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.
matting of bamboo, and this material is used in binding down the
ridge itself (fig. 54).

There are doubtless many other forms of thatched roof, but it is

believed that the examples given present the leading types.

Fig. 94.—Crest of thatched roof in Ise.

As one becomes familiar with the picturesqueness and diversity in the

Japanese roof and ridge, he wonders why the architects of our own
country have not seen fit to extend their taste and ingenuity to the
roof, as well as to the sides of the house. There is no reason why the
ridge of an ordinary wooden house should invariably be composed of
two narrow weather-strips, or why the roof itself should always be
stiff, straight, and angular. Certainly our rigorous climate can be no
excuse for this, for on the upper St. John, and in the northern part of
Maine, one sees the wooden houses of the French Canadians having
roofs widely projecting, with the eaves gracefully turning upward,
presenting a much prettier appearance than does the stiff angular
roof of the New England house.

It is indeed a matter of wonder that some one in building a house in

this country does not revert to a thatched roof. Our architectural
history shows an infinite number of reversions, and if a thatched roof
were again brought into vogue, a new charm would be added to our
landscape. The thatched roof is picturesque and warm, and makes a
good rain-shed. In Japan an [pg 106] ordinary thatched roof will
remain in good condition from fifteen to twenty years; and I have
been told that the best kinds of thatched roof will endure for fifty
years, though this seems incredible. As they get weather-worn they
are often patched and repaired, and finally have to be entirely
renewed. Old roofs become filled with dust, assume a dark color, and
get matted down; plants, weeds, and mosses of various kinds grow
upon them, as well as masses of gray lichen. When properly
constructed they shed water very promptly, and do not get water-
soaked, as one might suppose.

Fig. 95.—Paved space under eaves of thatched roof.

It is customary in the better class of houses having thatched roofs to

pave the ground with small cobble-stones, for a breadth of two feet
or more immediately below the eaves, to catch the drip, as in a
thatched roof it is difficult to adjust any sort of a gutter or water-
conductor. Fig. 95 illustrates the appearance of the paved space
about a house, the roof of which is shown in fig. 85. It is customary
in the better class of houses having thatched roofs to pave the
ground with small cobble-stones, for a breadth of two feet or more
immediately below the eaves, to catch the drip, as in a thatched roof
it is difficult to adjust any sort of a gutter or water-conductor. Fig. 95
illustrates the appearance of the paved space about a house, the roof
of which is shown in fig. 85.
The translation of the terms applied to many parts of the house is
quite curious and interesting. The word mune, signifying the [pg 107]
ridge of the house, has the same meaning as with us; the same word
is applied to the back of a sword and to the ridge of a mountain. In
Korea the ridge of the thatched roof is braided, or at least the thatch
seems to be knotted or braided at this point; and the Korean word for
the ridge means literally back-bone, from its resemblance to the
back-bone of a fish.

In Japan the roof of a house is called yane. Now, yane literally means
house-root; but how such a term could be applied to the roof is a
mystery. I have questioned many intelligent Japanese in regard to
this word, and have never received any satisfactory answer as to the
reason of its application to the roof of a house. A Korean friend has
suggested that the name might have been applied through
association: a tree without a root dies, and a house without a roof
decays. He also told me that the Chinese character ne meant origin.

In Korea the foundation of a house is called the foot of the house,

and the foundation stones are called shoe-stones.

The Japanese word for ceiling is ten-jō,—literally, “heaven's well.” It is

an interesting fact that the root of both words, ceiling and ten-jō,
means “heaven.”

[pg 108]
CHAPTER III. INTERIORS

The interior of a Japanese house is so simple in its construction, and

so unlike anything to which we are accustomed in the arrangement of
details of interiors in this country, that it is difficult to find terms of
comparison in attempting to describe it. Indeed, without the
assistance of sketches it would be almost impossible to give a clear
idea of the general appearance, and more especially the details, of
Japanese house-interiors. We shall therefore mainly rely on the
various figures, with such aid as description may render.

