind, laid together in form of beds, partly with gravel which is swept every day, and kept clean and neat to admiration, the large stones being laid in the middle as a path to walk upon without injuring the gravel, the whole in a seeming but ingenious confusion. 2. Some few flower-bearing shrubs planted confusedly, though not without some certain rules. Amidst them stands sometimes a Saguer (?), as they call it, or scarce outlandish tree, sometimes a dwarf tree or two. 3. A small rock or hill in a corner of the garden, made in imitation of nature, curiously adorned with birds and insects cast in brass, and placed between the stones. Sometimes the model of a temple stands upon it, built, as for the sake of the prospect they generally are, on a remarkable eminence or the borders of a precipice. Often a small rivulet rushes down the stones with an agreeable noise, the whole in due proportions and as near as possible resembling nature. 4. A small thicket or wood on the side of the hill, for which the gardeners choose such trees as will grow close to one another, and plant and cut them according to their largeness, nature, and the color of their flowers and leaves, so as to make the whole very accurately imitate a natural wood or forest. 5. A cistern or pond, as mentioned above, with live fish kept in it, and surrounded with proper plants, that is, such as love a watery soil, and would lose their beauty and greenness if planted in a dry ground. It is a particular profession to lay out these gardens, and to keep them so curiously and nicely as they ought to be.
“There are innumerable smaller inns, cook-shops, sake, or ale-houses, pastry-cooks’ and confectioners’ shops, all along the road, even in the midst of woods and forests, and at the tops of mountains, where a weary foot-traveller, and the meaner sort of people, find at all times, for a few sen, something warm to eat, or hot tea, or sake, or somewhat else of the kind, wherewith to refresh themselves. ’Tis true these cook-shops are but poor, sorry houses, if compared to larger inns, being inhabited only by poor people, who have enough to do to get a livelihood by this trade; and yet, even in these, there is always something or other to amuse passengers, and to draw them in; sometimes a garden and orchard behind the house, which is seen from the street, looking through the passage, and which, by its beautiful flowers, or the agreeable sight of a stream of clear water, falling down from a neighboring natural or artificial hill, or by some other curious ornament of this kind, tempts people to come in and repose themselves. At other times a large flower-pot stands in the window, filled with flowering branches of trees, disposed in a very curious manner. Sometimes a handsome, well-looking housemaid, or a couple of young girls, well dressed, stand under the door, and with great civility invite people to come in, and to buy something. The eatables, such as cakes, or whatever it be, are kept before the fire, in an open room, sticking to skewers of bamboos, so that passengers, as they go along, may take them and pursue their journey without stopping. The landladies, cooks, and maids, as soon as they see anybody coming at a distance, blow up the fire, to make it look as if the victuals had been just got ready. Some busy themselves with making the tea, others prepare soup, others fill cups with sake or other liquors, to present them to passengers, all the while talking and chattering, and commending their merchandise with a voice loud enough to be heard by their next neighbors of the same profession.
“The eatables sold at these cook-shops, besides tea, and sometimes sake, are manjū, a sort of round cakes, which they learned to make from the Portuguese, as big as common hens’ eggs, and filled within with black-bean flour and sugar; cakes of the jelly of a root found upon mountains, and cut into round slices, like carrots, and roasted; snails, oysters, shell-fish, and other small fish, roasted, boiled, or pickled; Chinese laxa, a thin sort of pap, or paste, made of fine wheat flour, cut into small, thin, long slices, and baked; all sorts of plants, roots, and sprigs which the season affords, washed and boiled in water with salt; innumerable other dishes peculiar to this country, made of seeds, powdered roots, and vegetables, boiled or baked, dressed in many different ways.
“The common sauce for these and other dishes is a little soy, as they call it, mixed with sake, or the beer of the country. Sanshō leaves are laid upon the dish for ornament, and sometimes thin slices of fine ginger and lemon peel. Sometimes they put powdered ginger, sanshō, or the powder of some root growing in the country, into the soup. They are also provided with sweetmeats, of several different colors and sorts, which, generally speaking, are far more agreeable to the eye than pleasing to the taste, being but indifferently sweetened with sugar, and so tough that one must have good teeth to chew them. Foot travellers find it set down in their printed road-books, which they always carry about them, where and at what price the best victuals of the kind are to be got.
“Tea (since most travellers drink scarce anything else upon the road) is sold at all the inns and cook-shops, besides many tea-booths set up for this trade alone, in the midst of fields and woods, and at the stop of mountains. The tea sold at all these places is but a coarse sort, being only the largest leaves, which remain upon the shrub after the youngest and tenderest have been plucked off, at two different times, for the use of people of fashion, who constantly drink it, before or after their meals. These larger leaves are not rolled up and curled, as the better sort of tea is, but simply roasted in a pan, and continually stirred whilst they are roasting, lest they should get a burnt taste. When they are done enough, they put them by in straw baskets, under the roof of the house, near the place where the smoke comes out. They are not a bit nicer in preparing it for drinking, for they commonly take a good handful of the tea leaves, and boil them in a large iron kettle full of water. The leaves are sometimes put into a small bag; but, if not, they have a little basket swimming in the kettle, which they make use of to keep the leaves down, when they have a mind to take out some of the clear decoction. Half a cup of this decoction is mixed with cold water, when travellers ask for it. Tea thus prepared smells and tastes like lye—the leaves it is made of, besides that they are of a very bad sort, being seldom less than a year old; and yet the Japanese esteem it much more healthful for daily use than the young, tender leaves, prepared after the Chinese manner, which they say affect the head too strongly, though even these lose a great part of their narcotic quality when boiled.”[3]