Russian Views of Japan, 1792-1913: An Anthology of Travel Writing (Routledgecurzon Studies in the Modern History of Asia)

Russian Views of Japan, 1792–1913

Before Japan was ‘opened up’ in the 1850s, contact with Russia as with other western maritime nations, was extremely limited. Yet from the early eighteenth century onwards, as a result of their expanding commercial interests in East Asia and the North Pacific, Russians had begun to encounter Japanese and were increasingly eager to establish diplomatic and trading relations with Japan. This book presents rare narratives written by Russians – explorers, official envoys, scholars and, later, tourists – who visited Japan between 1792 and 1913. The introduction and notes set these narratives in the context of the history of Russo-Japanese relations and the genre of European travel writing, showing how the Russian writers combined ethnographic interests with the assertion of Russian and European values, simultaneously inscribing power relations and negotiating cultural difference. Students of Japanese history, nineteenth-century Russia, literature and cultural studies will find this book provides an invaluable insight into the contact between two civilisations at a time when they were particularly ignorant of each other. David N. Wells is a senior librarian at Curtin University Library in Perth, Western Australia. He has published widely on Russian literature, including two books on the poetry of Anna Akhmatova. He is joint editor (with Sandra Wilson) of The Russo-Japanese War in Cultural Perspective, 1904–5.

RoutledgeCurzon Studies in the Modern History of Asia

1 The Police in Occupation Japan Control, corruption and resistance to reform Christopher Aldous 2 Chinese Workers A new history Jackie Sheehan 3 The Aftermath of Partition in South Asia Tai Yong Tan and Gyanesh Kudaisya 4 The Australia–Japan Political Alignment 1952 to the present Alan Rix 5 Japan and Singapore in the World Economy Japan’s economic advance into Singapore, 1870–1965 Shimizu Hiroshi and Hirakawa Hitoshi 6 The Triads as Business Yiu Kong Chu 7 Contemporary Taiwanese Cultural Nationalism A-chin Hsiau 8 Religion and Nationalism in India The case of the Punjab Harnik Deol 9 Japanese Industrialisation Historical and cultural perspectives Ian Inkster 10 War and Nationalism in China 1925–1945 Hans J. van de Ven

11 Hong Kong in Transition One country, two systems Edited by Robert Ash, Peter Ferdinand, Brian Hook and Robin Porter 12 Japan’s Postwar Economic Recovery and Anglo-Japanese Relations, 1948–1962 Noriko Yokoi 13 Japanese Army Stragglers and Memories of the War in Japan, 1950–1975 Beatrice Trefalt 14 Ending the Vietnam War The Vietnamese communists’ perspective Ang Cheng Guan 15 The Development of the Japanese Nursing Profession Adopting and adapting Western influences Aya Takahashi 16 Women’s Suffrage in Asia Gender nationalism and democracy Louise Edwards and Mina Roces 17 The Anglo-Japanese Alliance, 1902–1922 Phillips Payson O’Brien 18 The United States and Cambodia, 1870–1969 From curiosity to confrontation Kenton Clymer 19 Capitalist Restructuring and the Pacific Rim Ravi Arvind Palat 20 The United States and Cambodia, 1969–2000 A troubled relationship Kenton Clymer 21 British Business in Post-Colonial Malaysia, 1957–70 ‘Neo-colonialism’ or ‘disengagement’? Nicholas J. White 22 The Rise and Decline of Thai Absolutism Kullada Kesboonchoo Mead 23 Russian Views of Japan, 1792–1913 An anthology of travel writing David N. Wells

Russian Views of Japan, 1792–1913 An anthology of travel writing

Edited and translated by David N. Wells

First published 2004 by RoutledgeCurzon 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxfordshire OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by RoutledgeCurzon 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2004. RoutledgeCurzon is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group Selection and editorial matter © 2004 David N. Wells Translation of chapters 1, 4–10 and 12 © 2004 David N. Wells All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record has been requested ISBN 0-203-64426-3 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-67509-6 (Adobe eReader Format) ISBN 0–415–29730–3 (Print Edition)

Contents

List of illustrations Note on calendars, names and measures Preface Acknowledgements Introduction: Japan through Russian eyes – history and context

ix xi xiii xv 1

1 Adam Laxman: Journal of Laxman’s embassy to Japan (Ezo, 1792–3)

32

2 Ivan Krusenstern: Voyage round the world (Nagasaki, 1804–5)

60

3 Vasilii Golovnin: Narrative of my captivity in Japan (Ezo, 1811)

81

4 Ivan Goncharov: The frigate Pallada (Nagasaki, 1853)

103

5 A. Kornilov: News from Japan (Edo, 1859)

118

6 Sergei Maksimov: In the East (Hakodate, late 1850s)

125

7 Ivan Zarubin: Around Asia (Nagasaki, 1880)

148

8 A. Cherevkova: On the Japanese railways (Nagoya, 1890)

162

9 Andrei Krasnov: Around the islands of the Far East (Nagasaki, 1892)

170

10 Nikolai Garin-Mikhailovskii: Around Korea, Manchuria and the Liaodong Peninsula (Nagasaki, Yokohama, 1898)

176

11 Vladimir Semenov: The price of blood (Kyoto, 1905)

187

12 E. Kobiakova: My first day in Japan (Gifu, 1913)

204

Index

210

Illustrations

I.1 1.1 1.2 2.1 4.1 5.1 6.1 7.1 9.1 10.1 12.1

The Kurile archipelago, according to Golovnin Ainu houses Japanese norimon The Rezanov embassy Officer on urgent duty Yeddo from the avenue A Japanese salutation A rickshaw Nagasaki harbour Fujisan How mothers dispose of their infants

4 35 55 65 105 121 134 151 172 181 205

Notes on calendars, names and measures

Calendars Dates are given according to the Julian calendar used by the Russians before 1917, unless otherwise indicated. This was eleven days behind the Gregorian (new style) calendar used elsewhere in Europe in the eighteenth century, twelve days behind in the nineteenth century and thirteen days behind in the twentieth century. The Gregorian calendar was adopted in Japan on 1 January 1873 (new style). Prior to this date the Japanese used a lunar calendar of twelve months, with a thirteenth month intercalated in some years. Consequently, Japanese dates may differ from the Gregorian calendar by up to fifty days.

Names Japanese names are normally given in traditional order with the surname first. Russian names are normally transliterated using the Library of Congress system, except names of foreign origin, which are given in their original form. Note that the spelling of both personal and geographic names in the narratives is often erratic. No attempt has been made to correct evident errors, but standard forms have been included in square brackets when this has seemed useful and it has been possible to establish them.

Measures The following list contains Russian and Japanese traditional measures which appear in the text, together with their metric and imperial equivalents. Russian Sazhen Sazhen (nautical) Verst Pud Vedro

2.13 metres 1.83 metres 1.06 kilometres 16.38 kilogrammes approx. 12 litres

approx. 7 feet 6 feet 0.66 miles approx. 36 pounds approx. 21 pints

xii Calendars, names and measures Japanese Ri

3.93 kilometres

2.44 miles

Temperature scales Réaumur Centigrade Fahrenheit

0 0 32

... ... ...

10 12.5 50

15 18.75 59

20 25 68

25 31.25 77

30 37.5 86

... ... ...

80 100 212

Preface

Russians came to know Japan later than other Europeans and by different paths. They were not involved in the commercial and missionary activities which brought the Portuguese, the Spanish, the Dutch and the British to Japan from South-East Asia in the mid-sixteenth century. They came, rather, from the north, and their approach to Japan was distinctly shaped by this northern perspective. The first real contacts between Russians and Japanese occurred at the margins of power towards the end of the seventeenth century as Russian fur-trappers and adventurers at the eastern limit of Russian expansion across eastern Siberia to Kamchatka came into contact with Japanese castaways and the Ainu people of the Kurile Islands and of Ezo (Hokkaido). The southern Ainu at this time were coming increasingly under the influence of the Japanese expansion to the north, and were thus a significant filter for information about Japan. The first Russian embassy to Japan in 1792 approached the country not through Nagasaki, the port traditionally designated for foreign contacts, but again from the north, and even after the ‘opening’ of Japan to Westerners in the mid-nineteenth century, the major centre of Russian influence remained Hakodate on the island of Hokkaido. In the broader context of Russian economic expansion in the Far East as a whole, Japan became important as a source of convenient warm-water ports in the Pacific, where Russian fleets could spend the winter months. Russians’ attitudes towards Japan also differed from those of other Europeans and the Americans because of their different position in regard to modernisation. While Tokugawa and Meiji Japan was often seen as lagging behind the West in its social, political and industrial development, from a Russian point of view the Meiji reforms in fact offered a model which could equally well be applied to the modernisation of Russia’s own outmoded political and economic structures, which were also widely seen as inferior to those of Western Europe. This point was brought home particularly clearly by Japan’s unexpected victory in the Russo-Japanese War, but can also be seen informing the admiration for Japanese industry and efficiency found in some Russian accounts. The twelve Russian accounts of Japan which are included in this volume range chronologically from Adam Laxman’s journal of the first Russian

xiv Preface embassy to Japan in 1792–3, to E. Kobiakova’s description of an organised tour to various Japanese cities in 1913. They are intended to illustrate the major shifts in cultural perception which occurred in Russian views of Japan during the period, but the emphasis is consistently on first impressions, on the negotiation of cultural difference at the point of initial contact with Japan and the Japanese, on immediate and personal response, rather than on deeply considered academic or reflective opinion. Accordingly, the narratives themselves should be read with caution as historical sources: they are neither free of the racial or other prejudices common to the period of their composition, nor – as, for example, when retailing the myth of the massacre of Christians at Papenberg – always reliable on points of historical fact. The extracts from memoirs by Krusenstern, Golovnin and Semenov are presented in contemporary translations, in which the original orthography has been preserved. All other translations are my own. Notes provided by the original authors of the texts are printed at the foot of the page to which they refer; editorial notes appear at the end of each chapter. The picture captions, except for number eight, are taken from the original sources. David N. Wells

Acknowledgements

I should like to thank especially Alexandra Smith and Kevin Windle for linguistic advice, Jeremy Green for his assistance with nautical matters, David Wylie for his reprographic skills, Beatrice Trefalt for her help at a critical moment with one particular source, Karen Tang, and James Boyd, Katalin Ferber, Naoko Homma, Radha Krishnan, Wolfgang Michel, Takeshi Moriyama, Narrelle Morris and Nobuhiro Yamane for sharing their knowledge of particular aspects of Japanese history, botany and geography. As always my greatest debt is to Sandra Wilson for her unfailing advice, insight, encouragement and patience.

Introduction Japan through Russian eyes – history and context

The Russian discovery of Japan Ever since Marco Polo reported on the ‘measureless quantities’ of gold which were supposedly to be found in Japan,1 the country has exercised a powerful, if intermittent, fascination over European minds. It was not until the midsixteenth century, however, that Europeans gained any direct knowledge of Japan. Pursuing their commercial and missionary interests in the East Indies, first the Portuguese, then the Spanish and others, established both trading and cultural relations with the Japanese. Christianity, indeed, and most especially Catholicism under the energetic leadership of Francis Xavier, found fertile ground, so that at the height of early European influence there were as many as 500,000 Japanese Christians. However, as the Tokugawa government strove to assert its authority over regional centres in the first decades of the seventeenth century, it came to see Christian influence as a threat to its own hegemony. Accordingly, a series of anti-Christian and anti-European measures were introduced which severely curtailed Japanese contacts with the West. Gradually the European powers withdrew: the British voluntarily in 1624, the Spanish and Portuguese under duress in 1636 and 1638 respectively. The remaining Japanese Christians became the victims of persecution. After 1638 European ships approaching Japanese shores were turned back or destroyed and their crews risked execution; Japanese subjects were forbidden to travel abroad or to return when once they had left Japan. Only the Dutch, whose protestant religion was considered less dangerous than the militant Catholicism of the Iberian powers, were allowed to remain. Even so their freedom of action was greatly restricted. They were permitted to engage in trade only through the single port of Nagasaki, where they were confined to the tiny artificial island of Deshima. Annual formalised visits to the shogun’s court in Edo (Tokyo) were the only opportunity the Dutch were given to form any more detailed impression of Japan.2 As a result of the Tokugawa ‘seclusion policy’, for the next two hundred years contact between Japan and the countries of Europe was thus extremely limited. In Japan information about the outside world was confined largely to what could be learned through the Dutch and from Japan’s closest Asian

2 Introduction neighbours, the Chinese, the Koreans and the inhabitants of the Ryukyu Islands. In Europe knowledge about Japan was equally sketchy and limited to a handful of reports written by travellers in the employ of the Dutch and to encounters with small numbers of shipwrecked Japanese sailors. Nevertheless, from the eighteenth century onwards, ships of other nations did increasingly approach Japanese shores, some by accident, seeking refuge from storms in the north Pacific, some by design. In 1797, for example, an American ship was used by the Dutch to transport goods from Batavia to Deshima. In 1808, following the British occupation of the Dutch East Indies during the Napoleonic Wars, HMS Phaeton entered Nagasaki harbour in pursuit of Dutch shipping. In 1813–14 Stamford Raffles led an unsuccessful commercial expedition to Japan. In subsequent years the expanding volume of whalers and other shipping in the north Pacific led to further and more determined approaches by Western powers until, following pressure particularly by the United States in the 1850s, Japan signed a series of treaties guaranteeing foreign access to certain ports for reprovisioning and trade.3 The first Japanese to visit Russia appears to have been a Christian known as Nicolaus de St Augustino, who accompanied the Portuguese Augustinian priest Nicolaus de Melo on a journey from the Philippines at the very end of the sixteenth century. Passing through Russia on their way to Rome and charged with a secret diplomatic mission to promote Catholic interests against Constantinople, the pair were arrested in Moscow on suspicion of espionage, and confined for several years in a series of monasteries. They seem to have died in Russia some time between 1610 and 1616.4 More regular contacts between Russians and Japanese began only towards the end of the seventeenth century, as a consequence of Russian explorations in eastern Siberia and Kamchatka.5 In 1697 the explorer Vladimir Atlasov encountered a shipwrecked Japanese merchant, Denbei, who had been held captive in Kamchatka by the local inhabitants. Denbei was conveyed to Moscow, where he was interviewed by Peter the Great in early 1702 and ordered to learn Russian so that he could in due course teach Japanese to Russian students. A Japanese language school was accordingly set up in St Petersburg in 1705. Denbei was also able to provide the Russians with significant information about Japan.6 Russian knowledge of Japan slowly increased through the first decades of the eighteenth century as Russian adventurers, often with the assistance of the native inhabitants or of other shipwrecked Japanese, began to explore the Kurile Islands and to become better aware of the geography of the region. It was not until 1739, however, that Russians finally set foot on Japanese soil. Martin Spanberg and William Walton, the leaders of an offshoot of the government-sponsored Second Bering Expedition, were ordered to proceed to Japan, while Bering himself explored the route to America. Starting from Bol’sheretsk in Kamchatka, Spanberg and Walton made a trip around the Kurile Islands in the summer of 1738 and the following year set out to look for Japan. Spanberg cruised along the north-eastern coast of Honshu, receiving

Introduction

3

Japanese visitors on board at several points, but not himself sending anyone ashore. He then sailed north to explore the southern Kurile Islands and the coast of Ezo (Hokkaido), before returning to Kamchatka. Meanwhile, Walton, who had become separated from his commander during bad weather, arrived at the Japanese coast further south and sent men on shore to obtain fresh water. The party was received politely on land by the Japanese and the Russians returned their hospitality on board ship. As he was surrounded by numerous small vessels, Walton cautiously withdrew before nightfall, and continued south, obtaining water at one further point and briefly landing again at another before returning home. Unfortunately, because of inconsistencies in Spanberg’s and Walton’s reports, the inaccuracy of the navigational methods available at the time and rivalries among the senior members of Bering’s expedition, it was not officially recognised until several years later that it was in fact Japan that they had visited.7 Though Spanberg made a second, unsuccessful attempt to reach Japan in 1742, Russian activity in the region for the next fifty years was largely confined to the Kurile Islands. Private traders in search of valuable furs gradually became familiar with all the islands down to Ezo, where the Japanese were also trying to extend their economic and political control over the local Ainu. While the Russian adventurers sometimes came into open conflict with the Kurile Ainu, whom they tried to exploit for their own benefit, they had only tangential relations with the Japanese, whose own commercial involvement was concentrated in the south.8 In 1771 Japan proper was briefly visited by a group of political exiles from Kamchatka in a stolen Russian ship under the leadership of the flamboyant Hungarian adventurer Count Mauritius Benyovszky. In his extraordinary improvised flight from the Russian authorities, Benyovszky succeeded in reaching Japan at a considerably more southerly point than any previous Russian expedition. Proceeding south from Simusir (Shimushiru), the sixteenth Kurile island, Benyovszky reached land on the Japanese island of Shikoku in the province of Awa (now Tokushima Prefecture), where the Russians and Japanese exchanged hospitality. A few days later, Benyovszky continued his journey, calling briefly at Tanegashima off the southern coast of Kyushu and for rather longer at Amami Oshima in the Ryukyu Islands, both of which were then under control of the Japanese lord of Satsuma. The renegades eventually reached Macao some four months after their departure from Kamchatka. While relations between Benyovszky and the Japanese remained amiable, the ever-scheming Benyovszky appears to have sought to bolster his own position by leading the Japanese to believe that the Russians were planning a military assault on Ezo. The suspicions thus aroused among the Japanese, though unfounded, led them to act rather more circumspectly with subsequent Russian visitors than might otherwise have been the case.9 In 1775 a concerted effort to establish commercial relations with Japan was initiated by the commander of Kamchatka, Matvei Bem. An expedition under Ivan Antipin was sent to establish a base for further operations on Urup

4 Introduction (Uruppu), and from there in 1778 the Irkutsk merchant Dmitrii Shabalin crossed over to Iturup (Etorofu) and Kunashir (Kunashiri), finally arriving at the settlement of Notkome (Nokkamapu) to the east of Nemuro in Ezo. Here the Russians entered into negotiations with a Japanese official from Matsumae, who stated that he had no authority to decide on matters of trade but would bring an answer on the matter to Iturup the following year. When the Russians eventually received a reply to their proposals from the lord of Matsumae, they were told that they were not to be allowed to trade, and that they should not return to Ezo, or indeed to Iturup or Kunashir. The Russians were left with the impression, however, that they might be able to trade through Nagasaki. Shabalin returned to Urup in October 1779 for the winter, but further consolidation of the Russian position and renewed overtures to the Japanese were prevented by the devastating effects of an earthquake which struck the region early in 1780. After this, Russian involvement in the Kuriles was for a while severely curtailed.10 KAMCHATKA

INSULA

Cape Lopatka ALAID (ARAIDO) II. PARAMUSHIR (PARAMUSHIRU)

RAFUTO) PEN

RY TA TA

51 I. SUMSHU (SHIMUSHU)

III. SHIRINKI 50

IV. MAKANRUSHI

KARAFTU (KA

V. ONEKOTAN

SAKHALIN or

VI. KHARAMKOTAN VII. SHIIASHKOTAN (SHASUKOTAN) (HARUMUKOTAN) 49 VIII. EKARMA (EKARUMA) IX. CHIRINKOTAN X. MUSIR (MUSHIRU) XI. RAIKOKE Golovnin Strait XII. MATUA (MATSUWA) 48 Nadezhda Strait XIII. RASSHUA (RASHUWA)

SREDNII

BROTON (BUROTON) Aniwa Bay

XIV. USHISIR (USHISHIRU) XV. KETOI Diana Strait XVI. SIMUSIR (SHIMUSHIRU) Bussol Strait NORTHERN CHIRPOI XVII. SOUTHERN CHIRPOI (CHIRIHOI ISLANDS)

46

XVIII. URUP (URUPPU)

45

XIX. ITURUP (ETOROFU)

XXI. KUNASHIR (KUNASHIRI)

EZZO (EZO)

47

44

XX. CHIKOTAN (SHIKOTAN) MATSMAI (MATSUMAE)

43 ity C ) ai ae sm m Port of Hakodade (Hakodate) at atsu MM Tsyngara (Tsugaru) Strait (

42

41 NIFON (NIHON) 140

141

142

143

144

145

146

147

148

149

150

151

152

153

154

155

Figure I.1 The Kurile archipelago, according to Golovnin. Source: George Alexander Lensen, The Russian Push Toward Japan: Russo-Japanese Relations, 1697–1875, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1959, p. 33.

156

40 157

Introduction

5

The government in St Petersburg had by no means lost interest in Japan, however, and plans were made to resume formal negotiations in both 1785 and 1787. Neither of these projects came to fruition, and the first official Russian embassy to Japan did not take place until 1792, when the 26–year-old Lieutenant Adam Laxman was commissioned to return a group of Japanese castaways and to attempt to open up commercial relations. Navigation of his ship, the Ekaterina, was entrusted to Vasilii Lovtsov,11 and the expedition included the merchant Shabalin who had been in Ezo in 1778. The Russians sailed directly from Okhotsk to Iturup and then continued south-west until they reached Ezo. Landing first at the small trading outpost of Nishibetsu, they soon removed to the safer harbour at Nemuro, where the local Japanese agreed that they could spend the winter. Laxman’s instructions stated that he was to deliver the castaways to the Japanese capital, Edo, and a letter to that effect was delivered through the lord of Matsumae to the shogunal government. Anxious to contain the Russians in the north, the Edo authorities sent a delegation to Nemuro and invited Laxman to a formal meeting in the town of Matsumae. After lengthy discussions about whether they should travel by land with the Japanese or by sea in their own vessel, Laxman left Nemuro in the Ekaterina in June 1793 for Edomo (Muroran), where the Russians had agreed to meet the Japanese officials. Missing Edomo in the fog, however, Laxman eventually reached Hakodate, and from there continued with the Japanese in a formal procession by land to Matsumae. Here, Laxman was received by two envoys from the shogunal government who informed him that he would not be allowed to proceed to Edo, but that they were prepared to accept the returned castaways in Matsumae. Moreover, the officials took care to inform Laxman of the nature of Japanese laws forbidding the approach of foreign shipping, and refused to consider establishing any kind of formal relations with Russia. Instead, Laxman was given a permit for the admission of one Russian ship to the harbour at Nagasaki, which, he was informed, was the only place where such negotiations might take place. On this, discussions between Laxman and the Japanese were concluded, and the Russians went back overland to Hakodate to rejoin the Ekaterina. They departed Japan in August 1793, pausing to survey the southern Kurile Islands before returning to Okhotsk.12 Laxman brought back from Japan not just the Nagasaki permit, but also valuable detailed first-hand information, maps, scientific specimens and samples of Japanese goods which he had received as presents. The Russian government, however, distracted from Eastern affairs by the spread of revolutionary ideas in Europe and the death of Catherine the Great in 1796, failed to exploit the impetus of Laxman’s visit. Meanwhile, the Japanese acted to curb the growth of Russian influence in the southern Kuriles. In 1795 a Russian settlement was founded on Urup with the intention of consolidating the Russian presence in the area and trading in Japanese goods from Ezo through the Ainu. The Japanese, however, who were at the same time seeking to strengthen their own authority over Ezo and the southern Kurile Islands,

6 Introduction blocked this initiative by forbidding the Ainu in their sphere of influence from travelling to Urup, by settling and fortifying Kunashir and Iturup themselves, and by proclaiming Urup Japanese territory and establishing an outpost there.13 In 1800 Tsar Paul had ruled that further approaches to the Japanese should be co-ordinated by the Russian–American Company, the organisation which had the charge of Russian commercial interests in the Aleutians, in Alaska and elsewhere on the American continent. When eventually, in the broader context of expanding Russian interests in East Asia,14 a Russian expedition set out in 1803 to take advantage of the Laxman permit, it was headed by the chairman of the company, Nikolai Rezanov, who was given formal authority to negotiate on behalf of the Russian government. Two ships departed from Kronstadt in July 1803 with the intention of circumnavigating the globe and visiting the company’s American settlements as well as Japan. After crossing the Atlantic, and rounding Cape Horn to Hawai’i, one ship, the Neva, continued directly to America, while Rezanov on the Nadezhda, under the command of Ivan Krusenstern, sailed to Petropavlovsk in Kamchatka, and from there in September 1804 to Japan. The Nadezhda bypassed the Kurile Islands and sailed down the Japanese east coast to Kyushu, where she entered Nagasaki harbour. Although Rezanov was received courteously, and the permit accepted by the Japanese, it was several months before an envoy arrived from the capital to respond to the Russian request for trade. During this time Rezanov was at first not permitted to land, but he was eventually allocated a small palisaded area on which to exercise at Kibachi, and later a house at Megasaki, not far from the Dutch factory at Deshima. The Russians, however, were kept virtual prisoners at Megasaki, being allowed access neither to the town nor to the Dutch. The eventual result of Rezanov’s approaches was an outright refusal from the Japanese authorities. Although they accepted the castaways Rezanov had brought with him, they rejected his overtures for trade, insisting on Japan’s right to keep foreigners from its borders and requiring him to leave immediately.15 The reasons for Rezanov’s failure have been much debated, but similar approaches from the representatives of other countries were rejected at around the same time.16 It seems clear that the Russians had exaggerated the significance of the Laxman permit, believing it to be a guarantee of trade rather than merely an offer of the opportunity to discuss it, and that, moreover, in the interval between 1792 and 1803, the hostility of the Japanese central government to the idea of foreign trade had noticeably increased.17 It may well be that Rezanov’s mission was doomed from the outset; Krusenstern took the opportunity, however, on the return voyage to Petropavlovsk, to survey the west coast of Japan, passing through the Tsushima and La Pérouse straits, and landing briefly on Sakhalin. From Kamchatka, Krusenstern returned to Europe, while Rezanov departed for America on another ship. Partly to revenge himself on the Japanese for what he saw as the insulting treatment he had received at Nagasaki, and partly hoping that a show of force would encourage the Japanese to reconsider their rejection of trade, which he

Introduction

7

believed was essential to the long-term interest of the Russian–American Company,18 Rezanov enlisted the aid of two naval officers attached to the company, Nikolai Khvostov and Gavriil Davydov. In October 1806, following Rezanov’s instructions, Khvostov raided a Japanese settlement on Sakhalin, capturing some Japanese guards, seizing provisions and setting fire to buildings. He left a plaque threatening further attacks if trade continued to be denied, but avoided harming the local Ainu. In May 1807, Khvostov and Davydov together raided the Japanese colony on Iturup, succeeding in routing the quite sizeable garrison at Shana. The Russians afterwards sailed as far south as Hakodate, where they attacked and looted a merchant vessel, and then continued with further raids on Sakhalin and on shipping off northern Ezo. Before departing the area for Okhotsk, they left a further written threat that continuing refusal to trade would be met with additional depredations. On their return to Russia, Khvostov and Davydov were arrested by the commandant of Okhotsk, who proceeded to appropriate the goods which they had plundered from the Japanese. They eventually managed to put their case before the authorities in St Petersburg, but Rezanov was no longer alive to defend them, and the two officers escaped punishment only because of their exemplary participation in the 1808–9 war against Sweden. Meanwhile, Japanese suspicions of the motives of their northern neighbours had increased greatly.19 The next Russian ship to approach Japan was the Diana, under the command of Vasilii Golovnin. This expedition had no intention of making contact with the Japanese, but was sent by the Russian navy in the summer of 1811 to survey the southern Kurile Islands. Landing on Iturup, however, Golovnin unexpectedly encountered a group of Japanese soldiers, who treated him with some suspicion, but promised that he would be able to obtain fresh water and provisions further along the coast. Golovnin continued his journey, finally reaching the island of Kunashir, where he began cautiously to negotiate for supplies. Eventually he was persuaded to visit the commander of the local Japanese fortress on shore, and landed with two other officers, four sailors and an Ainu interpreter. After a period of discussion, in which Golovnin was asked to explain the earlier Russian attacks, the Russians were overpowered and taken prisoner. Tightly bound, they were transported across to Ezo and then by land and boat to Hakodate. Here they were interrogated closely and at length about the Khvostov–Davydov raids and their own intentions. After several weeks the Russians were transferred to Matsumae, where they were brought before the governor and informed that they would be released if it could be satisfactorily established that the raids of 1806 and 1807 had not been sanctioned by the Russian government. The Japanese made the most of the opportunity to obtain information about Russia, questioning Golovnin and his companions on all aspects of Russian life, and persuading them to teach Russian to two interpreters. Once the prisoners had laboriously prepared a document in their own defence to be sent to Edo, their material conditions improved greatly but, as consideration of their case dragged on, the

8 Introduction Russians increasingly despaired of ever being released. In late April 1812, after nine months of detention, all but two of the Russian group escaped from their prison with the intention of stealing a boat in which to reach Russiancontrolled territory. They were captured a week later, however, and returned to Matsumae.20 Meanwhile, Petr Rikord, Golovnin’s second in command, who had remained on the Diana at the time of his captain’s arrest, had been strenuous in his attempts to get his companions released. He had returned to Okhotsk for reinforcements but, because of the war in Europe against Napoleon, had been instructed to effect Golovnin’s rescue himself, by peaceful means. This he was fortuitously able to do after lengthy negotiations facilitated by an influential Japanese merchant, Takadaya Kahei, whose ship Rikord intercepted off Ezo. In early October 1813, Rikord was finally able to deliver to the Japanese authorities the certificates they had requested from the Russian government as proof that the raids of Khvostov and Davydov had not been officially sanctioned, and Golovnin and his companions were released.21 Paradoxically, Golovnin’s captivity did much to cement mutual respect between Russians and Japanese. In spite of the frustrations of imprisonment, the Russians were treated reasonably well, and if the Japanese learned much about Russia from their persistent questioning, Golovnin, for his part, came to feel a genuine affection for some of his captors.22 The memoirs he published after his return to Russia included a volume on Japanese customs and institutions with information gathered from Golovnin’s Japanese acquaintances, and provided Russia with a valuable source of up-to-date information on Japan.23 Rikord had brought with him to Hakodate a letter from the governor of Irkutsk inviting the Japanese to discuss the determination of the frontiers between Russia and Japan. He and Golovnin, however, judged it inappropriate to pursue this issue at the time of the latter’s release, but informed the Japanese that a ship would be sent to Iturup the following year for their response. The ship that was sent in 1814, however, failed to meet the Japanese and returned without landing. A second ship sent in 1815 also failed to make contact with the Japanese, though its captain returned a group of Japanese castaways to Iturup. Over the next thirty-five years Russian interest in the north Pacific gradually declined as the government in St Petersburg concentrated on trade with China and the containment of revolution in Europe. The next Russians to visit Japan did not do so until 1852, when Lindenberg sailed to the port of Shimoda to return castaways and yet again broach the subject of trade. Also in the 1850s, the Russian government placed a military outpost on southern Sakhalin, to protect Russian interests there and at the mouth of the River Amur in eastern Siberia opposite Sakhalin. This outpost continued for a while in uneasy co-existence with both the local Ainu and the Japanese settlements which had been established there. The Russians withdrew from Sakhalin in 1853 when mounting Japanese opposition to their presence combined with the difficulty of defending their position after the outbreak of the Crimean War.24

Introduction

9

In October 1852 Nicholas I dispatched a major embassy to Japan under the command of Admiral Efvimii Putiatin. This expedition, although it had been planned for some time, was sent partly in response to increased European, and especially American, activity in China and the north Pacific, which seemed likely to leave the Russians at a disadvantage in initiating commercial relations with Japan. Indeed, when Putiatin arrived in Nagasaki on the Pallada with three other ships on 10 August 1853, the American Commodore Matthew Perry had already been at Edo for several weeks. In Japan the question of interaction with the West had come to the fore because of the British defeat of China in the Opium Wars of 1840–2 and the general increase of foreign activity in the region, particularly given clear evidence of Western military superiority. On this occasion the party in favour of engagement with the West eventually came into the ascendancy within the shogunal administration.25 The course of the negotiations which Putiatin initiated with the Japanese, however, did not run altogether smoothly. It was almost a month before he was granted an audience with the governor of Nagasaki, who accepted a letter from the Russian foreign minister, Karl Nesselrode, to the shogunal government requesting a conference on the border issue and the opening of Japanese ports to Russian shipping. While waiting for a response from Edo, Putiatin sailed to Shanghai for supplies and news of the political situation in Europe, threatening to go to Edo himself if there were no answer by his return. On 31 December 1853, back in Nagasaki, Putiatin met four plenipotentiaries sent from Edo and, after several days of courtesies, received a reply to Nesselrode’s letter, accepting the need for clarification of the borders, but rejecting the idea of trade, while still suggesting that this policy would soon be reviewed. Putiatin continued to negotiate until in late January 1854 the plenipotentiaries returned to Edo for further instructions, and he then sailed to the Philippines, intending to resume discussions in the spring at Aniwa Bay on Sakhalin. Putiatin called again briefly at Nagasaki in April 1854, continuing to eastern Siberia. As Russia was by this time at war in the Crimea with Britain and France, the circumstances of Putiatin’s mission now changed considerably. The four ships under his command were reduced to one. The Pallada was replaced by a new and faster ship with the same name as Golovnin’s ship in 1811, the Diana, but Putiatin had to be careful to avoid interception by the British or French. Instead of going to Sakhalin, he sailed to Hakodate and then to Osaka. By this time treaties had been signed with the United States (31 March 1854, n.s.) and Britain (14 October 1854, n.s.) and the Japanese had already decided to agree to a similar treaty with the Russians. From Osaka, Putiatin was sent back to Shimoda, where negotiations resumed in December 1854. But shortly after meetings had begun Shimoda was hit by a massive earthquake. Most of the town was swept away in the attendant tidal-wave and the Diana was seriously damaged. The Russians attempted to sail the vessel round the Izu peninsula to Heda, where she could be repaired, but the Diana sank in a storm and the Russians were forced to take refuge on land.

10 Introduction The spirit of co-operation engendered by shared hardships in the aftermath of the earthquake flowed over into the official negotiations between the Russians and Japanese, and, when the Treaty of Shimoda was eventually concluded between the two countries in January 1855, it went beyond the treaties signed with the Americans and the British.26 The Kurile Islands were divided, Iturup and islands to the south being given to the Japanese, while Russia was to control Urup and the islands to the north. Sakhalin was to be left in joint possession until the situation there could be considered more closely. Three ports, Shimoda, Hakodate and Nagasaki, were opened to Russian ships, and provision was made for the appointment of a consul at either Shimoda or Hakodate. With no ship, however, Putiatin and his men faced considerable difficulty in returning to Russia. One group managed to reach Petropavlovsk on an American schooner, but the majority of the Diana’s crew was intercepted by a British warship while making for Russia on a German merchant vessel, and taken to England as prisoners-of-war. Putiatin himself, together with a proportion of the crew, was able to leave Japan on the Heda, a small ship built by the Russians and named after its place of construction, and to slip through the Anglo-French cordon to the Amur. Co-operating with the Russians on the building of the Heda, incidentally, had provided the Japanese with valuable experience in Western shipbuilding techniques.27 Discussions on trade continued in the years immediately following the conclusion of Putiatin’s mission. Konstantin Pos’et, an officer who had sailed with Putiatin, travelled back to Shimoda in October 1856 to ratify the initial treaty. In 1857 Putiatin himself returned to Japan, where he negotiated a supplementary agreement in Nagasaki, and later visited Shimoda en route to Kanagawa.28 From here he travelled the short distance overland to Edo, the first Russian to do so, for the completion of a more comprehensive agreement which was signed in August 1858, opening further ports and regulating Russian residence and trade.29 In the years immediately following the signing of the treaties, the nature of Russian visits gradually began to change. In 1858, after conveying Putiatin to Shanghai, the frigate Askol’d returned for extensive repairs to Nagasaki, where the crew remained for several months, preparing the way for the later development of the Russian ‘village’ of Inosa. When, the following year, Nikolai Murav’ev-Amurskii brought three Russian ships to Kanagawa, his purpose was to negotiate for Russian control of Sakhalin in order to secure increasingly important interests on the Amur River, but although his rather clumsy approach failed to resolve the border issue, many Russians on the expedition now had the opportunity to acquaint themselves with Japan’s capital. The main centre of Russian activity in Japan, however, was Hakodate, where a consulate was established in 1858.30 While there was much good will from the Japanese towards the Russians and other foreigners in the early period of foreign settlement, after the treaties had been signed, increased contact was not without its difficulties.

Introduction 11 Western high-handedness and anti-Western feeling among some Japanese led to episodes such as the harassment of Russians in the streets of Edo, or even the murder of Russian sailors in Yokohama (see Kornilov extract, Chapter 5). Moreover, in the area of commerce itself there was at first much frustration on both sides over the rate of exchange, as the relative value of gold and silver was quite different in Japan and the countries with which it was now trading. Russian trade did not in fact develop very quickly, partly because Russia was prohibited by the commercial treaty of 1858 from importing grain from Japan for its Siberian colonies, and partly because the distance from Russian centres of manufacture made Russian goods uncompetitively expensive in Japan until the construction of the Trans-Siberian Railway.31 Unlike some of the other Western powers, Russia remained aloof from both sides before and during the Restoration Wars of 1868–9, in which political power in Japan passed from the shogun to a new elite acting in the name of the emperor, and it has been suggested that this policy generally enhanced their prestige.32 Moreover, the first consul, Iosif Goshkevich, who had travelled with Putiatin, was a scholar rather than a merchant, and was perhaps therefore more socially acceptable to the ruling Japanese samurai class.33 Certainly, Russian influence, particularly in the north, increased rapidly, with the establishment of Russian schools and hospitals. The Russian Orthodox Church, under the energetic leadership of Father Nikolai (Ivan Kasatkin) first in Hakodate and later in Edo, succeeded in building a strong following, and one which has lasted to the present day.34 The warm water ports of Nagasaki and Hakodate became important wintering places for Russian naval and merchant shipping,35 and communications between the two countries were enhanced by a telegraph cable between Nagasaki and Vladivostok which was laid in 1871, with an extension to Tokyo completed in 1873. A permanent Russian government representative in Tokyo was appointed in 1872.36 A particular stage in Russo-Japanese relations was reached in 1875, when, after several abortive attempts, the border question was finally brought to an amicable conclusion. Under the terms of the Sakhalin–Kurile Islands Exchange Treaty, signed in St Petersburg, Russia acquired sole rights over Sakhalin, while Japan received control over the whole of the Kurile archipelago.37 After 1875, diplomatic relations between Russia and Japan continued on a stable basis as Japan concentrated on nation-building and Russia’s attention was drawn away from the Far East by interests in the Balkans and Central Asia. A Japanese trade office was set up in Vladivostok in 1876 and the Russian communities in Hakodate and Nagasaki continued to thrive. Even an attempt on the life of the future Tsar Nicholas II during a visit to Japan in 1891 failed to do any serious damage in the short term. During the 1890s, however, both Russia and Japan were pursuing military, political and commercial interests on the East Asian mainland, and the two countries eventually began to clash openly, with Korea and Manchuria as the points of contention.38 The first major crisis followed Japan’s victory over China in the Sino-

12 Introduction Japanese War of 1894–5. In this war, Japan eliminated China as a rival for power in Korea, and as well as a substantial indemnity gained control of two important Chinese territories: the island of Taiwan and the Liaodong peninsula in Manchuria. However, Russia acted to protect its own interests in Manchuria and, backed by France and Germany, forced Japan through the socalled Triple Intervention of 1895 to give back the Liaodong peninsula in exchange for an increased indemnity. Resentment of the European powers and suspicion of Russian motives in Japan were only increased when in 1898 Russia demanded and received from the Chinese a twenty-five-year lease of the same territory, and proceeded to establish there a major commercial and naval presence, acquiring thereby virtual monopoly rights in southern Manchuria. Japan responded by a rapid expansion in military expenditure, and by the diplomatic suggestion that Russian interests in Manchuria could be acknowledged in exchange for a free hand for Japan in Korea. This proposal was rejected by the Russian government, and when Russian forces sent to Manchuria to quell the Boxer Rebellion in 1900 failed to withdraw, the Japanese became increasingly concerned. Negotiations on power-sharing in Manchuria and Korea continued over the next few years, but the more cautious figures in the Russian government were outmanoeuvred by the expansionist party and talks finally broke down at the end of 1903. In February 1904 Japan attacked the Russian fleet at Port Arthur, declaring war a few days later. The surprise Japanese attack on Port Arthur effectively neutralised the Russian fleet in the Pacific, and the most critical episodes of the RussoJapanese War took place on land. The Japanese landed in Korea and first engaged the Russians on 1 May 1904 on the Yalu River as they prepared to cross into Manchuria. This was only the first of a series of encounters in which the Russians were forced to retreat. Port Arthur fell after a lengthy siege on 1 January 1905, and the Russian army, demoralised by poor leadership and the repercussions of the 1905 revolution, was fatally undermined in the massive Battle of Mukden, which began six weeks later. The final large-scale encounter was at sea. The Russian ‘Second Pacific Squadron’, sent from Europe under Admiral Rozhestvenskii in October 1904 to relieve Port Arthur, was outmanoeuvred and ignominiously sunk at the Battle of Tsushima when passing through the Korean Strait the following May.39 This first victory of an Asian over a European power bolstered Japanese prestige at home and throughout Asia and the world enormously, though by the end of the conflict Japan’s resources were almost exhausted. Russia’s ability to continue the war was also in question since, although the Russians had much greater reserves to draw on, their ability to exploit them had been undermined by domestic political disturbances. As a result, Japan easily obtained Russian acknowledgment of Japanese rights and interests in Korea, the military evacuation of Manchuria by both sides, and control of Port Arthur and the Russian-built South Manchurian Railway. After some negotiation, the Japanese also obtained control over the southern half of Sakhalin. The end of the war was greeted by civil unrest in both countries. Strong feeling that

Introduction 13 Japan had been cheated of the full fruits of victory, and particularly a cash indemnity, led to riots in Tokyo and elsewhere, while, in Russia, revolutionary strikes and demonstrations were accompanied by a mutiny in the Manchurian army as its disaffected troops returned to Europe. The Russo-Japanese War changed the balance of power in East Asia as Japan moved towards complete control over Korea (annexed in 1910) and consolidated its presence in southern Manchuria. Russia, particularly with the Balkan crises of 1908–13, largely withdrew from East Asia to concentrate its diplomatic activity on Europe. However, both sides were anxious to stabilise relations, and the two countries signed a series of agreements between 1907 and 1916 aiming to delineate clearly their respective spheres of influence.40 This newly negotiated relationship of mutual respect was reinforced by the alliance of the two countries in the First World War, when Russia agreed to support further Japanese expansion into China in exchange for military supplies. The new rapprochement was terminated only by the collapse of the tsarist government in the revolutions of 1917.