The first thing that impresses one on entering a Japanese house is

the small size and low stud of the rooms. The ceilings are so low that
in many cases one can easily touch them, and in going from one
room to another one is apt to strike his head against the kamoi, or
lintel. He notices also the constructive features everywhere apparent,
—in the stout wooden posts, supports, cross-ties, etc. The
rectangular shape of the rooms, and the general absence of all jogs
and recesses save the tokonoma and companion recess in the best
room are noticeable features. These recesses vary in depth from two
to three feet or more, depending on the size of the room, and are
almost invariably in that side of the room which runs at a right angle
with the verandah (fig. 96); or if in the second story, at a right [pg
109] [pg 110] angle with the balcony. The division between the
recesses consists of a light partition, partly or wholly closed, which
generally separates the recesses into two equal bays. The bay
nearest the verandah is called the tokonoma. In this recess hang one
or two pictures, usually one; and on its floor, which is slightly raised
above the level of the mats of the main floor, stands a vase or some
other ornament. The companion bay has usually a little closet or
cupboard closed by sliding screens, and one or two shelves above,
and also another long shelf near its ceiling, all closed by sliding
screens. At the risk of some repetition, more special reference will be
made farther on to these peculiar and eminently characteristic
features of the Japanese house.

Fig. 96.—Guest-room in Hachi-ishi.

In my remarks on Japanese house-construction, in Chapter I.,

allusion was made to the movable partitions dividing the rooms,
consisting of light frames of wood covered with paper. These are
nearly six feet in height, and about three feet in width. The frame-
work of a house, as we have already said, is arranged with special
reference to the sliding screens, as well as to the number of mats
which are to cover the floor. In each corner of the room is a square
post, and within eighteen inches or two feet of the ceiling cross-
beams ran from post to post. These cross-beams have grooves on
their under side in which the screens are to run. Not only are most of
the partitions between the rooms made up of sliding screens, but a
large portion of the exterior partitions as well are composed of these
light and adjustable devices. A house may have a suite of three or
four rooms in a line, and the outside partitions be made up entirely of
these movable screens and the necessary posts to support the roof,—
these posts coming in the corners of the rooms and marking the
divisions between the rooms. The outer screens are covered with
white paper, and when closed, a subdued and diffused light enters
the room. They may be quickly removed, leaving the entire front of
the house open to the air and sunshine. The screens between [pg
111] the rooms are covered with a thick paper, which may be left
plain, or ornamented with sketchy or elaborate drawings.

The almost entire absence of swinging doors is at once noticeable,

though now and then one sees them in other portions of the house.
The absence of all paint, varnish, oil, or filling, which, too often
defaces our rooms at home, is at once remarked; and the ridiculous
absurdity of covering a good grained wood-surface with paint, and
then with brush and comb trying to imitate Nature by scratching in a
series of lines, the Japanese are never guilty of. On the contrary, the
wood is left in just the condition in which it leaves the cabinet-
maker's plane, with a simple surface, smooth but not polished,—
though polished surfaces occur, however, which will be referred to in
the proper place. Oftentimes in some of the parts the original surface
of the wood is left, sometimes with the bark retained. Whenever the
Japanese workman can leave a bit of Nature in this way he is
delighted to do so. He is sure to avail himself of all curious features in
wood: it may be the effect of some fungoid growth which marks a
bamboo curiously; or the sinuous tracks produced by the larvae of
some beetle that oftentimes traces the surface of wood, just below
the bark, with curious designs; or a knot or burl. His eye never
misses these features in finishing a room.
The floors are often roughly made, for the reason that straw mats,
two or three inches in thickness, cover them completely. In our
remarks on house-construction, allusion has already been made to
the dimensions of these mats.

