Many women are sold by their parents for the payment of a debt or the support of their families. The government confines these characters to their own quarters; they are not allowed on the streets of the city. We turn willingly on the following day to something more elevating and visit Enoshina, via the Imperial Railroad. The chief object of interest at Kamakura, our first stopping place, is the "Dai Butsa"—"Great Buddha." It stands alone as the highest embodiment of Japanese art; height, forty-nine feet and seven inches; circumference, ninety-seven feet and two inches; surrounded by beautiful Camphor and Echo trees. This bronze image is supposed to have been erected in 1252. The temple built over this image was destroyed in 1494. Since then it has remained exposed to the elements. Within the image is a space containing a shrine. The eyes of Buddha are of pure gold; the silver boss on the forehead weighs thirty pounds—it signifies light, or wisdom. Not far from this image of bronze stands the temple of Kovanon, the Goddess of Mercy, whose image is seen indistinctly behind folding doors. It is of brown lacquer, gilded and is thirty feet high. We enter and involuntarily lay our hand upon it for the virtue that may arise from our act of faith.
We again summon our coolies and, along the water's edge, are drawn to the hillside on whose summit is one of the most picturesque tea houses in Japan. The ascent is rather steep, but through shaded paths lined on either side with stands where attractive souvenirs may be purchased, chopsticks of fancy design, jewelry, shell ornaments, etc., etc. The view from the tea house overlooking the sea is most charming. There our guide has laid for us a tempting lunch brought from the hotel at Yokohama. Tea and service is offered us by most graceful Japanese waitresses, who have no hesitation in assisting our gentlemen change their clothing for the bathing suit, that they may follow them to the water's edge to see them sport like fish in the bright blue waters, and were it not for the pestiferous fleas, one might declare the excursion perfect.
The journey to Niko by rail is most diversified, shaded for miles by the Cryptomeria trees. The pear tree, trellised with its luscious fruit somewhat like our Russet apple or a taste akin to watermelon, is seen. The day's journey is made all the more agreeable by the luncheon of quail sandwiches, fruits and hot tea, the latter made by our guide in our compartment. At five-thirty o'clock in the evening we arrive at the Hotel Niko, the weather cold and rainy, a poor table and damp, uninviting apartments. A brazier is at the solicitation of the guests placed in the drawing room. There we barter all evening with natives for furs of the monkey, idols of ivory and objects of interest of wood and bronze. The trip to Lake Chuzendi, eight miles from Niko, is made by chairs and jinrikishas carried and drawn by the coolies. For our party of four we take two chairs and three jinrikishas and seventeen coolies—four for each chair, two to pull and one to push the jinrikishas. The third jinrikisha is for our guide and hamper of provisions. The road zigzags in many turns up the steep sides of the mountain, followed by a dashing stream issuing from Lake Chuzendi, known as "Kenon-no-taks," which falls in beautiful cascades and seethes over the dizzy heights, while our sturdy pullers keep up a tremendous pace with a continuous cry of warning to a chance pedestrian or cart of a street vender, whom we meet on the narrow ledges drawn by the same patient coolie. Baskets hung on a pole and borne by two men often contain a native woman and perhaps a child; mules with panniers so large filled with vegetables and merchandise that you can scarcely see the poor animal, slowly plodding along this highway led by a woman or more often a small boy with a rain cloak of straw and a wide brimmed hat of the same material, which are so cumbersome that you look almost in vain for the wearer. We dismount wherever a fine view is obtainable, and invariably find a tea house. Attentive waitresses, clad in their bright kimonas, regale you with small cups of tea and cake, to say nothing of the peppermint candies offered for a few pennies with a low bow and bewitching smile. Cushions to rest upon—with invisible occupants (fleas), who insist upon accompanying you during the journey, notwithstanding your efforts to shake them off. If a bright day is vouchsafed the traveler the view from the summit is glorious, the tea house commodious; fishing with nets adroitly thrown brings in an abundant supply for the table. Our curiosity led us into an apartment where the noon meal was being prepared by a wife for her liege lord. The cooking was done over a few coals in a brass brazier filled with ashes. A steel skewer placed upright in the ashes on which was suspended a fish, overhanging the coals, which by frequent turnings was most effectually dried and apparently made a savory dish. An omelet most tempting and a bowl of rice was then placed upon a low table before which the husband sat upon his haunches and ate most leisurely, while the wife retired into a corner endeavoring to satisfy a hungry infant. The great question of the Orient is: Will the day ever come when an equality of sex will be acknowledged? We put the question to our well-educated guide, who shook his head and replied, "In America women rule, but in Japan the master is man." A missionary told me that they endeavored early to marry the converted man to the Christian woman and to insist that they should sit together at their meals, but it was a hard lesson and seldom adopted.