Narratives of discovery The narratives chosen for inclusion in the present anthology fall into two unequal groups. Before the Treaty of Shimoda, Russian accounts of Japan were very largely confined to descriptions of official meetings. They constitute attempts to break into a relatively unknown, relatively closed world, and to describe this largely unfamiliar world for the instruction and, especially with the later accounts, the entertainment of a Russian audience. They often contain detailed geographical and ethnographical descriptions intended to satisfy both scientific and commercial curiosity in Russia, but also focus on what is different about Japan, highlighting ‘exotic’ cultural practices or habits of thought. The Russian gaze on Tokugawa Japan was necessarily limited, however. The Japanese whom Russians encountered were overwhelmingly government officials of one sort or another. Moreover, because they were for the most part the records of official government expeditions aimed directly or indirectly at initiating trade relations, the early narratives cannot avoid incorporating, alongside the negotiation of cultural difference, a conscious or unconscious desire to appropriate Japan both economically and ideologically. This factor varies in importance from one text to another, but, as will be shown below, is something that can never be ignored.41 The early period of Russian travel writing about Japan is represented here by Laxman’s journal of his 1792–3 expedition, Krusenstern’s account of Rezanov’s embassy of 1804–5, Golovnin’s narrative of his captivity in Japan, 1811–13, and Goncharov’s memoir of the initial stages of Putiatin’s expedition in 1853.42 Looking at these early Russian narratives it is immediately apparent that the ‘contact zone’ between the European subject and the Asian focus of observation is extremely narrow.43 This is true in a double sense: prior Russian knowledge of Japan at the time of the expeditions was extremely limited, and

14 Introduction moreover the degree to which the members of the expeditions were able to form a coherent view of Japanese society was also very severely restricted. At the time of Laxman’s voyage, only two recent works on Japan existed in European languages, both written by foreigners in service with the Dutch: Engelbert Kaempfer, who had lived in Japan between 1690 and 1692, and Carl Thunberg, who visited in 1775. Laxman’s own account, which was not published until the twentieth century, does not appear to have been available to any of his immediate successors. By the time of Rezanov’s embassy, Kaempfer’s and Thunberg’s accounts were respectively over 110 and thirtytwo years out of date, a point which Krusenstern makes with some force, noting the absence of any accounts of Japan by the Dutch themselves.44 A handful of other accounts did in fact exist, including one by Benyovszky and compilations based on earlier Jesuit sources, but Kaempfer and Thunberg were easily the most authoritative and influential.45 Kaempfer’s book in particular, following its first, posthumous, publication in 1727, proved enormously popular and exercised a very considerable influence over European writing on Japan for the next two hundred years.46 Golovnin took Krusenstern’s published account of his experiences with him on the Diana, though he notes with some regret that at the time of his capture he had not read the second part of the work.47 This might indeed have been of particular interest to him as it records Krusenstern’s encounters with Japanese and Ainu in Ezo on his return trip to Russia from Nagasaki. Goncharov, writing some forty years later, had a slightly richer store of information to draw on in Golovnin’s narrative of his captivity and his volume of observations on the country and its people. Moreover, another foreign scholar working with the Dutch, the German Philip Franz von Siebold, published a description of Japan in 1832, based on his residence at Nagasaki between 1823 and 1830.48 Goncharov may also have been familiar with the memoir of Isaac Titsingh, head of the Dutch merchants from 1780 to 1794, whose account of his experiences in Japan was published posthumously in English and French in the early 1820s.49 Even with these expanded resources, however, Russian knowledge of the country at the time of the Putiatin expedition was far from either comprehensive or up to date. Russian ignorance is illustrated by Goncharov even as Putiatin’s ships entered Nagasaki harbour. The Russians noticed small model sailing boats on the water decorated with multicoloured pennants, but were quite unable to determine their significance. Goncharov reports that according to his companions the boats were associated variously with religious rites, superstitious customs, divination, or simply children’s play.50 Japanese knowledge of the Russians, of course, was no more advanced. When Rezanov and his companions called at northern Ezo on their return voyage to Russia, the Japanese they met there refused at first to believe that they were indeed Russians as their hair was not dressed in the queues that had been fashionable at the time of Laxman’s visit twenty years before.51 As far as first-hand contact with Japanese people and customs was concerned, the accounts by Krusenstern and Goncharov were confined almost

Introduction 15 entirely to official receptions and banquets and to communication on official matters and details concerning the reprovisioning or repair of their ships. Krusenstern, indeed, explicitly states he is unable to give any satisfactory account of Japan at all after six months’ residence in Nagasaki harbour.52 Goncharov makes the same point when he notes that his account reads like a prisoner’s diary, so little opportunity does he have to interact with the world around him.53 No members of Putiatin’s expedition were allowed to stay overnight on land and, although Rezanov fifty years earlier had been given a house on land, casual contact with Japanese citizens had been rendered impossible by his Japanese guards. Even the collection of information from the Dutch at Nagasaki was prevented. On Krusenstern’s first arrival he and Rezanov were visited by representatives of the Dutch settlement, but after this initial meeting all contacts were forbidden by the Japanese. Krusenstern notes that the sailors on the Dutch ships, as they left Nagasaki harbour for Batavia, were not even permitted to return the Russians’ shouted greetings.54 Laxman and Golovnin of course spent considerably longer in Japan than either Krusenstern or Goncharov, and Golovnin in particular was able to meet a somewhat larger range of people. At Nemuro, Laxman spent several months in close contact with the Japanese officials who came there to meet him and he was able to observe their life at close hand, but Nemuro was a small trading outpost, not a town, and the circumstances of Laxman’s interaction with the Japanese there were confined, hardly providing typical illustrations of Japanese life. After he left Nemuro, Laxman’s contacts with Japanese in Hakodate and Matsumae were even more closely controlled and still limited to officialdom. He was not allowed to walk through the town streets, and when the Russians passed through villages as they travelled overland to Matsumae, although they were formally greeted by the local elders, they had no opportunity for real contact with the villagers.55 Golovnin perhaps managed to establish strong personal relationships with a wider range of the population – not just officials, but also interpreters and guards. He notes a high degree of interest in the Russians from the wider population and records many unexpected acts of hospitality. For example, while being transported, bound, as required by Japanese law, from one part of Ezo to another, the Russians would be given refreshments by the inhabitants of the villages through which they passed and were thus allowed at least glimpses of Japanese domestic behaviour. As it was forbidden for the Japanese to receive foreigners inside their houses, the Russians were accommodated on the verandahs. An official fiction was maintained that they were forced to rest wherever they could because of fatigue from their journey, but they generally found that lavish refreshments had been prepared in advance.56 Golovnin several times notes a similar insistence on the letter of the law combined with a willingness to circumvent its harsher implications in practice. Nevertheless, his most extensive observations were naturally of the different categories of prison in which he and his companions were held. A further limitation to the ‘contact zone’ was produced in some cases by the

16 Introduction inadequacy of the available interpreters, which stands as a metaphor for a more general failure of cultural communication, though some of the expeditions were better prepared than others in this respect. Laxman brought with him one of the students from the Japanese language school in Irkutsk, Egor Tugolukov. Judging from Laxman’s journal, his skills in Japanese seem to have been broadly adequate to the task, though the fact that Laxman sent him regularly to the Matsumae officials for language instruction suggests that communication was not always entirely smooth.57 It was a different matter with the Kurile language. Although the merchant Shabalin knew some Kurile, his knowledge was evidently insufficient for any sustained interaction, and Laxman gives this as a major reason for his inability to provide a detailed account of the Ainu.58 Although the Japanese at Nagasaki were known to have Dutch interpreters, Rezanov’s embassy apparently did not contain anyone who was fully conversant with Dutch.59 The Russians were forced to rely on the Japanese castaways they had brought with them and on the Russian these castaways had learned in exile. Written communication was even more problematic. Rezanov had brought with him a document addressed to the shogun, the Japanese military ruler, written in Russian and Japanese. The Japanese text, which had been produced by a castaway fisherman in Irkutsk, proved unintelligible to the Japanese officials and the Russians were obliged laboriously to produce a Dutch translation.60 Goncharov does not highlight any difficulty in interpretation, as Putiatin’s expedition of 1853 had taken the precaution of bringing a Dutch speaker in the person of Pos’et.61 Golovnin, on the other hand, who had not expected to enter into any form of negotiation or explanation with the Japanese, found himself in some embarrassment. Eventually he was able to teach sufficient Russian to a Japanese volunteer, and to learn a certain amount of Japanese himself. In the early stages of his imprisonment, however, the only way he could communicate with his captors was through two Kurile interpreters, one of whom spoke broken Russian and the other broken Japanese. As neither of the Kuriles was at all well educated and the Kurile language was both unwritten and apparently lacking in terms adequate to convey complex scientific or administrative matters (or at any rate the particular Kuriles on whom Golovnin was forced to rely did not know such terms), this process proved extremely frustrating and time-consuming. Additional complications were caused by the necessity of avoiding certain common words that the interpreters did not know, and by the fact that foreigners were prohibited by law from learning the Japanese writing system.62 Preparing written documents was particularly onerous until the Russians managed to convince the Kurile– Japanese interpreter that word order need not be identical in Russian and Japanese.63 As, for example, unlike in Russian, Japanese verbs normally come at the end of the sentence and the equivalent of prepositions routinely follow the words they govern, the difficulty of achieving identical word order should not be underestimated. Krusenstern notes a similar concern among Japanese officials for formal precision in written communication. When Rezanov

Introduction 17 wished to present a report to the shogun, as well as a translation into Dutch, the Nagasaki authorities required a copy of the Russian text ‘written with such accuracy that every line was to terminate with the same letter as the original’.64 A further difficulty with interpretation noted by Golovnin resulted from the fact that the political motivations of the Russians and the Kurile interpreters were not always identical. In one instance, in the explanation of certain actions, one of the interpreters chose to exculpate himself in the eyes of the Japanese by falsely accusing the Russians of anti-Japanese intentions, an implication that Golovnin was very anxious to dispel. It was thus very difficult for the Russians to know at first whether their words were being deliberately distorted by the interpreter.65 Russian visits to Japan in the first half of the nineteenth century were for the most part pacific. They were at the same time coercive in the sense that the visitors would simply not accept as legitimate the wish of the Japanese government to keep their country closed to Europeans. It is often possible to see this double-edged motivation embodied in the discourse of Russian exploration in narrative strategies that seek to construct a picture of the benignity of the European subject even as they strive to assert its authority and the superiority of European values.66 On the one hand, Laxman’s, Krusenstern’s and Golovnin’s narratives belong to an established category of travel writing by military or naval officers, which was read at the time as much for its plain accounts of everyday life in remote parts of the world as for either its sensationalism or its social analysis.67 In Laxman’s journal, there are certainly reflections of his repeated frustration at the obstacles put in his way by Japanese officialdom, but his practice is to note cultural phenomena which he evidently identifies as ‘other’ without comment. However, in the accounts of the two later diplomatic missions, which were attended by much greater expectations on the part of the Russian ambassadors, appropriative strategies are also clearly apparent. The Laxman permit carried by Rezanov certainly gave Krusenstern some expectation that his 1804 mission would be favourably received. Yet rather than treat the Japanese on terms of equality, his narrative persistently interprets Japanese difference as an assertion of hostility. He takes great exception, for example, to the Japanese style of formal salutation (touching one’s head to the ground from a prone position) and especially to the compromise adopted by the Dutch, consisting of a right-angled bow held until permission was given to straighten up, which he describes as degrading.68 Krusenstern reads Japanese security measures, such as impounding the Russians’ gunpowder and firearms, and severely restricting their movements, both in Nagasaki harbour and on land, as insults, though in fact Rezanov had been afforded a favour unprecedented even among European nations, as Krusenstern himself acknowledges, when he was allowed to take an armed guard with him on shore.69 Bureaucratic delays caused by procedural inflexibility, complex divisions of responsibility and the necessity of referring decisions to the shogun at Edo are also routinely interpreted as deliberately obstructive. While complaining of the mistrustfulness he sees in Japanese

18 Introduction behaviour, Krusenstern, like the other travellers, is quick to point out Japanese generosity in providing both provisions and materials for necessary ship repairs. On the other hand, his narrative omits events which indicate Japanese tolerance and good will: for example, the episode related by the naturalist G.H. Langsdorff, who accompanied the Rezanov expedition, in which the Russians entertained themselves by making a paper hot air balloon, but then allowed it to drift dangerously over the town.70 Goncharov’s more literary treatment of Japan shows a more nuanced approach to the understanding of cultural difference, but one that is equally dependent on an ‘orientalist’ frame of reference. He is an acute observer of the complex negotiations on matters of protocol designed to protect the dignity of both sides. Where should meetings be held? What refreshments should be offered? Should chairs be provided for the Russians? If so who should provide them? Should the Russians remove their boots in Japanese interiors? But perhaps because he was not himself a diplomat, Goncharov remains personally detached from any of these niceties and persistently asserts that beneath the surface effects of cultural difference the Japanese are identical to the Russians, or nearly so. He recognises, for example, a familiar type of an old man in the kindly and intelligent demeanour of one of the envoys from Edo and acknowledges a standard of civilisation in the Japanese, to which, apart from a few details of manners and dress, Europeans could take no exception.71 In several lengthy digressions Goncharov shows himself quite sensitive to the political complexities underlying Japanese attitudes to the West, and in particular to the difficulty of achieving modernisation or change within the existing political and administrative framework.72 Elsewhere, he is at pains to explain and justify certain Japanese cultural practices which may seem strange to the European eye – such as the custom of bowing from a kneeling position or removing one’s shoes on entering a building – in terms of the broader context of Japanese customs and social relations.73 At the same time, however, there is a sense in which Goncharov treats Japan as not quite belonging to the real world. Almost his first mention of the country is as ‘tridesiatoe gosudarstvo’, as a ‘far-off land’ in the expression used in Russian folklore to indicate a magical kingdom.74 Japan is called ‘a locked casket whose key is lost’.75 The Russians and the Japanese are the fox and the stork in Aesop’s fable, each unable to function within the other’s terms of reference.76 The Japanese officials are ‘porcelain dolls’ whose thinking cannot be penetrated; their behaviour is a ‘magical ballet’, ‘a scene taken from some fantastic ballet or opera’, which Goncharov is watching from the stalls of the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow and in the reality of which he is unable to believe.77 Goncharov treats Japanese behaviour with the devastating irony that he was accustomed to direct at other subjects in his fiction. True, Goncharov mocks Russian inability to cope with Japanese customs as well, but such comments as the following, on the imminent breakdown of the seclusion policy, show that irony can easily be used as an instrument of political selfinterest. To Goncharov the Japanese are like children: pursuing their

Introduction 19 seclusion policy, they have got out of their depth through their inexperience and lack of wisdom. They must look now to European instructors to find a way out of their impasse: Like a playground intrigue, [the seclusion policy] has collapsed instantly with the appearance of the teacher. [The Japanese] are alone, without help. There is nothing for them to do but break out in tears and say ‘we are guilty, we are children’ and like children put themselves under the guidance of their elders.78 A similar paternalism is indicated by Goncharov’s reaction to the scenery of Nagasaki harbour. He feels uncomfortable with what he sees as the unmediated presence of nature and wants to tame it by introducing all the attributes of nineteenth-century European civilisation: [. . .] in my thoughts I covered all these hillocks and groves with temples, cottages, pavilions and statues, and the waters of the harbour with steamships and thickets of masts; I populated the shores with Europeans; I already saw paths through a park, galloping horsewomen, and closer to the city I imagined Russian, American and English factories.79 He is offended that the Japanese do not know how to use Nagasaki ‘properly’. If it was taken away from them, he asserts, the city could become a great and bustling port in the European style.80 The reasoning behind Goncharov’s thinking here can be understood more clearly by reference to Fregat Pallada as a complete work, as a comparative interpretation of the peoples of the globe seen on a world tour. In his travelogue as a whole Goncharov is ruled by a conception of progress and civilisation based firmly on European models and strongly linked with Christianity. Goncharov consistently views the different nations he encounters in terms of their ‘age’ on a scale of their development towards civilisation. If the English, with their highly developed industrial society and commercial instincts, are indisputably ‘adult’, and the inhabitants of the Ryukyu Islands are seen as subsisting in ‘childlike’ innocence, the Japanese occupy an intermediate stage. While in many ways they are ‘children’, nevertheless the openness of many individuals to learning from the West suggests that they may in time emerge from their mental ‘torpor’ and, with suitable guidance, achieve equal maturity with Western nations.81 If Goncharov can be accused of presenting a superficial and often patronising account of the Japanese, Golovnin’s work has been seen as a good deal more penetrating and serious.82 On occasion he admits to a natural impatience with the intrusive and apparently gratuitous questioning to which he is subjected during his imprisonment, and he objects, for example, to the importunate requests made of the Russians for souvenir specimens of handwriting on fans.83 He is at the same time deeply impressed by the politeness of

20 Introduction his Japanese captors and strives hard to understand their motivations and laws, even when these seem considerably at odds with European values and practices.84 Yet even Golovnin, for all his sympathy with the Japanese, is not entirely immune to the ‘orientalism’ of his times, as can be seen from his actions before his capture. Proceeding circumspectly about his task of charting the southern Kurile Islands, Golovnin landed on Iturup, disingenuously claiming that he expected to meet there only Kuriles, though he must surely have realised that the islands were under Japanese control.85 After an interview with the local Japanese commander, Golovnin was given permission to proceed to the town of Urbich to replenish his supplies. Golovnin notes that he deliberately concealed his true reason for being on Iturup (that is, surveying) on the grounds that the Japanese would be certain to treat it with suspicion,86 and instead of going to Urbich as instructed turned south with the intention of surveying Kunashir and the strait between that island and Ezo. Golovnin’s arrest, even if there is some question of the extent to which it was officially sanctioned, would seem a natural consequence of his flouting of Japanese laws regarding foreign shipping. One particular feature of Golovnin’s narrative is his exposure, as here, of his conscious deception of the Japanese on certain issues. Knowing that the Japanese had a great thirst for knowledge about the West and that they were liable to ask innumerable supplementary questions if given any information at all, he deliberately gave misleading answers on some topics and concealed the true content of a particular technical book in his possession to avoid possibly days of translation and explanation.87 He exaggerated the number of sailors under his command, and on several occasions he deliberately provided mistranslations of documents which he thought might prove prejudicial to the Russians’ chance of release. In particular, Golovnin was concerned to dissociate himself and the Russian government from the attacks made by Khvostov and Davydov in 1807. In distorting the meaning of various papers Golovnin was of course acting in his own personal interests; he was also attempting to increase the likelihood of an eventual trading relationship with the Japanese.

Travellers and tourists After the Treaty of Shimoda, the number of Russians visiting Japan increased rapidly; visitors came from a wider variety of backgrounds; they visited a wider range of places; and they were there for different purposes. Hakodate and Nagasaki remained the major focuses of Russian attention, but Russians visited many other parts of Japan as well. Their gaze was broader and better informed, and the ‘contact zone’ became ever larger as the nineteenth century progressed. The range and quantity of available writing on Japan grew quickly as visitors from many nations published their accounts.88 The nature of the ‘other’ as reflected in travel narratives also changed. While foreigners by no means became acquainted with the whole of Japanese society, the Japanese

Introduction 21 people whom the Russians did meet were no longer chiefly officials and servants, members of an isolated bureaucratic world which was often wary of foreigners and kept them at arm’s length. Russian visitors and residents came increasingly and unavoidably in contact with hotel managers, shopkeepers and other private individuals, and dealt with them on a personal and everyday basis. The largely male world seen by the early visitors was now enlivened by female entertainers, temporary ‘wives’, waitresses, shopgirls and other ordinary women. The Russians were no longer supplicants at Japan’s door, but an economic and increasingly a cultural presence in Japan itself. Russians in short were now in a different sort of relationship with the Japanese. While travel writing continues to dwell on what is different from Russia or Europe in Japan, there is a new, reflexive interest in some writers in the effect of travel on the travellers themselves.89 The texts presented here, chosen from the many available from this later period, show something of the diversity of the Russian experience of Japan after the middle of the nineteenth century. The immediate post-treaty period is represented by A. Kornilov, a junior naval officer with the expedition of Nikolai Murav’ev-Amurskii. His account of Kanagawa and Edo in the late 1850s shows the hostility that foreigners met with at first in the treaty ports, as well as the determination of some of them to see as much of the country as possible.90 At a very early stage Russians began to travel to Japan more or less as tourists, driven more by the imperatives of curiosity and the wish to write about their experiences than by the logic of government policy or trade. Sergei Maksimov, for example, visited Hakodate as part of a lengthy voyage to the Amur region and China in the late 1850s; and Ivan Zarubin took a position as doctor on board a ship travelling to Nagasaki in 1880 in a similar spirit of adventure.91 By the 1890s the number of such travellers had increased considerably, and with the development of steamships and railways the conditions of travel had become much easier. A. Cherevkova describes a train journey which she made alone with a small child from Tokyo to Nagoya in 1890.92 The writer N. Garin-Mikhailovskii visited Nagasaki, Yokohama and Tokyo in 1898, and by 1913 a group of Russians was already visiting Japan as part of an organised tour, as described by E. Kobiakova.93 Some travelled more in a spirit of scientific enquiry, like the botanist Andrei Krasnov, who also provides valuable insights into life in the Russian colony at Nagasaki in the 1890s.94 Others again found themselves in Japan against their will, like Vladimir Semenov, a naval officer who was held as a prisoner-of-war in Sasebo and Kyoto following the Battle of Tsushima in 1905.95 The dominant tone of these post-treaty narratives is one of mingled expectancy and bewilderment. On the whole the writers are anxious to see whatever they can of Japan, to confirm what they have learned from their reading, and to improve their knowledge. At the same time, however, they are often puzzled by what they discover, finding it difficult to assimilate to their previous understanding. Nothing in Japan ever turns out to be quite as simple or as straightforward as they would like or as they expect and, like visitors from

22 Introduction other European countries, Russians conceptualise Japan in ways which are often contradictory or inconsistent.96 One thing on which the Russians universally agree is the beauty of the countryside and gardens. Kornilov, who is impressed by little else in Edo, notes particularly the city’s fine views and terraces.97 Maksimov enthuses at the view across Hakodate Bay, while Zarubin and Garin-Mikhailovskii similarly delight at the restful visual charms of Nagasaki.98 The botanist Krasnov describes ‘spectacular panoramas’ from the Nagasaki cliffs and a ‘phosphorescent light’ giving a picturesque appearance to the harbour at night; for Kobiakova the night-time scenery of Gifu is ‘mysterious and enchanting’.99 Cherevkova refers to a ‘kaleidoscope full of enchanting pictures’ glimpsed from her train window, and even Semenov, whose time in Japan was spent largely in confinement, refers to the ‘singular beauty’ of the countryside through which he passes in the train taking him to Kyoto.100 Appreciation of Japanese scenery is often validated by favourable comparison with tourist destinations in Europe, especially Switzerland or Italy.101 Another point on which there is general agreement is the organisational ability of the Japanese and their rapid success in modernisation. While in 1860 Maksimov can admire the single-mindedness of labour directed to levelling a hill outside Hakodate in order to construct houses for the Russian and British consuls,102 later writers are impressed by the introduction of Western scientific technology. Zarubin in 1880 remarks on the newly constructed modern Nagasaki dockyard; Cherevkova is astonished to discover electric light in Nagoya in 1890; Garin-Mikhailovskii, a railway engineer himself by training, finds the ‘progress and imagination’ informing Japanese railway engineering greatly superior to the state of affairs prevailing in Russia in the 1890s.103 Equally, there is a consensus that Japan is ‘strange’, and by implication inferior to a supposed standard of European normality. The most extensive statement of this view comes from Maksimov, who, even before he has landed at Hakodate, scans the town in vain through his telescope looking for points of comparison with towns, either European or Asian, in the Russian empire. He finds no cathedrals, no minarets, not even any houses of a form he recognises, and the cognitive disjunction which this represents forms a major structural principle of his narrative. Led by an anonymous guide who is presumably an early Russian resident in the town, Maksimov and his companions pass through Hakodate finding streets with no recognisable buildings, an apparent pantomime which is revealed to be a formal greeting between two officials, a dog that doesn’t bark at strangers. All of these things are presented like wonders at a Russian fairground.104 Other writers consistently express surprise and often disapproval at the circumstances of everyday Japanese life. Food is a frequent stumbling block: Kornilov, for example, limits himself to the unlikely combination of shrimps and water melon in preference to any other dishes; Semenov is particularly scathing about his captors’ attempts to feed their Russian prisoners in an acceptable style; even the normally enthusiastic Kobiakova finds Japanese sweets inedible and clearly treats her bento packed

Introduction 23 lunch with suspicion.105 Cherevkova is appalled at the idea of staying in a Japanese-style hotel, rather than the ‘half-European’ one where she eventually obtains a room.106 Garin-Mikhailovskii finds the eclectic mix of Japanese and Western dress he sees in a Japanese crowd disturbing, comparing it with a scene in a madhouse.107 Japan not only defeats Russian travellers’ expectations in comparison with Russia and Europe, but also fails to tally with their broader conceptions of East Asia, gleaned from visits to Singapore, Shanghai and other ports. For Maksimov, Japan is a sort of inverted Asia, inwardly attractive but with an ugly exterior, while in his view China is outwardly beautiful but conceals an inner corruption.108 Several writers compare the Japanese favourably with the Chinese and Koreans.109 When considering Japan’s rapid modernisation in the second half of the nineteenth century, the Russians, like other Europeans, often make comparisons between Japan and the earlier history of their own countries. But while, for example, the British consul Rutherford Alcock found pre-Restoration Japan to be ‘the living embodiment of a state of society which existed many centuries ago in the West, but has long passed away utterly’, a feudal society that recalled the twelfth century in Europe,110 for the Russians the points of reference in their own past were much more recent, and indeed came up to the present day. Maksimov, it is true, likens the structure of the Tokugawa state to that of medieval Russia, where the power of the grand prince, like that of the shogun, was limited by a complex network of feudal alliances with other princes.111 However, he also sees parallels between Japan’s ‘backwardness’ and the vestigial ‘backwardness’ of contemporary Russia vis-à-vis Western Europe and America. He sees the narrow, inconvenient streets of Hakodate as ‘identical’ to those of existing parts of Moscow that date back to the time of the Mongol occupation. He sees similarities between the ungainly, impractical, gaudily decorated junks in Hakodate harbour and the traditional river barges on the Volga. The practice of mixed bathing in Japan (which scandalised Kipling, for example, when he visited Japan in 1889) reminds Maksimov of both ancient Russia and present-day practice in the more remote of Russian country towns.112 Similarly, Kornilov compares the hostility to strangers that he sees in Japan with the situation in Russia just two hundred years ago, and likens those Japanese princes who oppose change to the noble Miloslavskii and Lopukhin families who tried to block the reforms of Peter the Great in the early eighteenth century.113 Zarubin also sees events in Japan as paralleling the transformation of Russia under Peter the Great, claiming that ‘the Japanese see this prince [Peter] as the ideal statesman for all ages and for all people.’114 Writing seventeen years later, in 1898, Garin-Mikhailovskii is reminded of Russia in the 1860s, a time of major reform under Alexander II which included the emancipation of the serfs. Whereas change in Russia was embraced only by a small proportion of the Russian population, he argues, in Japan the spirit of reform has been internalised at all levels of society.115 Notwithstanding Japan’s ‘otherness’ in relation to Europe, the modernisation

24 Introduction of Japan in the Meiji period was often also seen as a model for social and economic development in Russia. That Japan is never quite ‘real’ for Russian observers is suggested by their self-conscious reference to what could be called the ‘tourist experience’ from a surprisingly early date. The quest for an authentic Japanese experience is perhaps implicit in the invariant motifs of Russian and other European travel writing from the mid-nineteenth century onwards: shopping for traditional Japanese goods such as lacquerware, porcelain or silks; the Japanese meal; the traditional entertainment provided in a tea-house or private dwelling; the visit to a shrine or temple. It is also apparent in the comment of Kornilov’s companion as his party is pursued by a mob through the streets of Edo: Gentlemen [. . .] console yourselves like real tourists with the thought that this is a situation you will not often manage to find yourselves in. Any English lord would pay a lot of money for the right to be in our place, but you’re getting the experience for free and still complaining.116 This is meant as a joke, certainly, but it underlines a clear feeling of difference, prefiguring the gushing account of Kobiakova some sixty years later, in 1913. Unlike the other writers, Kobiakova embraces everything Japanese with enthusiasm, even looking forward to the unaccustomed experience of sleeping on the floor. Yet at the same time as she claims ‘it would be better to sit on the floor and feel definitively Japanese’, in preference to using the European table and chairs provided, she shows an awareness that all this is play-acting when she talks of the ‘“tourist” zeal’ with which her group approaches a Japanese meal, and their ‘considered “tourist” opinion’ of what they have eaten.117 Another aspect of the search for authentic experience can be seen in the interest of some writers in Japanese antiquities, as if the past were somehow more valid than the modernising present. A nostalgia for ‘old Japan’ is clearly seen, for example, in Zarubin’s account of his tour of Nagasaki antique sellers looking for genuine ‘old lacquer’, and in his complaint that the Japanese have begun making everyday objects to Western taste: ‘it has become very difficult to find anything original, purely Japanese, from the native way of life.’118 A related yearning for the past is found in Krasnov’s discussion in the 1890s of the well-established practice among a certain class of Japanese women at Inosa of hiring themselves out as temporary wives to visiting Russian sailors. Again the quality of experience has been vitiated by modernity, he reflects: with the coming of the age of steam the ships remain in harbour for much shorter periods and the ‘marriages’ have become a matter more of calculation than affection.119 As can be seen here, part of the Russian construction of Japan as different operates on a moral plane: Western notions of morality, like Western ideas of comfort and style, are supposed not to apply. On the one hand, Japan was seen as ‘yellow peril’, a popular idea taken up by Russian religious philosophers

Introduction 25 from the 1890s onwards and refashioned into a perceived threat to Russia and to Christianity as a whole.120 On the other hand, as portrayed in Pierre Loti’s novel Madame Chrysanthème (Paris, 1887), a work widely known in Russia, the Japanese were seen as morally and intellectually inferior to Europeans, and for that reason were not to be taken seriously. The two perspectives are found intertwined in Russian travel narratives. Thus, Maksimov, for example, is offended by what he sees as Japanese callousness and indifference to human life at a public execution, which the crowd watches with a ‘lifelessly insulting lack of emotion’ as pedlars hawk snacks and cups of tea.121 Writing specifically of relations between the sexes, Zarubin notes that ‘morality, propriety and shame are understood in Japan quite differently from the way they are understood in Europe.’ He coyly declines to elaborate, referring the knowing reader merely to the names of some apparently dubious dances with which he was entertained.122 Garin-Mikhailovskii alludes to similar spectacles in the 1890s, without admitting to being present himself. However, he also questions the received wisdom regarding Japanese immorality, which he finds at odds with his observation of the people around him: why, he asks, reflecting on the received wisdom that all Japanese women are venal, should someone like the bookshop assistant he meets sell her body when she is perfectly well able to earn her living from her profession? Yet at the same time he detects an air of frightening and impenetrable calculation in many Japanese faces, and fears that in spite of Japanese fervour for the benefits of European civilisation a strong hostility to the West remains, forty years after Putiatin and Perry.123 Semenov, too, although he acknowledges the impeccable European-style manners of some of the Japanese officers he encounters, echoes this line of thought when he complains, for example, of the apparently studied boorishness of Major-General Okama.124 On the other hand, and particularly by the 1890s, the Russian texts are also influenced by an aestheticised view of Japan, fed in part by the European vogue beginning in the 1860s for Japonisme in art.125 In this vision everything about Japan is small, delicate and elegant, doll-like and above all again not to be taken seriously. In particular, femininity becomes the prime focus of the exotic gaze. This perspective, altogether missing from the earliest travel narratives, is perhaps foreshadowed in Goncharov’s use of the term ‘ballet’ to describe the elaborate ceremonial of Japanese diplomatic hospitality, and in his characterisation of the Japanese as ‘children’.126 It was popularised particularly in Europe by Loti and by English-language writers such as Lafcadio Hearn and Basil Hall Chamberlain, who described Japan as a ‘delicate little wonder-world of sylphs and fairies’.127 The Russians in this volume do not indulge in quite such flights of fancy, but similar lines of argument are discernible in several of the texts. There is great emphasis on Japanese neatness, for example, and Japanese men are often described as effeminate; Maksimov indeed asserts that it is impossible to tell men from women.128 Kobiakova remarks on the extraordinary tidiness of Japanese farms and comments on the clumsiness and crudeness of European furniture in a Japanese room. In her

26 Introduction account, too, the physical size of Russian people is seen as incompatible with life in Japan: their weight causes overheating in the axles of their railway carriage.129 Garin-Mikhailovskii, although in fact he eventually comes to a more complex position as suggested above, refers to ‘toy houses’ in the landscape and explicitly notes that his first views of Japan were filtered through the lens of Loti’s Madame Chrysanthème: ‘these are not people, but figures, figurines of yellow ivory borrowed from the shelves of art galleries, models of people and their houses, the image of that sugary pink-tinted reality so often found in elegant albums of Japanese colour photography’.130 Russian attitudes towards Japan in the late nineteenth century are inconsistent and contradictory, partly because of the difficulty of reconciling the peculiarities of Japanese culture and civilisation to a European mindset, partly because the changes that were taking place in Japan at that time were themselves complex and difficult to assimilate, and partly because the rapidity of Japanese modernisation reinforced an underlying insecurity in Russian writers about Russia’s own place in the world and its social and economic backwardness vis-à-vis the West. It is this combination of tensions, however, which gives Russian travel writing of the period so distinctive a voice when compared to the narratives of other Europeans, and makes it so compelling, not only as a historical record, but also as a literary phenomenon.

Notes 1 The Travels of Marco Polo, trans. and introd. Ronald Latham, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1958, p. 244. Parts of this introduction are due to appear in rather different form as David Wells, ‘Early Russian Travel Writing on Japan’, New Zealand Slavonic Journal, 2004, forthcoming. 2 See C. R. Boxer, The Christian Century in Japan, 1549–1650, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1951. 3 For general surveys of Japanese relations with European countries, see G. B. Sansom, The Western World and Japan: a Study in the Interaction of European and Asiatic Cultures, Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1977; W. G. Beasley, ‘The Foreign Threat and the Opening of Japan’, in Marius B. Jansen (ed.), The Cambridge History of Japan. Vol. 5, The Nineteenth Century, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989, pp. 259–307. 4 K. E. Cherevko, Zarozhdenie russko-iaponskikh otnoshenii XVII–XIX veka, Moscow: Nauka, 1999, 14–21. 5 The following account of the early history of relations between Russia and Japan is drawn largely from George Alexander Lensen, The Russian Push Toward Japan: Russo-Japanese Relations, 1697–1875, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1959 (hereafter RP); Esfir Fainberg, Russko-iaponskie otnosheniia v 1697–1875 gg., Moscow: Izd-vo vostochnoi lit-ry, 1960 (hereafter RO); and K. E. Cherevko, Zarozhdenie russko-iaponskikh otnoshenii XVII–XIX veka (hereafter ZRO). On early contact in the Kurile Islands and Sakhalin, see John J. Stephan, The Kurile Islands: Russo-Japanese Frontier in the Pacific, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1974, pp. 36–50, 61–5, 73–80; John J. Stephan, Sakhalin: a History, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971, pp. 31–56. See also G. A. Lensen, Russia’s Japan Expedition of 1852– 1855, Gainesville, Fla.: University of Florida Press, 1955; Peter Kornicki, Castaways and Orientalists: the Russian Route to Japan in the Early Nineteenth Century, Venice: Università Ca’ Foscari, 2001.

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25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

35 36 37 38

RP, 26–31; ZRO, 38–66. RP, 46–60; RO, 21–32; ZRO, 67–78, 83–99. RP, 60–71; RO, 32–6; ZRO, 100–2. RP, 71–84; ZRO, 103–8. RP, 84–95; RO, 36–40; ZRO, 108–10. In some sources Lovtsov’s name is given as Grigorii. RP, 96–120; RO, 52–64; ZRO, 111–34. RP, 121–2; RO, 68–70. See Kornicki, Castaways and Orientalists, pp. 19–22. RP, 124–58; RO, 71–86; ZRO, 145–60. ZRO, 160. See RP, 177–96, on the internal debates in Japan about contact with Russia at this time. RO, 95. RP, 158–76; RO, 96–103; ZRO, 161–70. RP, 196–222; RO, 106–9; ZRO, 170–1. RP, 223–46; RO, 109–12; ZRO, 171–2. RP, 247. V. M. Golovnin, Zapiski flota kapitana Golovnina o prikliucheniiakh ego v plenu u iapontsev v 1811, 1812 i 1813 godakh, s priobshcheniem Zamechanii ego o iaponskom gosudarstve i narode, 3 vols, St Petersburg: V Morskoi tipografii, 1816. RP, 243, 261–307; RO, 112–13; ZRO, 273–8. On the context of Russian expansion in the Amur region, see especially Mark Bassin, Imperial Views: Nationalist Imagination and Geographical Expansion in the Russian Far East, 1840–1865, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. RP, 308–18. For the text of the Treaty of Shimoda, see RP, 475–7. RP, 308–44; RO, 143–74; ZRO, 186–92. For the text of the Treaty of Nagasaki, see RP, 478–93. RP, 344–54; RO, 174–8, 180–5; ZRO, 193–4. For the text of the Treaty of Edo, see RP, 484–94. On Russian activity in Japan in the immediate post-treaty period, see RP, 355–424. See RP, 389–90, 421–4, 487; ZRO, 201–3; L. N. Kutakov, Rossiia i Iaponiia, Moscow: Nauka, 1988, pp. 207–11. See RP, 451–2; ZRO, 199, 200–1. RP, 388. On Goshkevich and the early years of the Hakodate consulate, see G. D. Ivanova, Russkie v Iaponii XIX-nachala XX v., Moscow: Nauka, 1993, pp. 24–44. See Ivanova, Russkie v Iaponii, pp. 45–55; A. M. Bogoliubov, ‘Pressa Rossii o Russkoi dukhovnoi missii v Iaponii (period Meidzi, 1867–1912 gg.)’, in Iz istorii religioznykh, kul’turnykh i politicheskikh vzaimootnoshenii Rossii i Iaponii v XIX– XX vekakh: sbornik nauchnykh trudov, St Petersburg: Fond po izucheniiu istorii Pravoslavnoi tserkvi, 1998, pp. 69–82; RP, 400–16. However, the naval fleet was withdrawn from Japanese waters in 1865. See ZRO, 199. See ZRO, 201. RP, 425–6; RO, 280–5. For the text of the treaty, see RP, 501–4. For a summary of Russo-Japanese competition in Manchuria and Korea, see Sandra Wilson and David Wells, ‘Introduction’, in D. Wells and S. Wilson (eds), The Russo-Japanese War in Cultural Perspective, 1904–05, Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1999, pp. 4–9. See also Akira Iriye, ‘Japan’s Drive to Great Power Status’, in The Cambridge History of Japan. Vol. 5, pp. 747–82; Kutakov, Rossiia i Iaponiia, pp. 217–31; David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the Rising Sun: Russian Ideologies of Empire and the Path to War with Japan, DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2001, pp. 111–95.

28 Introduction 39 On the course of the Russo-Japanese War, see J. N. Westwood, Russia against Japan: a New Look at the Russo-Japanese War, Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1986; R. M. Connaughton, The War of the Rising Sun and the Tumbling Bear: a Military History of the Russo-Japanese War, 1904–5, London: Routledge, 1988. 40 On rapprochement after the Russo-Japanese War, see V. A. Marinov, Rossiia i Iaponiia pered mirovoi voiny (1905–14): ocherki istorii otnoshenii, Moscow: Nauka, 1974. 41 See Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation, London: Routledge, 1992. 42 The texts are cited here from the following editions: A. A. Preobrazhenskii, ‘Pervoe russkoe posol’stvo v Iaponiiu’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1961, no. 4, pp. 113–48 (Laxman’s journal (hereafter Laxman, Journal) is included as pp. 117–46 of this article); A. J. Krusenstern, Voyage Round the World in the Years 1803, 1804, 1805 & 1806, London: John Murray, 1813, vol. 1, pp. 251–87; V. M. Golovnin, Memoirs of a Captivity in Japan, 1811–1813, 3 vols, Hong Kong: Oxford University Press, 1973; I. A. Goncharov, Sobranie sochinenii v shesti tomakh, Moscow: Gos. izd-vo khudozh. lit-ry, 1959, vol. 3, pp. 7–73, 115–55. Krusenstern’s account was first published as Puteshestvie vokrug sveta v 1803, 4, 5, i 1806 godakh, 3 vols + atlas, St Petersburg: V Morskoi tipografii, 1809–13. Goncharov’s memoir was originally published as Russkie v Iaponii v kontse 1853 i v nachale 1854 godov (iz putevykh zametok), St Petersburg: V Tipografii Imperatorskoi Akademii Nauk, 1855, and later included in his fuller memoir of his voyage, Fregat Pallada: ocherki puteshestviia, 2 vols, St Petersburg: A. I. Glazunov, 1858. 43 ‘Contact zone’ is Pratt’s term, defined as ‘the space in which peoples geographically and historically separated come into contact with each other and establish ongoing relations, usually involving conditions of coercion, radical inequality and intractable conflict’ (Pratt, Imperial Eyes, p. 6). 44 Krusenstern, Voyage, pp. 251–3. 45 In his memoir of the Rezanov expedition, the naturalist G. H. Langsdorff also bemoans the paucity of up-to-date material on Japan: see G. H. Langsdorff, Voyages and Travels in Various Parts of the World during the Years 1803, 1804, 1805, 1806, and 1807, 2 vols, London: H. Colburn, 1813–14, vol. 1, p. 203. He notes, however, the availability of works by Pierre-François-Xavier de Charlevoix, evidently his Histoire de l’établissement, des progrès et la décadence du Christianisme dans l’Empire du Japon, 3 vols, Rouen: J. J. Le Boullenger, 1715, and Histoire et description générale du Japon, 2 vols, Paris: J. M. Gandouin, 1736. An adaptation of this was still current in the 1840s: Histoire et description du Japon, d’après le P. Charlevoix, 4th edn, Tours: Ad. Mame, 1844. Earlier accounts by the Jesuit missionaries existed, and it seems that the Russian travellers consulted them, but these contained no information dating to later than 1638. 46 Kaempfer’s work on Japan did not appear in his lifetime, but was first published, in English translation, in 1727 (E. Kaempfer, The History of Japan, trans. J. G. Scheuchzer, London: The Translator, 1727). Versions in other European languages appeared not long afterwards. For a brief account of the book’s publication history and for notes on its reliability as a historical source and on ideological accretions in the first English translation, see E. Kaempfer, Kaempfer’s Japan: Tokugawa Culture Observed, ed., trans. and annot. Beatrice M. Bodart-Bailey, Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1999, pp. 7–11, 20–1. Thunberg was published first in Swedish as Resan til och uti kejsaredömet Japan (vol. 3 of Resa uti Europa, Africa, Asia, förrättad åren 1770–1779, 4 vols, Upsala: J. Edman, 1788–93). It is likely that Krusenstern used the following French edition: Voyages de C. P. Thunberg au Japon par le Cap de Bonne-Esperance, les Isles de la Sonde, etc., 3 vols, Paris: B. Dandre, 1796. 47 Golovnin, Memoirs, vol. 1, p. 10. The second volume of Krusenstern’s memoir was

Introduction 29

48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63

64 65 66

67 68 69 70 71 72 73

74 75 76 77

published in 1810, the third and atlas only after Golovnin’s departure, in 1812 and 1813 respectively. Philip Franz von Siebold, Nippon: Archiv zur Beschreibung von Japan, 2 vols, Leyden: The Author, 1832. See also Grant K. Goodman, Japan and the Dutch: 1600–1853, Richmond, Surrey: Curzon, 2000, pp. 184–9. Isaac Titsingh, Mémoires et anecdotes sur la dynastie régnante des Djogouns, souverains du Japon, Paris, 1820, and Illustrations of Japan, London: R. Ackermann, 1822. Goncharov, Sobranie sochinenii, vol. 3, pp. 8–9. Krusenstern, Voyage, vol. 2, p. 51. See also Golovnin, Memoirs, vol. 1, p. 142. Krusenstern, Voyage, vol. 1, p. 253. Goncharov, Sobranie sochinenii, vol. 3, p. 56. Krusenstern, Voyage, vol. 1, p. 256. Laksman, Journal, pp. 136, 137. Golovnin, Memoirs, vol. 1, pp. 308–9. Laksman, Journal, p. 123. Cf. RP, 43n, which states that Tugolukov could not be understood by the Japanese. Laksman, Journal, pp. 118, 126. Langsdorff, Voyages, vol. 1, pp. 231–2. RP, 147; see Langsdorff, Voyages, vol. 1, pp. 230, 234, 240. See Goncharov, Sobranie sochinenii, vol. 3, p. 30. Golovnin, Memoirs, vol. 1, p. 227; vol. 2, p. 80. Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 227–31. See also vol. 2, pp. 116–17. The Japanese authorities seem to have preferred as close a correspondence as possible between original and translated texts, notwithstanding the difficulties of achieving such a result while remaining intelligible. Krusenstern, Voyages, vol. 1, p. 256. Golovnin, Memoirs, vol. 1, pp. 176–7; see also p. 112. This is Pratt’s trope of ‘anti-conquest’: see Pratt, Imperial Eyes, p. 7. To put the matter slightly differently, in the terms proposed by Syed Manzurul Islam, the narrative produced is to a greater or lesser extent ‘sedentary’ travel writing in which the establishment of ‘a vantage point from which to carry out a representation of difference’ is of crucial importance. See Syed Manzurul Islam, The Ethics of Travel: from Marco Polo to Kafka, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1996, p. viii. Andreas Schönle, Authenticity and Fiction in the Russian Literary Journey, 1790– 1840, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2000, pp. 6–7. Krusenstern, Voyage, vol. 1, pp. 261–2; see Langsdorff, Voyages, p. 232. Krusenstern, Voyage, pp. 254–9. Langsdorff, Voyages, vol. 1, p. 293. Goncharov, Sobranie sochinenii, vol. 3, pp. 127, 19. Ibid., pp. 38–43. Ibid., pp. 49–50. It has been suggested that Fregat Pallada, with its constant denial of the exotic, contains a parody of the ‘sentimental’ style of travel writing pioneered by Goethe and espoused particularly in Russia by Nikolai Karamzin: Milton Ehre, Oblomov and his Creator: the Life and Art of Ivan Goncharov, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973, pp. 142–53. See also Krasnoshchekova, Ivan Aleksandrovich Goncharov: mir tvorchestva, St Petersburg: Pushkinskii fond, 1997, pp. 153–67. Goncharov, Sobranie sochinenii, vol. 3, p. 7. Ibid., p. 8. Ibid., pp. 30, 46. Ibid., pp. 44, 30; B. Engel’gardt (ed.), ‘Putevye pis’ma I.A. Goncharova iz krugosvetnogo plavaniia’, Literaturnoe nasledstvo, vol. 22–4, 1935, p. 397.

30 Introduction 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88

89

90 91 92 93

94 95 96 97 98

Goncharov, Sobranie sochinenii, vol. 3, p. 41. See also RP, 343–4. Goncharov, Sobranie sochinenii, vol. 3, p. 124. Ibid., p. 36. For a detailed exegesis of this aspect of Fregat Pallada, see E. Krasnoshchekova, Ivan Aleksandrovich Goncharov, pp. 134–220. RP, 343–4. Golovnin, Memoirs, vol. 1, pp. 147–9; see also pp. 62, 156. E.g., ibid., vol. 1, pp. 117–18, 140, 186, 221, 242–3. See ibid., vol. 1, pp. 18–20. Ibid., vol. 1, p. 22. Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 169, 213–14. E.g., in English, Rutherford Alcock, The Capital of the Tycoon: a Narrative of a Three Years’ Residence in Japan, London: Longman, Green, Longman, Roberts & Green, 1863; Isabella Bird, Unbeaten Tracks in Japan: an Account of Travels in the Interior Including Visits to the Aborigines of Yezo and the Shrine of Nikko, 2 vols, London: John Murray, 1880; Ernest Mason Satow and A. G. S. Hawes, A Handbook for Travellers in Central and Northern Japan, Yokohama: Kelly & Co., 1881 (2nd rev. edn, London: John Murray, 1884); Basil Hall Chamberlain, Things Japanese, Being Notes on Various Subjects Connected with Japan, London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner & Co., 1890; Lafcadio Hearn, Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan, 2 vols, London: Paul, Trench, Trübner, 1894. For works published in Russian during this period see Bibliografiia Iaponii: literatura, izdannaia v Rossii s 1734 po 1917 g., Moscow: Nauka, 1965. For a detailed discussion of British and French (and to a lesser extent American and German) writing on Japan, see JeanPierre Lehmann, The Image of Japan: from Feudal Isolation to World Power, 1850– 1905, London: Allen & Unwin, 1978; on writing in Britain, see Toshio Yokoyama, Japan in the Victorian Mind: a Study of Stereotyped Images of a Nation 1850–80, Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1987. This focus on the interplay between self and the described world was indeed a general characteristic of European and American travel writing from the middle of the nineteenth century. See Casey Blanton, Travel Writing: the Self and the World, New York: Routledge, 2002, p. 19. A. Kornilov, ‘Izvestiia iz Iaponii’, Morskoi sbornik, vol. 46, no. 4, 1860, pp. 99–122. S. Maksimov, Na vostoke: poezdka na Amur: dorozhnye zametki, 2nd edn, St Petersburg: S. V. Zvonarev, 1871, pp. 383–429; I. Zarubin, ‘Vokrug Azii: putevye zametki [pt 3]’, Russkii vestnik, vol. 153, no. 5, 1881, pp. 310–27. A. A. Cherevkova, ‘Po zheleznym dorogam Iaponii’, in Aziia: illiustrirovannyi geograficheskii sbornik, ed. A. Kruber et al., Moscow: Knizhnoe delo, 1900, pp. 18–26. N. G. Garin-Mikhailovskii, Po Koree, Man’chzhurii i liaodan’skomu poluostrovu, in his Sobranie sochinenii v piati tomakh, Moscow: Gos. izd-vo Khudozh. lit-ry, 1958, vol. 5, pp. 377–90; E. Kobiakova, ‘Pervyi den’ v Iaponii’, Russkie uchitelia za granitsei, god piatyi, Moscow: Obshchestvo rasprostraneniia tekhnicheskikh znanii, 1914, pp. 228–34. A. N. Krasnov, Po ostrovam dalekogo vostoka: putevye ocherki, St Petersburg: Nedelia, 1895, pp. 39–124, 245–69. V. Semenov [Semenoff], The Price of Blood, trans. Leonard Lewery and F. R. Godfrey, London: John Murray, 1910. See P. L. Pham, ‘On the Edge of the Orient: English Representations of Japan, circa 1895–1910’, Japanese Studies, vol. 19, no. 2, 1999, pp. 165–6. Kornilov, ‘Izvestiia iz Iaponii’, p. 118. Maksimov, Na vostoke, p. 417; Zarubin, ‘Vokrug Azii’, pp. 310–11; GarinMikhailovskii, Po Koree, Man’chzhurii i liaodan’skomu poluostrovu, pp. 377–8.

Introduction 31 99 Krasnov, Po ostrovam dalekogo vostoka, p. 68; Kobiakova, ‘Pervyi den’ v Iaponii’, p. 233. 100 Cherevkova, ‘Po zheleznym dorogam Iaponii’, p. 19; Semenov, Price of Blood, p. 105. 101 Cherevkova, ‘Po zheleznym dorogam Iaponii’, p. 19; Garin-Mikhailovskii, Po Koree, Man’chzhurii i liaodan’skomu poluostrovu, p. 383. 102 Maksimov, Na vostoke, p. 393. 103 Zarubin, ‘Vokrug Azii’, p. 311; Cherevkova, ‘Po zheleznym dorogam Iaponii’, p. 23; Garin-Mikhailovskii, Po Koree, Man’chzhurii i liaodan’skomu poluostrovu, p. 389. 104 Cf. Chamberlain’s discussion of Japan’s ‘topsy-turvydom’: Chamberlain, Things Japanese, pp. 354–5. 105 Kornilov, ‘Izvestiia iz Iaponii’, p. 117; Semenov, Price of Blood, pp. 95–7, 108; Kobiakova, ‘Pervyi den’ v Iaponii’, p. 230. 106 Cherevkova, ‘Po zheleznym dorogam Iaponii’, p. 21. 107 Garin-Mikhailovskii, Po Koree, Man’chzhurii i liaodan’skomu poluostrovu, p. 379. 108 Maksimov, Na vostoke, p. 391. 109 Ibid., pp. 389–90; Garin-Mikhailovskii, Po Koree, Man’chzhurii i liaodan’skomu poluostrovu, pp. 386–7. 110 Alcock, Capital of the Tycoon, vol. 1, p. 109. 111 Maksimov, Na vostoke, p. 399. 112 Ibid., pp. 394, 386–7, 406. Cf. Kipling’s Japan: Collected Writings, ed. Hugh Cortazii and George Webb, London: Athlone, 1988, p. 72. 113 Kornilov, ‘Izvestiia iz Iaponii’, p. 114. 114 Zarubin, ‘Vokrug Azii’, p. 320. 115 Garin-Mikhailovskii, Po Koree, Man’chzhurii i liaodan’skomu poluostrovu, p. 379. 116 Kornilov, ‘Izvestiia iz Iaponii’, p. 115. 117 Kobiakova, ‘Pervyi den’ v Iaponii’, pp. 232, 230. 118 Zarubin, ‘Vokrug Azii’, pp. 317, 318–19; cf. Pham, ‘On the Edge of the Orient’, pp. 175–7. 119 Krasnov, Po ostrovam dalekogo vostoka, pp. 69–70. 120 See Vasilii Molodiakov, Obraz Iaponii v Evrope i Rossii vtoroi poloviny XIX– nachala XX veka, Moscow: Inst. Vostokovedeniia RAN, 1996, pp. 108–56. 121 Maksimov, Na vostoke, p. 415. 122 Zarubin, ‘Vokrug Azii’, pp. 314, 325. 123 Garin-Mikhailovskii, Po Koree, Man’chzhurii i liaodan’skomu poluostrovu, pp. 386–9. 124 Semenov, Price of Blood, p. 16. 125 See Siegfried Wichmann, Japonisme: the Japanese Influence on Western Art since 1858, London: Thames & Hudson, 1981. 126 See note 77 above. 127 Chamberlain, Things Japanese, p. 4; on Japonisme in Russian literature, see: Molodiakov, Obraz Iaponii, pp. 93–107. 128 Maksimov, Na vostoke, pp. 388–9, 405; Zarubin, ‘Vokrug Azii’, p. 315. 129 Kobiakova, ‘Pervyi den’ v Iaponii’, pp. 229, 232, 231; cf. Krasnov, Po ostrovam dalekogo vostoka, p. 71. 130 Garin-Mikhailovskii, Po Koree, Man’chzhurii i liaodan’skomu poluostrovu, pp. 377, 378.