Before proceeding further into the details of the rooms, it will be well
to examine the plans of a few dwellings copied directly from the
architect's drawings. The first plan given (fig. 97) is that of a house
built in Tokio a few years ago, in which the writer has spent many
pleasant hours. The main house measures [pg 112] twenty-one by
thirty-one feet; the L measures fifteen by twenty-four feet. The solid
black squares represent the heavier upright beams which support the
roof. The solid black circles represent the support for the L as well as
for the verandah roof. The areas marked with close parallel lines
indicate the verandah, while the double parallel lines indicate the
sliding screens,—the solid black lines showing the permanent
partitions. The kitchen, bathroom, and certain platforms are indicated
by parallel lines somewhat wider apart than those that indicate the
verandah. The lines running obliquely indicate an area where the
boards run towards a central gutter slightly depressed below the
common level of the floor. Here stands the large earthen water-jar or
the wooden bath-tub; and water spilled upon the floor finds its way
out of the house by the gutter. The small areas on the outside of the
house, shaded in section, represent the closets or cases in which the
storm-blinds or wooden shutters, which so effectually close the house
at night, are stowed away in the day-time. The house contains a
vestibule, a hall, seven rooms, not including the kitchen, and nine
closets. These rooms, if named after our nomenclature, would be as
follows: study, library, parlor, sitting-room, dining-room, bed-room,
servants'-room, and kitchen. As no room contains any article of
furniture like a bedstead.—the bed consisting of wadded comforters,
being made up temporarily upon the soft mats,—it is obvious that the
bedding can be placed in any room in the house. The absence of
nearly all furniture gives one an uninterrupted sweep of the floor, so
that the entire floor can be covered with sleepers if necessary,—a
great convenience certainly when one has to entertain unexpectedly
a crowd of guests over-night. Certain closets are used as receptacles
for the comforters, where they are stowed away during the day-time.

The absence of all barns, wood-sheds, and other out-houses is

particularly noticeable, and as the house has no cellar, one wonders
where the fuel is stowed. In certain areas of the kitchen [pg 114]
floor the planks are removable, the edges of special planks being
notched to admit the finger, so that they can be lifted up one by one;
and beneath them a large space is revealed, in which wood and
charcoal are kept. In the vestibule, which has an earth floor, is a
narrow area of wood flush with the floor within, and in this also the
boards may be lifted up in a similar way, disclosing a space below,
wherein the wooden clogs and umbrellas may be stowed out of sight.
These arrangements in the hall are seen in the houses of the
moderately well-to-do people, but not, so far as I know, in the
houses of the wealthy.

[pg 113]
Fig. 97.—Plan of dwelling-house in Tokio. P, Parlor or Guest-room; S,
Sitting-room; D, Dining-room; L, Library, St, Study, SR Servants'
Room; B, Bed-room, K, Kitchen, H, Hall; V Vestibule; C, Closet; T
Tokonoma; Sh, Shrine, U and L, Privy.

In this house the dining-room and library are six-mat rooms, the
parlor is an eight-mat room, and the sitting-room a four and one-half
mat room; that is, the floor of each room accommodates the number
of mats mentioned. The last three named rooms are bordered by the
verandah.

The expense of this house complete was about one thousand dollars.
The land upon which it stood contained about 10,800 square feet,
and was valued at three hundred and thirty dollars. Upon this the
Government demanded a tax of five dollars. The house furnished
with these mats, requires little else with which to begin house-
keeping.
A comfortable house, fit for the habitation of a family of four or five,
may be built for a far less sum of money, and the fewness and
cheapness of the articles necessary to furnish it surpass belief. In
mentioning such a modest house and furnishing, the reader must not
imagine that the family are constrained for want of room, or stinted
in the necessary furniture; on the contrary, they are enabled to live in
the most comfortable manner. Their wants are few, and their tastes
are simple and refined. They live without the slightest ostentation; no
false display leads them into criminal debt. The monstrous bills for
carpets, curtains, furniture, silver, dishes, etc., often entailed upon
young house-keepers at home in any attempt at [pg 115] house-
keeping,—the premonition even of such bills often preventing
marriage,—are social miseries that the Japanese happily know but
little about.

Simple as the house just given appears to be, there is quite as much
variety in the arrangement of their rooms as with us. There are cheap
types of houses in Japan, as in our country, where room follows room
in a certain sequence; but the slightest attention to these matters will
not only show great variety in their plans, but equally great variety in
the ornamental finishing of their apartments.

The plan shown in fig. 98 is that of the house represented in figs. 36

and 37. The details are figured as in the previous plan. This house
has on the ground-floor seven rooms besides the kitchen, hall, and
bath-room. The kitchen and bath-room are indicated, as in the
former plan, by their floors being ruled in wide parallel lines,—the
lines running obliquely, as in the former case, indicating the bath-
room or wash-rooms.