The temples of Niko surpass all others that we saw in Japan. Broad avenues, well shaded, lead up to the hills upon which they were built. In 1617 Hidetada, the second Shogun, removed the body of his father to this spot. He was deified by an order of the Mikado, under a name signifying "The Light of the East," the great incarnation of Buddha. His grandson finished the temple erected in memory of his grandfather and was himself enshrined there. The five-story pagoda, 105 feet high, lends interest to this spot. The decorations of these temples are of carved wood in panels, painted in gorgeous coloring. Much of this carving is the handiwork of the celebrated "Hidare Jingoro," other work that of "Tunza." The group of three monkeys, blind, deaf and dumb, and the "sleeping cat," all have religious signification. The floors of these temples are covered with padded matting; in consequence, no one is allowed to enter without removing his shoes, or slipping a cotton covering over those he has on. The altars are ornamented with immense brass storks, with candelabra in their mouths, and tinselled lotus flowers with leaves of brass are much in vogue. The tombs are guarded with painted monsters representing gods of Wind and Thunder. The services are not unlike those conducted in the Catholic Church by continuous chanting. Pilgrims are coming and going, offering their prayers after first signaling the gods by ringing a bell, the rope of which is often made of human hair, a sacrifice made to appease the gods during an epidemic. Near by and in the same enclosure is the sacred horse, a stupid looking animal, guarded by an old woman, who for a trifling recompense will feed it a few beans from a small saucer.
From Niko we go to Tokio, a city of magnificent distances, the home of the Mikado. We stop at the Imperial Hotel, the best kept in Japan. Temples and tombs set apart in sequestered groves, seem to be the resort of pleasure-seekers and pilgrims. Once the ceremonial worship is over, the people clap their hands to notify their god of their duties having been performed, and turn for rice, tea or chat. Many of the petitions are written on slips of paper and are left on the gratings that protect the idols, and those frightful guardians at the entrance are frequently covered with moistened balls of paper containing their written prayers.
Thirty years of civilization has not changed the agricultural implements. The same plow that upheaved the soil one thousand years ago turns it now; the same punt that furrowed the waters is the same to-day; the style of architecture of the old Tartar order, derived from the old Tartar tents, with immense curving and overhanging roof, repeats itself in keeps and temples. Possibly this stereotype is the result of being for ages cut off from other nations. The ponderous bells, struck by great beams of wood swung from the outside, give forth mighty mysterious murmurings.
The population of the city of Tokio is a million and a half (1895) and covers a territory as large as London. The castle of the Mikado, in the center of the city, occupies a space of several miles in circumference. There are three castles, and between each a moat; the inner side of each has a wall of sixty to ninety feet high, built of huge stones of massive weight. The inner castle is surrounded by beautiful wooded grounds, miniature lakes, streams and meadows. The public buildings and those occupied by government officials are of European architecture. The streets of the city are narrow, no sidewalks, and the one-story houses serve as workshop and residence for the occupant. The inhabitants go bareheaded, carrying umbrellas. The convenience of the river that runs through Tokio and the canals that intersperse its streets is very apparent. Public education is compulsory. Japan in its whole extent, with all its islands included, covers about as much territory as North and South Dakota combined. Although it has an immense system of irrigation, only one-twelfth of its soil is under cultivation, and the rice crop entirely dependent upon it. The population of forty million of people of untiring industry is rewarded by a mere living. For centuries the cultured class of patrons of the temples have given these people work, for every rich temple adds to its wealth bronzes, lacquered work, vestments of brocades, tapestries and carvings of images, each having its fire-proof building in which its treasures are kept; they are not seen in the temples. As for the missionary work, we visited the "Mary Colby Seminary," a boarding and day school in Yokohama, Miss Grafton of Vermont being principal. At that time there were fifty native children as scholars, most of them able to pay for their own tuition. It is impossible to calculate the strength and influence of these teachings, and where the schools become self-supporting they must be strongholds. We were told that demand for teachers was much less than the number waiting to be called. At Kiota we visited the "Dobisha School," a university started in 1875, under the auspices of the American Board of Missions; connected with this institution is the girls' school and training school for nurses; also a hospital. A warm reception by Miss Benton, the principal of the girls' school, from Los Angeles, Cal., awaited us, and we were shown through the buildings, and were most astonished at the well built and commodious edifices, surrounded by well laid out grounds. There were not a half-dozen scholars. On inquiring why the accommodations were so great and the number of occupants so small, we were told cholera had kept many away. The few half-grown girls were seated around the table intent in reading a translation from Shakespeare of "King Lear," and others Walter Scott's "Lady of the Lake."
One of the girls played upon an instrument some four feet long with two wire strings. Upon the third finger of her left hand she wore an ivory ring, and with this she would strike the ivory knots placed at intervals on the instrument, producing sounds not unlike a guitar. She sat upon the floor and seemed sullen. The teacher remarked to us that many were very obstinate. We saw the table prepared for their dinner—a large bowl of rice in the center and small bowls at each plate, with a dried fish upon it and a pair of chop sticks. One of the studies most enjoyed is the arrangement of flowers, which is really a life's study. The ceremonial tea is conducted with great precision and is regarded as a graceful accomplishment. The price of tuition was 2 yen 80 sen per month, caring for their own rooms and doing their own washing. It is under the Congregational and Presbyterian auspices, and was not in a flourishing condition financially. After this we visited a dancing school which was most interesting. The teacher, a gray-headed woman, sat upon the floor with a dozen or more pupils around her. In one hand she held a wand, in the other a fan. Each child received individual instruction, the scholar standing bare-footed, with her eyes fixed upon the instructor; in her hand an oiled paper parasol, which when swaying her body to and fro she handled most gracefully, while the only music was the old woman's voice in mournful cadence, by the rhythm of which her fan seemed in sympathy. With the wand she would strike her fan when she wished an emphatic stamping of feet.