1

Adam Laxman Journal of Laxman’s embassy to Japan (Ezo, 1792–3)

The first official Russian embassy to Japan was led by Lieutenant Adam Laxman (1766–1803?), the 26-year-old son of the academician Professor Erik Laxman, who had persuaded Catherine the Great of the scientific and economic importance of such an expedition. Laxman set out from Okhotsk on the Ekaterina in midSeptember 1792, with Vasilii Lovtsov in charge of the navigation of the vessel, and accompanied by three Japanese castaways, including the merchant Daikokuya Kodayu, who were to be returned to their homeland. The following extract from Laxman’s journal describes his initial contact with the Japanese in the Kurile Islands and in Ezo, the first phase of his negotiations with Japanese officials, and his journey from the north of Ezo to the provincial capital, Matsumae.1

[Leaving the island of St Iona,]2 we continued our voyage, and after sailing a further 1150 versts, at dawn on 26th September we again saw land in the distance to the south-east and the south-west. From the calculations made on board ship and from inspection of the horizon by the civilian merchant Shabalin, who had previously visited the Kurile Islands, which stretch in a chain south-west from the Kamchatka peninsula, and had some knowledge of them, this was identified as the nineteenth island, Itarop [Iturup].3 Then, following the coast of this island to the south-west, on 28th September we saw a hill whose surface, covered in snow, resembled a sugar-loaf. According to Shabalin, this was the northern extremity of the twentieth island, Kunashir. Continuing further, we crossed the strait, a distance of about 40 versts, and proposed to pass through the strait between the twentieth and twenty-second islands.4 But as the wind was unfavourable, and suspecting, as we had heard, that the strait was winding, was narrow in places, and that it had never before been passed by ships, we abandoned this intention, turned about and tacked along the strait between the nineteenth and twentieth islands until 6th October, when, reaching the end of this strait, we sailed westwards along the coast of the twentieth island, and in the evening cast anchor off this island without reaching the harbour situated at its southern tip. However, as the

Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan

33

seabed was unsure and the ship began to drift, we removed from that place and tacked south the next day for a distance of about 7 versts, casting anchor opposite the northern shore of the twenty-second island. Seeing here the summer camps of the hairy Kuriles, we lowered a boat, in which we dispatched thirteen armed men to the shore to ascertain if there was a suitable harbour in which to winter, and to discover whether any Japanese were living in the vicinity. But, on landing, they found that everyone had fled from the yurts, and therefore they returned. Looking along the coast, we saw three Kuriles fleeing from us. Shabalin, who knows some Kurile, stopped them, and, when we approached them, they kneeled and put their hands together above their heads as a sign of welcome and gratitude and, lowering them along their beards, made various gestures. After half an hour their number had grown to fifteen and they invited us to another settlement nearby, explaining that their elders and chiefs lived there. But since evening was approaching and it was beginning to get dark, we gave them each several leaves of Cherkassian tobacco; from them I received fresh fish, and meanwhile the sailors filled a barrel with water, with which the Kuriles helped them, and when everything was completely ready I set off back to the ship. On the morning of 8th October, we sent the boat again with the Japanese interpreter Tugolukov5 and the navigator Olesov to the second camp indicated the day before by the Kuriles and which was named after the river Nipshets [Nishibetsu]. On landing, they were met by a large number of Kuriles and the Japanese. These latter invited them into their houses. Six of them lived here: the first was an official of the Matmai [Matsumae] authorities overseeing the collection of taxes and various duties on goods sold by the Kuriles to Japanese merchants; the second the agent of a Matmai merchant, who had the lease from the government of several landing places on the twentieth and twenty-first islands, as well as on the twenty-second.6 The other four were their servants. In all there were twenty-three servants living in various places nearby in the camps of the hairy Kuriles, and their overseer is changed every year. We asked them whether there was a suitable harbour in the vicinity for the laying up of our ship. They informed us that there was not far off a suitable bay, which they would show us, where one or two of their ships often wintered. After our people had been entertained to dinner according to local custom, the second of the Japanese agreed to come to our ship in their wooden boat together with three servants and the Kuriles, bringing as a sign of welcome a present of 1 pud of rice and some tobacco. In return we gave them a sugar-loaf. Afterwards we talked to them about the bay and whether there was a safer harbour. They answered that on the southern side there was a harbour called Atkis [Akkeshi], but that at present it was very dangerous to proceed there because of the narrow passage between the submerged rocks around the eastern cape of the island. Advising us not to proceed there, they returned to shore and left with us two old men from the hairy Kuriles to show us to the bay

34 Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan of Nimuro [Nemuro]. On the following day we entered this bay with the aid of a tug and at 9 o’clock on the morning of 9th October we cast one anchor, then the other, and completed the manoeuvre successfully. Towards evening of the same day, the Japanese overseer and his servants came in Kurile boats to the landing-place, where there was a house, a barn and a thatch storage shed. The settlement of Nipshets, where they have similar buildings, was at a distance of 24 versts. From the ship I watched them unload the boats and, dragging them onto the shore, transfer everything to the house. On the shore the Kuriles erected huts, or their conical summer yurts, which they covered with mats of straw and fine reeds, called in their language tsireli. They also place these inside the yurts around a central fireplace. I then went on shore and entered their house, where I was received politely, and, since we would not sit on the floor as is their custom, they provided benches covered with tsireli for us to sit on, gave us tea and cooked supper, which I at first refused. Afterwards we discussed our intention of wintering in that place and of building on the shore a cabin and a barracks, and asked whether we could expect any trouble from the hairy Kuriles.* We were assured that their ships remained there safely, that we could build near them, and that, so far as trouble from the hairy Kuriles was concerned, although this was not to be expected, for greater security they would winter in the same place, although they normally left at the present time for Matmai, returning with the first ships in May, and leaving only a few of the servants to watch over the buildings and things left at the wharf, and to ensure that they were not burned or stolen by the Kuriles. After this they asked us how many people we had on our ship so that they could make a detailed report to the authorities. I told them and asked if they would be sending to Matmai soon, requesting that they should convey a letter from me to the governor of Matmai, which they agreed to do in two days’ time. I also asked the name of the governor, how many days their messenger would take to reach Matmai and how far it was from our present location. They answered that their governor’s name was Shimano Kamisama, that the messenger would take at least thirty days as the land route was very long, being 300 Japanese ri from here, and moreover some places were very mountainous or boggy, the greater part of the road from here had Kurile settlements every 20 or 40 versts, and at other points a sea passage was required along the coast in Kurile boats. After this I took leave of them and returned to the ship. On 12th October the following letter, written by me and translated by the interpreter and the former Japanese who accompanied us, was sent with the Japanese messenger.

* The Japanese call the hairy Kuriles ezzo jilito, and their land, or its northern part, where the

hairy Kuriles live, Ezzo. The hairy Kuriles call themselves Ainu.

Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan

35

Figure 1.1 Ainu houses. Source: Isabella L. Bird, Unbeaten Tracks in Japan, 2nd edn, London: John Murray, 1911, p. 234.

To the Commander in Chief of the Matmai Government of the Great State of Nipon [Nippon], Shimano Kamisama. I beg by this letter to inform the Commander in Chief of the Matzumai Government of our journey to the chief authorities of the Japanese state with the merchant Kodayu and his companions, subjects of His TenjinKubo Majesty,7 rescued from shipwreck on the Aleutian Islands, where a group of Russian hunters had suffered a similar misfortune two years earlier, and were awaiting other ships which were accustomed to visit these islands for hunting. Through their natural and innate love of their fellow men, and sympathising deeply with their unlucky fate, they constructed by their efforts from the wrecks of their own and His TenjinKubo Majesty’s ships one vessel fit to sail, and took them to the nearest Russian town, in Kamchatka. The officials of that town, as executors of the philanthropic laws of the Great Empress of All the Russias,8 which require that all travellers be given every possible protection and assistance, used all their powers to remove as far as possible from their memory the fear and need which they had suffered, and conveyed them to the provincial capital Irkutsk, from whence, on first hearing of their misfortune, Her Imperial Majesty the Serene Russian Sovereign, through her high-motherly and exclusively humanitarian protection, ordered Lieutenant-General of Her Imperial Majesty’s Forces of the Great

36 Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan Russian State, Governor of the Provinces of Irkutsk and Kolyvan’, Knight of Many Orders, Ivan Alfer’evich Pil’, to return the said subjects of the Great State of Nipon to their own country, so that they could see their relatives and homes. In consequence of this lofty command of Her Imperial Majesty, His Excellency sent us both to return the subjects of the Great State of Nipon to their homeland with a detailed account of their adventures, through neighbourly feeling and as an embassy to the central government of that state. But since, on reaching this shore inhabited by Kuriles, we have met servants of your government and have considered it best, as late autumn has already come on, to winter here, we have decided, for your information, and for our own advantage in continuing our voyage safely in the coming spring, to beg you, as the chief authority of Matmai, to accept this letter, in which we request that you should inform the central government of the Great State of Nipon of our journey to them, so that, in the event of us approaching the shores of that state before reaching the principal harbour, finding ourselves in urgent need of shelter either because of the weather or other circumstances, the central government should instruct its subjects to allow us free and unhindered access as neighbouring allies, not considering us antagonistic and impious enemies. Informing you by this letter of these matters, we also request that when you receive advice from the central government in response to this our letter concerning the continuation of our voyage, you notify us with all haste of the central government’s instructions, so that we do not let pass the suitable time for sailing. On 14th October we went ashore to inspect the site for the construction of a winter cabin and barracks which had been allocated together with the Japanese at a distance of 60 sazhens from their own buildings. On the 17th the overseer of Atkis harbour came on board the ship with a Kurile who spoke some Japanese and told us that at a certain spot three years before he had seen on this island three men just like us, with blond hair and the same dress. But how they got there, and whence they came, and where they were headed, this Kurile could not explain, only that they were presented with rice and clothes by the Matmai governor. On the 26th a Japanese official of the same rank as the others came on board with three men and announced that on the orders of the governor he had brought a patrol for the taking of an inventory and the collection of various taxes on the seventeenth, eighteenth, nineteenth, twentieth and twenty-first islands.9 On the 27th we went ashore and visited the Japanese, including our visitor from the patrol, who showed us some bundles of beaver and otter collected from the Kuriles. We were also shown some brown and red fox furs. Afterwards

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we inspected our building, which we were able to visit from the ship at any time. This was proceeding very slowly because the servants responsible were all this time suffering from various illnesses: headaches, asthma, coughs and bloody flux. On 2nd November we called expressly on the Japanese overseer and the agent living with him to buy some rice for the sick servants, but they refused, saying that they would not dare make such a transaction for money or exchange of any sort of goods, but that they would provide for our needs without taking anything from us. They only had husked rice, as it is mostly sold throughout Japan unpolished, and each household polishes its own in special wooden mortars, and would send some after it had been processed. We declined to take it from them for nothing, but on the 6th they respectfully send us 2 puds, which we accepted and thanked them for. On the 17th, on the completion of our buildings on shore, we transferred to the cabin and the men to the barracks, leaving a guard on the ship, which we changed every month. On 12th December there arrived from Matmai a senior official, by name Sujigi Kumazo Shigeiloshi, together with a physician named Katoo Kengo Kiotoshi. The rank of the senior official was mitsute [metsuke].10 On the 13th this official and the physician visited us in our cabin, and taking the first leaf of a written paper read out as follows: ‘The letter sent by you has been received by our governor, and transmitted to the capital, Edo, with his own report. Therefore I have been sent to inform you of this and to remain here both to protect you from any trouble which you may meet from the Kuriles and to provide any other assistance which you may require.’ After this he bowed to everyone after his custom, and asked about the number of our people and wrote down their names and also their total number and some Russian words. Then he took from his pocket book a folded sheet on which were depicted the two hemispheres of the globe, and pointed out the four continents, Europe, Asia, Africa and America. But as this was evidently a very old work and many times recopied, not corresponding in the least with present-day depictions, we showed him a large recently printed globe and maps of the four continents. When he saw these he put down his own map and took a great interest in them and was very pleased both with the areas they depicted and with the division into continents and countries, as also with the coats of arms that were printed on the maps. When this was over, extremely pleased, he asked that since we were all going to winter together we should make equally friendly visits to him, and after we had exchanged greetings and shared refreshments he took his leave and returned home. On the 14th, for better acquaintance, we decided by common consent to send in the name of His Excellency11 a present consisting of several arshins of cloth, some velvet and two of Morocco, which was delivered through the interpreter. However, the official would not accept this present, explaining that their law and custom would not allow him to do so until the report on our

38 Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan arrival had been presented to their emperor by the central government, and permission had been received from His Majesty for us to proceed wherever the government should direct us, and therefore the interpreter brought it back again. The interpreter also stated that Kumazo† had asked if we would lend him the globe and atlas for a short time for curiosity’s sake, and said that with our permission he intended to copy them. We sent these things to him. The next day I visited him and saw his method of copying. He placed over the map a sheet of fine oil-paper, though which even the smallest writing could be read very clearly, and skilfully traced around it with a brush, not making the least mistake. While I was there I also saw a Japanese map of the island of Matmai or Ezzo [Ezo], including the island of Karap [Karafuto],12 which lies opposite this island to the north-west and south-west side, and was given it on my request for copying. After this had been copied and annotated in Japanese by the physician Kengo, it was given to the navigator Mr Lovtsov for better information when sailing. On the 22nd there arrived from Matmai another official of the same rank as the first to assist him. He visited us and spoke the same words as the first official, and likewise after refreshments and an exchange of greetings returned home. On the 29th there arrived at the Nimuro landing-place two officials from the capital who had been posted to Matmai on special business. The first had the rank of gofushin yagu [gofushin yaku] and was called Tanabi Assuzo; the second had the rank of ogobito metsuke [okobito metsuke] and was called Takusakowa Renjiro;13 with them was a physician named Gen-Nanyu GenNan. On the 30th these officials and the physician visited us and, paying their respects, announced that, hearing in Matmai of our arrival, they had undertaken to come here entirely out of curiosity to see us. Then they asked about the distance to our country, its size and extent, about various customs and, seeing various objects, about factories, workshops and manufactures. They inspected our gold, silver and bronze coins, and also our map showing the two hemispheres of the globe, which they too asked for copying. I tried to satisfy all their curiosity through the interpreter with the most detailed explanations, but as they lived completely at the expense of the Matmai governor, and as the local officials, on hearing the news of their arrival, had to build another thatch barracks and, moving into this, vacate their own house, it was very evident that under the guise of their own personal curiosity they had been sent ahead on purpose for a thorough investigation of our true intentions, as we evidently appeared suspicious. As time went on we became better acquainted and visited each other often.

†

Throughout the whole country the Japanese call each other by a single name, and although a surname is also placed in front, this is used only in writing.

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For our part we also visited the Matmai officials, but after the arrival of the officials from Edo they no longer dared come to us. As for the interpreter, I ordered him to visit them every day to learn their language, and they also asked for him, since they needed a translation of the captions on the maps, and each of them was eager to have a copy. In our dealings with the Japanese we were able to note that they were very diligent and hard-working; they did not leave our ship without making a model of it and asking for a man to advise them on the rigging, and so the quartermaster was sent. They made a sketch of the octant and even of the lathe which I had with me, and made wooden templates of our instruments. On February 10th, as I was always seeking through the interpreter to find out the disposition and thoughts of the Japanese regarding the Russian people, he reported the following conversation which among other discussions he had overheard between the Edo officials Yassuzo,‡ Renjiro and the physician Gen-Nan: We in Japan have long been assured by the Dutchmen who trade with us that the Russian state deals harshly and barbarically with anyone of whatever country or law who finds himself in Russia. Therefore the senior Matmai and Edo officials, relying on information received, although they accepted the letter sent through Matmai stating that your embassy from Russia was prompted by humanity and neighbourliness for the return of our subjects and the conclusion of an entirely friendly union for the future, were unable altogether to believe it, and we even came to the Nimuro landing-place expecting great danger.§ For that reason we also believe that in light of the intelligence received from the Dutch, even after receiving the news of your arrival, our emperor will continue to doubt that your enterprise is directed at friendly relations and the conclusion of a treaty until he receives the letter we have sent from here, in which we have only spoken of your intention to establish friendship and of your friendly behaviour known to us. In particular, we were convinced by the story of our compatriots whom you have returned to this place. By fate they had landed on the most remote islands, which were under Russian control, and were rescued by Russians who happened to be there, first from hunger and secondly from attack by the inhabitants of the island, and without the Russians’ help and concern they would have been killed. Moreover, by the innate kindness of

‡

§

Tanabi Yassuzo said that he had served with the Dutch for nine years in Nagasaki and understood some words of their language, and had their alphabet and a word list written out by the Dutch and transcribed into Japanese letters with a description of the pronunciation of terms. Kumazo, the first of the Matmai officials, sent from Matmai with the news that our letter had been received, also confessed to the interpreter that when he set off for this place, on what was considered a desperate venture, he was seen off by everyone with tears, and he himself wept.

40 Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan the Russian people they were taken into the interior parts of your country, and the Great Russian Empress deigned to order these little travelling people, who were not of noble status, to be accompanied to their homeland, as was their wish, without considering the expense and not stopping at the danger to her people of the sea voyage. Once a true and correct account from us concerning your activities and character has been received and examined, we hope that an instruction in your favour will result. Yassuzo further said: ‘I believe that, if our Emperor allows his subjects to undertake trade with the subjects of your kingdom, the Dutch will not be wholly pleased, considering that, as we can see, you will bring the same things as they, only with the difference that the Russian kingdom is evidently much closer to us than distant Holland.’ On 20th March an order was sent to the Edo officials, that they should hasten to return to Matmai, and with it they also received a private letter in which they were informed that two senior officials, travelling in a large suite comprising five hundred attendants of lower rank, had been sent from Edo to Matmai for our expedition. On the 29th the two Edo officials and the doctor Gen-Nan departed for Matmai. On 6th April another official, named Matsumae Feigaku, of the same rank as those who were sent previously, arrived from Matmai.** The next day he visited us and announced the following: ‘I have been sent by the Matmai governor to work with the officials here and to inform you that for precise information in answer to the letter sent by you, an envoy sent by one of the two officials of the fifth class who have been posted to Matmai by order of our Emperor is travelling to this place. This senior official has with him two juniors: their names are 1) Murata Hiozaemon, 2) Inoue Tatsunosuke, 3) Otai Hikobe, and with them are two of the most senior Matmai officials: 1) Kondo Kijizaemon, 2) Kudo Feyemon, and four juniors: 1) Takahashi Feizo, 2) Meya Yassujiro, 3) Oda Shenshiro, 4) Tamura Tamuimlon, and with them sixty attendants.’ On the 9th at 3 o’clock in the morning, a Japanese ship arrived and rode at anchor. On the morning of the 11th a sailor died of scurvy. As many as fifteen people were suffering from this disease during the whole spring period so that it was impossible to make a reconnaissance by boat to survey the surrounding area. Also on the 11th from curiosity we visited the Japanese ship, which was fairly large and carried, according to the Japanese, around 7000 puds of cargo, consisting of rice, peas, wine, tobacco, cast iron pots, other metal objects,

** Matsumae is the family name of the Matmai governor. The new arrival was a close relative of

the governor, who had been here on a previous occasion.

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tobacco pipes, brass, needles, cotton fabric, simple lacquered wooden bowls, and various other small things for the hairy Kuriles. It has a single mast and a single large sail in two sheets fastened together in such a way that when travelling in bad weather, or especially in a squall, and there is not time to lower the sail, it fills out and, because the ties are very loose, each of the sheets moves separately and the wind can pass freely between them. The sail is raised using a windlass inside the cabin, and this is also used when necessary to lower the mast and later to raise it again just like the winch on any harbour. A yawl is lowered to the water. The stern of their ship is open so that it is dangerous to go far out into the open sea; the ship narrows from midships towards the prow, the keel is curved like a bow. All outer edges and the keel under the bows are tightly bound with copper. The cabin was very tidy and everything was covered with lacquer; there was also a cupboard where their nautical idols were kept. The deck also seemed unsuitable for a long voyage as it is made up of small detachable boards, which are opened up for loading and unloading and cannot be allowed to get wet. When it rains, they weave a flimsy roof of rushes and cover the deck with ricestraw matting. They have seven anchors with four flukes like grapnels. The Japanese take the following goods from the hairy Kuriles: all kinds of dried and salted fish, but chiefly red fish that is caught around the Sea of Penzhinsk,14 for example, Siberian, Pacific and hunchback salmon, and herring; fish oil and oil from whales, sea-lions and seals. The Kuriles, in order to hunt and purchase these things to exchange for Japanese goods, gathering together from here and the twenty-first island, leave for the twentieth island every year in mid-March, and then travel together with the inhabitants of that island in five hundred boats to the nineteenth, eighteenth, seventeenth and sixteenth islands.15 At the end of May they return to the fishing grounds with their load of dried mushrooms of various kinds, bear fat and much valued bear bile, also furs brought from the other islands, beaver, otter, the local pale sables and foxes, and bear and goat skins. As for a detailed description of the hairy Kuriles, it was quite impossible to produce one. In the first place we were unable to gain their confidence and converse with them, or even to see them except rarely, since the Japanese employed all their efforts to keep them from us so that we could not learn anything from them. So that when we asked them to send the Kuriles for firewood or to collect wild garlic for the sick, they did all this, but when they returned they were always supervised by the Japanese, in whose presence the Kuriles, from servility to the Japanese, not only did not dare to speak, but would not themselves accept the tobacco we gave them for their labours, which was distributed through the Japanese. Secondly we had no interpreter who knew their language. On the morning of 22nd April we were informed by a specially sent messenger that the Japanese official Kumazo had died. Feeling sad at his

42 Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan death as we had lived together for over four months on very friendly terms, I asked if we could see him, to which I received the reply that there was no reason to look at a dead body and that we should not go. However, as the interpreter had been very close to him, I sent him to watch the order of ceremony used at the burial. When he returned in the evening after the funeral he reported as follows: First, immediately after his death, smoking candles were set before the idols and a prayer was recited according to their law. After this they shaved the dead man’s head and put the hair aside.†† Then they washed him and dressed him in his best clothes and thrust his two swords into his sash.‡‡ A coffin was prepared, 3 English feet in length, 2 feet wide and 2½ high, and they placed him inside, with his head bent slightly forwards and a rosary in his right hand, his hands placed together in the position normally adopted for prayer. Then, covering the coffin with black silk material, they installed it in the place of honour and in front of it on a small table they placed white buns of rice paste decorated with cut paper instead of flowers. Then after a while they lit their ordinary candles, then recited a prayer and closed and nailed down the lid. They bound up the coffin with white cotton material, ran it on to a long four-sided carrying beam, lifted it with two men at either end and bore it off. Meanwhile everyone cried out the following words, while others beat on the coffin, ‘Maku – guni ikashari’, meaning ‘Go away directly and do not return!’ They carried the coffin in this manner: one man walked in front with a lantern, and behind him another carried the small round loaves placed on their little table; behind him followed two rows of officials and then the dead man. The other officials and servants came behind. Arriving at the grave, which was 2 square arshins in size, they lowered the coffin into it, and after erecting at a sazhen’s distance from the grave a four-sided post with an inscription stating his name, when he was born and when he died, and with prayers on the other sides, made their farewells, each throwing in a handful of earth. The servants stayed to fill in the grave, while the other officials went back to the dead man’s house and held a wake, at which they ate steamed rice and fried beans. In the evening a lantern was placed on the grave, and the next day a three-legged trivet was placed there with a hook on which they hung a teapot. Two lacquer cups were also placed on it – one with water and one with steamed rice; and here the ceremony finished. On April 29th in the evening the Edo and Matmai officials arrived with sixty Japanese and accompanied by a hundred and fifty hairy Kuriles. On the 30th after 2 o’clock in the afternoon one of the Japanese we had

††

‡‡

As he was of good birth and a rich man, with a father and many relatives in Matmai, and because there were no priests here, he could not be buried entirely – his hair and tobacco pipe will be sent to Matmai, where a second formal ceremony will be held over them as if over the body itself. All Japanese officials down to the very least of them wear two swords, one long and one short. Merchants have the right to wear only a single sword.

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brought with us, Koichi, died of scurvy.§§ I sent to inform the Japanese and especially the doctor who treated him, and to request them to bury him according to their customs, saying, however, that, if they declined, we would bury him ourselves. But the Japanese came the same hour to certify the death and ordered a coffin to be made and a grave dug, and for the Japanese servants to take him to a tent where they washed the dead man and dressed him in a sackcloth shirt, put him in the coffin that had been brought like the official mentioned above, then recited a prayer, closed the lid, nailed it down and bound it up as before, and before 7 o’clock took it to the grave and buried it. In the morning of 1st May, the Edo and Matmai officials who had arrived on 29th April visited us in our cabin to notify us of their arrival and to state that they had been sent in response to our letter of 12th October the previous year by the officials of the fifth grade sent by their emperor to Matmai. In order to explain the matter which had brought them they asked that we visit them in the afternoon, which we promised to do. In the afternoon we went to them and were met in the street by two Matmai officials. At the gates were posted two men with spears. Inside, instead of walls, there are sliding paper screens so that in case of need a large hall for receptions can be made from many rooms. The room had been arranged in this way. When we came into the room we were received a second time by the two junior Edo officials with a greeting and seated on chairs made especially for us. When we had sat down and they had taken their places with the other seated officials, they served us tea and snacks, and brought us small lacquer cups of wine, called sakke [sake] in their language and brewed from rice. Then at the bidding of the senior Edo official the senior of the Matmai officials took out a sheet of paper and read the following words: ‘In respect of your letter sent to the Governor of Matmai on 12th December last year and presented by him, after transmission to the capital, for inspection to determine what action should be taken, His Majesty our Emperor had the kindness to send two officials of the fifth grade to Matmai on 4th January of this year for assessment and resolution of this matter. These arrived there on 26th February, and on 18th March sent three of their own officials and four Matmai officials to this landing-place to meet you, and to inform you, the commanding Russian officer, and whomever necessary, that you should go with them by land to the town of Matmai. Of these matters we hereby inform you.’ Hearing this order that was so inconsistent with our intentions, I wanted to consider the matter, but as the navigator Mr Lovtsov, who was with me, said that he would not agree, I answered in these words: ‘I am unable to carry out §§

Scurvy is unknown to the Japanese, but, although on leaving the Aleutian Islands for Kamchatka he had been in the grip of this disease and had received some relief by the use of wild garlic, once the dead man had been handed over to his own people he had, trusting to a Japanese doctor, neglected it and attempted to cure himself by various medicines and acupuncture.

44 Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan the order of the officials sent from the capital to Matmai that I should proceed there by land, because I have from my superiors an order to deliver your subjects who are in our charge and a letter directly to whatever place may be appointed only by ship. Moreover, the known length and difficulty of the journey, with the return trip, would involve considerable delay and lead to a second wintering at this landing-place, which is dangerous for our ship. This, and the unfamiliar climate, will not permit us to agree to a journey of this sort or to dividing our expedition.’ Hearing this, the officials asked that discussion of this matter should be postponed to the following day, and said that they would consult among themselves on the matter and let us know their conclusions through the interpreter. On the 2nd they summoned our interpreter and told him to inform us that they agreed to travel together with our ship in their own, which was at Atkis harbour, but that, as they had been ordered to bring us by land and not by ship, they would need first to report to their superiors and await permission, and therefore asked us to agree to wait until that time. On the 3rd I went again for discussions with the Japanese officials, and said as follows: ‘We have been informed by the interpreter that you agree for us to travel together by ship only once you have received permission, but I know that a reply to your submission cannot be obtained in less than two months, and by then, even if we were allowed to travel by ship, by the time we had travelled there and back, the season would have reached late autumn and the winds would have begun which generally come from the north, and this would force us to winter here a second time. Therefore I cannot agree to this.’ To this the senior official replied: ‘Since I was sent to return by land and make the necessary preparations along the road and provide for your provisioning to the best of my ability, for my part I am unable to agree to any proposal other than the one I have put forward. Therefore I assure you that we can receive permission by 20th June or in about forty days’ time.’ Then they said that their emperor or Kubo-Sama,16 knowing how dangerous the sea voyage was, had perhaps issued directions on this basis for our protection; however, they themselves knew that by land it would take at least a month, whereas by ship, with a good wind, it could be done in three days. They further asked: could our ship travel together with theirs, for whenever there is a contrary wind or fog in open places, they approach the shore, which they at no time lose sight of, and ride at anchor while awaiting a favourable wind, whereas we, on the contrary, go far out to sea and therefore could become separated. At these words we made various explanations to prove that they should not be concerned, and that using calculations, even in a contrary wind, we would not put in but would continue at sea, and when a change came would soon be back in the same place. Alternatively, we could establish day and night signals using lanterns and cannon shots. But they refused, saying they had no cannons, at which we proposed, if they liked, to lend them one for this purpose until we got to Matmai, which they refused, saying that the local inhabitants

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were not used to hearing the sound of cannon for no reason and might be brought to confusion. Then I interrupted them and said if this arrangement was dangerous then we could omit it except for the lanterns. Thus they tried to dissuade us from the sea voyage by listing its various dangers, repeatedly advising us to agree to travel by land, in which case they would answer for any obstacle we encountered. Otherwise, they found no alternative but to wait for definite orders on this matter. Further, from curiosity they asked me was the letter I had with me from our empress herself to be delivered to their Kubo-Sama, if not, then from whom was it, and to whom? I explained that it was written by the governor-general of the two provinces of Irkutsk and Kolyvan’ at the personal wish of the Great Russian Empress, as the closest person across the sea to the chief rulers of their land. Finally, surprised at their objections and stubborn insistence, I asked them: had not the chief officials sent by the Kubo-Sama to Matmai foreseen in their orders or instructions that, if we would not agree to divide our expedition and did not wish to proceed by land, then they would not be able to resolve our case, and that if they were sent here only on that basis, then, since we could not allow the delay that would be needed for the correspondence, there was nothing further we could do other than proceed according to our orders and prepare either to go onwards or back, and therefore we needed a direct answer from them, so that we should know which voyage to prepare for. On hearing this speech and thinking on it, they said that this was a difficult question for them and that they intended to consult on the matter with the Matmai officials and to visit us with an answer on the following day. After we had left their house, the Matmai leaders summoned our interpreter to them and told him that the Edo officials had commanded them to ask whether we were concerned about a lack of food supplies for our servants, and said that, if that was the reason we would not agree to proceed by land, they had ordered us to be told that they would impose on those in command here the duty to supply us as long as necessary. If our people were not accustomed to rice for everyday use, they could quickly obtain wheat flour. On the afternoon of the 4th we were visited by the Edo leaders and the Matmai officials. After the usual greetings and refreshments, the most senior of them began to speak as follows: that they had consulted among themselves, but finding the route around the cape of this island to be dangerous because of the number of small islands and also submerged rocks, which made for a very narrow and winding passage, they had brought with them as proof a paper on which these obstacles were roughly indicated together with the route taken by their ships. To the question, how wide was the narrowest place, they answered that it was not more than 50 sazhens and that we should send men to inspect it to make sure, to which we replied that of course we would do this in advance, but if they could pass safely, so, trusting in God, we would also hope to pass without harm, and otherwise, if first-hand examination suggested the passage would be dangerous for us, we could bypass all the small islands and rocks by

46 Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan going further out to sea, even past the twenty-first island, Shikotu [Shikotan], and, going through the wide strait, reach Atkis harbour, where their ship lay. We showed them our maps and globes, at their request, and told them about our various sea voyages before our journey to the present place, and also about straits and reefs and promontories which commonly reach out into the sea, etc. After this they renewed their arguments. If they could find no way to sway us, they suggested, and since when in danger we always relied with hope on God, would we not agree to leave our ship on arrival in Atkis and travel with them in their ship? We refused, asking how they could propose to voyage with us, when should anything happen they would be held to answer, seeing that they themselves considered their ships to be very poor, and that only simple people dared to travel on them? We, however, not considering our ship so dangerous, could rather take them on board at their convenience. At this they laughed, saying that they could not do this, having no order to this effect. The senior of the Matmai officials continued: ‘We regret that although we have tried to discourage you from a dangerous sea voyage, asked you to travel by land, and also agreed that you could travel in our ship, we have nevertheless not been able to discourage you from your own proposed course of action, or to persuade you to our proposal. It is vain to trust in God when you despise all advice and rush headlong into danger with no care for your own safety.’ To this point Mr Lovtsov answered that he, in thirty-two years of experience of naval duties in Okhotsk port, and having made a tolerable number of voyages, would fear nothing on such a journey, which was in no way out of the ordinary. After this they were about to leave, but I detained them and said that they had told us nothing definite and asked how long and on what basis our negotiations would continue. The senior Edo official replied: ‘We are agreed that we will travel together in both ships, but we ask you first to await the arrival of our ship and not to go to Atkis without it.’ This was because, if they went from here to Atkis by land rather than by ship, then the authorities would conclude that they had given us permission to travel by sea, and they – they said pointing to their necks – would be punished. Interrupting these words, I told them that we did not wish anyone to suffer such consequences, but only to make things easier for them and for their earliest return, as we knew that their ships delay passage through this place for a very long time waiting for the quietest favourable weather, and the voyage was also protracted. However, if they could not act otherwise, we agreed, requesting, however, that they should hasten to send the necessary order, and asking, could we expect their ship to be here in about ten days, or when did they anticipate it would arrive? They replied that they could not say with certainty, but it would depend on the winds: if they were favourable they would not delay and would arrive soon. On this they took their leave and departed. On 14th May the navigator Olesov returned from Atkis harbour, where he had been sent, together with the navigator from the Japanese ship which stood

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there, in order to inspect among other things the narrow passage around the eastern end of the cape of this island. He reported that the Japanese navigator wanted to leave Atkis no earlier than in five days’ time. Therefore I went to the Edo officials to report what their navigator had said and, in doing so, told them that evidently their captain paid very little attention to their orders, as could clearly be seen from his tardiness. They answered: ‘If he is neglecting our orders not only he but also the officials sent here by the Matmai governor will suffer very bad consequences. But his delay results only from a lack of polished rice, which is being got ready there for the proposed journey.’ At this I said to them: ‘If that is so, it seems your navigator is wasting time, for we could call back there for it. Because of our insecure mooring, and as our ship is fully laden and ready to depart, it is dangerous for us to stand here in shallow water any longer, lest some harm befall us.’ They assured us that the following day they would send a special messenger with the strictest reminder that he hasten his arrival as much as possible. On 16th May the interpreter was summoned to the Edo officials, who said to him: ‘We have heard from the Matmai official Feihagu that according to your captain you will only wait for our ship until the 20th, and if it has not arrived by then your intention is to put out to sea. We request that you clarify this and keep us fully informed.’ The interpreter asked them what date it was today. They answered that it was 18th April, to which he replied: ‘By our reckoning it is the 16th May, and our calculations may be correct, as four days still remain until the arrival of your ship.’17 Meanwhile, I had been across to the sea on the southern side of the cape, and on my way back also called on them, where the above conversation was repeated to me, and I was asked to delay until the arrival of their ship, with the assurance that, when their captain received the order to depart from the special messenger, there would be no further delay. They also asked me whether we would really put out to sea on the 20th without waiting for their ship, to which I replied that indeed we would wait no longer. On the 18th, while the interpreter was with the Japanese officials news was received from Atkis from their captain, who had been spending the recent time on mending a mast and salting fish, and today, after the repairs, would proceed to this landing-place on the 20th. On the 19th I went especially to the Edo officials with the following statement: ‘Although it was our agreement to go together, fifteen days have already passed in which your ship could have come and gone three times, and the delay has resulted from various failures on your part. You have presented excuses about a lack of prepared rice for the journey, repair of a mast, and finally, that fish has not yet been salted, and evidently as time goes on you will invent new excuses for delay. As it is high time for us to depart, I must hereby state that we have resolved to leave this place in two days’ time. Therefore, we should be grateful if, according to your promise, you would designate for our voyage one person who knows the lie of the coast to Matmai.’ They replied

48 Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan that they would gladly give us two men, only as their ship had not arrived they had none here; when it arrived they would choose the best. I said that was too long to wait, but, if they agreed, we could send a boat to pick them up as we passed Atkis. They replied that they could give no such order. In that case, I told them, we could get by without them, being certain that our journey is known about generally. They answered: ‘It is not known that you will travel by ship alone, because we were sent to fetch you by land, and although we have sent a special messenger with the news that you did not agree, but that we would instead travel together by ship, if you appear alone the local authorities will not be able to make you a suitable greeting when they meet you; on the contrary, not seeing us, they will fall into doubt and dismay.’ I said: ‘There is no need to trouble yourselves about that, we are able to speak and can explain ourselves. In any case I think that you will hasten to join us; if you delay then perhaps by the time you arrive we will be ready for the return journey. I also regret that you have had so many unnecessary difficulties during the winter in your continual journeys to this place. In our letter we certainly did not ask for this, and if you had not come, we would have been able to complete the journey entrusted to us long ago.’ They answered: ‘Of course what you say is true, but you speak without knowing our laws. Your arrival here is the first such arrival, and even if it had been necessary for us to come in greater numbers, we were still sent by order of our Kubo-Sama both to meet you and to establish the best order from our side, and do not consider it a burden. Now you do not wish to wait for us, without knowing either the lie of the land, or all other things necessary to your own advantage, what things may happen and how they should be resolved. There is still no treaty of friendship between our two countries, and hence we beg you to wait for our ship and, since we are only here for that purpose, travel together with us. For this reason we have sent an order to our captain this morning that he should not fail to take advantage of a favourable wind and should hasten to arrive here as quickly as possible, and we assure you that he will be here in four days’ time without fail.’ I asked, but what if on their arrival here they then continued to delay? They answered that their complement was not large; they could be ready in half a day. I said that, notwithstanding this assurance, I could not agree to this delay on my own account without agreement among ourselves and putting their request to Mr Lovtsov, and said that they could hear what we had decided if they would call on us in the afternoon. ‘On your statement that no treaty of friendship has yet been drawn up between our countries, this is not the place to pursue discussions. We, proceeding on our journey as instructed, as envoys, are required on handing over your subjects to deliver a letter with an explanation of everything intended.’ On this I wished to leave, but they further asked why as commander I could not decide alone on the proposed delay. I replied that each of us had his own duties. Mr Lovtsov, as captain, was entrusted with the disposition of the ship and its crew; therefore he had the right to insist on an early departure in order

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to protect the ship, for the danger of this landing-place during winter bad weather, even for a ship which had been unloaded and had its rigging put away so that it would stand up better to the winds, was quite well known. Today, having agreed to travel together, we were completely ready to depart, but if, while they delayed, any extended bad weather should ensue, particularly with a falling tide, since the bay is not very deep and has a ground of rocks and loose stones, the ship could be damaged, or completely smashed to pieces from its pitching and rolling. He would have to answer for this consequence to the ship, and therefore I could not make a delay without his agreement. Then they asked us again to consider their proposal, promising to come in the afternoon with the Matmai officials to hear our joint opinion. On 21st May the interpreter announced to me that he had been to the Edo officials, who in his presence had received a letter containing instructions about our journey: if you did not agree to proceed by land, then to come together by ship without loss of time. To the question: ‘How have you now been able to receive a reply to your letter so quickly’, they replied: ‘The letter we sent to Matmai has not yet arrived, but this instruction was issued on the return from here of the officials Yassuzo and Renjiro, who no doubt reported on this matter.’ On the 26th I sent the interpreter to the Japanese officials to inform them of our removal to the ship to await a favourable wind for a safe departure. On hearing this, they wanted to visit us for discussions, but since we were moving to the ship we put them off. Then after a while Mr Lovtsov was summoned to the Matmai officials, who on his arrival said: ‘We have heard from the interpreter that you are transferring to your ship and intend to proceed to Matmai without waiting for our ship.’ To this he replied: ‘We are tired of waiting for you again and again at your advice and request, and since by our regulations I am required without fail to note in my log everything that we have done each day, and on our return this will bear witness, I will be held responsible if any discrepancy, especially regarding time, is discovered.’ They told him not to worry on this score: ‘If you wish it, our chief officers can intercede with your government’, and asked him to wait for their ship, suggesting that perhaps this had set out on today’s favourable wind. Then he advised them that they could load all their equipment into our ship and themselves travel to Atkis by land, or in wooden Kurile boats and there transfer it to their ship. They answered that his proposal was reasonable and they would not fail to communicate it to the Edo officials and consult with them. The same day at 6 o’clock in the afternoon we completed the transfer to our ship. On the 27th the Edo officials sent two men, a navigator and his assistant, to show us the passage through the narrow places and the anchoring points as far as Matmai. On the 28th, between 2 and 3 o’clock in the afternoon, there was a strong earthquake, greater than those that had been frequently felt through the whole winter, which threw everyone on the ship into dismay.