The owner of this house has often welcomed me to its soft mats and
quiet atmosphere, and in the enjoyment of them I have often
wondered as to the impressions one would get if he could be
suddenly transferred from his own home to this unpretentious house,
with its quaint and pleasant surroundings. The general nakedness, or
rather emptiness, of the apartments would be the first thing noticed;
then gradually the perfect harmony of the tinted walls with the wood
finish would be observed. The orderly adjusted screens, with their
curious free-hand ink-drawings, or conventional designs on the paper
of so subdued and intangible a character that special attention must
be directed to them to perceive their nature; the clean and
comfortable mats everywhere smoothly covering the floor; the
natural woods composing the ceiling and the structural finishing of
the room everywhere apparent; the customary recesses with their
cupboard and shelves, and the room-wide lintel with its elaborate
lattice or carving [pg 116] above,—all these would leave lasting
impressions of the exquisite taste and true refinement of the
Japanese.

I noticed that a peculiarly agreeable odor of the wood used in the

structure of this house seemed to fill the air of the rooms with a a
delicate perfume;12 and [pg 117] in this connection I was led to think
of the rooms I had seen in America encumbered with chairs, bureaus,
tables, bedsteads, wash-stands, etc., and of the dusty carpets and
suffocating wall-paper, hot with some frantic design, and perforated
with a pair of quadrangular openings, wholly or partially closed
against light and air. Recalling this labyrinth of varnished furniture, I
could but remember how much work is entailed upon some one
properly to attend to such a room; and enjoying by contrast the fresh
air and broad flood of light, limited only by the dimensions of the
room, which this Japanese house afforded, I could not recall with any
pleasure the stifling apartments with which I had been familiar at
home.
 Fig. 98.—Plan of dwelling-house in Tokio. P, Parlor or Guest-room; B,
Bed-room, K, Kitchen, SR Servants' Room; BR, Bath Room, E, E, Side-
entrances, V Vestibule; H, Hall; WR, Waiting-room; C, Closet; T
Tokonoma; U and L, Privy.

If a foreigner is not satisfied with the severe simplicity, and what

might at first strike him as a meagreness, in the appointments of a
Japanese house, and is nevertheless a man of taste, he is compelled
to admit that its paucity of furniture and carpets spares one the
misery of certain painful feelings that incongruities always produce.
He recalls with satisfaction certain works on household art, in which it
is maintained that a table with carved cherubs beneath, against
whose absurd contours one knocks his legs, is an abomination; and
that carpets which have depicted upon them winged angels, lions, or
tigers,—or, worse still, a simpering and reddened maiden being made
love to by an equally ruddy shepherd,—are hardly the proper
surfaces to tread upon with comfort, though one may take a certain
grim delight in wiping his soiled boots upon them. In the Japanese
house the traveller is at least not exasperated with such a medley of
dreadful things; he is certainly spared the pains that “civilized” styles
of appointing and furnishing often produce. Mr. Lowell truthfully
remarks on “the waste, and aimlessness of our American luxury,
which is an abject enslavement to tawdry upholstery.”

We are digressing, however. In the plan referred to, an idea of the

size of the rooms may be formed by observing the [pg 118] number
of mats in each room, and recalling the size of the mats, which is
about three feet by six. It will be seen that the rooms are small,
much smaller than those of a similar class of American houses,
though appearing more roomy from the absence of furniture. The
three rooms bordering the verandah and facing the garden are
readily thrown into one, and thus a continuous apartment is secured,
measuring thirty-six feet in length by twelve in width; and this is
uninterrupted, with the exception of one small partition.13

