A roofed and a pair gate
Gates, too, vary in size and form. The most modest are no more than low wicker-gates which can be jumped over and offer no bar to intrusion. Others are of the same make, but stand higher so that the interior can be seen only through cracks. But the most common consist of two square posts with hinged doors which meet in the middle and are kept shut by a cross-bar passing through clamps on them. These gates may be of the cheapest kind of wood, such as cryptomeria, or may be massive and of hard wood. Another common kind has a roof over it with a single door which is hinged on one post and fastened on to the other and provided with a small sliding-door for daily use. The larger pair gates have also small side-doors for use at night when they are themselves shut.
A House without a gate
In Japan there was neither an architect nor a builder as a distinct calling. Even now, ordinary dwelling-houses are not built by either of them; it is the carpenter who has charge of their construction. The carpenter’s is a dignified craft; he is called in Japanese the “great artificer,” and stands at the head of all artisans. In the building of a house, a master carpenter is called in; he prepares the plans, and if they are approved, he sets to work with his apprentices and journeymen.
A six-matted room and verandah
A Japanese room is measured, not by feet and inches, but by the number of mats it contains. A mat consists of a straw mattress, about an inch and a half thick, with a covering of fine matting which is sewn on at the edges of the mattress either by itself or with a border, usually dark-blue and an inch wide, of coarse hempen cloth. It is six feet long by three wide; this measure is not always exact, but may vary by an inch or more in either direction. When a house is newly built, the mat-maker comes to make mats to fit the rooms in it. But in spite of the variation, the size of a room is always given in the number of mats it holds, so that we never know the exact dimensions of a room. The smallest room has two mats, that is, is about six feet square; the next smallest is three-matted, or three yards by two. Four-matted rooms are sometimes to be found; but such rooms are unshapely, being four yards long by two wide. A room with four and a half mats is three yards square and has the half mat, which is a yard square, in the centre. The next size is six-matted, or four yards by three and is followed by the eight-matted, or four yards square.
The Porch - Open and Latticed
The smallest houses are those in the slums which have only three yards’ frontage and a depth of four yards. The entrance, the space for kitchen utensils and the sink, and perhaps a closet or cupboard would leave room for little more than three mats, on which the whole family live; but as children spend all their playtime outside and come in only for meals, it is at night that the house is crowded, and even then as they sleep higgledy-piggledy, a couple or so of children do not inconvenience their parents to any appreciable extent. A two-roomed house is common enough and is not confined to the slums. A childless old couple, when the wife has to do the household work, find such a house large enough for them. Artisans also live in them. Three-roomed houses, too, are very common. Houses built in blocks are oftenest of this size. They are made up of the porch, the sitting-room, and the parlour or drawing-room. These three rooms are the essential portions of a house; and larger houses merely add to them. A visitor calls at the porch, the paper sliding-door is opened, he is invited to come in, he leaves his hat and greatcoat in the porch, and enters the parlour.
An eight-matted parlour
The parlour, the principal room of the house, is always kept tidy. It has an alcove, six feet long by three deep, consisting of a dais, a few inches high, of plain hard wood, which will bear polishing, though a thin matting is sometimes put over it. Not unfrequently, another piece of wood, generally square, forms the outer edge so that the thickness of the floor of the alcove can be concealed. The dais has a special ceiling of its own, or a bit of a wall, of plaster or wood, coming down over it a foot or more from the ceiling. On the dais is set a vase of porcelain or metal, bottle-shaped or flat, in which branches of a tree or shrubs in flower are put in, and on the wall is hung a kakemono, or scroll of picture or writing. These two constitute the main ornament of the room. New flowers are put in every few days and the kakemono is changed from time to time. This is the peculiarity of the kakemono as a piece of house decoration. We do not exhibit all our treasures in kakemono at the same time, but hang them one, two, or three at a time according to the size of the alcove and the kakemono themselves, so that the visitor calling at different seasons may delight his eyes with the sight of fresh pictures or writings each time he calls.
A Sitting-room
The sitting-room has little furniture. An indispensable article in it is the brazier, usually oblong, with a set of three small drawers one under another at the side and two others side by side under the copper tray filled with ashes, on which charcoal is burnt inside an iron or clay trivet. On this trivet is set a kettle of iron or copper. The iron kettle is made of thick cast-iron and kept on the trivet so as always to have hot water ready for tea-making: and the copper kettle is used when we wish to boil water quickly. Beside the brazier is a small shelf or cabinet for tea-things. Behind the brazier is a cushion where the wife sits; this is her usual post. There is also a cushion on the other side or the brazier, where the husband or other members of the house may sit.
Orientation of a house to the sun
In the first place, you see three broad, concentric circles, on the outside of which the rising and setting sun is depicted for both midsummer and midwinter day. The figures, 30°–50°, alongside of the sun represent degrees of north latitude, wherever you may happen to live, which, with the exception of most of Florida and southern Texas, cover the United States. The short arrows show the direction of the sun’s rays at sunrise and sunset. The inner circle represents your horizon, and the degrees marked upon it show the points of sunrise and sunset, north or south of the direct east and west line. These angular distances, in terms of degrees, are called amplitudes, north or south, and must not be confused with the degrees of latitude on the earth’s surface, indicated by the numbers along side of the sun, though intimately dependent upon them. The amplitude of the horizon point, where the sun rises and sets from time to time during the year, always depends upon the latitude on the earth’s surface where you happen to live, as may be seen by following with your eye the direction of the arrows of latitude through the amplitude circle. Starting from the number indicating the latitude where you live, trace the arrow until it touches the amplitude circle. You can then read the degree on it which shows how far north or south of the east and west line the sun rises or sets. We are indebted to Professor Philip Fox, of the Dearborn Astronomical Observatory at Evanston, Illinois, for determining these points. The two outer circles are sun-dials for midsummer and midwinter day at the 40th degree of north latitude; and, if you imagined them pivoted on their rising and setting points and tipped up from the south to represent the slanting path of the sun during the day, they show the direction from which the sun is shining during successive hours of the day (or night on the other side of the world). The shaded portions of these circles represent night, which for all northern latitudes is short in summer and long in winter, as the day is short in winter and long in summer. If you examine the hour spaces on the winter dial of your winter night, you will find them exactly like those on the summer dial of your summer day. So also your winter day hours are spaced like your summer night hours. South of the equator, people have precisely the same experiences only in the reverse order. New Zealanders, we fancy, wear straw hats in January and fur caps in July. If you liked summer well enough and cared to move, you could live in a perpetual summer on our little globe. It is probable, however, that, like most people, you rather prefer the change of seasons, in spite of occasional extremes.