50 Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan On 31st May after midday we saw a fleet of Matmai ships approaching. The first anchored at 7 o’clock, the others on 1st June – the second at 7 o’clock in the morning, the third and fourth at 8 o’clock, the fifth at 6 o’clock in the afternoon – and the sixth on 2nd June at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. Among these ships was the one belonging personally to the Matmai governor, which had come from Atkis to convey the Japanese officials. On 3rd June both the Edo and Matmai officials came on board our ship to arrange for the departure which they proposed for the following day if there was a favourable wind. On the morning of the 4th, although the wind was weak, it was favourable. We decided to advise the Japanese of our departure by cannon shot, as we had agreed the previous day. At 6 o’clock we weighed anchor, unfurled our sails and departed. Between 10 and 11 o’clock in the morning we passed by the Japanese buildings and the Kurile settlement of Notka at a distance of 13 versts Towards 12 o’clock the Japanese ship with the officials overhauled us and returned in a circle around us just to shout to us from the ship that the wind was not suitable for traversing the narrow passage. Therefore, we should make for the island of Suisho, which lay opposite, and should rest at anchor as they would. But since we could not reach it and the wind turned contrary, we did not drop anchor where we were because Mr Lovtsov thought to get closer by tacking. But the wind grew stronger, and we were faced with a very dangerous journey in a square around the twentieth, twenty-first, nineteenth and twenty-second islands, dropping anchor several times when we were close to the shore. We moved off again when the wind changed, and on the 11th found ourselves 3 versts off the Nimuro landing-place, where we rode on two anchors until midday. At 11 o’clock a Japanese came from the landing-place and informed us that the Japanese officials, who had long since passed through the narrow passage, were standing on the southern side of the Eruri islets and, being worried about us, had sent Kuriles to all the landing-places and other possible spots to try and obtain news of us. On the 14th we weighed anchor and tacked until the 16th, when in the morning we again came up to Notka, and were informed by a Japanese who came out to our ship that the leading Japanese officials had arrived at Nimuro the previous day from their ships and ordered him, when he saw us, to request that we went to them for discussions. But we did not agree because it became calm and we proposed to cross the narrow passage with the aid of tugs. We asked the messenger to send us a few boats to assist with our passage, and with the aid of these we passed through that often-mentioned dangerous place. At 6 o’clock in the morning we reached the Eruri Islands, where the Japanese ship stood waiting, and cast anchor. On the 17th between 2 and 3 o’clock in the afternoon the Edo and Matmai officials who had come from Nimuro on the ship came to us and asked us to send them one of our under-officers for the journey. But I replied that such an

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arrangement is only made through mistrust with unenlightened and wild peoples, as for example between them and the hairy Kuriles, with whose sort one can take hostages for security, but not with enlightened officials sent from the Great Russian Empire as ambassadors. They worried in vain that we would go past the agreed harbour of Edomo.18 On that they ceased to pursue the matter. On the 18th, because there was no wind, we went on to the above mentioned islands where we were anchored. On the 19th I landed on Matmai Island, where there was a sandy bay with a steep bank of earth, covered with spruce, firs and birches. Right on the shore was a settlement of hairy Kuriles, who were engaged in fishing. At that time, after the herring, cod and turbot, the red fish had appeared: Siberian, Pacific and hunchback salmon. They had plenty for provisioning and our servants laid in a special stock, which they bought very cheaply for small silver coins. During the sale one of the Kuriles changed a silver rouble for smaller coins. When I learned of this, I asked him where he had got them. He replied that he had received them from other Kuriles on Karap Island. On the 21st at 5 o’clock in the morning a Matmai ship passed us going to the Nimuro landing-place. On the 23rd after midnight, taking advantage of a light wind, the Japanese weighed anchor and passed around us with five ships, and disappeared from sight in front of us. At 8 o’clock in the evening we reached a small island called Kidab, off which there is also a suitable place for ships to wait during stormy weather. On the 24th at 6 o’clock in the evening we reached Atkis harbour and at 9 o’clock cast anchor in a depth of 10 sazhens. On the 28th we left the ship for a Japanese building inside the harbour where the overseer and several of his servants lived. However, around the harbour there were numerous Kurile huts. The harbour is fairly large and very convenient both for ships and large boats. It has a clay bottom and is protected from the winds by a circle of medium-sized mountains covered in mixed forest. While we were in the overseer’s house at 9 o’clock in the morning there was an earthquake. On the 29th at 9 o’clock in the morning we weighed anchor and left the roads of Atkis harbour, leaving behind two Japanese ships which stood awaiting a southerly wind to take them through the narrow passage back to Nimuro. On 1st July at 5 o’clock in the morning we cast anchor because of the strong current we had observed, and on the morning of the following day the Japanese navigator went on shore in our leather boat on reconnaissance, and on his return said that if we sailed north we would find ourselves on the southern side of Edomo harbour. At 11 o’clock the fog lifted and we could see on the shore a Japanese village surrounded by ploughed fields. On the 3rd just after 5 o’clock in the morning we weighed anchor and tacked. In the evening we suddenly heard the sound of breakers, and as we were no more than 400 sazhens from the shore we dropped both anchors and

52 Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan lowered a boat on a chain, which in the morning we used as a tug in order to avoid the dangerous place. Then the Japanese navigator confessed that on the 2nd we had not been on the southern side of Edomo harbour, but actually in the Tsungara [Tsugaru] Strait,19 near the main island of Nipon. Also on the 4th, between 2 and 3 o’clock in the afternoon, we arrived in the roads of Hakodade [Hakodate] harbour, where we cast anchor. Not long after 3 o’clock the daigwan [daikan], or mayor of the town, came on board the ship. He greeted us politely and said that he had been ordered to assist us in any way we required. On his return to land, he accordingly sent out from the town as many as thirty large boats to act as tugs and guide our ship into the harbour. On the ship he left a guard of four men and one official, who like the mayor was followed as a mark of distinction by a lance-bearer. So that we should not be troubled by the large mass of people who had surrounded the ship in boats and whose curiosity often led them to come alongside and ask permission to climb up, the guards pushed them all away with iron rods. They even threw bars at the people and, coming down from the ship in the guard yawl, beat them without mercy, chasing them further off. However, as the wind was against us and we were also moving against the swelling current of the outgoing tide, we progressed very slowly. They dropped anchor to allow the men to rest, but after 6 o’clock they were again sent out by the mayor with their grapnels and cables and continued dragging us until dusk. At dawn on the 5th they came again and towed us with the grapnel, then when we had got into the harbour we came to our anchoring place with the assistance of a tug. After lunch the mayor came on board with three officials in full dress and brought us a present of twenty turbot, for which, as for their help in bringing the ship into harbour, we thanked them. They then told us that the Edo official who had been sent to Matmai from the Nimuro landing-place by land on the news of arrival had arrived in Hakodade from Matmai. This official himself arrived half an hour afterwards and when the first delegation had left said: that his companions whom we had left behind would arrive tomorrow, and that we should meanwhile decide the number of people who would continue to Matmai and determine the weight of all our luggage so that they would know how many horses and guides would need to be appointed, and on this he departed. In the evening he sent for the ship’s company a three-vedro barrel of wine or sakke. On the morning of the 6th a similar barrel was sent by the mayor. At midday the Edo official came and, ordering through his men that our ship be brought closer to the shore, invited us into the town, offering us the use of his baths: did we not wish to wash after our journey? And when we agreed, he departed to make the necessary arrangements. Two hours later a merchant and master of a house famous throughout the island was sent to the ship, with two officials in two large boats, to take us on shore. There we were formally met by the mayor and six officials, who stood in

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ornate dress in a row to the left. We were taken a short distance along a street lined with a multitude of both sexes sitting on the ground, to a house over whose door was affixed a board with the inscription ‘Russian House’. Here we were met a second time by the Edo official and taken into rooms that opened to the west on to a small garden presenting an allegorical view of a cliff made of large stones skilfully piled together and ornamented with various sorts of moss and shrubs. There were peach trees, walnuts, cherries and apples. After washing in two specially prepared baths, we were offered food at two small tables that were brought in, consisting largely of various sorts of salted and boiled seaweed and shellfish. Instead of bread they use only boiled rice. The officials remained all this time in their ornate clothes and after the meal took us back to the coast and to our ship with the same ceremony. On the 7th the Matmai and Edo officials who had been with us in Nimuro arrived in the town, together with four Edo officials newly arrived from Matmai. On the 8th they came on board the ship and announced that they had been sent to ask why we had not gone to the appointed harbour of Edomo, but had come here. We replied: ‘Land was not visible after we left Atkis harbour because of fog, and we were most of the time becalmed. Consequently, the strong currents took us past the appointed harbour, and when the Japanese navigator recognised the land the wind was blowing away from Edomo. Since it was very dangerous to lay over on that spot, we were obliged to use the prevailing wind to proceed here.’ Then they asked the number of people who intended to go to Matmai. We told them twelve men, excluding the Japanese in our care. Meanwhile we asked them to assign us a place where we could dry and keep our supplies until our return, which they promised to do. On the morning of the 9th the Edo officials sent carpenters to make boxes. At midday they assigned a warehouse for the storage and drying of our supplies, which they transferred there. In the afternoon they allowed us to go out with one of the Matmai officials to the coast on the north side of the city, where we walked to a village called Hameda, and saw on both sides of the road fields sown with rice, pulses, flax, hemp, beans and tobacco. There were vegetables growing in the kitchen gardens: turnips, radishes, carrots, beetroot, beans, cucumbers similar to Turkish cucumbers, and various sorts of peas. As the Japanese do not use four-legged animals for food, we saw no cattle, but only horses; we saw no fowls except chickens. However, each house keeps dogs and especially cats. In the evening, on returning to the ship, we found three officials, who asked us how many carts we would need, exactly how much luggage we had, how much it weighed, and whether we would need mats to cover the luggage and protect it against rain, and so we showed them our luggage. And after calculating all the weights, they declared that at least sixty horses and a hundred and fifty mats would be needed. The mats were immediately brought on board the ship for packing. On the 10th we decided to find out if they would let us go for a walk through

54 Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan the city streets. At this all the officials, coming together, told the interpreter to convey to us that we should not distress ourselves that they could not allow this, for their law forbids it, but that we should be patient until we arrived at Matmai, where their superiors had more power to make a decision of this sort. They further requested the interpreter to ask me in what order we would proceed on arrival in Matmai, where we would be met ceremonially. On the 11th in the morning I sent the interpreter to ask permission for our servants to go on shore to wash our clothes, but the Edo officials themselves came on to our ship and said firstly that, in reply to their report concerning our reasons for arriving in the present harbour, they had received the order that everyone I had designated for the journey to Matmai could proceed, while the ship with the others should be taken with their assistance to the agreed harbour of Edomo. To this I replied: ‘As it is completely out of the question for me to entrust the ship to the hands of others, we cannot agree to this proposal. However, rather than for us to travel from harbour to harbour and risk dangers at their whim, would it not be better for their rulers to come here and decide on the spot everything that had been submitted to their judgment?’ They said that they could not decide otherwise, as their law was inflexible, and that we should not expect here the same latitude as in the Kurile lands at the Nimuro landing-place. I answered: ‘Everyone knows that in all countries subjects must obey the laws, but our ships are rigged quite differently from yours, and therefore require an expertise in handling which is unknown to your sailors, and for this reason alone it is dangerous to entrust them with this task.’ However, in the end they decided that the ship would remain here until we arrived in Matmai, where their superiors could decide the matter. The conversation moved on to the ceremony on arrival at Matmai, and they said that 2 versts outside the town there was a settlement where we could make our preparations. I said that we would not omit to do this. They allocated a special building for the washing of our laundry. On the 12th from early morning we dispatched through the Japanese officials and servants all the goods and supplies that were to accompany us to Matmai to a building on shore appointed for our lodging, and we ourselves went there at 5 o’clock and were received as before with ceremony and presented with dinner on a separate table for each person. For sleeping, special bunks had been made and covered with animal skins; each was also equipped, as is their custom, with a lacquer smoking set with small bronze bowls for the ashes, tobacco and spit, and for me a silver set of excellent workmanship. On 13th July in the morning they announced that we should breakfast before our departure and when everyone had been served also brought a small table with little bowls in which was placed a small portion of each dish of the food prepared for us. Every time we breakfasted, lunched or dined, one of the

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officials came and ate from each bowl in our sight, so that we should not suspect that anyone proposed us harm, and only then invited us to eat. We were entertained with wine in the same manner. The total number of officials, both from Edo and Matmai, who gave us assistance and hospitality was sixteen. Behind each of them was a lance-bearer as a sign of distinction and authority. At 7 o’clock in the morning, two officials set off ahead so that they would be able to meet and receive us in the villages along the road where lunch and later dinner would be prepared, and where we would spend the night. At 8 o’clock the officials came and said that everything was ready for departure and escorted us to the front gate, where norimons,20 like European Sedan chairs, were drawn up. I sat down in a norimon, which was borne by four men while four more walked alongside to relieve them, and they changed over every half hour on the move without stopping. Besides these, two low-ranking overseers walked on each side in attendance. And behind, two more led a saddled horse in case I should wish to ride. Further back Mr Lovtsov was carried and behind him the volunteer, the son of the commandant of Okhotsk, Collegiate Assessor Kokh.21 Also the others – the interpreter, Tugolukov, surveyor-sergeant Ivan Trapeznikov, the merchants Vlas Bobikov and Ivan Polnomoshnii and five servants rode on horses, which were led by the reins, and also had two Japanese overseers as servants, who walked on either side in attendance.

Figure 1.2 Japanese norimon. Source: Rutherford Alcock, The Capital of the Tycoon, London: Longman, Green, Longman, Roberts & Green, 1863, vol. 1, p. 96.

56 Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan In front were the two Matmai officials, followed by their lance-bearers, and the first of them by six and the second by three men. Our servants were attended in the same way behind. And behind these followed the other officials, and pack-horses with the luggage, and men on foot with the lighter burdens. Altogether with the servants and officials there were four hundred and fifty people. Continuing in this order, we went through villages and across rivers on bridges similar to those in China. On the approach to each village I saw two, three, or depending on the size of the village ten people who had come out and were sitting with their heads bowed and in ornate clothes to greet us. These were the village overseers and elders. Similarly, there were people on the way out of the village to a distance of about 150 sazhens. At 2 o’clock in the afternoon we reached a village called Moheji, where a house was appointed for lunch, with an inscription as in Hakodade, as was provided in all the places we stopped in up to Matmai. Moreover, as a mark of distinction, these houses not only had painted screens along the inside walls, but were covered on the outside with six strips of white cotton sewn together and stamped with the crest of the Governor of Matmai. In them, on our arrival we were met at the door by the officials who had gone ahead and led to rooms where everything had already been prepared after their custom. Other officials, replacing the first, set off again in advance and thus exchanged places for the whole journey. After lunch we continued to the village where we were to spend the night, by name Izumizawa, where, as at our first stop, preparations had been made. Here, as in each of the villages we passed through, stood a temple, with bells hanging in a specially built raised structure over the entrance or porch. The distance of this place from Hakodade was 34 versts and 30 sazhens. On the 14th, before 10 o’clock in the morning, we came to a village called Kilona, from whence, after lunching we continued further and came to a large village called Shiriuji, which was appointed for us to pass the night at a distance of 20 versts and 310 sazhens from Izumizawa. As well as a temple this village had small shops. On the 15th at 6 o’clock in the morning we left here and, crossing a mountainous region, at 11 o’clock arrived at two specially constructed thatch barns of which the one appointed for our use was covered inside and out with neatly edged white cotton with various printed designs, and with benches around all the walls. After lunching here we set off further. And after crossing the mountain we climbed another very high one. We went along the top ridge and descended very sharply to a stream, following which we arrived before 3 o’clock at a village called Figushima, at a distance of 26 versts and 300 sazhens from Shiriuji, and there spent the night. The road everywhere, and especially on steep, winding descents, was cut into the hillside, and had evidently cost a great deal of work. On the 16th in the morning we set off and, reaching the village of Yoshoga, stopped for lunch. As we progressed I noticed that the sea shore was marked

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every 100 sazhens or more by ridges of large pebbles, and to the question what these were for, we were told that each man, according to his family, measures out a part of the coastline to collect seaweed thrown up on the shore, other plants and shellfish, and that each one of them may only harvest his prescribed area and the sea adjoining it. From here we went 8 versts along the coast to the village of Reyerige and from here began to climb a mountain, which according to the Japanese was the highest on the island of Matmai, and after climbing to the peak, stopped there by a tent, where the Matmai people asked us whether we would like to drink tea or spring water. From this summit, half a verst away across a narrow valley, we could see one of the island’s three active volcanoes and thick smoke rising from it. The Matmai people told us that the hot springs on the side of this volcano are very beneficial to the health, and their people obtain relief from various diseases by using them. We descended from this mountain and, going 3 versts along the coast, passed through two villages and arrived at a third called Osamasura, where we stopped and were taken to a house. While we changed our clothes, the officials occupied themselves with arrangements for the procession, because, to relieve those who had come with us, three times the number of officials and servants had been sent from Matmai, all in ornate dress of different kinds depending on their rank and duties. Once the preparations had been made, we continued in the following order. In front rode an Edo official in a white dress. Two men led his horse by the bridle, while two servants walked at either side; behind him were two lancebearers and two men bearing black lacquer boxes and then twelve men in two rows in black lacquer hats and with lances. Behind these, two men carried the lancers’ banner on a long staff with three gilt poppy-heads, under the largest of which the staff was bound round with scarlet cloth with ribbons an arshin long hanging down; and behind this eight men in two rows with lances. Then came twelve men with bows and quivers, and then a Matmai official on horseback like the Edo official. Behind him were two lance-bearers and the archers’ banner, also on a long staff, with three curved iron badges shaped like crescents, under which the staff was wrapped with scarlet cloth with white ribbons an arshin long hanging down. Behind this came eight men with bows and a second Matmai official on horseback, behind whom came two lancebearers and four overseers. Then came two men abreast, one bearing a spear and the other with a large sunflower on a long staff. After them came four men carrying lacquered boxes in cases of green waxed cloth. After this I was carried in the governor’s norimon by a detail of eight men in ornate clothes, then followed two more norimons. In the first was the Japanese Kodai [Kodayu], from among those whom I was escorting, and in the second a Matmai official, and behind them lance-bearers, followed by Mr Lovtsov on horseback, led by the bridle by two men and with two more at either side. Then in the same style came the interpreter Tugolukov, the surveyor Trapeznikov,

58 Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan the volunteer Kokh, the two merchants, the Japanese Isokich [Isokichi] from our party, and five servants. Between each of them walked two Matmai officials followed by lance-bearers. In the rear rode an Edo official equal in rank to the one at the front of the procession, Hiozaemon, who had been at the Nimuro landing-place, and all the other Japanese officials in similar ceremony; behind them came all the luggage on pack-horses, though the larger part of it was carried by Japanese on foot. Before 3 o’clock in the afternoon we entered the town of Matmai, where along all the streets through which we passed the houses were open and filled with spectators of both sexes. However, we noticed no one on the street apart from the street wardens and overseers who stood at each crossroads in ornate dress with lances. Coming up to a house, we were met by another procession with a gilded musketeers’ banner, spherical in shape, with three Matmai crests depicted on it, and which was again held on a long staff. Joining up at the front with the others, they proceeded to the gates of the house designated for our use, at which stood a guard of sixty men on either side. Those on the righthand side had muskets sloped across their right shoulders and lighted fuses in their left hands; those on the left had bows and quivers. Stopping here we were met by the Matmai officials and crossed the courtyard, in which there was also a guard, before which seven lances were posted. Going inside, we were met by the Edo officials and taken to various chambers, of which one was allocated to each of us, and installed ourselves.

Notes 1 Source: A. A. Preobrazhenskii, ‘Pervoe russkoe posol’stvo v Iaponiiu’, Istoricheskii arkhiv, 1961, no. 4, pp. 118–39. Passages omitted in the translation are indicated as , omitted footnotes as . 2 St Iona: island in the Sea of Okhotsk. 3 Dmitrii Shabalin had participated in previous Russian expeditions to the Kurile Islands and the northern part of Ezo in 1778–9 and 1783–5. 4 Twenty-second island: Ezo. 5 Egor Tugolukov had learned Japanese from the Japanese castaways at the school in Irkutsk. 6 Twenty-first island: Chikotan. 7 I.e., the shogun. 8 Catherine the Great, reigned 1762–96. 9 Seventeenth island: North and South Chirpoi; eighteenth island: Urup. 10 Metsuke: inspector. In this case apparently an official of the Matsumae government rather than the shogunate. 11 I.e., the Governor of Irkutsk and Kolyvan’, Ivan Alfer’evich Pil’. 12 Sakhalin. 13 These two officials were sent by the shogunal government in Edo to investigate Laxman’s appearance. They outranked the Matsumae domain officials mentioned earlier. 14 Sea of Penzhinsk: name given to the north-east corner of the Sea of Okhotsk. 15 Sixteenth island: Simusir. 16 The shogun was often referred to as ‘emperor’ in early foreign accounts of Japan.

Laxman: Journal of embassy to Japan

59

17 The discrepancy in dates is due to the fact that the Japanese were using a lunar and the Russians a solar calendar. See p. xi. 18 Edomo: now Muroran. 19 Tsugara Strait separates the islands of Hokkaido and Honshu. 20 Norimono: carriage, here palanquin. 21 The fifteen-year-old son of Commandant Kokh had joined the expedition as a volunteer, at his own expense.

2

Ivan Krusenstern Voyage round the world (Nagasaki, 1804–5)

Ivan Fedorovich Krusenstern (1770–1846) was an officer in the employ of the Russian-American Company and captain of the Nadezhda, the ship on which ambassador Nikolai Rezanov travelled to Japan to take advantage of the Laxman permit. The expedition left Kronstadt in the summer of 1803 and sailed across the Atlantic and round Cape Horn, arriving at Petropavlovsk in Kamchatka in July 1804. After resupplying and repairing the ship the Russians continued to Japan, reaching Nagasaki on 26 September. Following the failure of the Rezanov embassy Krusenstern continued to explore Sakhalin and the Kurile Islands before finally departing the region to return to Kronstadt, which he reached in August 1805. Orthography and punctuation in this chapter follow those of the original English publication.1

Every one knows the insulting jealousy which is observed towards strangers in Japan; we had no right to expect a more favorable treatment than other nations; yet, as we had an ambassador on board, who was sent merely with assurances of friendship, by the monarch of a powerful empire, bordering upon these people so suspicious in their politics, we hoped not to be received unfavorably. We expected that many liberties would be allowed us, which would in some degree alleviate our stay here, and render less irksome our long inactivity, (for we calculated upon spending at least six months here,) by the opportunity we should have of acquiring some information on this little known country, upon which the only Europeans competent to impart any knowledge concerning it, have, during the last two hundred years, made a rule not to publish any thing. Within this period, indeed, two travellers have published their remarks upon Japan; and although both of them, comparatively speaking, were but a short time in this country, their accounts are undoubtedly important, being the only ones since the extirpation of the Christians, from which period the accounts of the Jesuits cease.2 They were, however, neither of them Dutch; so that Europe owes nothing to this nation, with respect to a knowledge of the Japanese empire. Does this proceed from fear that such a liberty would be severely reprehended by the government of Japan? or does it originate in indolence or policy? The first reason alone could exculpate them, if it were known that this government had disapproved of the writings of

Krusenstern: Voyage round the world 61 Kämpfer and Thunberg, which are well known to the Dutch interpreters, the spies of the Japanese government; and that they had expressly forbidden the Dutch to write any thing upon this government. But this is not the case. They have never even published a decent map of the situation of Firando [Hirado] and Nangasaky [Nagasaki],3 Kämpfer’s copy of a bad Japanese plan being the only one that is known; nor have we learnt from them the situation of the islands in the vicinity of Nangasaky, much less of those between this place and Formosa, parts which are yearly visited by two Dutch ships. The Japanese could not possibly consider it as a crime, that they should make known correctly the situation of these places, and I cannot help attributing this reserve of the Dutch to a ridiculous, mean, and at all events a very useless policy, contrary to the spirit of a philosophical age, and unbecoming a republican government. Has the trade of England suffered at all by the liberality of her government, or has that of the Dutch gained any thing by their disgusting secrecy? The state of English and Dutch commerce is too well known to every one to render it necessary that I should carry the comparison farther. The reader will pardon me this involuntary digression; I now return to our reception at Nangasaky. Although we certainly expected to be allowed more liberty than the Dutch enjoy here, we found ourselves greatly mistaken. This trifling freedom, which can only be called so when compared with our confined state on board the ship, and which appeared to us at first so despicable, that we should have rejected it with scorn, if it had been offered to us on condition that we should demand no more; even this little was entirely denied us, and the time of our stay here was literally a confinement, from which the ambassador was no more exempted, than the meanest sailor in the ship. It will therefore easily be seen, how impossible it was for those who continued on board, to obtain even the slightest information; the Dutch interpreters, the only sources from whence this was to be derived, not daring to approach the ship during the ambassador’s stay on shore.* The reader must not therefore expect any satisfactory account of Japan from me, although we continued above six months there, as I can only relate, in the order in which they occurred, those circumstances which in some measure tended to break the monotony of our situation. The greater part of these are indeed of no importance; but I do not think it right to omit them, not only because every thing relating to a country so little known as this is, must possess a certain degree of interest, but as some general inferences may be drawn from a true, though dry and unentertaining narrative of facts. A short account of our confinement, and of the mistrustful conduct in general of the Japanese, without omitting such trifling favours as were shown to our ambassador, and which were entirely unprecedented in Japan, may therefore not be superfluous.

* Only some of the lowest of the class of interpreters came on board to remove the presents,

and unload the ship’s provisions.

62 Krusenstern: Voyage round the world The first great proof of their jealousy was evinced in their taking from us all our powder and fire-arms, even to the fowling pieces belonging to the officers, among which were some of considerable value; and it was not until after four months’ constant entreaties and representations that these latter were returned to them in order to be cleaned, though many of them were entirely destroyed by the time they were restored. The officers were indeed allowed to retain their swords, a favour which was never shown to the Dutch, and the soldiers were permitted to keep their musquets and bayonets. This last the Dutch have never been in a condition to demand, since they have always had the precaution not to show themselves here with a similar military attendance; but what really astonished me was, that the ambassador was not only allowed to carry his guard on shore with him, but that these were even permitted to retain their fire-arms. This favour was indeed granted to him with great reluctance, and the interpreters endeavoured, during several days, to prevail on him to yield up this point. They represented to him that it was not only against the laws of the country, but that it would shock the people to see armed soldiers of another nation in their country; that such a case had hitherto never occurred, and that it would be dangerous to comply with the demand; but when they found that these reasons could not induce the ambassador to forego his guard, they strove to prevail on him to take only half the number on shore, but in this too he would not give way. That they should not allow the armed soldiers of a foreign nation to land in their country was perhaps the most pardonable of their pretensions; for even in the most enlightened countries of Europe this practice is unknown, and no ambassador has hitherto considered it as an affront to enter a foreign country without soldiers. The case was however too important for the governor to decide upon; and as a whole month was spent in negotiating it before the ambassador was allowed to land, it is most probable that a courier was sent on this account to Jeddo [Edo] or Miaco [Miako] for instructions.4 After this small triumph over the Japanese, I must return to the insults they obliged us to submit to in the full extent of the word. We were not only forbidden to go on shore, but not even allowed to row about within a short distance of the ship, nor was it until after a six weeks’ negotiation that a place was granted us, at a trifling distance, as a walk, and this only in consideration of the pretended illness of the ambassador. This place was close to the shore in a confined bay and was shut in on the land side by a high wall of bamboos; and although its whole length did not exceed an hundred paces, and its width at the most was forty, there were two watch-houses erected in its immediate vicinity. One single tree, but not a blade of grass, adorned this promenade, which was entirely upon a rocky ground. This place of course could not answer its intended purpose, nor was it used as such; but it was of great advantage for our astronomical observations which the Japanese did not in any way attempt to disturb. As soon as any boat put off from the ship, for Kibatsch [Kibachi], for so this promenade was called, a fleet of ten or fifteen vessels immediately put

Krusenstern: Voyage round the world 63 themselves in motion, surrounding the boat on all sides, and in this same manner it was conducted back again. The acquaintance which I had formed on the first day of our arrival with the captains of the Dutch ships, made a continuation of our intercourse very desirable, but I was never allowed to visit them, nor was any Dutchman permitted to come on board our ship. The barbarous intolerance of the Japanese government even went so far, as to forbid our forwarding letters by the ships going to Batavia, thus depriving us of the pleasure of sending to our families an account of our welfare. The ambassador alone was allowed to transmit a report to the emperor, but he was obliged to content himself with merely giving a short account of our passage from Kamtschatka [Kamchatka], to Nangasaky, and to acquaint his Majesty with the welfare of all persons on board his ship. This letter to the emperor was to be translated by the interpreters into Dutch, and a copy of the original left with the governors, written with such accuracy that every line was to terminate with the same letter as the original. This copy was delivered to the governor, and the original, after they had been compared together, was sent on board by two of his secretaries, in whose presence it was sealed. When the Dutch ships sailed we were ordered upon no account to send a boat off to them: and when I wished Captains Musquetier and Belmark a happy voyage, as they passed by me, and inquired after their health, the only answer I received was a sign with their speaking trumpet; for which the chief of the Dutch factory apologized in a letter to the ambassador, saying that the captains had been most positively forbidden to utter the least sound in answer to our questions. It is impossible to find words capable of expressing how shameful and barbarous such a conduct appears; and how much it is to be regretted that an enlightened European nation, owing its political existence to a love of freedom, and which has acquired celebrity by great actions, should so far debase itself from a desire of gain as to attend with submission and devotion to the hateful commands of a set of slaves. It is shocking, beyond description, to see brave men for several minutes in the most abject position before a banjos,5 who frequently belongs to the lowest of the people, and who does not return, even with a nod, the mark of respect which is paid to him. When the ambassador at length received permission to land, a considerable building was appointed for his residence: but the seven towers of Constantinople are hardly so well guarded as our Megasaky, for this was the name of the Russian Dezima [Deshima].† The house was situated upon a neck of land so near the sea, that on the south and east sides the water at high tide came close under the windows. When I say windows, indeed, I make use of an improper expression; for this word can scarcely apply to a square space about a foot wide, provided with a double lattice work, and which therefore admitted

†

Dezima is the name of the small island upon which the Dutch factory is situated.

64 Krusenstern: Voyage round the world but very little light into the room. A high bamboo fence surrounded the whole building, not only towards the land, but even on the sea-face in spite of the waves; the protection of which the Japanese did not seem to consider sufficient. Besides these there were two rows of bamboo canes carried from the door down to the sea, as far as the tide ebbed; in order, that when the boats came from the ships they might only land between these canes, a precaution which scarcely could answer any one purpose. A large gate with double locks formed the entrance from the water-side. An officer, whose station was near the ship, had the keys of the outer locks, and another, who lived in Megasaky, those of the inside; and when any boat went on shore it was necessary that the keeper of the outward keys should accompany it to open his side, after which the inside was unlocked and in like manner, when any one on shore was desirous of going to the ship, the porter of Megasaky opened the inside, when the vessel on board of which was the keeper of the outer keys, had to repair to the house to perform the same duty. Besides this precaution the gates were never left open upwards of five minutes; and though they sometimes knew that the persons would return immediately, the porter would rather take the trouble of locking and unlocking the gates again, than leave them open during this length of time. The land-side was guarded with a similar attention: – a strong locked gate being the boundary of a very small yard attached to the ambassador’s house. As we had warehouses appropriated to us on the other side of this gate, the watchmen found the locking and opening too tiresome, and it was at last left entirely open; but the second yard in front of these warehouses was surrounded by a row of guardhouses. Twelve officers and their men relieved each other daily in this duty, and three other entirely new buildings were run up, to serve as the residence of other officers, whose only employment must have been to keep a watchful look out upon us and upon their own people. At short intervals, on the way to the town, were gates, which were not only locked, but guarded. During the latter part of our stay the two first were indeed left open, but the guards never quitted them for a moment. They counted always the number of persons who came on shore, and the boat was never allowed to return without a similar number; and if any officer of the ship wished to pass the night in Megasaky, one of the persons residing on shore was obliged to go back in his stead; and in like manner, when any officer belonging to the ambassador’s suite was desirous of sleeping on board, some sailor had to fill his place on shore: for the appointed number of persons residing there was neither to be increased nor diminished, nor was any attention paid to their quality in this respect, but only to their numbers. As all the ship’s boats stood in need of repairs, and I wished to put a deck upon the long boat and to copper her bottom, I requested to be allowed a place where we might haul them up on shore. Such a place was certainly granted to us; but so narrow and confined, that it was impossible to work at high water, and it was entirely surrounded with bamboos like Kibatsch, and two boats kept guard constantly while the carpenters were at work. Nobody was allowed to take the least walk, and as they refused us a place to erect our

Krusenstern: Voyage round the world 65

KAMCHATKA ive

r

SEA OF Petropavlovsk SAKHALIN

Am

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OKHOTSK ONEKOTAN HAKUMUKOTAN

La Pero u

se

L RI KU

Strait

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Matsumae SEA OF JAPAN Peking YELLOW

KK

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Canton

PACIFIC OCEAN

SH

it

ait Str Kyoto

N

ra

it

Edo Amatsu

im

re

Ts u

Ko

St

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KOREA

O Nemuro Akkeshi

Hakodate Ts ug ar uS tra Aji-shima

sh

SEA

AID

S D AN ISL

Nagasaki

FORMOSA

Figure 2.1 The Rezanov embassy. Source: Lensen, Russian Push, p. 137.

observatory, we could not avail ourselves of the sight of the heavens, the only object which their bamboos could not conceal from us.‡ We were not allowed to pass the night in Kibatsch, so that no instrument could be erected there, and all our observations were reduced to lunar ones with corresponding altitudes, by means of Hadley’s sextants to ascertain the time.6 If I here adduce a number of complaints of the mistrustful conduct of the Japanese, I cannot deny, on the other hand, that all my requests for such materials as were wanted for the repairs of the ship were most punctually acceded to. Besides this, the men were not only regularly provided with provisions, but always with the best which could be procured in Nangasaky, and in the quantity that I demanded. Before our departure they furnished us with 8000 pounds of biscuit, as well as every other kind of provision for two months, independent of the presents from the emperor to the crew, of which I shall speak hereafter; but we were never allowed to purchase any thing for money. I now proceed to relate the circumstances which occurred from the time of our arrival to that of our departure. At the end of the foregoing chapter I mentioned that we steered about four o’clock in the afternoon, in company with a Japanese boat, towards

‡

Even the mountains near Megasaky were surrounded with bamboos.

66 Krusenstern: Voyage round the world Nangasaky, and anchored about half past five at the entrance of the harbour. The same evening about ten o’clock we received the visit of several magistrates, or banjos, as they are called in Japan, from Nangasaky, who, without waiting for an invitation, walked at once into the cabin, and seated themselves on the carpet. Their servants placed a lanthorn in front of each of them, with a little box containing their smoking apparatus, and a vessel with coals to light their pipes, a very necessary article, in consequence of the small size of the latter, which are emptied in four or five whiffs. The attendants of these great men consisted of about twenty persons, among whom were several tolks, or Japanese interpreters of the Dutch language, who questioned us very minutely upon the route we had taken since leaving Cronstadt; but particularly whether we had come through the straits of Corea, or along the east coast of Japan. They appeared pleased to learn that we had taken the latter course: and upon our departure from Japan we found that they were very jealous of the passage between Corea and the Japanese coast. The chief interpreter (whose name was Skiseyma) evinced some geographical knowledge, more at least than I expected to have met with from him. He knew that Teneriffe belonged to the Canary islands, and St. Catharine’s to Brazil; yet I afterwards discovered, that he, as well as all the rest of his colleagues, were extremely ignorant of the geography of their own islands, or at all events pretended to be so. What, however, struck them very much, and they would scarcely give credit to, was, that our passage from Kamtschatka did not occupy more than a month. The Opperhoofd, or director of the Dutch factory, Myn Heer van Doeff, was also brought along with the banjos; but it was upwards of an hour before he was permitted to come on board. He had scarcely entered the cabin with his suite, consisting of his secretary, the two captains of the Dutch ships that were here, and a Baron Pabst, when they were all obliged to remain during several minutes in an inclined posture, which they were called upon to do, by a most insolent order from the interpreter: “Myn Heer Opperhoofd, compliment voor de Opper Banjos!” This submissive, and at the same time degrading attention, was not answered even by a nod. The compliments, as they are called, of the Dutch, are something between the bows of the Europeans and Japanese, which last consist in throwing yourself flat on the ground, touching the earth with your head, and crouching backwards and forwards according as you may be spoken to by your superior. The Dutch would find great difficulty in casting themselves on the ground, owing to their clothes, and the pliability of the body required in these prostrations cannot be expected in people who are not brought up to it; but in order to imitate the Japanese customs as much as possible, the Dutchman must incline his body until it forms nearly the figure of a right angle; and what is much more difficult, he must remain in this position with his arms extended until he receives permission to stand again in his natural posture, which is not until after a lapse of some minutes. There must likewise be a difference in the compliments which the Dutch pay in Jeddo from those which we saw here; for we were told that previous to going there all persons belonging to the

Krusenstern: Voyage round the world 67 embassies receive instructions in bowing. The Japanese never ventured to propose this submission to us: upon their second visit, indeed, one of the interpreters, just after I had been addressed by the banjos, applied his hand gently to my back; but when this occasioned me to look earnestly at him, he withdrew, nor did they ever renew the attempt. About twelve o’clock they all retired, promising to return the next day and carry the ship higher up the harbour: about twenty vessels kept guard around her: their flags, upon which were painted the arms of the Prince of Fisen [Hizen], shewing that they belonged to that prince, who, as we were informed, has an equal title with Prince Tschingodzin to the city of Nangasaky, and the surrounding country; and it was only the guards of these two princes, who relieved each other during our stay. The Prince of Omura must also have a share in the city, his officers being frequently on guard at the ambassador’s; but in the harbour, we saw neither the flag of the Prince of Fisen, nor of Tschingodzin. The extraordinary respect with which the interpreters spoke to the banjos gave us at first a very high idea of the character of these magistrates, whose rank we afterwards learnt was very inconsiderable; and that nothing but a commission from the governor imparts to them a temporary elevation. Whenever an interpreter had any thing to translate, he cast himself on his hands and knees before the banjos; and in this attitude, with his head hanging down, he made a hissing noise two or three times with his mouth, as if he were inhaling the air that surrounded his master.§ He then reported to the banjos, in a tone of voice scarcely audible, and mixed with repeated sighings, in short, broken sentences, the conversation which in Dutch had lasted several minutes. If a Japanese was addressed by a banjos he crouched to him, bowed his head to the ground, repeating constantly the monosyllable Eh! eh! intended to signify, “I understand.” The banjos always conducted themselves with great dignity; they never laughed, but occasionally shewed their satisfaction by a smile. As they seemed to me in other respects to possess some manners, I was very much struck by an indecent practice common to them, and in which they never checked themselves, although they must have been well aware of its impropriety, even if their own feelings did not tell them so, as the Dutch interpreters have not the same custom. The clothing of the banjos, as well as of the interpreters, consisted of a short upper garment with very wide sleeves, and under this a complete gown reaching quite down to their feet, and fastened round the neck, and very similar to the female dress in Europe, except in being much narrower from the hips downwards, so as to render it extremely difficult for them to walk; indeed they never walk but when they are absolutely compelled to do so. This is the usual dress of all the Japanese; and the only difference between the clothes of the rich and of the poor is, that those of the former are made of silk, while the

§ This hissing noise, made by drawing in the breath suddenly between the teeth, is a general

compliment among the nobility.

68 Krusenstern: Voyage round the world latter are clad in coarse woollen stuffs: the upper garment is generally black, but there are some of different colours, and the lower dress is mostly of mixed colours. Every one has his family arms worked into his clothes in different places, about the size of a half dollar, a practice usual to both sexes; and in this manner any person may be recognized, and the family to which he belongs easily ascertained. A young lady wears her father’s arms until after her marriage, when she assumes those of her husband. The greatest mark of honour which a prince or a governor can confer upon any one, is to give him a cloak with his arms upon it, the person having such a one wearing his own arms upon his under dress; and the ambassador was frequently told how supreme a happiness would be conferred upon him, if the emperor was to present him with a garment bearing the imperial arms. The arms were generally worked into clothes made of Japanese stuffs, but they were sewed upon those made of Chinese stuffs. In the winter the Japanese wear five or six dresses one over the other; but I have never seen any of them in a cloth dress, or in any kind of furs, although the weather is very raw in the months of January and February. It is singular that they have no notion of clothing their feet; their stockings, which cover only half of their legs, are made of woollen stuffs sewed together, and instead of shoes they merely wear soles made of straw, which they fasten to the great toe by a kind of loop; and which, as their floors are always covered with wadded mats, they take off the moment they enter a room. The upper classes are scarcely sensible of the want of better shoes, as they seldom walk, and sit throughout the day with their feet bent under them; but the poorer sort, who constitute perhaps nine-tenths of the whole population, must suffer very much from it during the winter months. The Japanese exposes his head in a similar manner; although he is half shorn he never strives to protect it by a parasol against the heat of twenty-five degrees, and he is equally regardless of one or two degrees of cold, and the most piercing north winds which prevail during the winter; nor do they ever use an umbrella in rainy weather. The hair is rubbed over with a very strong pomatum, by which it obtains a great polish, and is tied together on the top of the head, and made to terminate in a very small knot, forming a crooked line in front quite close to the forehead. The toilet of a Japanese must occupy a very considerable time, as they not only anoint and comb their hair, but shave their heads daily; this latter operation they never perform on their beards, but pluck out the hair with small pincers, that it may not grow again, and these and a metal looking-glass occupy the chief place in the pocket-book of every Japanese. They cannot be denied a great cleanliness of person, although they make no use of linen, without which we have no notion of such a quality; but this, as far as we saw, appears to be the ruling passion of the Japanese of every rank. About four o’clock the next afternoon, a present, consisting of fish, rice, and fowls, was brought on board from the governor. The boat announced to us the visit of several principal characters, and we shortly after perceived a large vessel adorned with flags, which, accompanied by several others, was towed towards the ship amidst the continual sound of kettle drums. According to the

Krusenstern: Voyage round the world 69 report of the interpreters, they were the principal secretary to the governor, the treasurer, and the ottona or burgomaster of the city. The first seated themselves on the carpet, the latter on a chair on the right hand; but the Dutchmen who accompanied them, were to us the most agreeable part of the company; the conversation in particular of Captain Musquetier, who spoke English, French, and German, and appeared a very well informed officer, was extremely interesting to us, and it was with the greatest regret that I found myself prevented from keeping up an acquaintance with him, owing to the jealousy and suspicion of the Japanese. The object of this visit of the banjos was to carry away the powder and arms belonging to the ship, and to remove her to the west side of Papenberg.7 They refused to carry her to the east side under the pretext, that the five Chinese junks which lay there, occupied the whole road. At midnight we weighed anchor, and were towed by about sixty boats to our new anchorage, which was nearly two miles and a half off. We could not but admire the order with which this was effected: the flotilla divided itself into five lines of twelve or eighteen boats each, which kept their places so regularly, that they were not once broken; and notwithstanding the foul wind we advanced at the rate of two miles an hour. About four in the morning we anchored in twenty-five fathoms water; and were instantly surrounded by thirty-two guard boats, which formed a circle round the ship, that no vessel was allowed to break through; and as the west side of Papenberg lies very much exposed, they were frequently compelled, whenever the wind freshened, to quit their post, which, however, they hastened to resume the moment the weather was again a little fair: and this has been the case two or three times a day. Some of these vessels carried the imperial flag, white, blue, white; but the greater part of them bore that of Fisino Kama-sama, or the Prince of Fisen; the large boats, which had a flush deck, and were covered with blue cloth, were distinguished by two peaks, the aftermost one being the mark of an officer. Besides these thirty-two boats, there were three others which remained in the vicinity of the ship, to receive our orders. On the 12th October at four in the morning, the Chinese fleet got under sail. The construction of these junks is well known, and needs no description here; and we were witnesses to the unskilfulness and difficulty with which they hoisted their sails. The whole crew of the ship, apparently consisting of a hundred men, were at work for upwards of two hours, hoisting, with the most horrible noise, a single sail, an operation which they performed by means of a windlass. As soon as they got out of the bay, they set their topsails, which are of sailcloth; the three lower sails being, as is well known, made of mats. With this miserable apparatus, they can only sail during the most favorable monsoons; the most trifling storm that springs up against them, exposing them to the greatest danger. About noon the wind veered from N.E. to N.N.W., and although this was still fair for them, they were obliged to return to their former anchorage. This happened to them a second time, but the third time the wind continued in the north-east, and they succeeded in getting to sea.

70 Krusenstern: Voyage round the world On the 11th, 13th, and 15th October, according to our reckoning, (which is one day later,)8 the Japanese celebrated a feast, which the Dutch interpreters called Kermes.9 It certainly is a very wise regulation of these people, not to continue their religious and national feasts on many successive days, but to have always a working day between them. By these means they are not much interrupted, and no work is discontinued. Feasts that last for several days, are equally injurious to the health and morals of the people, and are besides attended with a great loss of time; and a life of debauchery continued for three or four days, requires at least as many, and perhaps more, to restore that repose and tranquillity requisite in works that demand a clear and unembarrassed genius. The Japanese have no Sundays, and only very few holidays, of which these kermes and the feasts of the new year, are the principal ones. On the 16th October, at about eleven o’clock, a banjos arrived with nearly an hundred tow-boats, to tow the ship to the east side of Papenberg, where we anchored at one o’clock in eighteen fathoms water, over a ground of thin clay. A small anchor was carried out to the south-east, that side being, according to the Japanese, safer than the north-west. We requested in vain to be towed into the inner harbour, in order to repair the ship which had suffered during the typhon [typhoon], and, even before that, had sprung a leak. This was refused because no permission had hitherto been received from Jeddo; and another most absurd reason was assigned, and which really seemed intended to ridicule us, viz. that a ship of war, having so great a man as an ambassador on board, could not lie in the same road with merchant-ships, such as were those of the Dutch; but that so soon as the latter should sail, it was intended that we should occupy their places. On the 21st October an interpreter informed us, on the part of the governor, that as the two Dutch ships would proceed the next morning to Papenberg, we should not, upon any account, send a boat on board of them – at the same time he warned us not to return the Dutch salute, which was in honour of the imperial flag, not as a compliment to us. This caution was the more absurd as the governor had before ordered all our powder to be taken from us; and we had not an ounce on board. Besides it would have been utterly impossible for us to have returned the salute even if we had had the vanity to assume it to ourselves; for it consisted of at least 400 shots, and lasted, with short intervals, during six hours. The two ships anchored about a mile to the north-east of us; and the governor now sent us word, that as soon as the Dutch ships should put to sea he would allow us to occupy their place; but that we could not be admitted in the inner harbour, because no order to that effect had as yet been received from Jeddo. This promise he kept very punctually: the Dutch ships sailed on the 8th November, and on the 9th two banjos with their tow-boats came to us, and about six in the evening we anchored between the imperial batteries, which are on the south-east and north-west side of the entrance, in thirteen fathoms water, over a bottom of green ooze. Our course was N.E. by E. ¼ E., the depth decreasing from eighteen to thirteen fathoms: a second anchor was carried out to the S.E. Our distance from the town was two miles.

Krusenstern: Voyage round the world 71 I was extremely anxious to repair the injury the ship had received, as soon as possible; but as permission had not yet arrived for the ambassador to land with the presents, and the ship consequently could not be unloaded, the governor sent us a Chinese junk, on board of which he might remove with the presents, until the order from Jeddo, concerning his residence on shore, should be received. As the Chinese make use of wooden anchors we gave him one of ours for the greater security; but the cabin of the junk was so extremely bad that the ambassador would not consent to remove on board of her, declaring moreover that he must remain with the presents. The Chinese ship was therefore conveyed back to Nangasaky, and every thing remained as at first: we had however an opportunity of taking a nearer survey of this monster of naval architecture. I now had the ship completely unrigged and sent the masts and yards to Kibatsch, which place we had not lost, though we had shifted our berth. On the 24th November the ambassador was informed that, although the courier had not yet arrived from Jeddo, the governor was disposed to give him a house on shore at his own risk; demanding, however, that the soldiers should be left behind. That he did not consent to this I have already mentioned; the governor, at the same time, promised, that on the arrival of the courier from Jeddo, the ambassador should, without fail, have a larger building appropriated to him, although the house in Megasaky, of which the interpreters brought a plan, appeared to be very roomy. It is extremely difficult to say what could induce the governors,** in whose conduct there was always an appearance of dignity and consequence, and who latterly gave us several proofs of their good disposition, to send us invariably false information. The promises, for instance, which they made us on our arrival, were so many empty words; and we learnt afterwards, what indeed we might have found in Kämpfer and Thunberg, that an answer may be received from Jeddo in thirty days, and that there have been examples of the journey there and back again to Nangasaky having been performed in twenty-one days. This the interpreters would never allow; but asserted that even when the roads were good, three months were requisite to go and return; and that at this time of the year a much longer period was necessary. They also told us that all the governor had acceded to was at his own risk: it was not, however, very probable that he should give up a house in the city to the ambassador, and large warehouses for the presents, without an express order to do so; and his anxious behaviour when he took upon himself to offer us a place in Kibatsch for a walk, sufficiently demonstrated his confined authority. Our arrival at Nangasaky was too important an event in Japan, for the court not to be informed of the most trifling circumstances concerning us; and I am

** Nangasaky has two governors, who relieve each other every six months. The second arrived a few days after we had reached Nangasaky, but the other was obliged to remain there, because we had come during the time of his authority.

72 Krusenstern: Voyage round the world convinced that after each visit of the interpreters to the ship, a courier was dispatched with an account of every word and gesture, which frequently were of a nature to increase the suspicion and injure the pride of this jealous and haughty people. We afterwards learned that the Cubo, or western Emperor, could determine nothing on this momentous occasion without consulting the Dairy;10 and that he had even sent an embassy concerning us, to ascertain the wishes of this important personage, whom the Japanese, although he has no executive authority, hold in the greatest veneration on account of his religious character. It is therefore very probable that the governor of Nangasaky received his instructions from Miaco, the residence of the Dairy, and not from Jeddo; and I am persuaded that the disputed point, with regard to the soldiers, could not be settled by the governor alone. A period of twenty-one days elapsed from the time that the question, with regard to them, was first agitated, until the entrance of the ambassador into Megasaky, in which time an answer might have been received from Jeddo, and consequently much sooner from Miaco. On the 17th December the ambassador was conveyed on shore, for which purpose the Prince of Fisen sent his own boat, a vessel exceeding in size (being 120 feet long) and magnificence every thing that I had hitherto seen. The walls and ceilings of the numerous cabins were all varnished over in the handsomest manner; and the stairs, which were of red wood, were polished so highly as to have the appearance of lacker [lacquer]. The decks were covered with mats and the most costly carpets; the curtains to the doors were of rich stuffs; and the whole boat was hung with double rows of silks of different colours. As the ambassador stepped on board, the Russian imperial standard was hoisted and waved together with the flag of the Prince of Fisen; and his guard, which accompanied him on board the vessel, took their place on the upper deck close to the standard. The imperial fortresses were ornamented with new flags and curtains, and manned by a number of Japanese troops in their best clothes: an innumerable fleet of boats surrounding the vessel and accompanying the ambassador to the city. So far the ceremony, attending his entrance, was worthy the representative of a powerful monarch; but he had no sooner landed, and entered his dwelling, than the doors were locked on both sides, and the keys sent, at sunset, to the governor. The day after the ambassador’s departure, two banjos came on board with a vast number of boats to receive the presents. Two boats were lashed together, in order to disembark the large mirror, having a platform of strong planks laid across them covered with mats, upon the top of which was spread, certainly very unnecessarily, a red cloth. I endeavoured to persuade them, but in vain, to take this valuable covering away, as the mirror was by no means better placed on account of it; but the respect in which every thing that has the least connection with the Emperor, is held in Japan, was too great to admit of any economical considerations. A guard of soldiers got instantly into the boat, ranging themselves by the side of the mirror. The following anecdotes serve to characterize this nation, or rather the

Krusenstern: Voyage round the world 73 spirit of the Japanese government. I inquired of one of the interpreters in what manner it was proposed to convey this large mirror to Jeddo, who told me that it would be carried there; upon which I replied that this did not appear practicable, as the distance was so great, and every mirror would require at least sixty men to relieve one another every half mile. His answer was, that nothing was impossible to the Emperor of Japan; and as a proof of his assertion he related to me, that about two years before, the Emperor of China had presented the Emperor of Japan with a live elephant, which had been carried from Nangasaky to Jeddo. The following example, which I learnt upon another occasion from one of the interpreters, and which he did not mention to me in proof of the power of his sovereign, but merely as a fact which had recently occurred, will sufficiently demonstrate with what punctuality the emperor’s orders are executed, without any consideration to even apparently the most insuperable obstacles. A Chinese junk was driven on shore in a gale of wind, upon the east coast of Japan, in the bay of Owary, on which occasion she lost her masts and rudder. As, according to an ancient regulation, every foreign ship which may touch upon the coast of Japan, either accidentally, or from being driven upon it in a gale, must immediately be brought to Nangasaky, this ship also, although in a very bad condition, was ordered to be carried round. In Japan such a thing cannot be effected except by means of towing boats, and several hundreds of these were immediately sent to tow the ship from the bay of Owary to that of Osacca [Osaka]: a voyage during which it was not unlikely, that on the first high wind, which are very frequent upon this coast, both ship and boats would go to the bottom. From the bay of Osacca the navigation was indeed not so dangerous, as the passage was not in the open sea, but between the islands of Nipon [Honshu] and Sikoku [Shikoku] and Kiusiu [Kyushu]. This towing voyage, which lasted fourteen months, must have been very expensive, one hundred boats, and consequently six hundred men being kept in continual employment. The natural, as well as least expensive method would have been to have broken up the ship, or to have burnt and paid for her, sending the cargo to the Chinese at Nangasaky; but this was contrary to the laws of the land. On the 22d December the ambassador was informed that a courier had arrived from Jeddo with the order for the Nadeshda [Nadezhda] to be carried into the inner harbour that she might be repaired. And about ten o’clock the next morning, although the wind blew pretty strong from the N.E. and it rained very hard, two banjos came with their flotilla and towed the ship to the bay, where we brought-to about a quarter of a mile from the land between the Dutch Dezima and Megasaky, and cast anchor in five fathoms water, with a second anchor carried out to the N.E. On this same day two Chinese junks arrived, and four others some days after. A seventh had been stranded during the gales on the Gotto islands, but the crew was all saved, and after a few weeks arrived in Japanese boats at Nangasaky. The following is the intelligence, though indeed very incomplete, which I have been able to collect with regard to the Chinese trade.