In the manner of building, one recognizes the propriety of

constructive art as being in better taste; and in a Japanese house one
sees this principle carried out to perfection. The ceiling of boards, the
corner posts and middle posts and transverse ties are in plain sight.
The corner posts which support the roof play their part as a
decorative feature, as they pass stoutly upward from the ground
beneath. A fringe of rafters rib the lower surface of the wide
overhanging eaves, and these in turn rest firmly on an unhewn beam
which runs as a girder from one side of the verandah to the other.
The house is simply charming in all its appointments, and as a
summer-house during the many long hot months it is incomparable.
In the raw and rainy days of winter, however, it is not so pleasant, at
least to a foreigner,—though I question whether to a Japanese it is
more unpleasant than the ordinary houses at home are with us, with
some of the apartments hot and stifling, and things cracking with the
furnace heat, while other parts are splitting with the cold; with gas
from the furnace, and chimneys that often refuse to draw, and an
impalpable though tangible soot and coal-dust settling on every
object, and many other [pg 119] abominations that are too well
known. The Japanese do not suffer from the cold as we do.
Moreover, when in the house they clothe themselves much more
warmly; and for what little artificial warmth they desire, small
receptacles containing charcoal are provided, over which they warm
themselves, at the same time keeping their feet warm, as a hen does
her eggs, by sitting on them. Their indifference to cold is seen in the
fact that in their winter-parties the rooms will often be entirely open
to the garden, which may be glistening with a fresh snowfall. Their
winters are of course much milder than our Northern winters. At such
seasons, however, an American misses in Japan the cheerful open
fireplace around which the family in his own country is wont to
gather; indeed, with the social character of our family life a Japanese
house to us would be in winter comfortless to the last degree.

The differences between the houses of the nobles and the samurai
are quite as great as the differences between these latter houses and
the rude shelters of the peasant class. The differences between the
interior finish of the houses of the first two mentioned classes are
perhaps not so marked, as in both cases clean wood-work, simplicity
of style, and purity of finish are aimed at; but the house of the noble
is marked by a grander entrance, a far greater extent of rooms and
passages, and a modification in the arrangement of certain rooms
and passages not seen in the ordinary house.

The accompanying plan of a Daimio's house (fig. 99)14 is from a

drawing made by Mr. Miyasaki, a student in the Kaikoshia, a private
school of architecture in Tokio, and exhibited with other plans at the
late International Health and Education Exhibition held in London.
Through the kindness of Mr. S. Tejima the Japanese commissioner, I
have been enabled to examine and study these plans.
 Fig. 99.—Plan of a portion of a Daimyo's residence.

The punctilious way in which guests or official callers were received

by the Daimio is indicated by a curious modification [pg 120] of the
floor of one of a suite of rooms, which is raised a few inches above
the level of the other floors, forming a sort of dais. These rooms are
bordered by a sort of passage-way, or intermediate portion, called
the iri-kawa, which comes between the room and the verandah. To
be more explicit: within the boundary of the principal guest-room
there appears to be a suite of smaller rooms marked off by shōji; one
of these rooms called the ge-dan has its floor on a level with the
other floors of the house. The other room, called the jō-dan, has its
floor raised to a height of three or four inches above that of the ge-
dan, its boundary or border being marked by a polished plank
forming a frame, so to speak, for the mats. On that side of the jō-dan
away from the ge-dan are the tokonoma and chigai-dana. On
entering such a room from the verandah one passes through the
usual shōji, and then across a matted area called the iri-kawa, the
width of one mat or more; here he comes to another line of sliding
screens, which open into the apartments just described. When the
Daimio receives the calls from those who come to congratulate him
on New Year's day, and other important occasions, he sits in great
dignity in the jō-dan; his chief minister and other attendants occupy
the iri-kawa, while the visitors enter the ge-dan, and there make their
obeisance to the Worshipful Daimio Sama. In the same plan there is
another suite of rooms called the kami-noma and tsugi-noma
surrounded by iri-kawa, probably used for similar purposes.

In this plan the close parallel lines indicate the verandahs; the thick
lines, permanent partitions; and the small black squares, the upright
posts. The lines of shōji and fusuma are shown by the thin lines,
which with the thick lines represent the boundaries of the rooms,
passage-ways, etc.

A more minute description of the mats may be given at this point. A

brief allusion has already been made to them in the [pg 121] remarks
on house-construction. These mats, or tatami, are made very
carefully of straw, matted and bound together with stout [pg 122]
string to the thickness of two inches or more,—the upper surface
being covered with a straw-matting precisely like the Canton matting
we are familiar with, though in the better class of mats of a little finer
quality. The edges are trimmed true and square, and the two longer
sides are bordered on the upper surface and edge with a strip of
black linen an inch or more in width (fig. 100).