74 Krusenstern: Voyage round the world Twelve ships are permitted to come to Nangasaky annually from Ningpo [Ningbo], (or, as the Japanese pronounce it, Simfo,)11 five of which arrive in June and sail in October, the other seven in December, and return in March or April. Their cargo consists chiefly of sugar, ivory, tin plates, lead, silk stuffs and tea. That this last article is among the imports from China I did not indeed learn from the interpreters; but upon our departure they gave us the choice between Chinese and Japanese tea. We chose Japanese, and found it much worse than the other; and I believe that what is said of the excellence of the Japanese tea is very much exaggerated. A small box full, which the governor presented to the ambassador shortly after our arrival, and some that the officers of the embassy drank at an audience in the governor’s house, were very inferior to the better kinds of Chinese tea.†† The Chinese exports from Japan consist of copper, camphor, lacquered wares, umbrellas, but particularly the dye-fish, which is used as a medicine in China; besides these are a kind of sea plant, and large dried muscles, which last, known in Japan by the name of Awaby, are among their provisions, and are considered in China as a great delicacy.12 We ourselves thought them no bad food; and they may very well form a part of a ship’s provision, as they will keep during several years. Although from the number of Chinese junks it should appear that their cargoes are very considerable, a junk not yielding much in size to a ship of four hundred tons; yet I believe that two ships of five hundred tons would be able to stow away easily what is conveyed in all the twelve. A junk is unloaded in the course of twelve hours; but this is done with a total want of order, the cargo consisting of small bags and boxes being thrown out of the ship without any regard either for the goods themselves or the boats destined to receive them. The rigging of one of these junks consists of little else than a few shrouds nor have they the means of lowering or hoisting into the vessel, any articles of weight, with the necessary precaution. Another cause of this uncommon negligence in unloading them is, that the Chinese themselves are not present; for on the day after their arrival the captain and the whole crew are carried to the factory, and the Japanese take immediate possession of the vessel; nor are they allowed to return to it until a few days before their departure. As soon as the ship is unloaded, they take the opportunity of the first new or full moon, when the tides are lofty, to drag it on shore where it remains high and dry during the ebb. Their construction is of such a nature as to receive but little injury from this treatment, and their unfriendly hosts would probably not give themselves much concern about any accidents they might sustain. Besides these twelve ships which arrive here annually, there are two others left constantly in pledge; and the easy manner in which they disposed of one of them for our use shews how much the Japanese consider them as their own property. We had another proof of the little consideration shown to the Chinese; for as the warehouses which surrounded the governor’s house were

††

The Japanese only drink green, the Chinese on the contrary always black tea.

Krusenstern: Voyage round the world 75 not sufficient to contain all the empty water casks belonging to the ship, the Japanese immediately made room for us in two warehouses belonging to the former in the neighbourhood of Megasaky. During the whole time of our stay here, we never witnessed the arrival of a single ship, either from Corea or the Likeo [Ryukyu] islands, notwithstanding their vicinity; and all intercourse between these countries and Japan is said to have ceased for some time past; a circumstance that was mentioned in the letters which were delivered to the ambassador upon his departure. It would be very advantageous to any European nation that might he allowed to enjoy the carrying trade between Ningpo and Nangasaky. The distance is not above ten degrees in longitude; and as the latter place is well to the eastward of the former, the voyage is practicable in either monsoon, and cannot exceed at the most four days. On the 25th December the ship was quite unloaded, even to the ballast, of which we had about two hundred ship tons on board. We now began to repair her, and the leak was found, as I expected it, towards the head of the ship. To my great satisfaction, however, I perceived that the remaining planks were all in a most admirable condition. The copper throughout was very bad, and I should have been glad to have availed myself of the opportunity of sheathing her with Japanese copper as low as it could be done without keelhauling her; which, owing to the muddy shore here, would be utterly impossible. As the governor had received orders from Jeddo to furnish every thing that was required towards the repairs of the ship, he offered to send to Miaco for sheets of copper for me, for that which is to be had in Nangasaky is very thin, and by no means proper to cover a ship’s bottom. Of this latter, however, we obtained five hundred pieces for the use of our barges and long boat. The ambassador took upon himself to order this copper upon his journey to Jeddo: and the Japanese who knew, already at that time, that the embassy would not proceed there, the arrival of a nobleman at Nangasaky having been announced, were not a little rejoiced to find themselves relieved of this trouble. On the 14th January, 1805, there was a total eclipse of the moon, of which we were prevented by a dark cloud from witnessing the commencement; we, however, distinguished the darkening of several spots, as well as the re-appearance of the moon out of the shade. Dr. Horner made use of one of Dolland’s astronomical telescopes, and I had one of Ramsden’s terrestrial ones of about three feet in length.13 This eclipse could not influence our determination of the geographical longitude of Nangasaky, which had been much more correctly ascertained by a number of lunar observations, and by the eclipse of one or two stars, than it could be done with our imperfect means of observing it. The Japanese knew that such an eclipse would occur on this day, though the time of its commencement was not stated in their Almanack. I took pains to collect some accounts of the knowledge the Japanese possess of astronomy, but they are too unsatisfactory to be mentioned here; and it is very improbable that any great progress should be made in a science that requires some exertion of the mind, in a country where the best informed, which the

76 Krusenstern: Voyage round the world interpreters undoubtedly are, have no notion of the geographical latitude and longitude of any place. According to their report, (and we may perhaps believe them in this instance, as it is so much beyond their ability to have invented such a story,) there are in the north of Japan, in a town at no great distance from Jeddo, people who inhabit temples and are called Issis, and who possess the art of foretelling eclipses of the sun and moon. Interesting as it would have been to have acquired some information concerning these Issis, the few possessors of astronomical knowledge among so many millions of people, this was altogether impracticable from an ignorant interpreter. There are no written accounts of the astronomical knowledge of the Japanese, or whether they have made even the same little progress as their neighbours the Chinese, among whose monarchs there have been some who possessed a taste for this science and cultivated it. Had the ambassador obtained permission to travel to Jeddo, Dr. Horner, whose intention it was to have accompanied him, and to have taken an astronomical apparatus with him, might certainly have been able to procure some important information upon the subject in the neighbourhood of this temple of Urania. From Thunberg’s statement, there are among the physicians of Jeddo persons who have a taste for scientific acquirements, and he must certainly have met with some among them capable of giving information on this head. The predictions of the eclipses of the sun and moon by the Issis, are inserted in the calendars, of which there are two kinds, one very complete, for the rich, and another, an abbreviation, for the poorer classes, published annually in Jeddo. On the 16th January I was sent for in a great hurry to the ambassador’s, where I found two banjos with several interpreters and assistants, on account of an attempt by one of the Japanese whom we had brought with us from Europe, to put an end to his existence, which, however, had been perceived soon enough to prevent the execution of his purpose. Dr. Langsdorff, who resided in the ambassador’s house, immediately proceeded to stanch the blood, the man having cut his throat with a razor, but was prevented by the Japanese guard, the governor not having been informed of it; and the patient was obliged to lie bleeding until the arrival of the banjos who were sent for. Neither Dr. Espenberg nor Dr. Langsdorff were even then allowed to assist him; but he was delivered over to a Japanese surgeon and a doctor:‡‡ fortunately the wound was not found dangerous. The governor immediately upon our arrival had requested the ambassador to give him up the four Japanese, which he declined, intending to present them himself to the emperor. A few weeks later this request was repeated on the part of the governor, and met with the same reception. Some time after the

‡‡

In Japan a doctor is distinguished from a surgeon; the first having his head entirely shaved, and the other entirely covered with hair. The Japanese generally have their heads half shaved.

Krusenstern: Voyage round the world 77 ambassador applied to the governor to take these Japanese off his hands, but the answer he received was, that as he would not give them up on the two applications that had been made for them, he might now keep them himself; but he promised to send a courier to Jeddo for instructions how to act. No answer came from thence, and it was only on the day of our departure that they quitted the ambassador’s house. These unfortunate wretches saw their country after a tedious voyage of fourteen months once more, but were then obliged to pass seven months in a state of confinement, after which it was even doubtful whether they would be permitted to return to their families, though this had been the only motive that induced them to quit the careless independent life they passed in Russia. The precise reason for this poor creature’s making an attempt on his life is not easy to determine, though a Japanese can never want one to wish himself well out of the world. It might have been despair at having returned to his country without being able to join his family; or a report might have reached him that the fate of those, whom Laxmann in 1792 had brought back to Japan, had been eternal confinement, without the smallest intercourse with their families. There was still another motive adduced, which, if it be true, may justify the harsh opinion which I expressed of the Japanese character in the fifth chapter. It was said that shortly after our arrival in Nangasaky he had delivered a written paper to the banjos, in which he not only complained of the cruel treatment his countrymen experienced in Russia, but described the Russians as the most bigotted of Christians, adding that several of them had been forced to embrace that religion, and that the object of this voyage was chiefly to make an attempt to introduce it into Japan. Nothing but the greatest wickedness could have excited this man to so infamous an action, as he could not be led to it from a spirit of revenge, for he, as well as all his countrymen, were received in Russia with a most exemplary kindness, obtained presents from the emperor upon their departure, and were treated on board the ship with every attention. This paper had, however, no effect; and partly despair of having failed in his purpose, partly a consciousness of his diabolical conduct, might perhaps have induced him to make an attempt on his life. After his wound had healed, he was frequently heard to say that the Russians were very good people, but himself a very bad man; and that he wished his life might soon have an end. On the 19th February the ambassador received an official notice that the emperor had sent a person, attended by eight nobles, to Nangasaky, with full powers to treat with him. The interpreters did not exactly tell him that he would not now have any occasion to travel to Jeddo, yet this was easily to be inferred. The person whom the emperor had sent was of the highest rank, and, according to the expression made use of by the interpreters, was permitted to see the emperor’s feet, though never to exalt his looks higher; (an honour which even the governor of Nangasaky could not boast;) and it was not to be supposed that so great a character would be sent merely to accompany the ambassador to Jeddo. A visit of the interpreters had sufficiently apprised us of

78 Krusenstern: Voyage round the world the earnest wish of the Japanese government for our departure in the beginning of April. On the 27th February they came on board, to inquire in the name of the governor after our health, and from the questions they put to me, and which I heard with great pleasure, it was easy to perceive that their chief object was to know in how short a time the ship would be made ready for sea. Such a hint was not to be neglected, and I therefore began to get her in readiness, and had no cause to complain of any delay on the part of the Japanese in providing us immediately with all that we stood in need of. It was only, however, on the 12th March that Skeyseima, the chief interpreter, acquainted the ambassador that he would not be permitted to travel to Jeddo; and that the Japanese plenipotentiary would arrive in ten or fifteen days in Nangasaky, after which the ship must return to Kamtschatka, as soon as she could possibly be fitted for sea. The interpreter farther informed us, that we should not be allowed to purchase the least thing in Japan, but that the emperor had given orders to supply the ship with all that was necessary, as well as with provisions for two months, free of any charge to us. On the 31st March, or 1st April, according to our reckoning, a feast was celebrated in Nangasaky, called Mussume Matzury, the chief character of which is that parents, on this occasion, present their children with dolls.14 Unimportant as the object of this holiday appeared, it must nevertheless be of great consequence in Japan, two days being devoted to these childish entertainments, and we were requested not to suffer the carpenters, employed upon the boats on shore, to work during its celebration. On the 30th March, at about eleven in the forenoon, the plenipotentiary arrived from Jeddo. The negociations with respect to the ceremonies of the audience, which were conducted with great warmth on both sides, commenced on the 3d April, when it was concluded that the ambassador should pay the representative of the Japanese emperor, an European and not a Japanese compliment. This latter, indeed, is of so debasing a nature, that even the very lowest of Europeans could not submit to it; but he was obliged to appear without his sword or shoes, nor would they allow him a chair, or any kind of European seat, but reduced him to the necessity of sitting in front of the governor and the plenipotentiary, on the floor, with his feet tucked under him, an attitude by no means the most convenient. He was allowed for his own use a norimon or sedan chair, but the officers who attended him were obliged to proceed on foot. On the 4th April he had his first audience, to which he was conveyed in a large boat adorned with flags and curtains. His suit consisted of five persons, Major Frederici, Captain Feodoroff, Lieutenant Koscheleff, Dr. Langsdorff, and Counsellor Fossé, besides a serjeant who carried the standard; and he landed at a place to the north of Dezima, which the interpreters called Mussel Trapp. On this occasion, merely an exchange of compliments took place, and a few insignificant questions were put to him. The second audience was conducted with the same ceremonies, and here the negociation terminated;

Krusenstern: Voyage round the world 79 the necessary documents being delivered into his hands, which contained an order that no Russian ship should again come to Japan; and the presents, and even the letter from the Emperor of Russia were all refused. Should any Japanese hereafter be cast upon the coast of Russia, they were to be delivered over to the Dutch, who would send them by the way of Batavia to Nangasaky. Farther; we were forbidden from making any presents,§§ or purchasing any thing for money, as well as from visiting, or receiving the visit of the Dutch factor. On the other hand it was declared, that the repairs of the ship and the supply of provisions, were taken into the imperial account; that she should be provided with every thing for two months, and that the emperor had sent 2000 sacks of salt, each weighing 30 pounds, and 100 sacks of rice, each of 150 pounds weight, besides 2000 pieces of capock or silk wadding, the former as a present for the crew, and the latter for the officers. The reasons assigned by the plenipotentiary for rejecting the presents were, that the Emperor of Japan would be obliged to make a present in return to the Emperor of Russia, and send an ambassador for this purpose to St. Petersburgh, and that it was contrary to the laws of the empire for any Japanese to quit his country. This then was the result of an embassy, which had raised such great expectations. We gained no new advantages, but even lost those we had possessed, namely, the written permission which Laxmann had procured for us to visit Nangasaky. All communication is now at an end between Japan and Russia, unless some great change should take place in the ministry of Jeddo, or indeed in the government itself, and this is perhaps not to be expected, although the interpreters flattered the ambassador with assurances that this refusal had created a great sensation throughout Japan, but particularly in the cities of Miaco and Nangasaky;*** but I am pretty well convinced that the Russian trade will not suffer much in consequence of it. On the 16th April, the ambassador had his last audience of the plenipotentiary; immediately after which, they began to bring the cannon, anchors, cables, and provisions, on board. The satisfaction which the prospect of soon quitting Japan occasioned to the ship’s company, was evinced in their activity, and the working sixteen hours a-day, to get the ship in readiness; but without the assistance of the Japanese and their boats, it would have been impossible for us to have been ready to sail by the 16th April.

§§

After many repeated intreaties and representations, the ambassador was at length allowed to give seven different articles to seven interpreters. These were a mirror, a piece of cloth, a glass lantern, a pair of girandoles, a pair of marble tables, and a marble ewer. *** By what Lieut. Chwostoff [Khvostov], who visited the northern coast of Jesso [Ezo] in the years 1806 and 1807, learned from the Japanese, a revolution actually did take place in Jeddo, for which the reason assigned was the dismissal of the Russian embassy.

80 Krusenstern: Voyage round the world

Notes 1 Source: A. J. von Krusenstern, Voyage Round the World in the Years 1803, 1804, 1805, & 1806, trans. from the original German by Richard Belgrave Hoppner, 2 vols, London: John Murray, 1813, vol. 1, pp. 251–87. 2 The reference is to Thunberg and Kaempfer, see introduction p. 14. 3 Hirado: island off the north-west coast of Kyushu which served as a port for foreign trade with China and, later until the early seventeenth century, with European nations. The Dutch trade mission on Hirado, the last to remain, moved to Deshima in 1641. 4 Miako: old name for Kyoto, the imperial capital. 5 Banjos: this word, variously spelt in different travellers’ accounts, is a rendering of the Japanese bugyo (‘magistrate’). The term is used to designate a variety of Japanese officials. 6 John Hadley (1682–1744): British mathematician and inventor. 7 The island of Takabokojima in Nagasaki harbour. 8 See note on calendars, p. xi. 9 Kermes: Dutch word meaning ‘fair’. 10 Cubo [Kubo]: shogun; Dairy [Dairi]: imperial court. 11 The Japanese pronunciation of the Chinese characters for Ningbo is in fact Neiha. 12 Awaby [awabi]: abalone. 13 John Dollond (1706–61): British optical and astronomical instrument maker, known for the invention of an achromatic (non-colour distorting) refracting telescope. Jesse Ramsden (1735–1800): British designer of precision instruments, elected to the Royal Society in 1786. 14 The Dolls’ or Girls’ Festival is now celebrated on 3 March.

3

Vasilii Golovnin Narrative of my captivity in Japan (Ezo, 1811)

The following extract from the memoir of Vasilii Mikhailovich Golovnin (1776–1831) describes the period of his captivity after he and his companions were taken to Matsumae at the end of September 1811. With Golovnin were imprisoned two other officers from the Diana, Fedor Mur and Andrei Khlebnikov; four sailors; and an Ainu from the Kurile Islands, Alexei Maksimovich, who had agreed to act as a guide. The Russians were also attended by a Japanese–Ainu interpreter, Uehara Kumajiro, and two servants. As their interrogation proceeded and the Japanese gradually became convinced that the Russians had not approached Japan with hostile intentions, the conditions of Golovnin’s imprisonment improved. His release, however, was not secured until October 1813. Orthography and punctuation in this chapter follow those of the original English publication.1

On the first view of our prison, we thought we should never again enjoy the light of the sun; for though the weather was fine and the sky bright when we entered, we found darkness had already commenced in this dismal abode, to which no friendly ray seemed to penetrate. The place of our confinement, the fence which surrounded the yard, and the sentry boxes, were all so recently finished, that the workmen had not had time to remove their chips. The prison* was large, built of fine wood and must have occasioned the Japanese *

It was a quadrangular wooden building, twenty-five paces long, fifteen broad, and twelve feet high. Three sides were complete wall, without any aperture whatever; but the south side was formed of strong spars, four inches square, and placed at the distance of four inches, also, from each other. On the side which consisted of these spars, there was a gate, and a little door, both of which were, however, kept fast locked. In the middle were two cages, formed of spars, similar to those on the south side of the prison. They were so placed, as to leave a passage between each, and also passages between them and the walls of the prison. One cage was six paces square, and ten feet high; the other was of an equal breadth and height, but was eight paces long. We three officers were put into the former; the sailors and Alexei, were confined in the latter. The entrance to the cage was so low, that we were obliged to creep into it. The door was formed of massy spars, and was fastened by a strong iron bolt. Above the door was a small hole, through which our food was handed to us. A small water closet was constructed in the further end of each cage. The sides of the cage next each other were

82 Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan Government no inconsiderable expence. We could not suppose that the Japanese would have thrown away time, labour, and expence, if they intended to set us soon at liberty. They might easily have found a suitable house for confining us two or three years: but the strength and the plan of this prison appeared to denote that it was intended to be our dwelling place during the remainder of our existence. This idea distressed us not a little. We sat long in profound silence, looked at each other and regarded ourselves as finally lost. A servant at length brought in our supper, which consisted of boiled rice, a piece of fish and a handful of beans with syrup. He reached it through the spars, and, not observing me as I lay in a corner, asked in broken Russian, where the third was. Mr. Moor [Mur] immediately asked him where he had learned Russian, to which he replied “in Kamtschatka” [Kamchatka]. Mr. Moor told him that he had also been in Kamtschatka; the Japanese however understood him to say that he had seen him there. He was overjoyed to hear this and repeated what he supposed Mr. Moor had said to the Interpreter. We had frequently told him that we knew of no Japanese having been at Kamtschatka, except the seven who had been saved from shipwreck, and who were in Nischny-Kamtschatsk [Nizhnii-Kamchatsk], but whom we had not seen. On our endeavouring to make the interpreter comprehend the mistake of the servant, he exclaimed: “How artful! how artful!” and went away. This circumstance gave us much uneasiness, as it was calculated to make the Japanese suspect that there was something in the affair which we wished to conceal from them. On the 1st of October it was notified to us that, on the following day, we should be carried before the Bunyo [bugyo],2 or Viceroy, which was bounded in such a manner, that we could see the sailors, but they could not perceive us; a skreen was also placed between the closets, for the purpose of obstructing the view from the one to the other. A guard-room was placed against the spars, which formed the entrance side of the prison, and which was occupied by two soldiers in the service of the Imperial Government, who were constantly on guard; they could see us all, and seldom turned their eyes away from us. The whole building was surrounded, at the distance or from six to eight paces, by a high wall or fence, with sharp pointed wooden stakes, and in which there was a door exactly opposite that of the prison. Around the first wall was a second but less high fence, including a considerable space, within which were, on one side of the gate, of the great wall, the cooking-room and an apartment for the workmen, and, on the other side, a guardhouse. The outer guard consisted of soldiers belonging to the Prince of Tzyngar [Tsugaru?]. They were not allowed to come near us, nor even to pass within the first fence, but patrolled the rounds every half hour. During the night they had fire and struck the hours with two boards: the imperial soldiers on the contrary visited us every half hour, walked round our cages and looked through the spars. The whole structure was situated between an abrupt and deep hollow, through which a stream flowed and the rampart of the castle, from which it was separated by a road of no great breadth. At night this prison was most horribly dismal; we had no fire; a night lamp supplied with fish oil, and placed in a paper lantern, was kept burning in the guard-room, but the feeble glimmering light which it shed between the spars, was scarcely capable of rendering any object visible to us. The clanking noise made every half hour by the moving of the locks and bolts when the soldiers inspected us, rendered this gloomy place still more disagreeable, and did not allow us to enjoy a moment’s repose.

Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan 83 accordingly done in the morning. We were conducted in the same manner as in Chakodade [Hakodate] except that, on this occasion, the ends of the ropes were held by imperial soldiers. The road to the southern gate of the Castle, or fortress, to which we were conducted, lay between the rampart and the hollow, and extended to the distance of about a quarter of a werst [verst] from our prison. As the road was dirty the Japanese had laid down planks for us to walk on, and held umbrellas over us to protect us from the rain. On entering the castle, we soon found ourselves in a sort of court or yard of considerable size, strewed with small stones or gravel, and were put into a low long shaped building and placed all in a row upon one bench. We waited here about an hour; at last a door was opened and we were conveyed into a second court. Proceeding forward, we came to the door of a third court, on approaching which, the soldiers who escorted us, pulled off their shoes† and laid them down, with their swords and daggers, at the door; in like manner we were obliged to deposit our boots. This door being opened, we walked on very fine straw mats towards a large wooden building. Here we were placed in the front of a spacious saloon, in which the skreens, of which the walls, according to the Japanese mode of building, were formed, were thrown open on the side next the court. Mr. Moor, Mr. Chlebnikoff [Khlebnikov] and myself were placed on an elevated spot; our sailors were behind us, but somewhat lower, and Alexei sat on their left. Our servant, who understood some Russian words,‡ took his station on our right (this was the place of the Interpreter) and Kumaddschero [Kumajiro] on our left. This servant had told us that he was to be our Interpreter in our conference with the Bunyosso [bugyo-san?], but we did not believe that he would venture to undertake a task he was so incapable of executing. The saloon was very extensive; the skreens which formed its sides, some of which were of paper, others of wood, were all gilded and adorned with Japanese paintings of landscapes, quadrupeds and birds. The curious carved work, and the various kinds of fine wood of which the doors and frames were formed, added greatly to the splendour of this extraordinary edifice. The floor was covered with finely worked tapestry. On each side of the saloon were five officers with daggers in their girdles, sitting cross-legged, according to the Japanese custom; and three of whom had large sabres, lying beside them on the left hand; they were in their usual dress. After we had waited about a quarter of an hour, during which the Japanese laughed and amused themselves in conversation with each other, we suddenly heard a rustling behind a skreen. One of the officers called out – Schee! and a deep silence immediately followed. A Japanese, in the ordinary dress, came

†

‡

Or more properly, straw sandals; for the Japanese wear neither boots nor shoes, but make with plaited straw or grass, a kind of sandals. There were two of our attendants who, as the Japanese supposed, understood Russian. The name of this man was Heinste [Heisuke?]; the other was called Fok-Masse [Fukumasa?].

84 Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan forward, kneeled on his entrance, placed the palms of his hands on the floor, and bowed his head. The Bunyo now appeared: he was in a common black dress, on the sleeves of which, as is the custom with all the Japanese, his armorial bearings were embroidered: he had a dagger at his girdle, and his sabre was carried by one of his suite, who were five in number, he who had previously entered included. The sabre-bearer held that weapon near the extremity, with the handle upward; but a cloth was wrapped round the part which he grasped, to preserve his naked hand from coming in contact with it. The Bunyo took his place without delay; he faced us, and looked like a president sitting at the head of his council. His suite sat down behind him, at the distance of three paces; he who carried the sabre, laid it down on the left of the Bunyo. This was no sooner done, than the Japanese all testified their respect, by laying the palms of their hands on the floor, and bending their bodies so low, that their foreheads almost touched the ground. In this position they remained for some seconds. The Bunyo returned the compliment with a pretty deep bow, in doing which he laid the palms of his hands upon his knees. We saluted him after the European manner, on which he nodded his head, repeatedly smiled, and seemed desirous of shewing that he was favourably disposed towards us. He drew from his bosom a paper, into which he looked, and called each of us by our names; we answered with a bow, and he bowed in return. He then addressed himself to Heinste, who listened with his forehead touching the ground, and when the Bunyo ceased to speak, stood up, in order to interpret what had been said. This he, however, did so imperfectly, that we could not comprehend him. The following was the purport of his version: – “Thou art a man – I am a man – such another is a man – say what sort of a man?” We advised him not to deceive his superiors; but, to confess frankly, that he was incapable of performing the task he had undertaken, lest harm should befall him in consequence of his persisting. He listened with the greatest attention to what we said, and proceeded to interpret it, in doing which he resumed his former position. The Japanese wrote down what he said,§ and then a second question was put. The shameful assurance of this man roused our indignation so far, that we declared we would answer no more questions, in order that this impostor might not injure us by his erroneous interpretations. Heinste, however, who was not in the least ruffled by this declaration, as, in fact, he did not well understand what we said, made some reply to the Japanese, who took a note of his supposed interpretation, after which a new question was asked. We turned to Alexei and Kumaddschero, and requested that they would explain the matter to the Bunyo; but they did not dare to speak. Meanwhile the Bunyo conversed with Heinste, and we heard him pronounce the Japanese word for father, which we knew. It is probable that he asked the names of our fathers: Heinste pulled a paper, with Russian

§ There was here no particular secretary, as at Chakodade; but our answers were noted down

by two officers, one of whom sat on the right, the other on the left.

Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan 85 words, out of his breast, and after stammering for a considerable time, at last acknowledged that he did not know the word, and could not find it in his list. When the Bunyo and his officers found that he was ignorant of so common a word, they laughed, dismissed him, and again appointed Kumaddschero and Alexei our interpreters. The questions commenced in the same manner as at Chakodade, with inquiries respecting our names, rank, families and relations. In these particulars the interrogatories were even more minute than any we had answered before; and they were all put by the Bunyo himself. After examining us on the subject of Resanoff’s [Rezanov’s] return from Japan, and the cause of our arrival among them, he asked some questions which had no relation to these subjects, and appeared to arise from mere curiosity. Of these I recollect the following: – He wished to know how the Russians buried their dead; what sort of monuments they erected over their graves, and whether, in that respect, any difference was made between the rich and the poor? When, in the course of our answers, we mentioned that the funerals of the rich were attended by a number of priests, the Bunyo remarked that the same practice prevailed among the Japanese. At last he asked whether there was any request that we wished to address to him. We answered that we did not rightly know what was intended by that question; as we supposed the Bunyo himself must be aware of the only request we had to make – seeing that we had been treacherously seized, and even still unjustly detained in prison. He then observed that we might address a petition to him with regard to the place in which we wished to reside; namely, whether in Matsmai [Matsumae], in Yeddo [Edo], the capital, or in any other part of Japan, or finally stating, whether we would rather return to Russia. We replied that we had only two things to ask; – the first was, to be permitted to return to our country; the second, in case the first was not possible, to die – these were the only favours we had to request of the Japanese. The Bunyo now, with evident emotion, made a long speech, which all present listened to with the utmost attention, and an expression of commiseration was visible in the countenances of all. Alexei then turned to explain to us what had been said, (but he probably committed some blunders in his interpretation), and observed that he had heard so many consolatory assurances, that he despaired of being able to repeat them all; he would, however, endeavour to convey to us the substance of the speech, at which we should doubtless find some cause to rejoice. “The General”,** continued Alexei, “says that the Japanese are men, and have hearts as well as other people, and that we have therefore no reason either to fear or despair. They will investigate our affair, and if they find that we are not deceiving them, and that we are not implicated in the proceedings of Chwostoff [Khvostov],3 they will send us back to Russia, and will supply us with rice, sagi [sake]and other

**

So Alexei styled the Bunyo, because the Governor of Kamtschatka was called General at that time. From 1799 to 1812 that office was filled by major-generals in the army.

86 Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan provisions, and presents. In the meanwhile they advised us to console ourselves, as they would look after our health, and see that we wanted for nothing. If we stood in need of clothes, or any particular kind of food, they desired that we would not hesitate to make our request known.” We thanked the Bunyo for this consolatory speech, and for his promise that we should have justice done us; upon which he withdrew;†† having directed our attendants to conduct us back to prison. Notwithstanding the singularly unfortunate combination of circumstances which was calculated to fill the minds of the Japanese with distrust and hatred towards us, the assurance of the Governor tended greatly to ease our minds. We thought that no men, who were not possessed by evil spirits, could have so well assumed the mask of dissimulation, and put on such an appearance of sympathy if they really did not feel for us. On the other hand, bitter experience had confirmed all that we had before heard or read concerning the oriental nations, and in particular the Japanese, namely: that the meanest beggars with them excel our most crafty European courtiers in the practice of falsehood and deceit. We were frequently distressed by the reflection that this subtle and cunning people were doubtless aware of the use to which they might turn us, when we should become reconciled to our fate of remaining for ever in Japan; and that they, perhaps, consoled us only with empty hopes, lest we should pine our lives away in despair, and thus rob them of the advantages they might otherwise derive from our experience and knowledge of the arts of Europe. On the following day, the 3d of October, we were again conducted to the castle, and placed in the presence of the Bunyo with all the formalities which had been observed on the former occasion. He devoted but little attention to the main subject of investigation; but questioned us for a long time concerning the various customs and manners of the Europeans. Among other things, he inquired whether we ever witnessed such a storm in Russia as had taken place on the preceding night in Japan? In some places, he added, the weather was much more stormy than in Matsmai. “This,” said he, “was not one of our very severe storms; at Nyphon [Nippon]4 they are both more violent and frequent than here.” He endeavoured to give to this examination the appearance of a friendly conversation, and in about two hours time dismissed us, in order that we might partake of some refreshment. We entered a spacious court-yard, and took our seats in a summer-house, where the Japanese, by order of the Governor, served us with tea and sugar. It was not allowable to smoke tobacco in the court-yard of the Bunyo’s castle; our guards therefore went by turns into the kitchen and guard-room to smoke their pipes. In the meantime the interpreter, Kumaddschero, came to us, accompanied by a civil officer and a tailor, who, he said, had been ordered by

††

Before he retired he bowed to the officers and they to him, as on his entrance. When he rose his sword-bearer immediately took his sabre up with the cloth, holding the hilt upwards, and followed him.

Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan 87 the Governor to make some clothes for us, either after the Japanese or the Russian form, as we ourselves might think fit; but that, if we wished to have them after the Russian fashion, we must furnish the tailor with a pattern. We observed that we had clothes enough, and felt no wish to have more; upon which the Japanese replied that that was of no importance; that the Governor wished to make us a present, and that we must not reject it. All contradiction was therefore useless: we told him that we wished to have some warm clothes made after the pattern of a coat which had been sent from the sloop to Mr. Chlebnikoff. The tailor was then conducted to the store-house, where our things were kept; the coat was shewn to him, and he proceeded to take our measures: – he made use of a measure which was divided into ten parts, and noted every thing down in writing. When he had measured us all,‡‡ we were again summoned to appear before the Bunyo, who examined us for several hours, and at length dismissed us with an exhortation not to abandon ourselves to despair, but to offer up prayers to God, and wait with patience for the issue of the investigation. “Be assured,” said he, “that I will use all my influence with the Emperor to obtain his consent that you may return to your native country. I will provide you with paper and ink in order that you may draw up an account of your case in the Russian language, and with the help of the interpreters get it translated into Japanese. I will examine it, transmit it to the government, and will see that every thing is terminated to your advantage. You may also draw up a petition to be presented to me.” We thanked him for his kindness, and returned to our melancholy prison; not knowing whether these consolations of the Japanese were sincere or feigned. We did not again appear before the Bunyo until the 6th of October. Our food in Matsmai was incomparably better than it had been in Chakodade. According to the Japanese custom, stewed rice and pickled radishes served us instead of bread and seasoning. We were besides frequently furnished with good fresh and salt fish, boiled or fried; soups in which were various wild herbs or macaroni; and they sometimes prepared for us a kind of Russian soup or sauce, made with white fish and muscle [mussel] broth. The fish were fried in oil of poppies, and were seasoned with grated radish and soy. When the snow began to fall, they shot for us sea dogs, bears, and frequently hares. The Japanese consider the flesh of whales, and sea lions, to be the most delicate of all food. Our attendants, some of whom had been in Russia, were ordered to cook our victuals in the way we liked best. We were accordingly sometimes

‡‡

In the course of a few days our new clothes were brought to us. Those for Mr. Moor, Mr. Chlebnikoff and myself were made of a cherry-coloured cotton stuff, somewhat resembling frieze, which the Japanese call mompa, and were wadded and fined with cotton. The sailors’ clothes were of common cotton stuff, wadded and lined, and of the same form as ours. They were all, however, very singularly shaped; being neither cloaks, great-coats, nor nightgowns, though they bore some resemblance to garments of each of these denominations. Alexei had a night-dress made after the Japanese form.

88 Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan regaled with small patties of barley-meal with fish, which were pretty savoury, and they also gave us a kind of dark-coloured grits boiled. These were the only imitations of Russian dishes they knew how to prepare. Our meals were usually served to us thrice every day. Our drink consisted either of luke-warm or hot tea; and when we returned from the castle, our attendants usually presented each of us with two tea-cups full of warm sagi; this they never failed to do when the weather was colder than usual. We were living almost in the open air; and, as the weather was extremely cold, the Japanese gave to each of our sailors a large night-dress, and one bear-skin; they furnished the officers, and myself, with two bear-skins each, and placed benches for us to sleep upon, as they had heard that the Russians did not like to lie on the ground. They, besides, gave the sailors a bench to sit upon. These attentions, however, corresponded very ill with our rigorous confinement, and therefore appeared to us very singular. Besides the orderly officers, who came to us by turns during the day, a particular officer was appointed to look after our provisions. The kind manners of the Japanese emboldened us to ask one of the officers, whether we could not have a window made in the back wall of the prison, as through the palisades we could discover nothing but the sky and the tops of a few trees. He did not oppose our request, but examined the wall, and asked us where we thought it would be best to make the window. We felt reason to hope that our request would be complied with; but we were deceived. On the renewal of our solicitation, a few days afterwards, the officer replied, that the Japanese were careful of our health, and feared lest the bleak north-winds might give us cold. We were consequently compelled to give up all thoughts of the window! From the 6th of October to the end of the month, we were conducted regularly every day, or every other day, to the Bunyo, who usually detained us the greater part of the day, so that our attendants were obliged to carry our meals to the castle. About the middle of October,§§ when the frost began, the Bunyo left off receiving us in the saloon, and our examinations afterwards took place in a chamber of justice, similar to that at Chakodade, and which was likewise hung round with instruments of punishment. The number of questions which the Bunyo asked was incalculable. If he put one interrogatory concerning any circumstance connected our case, he asked fifty, which were unimportant, and many which were ludicrous. This so puzzled and tormented us, that we sometimes made very insolent replies. We once stated plainly, that we had rather they would put an end to our existence at once, than torture us in the way they did. Who would not have lost patience on being asked such questions as the following? When I was taken, I had ten or twelve keys of my bureau and drawers, and of the astronomical instruments belonging to the

§§

The first snow fell in Matsmai, on the night of the 14th of October; but it was melted by a thaw a few days afterwards. Towards the middle of November the snow fell very thick, and the winter then set in.

Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan 89 ship. The Bunyo wished to be informed of the contents of every drawer, and every box. When I pointed to my shirt, and told him that my drawers contained such things as these; he asked me how many I had? I told him, with some degree of ill-humour, that I did not know; and that it was my servant’s business to keep that reckoning. Upon this he immediately inquired how many servants I had, and what were their names and ages? I lost all patience, and asked the Japanese why they teazed us with such questions, and what use such information could be to them, since neither my servants nor property were near me? The Governor then, with great mildness, observed that he hoped we were not offended by his curiosity; that he did not intend to force any answers from us, but merely questioned us like a friend. This kindness immediately calmed our irritation, and we reproached ourselves for the rude answers we had given. The Bunyo then asked a few questions relative to our business, but soon resumed his old system of examination, and at length dismissed us, harnessed as usual, like so many horses. In this manner we frequently quarrelled, and adjusted our disputes three or four times in the course of a day. In order to enable the reader to form some notion of the questions which the Japanese put to us, and the trouble it cost us to explain the various things which excited their curiosity, I subjoin a few of their interrogatories; scarcely, however, the hundredth part of the useless inquiries which they were accustomed to make in the course of one day. It must, moreover, be considered that we had to make ourselves understood to them by means of a halfbarbarous Kurile, who knew scarcely any thing of the subjects on which we conversed, and who knew of no words in the Kurile language to express many of the terms which we made use of. The Japanese interrogated us without any kind of regularity, and often jumped from one subject to another. The following is a specimen of one of our examinations. What kind of dress does the Emperor of Russia wear? – What does he wear on his head?*** What kind of birds are found in the neighbourhood of St. Petersburgh? – What would be the price in Russia of the clothes which we were then wearing? – What number of cannon was planted round the imperial palace?††† – What wool is made use of in Europe for manufacturing cloth?‡‡‡ – What quadrupeds, birds and fish are eaten in Russia? – In what manner do the Russians eat their food? – What dress do the ladies wear? – What kind of *** †††

‡‡‡

When they heard that Mr. Moor was a good draughtsman, they requested him to draw the figure of our emperor’s hat upon a piece of paper. On our informing them that the sovereigns of Europe did not fortify their palaces, they at first seemed to doubt the truth of what we said. They, however, afterwards expressed their astonishment at what they termed so singular an instance of imprudence. On our mentioning sheep, they requested Mr. Moor to draw them the figures or a sheep, and a goat. At length they asked him for horses, asses, coaches, sledges, &c. in a word they wished to have every thing represented on paper which they could not see in Japan. They always made their requests with the utmost politeness, and therefore he could not possibly refuse them, although he found it a very tedious and troublesome task to satisfy all their demands. Fortunately, however, he sketched with astonishing rapidity.

90 Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan horse does the Emperor usually ride? – Who accompanies him, when he goes abroad? – Are the Russians partial to the Dutch? – How many foreigners are there in Russia? – What are the chief articles of trade in Petersburgh? – What are the dimensions in the length, breadth and height of the imperial palace?§§§ – How many windows does it contain? – How many times do the Russians go to church in one day? – How many festivals do the Russians observe in the course of the year? – Do the Russians wear silk clothes? – At what time of life do the Russian women begin, and cease to bear children? – They besides inquired the names of the Emperor, and of all the branches of the imperial family; the names of the governors-general of Siberia and Irkutzk, and of the commandants of Okotzk, and Kamtschatka, &c. &c. But the Japanese vexed us most of all by their inquiries respecting barracks. I have already observed that in Chakodade they insisted on knowing how many men were under our command according to our rank, when we were ashore. This question was again repeated, together with a request to know where the sailors lived in Petersburgh? In barracks we replied. They then requested Mr. Moor to sketch, from the best of his recollection, a plan of Petersburgh, and to point out in what part of the town the sailors’ barracks were. This demand was no sooner complied with, than they made inquiries respecting the length, breadth and height of the barracks; the number of gates, windows and doors they contained; and further into how many stories they were divided; in what part of the building the sailors lived; how they employed their time; how many men were appointed to guard the barracks, &c. But this was not all, they questioned us about the military barracks; asked how many buildings of that kind there were in Petersburgh, in what part of the town they were situated, and what number of men they contained? We thought it best to plead ignorance of most of these matters, but this did not induce the Japanese to discontinue their trifling. They inquired in what part of the city our dwellings were situated, how far they were from the palace, and requested us to point out the spot on the sketch which Mr. Moor had drawn. At length they wished to know how large our houses were, and how many servants we kept. I frequently thought that the Japanese took a pleasure thus to torment us; for to reply to all the questions which their insatiable curiosity induced them to put to us, was a real martyrdom. We sometimes absolutely refused to answer them, and told them that they might if they pleased put us to death. The Bunyo would then endeavour to reconcile us by expressions of regard and inquiries

§§§

When we replied that we did not know, they requested that we would inform them according to supposition. This they never failed to do whenever we sought to evade their questions. They frequently put us out of humour by making inquiries respective things of which we could not possibly possess any knowledge, such for instance as: how many harbours are there in Europe, in which ships are built? and how many ships of war and merchantmen are there in all Europe? We might indeed have invented an answer of some kind or other; but we found it necessary to be upon our guard as they frequently questioned us on the same subject at different times, and in different ways.

Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan 91 respecting matters relative to our imprisonment, but he would soon resume his childishness. We avoided, by every possible manoeuvre, giving them any opportunity for unnecessary questions; we replied in a short manner, and sometimes gave them only half an answer. But every word carried with it a train of interrogatories. They admired the fine hand writing and drawing of Mr. Moor: they looked upon him to be an exceeding learned man, and asked where he had been educated. Mr. Moor took care not to tell them that he had been brought up in the Naval Cadet-College: to avoid the thousand questions which would infallibly have ensued respecting that institution, he merely said that he had received his education in his uncle’s house. Then followed a string of questions concerning his uncle: who he was, whether he was rich, where he resided, and whether he had himself been Moor’s instructor? &c. On his informing them that he had had tutors, they inquired their names, where they had been educated, &c. When they asked me where I was brought up, I told them in my father’s house, and naturally concluded that there would be an end of the matter; but I was under a mistake, I was obliged to inform them when and how I had acquired my education, whether my father was a man of property, and with what sciences he was acquainted. The Japanese at last produced all the things which they had taken from us, inquired their names, their uses, where they had been manufactured, and how much they cost. They took down all our answers in writing and placed a label with a superscription on each of the articles. One day, a box full of my English and French books was brought into the presence of the Bunyo, though we had not been previously informed of their being sent from the sloop. The Japanese took up the books one by one, showed them to us and inquired respecting their contents. With regard to some of the books, this explanation was easy enough; but, with others, we experienced no small difficulty. Among the latter was the Physics of Libes,5 in three volumes, in the French language. This work contains numerous plans of various instruments and machines, which powerfully excited the curiosity of the Japanese. Every thing they saw filled them with amazement. They declared themselves overjoyed that such a book should have fallen into their hands, and requested an explanation of all the figures which most pleased them. In vain did we tell them that with such an interpreter as Alexei, we could not possibly make them understand the meaning of the plates; they entreated that we would give them some notion of what kind of book it was. We told Alexei that the book treated of the means of raising heavy weights, and shewed him one of the plates representing a crane and block. He immediately understood us and translated what we said to the Japanese. But this did not satisfy them, they replied that such things had long since been well known to them. They pointed to one of the plates explanatory of the refraction of rays, and asked us what it meant, and whether it did not relate to the distance between the sun and the earth? I thought it would not be difficult to make Alexei comprehend this figure, and asked him whether he had not observed that when the end of an oar was in the water, it had the appearance of being broken. “Oh yes!” he said, “I have

92 Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan observed that, though I do not know how it happens.” When we tried to explain to him the refraction of rays, he asked us what a ray was? No sooner had we made him understand the meaning of the word than he burst into a loud fit of laughter. “Oh, that’s impossible!” said he, “what man can break a ray?” We were likewise unable to repress our laughter, and the Japanese joined us without knowing why. They seemed at last convinced that Alexei was not a fit interpreter for such matters, though he himself was fully of opinion that we were talking nonsense. They now took the books from us, saying “another time, another time,” and began to pack them carefully up in the box. This increased our vexation. It appeared they took us all for extremely learned men, but in particular, entertained that opinion of me, because my name was written in all the books. They questioned me concerning that circumstance, and expressed their astonishment at my having so many books in my possession. From what fell from them they seemed to expect, that we would, one day or other, be able to make them understand the contents of these books, which, at present, appeared perfectly enigmatical to them. I subjoin two observations which the Japanese made concerning these books. They asked me why I had so many foreign books, and only one in the Russian language,**** and whether they did not know how to print books in Russia? It is, I replied, because they happen to have sent from the sloop, only the chest containing the foreign books, the Russian volumes are in another box. They then asked how it happened that my foreign books were so handsomely bound, and printed on fine paper, whilst that in the Russian language was, on the contrary, printed on coarse paper? I replied that the Russians, as well as other nations, occasionally printed their books either on fine or coarse paper. Among a number of insignificant questions, arising from mere curiosity, the Japanese wished to know the military and naval force, the number of garrisons, and the riches and strength of the Russian empire, &c. We readily replied to these questions, always bearing in mind that which we had before said; and though each interrogatory was repeated ten times over, we were constantly prepared with a corresponding answer. It seemed to them impossible that we should make use of bombs weighing nine pounds, and they laughed when we said that we preferred firing muskets with flints, as they make use of matches for that purpose. With regard to the circumstances relative to our imprisonment, the Bunyo asked all the questions which we had previously answered in Chakodade. He repeated them once, and sometimes twice during the day; but he always seemed to consider the satisfaction of his own curiosity as the most important object, and all else as mere accessary matters. A wish was, however, shewn to

****

Tatischtschew’s French Dictionary, in two vols. [I. I. Tatishchev, Dictionnaire complet françois et russe, St Petersburg: Imprimerie impériale, 1786.]

Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan 93 have clear and decided answers, to any question relative to our own case. We learned that our two attendants were the same Japanese who had been carried off from the Island of Sagaleen [Sakhalin] by Chwostoff, and who were detained by him for a whole winter at Kamtschatka, and then sent back to Japan. What had been his object in doing this, we knew not. Those attendants constantly accompanied us to the castle, and were always present during the examinations or rather conversations. The Bunyo once asked a question concerning Chwostoff, and immediately spoke to one of the attendants. The latter answered (for we understood the purport of what he said perfectly well) that Chwostoff wore a uniform ornamented with gold lace, the same as mine and Mr. Moor’s. The Japanese looked at us and smiled. The Bunyo then said that the two attendants Heinste and Fok-Masse, who had been taken before the chief-commandant of Kamtschatka, had heard him declare that he would overrun Japan with a numerous army; and that, instead of merely blustering there as Chwostoff had done, he would burn and destroy every thing he could find. We replied that it appeared to us improbable that the commandant of Kamtschatka should have made any such declaration, that the expressions had perhaps been made use of by one of the officers of the garrison, and that, even allowing it to be true, the commandant of Kamtschatka was a person of no importance in Russia, and might, if he pleased, talk nonsense as well as other people. Our government, as we have already proved to them, entertained no such intentions; otherwise its hostilities would not have been confined to empty threats, and the Japanese would soon have experienced the difference between a predatory attack made by a private individual, and a regular war declared by the Emperor. The Bunyo was not in the least degree offended by this answer, and continued his questions with his usual civility. At the close of this examination the Bunyo informed us that we should not be conveyed to the castle for some time again, in order to afford us time to draw up a written statement of our case, with the assistance of the interpreter Kumaddschero, to whom he had given every necessary instruction. He accordingly dismissed us, with an exhortation not to yield to despair; but to offer up prayers to Heaven, and to place confidence therein; adding, that in case we stood in need of any thing, he requested us immediately to inform him, since we should experience every indulgence which he could give consistently with the laws of his country. I must not omit to mention several marks of attention which the Japanese shewed to us during the month of October. I have already observed that they provided us with warm clothing and bear-skins; but as the cold continued to increase, they stopped up the spaces between the spars with paper, and at our earnest entreaty, made windows at the top, which opened and shut by means of a rope. From these windows we could indeed discover nothing but the sky and the tops of a few trees, but in our sad condition we derived some consolation even from this prospect. They besides dug large holes for hearths,

94 Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan at about one and a half or two paces from each cage,†††† which they built round with thick free-stone and filled with sand. In these fire-places, they burnt charcoal from morning to night, which warmed us when we seated ourselves on the ground near the spars. In course of a few days, they supplied us with tobacco for smoking, and very long pipes, to the middle of which a wooden ball was affixed, of so large a size that it would not pass between the palisades, and which was intended to hinder us from drawing the burning pipes into our prisons. We felt irritated at this singular instance of distrust, and reproached the Japanese in pretty plain terms, for the barbarous opinion they entertained of the Europeans. They, however, laughed and referred to their laws, which obliged them to remove from the reach of their prisoners any thing by which they might commit violence, either on themselves or others. They told us that we were only permitted to smoke tobacco through the particular favour of the Governor, and that without violating their laws, they had granted us some indulgences, and had kindled fires for us: they therefore observed that we ought not murmur at any trifling restriction. This explanation consoled us; we were glad to find that the Japanese did not adhere strictly to the letter of their law, and that they often made evasions in our favour. In the present case, the Japanese had to take care to avoid a war with Russia; it was accordingly natural enough that they should rather chuse not to be over punctual in expounding their statutes, than to draw down upon themselves the anger of a warlike and powerful neighbour. They, moreover, assured us that our condition would be bettered in course of time, and that at length, the highest mark of favour they could shew us, would be to send us back to our native country. They observed that the Japanese never did any thing rashly; that with them, every measure was executed slowly and deliberately, and that, consequently, our condition could only be gradually improved. This we well knew from experience, for we had never yet received two civilities or favours in the course of the same day. Among the many marks of kindness with which the Bunyo honoured us, one in particular deserves to be noticed. There were one day shewn to us, several models of boats and ships, which appeared to us to be Chinese; a silver ruble bearing the head of Catherine II; a Japanese bag containing about two pounds of rice, and an elegant case of flasks, partly lacquered and partly gilt, which was the property of the Bunyo. The Japanese asked us whether we had ever

††††

Several officers, the interpreter, the physician, and an architect, assembled like the members of a council, to debate concerning the precise spots where these holes should be dug. The ground was examined and measured, and upwards of an hour was spent in deliberation. At first we naturally supposed that some affair of mighty importance was in agitation, but we soon learnt what it all tended to. They wished the fires to be kindled at such a distance that we could not reach the coals with our hands, though we could smoke our pipes by means of the long tubes they supplied us with. This dilatory and trifling turn of the Japanese caused us much vexation. If (thought we,) they deliberate for an hour about matters of this nature, how long will it be ere they bring the investigation of our case to an issue?

Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan 95 seen any thing in Europe like the models and the case of flasks? and further, what was the name and value of the coin, and what quantity of rice the bag would contain, according to Russian weight? Their questions were short and unaccompanied by the usual digressions. They then poured from the flasks some excellent sagi and cordials, which they presented to us. The interpreter, Kumaddschero, gave us to understand that this was done by order of the Bunyo, who, according to their laws, could not entertain us in his own house. I must likewise observe that the Japanese did every thing which they thought would contribute to our comfort, and were particularly watchful of our health. Our physician visited us daily, and if we felt the slightest indisposition, repeated his visits twice or three times in course of the day, and in cases which appeared in any degree dangerous, he brought another physician along with him. Their attention to us, went to so great a length, that one night, when a fire broke out in the city,‡‡‡‡ our guards came into our cage and explained to us the cause of the alarm, and desired us not to trouble ourselves about it. However, during the first few days of our imprisonment at Matsmai, they were far from paying such particular regard to us. I must not omit mentioning one very laughable circumstance, the real cause of which we were unable to devine. Our meals were superintended by an old officer sixty years of age. He behaved very civilly to us, and frequently consoled us with the assurance that we should be sent back to Russia. One day he brought to us three portraits of Japanese ladies, very richly dressed. We supposed that he meant merely to shew them to us, and we were about to return them to him, when he desired us to keep them. We refused, but he insisted that we should accept of them. We asked him what use they could be to us? and he replied that we might amuse ourselves by looking at them when the time hung heavily on our hands. We then asked whether we were in a situation to be amused by the sight of such beauties? Indeed the figures were so wretchedly designed, that they were calculated only to excite aversion and ridicule. The old man, however, insisted on our accepting of his portraits; we complied with his wish, and afterwards made the interpreter Kumaddschero a present of them. Mr. Moor jokingly told him that we did not wish to keep the portraits, lest we might be induced to request his countrymen to send the fair originals to amuse us, and asked him whether he thought the Governor would accede to such a demand? No, no, replied Kumaddschero, laughing, not now; sometime hence perhaps.§§§§ During the last fortnight of the month of October, we were occupied in drawing up a statement of our case. We were furnished with paper and ink, and Kumaddschero directed us how to prepare our memorial. At first we

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The fire broke out owing to the carelessness of the guards on board of a vessel, which was lying on the shore underneath a shed. In cases of fire, the Japanese sound an alarm, and beat drums through the streets. Indulgences of this kind are, however, granted to the Dutch who visit Japan.

96 Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan entered into a serious dispute with the Japanese on this subject, and refused to write any thing at all. Kumaddschero required that we should write on separate sheets of paper for ourselves and the sailors, a kind of affidavit, setting forth where we were born, what were the names of our fathers and mothers, how long we had been in the naval service? &c. This we immediately did; and he next wished us to state on the same sheets of paper, all the absurd things respecting which we had been questioned: for instance, that the Russians buried their dead in church-yards on the outside of the city, that they erected crucifixes and other monuments over their tombs, &c. But this we refused to do; declaring that a whole life would be insufficient to note down on paper all our answers to the silly questions which had been put to us, and that the Bunyo had merely required a statement of our case to be translated into Japanese. The Japanese were at first displeased at our refusal, and endeavoured to persuade us to do what they declared would be to our own advantage. We, however, obstinately persisted in our determination; and they then requested that we would write down all the circumstances that had occurred to us since our departure from Petersburgh; adding, that they wished every thing to be made as short as possible, excepting what related to our communications with the Japanese, with every particular of which they desired to be made acquainted. This we agreed to do, and told Kumaddschero that we would, during his absence, write out our case, and when he should be present, with the assistance of Alexei, we would have it translated into Japanese. He requested that we would write the copy which was to be translated, in such a way as to leave room between every two lines for one or two more. We accordingly set to work, and in order that we might reserve a copy of the statement for ourselves, we first of all wrote it out in a rough style: but in doing this we experienced considerable difficulty; we were obliged to proceed with the greatest caution, lest we should be observed by our guards;***** who would have taken the papers from us. Mr. Chlebnikoff usually sat near the spars, wrapped in a large night-gown, turning his back towards the Japanese: he wrote with a straw,††††† and placed his ink, in a small wooden spoon,‡‡‡‡‡ before him. I walked up and down, and winked to him whenever any of the guards changed their position, so as to be able to observe what he was doing. We were afraid to use for this purpose the paper with which Kumaddschero had provided us, lest the sheets might have been counted; we therefore wrote

***** †††††

‡‡‡‡‡

They scarcely ever turned their eyes away from us. The Japanese write with hair-pencils instead of pens, and Mr. Chlebnikoff could not have used pencils without the knowledge of the Japanese. We were obliged therefore to have recourse to the straws which lay on the floor of our prison. The Japanese neither make use of spoons nor forks, but eat their victuals with two slender reeds. Food of a fluid nature they sip out of the dish as we do tea. For this reason the Kuriles had made for us, during our journey, some small wooden spoons; one of which we now converted into an ink-stand.

Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan 97 on the coarse paper which had been given to us for pocket-handkerchiefs. Mr. Moor, in the meanwhile wrote out a fair copy of our statement, which we dictated under pretence of conversing with him. The trouble which our interpreters Alexei and Kumaddschero gave us, whilst they were making the translation, is inconceivable. We endeavoured by all possible means to avoid such words and phrases as Alexei could not understand; for example, instead of very or much, we were obliged to make use of the word violent; instead of hostilities, blows; instead of peaceable intentions, good meaning, &c. Our style of writing would therefore have appeared singular enough to any body but our interpreters. Notwithstanding all this, we were frequently unable to make Alexei comprehend us, and even when he did understand our meaning, he could sometimes find no corresponding words and expressions to convey what we intended to the Japanese interpreter. Kumaddschero adopted the following plan. He first asked us how the Russians sounded particular words, and then described the pronunciation in Japanese characters, above the word itself. When he had completed a sheet in this way, he would ask us the signification of each of the words, and would write it down in Japanese above the pronunciation. This, however, gave us no little trouble. He was a man of about fifty years of age, naturally stupid; he had no notion whatever of any European language, and was totally ignorant of grammar. If we explained to him the meaning of a word, either through Alexei’s interpretation, or by gesticulations and examples, he would listen attentively to every thing we said, and then exclaim O-o-o; which, in the Japanese language, is equivalent to “Yes, yes, I understand.” We sometimes spent half an hour in explaining a word to him, and when we thought we had made him fully understand it, he would again ask us what it meant, declaring that he could form no idea of its signification. We frequently lost all patience, and reproached him for his stupidity; but he would excuse himself by saying, that he was old, and found the acquirement of the Russian language extremely difficult. He spent two whole days in endeavouring to comprehend the word imperial. We occupied two hours at a time, trying to explain it to him by every example we could think of, and Alexei, who understood the word perfectly well, did all in his power to render it intelligible to him. Kumaddschero would listen attentively to all we said, laugh and mutter out his O-o-sso! but scarcely had we finished speaking, when he would say, I understand emperor quite well, but imperial, imperial, I cannot comprehend that at all. Prepositions and conjunctions could find no access to his stupid head. It was quite inconceivable to him, that we should place them before the noun substantives to which they referred, whilst, in the Japanese language, they are always placed after them. This particularly excited his astonishment, and he would not believe that any thing could be well expressed in so barbarous and imperfect a language as he regarded the Russian to be. When he had once comprehended the meaning of the words, he began to labour at the construction of the sentences. Here new difficulties arose. He maintained that the Russian words ought to follow each

98 Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan other in the same order as those in the Japanese translation, and wished us to arrange them so, without perceiving that it made absolute nonsense. We assured him that this was impossible; but he declared that our translation would be considered incorrect, if we placed at the end of a sentence, a word which ought to stand at the beginning. At length, after long debates and disputes, we desired him to think on some Japanese and Kurile phrases, and asked him whether he could arrange them word for word in both languages? “I know that is impossible,” replied he, “but the Kuriles are an uncultivated people, whose language has no manuscript character; while, on the contrary, books are printed in the Russian.” We laughed heartily at this observation, and Kumaddschero, with his accustomed good-humour, joined us. We pledged our word of honour, that though the different European languages contained phrases bearing a resemblance to each other, it was impossible to arrange the vocables in the same manner in every one, and that this was the case with regard to the Japanese and Russian languages. This appeared to satisfy him. When he understood the meaning of any sentence in Russian, he endeavoured to construe it by corresponding expressions in Japanese, and no longer troubled himself about the order of the words. He seemed highly pleased, however, when they happened accidentally to follow each other in the same order. He then hurried on, and was sure to commit blunders; for, in cases where the Japanese words followed each other as in the Russian, but yet conveyed a very different sense, he wrote them down with great satisfaction, and always shewed himself reluctant to make any alterations when we told him he had misunderstood our meaning. When we had finished our translation, which was not until the middle of November, we drew up a petition to be presented to the Bunyo, in which we addressed him by the title of Excellency, and entreated that he would take into consideration every circumstance tending to our justification, and request the Japanese Government to set us at liberty, and send us back to Russia. The translation of this petition cost us no less trouble than our memorial. At length, after numerous questions, explanations, remarks, additions, &c. which were made in conformity to the wish of the Japanese officer, who examined the translations, we were informed that we should shortly be required to appear before the Bunyo, who wished to question us personally concerning our statement, and to be convinced of its accurate translation. Whilst we were occupied in this way, Alexei had obtained permission to remain alone with us in the absence of Kumaddschero. As we entertained some doubts about his attachment to us, we thought it prudent, during our conversation, to make use of uncommon, and even foreign words, which he did not understand. Alexei observed this, and told us, with great sensibility, how much he regretted that we should withhold our confidence from him, as he was as good a Russian as ourselves, and served the same Emperor. He now informed us that the Japanese had sent to Kunashier [Kunashir] part of the Kuriles whom they had seized on the Island of Eetooroop [Iturup],6 and that

Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan 99 the tale of their having been sent by the Russians, was invented by the party who remained at Eetooroop; the rest continued to deny it until the Japanese threatened to put them to the torture, and promised, in case they would avow all, to liberate and reward them. They did not, however, confirm the falsehoods which the others had asserted. “I am now resolved,” continued Alexei, “to make known the conduct of the Kuriles, and to suffer torture or even death to prove that I know God, and am as good as any Russian.” To shorten his life by ten or twenty years, he said, was a trifling sacrifice; if by that means he could save his soul from eternal damnation. He, therefore, entreated that we would insert in our statement all that he had related to us. He spoke with much firmness, and sensibility, and with a degree of eloquence so unusual to him, that we could not doubt the truth of what he said. We praised him for his good intention, and assured him that he would not be punished in Russia for a falsehood into which his companions had ensnared him; though we feared the Japanese would not credit what he said, and would suspect that we had persuaded him to contradict his former declarations. We told him it would be better to reflect on the best mode of explaining the affair, as the Japanese might, perhaps, ask why he had not confessed the truth on board the ship, or at least as soon as we were made prisoners? “That will not cost me a thought,” answered Alexei, “whether they believe me or not is a matter of indifference to me, so as I do but justify myself in the face of Heaven. I wish only to confess the truth: the Japanese may kill me if they will, I shall think it a happiness to die in such a cause.” At these words the tears started from his eyes. We were so moved, that we ardently wished for some means of discovering the affair to the Japanese, by which Alexei might not be a sufferer; but this seemed impossible. He seized the first opportunity of disclosing the whole to Kumaddschero, and told him that the Kuriles had not been sent by the Russians; but that they had visited Japan of their own free will, and for the purposes of carrying on trade. Kumaddschero was struck with amazement at this declaration, and called Alexei a fool and a madman. Alexei, however, insisted that he had spoken nothing but the truth, for which he was at any time ready to lay down his life. We knew not whether Kumaddschero immediately communicated this declaration to his superiors. When, however, we were again conveyed to the castle, that the Bunyo himself, or some of his superior officers, might examine our translation, Alexei spoke with the same firmness and presence of mind on mention being made of the affair of the Kuriles. The Japanese were astonished at his accusing himself, called him a blockhead, and apparently believed that we had persuaded him to make this confession, which they regarded as a fabrication. The firmness with which he persisted in the truth of his story, induced the Japanese to examine him several times alone. We feared that he might be led to deny his last declaration, and to confirm what he had first of all stated. On his return from the castle, we therefore endeavoured to read in his countenance what was passing in his mind. We were frequently permitted to

100 Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan leave our cages, and to go to warm ourselves at the fire in the lobby, we accordingly found an opportunity of desiring the sailors to question Alexei concerning his examination; if his answers were satisfactory, we directed them to cough several times, and if not, they were to remain silent. To our great consolation, we heard a loud coughing in the evening, as if the sailors had been labouring under a severe cold. When, however, we found opportunities of discoursing with them in private, they expressed the greatest suspicion of Alexei, and firmly believed that he was deceiving us, by telling the Japanese a very different story. In support of this opinion they told us that he had been endeavouring to learn from them the object of our visit to the Kurile Islands, and had advised them to declare to the Japanese all they knew respecting our intentions. We were, however, convinced that Alexei was sincere, and that he had resolved to bring the truth to light, which finally proved to be the case. When the Japanese had questioned Alexei on every necessary particular, we were again conducted into the presence of the Bunyo. His first question was, whether the Russians had really sent the Kuriles to the coast of Japan; and when Alexei had first disclosed to us that the Kuriles had deceived the Japanese? Here our answers did not fully correspond with each other. Alexei had not exactly understood the agreement made between us, and consequently did not answer in the way we wished. The Japanese laughed outright. We knew not what passed between them; but the Japanese seemed to suspect that Alexei had been fabricating, in concert with us, an untruth, for the purpose of invalidating the declaration which had been first of all made by the Kuriles. Alexei’s presence of mind did not, however, forsake him; he adhered to his assertion, and requested to be confronted with his countrymen. The Japanese would never inform us, whether, after the departure of the Diana, they had suffered the Kuriles to leave Eetooroop; if we questioned our guards on this subject, some replied, that they knew nothing of the matter; some declared that the Kuriles had been sent home, and others that they were still at Eetooroop. We retired very sorrowfully to our prison, for the Japanese, we were persuaded, looked upon Alexei’s declaration as a falsehood of our invention. We were convinced that they regarded us as spies and impostors; Heaven alone was witness to our innocence. The idea of enduring everlasting imprisonment, at a distance from our dear native country, overwhelmed us with despair; and death appeared a thousand times preferable to the situation we were then in. The Japanese observed our despondency, and did all they could to console us: they supplied us with better food than usual, and under the plea of taking care of our health, provided us with new wadded nightdresses. On the 19th of September, we were again conducted to the castle. Our guards, attendants, and the interpreter, were exceedingly cheerful, and informed us that the Governor had an agreeable piece of news to communicate to us. We were unable to divine what they alluded to. We remained for a considerable time in the antichamber, before we were conducted to the Hall of Justice, in which all the officers of the city were assembled. The Bunyo at

Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan 101 length entered; and, having taken his seat, asked us whether we were well,§§§§§ and whether we were ready to confirm all we had said respecting Chwostoff, and our not having visited their coasts with any evil intention? We re-asserted all that we had before stated; and he then delivered a speech of considerable length, of which Alexei, as usual, could interpret only the principal points. It was to the following effect: – The Japanese, at first, supposed, that we intended to plunder and burn their villages, and founded their opinion on Chwostoff’s conduct, and other circumstances already known to us. For this reason, they had enticed us into their garrison, and had detained us by force, in order to ascertain what had induced the Russians to commence hostilities, as the Japanese had uniformly entertained friendly dispositions towards them. The Bunyo, however, gave credit to our explanation of the affair, and regarded us as innocent; he had accordingly given orders for removing the ropes with which we were bound, and would do all that lay in his power to better our condition. If it depended on him to grant us our freedom and send us back to Russia, he would do so without hesitation; but we must be informed that the Obunyo of Matsmai was not the chief individual of the state; but that Japan was ruled by an Emperor and a superior Government, whose commands he was bound to obey in all cases of importance, and without whose consent he could not grant us our freedom. On his part, however, he would use all his influence with the Government in our favour, and to facilitate our return to Russia. With this view he had sent one of the principal officers of Matsmai to Yeddo, the capital, to endeavour to bring our affair to the wishedfor issue. In the meanwhile he entreated us not to give way to despair, but to offer up prayers to Heaven,****** and patiently await the decision of the Emperor of Japan. When Alexei had finished his explanation, and the Japanese perceived that we understood him, our ropes were immediately taken off, and they all sincerely congratulated us. Two of them,†††††† in particular, were so moved by this scene, that they shed tears. We returned thanks to the Governor and Officers for their kind wishes, and the sympathy they had testified for our misfortunes. The Governor then retired, and we were conducted from the Hall of Justice. Our guards and attendants now wished us joy, as well as a number of persons both of high and low rank whom curiosity had attracted to the spot.

§§§§§

******

††††††

He never failed to welcome us with an inquiry respecting our health. He frequently asked us whether we were comfortable, whether our food was as good as we wished, and whether our attendants treated us with civility. Whenever he said any thing to console us, he reminded us to rely on God, a circumstance with which we were particularly pleased. It was satisfactory to reflect, that the people into whose power fate had delivered us, entertained a just idea of the Supreme Being, and placed faith in the Almighty Ruler of all nations, before whom all must sooner or later render an account of their actions. The officer next in command to the Governor, named Sootzykee Dzeenn-Nne [Suzuki Jinne?], and our interpreter, Kumaddschero.

102 Golovnin: Narrative of captivity in Japan

Notes 1 Source: V. M. Golovnin, Narrative of My Captivity in Japan during the Years 1811, 1812 & 1813, vol. 1, London: Henry Colburn, 1818, pp. 185–230. 2 See Chapter 2 (Krusenstern), note 5, p. 80. 3 See Introduction, pp. 6–7. 4 I.e., the main island of Japan, Honshu. 5 Antoine Libes (1752–1832): French physicist. 6 This refers to the group of Kuriles (Ainu) whom Golovnin had encountered on Iturup in June 1811.

4

Ivan Goncharov The frigate Pallada (Nagasaki, 1853)

The writer Ivan Aleksandrovich Goncharov (1812-91), later famous for the novel Oblomov (1859), travelled to Japan as secretary to Admiral Efvimii Putiatin on his first expedition. Leaving Kronstadt with the admiral in October 1852 on the Pallada, he sailed round the Cape of Good Hope to Nagasaki, where he arrived in August the following year. Goncharov was an acute observer of the Japanese, as of the other peoples he encountered on his voyage, and of the early stages of Putiatin’s negotiations. He left the expedition in July 1854, however, when Putiatin transferred to the Diana and the personnel was reorganised. Goncharov’s vivid and witty account of his time spent in Japan assured his work an early and lasting popularity among the Russian reading public.1

Nagasaki Roads, 10 August 1853 onwards From the Bonin Islands to Japan is no journey at all, just a short step, especially in August, the best time of year in this region. The sky and the sea compete over which is better, calmer, bluer than the other, in short, which will please the traveller more. In five days we covered 850 miles. Our ship, as the senior, made signals to the other three and took one of them in tow.2 Pulling it on two chains we could see our companions there; sometimes we were even able to converse with them by writing in big letters on a large board. On 9 August, in the same bright but excessively warm weather, we saw the magical kingdom for the first time. These were the southernmost islands, small rocks and islands on the outer edges of the Japanese archipelago, with European and Japanese names. There were Julia and Clara, then Yakunoshima, Nomoshima, Iwoshima; then came the sakis: Tagasaki, Kossaki, Nagasaki. Shima means island and saki means cape, or the other way round. I can’t remember which.3 Here at last was the goal of our ten-month voyage and labours. Here was the locked casket without a key, the country whose acquaintance had so far been sought in vain with gold and arms and diplomatic wiles. Here was a large part of the human family who had skilfully escaped the trammels of civilisation,

104 Goncharov: The frigate Pallada presuming to live by their own wits and according to their own rules. They had stubbornly rejected the friendship, religion and commerce of foreigners, laughed at our attempts to enlighten them, and set the arbitrary laws of their ants’ nest up against the natural, popular and any other customs of Europe, and against all deceit. ‘Will this situation last for long?’ we asked, patting our sixty-pounders. If only the Japanese would let us study their country and learn about its natural riches, for there is really only one spot with a settled population left in the world unknown to geographers and statisticians, and that is Japan. This strange land, which still intrigues us because it is unknown, stretches from the 32nd to past the 40th parallel and so at one end is further south than Madeira. It has both intense heat and frost, palms and pines, peaches and cranberries. There are mountains equal to our highest, smouldering peaks, and, as we know already, in the mountains is found the best copper in the world. What we do not yet know is if they also have the best diamonds, silver, gold, topazes and, finally, what is more valuable than gold, the best coal, that most precious mineral of the nineteenth century. We saw Cape Nomo, which marks the entrance to the Nagasaki roadstead. We had all gathered on the quarter-deck to admire the green coastline bathed in sunlight. But here no one met us several miles off shore like they did in Java and Singapore in boats carrying fruit, shells, monkeys and parrots, and especially the invitation to come ashore. On the contrary! We sailed on with heavy hearts; at least I did, with an oppressive feeling as if going into prison, even though the prison was planted with trees. But what is this drifting past us in the water: a little toy boat decorated with varicoloured pennants? ‘It’s a religious ritual’, said one of us. ‘No’, interrupted another, ‘it’s just a superstitious custom.’ ‘Fortune-telling’, remarked a third, ‘look, look, there’s another one, it’s fortune-telling, they’re checking their luck.’ ‘No, excuse me’, said someone else, ‘Kaempfer says . . .’ ‘They’re just toys, launched by little boys’, mutters Grandad under his breath.4 And his opinion was just as likely to be true as any of these learned comments. But here any trifle seemed worthy of note. Suddenly a boat appeared, not a toy one this time, and in it were three or four Japanese, two clothed and two naked. The latter were sunburned a light reddish colour and had thin white bands round their heads to keep their hair from blowing about and similar bands around their waists, and that was all. (However, these were not the first Japanese our sailors had seen that morning. I had only just woken up when Fadeev informed me that some naked men had arrived and handed up a paper on a stick.5 ‘What men?’ I asked. ‘Japanese, I expect’, he answered.) The Japanese stopped about 3 fathoms from the frigate and spoke to us, but would not come any closer – they jibbed at the cannon sticking out of the portholes. We waved our arms and handkerchiefs to encourage them to come up. Finally they made up their minds and we crowded around them: these were our first guests in Japan. They looked around timidly, and with their hands on

Goncharov: The frigate Pallada 105 their knees squatted down and bowed almost to the ground. Two of them were dressed poorly. They had short blue over-jackets with wide sleeves, and robes fitting closely round their waists and legs. These robes were fastened with broad belts. And what else? Nothing else, no trousers, nothing . . . On their feet they wore short blue stockings fastened at the top with a button. Straw sandals were attached to their feet by tapes passing between the big toe and the next. Rich and poor were shod alike. Their heads and faces were shaved clean, only the hair at the back was brought forward and combed into a short chopped-off looking pigtail sitting firmly on top of the head. What a lot of fuss over such a contrived and ugly hairstyle. One of them, the most senior, had two swords stuck into his belt, one shorter than the other. We asked him to show them to us and found they had first-class blades. We showed our guests into the captain’s cabin and served them fruit liqueur, tea and sweets. Even from the boat they kept pointing to our fore topmast where a piece of white canvas was flying with the words in Japanese ‘Vessel of the Russian Empire’. They asked if they might copy it, under instructions, of course, to take the copy to the authorities in the town. Half an hour later some other, better dressed Japanese appeared. They brought a document setting out the usual warnings: not to go on shore, not to offend the Japanese, and so on. They liked the liqueur so much that they asked to be given what was left in the bottle, for the boatmen, they said, though I am sure these didn’t get a sniff of it.

Figure 4.1 Officer on urgent duty. Source: Alcock, Capital of the Tycoon, p. 133.

106 Goncharov: The frigate Pallada In the document the government also asked us, in French, English and Dutch, to remain at the so-called Koval’skii Gates in the first roadstead, and added that by going no further we would avoid great trouble, without explanation of what this meant or whom it would affect. We had to suppose that they meant trouble to the governor’s belly. The Japanese government, as we knew from books and afterwards confirmed from our own experience both on this and later occasions, requires that its orders should be carried out unconditionally, and if they are not, the person carrying them out is held responsible, whether it is actually his fault or not. For example, foreign ships may only proceed to the second and third roadsteads with the permission of the governor. We did not ask for permission, but a third party of Japanese, consisting of about eight people besides the boatmen, appeared and gave us ‘permission’ to enter the second roadstead. All these visits came quickly one after another. The governor had hastened to send us permission without knowing whether or not we intended to obey the original instructions and stay in the place indicated. If he had been ordered, for example, to destroy us, he would not of course have been able to do so, but he would still have had to try, and to slit open his belly when he failed. I say this remembering that a few years ago one of the Nagasaki governors slit his belly because the captain of an English ship wouldn’t accept some presents from the Japanese court which had been sent through him. The governor had been ordered to deliver the presents, the captain would not take them, and the governor was guilty of failing to deliver them. Slitting open one’s belly is the most common form of enforced death here, or at least it was in earlier times. If someone insists, the government will take on the job itself, but in that case, apart from the shame of a public execution, the condemned man is deprived of his possessions and this affects his family. One traveller relates that the education of young people here includes among other things the technique of deftly slitting one’s belly in a single stroke. I will tell you what I know about this on a later occasion. I haven’t time at present. The third group of Japanese were better dressed. Their jackets were of a fine translucent black material, and some of them had white symbols woven into the back and sleeves – these are crests. Even peasants here have a crest and the right to wear it on their jackets. But some people are granted the right to wear the crest of their superiors or other notables, and higher officials are awarded the shogun’s crest like our orders of chivalry. But not everyone has the right to wear two swords at his belt. This honour is accorded only to the upper classes and to officers. Soldiers bear one and the simple people do not carry swords at all, and anyway they go around naked, so they wouldn’t have anything to attach a sword to, except in winter. The jackets of our guests, or hosts if you prefer, were tied up with long silk laces. They announced that they were interpreters, opper-tolks and onder-tolks, that is, senior and junior. They had been appointed for work with the Dutch

Goncharov: The frigate Pallada 107 factory. We sat them down in the captain’s cabin and they brought out a document containing a multitude of questions. Interpreters here are a whole class of their own. Around thirty of them visited us during our short stay, and there are about sixty altogether, not far off the mystical number of seventy.6 They know only the Dutch language, which they use in dealings with the Dutch, who since they are here for years on end could equally well learn Japanese. But who would teach them? It is forbidden on pain of death. The Japanese all know Chinese, just as we know French, or the Swedes German, or scholars Latin. They write in both Japanese and Chinese, only they pronounce the Chinese characters in their own way. In general their language, their faith, customs, dress, culture and education have all come to them from the Chinese. We had been warned that we would be met with questions, and so had prepared ourselves to answer properly and quite openly. They asked where we had come from, how long since we had left and on what date, how many sailors and officers there were in each ship, how many cannon we had, and so on. By the way, after we had stated that we had a letter for the governor, they asked why we had brought four ships to deliver a letter. This ironic question revealed a childish mistrust of our arrival and a suspicion that we had hostile intentions of some kind. We hastened to reassure them and answered everything frankly and openly, but at the same time we could not help smiling as we watched these soft, white, clean-shaven, effeminate faces, these clever and crafty physiognomies, their pigtails and their squatting. They got to know us and cheered up at our hospitality. We gave them sweet cakes, fruit liqueurs and wine. They looked with curiosity at everything, examined the whole cabin and opened their mouths in amazement when someone touched the keys of the piano. We offered them cigars, but they didn’t know what to do with them. One of them began to smoke his without biting off the end; another bit off the wrong end. They didn’t get on with the cigars: too strong for them. One of them took ill from the fug in the cabin and perhaps from the rolling of the ship, though the water was calm and the movement of the frigate barely noticeable. They are in general very delicate. For example they were unable to sit still in the cabin, and were constantly wiping the sweat from their heads and faces, puffing and fanning themselves. From the front of their clothing they took out their tobacco and palm-wood pipes with silver mouthpieces and bowls half the size of the smallest women’s thimble. The tobacco was in a cotton pouch no bigger than a purse. Each Japanese took a pinch of tobacco, rolled it into a ball, like cotton wool or hemp that you stick in your ear, put it into his pipe and after two or three puffs knocked out the ash and put the pipe away in his breast pocket. All this was done with amazing speed. The tobacco is very fine and stringy like flax. It is a reddish yellow colour, and looks like thick red hair. It tastes rather like Turkish tobacco, though it is very mild. How they pricked up their ears when they heard a noise on the deck. They took fright when our men started to run up the shrouds or to pull on a rope and

108 Goncharov: The frigate Pallada stamp about. They sailed with us while we towed their boat and oarsmen behind. At last we entered the first roadstead and found ourselves surrounded by islands and hills. Here the wind dropped and then started to blow against us. We had to tack. ‘Where are you going?’ asked the Japanese, not understanding tacking. ‘You need to go over there, to the left.’ Finally we got to our appointed spot in the second roadstead. What is this? Is it stage scenery or reality? What a place! Hills near and far, one above the other, crowded around us in an amphitheatre, covered in cedars and many other trees which one couldn’t make out. There is nothing frightening here: only smiling nature. Beyond the hills no doubt there are smiling valleys and fields . . . But do the people smile? Judging from the naked, sunburned boatmen, three of whom are sitting together in the boat over there wrapped in a sort of colourful blanket against the sun, you can’t imagine that the people have smiled very much among these hills. All the mountains are cut up by furrows and cultivated from top to bottom. Over there villages huddle together in the gorges; huts are scattered here and about. But what is this? Curtains of a sort with black and white circles on them. The crests of the feudal princes of Hizen and Satsuma, said our guests. A breeze began to blow and the curtains fluttered open revealing cannon: in one place three, all with broken gun-carriages, in another, one with no carriage at all. How frightening! Our gunners suspect that these batteries may also contain wooden guns. And where is Nagasaki? The town cannot yet be seen. Ah, there it is. And why isn’t it Nangasaki? Because its real name is Nagasaki and the letter n is only added to be clever, like other letters in some other words.7 ‘Nagasaki is the single port which only the Dutch are permitted to enter’, it says in the geography books, though one might add that others have entered without permission for a long while. Consequently, in many respects the Dutch are not especially privileged. ‘So this is Nagasaki’, was heard on every side as we stood at anchor in the second roadstead and in sight of the third, and all our telescopes were directed at the locality in which we found ourselves. Nagasaki has three roadsteads. One of them is very open to the sea and protected on two sides. There, on a levelled hillside to the left, a gun battery is being built, quite a respectable one, according to our gunners. But of course the town, we said, is not all visible; this must only be a part of it and the poorest part, just the outskirts. There are nothing but little houses and huts. Where are the buildings, palaces and temples that Kaempfer and others write about, especially Kaempfer, who mentions an unbelievable number of them? They must be further along, around the cape. But what views there are all around! What distant perspectives! If you stand here at the entrance to the second roadstead by Mt Pappenberg,8 you can see the ocean and just the profile of the cape, which blocks the view on to Nagasaki. You can also see the whole of the narrow bay of Kibachi. If you

Goncharov: The frigate Pallada 109 move into the middle of the roadstead, the ocean disappears, but the whole bay opens up to the left with the islands of Kagena, Katakashima and Kamenoshima, and you see the cape head on, while the coastline to the right reveals its cultivated terraces like a gigantic green staircase leading all the way up the mountain, from the waves to the clouds. We had a magnificent spot. Imagine a huge stage at the back of which about 3 versts away could be seen high hills, almost mountains, and at their feet houses with whitewashed walls and tiled or wooden roofs. This is the town standing on the edge of the semi-circular bay. A broad sound extends out from this bay, almost like the Neva,9 with green hills on either side dotted with huts, gun batteries, villages, cedar groves and rice fields. The scenery of the bay, the roadstead with its many boats, the strange town with all its grey houses, the sound with its hills, the bright green of the hills nearby and the paler green of those farther off, all this is so harmonious, so picturesque, that it does not seem real, and you suspect that it is a painted scene, taken entire from some enchanted ballet. Just look at the little coves and nooks and cool resting places that adorn the shores of the sound. Over there is a ravine that goes deep into the hillside, dark as a corridor, wooded and so narrow that you expect the little village hidden inside it to be crushed at any moment. There is a small bay lined with trees, a sleepy backwater where it is always cool and dark, where even the strongest wind scarcely ruffles the water. There a boat rests in safety simply pulled up on to the shore with one end in the water and the other in the sand. On the left is a long, wide, twisty cove of variable depth. In the middle of it are Pappenberg and Kamenoshima, two toy mountains covered in bristling forest like two heads with rumpled hair. They have tiny straits all around them and in the distance a sheer cliff and the sea. On the right is a tall hill sloping down to the shore, which seems to entice you to climb up the green steps of its terraces and garden beds, regardless of Japanese prohibition. Behind stretches a row of low, capriciously strewn hills and then some fairly high mountains standing seriously and morosely at a slight distance like grown-ups behind their children. Farther off the sound merges with the sea; scattered rocks darken its bright surface. In the background Cape Nomo shows blue. The sound separates the shore on which Nagasaki stands from the island of Kagena, which in turn is separated by another sound from the island of Iwoshima. Beyond that is the open sea, and nothing more. Everywhere there are spurs, little promontories or detached lumps of earth in the water covered with trees and greenery. In places plants and trees cling to the edges of the cliffs like giant bouquets of flowers. Everything is a view, a picture, just as if it had been designed by the whim of an artist. But I look with a strange feeling on these playfully constructed laughing shores. This somnolence and this absence of movement are not comfortable. People appear rarely; no animals are to be seen; only once did I hear a dog bark. There is no human bustle, few signs of life. Apart from those on watch

110 Goncharov: The frigate Pallada duty, all the boats scuttle along rapidly and timidly close to the shore with two or three naked oarsmen and a dribbling little boy or a sharp-eyed little girl. Surely these shores must be populated. Where are the inhabitants living? Why aren’t they teeming on the shore? Why is there no work or commotion, no noise or uproar, no shouts or singing, in short none of the boiling pot of life or its ‘scurrying of mice’, in the words of the poet.10 Why are there no steamers dashing to and fro on these wide waters, but only a big, slow, clumsy boat hung with blue, white and red banners? From this boat you can hear the monotonous boom, boom, boom of a Japanese drum. This, you will be told, is the princes of Hizen or Satsuma making the tour of their properties. You know that Japan is divided into domains, which are all dependent on the shogun, pay him tribute and maintain troops. The town of Nagasaki belongs to him, but around it are the properties of the princes. ‘Why’, I say, ‘are these beautiful shores so empty and lifeless? Why is it so tedious to look at them, so much so that you don’t even want to go out of your cabin? Will they soon be full of people and life?’ We ask the Japanese on board about this – that’s what we had come for – but we can’t get an answer from them. The officials say we should ask the governor. The governor will then send to the shogun in Edo and the shogun will send to Miako to the mikado, the son of heaven. Judge for yourself when we can expect an answer! We were all standing on deck engaged in our different tasks; almost all of us had telescopes in our hands. Some were storing away the sails; others were carefully studying the chart, among them Grandad, who was running backwards and forwards from the chart to the quarter-deck, and although he kept grumbling that the chart was inaccurate and that nothing was known about the place, he was nevertheless happy that his work was finishing. Others, including me, were just looking around and thinking about what they had seen. Although I was taken by the novelty of the place and impressed by the charming picture of nature which surrounded us, nevertheless at the same time I had a feeling, and more than this a presentiment, of boredom. I would gladly have exchanged Japan for Manila or Brazil or the Sandwich Islands, for anywhere at all in fact. Is it not disturbing to see so many pledges of the power and riches of nature, all these gifts placed in unskilled hands, or rather hands that are unfree, tied in unnecessary bonds? And am I the only one to be uncomfortable? There is Petr Aleksandrovich sighing in distress,11 unable to tell if he will be able to provision us: will the Japanese give us supplies? will they bring us fresh water, and if they do what will it cost? Many people are turning up their noses at tinned food, he says. Talking of tinned food, I don’t think I’ve mentioned it before. This is readycooked food of all kinds, soups, meat, vegetables, and so on, hermetically sealed in tin cans. A useful invention, no doubt about it. But the fact is these provisions are sometimes inedible. The vendors abuse the trust of the purchasers, and there is no way of checking: you can’t open each tin, tightly closed and sealed with lead. And when you get to sea you discover that the

Goncharov: The frigate Pallada 111 beef tastes like veal, the veal like fish, the fish like hare, and everything together like I don’t know what. And often it all looks and tastes the same. They say the French make better tinned foods, I don’t know. We bought ours in England. The others are also uneasy. Savich doesn’t know if there’ll be any coal or if we will be allowed to cut wood, or if the men will be let on shore to get some exercise. The baron is frowning, wondering if he will manage even to see any women.12 He has been staring at all the Japanese boats and looking among the naked bodies of the oarsmen for anyone less red and tough. The pigtails and short jackets of the men have sometimes led him sadly astray . . . The Japanese have left. Evening has fallen, the stars have begun to shine, and what’s more a comet has appeared among them. This is the third night we have seen it, just managing to pick it out on the horizon, so early does it set. Surrounding us at about 100 sazhens from the frigate and at some distance from each other was a ring of guard boats. These were brightly lit with multicoloured light from big, round, dyed lanterns covered with fish skin. On some of the boats there were even barrels of pitch. With the last rays of the sun, lamps began to glow on the heights: they girdled the hill tops with threads of fire and studded the shore. In short you couldn’t have got up more magnificent illuminations in honour of a guest than the Japanese lit now out of fear that their guests might suddenly attack them. The guards shouted to each other everywhere; the boats sailed to and fro. The boatmen rowed standing up, and shouting ‘Ossilyan, ossilyan’ so as to keep in time. In the mountains and the forest, lights twinkled like stars, rising and falling with the contours of the hills. It was evident that people were posted everywhere, that thousands of eyes were watching us and noting our every movement. Little by little our ships quietened down. They beat the drum, played ‘How great is our Lord in Sion’, and the sailors went to bed. Many of us didn’t even have tea or supper, but just went on watching the shore and its reflection in the water, the illuminations and the boats, chatting and predicting the success or failure of our mission, or trying to guess the character of the Japanese. Then one after another we dispersed. I stayed listening to the chirp of the crickets carrying from the shore and to the quiet lapping of the waves. I watched the play of phosphorescent sparks in the water and the distant reflections of the lights from the shore in the mirror of the bay. Here there were none of the big waves which had brought sadness to the soul at Bonin-shima, only the summer lightning, playing bright on the hills. Finally, I too went to bed, but for a long time the effeminate, squatting Japanese remained before my eyes with their pigtails and short jackets, and the cry ‘Ossilyan, ossilyan’ drifted into my dreams. ‘Hee! Hee! Hee!’ I hear from the cabin next door as I wake up one morning a few days after our arrival, then a low whisper and from time to time a raised voice on some word or other. Fadeev is standing next to me with my tea. ‘Have you been there long?’ ‘Just after six bells, sir.’ ‘And what is it now?’ ‘There, listen.’ At that moment a drum began to beat and music started to play,

112 Goncharov: The frigate Pallada meaning it was eight o’clock. ‘What is going on next door?’ I asked. ‘A Japanese, of course’, he replied. ‘What has he come for?’ ‘Who knows?’ ‘You might have asked him.’ ‘Me talking to him would be like a pig talking to a chicken . . .’ There is no getting rid of the Japanese: they are here every day from morning to evening, several times a day. There are all sorts: opper-banioses, onder-banioses, opper-tolks, onder-tolks,13 and then all the riff-raff that makes up their suite. But I had better tell you everything of note in proper order. One or perhaps two days after the interpreters’ visit, three or four boats arrived, decorated with flags, pennants, crests, badges and pikes: all the marks of military vessels, though they were manned by the same naked boatmen and had not a single soldier on board. Everything was still new to us, and we waited impatiently to see what it meant. The boats were first rate, something like the low wide winter sledges of our peasants, broad, flat-bottomed and open at the stern. They are built entirely of light-coloured timber, with a penthouse of matting. The boatmen have long oars which consist of two parts joined together in the middle. Each oar is attached to the boat and the oarsman stands and turns it backwards and forwards. Depending on the size of the boat there are between four and eight oarsmen, or sometimes as many as twelve. Each boat is a floating house and is fully equipped with a small fireplace for cooking and every sort of household utensil. On the guard boats officials take it in turn to observe our movements. This is a long established procedure with all foreign ships. The first to come on board were the interpreters. ‘The opper-banioses’, they said in a respectful whisper, pointing to the boats, and stood in a row. Soon after, two Japanese, rather better looking and more finely dressed than the others, came into sight and climbed up the ladder on to the deck. The interpreters greeted them, placing their hands on their knees and bowing almost to the ground. After them came about twenty attendants. One of the opper-banioses was thin, with a pleasant face, a protruding upper jaw and the tusk-like teeth shared by many Japanese. The other was pock-marked, with an intelligent face and a jaw like the first. Besides a short black linen jacket and a long silk robe, they each wore a coloured silk skirt, slit at the sides and with silk tassels. In their breast pockets, as usual, was a whole shopful of stuff: a pipe, a pocket-book, a sweat-cloth and a wad of very strong thin glazed paper. They use this to write on, tearing off one sheet at a time, to blow their noses, and finally to wrap things up in. They squatted down with their hands on their knees: that is, they bowed to us. In Japanese they are called ‘gokeins’ [gokenin].14 They are the most senior officials in the town after the governor and his secretaries. They were taken to the quarter-deck, where chairs had been brought. The gokeins sat down, but the others declined to sit, pointing respectfully to their superiors. Tea was served, together with sweets, biscuits and sweet pastries. They drank the tea, smoked, took the sweets and wrapped them up one at a time to take away; they

Goncharov: The frigate Pallada 113 even each tucked away a piece of bread and a piece of biscuit in their breast pockets. They drank the fruit liqueur with pleasure. When it came to the question of why they had come, one of the interpreters, a fat and pock-marked man by the name of Lyoda, stood in front of the gokeins, bowed low and remaining in that position, relayed our question. One of the gokeins began to speak quickly and very, very quietly, almost in a whisper. He had returned the interpreter’s bow and all the other interpreters, the other gokein and some of the retinue also bowed and listened. ‘Hee, hee, hee!’ said the interpreter abruptly from time to time while the gokein was answering him. ‘Hee’ is a particle of confirmation like ‘yes’ or ‘very good’. It is used only by subordinates listening to their superiors. Then when the gokein had finished Lyoda drew in his breath, straightened himself up before us and rapidly translated that they had come to ask us some questions. He spoke in an ordinary voice, but now and again suddenly raised it to a shout on some word or other, nodded his head and smiled. The other interpreters were silent. Their rule is that, when the senior is present, the next in line keeps silent, but listens without fail. In this way they keep a check on one another. This system of spying is rather like that of the Jesuits. Thus the interpreter Sadagora – who looked remarkably like an old maid with his grey pigtail; he needed only glasses and a stocking in his hand – kept silent while Lyoda was speaking, and when Lyoda wasn’t there Sadagora spoke and Narabayoshi kept silent, and so on. ‘Why is it’, they asked, taking out a paper covered with Japanese letters, ‘that on the frigate we were told that the corvette left Kamchatka in May, but on the corvette they said July?’ ‘Because’, we suddenly heard the voice of that ship’s captain, who happened to be at the back, ‘I skipped two months so as to avoid carping and questioning about where we were during that time and what we were doing.’ We all laughed, but Pos’et thought something up to give them as an explanation.15 The corvette had indeed left Kamchatka in May, but had called in at the Sandwich Islands. We asked the Japanese why this mattered to them: ‘What business is it of yours where we were? Surely the important thing for you is that we have arrived here.’ In order to explain this discrepancy, Lyoda suddenly suggested that the corvette had left Kamchatka at the same time we left Petersburg.16 ‘It will be better if you each say it took you three months to get here.’ We showed him a map and explained that it took a week or two to get here from Kamchatka, but six months from Petersburg. He was embarrassed and began to laugh at himself. We then took the opportunity to show them Russia and Japan. When he saw how small Japan was they laughed good-naturedly. We remarked that there was no point burdening themselves and others with these questions. ‘We must send the answers to Edo’, they replied. Then came a second and a third question, each of the same sort. ‘And you have to send all our answers to Edo?’ ‘Indeed!’ said Lyoda, drawing in his breath. ‘Well, your