The making of mats is quite a separate trade from that of making the
straw-matting with which they are covered. The mat-maker may
often be seen at work in front of his door, crouching down to a low
frame upon which the mat rests.
 Fig. 100.—Mat.

As we have before remarked, the architect invariably plans his rooms

to accommodate a certain number of mats; and since these mats
have a definite size, any indication on the plan of the number of mats
a room is to contain gives at once its dimensions also. The mats are
laid in the following numbers,—two, three, four and one-half, six,
eight, ten, twelve, fourteen, sixteen, and so on. In the two-mat room
the mats are laid side by side. In the three-mat room the mats may
be laid side by side, or two mats in one way and the third mat
crosswise at the end. In the four and one-half mat room the mats are
laid with the half-mat in one corner. The six and eight mat rooms are
the most common-sized rooms; and this gives some [pg 123]
indication of the small size of the ordinary Japanese room and house,
—the six-mat room being about nine feet by twelve; the eight-mat
room being twelve by twelve; and the ten-mat room being twelve by
fifteen. The accompanying sketch (fig. 101) shows the usual
arrangements for these mats.
 Fig. 101.—Arrangement of mats in different-sized rooms.

In adjusting mats to the floor, the corners of four mats are never
allowed to come together, but are arranged so that the corners of
two mats abut against the side of a third. They are supposed to be
arranged in the direction of a closely-wound spiral (see dotted line in
fig. 101). The edges of the longer sides of the ordinary mats are
bound with a narrow strip of black linen, as before remarked. In the
houses of the nobles this border strip has figures worked into it in
black and white, as may be seen by reference to Japanese illustrated
books showing interiors. These mats fit tightly, and the floor upon
which they rest, never being in sight, is generally made of rough
boards with open joints. The mat, as you step upon it, yields slightly
to the pressure of the foot; and old mats get to be slightly uneven
and somewhat hard from continual use. From the nature of this soft-
matted floor shoes are never worn upon it,—the Japanese invariably
leaving their wooden clogs outside the house, either on the stepping-
stones or on the earth-floor at the entrance. The wearing of one's
shoes in the house is one of the many coarse and rude ways in which
a foreigner is likely to offend these people. The hard heels of a boot
or [pg 124] shoe not only leave deep indentations in the upper
matting, but oftentimes break through. Happily, however, the act of
removing one's shoes on entering the house is one of the very few
customs that foreigners recognize,—the necessity of compliance
being too obvious to dispute. In spring-time, or during a rain of long
duration, the mats become damp and musty; and when a day of
sunshine comes they are taken up and stacked, like cards, in front of
the house to dry. They are also removed at times and well beaten.
Their very nature affords abundant hiding-places for fleas, which are
the unmitigated misery of foreigners who travel in Japan; though
even this annoyance is generally absent in private houses of the
better classes, as is the case with similar pests in our country.

Upon these mats the people eat, sleep, and die; they represent the
bed, chair, lounge, and sometimes table, combined. In resting upon
them the Japanese assume a kneeling position,—the legs turned
beneath, and the haunches resting upon the calves of the legs and
the inner sides of the heels; the toes turned in so that the upper and
outer part of the instep bears directly on the mats. Fig. 102
represents a woman in the attitude of sitting. In old people one often
notices a callosity on that part of the foot which comes in contact
with the mat, and but for a knowledge of the customs of the people
in this matter might well wonder how such a hardening of the flesh
could occur in such an odd place. This position is so painful to a
foreigner that it is only with a great deal of practice he can become
accustomed to it. Even the Japanese who have been abroad for
several years find it [pg 125] excessively difficult and painful to
resume this habit. In this attitude the Japanese receive their
company. Hand-shaking is unknown, but bows of various degrees of
profundity are made by placing the hands together upon the mats
and bowing until the head oftentimes touches the hands. In this
ceremony the back is kept parallel with the floor, or nearly so.
 Fig. 102.—Attitude of woman in sitting.

At meal-times the food is served in lacquer and porcelain dishes on

lacquer trays, placed upon the floor in front of the kneeling family;
and in this position the repast is taken.

At night a heavily wadded comforter is placed upon the floor; another

equally thick is provided for a blanket, a pillow of diminutive
proportions for a head-support,—and the bed is made. In the
morning these articles are stowed away in a large closet. Further
reference will be made to bedding in the proper place.

A good quality of mats can be made for one dollar and a half a-piece;
though they sometimes cost three or four dollars, and even a higher
price. The poorest mats cost from sixty to eighty cents a-piece. The
matting for the entire house represented in plan fig. 97 cost fifty-two
dollars and fifty cents.

Reference has already been made to the sliding screens, and as they
form so important and distinct a feature in the Japanese house, a
more special description of them is necessary. In our American
houses a lintel is the horizontal beam placed over the door; this is
cased with wood, and has a jamb or recess corresponding to the
vertical recesses into which the door shuts. For the sake of clearness,
we may imagine a lintel running entirely across the room from one
corner to the other, and this is the kamoi of the Japanese room. The
beam is not cased. On its under surface run two deep and closely
parallel grooves, and directly beneath this kamoi on the floor a
surface of wood shows in which are two exceedingly shallow grooves.
This surface is level with the mats; and in these grooves the screens
run. The grooves in [pg 126] the kamoi are made deep, in order that
the screens may be lifted out of the floor-grooves and then dropped
from the upper ones, and thus removed. In this way a suite of rooms
can be quickly turned into one, by the removal of the screens. The
grooves are sufficiently wide apart to permit the screens being
pushed by each other. From the adjustable nature of these sliding
partitions one may have the opening between the rooms of any width
he desires.

Fig. 103.—Section through verandah and guest-room.

There are two forms of these sliding screens,—the one kind, called
fusuma, forming the partitions between rooms; the other kind, called
shōji, coming on the outer sides of the rooms next to the verandah,
and forming the substitutes for windows (fig. 103).

The fusuma forming the movable partitions between the rooms are
covered on both sides with thick paper; and as it was [pg 127]
customary in past times to use Chinese paper for this purpose, these
devices are also called kara-kami,—“China-paper.” The frame is not
unlike the frame used for the outside screens, consisting of thin
vertical and horizontal strips of wood forming a grating, with the
meshes four or five inches in width, and two inches in height. The
outside frame or border is usually left plain, as is the case with most
of their wood-work. It is not uncommon, however, to see these
frames lacquered. The material used for covering them consists of a
stout, thick, and durable paper; and this is often richly decorated.
Sometimes a continuous scene will stretch like a panorama across the
whole side of a room. The old castles contain some celebrated
paintings on these fusuma, by famous artists. The use of heavy gold-
leaf in combination with the paintings produces a decorative effect
rich beyond description. In the commoner houses the fusuma are
often undecorated save by the paper which covers them; and the
material for this purpose is infinite in its variety,—some kinds being
curiously wrinkled, other kinds seeming to have interwoven in their
texture the delicate green threads of some sea-weed; while other
kinds still will have the rich brown sheaths of bamboo shoots worked
into the paper, producing a quaint and pleasing effect. Often the
paper is perfectly plain; and if by chance an artist friend comes to the
house, he is asked to leave some little sketch upon these surfaces as
a memento of his visit: others perhaps may have already covered
portions of the surface with some landscape or spray of flowers. In
old inns one has often pointed out to him the work of some famous
artist, who probably paid his score in this way.

While the fusuma are almost invariably covered with thick and
opaque paper, it occurs sometimes that light is required in a back-
room; in that case, while the upper and lower third of the fusuma
retains its usual character, the central third has a shōji inserted,—that
is, a slight frame-work covered with white paper, through which light
enters as in the outside screens. This frame [pg 128] is removable,
so that it can be re-covered with paper when required. This frame-
work is often made in ornamental patterns, geometrical or natural
designs being common. In summer another kind of frame may be
substituted in the fusuma, termed a yoshi-do, in which a kind of rush
called yoshi takes the place of paper; the yoshi is arranged in a close
grating through which the air has free access and a little light may
enter. The fusuma may be entirely composed of yoshi and the
appropriate frame-work to hold it. One of this kind is represented in
fig. 104. The lower portion consists of a panel of dark cedar, in which
are cut or perforated the figures of bats; above this panel are
transverse bars of light cedar, and filling up the border of the frame is
a close grating of brown reeds or rushes placed vertically; at the top
is a wide interspace crossed by a single root of bamboo. The yoshi
resembles miniature bamboo, the rods being the size of an ordinary
wheat-straw, and having a warm brown tint. This is employed in
many ways in the decoration of interiors, and the use of so fragile
and delicate a material in house-finish is one of the many indications
of the quiet and gentle manners of the Japanese.