114 Goncharov: The frigate Pallada people must be busy in Edo!’ someone next to me thought out loud. But remembering the sort of questions the Japanese had showered on our famous prisoner Golovnin from morning to night, I found that these questions were not so stupid after all. They departed late at night, smiling, squatting and bowing. Meanwhile evening had fallen again with threads of light in the hills, reflections of the hills in the water, the phosphorescent gleam of the sea, the chirp of the crickets and the oarsmen crying ‘Ossilyan, ossilyan!’ But we didn’t pay much attention to this now: we had got used to it and become familiar with the place, and so the quarter-deck was empty the moment the stewards, Jantsen and Vitul, began to rattle the glasses and the orderlies came cap in hand, first to one of us, then to another, with the invitation to ‘take tea’. We had informed the banioses as they left that we had two letters, one to the governor and one higher up. He was requested to send an official for the first and to come himself for the second. ‘We will tell the governor’, they replied. Wishing to discover the reason behind our arrival, they asked whether we had brought any shipwrecked Japanese sailors, then if we needed provisions or water. These are the only reasons the Japanese considered legitimate for foreigners to appear among them, and these have been accepted only recently. In the past, as is well known, they would not let their own shipwrecked sailors back into Japan. ‘You left Nipon [Nippon]’, they said, ‘so go wherever you like.’ Foreigners were treated even more harshly: they were thrown in prison. But time has passed and the Japanese are no longer what they were forty, fifty or more years ago. They treated us very courteously, asked the names, ranks and duties of each of us and noted everything down, taking from their breast pockets folding metal inkstands, which resembled our old-fashioned candle-snuffers. These contained ink and a brush. They handle the brush with great skill. I tried to write my name with a brush for one of the opper-banioses next to where he had written it in Japanese, and covered myself with shame. The Latin letters were unrecognisable. Two days went by. During this time the Japanese were informed that we required a place on shore and provisions. They sent us a small amount of provisions as a present, but said they dared not give us a place on shore without permission from Edo. Three days after this two banioses came. One of them was our friend BabaGorozaemon, who had come on the previous occasion. He had already got to know us and made himself at home on the frigate. He joked, called us by name, asked what everything that fell before his eyes was, and wrote it down. He seemed very kind, lively and communicative. The other was called Sambro. You mustn’t think that in their ideas or speech or manners there was anything about the Japanese that would strike a European as uncivilised or odd (except for blowing their noses into paper and tucking away sweets – but remember how two-thirds of the Russian people blow their noses and how recently our ladies abandoned the reticules which they used to fill with sweets when they were invited to other people’s dinners and parties). There is truly nothing odd

Goncharov: The frigate Pallada 115 at all, apart from their dress and their really absurd pigtails. In everything else, if they are not the equals of Europeans, these people are at quite a high level, unaffected and pleasant in their manner. They are extremely interesting because of their distinctive education. I will say more on this later. The banioses brought the interpreters Lyoda and Sadagora with them. They were received first by Pos’et, then by the admiral in his cabin. The banioses were seated in massive armchairs, while some of their attendants sat behind them on ordinary chairs. The admiral placed himself opposite them on the sofa, and the four of us sat on a long divan under the window. Lyoda and Sadagora stood bent double so that their faces were invisible, and only their swords stuck up in the air. Baba-Gorozaemon, bowing slightly to Lyoda and drawing in his breath, began to speak rapidly and at length in a whisper. He had a most attractive and feminine manner of speaking, and his quiet friendly voice softened even his refusals and contradictions. ‘Hee, hee, hee’, repeated Lyoda earnestly from time to time, while his shoulders twitched and sweat poured down his temples. It was stuffy in the cabin and hot outside, 20 degrees.17 At the end of his speech, Lyoda straightened himself up, turned to Pos’et, who was sitting next to the banioses, and stated that the governor had asked for the letter addressed to him personally to be sent to him. As for the other letter, which was to be sent to the higher authorities in Edo, he had ordered the officials to say that it must be accepted with proper ceremony, but that he, the governor, was not in a position to say what form this ceremony should take, and had therefore sent to the capital for a decision. ‘And how long will it take to go there and back?’ we asked, though we knew that the journey could be completed in about three weeks or, as the English traveller Belcher claims, even two.18 We mentioned this too. Baba replied, however, that it would probably take about thirty days to receive an answer. He apologised by saying that the answer would need to be discussed in Edo, but the admiral insisted that it should be sent more quickly. Then Sadagora replied that the messenger would fly like a bird. All this time one of the attendants had been fussing over a box of some kind tied up in a cloth. When we handed over the letter to Baba-Gorozaimon, he unbound a lacquered wooden box, put it on the table, took the letter in his hands, raised it to his forehead as a sign of respect, placed it in the box and tied it up again in its cloth, which was decorated with the governor’s crest. Then he tied up the bundle with a cord, took a small seal from his breast-pocket, fixed it to the cord and, after saying something to the interpreter, gave the box to one of the officials. ‘Hee, hee, hee’, repeated the latter, and turning to us translated that the letter would be delivered faithfully that day. The admiral invited them to lunch in his cabin, leaving us to act as hosts while he himself remained in the sitting-room. We sat at the large table. Tea was served as usual and then only sweet things, for which the Japanese have a great liking, pastries and I don’t remember what else, wine, fruit liqueur and sweets. The Japanese examined everything closely, tried a little of everything and wrapped up now a sweet, now a piece of tart in their paper. Lyoda also

116 Goncharov: The frigate Pallada wrapped up some jam and tucked it all away in the capacious larder of his breast-pocket. ‘For my children’, he told us. Our guests found it warm in the cabin. They took out small paper handkerchiefs to wipe away the sweat. Others, especially the second banios, blew their noses into these papers, which they put away in their sleeves, and fanned themselves. O. A. Goshkevich wound up a musical box and suddenly we heard the quiet, muted sound of ‘Grâce, grâce’ from Robert le diable.19 But this had little effect. Baba said that he had two musical snuff-boxes which had been brought by the Dutch. In the corner a second table had been set for some of the members of the suite. Baba drank no wine at all. He said he suffered from constant headaches. ‘And that is why’, he added, ‘as you can see, my head isn’t quite properly shaved.’ We suggested he should consult our doctor, but he thanked us and refused. We did our best to be friendly to our guests and after lunch showed them pictures, including the views of Japanese people, buildings, landscapes and so on in Siebold’s book. They asked if they could show the frigate to the banios who had come for the first time. We took them around the decks. They inspected the cannon and hand-guns and listened carefully to our explanation of the guns with the latest sights that we had bought in England. They were interested in everything and there was much that was naïve or childish in their curiosity, though the Japanese tried not to give themselves away too much. They stayed till almost evening. The suite of attendants wandered around the deck looking at everything with half-open mouths. All over the frigate was heard the clopping of straw sandals and the constant rustle of silk skirts, so that you expected at any moment to see something familiar . . . But you would look up and be disappointed. Some of their physiognomies were extremely silly looking. Among them, incidentally, there were two or three old men in trousers, that is to say the upper part of their legs was covered with blue cloth while their feet were in stockings like the others and then sandals. Their short cloaks were also blue. ‘What are those people?’ we asked. ‘Soldiers’, came the reply. Soldiers! You couldn’t imagine anything less like our conception of soldiers. They were so old they could barely stand on their feet, and their eyesight was poor. Their grey pigtails of three hairs wouldn’t lie flat on their heads but stuck up in the air, while their bald patches shone like copper. We hardly saw a single manly, energetic face among them, though there were many that looked intelligent or wily. But in any case the pigtails combed forwards on their heads and their smoothly shaved faces make them look quite unlike men. A whole crowd of naked, half-naked and raggedly dressed oarsmen climbed up the ladder and across the chain-wale from the boats. Some of them wore just a long blue robe and nothing else – no trousers, no jacket, no sandals. I won’t even mention headgear, because this form of clothing does not exist here. In the south, in China, I saw people wearing little winter caps and in the summer some people had pointed Malay straw hats that look like the lids of soup tureens, but here you don’t see a single Japanese with a covered head. It’s

Goncharov: The frigate Pallada 117 even rare for them to shade their heads with a fan like the Chinese. Sometimes a boat goes past with several people on board. The sun burning straight on to their heads is an attractive picture as the sun’s rays play on their smooth shaved brows just like they do on the gilded cupolas of a tower, and a fiery spot gleams on every head. You would think they would die or at least go mad after a trip like this, but it doesn’t bother them at all, even though in this climate the sun’s rays pierce your head like needles. Baba promised to obtain a great service for us – the washing of our laundry in the Dutch factory. Finally the Japanese departed. One of them called out to me and grasped my hand. ‘Ah, Baba, goodbye!’ ‘Goodbye’, he said in turn. The days have flashed by. It is now already the second half of August. The Japanese have got the better of us. They come about twice a day with provisions or a question or an answer. So this is the Extreme Orient – so far nothing but extreme boredom.

Notes 1 Source: I. A. Goncharov, Sobranie sochinenii v shesti tomakh, Moscow: Gos. izdvo khudozh, lit-ry, 1959, vol. 3, pp. 383–417. 2 The frigate Pallada was accompanied by the schooner Vostok, the corvette Olivutsa, and the transport ship Kniaz’ Menshikov. 3 Goncharov is correct: shima does mean island, and saki does mean cape. 4 Grandad: nickname given to Senior Navigation Officer A. A. Khalezov, at the time of the Putiatin expedition already a veteran of three round-the-world voyages. 5 Fadeev: Goncharov’s servant. 6 Perhaps a reference to the seventy disciples of Luke, 10: 1–24. 7 Nagasaki is often spelled ‘Nangasaki’ in early foreign works on Japan, reflecting an informal pronunciation of the town’s name. 8 Pappenberg: the island of Takabokoshima. 9 Neva: the principal river of St Petersburg. 10 See Aleksandr Pushkin’s ‘Stikhi sochinennye noch’iu, vo vremia bessonnitsy’ [‘Verses Written at Night during Insomnia’] (1830). 11 Petr Aleksandrovich Tikhmenev was the officer in charge of provisioning the Pallada. 12 The baron: Lieutenant Baron Kriedner, portrayed consistently by Goncharov as a pleasure-seeker. 13 ‘Opper’ and ‘onder’ are Dutch prefixes meaning ‘senior’ and ‘junior’ respectively; ‘tolk’ is Dutch for ‘interpreter’. ‘Banios’ is a corruption of Japanese bugyo; see Chapter 2 (Krusenstern), note 5. 14 Gokenin: personal retainer of the shogun, though not of the first rank. 15 Konstantin Nikolaevich Pos’et served as Dutch interpreter to the Putiatin expedition. 16 The Pallada and Vostok met the Olivutsa and Kniaz’ Menshikov at the Bonin Islands before proceeding to Nagasaki. 17 I.e., 20 degrees Réaumur, equivalent to 25 degrees Centigrade. 18 Sir Edward Belcher (1799–1877): British admiral and explorer. 19 Iosif (Osip) Antonovich Goshkevich, Chinese-language specialist on Putiatin’s expedition, was later the first Russian consul at Hakodate. Giacomo Meyerbeer’s opera Robert le diable, first performed in Paris in 1831, was very popular in Russia.

5

A. Kornilov News from Japan (Edo, 1859)

Midshipman A. Kornilov was an officer on one of the ships under the command of Count Nikolai Murav’ev-Amurskii when he visited Edo in 1859 in an attempt to negotiate for Russian control over Sakhalin. Kornilov was able to explore the newly opened treaty port of Kanagawa, as well as Yokohama and Edo, at a time when there was still much resentment of foreigners in Japan. His account of sight-seeing in Edo presented here shows that even the physical safety of foreign visitors could not always be guaranteed at this time.1

As for excursions around the town, these could only be made at great inconvenience: either we had to go accompanied by Japanese officials, or else we risked the sort of unpleasantness and insults that strangers met with in Russia two hundred years ago, or in the villages most threatened during the first cholera epidemic.2 It is understandable that the lower classes of a half-savage people should wish to insult a defenceless foreigner who has had the impertinence to put himself in their hands, particularly if you consider the people’s mistrust of foreigners. What is harder to understand is the cause of this mistrust. In each of the ports which are open to foreigners, the lower classes receive nothing but material benefit from the new state of affairs, and of course hardly want to return to the previous state of seclusion. Good news travels fast, probably even in Japan, and it is impossible that the people of Yedo [Edo] cannot have heard about this. And the Japanese certainly could not imagine we had come with unfriendly intentions, or as cosmopolitan beggars sent to Yedo as an act of charity, or as Jews prepared to put up with anything for the sake of material gain. The commander-in-chief has established himself so trustingly in the middle of the town,3 and the government so often agrees to foreigners’ demands, that the lower classes must recognise us not only as men of peace, but also as very much more powerful than them. Who then has the influence to incite the common people against us? Those who do not need intercourse with foreigners and who fear them: the officials, the princes and perhaps the government itself. But the government seems to have understood that the die is cast and that it cannot return to the old order.

Kornilov: News from Japan 119 It has also seen the resources at the disposal of the foreigners, the insistence of their demands, and its own impotence, and naturally tries to avoid any conflict. The officials are entirely dependent on the government. That leaves only the feudal princes. The officials insist that even the princes are not all against relations with foreigners, but that some of them persistently oppose the government in this matter, and, through their wealth, their influence over the people and their independent position, they constitute a very powerful opposition. These princes – like the Miloslavskiis and Lopukhins of Peter the Great’s time4 – have, according to the officials, persuaded and bribed the people and even the street urchins to make all sorts of trouble for foreigners. In doing this, of course, they have several aims: to rouse the people, stop us from appearing in the towns, and show the government the impossibility of relations with foreigners. Time and a closer acquaintance with Japan will show how far these assumptions and tales of the officials can be believed, but the fact nevertheless remains that street incidents in Yedo occur even with representatives of the other powerful seafaring nations, who prefer of necessity not to notice the offence rather than to start an untimely escalation of events. Three of us decided we would start at dawn and spend the whole day looking around the town. As we got into the launch we were warned that the day before stones had been thrown there at Russians. However, in our haste and impatience we didn’t pay any attention to this, but treated it as a joke and only afterwards remembered the warning. At first, in the streets closest to the harbour, we did not notice that our appearance produced too great an impression on the common people. They are already used to Europeans here and in the shops were even glad to show and sell us their goods. But as soon as we entered the labyrinths of narrow streets, we began to regret it. In the most populous of them, in spite of our very fast, though unobtrusive, pace, we were constantly accompanied by crowds of half-naked people. At first this did not greatly bother us and we continued our walk, trying as far as possible to keep to quiet and empty lanes and the avenues lined by princely houses, but we only had to appear again in a commercial street for the crowd, which grew in size at an incredible rate, to surround us and follow us with shouts and laughter. We were forced to turn off again into the nearest lane and as a result we got lost, daring neither to go back nor to stay where we were. We were very much in the position of a hare pursued by the hounds, which now hides in a thicket, now finds itself in front of the pack, which has found its scent again. Eventually, in one street they started to throw occasional small stones at us from behind. The stones were very small, but they might easily become bigger ones, in the face of which it would be difficult to preserve our unruffled composure, taut smiles and straight backs, though at the moment we could not feel the stones at all. Moreover, we could very easily count them all and exchange comments on their size and the force of their impact. One of us, indeed, either because he had a huge umbrella which deflected many of the blows, or because of the turn of his character, was not much worried about our position, but joked and tried to persuade us that it would all stop as soon as we got to the next street. We

120 Kornilov: News from Japan went from one street to another, but the crowd, the shouting and the stones followed us. ‘It’s all your fault, doctor’, we continued to reproach our unruffled companion, ‘you brought us into this den of thieves to look at God knows what, and now you’re taking us further and further away from the harbour.’ ‘Gentlemen’, he replied, ‘console yourselves like real tourists with the thought that this is a situation you will not often manage to find yourselves in. Any English lord would pay a lot of money for the right to be in our place, but you’re getting the experience for free and still complaining.’ Perhaps this thought would indeed have been some comfort to a tourist, but it had no effect on us. Our position really was becoming unpleasant. Occasionally one of us would try turning round and fixing the nearest Japanese with a ferocious glare, and they certainly fell back and quietened down for a short while, but in the first place the stones were mostly being thrown from a distance, and secondly they would rapidly get used to our glares, and these were our only weapon. Really not knowing how to get rid of the crowd, we went into the first small hotel we came to, sat down without ceremony on the floor and demanded tea. The landlord at first motioned ‘no’ with his hands, but then, probably taking fright at the responsibility, served us tea and locked the door to stop any Japanese coming in. How bitterly we complained at the absence of solidity and strength in Japanese buildings! The crowd continued to shout through the paper walls and was already starting to tear through them. Fortunately the frantic landlord finally thought to send for the police. I really don’t remember if the tea was good or if it was hot, I only know that when three policemen arrived and we got up to go out into the street with them the landlord suddenly cheered up and refused to take any money. But, alas, the Eastern arm of the law did not help much. The clanking or chinking of the rings on their iron staves, which are their badge of office as policemen, rather attracted the curious than frightened them away. Furthermore, escorting us from their district, the limit of which was usually marked by a gate, they handed us over to their colleagues, but sometimes, when the latter were not at the gate, they very coolly left us on our own. These moments of solitude were the most critical of our entire expedition. We continued to be bothered by shouts and stones, and even our tourist, once he’d been hit on the back by a fairly large stone, fell quiet and stopped consoling himself with the novelty of his position. At last we came through to the tycoon’s [shogun’s] palace, where there were no shops and so no crowd. We breathed more freely and even decided that after three hours of pursuit it would do no harm to rest and have some lunch. Reaching a street we knew, we went into a restaurant with the air of dandies on Nevskii Prospekt,5 stretched out on the mats, and set to a meal of shrimps and water melon, preferring these to all the other concoctions of the Japanese Dussaud. This was not the first time they had entertained foreigners, and knowing our liberality they surrounded us with all possible attentiveness and comfort. The cool room, the respectful demeanour of the servants, the discrete curiosity of the other guests, and above all the fifteen-year-old beauty who brought us sweet saki [sake] on her knees, were so different from what we had suffered

Kornilov: News from Japan 121 that morning that we couldn’t help succumbing to languor and remaining there for a couple of hours. This rest was our reward for the morning’s exploit, and really a very pleasant reward, but all the same I wouldn’t recommend anyone to purchase it at the price of an excursion like ours, even gentlemen liberally endowed with the qualities that make up the true tourist. Of course, these events did not dispose us to make further excursions on our own. We started going on shore in large groups and looking around the town accompanied by officials. Their presence prevented any clashes with the people, but at the same time placed limits on our freedom. They received any new thought or wish which we mentioned after we had set off very coldly, and the only way of making these gentlemen go anywhere was to turn off to wherever we wanted to go without paying any attention to them. The officials did not dare leave us and came after us willy-nilly. About ten of us formed a group. The saddle-horses we had ordered the day before and two officials awaited us early in the morning. During the course of the day we managed to visit two or three different parts of the city. We saw the finest temple, which I have already mentioned,6 the botanical garden with its remarkable shrimps and quite unremarkable menagerie, then twisting streets of shops with crowds of people, and finally straight streets along the blind walls of princely palaces where there were no people at all. In spite of trying to persuade myself that this was Yedo, that these were remarkable things I was looking at, none of this

Figure 5.1 Yeddo from the avenue. Source: Alcock, Capital of the Tycoon, p. 104.

122 Kornilov: News from Japan made any particular impression on me. I don’t know if I was just bored with Japan, or if I am not capable of being impressed, but the truth is, if it had not been for the gardens and terraces, I would have said that Yedo was not worth seeing. But the gardens and especially the terraces are very fine. We drank tea in one of them. This was surrounded by trees and covered with a light roof, or an awning as we might call it, and divided into several sections by narrow poles. Each of these sections was occupied by a different family of tea sellers. The love of space so characteristic of the expansive Russian temperament caused us to spread out across all the sections, which threw the officials into complete confusion, as they kept trying to offer us hospitality at the government’s expense. The view from the terrace on to the huge city spread out at our feet was very fine, at least its uniformity was soothing to the eye. You see roofs and trees, trees and roofs, the blue sea far off in the distance and, as if through a mist, the junks and our menacing squadron, bathed in bright sunlight. At each of these halts we would unroll Japanese maps of the town and show the officials the places we wanted to visit; they then chose the safest route to get there. On this occasion we decided to go to that part of the city which had the most green patches on the map. The officials refused absolutely, saying that the police there had not been warned and that therefore if we went there that day we could very easily experience trouble from the people. We did not believe them, thinking that the officials simply did not want to trail around with us for the entire day, and insisted that we would go where we wanted even if they would not come with us. When we set off they led the caravan straight to the centre of town, but at the first street to the right some of us turned off. Others followed and the officials were left alone. They shouted and waved their arms for some time, but seeing that we were apparently paying no attention to them finally caught us up and took us through a series of narrow, twisting avenues lined with uninterrupted gardens and groves containing houses which peered gracefully through the greenery. After riding for an hour we climbed a small mountain and came to a hotel, which according to the officials was the appointed goal of our expedition. It was difficult to follow our route through the twisting avenues on the map, so we had to believe them, the more so as everyone was very hot and tired and was glad to stretch out on the mats and wait for lunch. Opening the paper screens to make the room a terrace was the work of a moment. The pure air, the greenery, even though much spoiled by Sino-Japanese art, and again the view down on to the city forced us to acknowledge that this was an excellent spot. Consider too that we had brought with us an excellent pie, a roast and several bottles of wine, and you will understand that we were very happy with our excursion. It was already evening when we returned to the harbour. On the return journey the officials were in great haste to pass through the centre of the town, but we, as if on purpose, did not feel inclined to end our excursion so quickly. In order to make us go faster they from time to time informed us with a secretive air that we were drawing close to the palace of a conservative prince

Kornilov: News from Japan 123 and, threatening us with the mob, tried to make us pass through the quarter as quickly as possible. But not all of us were good riders, and so we were obliged in any case to go at a walk. The officials did not believe us this time, and giving up trying to persuade us by words went on ahead with one half of the caravan, only to return to the others a few minutes later and once more urge them on. On one occasion they even resorted to quite frenzied gesticulation. We took exception to this, especially as there were a lot of people about, and shouted and gesticulated in reply until the officials finally calmed down and stopped driving us on. We did in fact sometimes meet quite large crowds of people who looked at us in the same way Russian peasants look at a chained bear, that is, they mostly greeted us with shouting and laughter, but in this shouting and laughter there was much more amazement and curiosity than hostility and ridicule. Having related to the best of my ability what I saw in Yedo, I might conclude by acknowledging that, even if our stay in this port did not leave us with pleasant impressions, it was at least to some degree useful. But unfortunately my memory of it was darkened by a sad event of a sort that necessarily wiped out any good impressions. I do not wish to enter into debate about what happened, but will try to relate it as faithfully as possible. Because of the difficulty of obtaining provisions through the officials, the ships were obliged to send officers and boats for them into Yokohama. Midshipman Roman Samoilovich Mofet, who was sent out in this way in a longboat, had already completed his commission and after making his final purchases was returning from the shops to his boat one evening as it was getting dark, in order to set off back to Yedo. He was walking with two other men, one of whom was carrying a box with the silver money left over after his shopping, when suddenly several men leapt out of an alley and attacked the completely unarmed Russians with bared sabres. A moment later the sailor who was carrying the money-box lay dead. R. S. Mofet, wounded, started to run off but, as he had received several sabre blows, he finally fell to the ground, not before he had managed, however, to shout a warning to the third man, who had been walking some way in front. This man received a glancing sabre blow on his cap and ran into the nearest shop. As he slid open the door he could not avoid another hard blow to the arm, but thanks to the speed with which he flung himself into the shop, he was saved from further wounds and probably from death. When the second officer, who had been waiting for him at the launch, found Mr Mofet, he was already surrounded by Americans. In spite of the immediate aid given by a Japanese doctor and later an American one, all attempts to save R. S. Mofet’s life were in vain. The countless diabolical blows of the Japanese sabres did not allow any hope. Roman Samoilovich died two hours after receiving his wounds . . . Wanting to honour the memory of their comrade and as far as possible to express their sympathy for his unhappy fate, the officers and cadets of the whole squadron took up a subscription and entrusted one of the consuls to erect a monument on the graves of R. S. Mofet and seaman Sokolov. They were buried in the presence of the officers and crew of two of our vessels sent

124 Kornilov: News from Japan immediately from Yedo . . . In spite of all investigations, the criminals were not found before the squadron’s departure from Yedo, and so it is impossible to confirm what the motive for this appalling crime was: the simple theft of the money-box, or a fanatical hatred of foreigners. This murder naturally frightened all foreigners. Not a single officer or sailor was sent on shore from our ships without a revolver and in general we stopped showing the Japanese the trust which they had previously enjoyed.

Notes 1 Source: A. Kornilov, ‘Izvestiia iz Iaponii’, Morskoi sbornik, vol. 46, no. 4, 1860, pp. 99–122 (extract taken from pp. 113–21). 2 The first cholera pandemic, which began in India in 1817, reached Astrakhan in 1823, where it halted. The second, which began in 1826, spread further up the River Volga, reaching Orenburg in 1829 and Moscow in 1830. 3 Murav’ev-Amurskii and his suite were accommodated in a temple on shore. 4 The Miloslavskiis and Lopukhins were princely families in early eighteenth-century Russia who were opposed to the reform programme of Peter the Great. 5 The fashionable main street of St Petersburg. 6 Kornilov refers to this temple earlier in his article (p. 109), though without mentioning its name, as ‘remarkable for its massive carved roof and tall bell tower’.

6

Sergei Maksimov In the East (Hakodate, late 1850s)

When Sergei Vasil’evich Maksimov (1831–1901) left St Petersburg in May 1855 on a trip across Siberia to the Amur region, Japan and China, he was already a seasoned traveller. One of the salient features of his account, however, whether he is relating personal experience or retelling the stories of the Russian residents of Hakodate, is a sense of surprise at the differences between Japan and the other countries which he had visited. Maksimov’s narrative clearly shows the tensions between Japanese and foreigners and the difficulties of cultural negotiation in the first years of Western contact following the opening of the treaty ports.1

IN JAPAN We are riding at anchor before Hakodate. It is now several hours since the anchor chains clanked and the Japanese pilots who brought us into the roadstead left the steamer. (We neither needed them nor found them useful, but such are custom and the provisions of the Putiatin treaty.)2 We feel restless in our new position within sight of a large, lively and distinctive town, particularly after our monotonous and dreary stops in the ports of the Eastern Ocean, and are gripped by a strong impatience to see it as soon as possible, to get to know it better and more closely. Our impatience grows almost unbearable when we are informed by our flag-officer that we will have only four days at our disposal for looking over the town. However, we cannot leave for the shore immediately because we have not been assigned launches and because the steamer is waiting for the usual appearance of the Japanese customs officers with their expressions of welcome (or more likely with their suspicions that we are carrying armed soldiers, extra cannon, extra people, and so on). Until the officials arrive we must content ourselves with observations from afar, and we make them eagerly because it is a really remarkable town that stretches out before us on the slopes of the tall coastal mountain. Its external appearance is like nothing we have known or seen before. There is nothing that reminds us of Russian towns (even the European

126 Maksimov: In the East ones). The distance separating us from the town is so small that we ought to be able to make out a great deal, but we can see only a single house of European architecture, our consul’s house, which dominates the entire town, standing higher than everything else and looking more attractive and comfortable than any of the other buildings. Below it we can make out nothing at all; our eyes are bewildered by mass upon mass of something strange and wonderful shading off into a mysterious area in which we understand and recognise nothing even through a telescope. The consul’s house suggests familiar sights. We look for the tall buildings with cupolas and spires which adorn all towns both in Europe and Asia – until now we could not conceive of any town in the world without such buildings – and we rejoice in this new acquaintance which fate has placed outside the routine order of things. We see no minarets or churches, no conspicuous and splendid mansion. We cannot form an opinion in the usual tested manner; we get muddled and can’t see the signs that we need in order to build ourselves working hypotheses and reach conclusions. We look at this unknown town and think: where is the familiar and inescapable cathedral, largest and easily most ancient church in the whole town, with its huge bell, whose clapper takes two men to swing, and whose booming drowns out all the bells in the parishes which surround it, just as the voice of the cathedral’s archdeacon swallows up even the loudest basses of the parish deacons? Where are the Russian merchants’ houses, with their long nail-studded fences, and their two storeys of which one is a formal upper floor and is always left empty, while the householders crowd together downstairs in one or two rooms lit by a single lamp, and can be heard snoring through the open windows as they mutter in their sleep and dream prophetic, usually illomened, dreams? Nor do we see those pretentious upper-class houses with entrances and exits guarded by wild lions, implacable dogs and other ferocious and merciless beasts. In bygone days these houses preened themselves, with their outward sheen of good quality glass and bronze, and their excellent drapes and door curtains, before their merchant neighbours, who were unwilling to clean out their household scum and mildew, and whose windows, faded by time and sun, were covered with unwashed calico. These good, kind, old friends are not here – and we find ourselves out of sorts. We positively miss them and become flustered. We start to feel awkward – no, more – to fall into an unfamiliar, unknown and, I must admit it, a somehow strange and unprecedented state of mind. We positively lose our heads when we turn our eyes from the mountain and the town to the bay, which is covered all over with strange-looking ships. There are so many of them that it looks like you could use them as a bridge to walk across to the town from our Amerika without getting your feet wet. The shape of these ships is odder than anything we have dreamed. We dimly remember the drawings in an old account of a round-theworld voyage, and slowly realise that these are the celebrated junks found in China – at least the basic shape, with carved decorations on the sides, stern and prow, is the same as here in Japan. Much time is spent on the carving and extravagant, detailed decoration of all these imaginary birds and fantastic

Maksimov: In the East 127 animals with which the junks are adorned; it requires much skill and agility to manage their sails, which, like the rich curtains of a wealthy home, are gathered up in many complex but beautiful hanging folds. We think it strange to see such beautiful drapery on board ships which are heading out for heavy service at sea, and must be ready to unfurl their sails in a crisis: simplicity and lack of complexity would serve much better. What is the purpose of the unnecessary richness of the carving, the beautiful sails, which seem so very difficult to manage, and which would not answer so well in a crisis as European sails? We are ready to condemn the Japanese junks, but we hesitate, we don’t dare, we can’t bring ourselves to do it, because our memories of our own dear distant homeland arrest our imagination even here, and show us similar or identical pictures. For it is not long ago that the Volga and its tributaries teamed with different sorts of sailing barges and all manner of vessels, painted, covered in drawings, striking the eye with their colour and the intricacy of the carved figures on the stern, the prow and even the upper deck house. These were executed with particular care on those gay ships intended to moor on the Oka during the Nizhnii Novgorod fair.3 Even today, if you look to the right of the fairground bridge, where ships from all along the Volga have gathered, you will see that many of them have not only painted sterns, but whole paintings hanging unnecessarily from their masts, and there are no plain flags flying: they all have designs that would be the envy of a Japanese, or even a Chinese, painter. How much competitive energy, how much effort and trouble is spent on this, and how much time is wasted on anxious striving for more outward glitter and show, which undermines the proper functions of the ships. These colourful vessels move at a tortoise pace, pulled on straps by barge haulers with crippled feet and unfortunate in all respects. They have brought goods ordered downstream and supplied from stock laid in by doubledyed scoundrels of salesmen not the previous winter, but the one before. They take back other goods at uncertain risk, a practice which this year has caused such an ominous and deep crisis not only for grain, but also for all other trade which has trusted its produce to these antediluvian suppliers and intermediaries. Many of them even today, straining at the end of a kedge-anchor, plague the inhabitants of towns situated on steep mountains with their clumsy barges for whole days on end. Their outward display is valued for itself, and has no rivals anywhere in Russia or on any rivers except mother Volga. It has found competition only here in the far-off Japanese sea, but has met its match. One of the junks has gone past us almost broadside, and struck all of us with the exceptional comfort and elegant cleanliness of the living quarters of the ship’s master and his family. A far cry from our Russian cabins! But we are unable to make further comparisons; the thread of our memories is suddenly broken. Sharp, wild cries reach us from the shore; now they quieten down, now they start up again with renewed frenzy. We listen carefully – and still do not understand. We only understand when an oar-propelled boat appears from behind a junk. On it are a crowd of oarsmen, who to encourage their labours, strike up not the resonant song of the Volga boatmen, but a disorderly mixture

128 Maksimov: In the East of monotonous, disjointed sounds on only two tones, both repeated endlessly, without variation. ‘I-yosso! yosso! yosso!’, cried the Japanese boatmen, and their whole song and all its meaning resided in this. This boat brought to us the Japanese officials. Three small, lean and unusually tidy men came up the main ladder with a bold tread, gripping the pommel of one of their two swords in their hands. Two of them proved to be government employees, and therefore, coming into the wardroom, they installed themselves immediately and with unembarrassed eagerness on the sofa, while their companion, whose outward appearance and costume differed nothing from theirs, remained standing in spite of our most earnest and persistent invitations to sit. He served as interpreter to the officials and knew his way around both Russian proverbs and Japanese customs. Whenever he was addressed by one of the officials, he bowed deeply, and sucked in his breath in a servile manner as if he was anxious to draw even the most empty speeches deep into his soul if they emanated from the lips of higher-ranking people. Their words, for all their emptiness and triviality, were as far as we were concerned simple, commonplace, routine questions, notwithstanding the holy significance given them by the interpreter. We knew that our equally empty and simple answers would be reported to the authorities, transformed, of course, by the remarks and explanations of the Japanese, and would reach the ears of the shogun (or taikun as he is called now) in a completely new form, from which the original meaning had disappeared without trace. All this we knew from earlier accounts and were sorry for the interpreter. We also marvelled at the officials, who were able the whole time to preserve a solemn air of concentration. This enchanted us by its unusual consistency and perfection: not one angular movement, not one superfluous word. The officials themselves looked like they had been carved by an expert Japanese sculptor and were both unusually correct and distinctly foppish. To look at, none of them seemed over twenty. Their appearance was so attractive that two of them by Russian standards were positive beauties: such pink cheeks and fresh faces, lively eyes and the soft and satisfied expressions of aristocrats of prosperous stock. Their lips, chins and cheeks were smoothly shaved, the last hair plucked from their ears and nostrils, their heads shaved at the front and graced at the back with a tuft of hair brought splendidly forwards from the back to the crown and tied in a knot. From this knot a short tress hung foppishly (in a Japanese sense) down over the forehead, where it was lavishly stuck down with oil and bent back to the rear of the head to be tied up with a ribbon. Overall this Japanese queue looked not so much like a topknot as a topiary, as we jokingly decided to call it.4 We entertained these turkey-cocks less with our conversation than with various sweetmeats, trying to please them and to fit in with their well-known taste for sweet things. And our guests took a great deal of pleasure in our American gingerbread and Shanghai orange preserve. We saw this both from their lips, which they smacked loudly and earnestly, and from their clean neat little hands, like the hands of our celebrated Russian belles, which constantly

Maksimov: In the East 129 darted from under the table to take just the most tasty and sweetest pretzels, rolls and candies from the plate. And what a huge difference, what an immense gulf there was between these visitors from a Japanese town and the Manchus (Chinese) who imposed themselves on us in Pos’et Bay. On that occasion the air was filled with the smell of burnt garlic. It was unpleasant to breathe the air in the cabin when two, only two, of these fine specimens were in there: big clumsy types, treading heavily and awkwardly, grabbing at everything with their hands, inspecting everything thoroughly with a dull unintelligent stare, acting crudely towards everything. No doubt they would have quarrelled with us if they had known our complex language’s rich vocabulary of abuse. If we had been told at the moment of our first meeting with the Japanese that they were descended from the Chinese we would have had no grounds to believe it – we would not have been able to find even the remotest resemblance, let alone a close similarity. The one is fashioned with an axe, and moreover with coarse and rude workmanship; the other has been made by a carver of intricate work and one with a masterly and skilful hand. The one would be selected out of a Moscow crowd for service in the police; the other would not disgrace himself in the most refined and exacting of salons. The one blunders around everywhere like a bear; the other treads like a nimble antelope both round the furniture which crowds our wardroom, barely brushing against anything, and around our continuous questions, which would baffle the inexperienced and unforthcoming. We were all enchanted by our visitors, who straight away knew how to dispose us in their favour and who so adroitly guided our first steps towards an acquaintance with this unknown but enticing country. Our delight was so strong and powerful that at the time we overlooked the deep insult to our national pride that was being perpetrated by the Japanese officials, and only now call it to mind three years later because we have learned that the cause of the insult still persists. In Hakodate, a town where a whole colony of Russians had been living for four years before we came, where Russian naval ships had wintered more than once, and where we had a consul who knew the language well, we had to speak to the customs officers in English!! Moreover, the interpreter expressed himself in English scarcely less fluently than in his native tongue, yet it is well known that the English consul and the English merchant established themselves in the town two or nearly three years after the Russians! We will have occasion to explain this complex and intricate phenomenon later; let us hasten past it now, still fascinated by the Japanese town before which we have left the reader, and before which we stand ourselves. Let us make our way there. Our launch is rowed to the shore by the strong arms of the healthy and thickset Siberians who make up over half of our crew, manoeuvring between hundreds of remarkable junks. They stand to right and left, painted and striking, the bow and stern both sharply raised: tattered cloth, railings, an ugly thick mast, an indentation at the bows for a sort of cross-beam. Their general form recalls perhaps Noah’s ark before the flood, but there is nothing

130 Maksimov: In the East seagoing about them, nothing of what our eyes have become used to seeing on naval vessels. With the junks it seems as if everything has been calculated to make the vessel as clumsy and uncomfortable as possible. Yet we look in through an opening in the side and see beautiful mats and polished wood throughout even when it is not necessary. We see bright colours, clean and tidy Japanese with shaved heads and chins, and at the same time we are struck by an overpowering smell of putrefaction which assaults our noses from right and left, front and back. This is the quintessence of Asia in her foremost and favourite manifestation and she seems immutable, the same here as the Asia which now lies far behind us on the other side of the Eastern Ocean. And, strange to say, she is the same here, but somehow altered, turned upside down. Instead of appearing outwardly clean and beautiful (according to Asiatic laws and customs), but being inwardly foul and ugly, here in Japan, in the Japanese junks, Asia is outwardly ugly, but inside is painted and polished. Japan has truly posed a new puzzle for the world; and, to our great regret, does not display the characteristics or offer the points of comparison that we expect. We look longer and deeper and really convince ourselves in these first moments that everything here is wrong – upside down in a now familiar way. A boat comes to meet us from the shore. As on the boat that brought the customs officers, the oarsmen push the oars away from them, not like our oarsmen. The oars are big and clumsy; the oarsmen have hard work and the boat crawls along very slowly. The Japanese cry out ‘yosso, yosso’, so loudly and energetically and also endlessly. Precious time – that the English call money – is clearly not precious to these people. They evidently believe they have a lifetime to achieve what others approach with feverish haste and crave so strongly. And the Japanese know no tasks so important that they need to approach them with particular earnestness or impatient desire. Although the boat travels slowly, it will nonetheless certainly arrive. When? We have no time to investigate that: we have come to Japan for only four days and thanks are due to our launch and the Siberians: they have delivered us quickly to the shore. But here too everything is remarkable. We hear strange dull sounds like someone beating a drum. What is it? ‘The Japanese noon’, we are told. We look at our watches, which have been checked using the sextant. They say it is already half-past one. What is the reason? ‘The Japanese government is swindling the workers (who team in their hundreds even here on the Hakodate coast). Wishing to gain as much benefit as possible, they exploit the workers for an extra hour and a quarter at noon, and demand as much again at night.’ We do not see what comes of this; we see only naked workers – a good half of them completely so – with broad backs and strong muscles rippling under the skin. The Japanese worker is the sort of handsome man who is particularly attractive to lady devotees of our capital’s circuses. Here these men are not held in honour, but kept in poverty, and put to the sort of work which

Maksimov: In the East 131 strengthens their muscles, and we are struck by the impracticality and immensity of the tasks they perform. Before our eyes, for example, they are piling mountains of stones along the shore, where the seabed already has a good and stable foundation with no need for moles or embankments, and, in order to build a simple convenient jetty in one particular spot, the Japanese heap up wide, high walls along the whole coast. They say that they hope these structures will at the same time defend them against European Armstrong guns and protect them from artful European-trained soldiers. They say that the Japanese know no limits at all in these structures but, stopping in the face of no natural or other obstacles whatever, bring them to such perfection that Europeans are left in amazement. The Russian consul needed a place for a house, but there was a decree from the shogun that foreigners should not be allowed to settle freely in the town and should not be given allocations of land in centres of population. The Hakodate authorities did not hesitate. They had a magnificent cypress grove on a hill outside the town. This place complied perfectly with the instructions from Yeddo [Edo] and the views of the central government, but presented great inconvenience and difficulty in that the mountain was far too steep to allow a Russian building of the usual large dimensions to be built on it. What was to be done? The governor of Hakodate called up a huge mass of workers and in the short space of a few months these ants tirelessly cut an immense slice out of the mountain (several tens of sazhens in length and breadth), sufficient to create an enormous paradeground to accommodate the consular house and outbuildings, even including a church and houses for the secretary and doctor. The same demand came from the English consul, and a second massive trapezium was cut out of the mountain. The part removed constituted a small mountain in itself, from which the Japanese later constructed tall steep terraces nearby, giving both houses an elegant appearance and a picturesque setting. Before our eyes the Japanese workers were excavating another hill and filling in the deep ravine in front of it for a third huge house belonging to a Japanese prince, who for some reason had been exiled here to Hakodate, this poor and most miserable of Japanese towns. When this town, contrary to government plans, quickly began to advance and grow after becoming a port open to trade and contact with foreigners, it attracted masses of population from the surrounding area (even from the neighbouring fine large town of Matsumae), so that the river supplying Hakodate with water no longer satisfied the needs of the town. The Japanese government did not hesitate to use that mass of cheap and pliable workers to divert the river and cut an artificial channel through the whole town, in order to bring it to the sea several versts from the original place. Our consul assured us that he only had to build a single fountain to see no more than one or two months later dozens of similar fountains in the house and grounds of the governor. Such are the facts, and they bear witness on the one hand to the Japanese people’s capacity for imitation and the rapid adaptation of good models even when they come from abroad. At the same time they demonstrate the extent and irrepressibility of the Eastern imagination, relying

132 Maksimov: In the East on the talent of the people and what can be achieved with the aid of cheap labour and wages. This, to our understanding, exceeds all probability (but on this in its place). We continue on our way to the sound of a bell, whose booming reminds us of our Russian bell-ringing, and our impression is confirmed when we learn that this bell also calls people here to prayer. We gave ourselves up completely to familiar impressions as we passed through first one street, then another, and a third: the streets are dirty, narrow, inconvenient for traffic, scarcely suitable for two or three people to walk abreast, point for point identical to some of the far-off streets of white-walled Moscow, which even today carefully preserves the flavour of Asiatic antiquity and firmly holds on to its simple ways. The resemblance, however, stops here; as we look deeper we find more things to wonder at. We see a street, very long and so narrow that it is only suitable for pedestrians and certainly not intended for riders in carriages (only riders on horseback and then with difficulty). We see this street, and, strange to say, we see no houses. We don’t recognise as houses this strange, dark mass of buildings, which line both sides of a corridor crowned with a sky of unusual blue or turquoise. After lengthy efforts we distinguish what must be roofs lowering over the dark structures, with overhanging eaves which are easy to walk into and hit your head on – indeed it wouldn’t be hard to poke your eye out, so low are these overhangs, so needlessly ugly do they make the streets, which are already ugly enough from the dirt and the constant bends and twists and corners. And it is only at these corners that the buildings stand out in clearer relief and openings can be seen in them (extending from the roof down to the ground), which must serve as doorways. To the right of these doorways are two or three frames, equally tall, but twice as wide, and covered with thin oil-paper. These frames are window frames – the paper is used instead of glass. And because there are no walls between them, these Japanese houses do not resemble one iota the houses whose appearance and shape we know. To complete the lack of resemblance, in almost all the houses on the main street the frames have been moved aside and the house, finding itself thus with no front wall, stands naked before us, revealing all its intimate domestic details and secrets. We look expectantly into one then another, scrutinise the interior of a third and a fourth, and by the fifth and sixth see that behind the paper frames are hidden shops, that almost all the houses of the main street of Hakodate are used for trade. They deal chiefly in fabrics. It is a rare merchant who sits idle: all are busy with their affairs. In no shop do we see a merchant without three or four assistants, and these too are all occupied, busy over something. We are less surprised at the great abundance of merchants (at least on the main street) after we have seen an unbroken mass of working people stretched out for about 2 versts along the shore. We do not stop now with the traders, intending to call in at the shops and make our acquaintance with the shopkeepers later, but also because another new and marvellous scene is taking place before our eyes.

Maksimov: In the East 133 We see a Japanese who differs from all the others in the street in that he is fully dressed, and very well dressed, in the same manner as the customs officials. A short light coat with wide sleeves is thrown over his shoulders; he has two swords on his hip, one long, the other shorter. He has nothing on his head except the inevitable stiffly pomaded topknot of his own hair, which is worn universally in warm Japan instead of a head covering. We watch this official (banios) walk very modestly along the street towards us and, suddenly, for no reason, he squats down and bows his head. Before we have recovered from the surprise, we see another man squatting in front of him also with his head bowed and carefully holding his larger sword against his side. What is this? A game like a cock-fight in which these officials will bash their foreheads together until someone pulls them apart? Or will they watch and wait for the right moment to grab each other by the shoulders, by the thighs, around the neck or in whatever other Japanese manner, until the stronger or more skilful beats down his opponent? Or perhaps they have decided on a game of cards or dice, and squatting down there without ceremony in the street (everything is so peculiar in Japan) they will deal once or twice and then depart? However, we watch them for a good five minutes, but see only the one thing: now one of them, now the other sits up and then both of them together draw in a deep breath and snort. Their faces are fairly flushed with blood, their cheeks all puffed out and even the coat of one of them is stuck up like a crest as if to make this amusing scene look all the more like an interesting English cock-fight. What is all this? What are these gentlemen taking so much trouble about? We wait another five minutes: but we see exactly the same thing, the officials do not separate. One of them starts to get up and has made a movement in the direction he needs to go, but squats back down again, grasps his knees with his hands, breathes heavily and laughs. The other repeats the same movement, but squats down again and goes through the same rigmarole in his turn, while his companion sits quite still. We still don’t understand any of it. What is this, a game for the amusement of the passing public, a cheap and commonplace performance by a pair of imbeciles or eccentrics? We look to the side. We see passers-by reacting to the scene with indifference, paying so little attention that we couldn’t be sure they had even noticed it. The scene is normal for them, although to us so puzzling. So what is it? ‘A meeting of two officials’, it is explained to us. ‘And they mark time for so long because to terminate this tiresome process quickly would be seen as impolite and extremely disrespectful. The closer they are in rank and privilege, the longer the squatting goes on for – it sometimes lasts up to half an hour. Time is cheap in Japan generally, and particularly so among Japanese officials. If you see one of them take umbrage you can be sure he is the more fashionable. The other will not be outdone and if he squats down more often it is certainly because, although he is of equal rank, he is the junior. I sometimes watch these rigmaroles of officialdom with particular attention and almost always reach an accurate understanding of which has the higher rank, even which is the more influential in the service, which younger, which weaker in

134 Maksimov: In the East

Figure 6.1 A Japanese salutation. Source: Alcock, Capital of the Tycoon, p. 80.

character. Of course if at a meeting of two officials both squat down and one of them jumps to his feet sooner and more quickly than the other, you can be certain that he has squatted solely for form and got up again so quickly because he is of higher rank. Among equals separating is a delicate matter of judgement since each will rise only just exactly the same distance as the other (and not a fraction less), and they dance backwards and forwards only to separate and finish with the matter when they can do so together, at exactly the same moment! This perfect cock-fight serves as an excellent example of what heights of absurdity, what ridiculous extremes, the passion for outward forms of respect can lead to. Elsewhere, such meetings between officials on the high road or in the street might be considered a misfortune – a trial or a torment; here they are considered a delight because they consume a great deal of time – time which torments the Japanese and is hateful to him in its tiresome duration. Japanese officials of the old school enjoy this opportunity to squat and breathe in the same air as their colleagues and inhale the smell of their formal clothes with a particular passion. There are more of these, if truth be told, than Japanese who seek rapprochement with Europeans and because of this have been called progressive. We who have lived here and studied native affairs call them more simply fresh, young people, and, strangely enough, we find them very practical. The Japanese have everything in plenty, they have a lot of everything and everything is cheap – trading with them is both advantageous and pleasant. So far only the Americans have understood this, and recently the English have begun to realise it. (Their consul is also a trader with his own capital.) The Russians also understand it, but for some reason do not trade. The first and last purchasers here are still the officers and sailors of

Maksimov: In the East 135 naval ships. But of course little hope can be placed on these (even though they say Hakodate is being improved with Russian money). The sailors have grown fond of cheap rice vodka, or saki [sake], and discovered semi-silk material for trousers. The officers choose silk fabrics, which are also unusually cheap, and lacquer goods such as cases and boxes. Genuine comprehensive commerce would find other objects here which could be obtained at advantage (there are very many of them) and of course would succeed since the people are very glad to make new acquaintances. The only ones who are not glad, for their own reasons, are the government officers. As far as we able to understand, matters stand as follows. ‘The structure of the Japanese state is like that of medieval Russia. The state is split up into a multitude of separate principalities. The shogun, the secular emperor living in Yeddo, is the richest of these princes, but several of the other princes together would be richer and more powerful than he. Hence a feudal alliance is always able to keep the shogun subordinated and clearly dependent. This dependence, limited in some measure by laws, is weak in relation to matters of internal politics, but strong in respect of external affairs, and particularly matters which raise new, important, unexpected questions which were not foreseen by laws or customs, such as for example the question of contact with foreigners. Here the shogun is not independent and even though he should wish for contact and see benefits in it for his people, as does the present shogun, he has no power to act if the princes do not wish it, that is if any (not necessarily all) of them are against it. Two of them are known for their particular hatred of the newcomers, and Japan owes it to the intrigues of these two that foreigners are unable to gain a firm foothold on Japanese soil and suffer constraints everywhere. When through diplomatic intrigue, bribery of the banioses and the goodwill of the shogun five ports were opened to European ships, the intrigues of the two princes hostile to foreigners suggested towns most of which had few amenities for trade – they were the poorest of towns, with the smallest populations, and not trading centres. Among them the first to be opened, our Hakodate, is positively the most miserable of Japanese towns; in the second, which was opened a year later, the princes’ intrigues managed to allocate for European dwellings the most unhealthy and inconvenient place on a small offshore island, and so on.*5 Then, when one of the princes, a zealous fanatic for his cause, hired murderers to kill the English merchants at Kanagawa and our midshipman and sailors at Nagasaki, the shogun was only able to punish him (and this only after repeated and insistent demands by the Europeans) by house arrest in his own palace, which all the same did not prevent him equipping a new band of murderers while under arrest and sending them to Hakodate to murder the English consul there.6 In recent times a new enemy of the Europeans has

*

The names of the five Japanese ports open to European ships are: Nagasaki (also Yeddo), Kanagawa, Yokohama, Shimoda and Hakodate.