Fig. 104.—Reed-screen.
Oftentimes a narrow permanent partition occurs in which is an
opening,—the width of one fusuma,— which takes the place of our
swinging and slamming door. In this case the [pg 129] fusuma is a
more solid and durable structure. The one shown in fig. 105 is of the
nature of a door, since it guards the opening which leads from the
hall to the other apartments of the house. A rich and varied effect is
produced by the use and arrangement of light and dark bamboo and
heavily-grained wood, the central panels being of dark cedar. In the
vestibule one often sees sliding screens consisting of a single panel of
richly-grained cedar.

Fig. 105.—Sliding panel.

Conveniences for pushing back the fusuma are secured in a variety of

ways; the usual form consists of an oval or circular plate of thin
metal, having a depressed area, inserted in the fusuma in about the
same position a doorknob would be with us. These are called hikite,
and often present beautiful examples of metal-work, being
elaborately carved and sometimes enamelled. The same caprices and
delights in ornamentation seen elsewhere in their work find full play
in the designs of the hikite. Fig. 106 shows one from the house of a
noble; its design represents an inkstone and two brushes,—the
brushes being silvered and tipped with lacquer, while in the recessed
portion is engraved a dragon. Fig. 107 represents one made of
copper, in which the leaves and berries are enamelled; the leaves
green, and the berries red and white. Figs. 108 and 109 show more
pretentious as well as cheaper forms, the designs being stamped and
not cut by hand. Sometimes hikite are made of porcelain. In the
cheaper forms of fusuma, the hikite consists [pg 130] of a depressed
area in the paper formed by a modification of the frame itself. In
illustrations of fine interiors one often notices a form of hikite from
which hang two short cords of silk tied in certain formal ways, on the
ends of which are tassels. From the almost universal presence of
these in old illustrated books, one is led to believe that formerly the
cord was the usual handle by which the fusuma was pulled back and
forth, and that these gradually fell into disuse, the recessed plate of
metal alone remaining. This form of hikite is rarely seen to-day,
though a few of the old Daimios' houses still possess it. Fig. 110
represents two forms copied from a book entitled “Tategu Hinagata.”

Fig. 106.—Hikite.
Fig. 107.—Hikite.

Fig. 108.—Hikite.

Fig. 109.—Hikite.
 Fig. 110.—Hikite with cord.

The outside screens, or shōji, which take the place of our windows,
are those screens which border the verandah, or come on that side of
the room towards the exterior wall of the house. These consist of a
light frame-work made of thin bars of wood crossing and matched
into each other, leaving small rectangular interspaces. The lower
portion of the shōji, to the height of a foot from the floor, is usually a
wood-panel, as a protection against careless feet as well as to
strengthen the frame. The shōji are covered on the outside with
white paper. The only light the room receives when the [pg 131] shōji
are closed comes through this paper, and the room is flooded with a
soft diffused light which is very agreeable. The hikite for pushing the
shōji back is arranged by one of the rectangular spaces being
papered on the opposite side, thus leaving a convenient recess for
the fingers.

Sometimes little holes or rents are accidentally made in this paper-

covering of the shōji; and in the mending of these places the
Japanese, ever true in their artistic feeling, repair the damage, not by
square bits of paper as we should probably, but by cutting out pretty
designs of cherry or plum blossoms and patching the rents with
these. When observing this artistic device I have often wondered how
the broken panes of some of our country houses must look to a
Japanese,—the repairs being effected by the use of dirty bags stuffed
with straw, or more commonly by battered hats jammed into the