136 Maksimov: In the East appeared, an unexpected one, whom not so long ago everyone considered harmless. This is a sweet-tooth who has lost all real influence, but who lives in particular comfort and is strong only through the power of tradition, the spiritual emperor, or mikado (dairi), who resides in a magnificent palace in Miako.7 Up to now we knew that the ancestors of the mikado, weakened by one of the shoguns of the very distant past and kept away from state affairs, were shut up in their palace. They were provided with all possible blessings of life, given several dozen wives to console them, surrounded with all possible luxury, being forbidden, for example, to put on the same dress twice. And because this practice required an infinite quantity of silk fabric, both for him and for all the multitude of wives, as a result Miako developed as a centre for silk production. Alongside there grew up all sorts of other institutions catering for the requirements of luxury, including the lacquer furniture factories of which Japan is justly proud. Literature, music and all fine arts clung to the palace and the mikados became the patrons and guardians of the entire intellectual life of the Japanese people, as opposed to the shoguns, who became the leaders of its administrative and political life. They have not led their people far in moral development, and the people have themselves concluded that they are not capable of doing so. They have never offended the Europeans, never clearly shown them any ill-will. The Japanese people, now as in the past, smile in a friendly manner on all newcomers, and gladly yield them the road, making way for them to approach, even though the missionaries of toothless Buddhism have begun to stir up a deadly religious fanaticism and wish to place at its head the invisible, immortal, divine mikado himself. Until now the Japanese have been indifferent to their faith, and indeed it is hardly capable of inspiring and acting upon the hearts of the nation. It seems the Japanese are not moved by religion, but by that practical sense of life which has enabled them to develop their unusual talent (a remarkable receptivity and gift of imitation). Their mechanics had only been a few times on board a Dutch schooner of a type they had never seen before, but a year later, without guidance or instructions, using their own observations and plans they constructed an identical ship and sailed in her from the island of Nipon to the island of Yezo [Ezo].8 There have been numerous similar occurrences, but what is important is that Buddhism, in which many not without reason find the evidence of a cold and indifferent atheism, has not hindered the Japanese people’s development, at least in this one particular direction, and it has not applied the sort of brakes on progress which have been imposed in so many other countries by established religion – by the Catholic Church, for example. In Japan, the enemy of the people must be sought in another government combination, between the shogun and the banioses, the privileged class of officials. This numberless mass, which has deprived the people of the right to bear weapons and is at the same time most cowardly and unproductive, is liberally scattered over the whole face of the country and sits like a hungry parasite on the people, whose outward respect conceals a deep contempt.’

Maksimov: In the East 137 Whenever the opportunity presents itself, officialdom has taken the system of constraint of the people to extreme and disgraceful limits. We noted as an example one case which took place before our eyes and had little need for others. Among the Hakodate shopkeepers we took a particular liking to one excellent fellow, a good man, the gentlest and kindest-hearted of Japanese. He performed many services for us, admittedly small and insignificant ones, but he did them willingly and always at our first request. When we needed some silk material he immediately named a price which the other shopkeepers would come to only after hard and insistent bargaining. When we wanted some goods that he didn’t have in his shop he sent to a neighbour for them, and after buying them himself, always resold them to us at a price we as foreigners could never have got by our own efforts, and so on and so forth. Now in exchange for these favours we wished to entertain him in Russian style on board the corvette, where we had sweets (even if these were of North American manufacture) and some of the fizzy champagne that the Japanese are so fond of. We proposed this excursion to him. Rizo Ryugoni (our friend) readily agreed and was clearly very pleased and happy, but then he hesitated. He would have to ask permission, he said, from the officials at the custom house. Seeing in this desire his simple politeness, a concession merely to established formality, we followed him to the custom house. There we saw him fall prostrate before one of the officials and speak to him, barely raising his head from the ground and scarcely moving his lips. After this self-abasement and this servile, humiliating speech, the success of his request seemed to us certain. You can imagine our extreme anger and barely tolerable sense of injury when Ryugoni came out and informed us (and he told us not in the customs building, but round a distant corner in a most secluded, and presumably from his point of view safe, place), informed us with the simplicity and composure of a child, that the official had forbidden him to visit us. The next day, Ryugoni informed us that that morning he had been obliged to pay a not inconsiderable sum of money to the official, simply because he had dared the previous day to make such a scandalously liberal request, and to entertain a hope so bold, so offensive to the honour of the whole Japanese nation. But Ryugoni was close-lipped and no doubt timid for simple reasons of selfpreservation. And he could not afford to be other than close-lipped since in his shop, frequented more than the others by Russians, was installed a very experienced and malicious spy in the shape of a fat, pock-marked Japanese man. Ryugoni in general said little to us about officials, but willingly made us witnesses of the following scene. While we were inspecting some silks in his shop, among the other Japanese who were watching us idly or from simple curiosity appeared a man with a completely shaved head, marking him, as is well known, as either a doctor or a bonze (clergy). Before this we had heard an incomprehensible wild roar in the street and, simply because we were unable to ask, had been unable to discover its cause. Now that the shaved Japanese appeared in front of us – this one was a bonze, as could easily be guessed from his distinctive shoulder strap made

138 Maksimov: In the East from a material like our brocade, with two long ends hanging down over his chest – Ryugoni suggested that we pronounce to this bonze a certain long word. We got out the word with difficulty and heard the same wild roar, this time right in our ears. This roar brought a smile to the faces of all the Japanese around us, and from us the question: ‘What does all this mean?’ ‘The bonze is praying for you and your dear ones and praising our gods’, answered Ryugoni in broken words to this effect. ‘Give him two iron coins and he will chant again.’ And indeed the bonze began to roar even more determinedly and discordantly, until we couldn’t stand it any longer. We asked Ryugoni the magic word and were indescribably happy when we had spoken it and we no longer saw the bonze in the shop in front of us. ‘Now the bonze will be happy all day. You have given him as much as he usually gets from a dozen shops. Not everybody cares to listen to him, and often nobody makes a request except for fun or else he foists himself on someone and starts up anyway’, explained Ryugoni. ‘And what will he do with our money?’ ‘He will put half away and buy saki with the other half and start drinking. He finds it dull in the monastery. Those who go there are too lazy to work.’ ‘But that’s enough talk from me. Go and look for yourselves. There are many wonders here, almost at every step’, prompted our talkative cicerone. ‘Here’s a first wonder for you’, he continued, as we headed towards the consul’s house. A huge yellow dog bounded out from around a corner and, seeing us, suddenly took off, and kept darting away and rushing headlong back, as if it had been scalded with hot water or stunned by being beaten with a stick. And after it had hidden round a distant corner it was still too frightened to bark. ‘Where in any other country, let alone in Russia, would you find strange dogs like this one who are afraid of passers-by, and run away from them without barking? No wonder you and I seem strange in our turn.’ ‘Tell me, is that a man or a woman selling pears over there?’ We couldn’t tell. The faces were equally coarse, equally ugly. Even their dress was the same: a wide robe wrapped so tightly round the waist that the legs were not free and the Japanese could only walk slowly with small steps. At first we couldn’t tell men from women and frankly needed a key to understand the difference. ‘The answer is simple. The women are the ones in the robes with a wide belt of black material. They wear no other dress. With the men, the shopkeepers, for example, this robe forms the basis of their dress. They wear nothing else on the lower part of the body. Above it they wear a short coat with very wide sleeves like the sleeves of our priests, with the exception that the lower part of the sleeve is firmly sewed up to half its width. These two sleeves are the only pockets the Japanese have and in them they put their soft paper (like fine cotton). They use this for writing down things they need to remember, for blowing their noses and for wiping their hands before meals, and it is thus

Maksimov: In the East 139 handkerchief, napkin and notebook. Men always have at their side a tobacco pouch and a pipe, and a copper inkpot with brush and prepared Indian ink (the Japanese are all literate).9 The men always have a topknot, and the front part of their heads shaved. The women have their hair piled up and no razor dares touch their empty heads. This is the main difference from the men, together with blackened teeth – a sign of married women. White teeth, unspoiled as we would say, are the exclusive mark of unmarried girls. Merchants sometimes have a single sword in their belts, a short sword, but only if out of vanity they have bought the right to wear it. They pay a great deal of money for this, just as our merchants pay for a medal. Officials always have two swords, one long like our sabre, the other short like a dagger or chef’s knife. The first is used by the executioner to cut off the official’s head, the second, short sword he uses himself to open up his belly if he receives an order to do so. Such an order is usually given as a favour to the most faithful and zealous for an offence which would require the head of a person of low rank to be placed on the block by the shameful hand of the despised executioner.† But the most important and obvious difference between the officials and the simple mortals they so deeply despise is the right to wear trousers. These trousers, comprising the only clothing worn on the lower part of the body, replacing the merchant’s robe, may be worn only by officials and by their children – they are a class privileged from birth. Japanese trousers are very strong, yet they are sewn in a very distinctive and clumsy way, not in European cut, and with a panel at the back.’ ‘And here is something else which is, I think, exclusively Japanese and also amazing.’ Our guide opened the door of one of the houses we were passing and invited us in, and himself stepped forwards decisively, with a bold and confident tread. We found ourselves in a bathhouse. This bathhouse differed from our usual bathhouses, beloved of all the Russian people, only in that it was not so excessively heated, but had a temperature the same as outside, warmed by the hot sun of a Japanese July. Men and women washed together, as they used to do in ancient Russia, as they still do in the commercial baths of very many of our remote and unsophisticated towns.‡ In ancient Russia even monks and nuns washed and steamed themselves together in a common bathhouse. The appearance of a group of strangely behaved and strangely dressed people was met by the bathing Japanese with the same cool indifference that we encountered on other safer, less risqué excursions. Among these we include our visit to the first Buddhist temple that we came to on our route. On that day there was a festival at the temple. From the

†

‡

The Japanese have developed the conviction (and sanctioned it by laws and customs) that the higher and more senior the authority, the more exclusive the punishment should be in case of an offence. ‘Both men and women [writes N. K. Kostamarov] entered and exited the baths through a single door, and met each other stark naked, covering themselves with switches [the Japanese men and women use wooden tubs] and talking among themselves with no particular restraint.’

140 Maksimov: In the East entrance gates across the courtyard to the doors of the shrine sat two rows of traders of both sexes with a multitude of strange things to eat in various shapes and sizes, mostly sweet. Some of the traders, on request, would make various figures from sweet dough: of these some could only be shown on the sly to jovial amateurs. We also saw a travelling picture stall selling colour prints of an unusually fat man without trousers or robe but wearing a sort of huge belt. This disproportionately fat caricature was intended to depict the god in whose honour the festivities were being celebrated and for whose sake the whole temple courtyard and the street leading up to it were hung with different-sized multi-coloured lanterns on poles and strings. The lanterns were lit in the evening and all through the town the Japanese began to wander through the streets like shades. They sang their raucous, guttural songs in a choked voice, making a clapping sound with their straw sandals. These, incidentally, keep their stockings so clean that not a single speck of dirt touches them. Only the subtle Japanese could walk so tidily and keep their stockings and shoes so charmingly clean. Yet the Hakodate dirt compares easily with that of any Russian provincial town, or of Petersburg in the spring or autumn. But we went into the temple and even at the entrance were struck by the unusual cleanliness and beautiful design of the Japanese straw mats spread on the floor. The wooden overshoes of the worshippers were left at the entrance as in Moslem mosques. And here as on previous occasions in mosques we were invited to wipe our feet and were not prevented from going right inside the temple. Here we saw women kneeling on the clean mats, only women and only a very small number of those. The temple was almost empty, but as soon as we went in these worshippers in robes and with huge heads turned round to stare at us and followed us intently with their eyes as we moved behind the pillars. Even then they didn’t turn away their black eyes, though a shaven bonze was loudly delivering a sermon from a raised pulpit facing the people. We could understand the portion of the sermon that we happened to catch from the translation made for us by our guide, who fortunately understood Japanese well. ‘Here today’, said the bonze, ‘we are celebrating the feast of a strict and capricious god who loves peace and quiet on earth. But I know that you will not glorify his severity through prayer, but will start drinking saki and go on drinking until you are drunk.’ And at these words the shaven bonze deftly opened a very pretty fan in his right hand and, smiling archly, gracefully fanned his face and continued: ‘In drunkenness, bad people, in drunkenness, I tell you, there are many sins, and the chief of them is lust.’ And again the arch smile, and the fan, which he had deftly folded in one hand with a single movement, opened again with a pleasant rustle and refreshed the shaven head of the Japanese sage, damp from the unbearable heat and the labours of his erudition. The sage moved further off, raised his voice to a shout and listed the sins arising from drunkenness in endless and

Maksimov: In the East 141 fantastic detail. He spoke with passion, chanting in the particular recitative style and with the intonation used only by the Japanese and by their coreligionists in China. We could not listen to the preacher for long, partly because although he spoke logically and connectedly he spoke chiefly in commonplaces, but also because he spoke a sort of language that we were not used to and which was not aimed at us, a language that was not melodious, but guttural. Besides, we wanted to look over the inside of the temple. It seemed to us impossibly plain and as commonplace as the sermon we had just overheard as we went by. In the centre was the main shrine, against the back wall of which stood the idols, covered with paint, human-like and ugly, but not frightening to us strangers. In front of the idols was the raised platform of a pulpit, now unoccupied, probably because only the highest-ranking, most senior bonze had the right to speak from it. In front again was a second pulpit, where our acquaintance, probably a lower-ranking bonze, was sitting, still smiling his charming smile and expertly folding and unfolding his paper fan. To the right and left of the main shrine are two side chapels. We went into the one on the right and then back to the one on the left. In both we found little shelves against the back wall containing a countless number of small shingles with inscriptions on them. These inscriptions represented the names of the dead, as our expert on Japan explained. In front of the shingles were small bowls of rice and sugar, spicecakes, sweet and plain buns. This was an offering in honour and remembrance of the dead, as our expert on Japan and its complicated customs also explained. In front of the shingles, as in front of the idols in the main shrine, were burning thick, brightly coloured candles, of a sort which is not found in domestic use by private individuals. There was nothing else for us to see in the temple shrine. We went out into the courtyard and on a special mound in the left corner saw a huge bell with a huge wooden clapper beside it. ‘If you want to, ring it’, explained our guide, ‘there is nothing to stop you. The Japanese will even be glad and take your courtesy at face value. They are simple people and firmly convinced of all their virtues.’ We rang the bell. It had a pleasant ring and carried a long way, perhaps over the whole town. The Japanese who filled the courtyard didn’t rush out at us, didn’t shout. Those who were nearby grinned with real pleasure and affection. One even patted us on the back as we went past him on our way to the cells belonging to the monks of this monastery. There we found comparatively poor and wretched apartments, but the same meticulous cleanliness that is found everywhere in Japanese houses; beautifully designed and lustrously woven mats on the floor, lacquered cabinets decorated in the brightest of Japanese colours;§ shelves in the corners. The

§

We will say once and for all that the method of applying lacquer (impervious to boiling water and notable for its strength and lustre) is kept secret. Our consul, an ardent devotee of

142 Maksimov: In the East first room led to another through a tall, wide door which moved on the same transparent paper frames that we saw in the shops of Hakodate’s main street. In one of the rooms we would have found a bonze who for some reason had not gone to the temple, but, noticing that we had a fan in our hands, he came out to us and made signs asking for it as a present, bowing low and earnestly from the waist, and grasping his knees with his hands. He laughingly wheedled the fan out of us. And to express his great happiness and his gratitude, he immediately put on a serious expression and roared at the top of his voice, opening the fan with no less skill and dash than the bonze we had seen in the temple. ‘That is how he will charm the ladies tomorrow when it is his turn’, explained our guide, ‘and your fan will confer on him unexpected honour and the most respectful treatment, as the bonze himself asked me to tell you, being a little drunk at the moment. Later on, by the way, he’ll be completely drunk, unable to speak or move. Here no holiday lasts less than three days, and I know of no other country apart from Rome and Spain where there are more holidays, or where the people are so carefree and idle away their lives so merrily, even though these lives are subject to the arbitrary will of others and the power of the officials, each of whom has two swords for every head and every belly, as you have already become fully aware.’ ‘Let us continue! You can hear drums – that is beggars asking for alms. There is far more of this here even than in Catholic Rome and Naples. Only here there is no theft or burglary because if someone steals even a few kopecks the law says his head must be cut off. No one pities the people here and this is also a frequent occurrence. In the past a day did not go by without an execution. Fewer heads are chopped off nowadays and fewer people burned alive at the stake, because the Japanese government has finally had the sense to send the living to a more respectable destination; that is, to moderate the severity of their law, and send those condemned to death into exile on Sakhalin. The Japanese government has only recently deemed this island to be Japanese and is quickly settling it to the very top with their criminals. The Ainu who lived in the south have been pushed out to the north and centre of the island by the newcomers from the southern islands of Yezo, Nipon, Kyu-shu and Sankoku.10 Over many years (the Japanese do not even know exactly how many), the population on these islands has grown so dense and crowded that the government has come to the disgraceful and criminal conviction that the

entomology, decided to have cabinets made for his insects. The Japanese master would not agree to lacquer them except in a closed room and with no witnesses. Not for any money would he agree to reveal the secret to a foreigner. After finishing the work he advised that the window be kept open for a few days, but the consul absent-mindedly pushed it almost shut (and this was about three days after the lacquer work had been completed). After half an hour with his butterflies he ended up falling to the ground, poisoned by the fumes from the still fresh lacquer. This lacquer, as is well known, is prepared from a special lacquer tree, which originally grew only on the southern islands of Japan, but has now been planted over most of the island of Yezo.

Maksimov: In the East 143 people’s lives can be considered almost worthless. They are prepared to use them for their own advantage if they are vigorous and healthy and happily kill them or cast them away if they are even in the slightest degree touched by disease or decay. Here diseased parts of the body are not treated by therapeutic methods but by means of the knife or the sabre (which are the same thing). Then both the part and the whole are usually burned. In Japan, however, everyone is cremated, even those who enjoy the enviable happiness of dying of natural causes. The Japanese have reasoned that, if the whole mass of the dying and executed were to be buried in the space of the three islands,11 the cemetery would be the size of a whole separate country. The rotting bodies would poison the air, and would raise up putrid and harmful miasmas which would be destructive to the living population, even though Japan has plenty of wind and is very well ventilated. Ash is so much preferable, think the Japanese, and the dead are usually placed squatting in a barrel and burned. The ash from the body and the charred bones are put in a small vessel designed to take up a minute space in the ground, which the Japanese government holds so very dear. This vessel is placed in the expensive and valuable ground after being kept for three days in the temple, probably for what we would call a burial service. The burial itself, however, takes place with ceremony, and they also erect pretentious and showy monuments in the general cemetery. In this respect Japan is like everywhere else! ‘In order to form an opinion of the Japanese indifference to life, that dull indifference bred into the people by the government itself, which has established unmerciful laws and sentenced so many to death, it is by no means necessary to witness the private, domestic theatre of those officials who open their bellies by grace of the shogun, cutting themselves with established movements and according to long established models. If you go to a wide square on the outskirts of the town, there will certainly somewhere be some sort of execution, if not today then tomorrow. Inside the prisons, heads are cut off almost every day, but without witnesses. Of the six executioners the best and most skilful must remove the prisoner’s head with a single blow on the command of his five colleagues, who cough up the single word ‘hhha’. If he fails to cut off the head in a single blow, he is ordered to open his own belly. In this respect the Japanese seem to us a very bestial, cruel people, and because of this well-developed custom of considering their own lives as naught they have come also to view the lives of others with indifference. From this we can understand the easy and cheap recourse to hired assassins at all times and in all places – convenient not only for powerful and influential princes, but also for simple people who can afford one or two gold kobans.**12 We therefore imagine that the lives of Europeans, which are naturally not valued by the **

A thin, oval, lamellate gold coin, rare in Japan and equivalent in value to six of our silver roubles (and a few odd kopecks). A square silver coin, the itsebu, is worth 43 kopecks of silver in our money. This is divided into half and quarter pieces, also square. The Japanese gild this quarter square a little and pass it off to foreigners as a half-itsebu. The itsebu is

144 Maksimov: In the East people and are considered an irritant by the government, will always be in danger and will always be at risk from sharp Japanese sabres – whose steel, as Europeans have long known, has no rivals anywhere on earth. Both old and recent facts of this nature confirm our view on this matter.†† And we do not doubt the suggestion that, besides being indifferent to the blood of others (and especially the blood of foreigners), the people even rejoice when they are invited to witness an out of town execution. The whole population of Hakodate rushed out of the town to the execution of a criminal who had attempted to burn down the local admiralty building. It was only the men, however, who went. The women hid themselves in their back rooms, and those of them who were caught in the street at the time the criminal was being led through it rushed headlong into enclosed spaces, around corners, out of sight, so that he could not defile them with his glance. At this hour all the shops along the route were closed and locked, so that the ill-omened and unclean gaze of the criminal could not in the same way defile the goods, damage trade or reduce profit. We went along too, as if to convince ourselves just what level of indifference or even stupefied insensitivity and unbounded apathy a people can reach when watching executions and corrupted by them. The prisoner himself went to the pyre so boldly and bravely, but with such a lifeless and dull expression on his face that we took fright and became indignant at him on behalf of man in general – so strong was our hatred at that moment of a law which allowed and justified such spectacles. We reconciled ourselves to the criminal only when, standing on the pyre and waiting for it to be lit, he

††

further divided into seven hundred kashi. The kashi is a round iron coin with a square hole in the centre. Through this hole a straw twist is threaded and these coins are carried in this manner like bread rolls in Russia. In spite of the extraordinary small monetary subdivisions, each kashi has a clear practical use. For a single kashi, for example, a barber will oil the topknot on your head and shave all necessary places on your face. And this shaving is essential even for the very poor. The Europeans must also take some of the blame. Here for example is a recent incident in Hakodate. Porter, a trader in this town (actually trading in porter and various comestibles and also proprietor of a sort of inn for our officers), has a dog. A drunk Japanese official walked past this Englishman’s apartment; the dog grabbed him by the leg and drew blood. The Japanese drew his sword. Porter, also drunk, saw this action, rushed out into the street with his companions and thrashed the official. He bound his hands and feet, thrashed him again and dragged him to his consul. The consul put him in shackles and kept him under arrest. The governor demanded his release and was refused. Our consul intervened. The official was released, but was deprived of his two swords, that is to say, he was punished in a way which no Japanese official could possibly tolerate. The English consul himself went for a drive and, drunk himself, ran over a drunk he met in the road. On another occasion the same man struck an official who was in his way with his whip, and, when the latter drew his sword, he tied him up and dragged him to the governor. Porter again, after lying in wait for a burglar and rushing him, emptied his revolver at him. On inspection of the body all but two of the bullets were found to be in his back. But it is not possible to relate all such incidents. In Hakodate the English consul is mocked by small boys. In Yeddo and Kanagawa Englishmen are killed.

Maksimov: In the East 145 suddenly spoke. He asked, according to those standing closest to him, for the execution to be hurried up. Until that point, even bound to the post, he looked calmly and apathetically at the crowd which swarmed at his feet in remarkable numbers and striking uniformity. Hawkers were going round among this crowd carrying yokes with the traditional hot Japanese green tea of native production. They were selling spice-cakes, pears, cooked rice. The hawkers cried out as if they were in the street; the crowd was chewing, munching and buzzing with conversations conducted just as calmly as if they were taking place at home or in the shops or at the market. The lively speech and deep hum did not stop even when the criminal was engulfed in smoke (not in flames). In all probability he soon suffocated in this smoke; at least his smoke-blackened (not burned) body was kept intact for three days at the place of execution for the benefit of those who did not come on the main day. There were plenty of visitors; crowds of spectators would have gathered on the fourth day too, if the executioners had not gathered up the body and burned it to ashes. The Japanese people (according to the testimony of witnesses) met the execution in Yeddo of a murderer who had attempted the life of a brother of the shogun (regent) with the same dull, lifelessly insulting lack of emotion. He was boiled alive in a cauldron.’ ‘And so as to tell you everything’, our guide concluded his speech, ‘everything that came into our minds on this occasion, I will say further that, however cheaply the Japanese hold life in general, the means of procuring life in Japan are held just as cheap. Tomorrow I will invite you to make sure of this yourselves. But that is enough adventures and stories for today. To finish with, look down at the town from here (the consul’s house). What do you see? This is another of my tricks, a good trick but the last, as they say in Russian fairgrounds.’ And indeed, as we stand on the terrace of the consul’s house, beneath which the town of Hakodate ought to lie, like an ordinary, honest town, again we can see nothing of the sort. We see a black, undifferentiated mass, not of buildings, but of boards, gaps between them indicating streets, and in the foreground, in front of everything, piles of huge stones, sometimes placed in symmetrical rows, sometimes heaped up in tall mounds. It was as if the cliff had broken off the neighbouring mountain and split into large and small lumps, scattering over the entire surface of the town and burying it without trace. The desolate view reminded us of the deserted granite shores of the White Sea, where this phenomenon is not uncommon, but you would not imagine that there was a large Japanese town underneath this pile of rubble and stones. All truly Asiatic and most Moslem towns consist of stones piled up in untidy disorder, but there the houses, even in poor mountain villages, are invariably also built of stone. Here in the farthest Asiatic east, in Hakodate, as in Manchuria and China, the houses are always made of wooden boards, and the view of the town from above defied all probability. It was extremely strange and unexpected. We have never seen anything more so either before or since. And the reason is that Japanese houses of wooden boards, put up

146 Maksimov: In the East flimsily and in haste, have numerous huge stones placed on their roofs against the violent hurricanes. These hurricanes are of a particularly desperate ferocity in Japan, rushing down the mountain gorges, and are experienced most fiercely and most frequently of all in this unfortunate town of Hakodate. We can understand these stones and other weights and buttresses when we remember that nature has situated the Japanese islands, including Yezo, on the most active and vigorous volcanic crater. It is not so long ago that a coneshaped mountain close to the town breathed out smoke and fire and poured out lava that took two long weeks to cool down, and which even now, two years later, remains in a semi-molten state.‡‡ Only at the outer edges, on our right and left flanks, did the Japanese town resemble, if not a town, then at least an inhabited and settled place: there we saw painted pavilions on the Chinese pattern, temples distinguished by their tiled roofs and their towers; we saw the huge gardens engulfing the governor’s house and the prince’s palace, and a tall straight cypress grove stretching up the mountain, just past the consul’s house, which is built entirely from cypress wood. And when we raised our eyes from the town and looked straight ahead, before us sparkled the turquoise of the delightful sea to the south. The whole of the Hakodate gulf came to life with its multitude of ships, beginning with our Amerika and a Dutch corvette a little way off, and in the distance the charming blue and turquoise (in one place framed by the steep coastal mountains) merged with the horizon and the surface of the wide and free ocean, ruffled and foaming from big and angry waves. The picture was truly unique and charming.

‡‡

The hurricane which raged in Hakodate a few weeks before our arrival was so strong that its gusts blew huge beams and even stones across the town. The wooden church built next to our consul’s house was picked up from its place by one gust and put down in another some 40 sazhens away. In the course of this nothing was damaged; even the candles remained undisturbed in their places.

Maksimov: In the East 147

Notes 1 Source: S. V. Maksimov, Na vostoke: poezdka na Amur: dorozhnye zametki i vospominaniia, 2nd edn, St Petersburg: S.V. Zvonarev, 1871, pp. 383–417. 2 The treaties of Shimoda (1855), Nagasaki (1857) and Edo (1858) in fact contain no such provision. 3 The town of Nizhnii Novgorod, at the confluence of the rivers Oka and Volga, was the site of the largest annual agricultural and industrial fair in Russia. 4 The Russian contains an untranslatable pun on ‘oseledets’, a long forelock worn in Ukraine on a shaven head, and ‘seledka’, ‘herring’. 5 The Treaty of Shimoda (1855) opened the ports of Shimoda, Hakodate and Nagasaki to the Russians. The Treaty of Edo (1858) replaced Shimoda with a port for Edo (Kanagawa and in practice also the neighbouring town of Yokohama), opened the port of Hyogo, and allowed for the opening of an as yet undetermined port on the west coast of Honshu (Niigata was later opened in fulfilment of this clause). 6 On the violence offered to foreigners in the treaty ports at this time by certain groups of samurai opposed to the treaty settlements, see W. G. Beasley, The Meiji Restoration, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1972, pp. 172–96. The attack on Russian sailors to which Maksimov refers appears to be the murder of R. S. Mofet in Yokohama in 1859 (described by Kornilov in Chapter 5, pp. 123–4). 7 Mikado: emperor; dairi: imperial court; Miako: Kyoto. 8 I.e., from the Japanese main island, Honshu, to Hokkaido. 9 Literacy in Japan at the end of the Tokugawa period is generally estimated at about 50 per cent. This compares favourably with a figure of under 30 per cent for Russia in 1897. 10 Presumably a mistake for Shikoku. 11 I.e. the three main islands of Japan: Honshu, Kyushu and Shikoku. 12 Maksimov may be referring to a form of legalised vendetta (kataki-uchi), which was available to the samurai class until its abolition in 1873 (see John M. Rogers, ‘Divine Destruction: the Shimpuren Rebellion of 1876’, in Helen Hardacre (ed.), New Directions in the Study of Meiji Japan, Leiden: Brill, 1997, pp. 419–20).

7

Ivan Zarubin Around Asia (Nagasaki, 1880)

Ivan Zarubin travelled to Japan as a doctor on board the Vladivostok with a cargo of agricultural produce and machinery destined for Sakhalin. He sailed from Odessa on 5 April 1880, passing through the Suez Canal and calling at Singapore before arriving at Nagasaki. From there the ship continued to the Russian Far East, and was expected to travel backwards and forwards between Vladivostok, Sakhalin and Nikolaevsk. Although he had travelled extensively in Turkestan, the Crimea and the Caucasus, this was Zarubin’s first long voyage by sea. Finding that shipboard life did not agree with him, he decided to return home to Moscow by the overland route across Siberia.1

Here it is, the ‘land of the rising sun’, so marvellously lit up by the dawn of civilisation which now shines upon it! Before us is the island of Kyushu; we are entering the long and narrow Nagasaki roadstead. Everyone on the steamer who is not working is up on the deck. My companions, many of whom have been here over twenty times, greet Nagasaki like their home town. They point out the landmarks for me and tell me their names. The shore showed itself in all its beauty as we approached. The sea was calm. Only at the foot of the distant hills the breaking waves dissolved into white foam. A light breeze moderated the intense heat. The panorama changed. The nearest mountains gave way to others; behind these further heights came into view. Here and there houses showed white against the dark slopes and ravines. Everything here caresses the eye. There are no sharp contours, ragged cliffs, wild craggy heights. Everything is covered with vegetation. On the soft, rounded summits, along the slopes of the hills, stand palm-like trees, lit up by the sun. I looked among them for the marvellous Cryptomeria japonica, which I knew so well by repute and which has so delighted travellers. Further on, towards a tall white building, stretched a whole forest, perhaps of camellias, whose native country this is. Every free space is taken up by cleared rectangles of green – rice fields. In Japan there is little land and not an inch of it is wasted. Here on our right appeared a series of peninsulas or excisions in the bay. Beyond the numerous little coves more hills

Zarubin: Around Asia 149 were visible – the coal mines of Tokashima. Straight in front of us there rises from the water a lonely pointed cliff bristling with trees. This is the island of Papenberg. This protects the entrance to Nagasaki harbour from the ocean and resembles a triangular stone pyramid. Its front face is a sheer drop, and from here, more than two hundred years ago, the enraged natives threw the Catholic monks into the sea.2 The far side of the island is sloping and covered with rare tall trees right up to the summit. There is a boat tied up at the bottom and a narrow path winds through the trees. Beyond the island the Nagasaki roadstead twists on for 5 versts; both shores are hilly and richly cultivated. Japanese villages are hidden between the hills on both sides. On the left is the splendid new, only recently constructed, dockyard, well known to our ships. Further along, on the right, near the town embankment, is the artificial island of Deshima, built by the Japanese, where the Dutch factory, or rather prison, has been located for a long time, since their move from Hirando [Hirado].3 Diagonally opposite is the ‘Russian colony’ of Inosa, dear Inosa! This is a Japanese village or suburb where the inhabitants almost all speak Russian. This is the usual berth of Russian warships and the favourite abode of our sailors. In the distance and along the whole of the right-hand side of the roadstead appear the town buildings of Nagasaki. They lead off into the distance between two hills and lose themselves there. In the roads there are masses of ships; among them are two Russian vessels – the gunboat Morzh and the steamer Konstantin. Our Vladivostok sailed almost the entire length of the harbour and cast anchor at the very bottom of the bay, a few hundred yards from the town. The Japanese arrived. Their small light boats, with cabins in the middle like little houses, streamed up to the ladder, and soon the whole deck was filled with the soft, effeminate figures of these children of the East. The majority of them were known to our officers, and many of them spoke Russian well. We invited them to lunch. Endless questioning began: Where have you been? What have you been doing? The following persons, well known of course to all Russian sailors in Japan, were the most frequent visitors to our steamer: the portly Kihe, with his kind, fat face and large spectacles on his forehead – he is a general purveyor of provisions and distributor of news – and Bengoro, who modestly calls himself a commission-agent of the Imperial Russian Fleet. Who made him a commission-agent is unknown, but that is what it says on his cards. Then there is Shiga-san, a civilised Japanese dressed in European style. He has even been to St Petersburg and refers to this constantly. Then there is a string of others doing I don’t know what – a certain Yamamoto, and Tsenitar, whom we called ‘Sanitary’, and others. None of them are averse to selling whatever it may be. Bengoro brought a small bundle of wooden items and tortoise-shell wares, but got drunk over lunch and only laughed and talked nonsense. Some of them gave us invitations. A mass of other Japanese brought us fish and fruit, but, alas, it was not the same as in Singapore. The fruit they brought us was something called piwa,4 like our apricots, but nowhere near as nice as them, with thick golden-yellow skin, and then huge

150 Zarubin: Around Asia but woody and completely tasteless pears, and finally raspberries. We were very pleased to see these familiar berries, but unfortunately they were not really raspberries at all, but the fruit of the mulberry tree (Morus nigra), which, although it looks very much like a raspberry, has quite a different taste. However, the Japanese explained that the real fruit season had not yet arrived. Among other news we learned from our guests that the steamer Nizhnii Novgorod from the Volunteer Fleet, which had left Odessa with prisoners for Sakhalin five days before us (1 April), had been here only two days ago.5 We had thus completed the same journey three days more quickly, which is a good indication of the speed of the Vladivostok. On the last day of our stop in Nagasaki we were struck by another piece of news, sad for the whole of Russia: the telegraph brought the announcement of the empress’s death.6 We lowered our flag to half-mast and dipped our yards. Following international convention, all the other ships also lowered their flags, and the spectacle of this mass of ships all with their flags at half-mast was particularly moving. Our guests departed. In place of our visitors appeared Japanese officials with unavoidable questions. Finally a Japanese with a sword and blue jacket and wide trousers was brought on board. He was something between a soldier and a policeman or excise officer, and his duty consisted in preventing us from exporting something from his country – but what it was I still don’t know, as each of us freely bought whatever we wanted and brought it on board the steamer without paying the least attention to the presence of the inspector. We got ready to go into the town. One of the numerous little Japanese boats surrounding our steamer undertook to convey us. The Japanese fune boats are small and flat-bottomed. In the middle is a superstructure like a dog kennel. This is a cabin big enough for two or three men. The cleanliness and finish of the boards is astounding. The Japanese moves this boat forwards with a single oar attached to the stern, moving it from side to side like the tail-fin of a fish. This looks very easy, but when I tried it nothing happened. The oar constantly slipped from its socket. However, the boat moves very slowly propelled in this way, and there is a further disadvantage: it rolls from side to side, so that on a journey of any length a nervous man especially gets more seasick than he would in the ocean. We hadn’t very far to go, and our ferryman soon made fast at the quay in the European part of town. Here the Japanese cabs, the rickshaws, were waiting for us. There are few horses in Japan, and they are not used for transporting people – at least we did not see a single horse – humans are used instead. The rickshaw is a sort of small two-wheeled cabriolet very like our children’s carriages or hand-carts, except that it has a roof in case of rain. There is no harness and no equipment. A passenger appears and sits down. The Japanese takes the shafts in his hands and pulls. When there is no passenger the shafts rest on the ground and the driver is free. At first we felt embarrassed or uncomfortable being drawn by other people, but we soon became accustomed to it. Pulling is easy because the roads of Nagasaki are kept in excellent condition and the central part of the carriageway is almost always paved.

Zarubin: Around Asia 151

Figure 7.1 A rickshaw. Source: Bird, Unbeaten Tracks, p. 35.

Moreover, as the whole town is located on hills, there are wide stone passages from the lower streets to the higher. The stamina of the rickshaws (the carriage and the driver are called by the same name) is astounding. They can run for several hours at a stretch and they run indeed more smartly than the horses of our Moscow cab-drivers. We asked to be taken to the Russian consul as we needed to enquire about our letters. The road twisted up the mountain. Japanese houses stood on both sides. Miniature and flimsy, built of narrow laths, these looked as if they were made of air. From our multi-storey stone buildings, it is difficult to imagine the concept of a Japanese house. There is not the slightest trace of stone. Everything is wood and of the lightest possible kind. It couldn’t be otherwise: Japan is situated on a chain of still active volcanoes. One only needs to think of the eruption at Shimabara and the earthquake at Shimoda.7 Anyone who built a stone house would risk being buried under its ruins. Sometimes you do see a massive tiled roof giving a house stability, but the others look very much as if you would only need to knock them with your shoulder for them to fall down on you. The usual light roof pinned together from thin boards is held up by four pillars. These pillars are joined crossways by similar thin planks or by sliding screens pasted over with paper – these are the walls. Around the outside is a latticed balcony. On the other hand, each board is planed marvellously and

152 Zarubin: Around Asia shines as if it were polished. Untidiness, dirtiness, litter of any kind are unthinkable in Japan. With the small land area and density of population the economy of space here is astounding. The houses are like cages, but each corner serves its purpose. The houses are mostly two storeys; underneath there is a shop and above are the living quarters. The two floors are connected by a staircase, and, so as not to waste space, built under each step there are drawers which take the place of tallboys and cupboards. After receiving our letters from the consul and enjoying the beautiful garden that surrounds his house, we set off for the town. One of our rickshaw drivers spoke a little Russian and we asked to be taken to the bazaar. This was rather difficult for him to understand as the whole town is in fact one big bazaar. He kept repeating ‘Kijematsu’, and it afterwards appeared that he wanted to take us to the quarter designated for tea-houses. The Japanese ‘teahouses’ or yoshiwaras are of course well known to all foreigners. The Japanese girl from the yoshiwaras is the same as the Indian bayadère or the Egyptian almeh. In Kijematsu there are several hundred of these beauties. Many of these ‘establishments’ are supported by the government. In Yokohama, for example, the Japanese government organised a huge tea-house quarter with a thousand inhabitants and sent out to each consul and to foreigners in general a teacup and a fan with a plan of the quarter depicted on it and the message ‘This place is designated for the pleasure of foreigners’. In general, morality, propriety and shame are understood in Japan quite differently from the way they are understood in Europe, and it is better not to dwell on this delicate subject. We hastened to disabuse our driver and ordered him to take us to a shop selling wooden articles. We travelled for a long time along the Nagasaki streets. The town is very large – it has as many as 100,000 people. It is excellently laid out: the streets may be a little narrow, but they are straight and intersect at right angles. There is much greenery and water; several rivers flow down from the hills and stone bridges have been built across them. Everywhere there are swarms of people. Both Japanese men and women are short, apparently a result of early marriage. They are slim and well built, though the men are very effeminate in appearance, perhaps partly because they shave their beards so painstakingly. Japanese men dress in wide trousers and robes. Sometimes they wear something like a jacket over the top. On their feet are sandals made of straw or a special sort of paper. These sandals are always taken off on entering a house, and on the thick mats which cover the floor the Japanese always go barefoot. The Japanese girl or musume is a terrible coquette. Nowhere, I think, do the girls use so many lotions or so much rouge on their faces as in Japan. Married women, on the other hand, even deliberately pluck out their eyebrows and blacken their teeth in order, as they say, that they should please no one except their husbands. But this makes them very ugly, and unfortunately in this state they often do not please their husbands either – at least these are not embarrassed to bring other women into the house. Japanese women do

Zarubin: Around Asia 153 not wear linen. Over their naked bodies they put on a shirt, often embroidered, and then a long, wide silk robe or kerimon.8 This is secured with a very wide sash in a bow behind. In this dress the Japanese woman looks rather like a doll. On her head is a whole construction of luxuriant black hair. I will not even attempt to describe the Japanese woman’s hairstyle, although I studied it carefully on several occasions. Almost half the day is spent in producing it, though it is made to last several days. In order not to spoil it the Japanese woman does not sleep on pillows, which do not exist in Japan, but on a special kind of support. A semi-circular rest, like that used in photography, is attached to a small wooden box used to store a comb or rouge or soap. A special book is placed on this rest and the Japanese woman lays her head on this book, turning the book’s pages every day so that her head is always lying on a clean page. Dark colours – blue or brown – predominate everywhere in her dress. We were talking loudly among ourselves, and, as the Japanese often hear Russian spoken, they easily picked our nationality. Many of them bowed politely, bending almost to the ground. Two pretty young girls, installed on the balcony of one house, threw us a huge lily flower as we went past. In general the population of Nagasaki, which has for a long time been accustomed to the presence of numerous travellers, is more free and easy than that of other Japanese towns, and to tell the truth knows and loves the Russians better than any other foreigners. In Yokohama we are not liked as much as we might be because of our supposed aggressive intentions. For this we must thank our eternal good friends the English, who have put out this rumour. But in Nagasaki, where because of the closeness of the Maritime Province there are many Russian ships every year, the people have learned not only that we are not pursuing aggressive policies, but that we are not in fact pursuing any policies at all. And we treat them immeasurably better than the English, who with their British arrogance do not consider the Japanese to be human beings. Nagasaki has many shops. Almost all the houses in the streets we passed through had two storeys, with a shop on the lower floor. Shops selling lacquered wooden objects are scattered throughout the town. Japan was famous for these products in the past and nowhere makes such good lacquer ware even now, though the quality of the lacquer is now far from what it was. We visited several shops and bought piles of things. The shops are very small, just a single small room, but they are always astoundingly clean. The floors are covered with several layers of thick white mats. At the door there is a row of straw sandals belonging to the people of the house, and they themselves sit cross-legged on the mats. We were positively too ashamed to step into the shop in our shoes, but didn’t want to take them off either, so we stopped on the threshold and asked for this or that object to be brought for us to look at. These are things of amazing workmanship. Unfortunately the Japanese have latterly begun to make them to European taste, pandering to the demands of their foreign customers. Little chests have appeared, tea caddies and writing cases, toilet cases, book-shelves, tables, but it has become very difficult to find

154 Zarubin: Around Asia anything original, purely Japanese, from the native way of life – any food bowl or Japanese dressing-table. The colour and decoration of objects is similar to the Chinese. A fabulous dragon, a tree going off into space with neither beginning nor end, and in it a fantastic bird, a woman crossing a bridge hanging in the air, etc. – in general all in terrible bad taste. Everything is painted in the brightest colours and without shadow or perspective. At the same time it is covered with excellent thick black lacquer, so that the object seems to be made of ivory or papier-mâché. The price of lacquer goods is generally not high, and varies from a few cents to 10 dollars depending on size and quality. Mexican dollars circulate in Japan, as in Singapore, and also the so-called Japanese yen. The yen is equal to the Mexican dollar and is thus equivalent in our money to 2 silver roubles. There are small silver and copper coins each worth a few cents. Besides these there is paper money, banknotes or kinsatsu, but these are far from being on par with the silver. The old Japanese coin, the itsebu, still exists and is divided into kashi, but I never saw these. Gold is not readily accepted in Japan, and for our half-imperial I received only 2 dollars, that is 4 roubles, whereas at that time it was worth 7 roubles, 50 kopecks. For this reason many of us regretted not having changed all our gold at Singapore. Bargaining with the Japanese is a great torment. In the first place they talk in such a way that you can’t understand a thing, hopelessly mangling both English and Russian words and at the same time liberally adding Japanese ones. Therefore either you need an interpreter, or you do what we did. You take some coins, place them on your palm and let the Japanese choose from them. Inspecting the coins from all sides, he will take, for example, 2 yen. This means that you should give him no more than half a dollar, since their initial prices are terribly inflated. They are just like children. They very much enjoy the process of bargaining itself. The Japanese exaggerates the price and then comes down a bit at a time. He makes a smacking noise with his lips, squats down, nods his head, takes the object, admires it and shows it to all his family, calls the rickshaw man and shows it to him. Gradually the Japanese public gathers from the street, take off their sandals and sit down, and also take part in the bargaining. Or finally, when in his opinion you have offered too little or are preparing to leave the shop, he drops all the English and Russian words from his speech and suddenly begins to talk entirely in Japanese, no doubt saying something persuasive, but unfortunately to us completely incomprehensible, and again bows and squats down. At last the bargain is made and, however small and cheap the thing which you have purchased, it is invariably placed in another box of simple but very beautiful and finely polished wood. Your purchase is packed up and the box nailed down as if you were taking it to the ends of the earth, and everyone in the shop participates in this, and then they come out to see you off, pack your purchases into the rickshaw, and bow and bow again . . . and all this without fuss, gracefully, with broad grins and a certain feline grace. There are no sharp cries or sudden movements, the only sounds that can be heard are the soft rustling of silk robes and the patter of sandals on the mats.

Zarubin: Around Asia 155 As well as these ordinary lacquered wooden articles, there are objects made from what is called old lacquer. This, if you like, is an ideal form of lacquer, the secret of which has now been lost even in Japan. Not only can you leave these objects in hot water for a month, you can put out a cigarette or a cigar on them and the lacquer will not be marked A genuine old lacquer article can be thrown into a fire: the wood will smoulder and char, but the lacquer will remain intact. But few of these objects remain, even in Japan, and they pass from generation to generation as family heirlooms. I very much wanted to acquire at least one such item. For this, the next day I engaged a Japanese guide, something like our commission-agents, who spoke good Russian, and we set off. He took me on a lengthy trip through the streets of Nagasaki since objects of this kind are not sold in shops, but there are certain amateurs who collect all kinds of local curios and of course are not averse to selling them for a good price when the opportunity offers. We visited at least half a dozen houses before I managed to acquire something. There was nothing here in the modern taste; everything was antique: medicine containers, wooden bowls, tobacco cases, various other sorts of cases and boxes for I don’t know what purposes. There were also other objects not made of wood: ancient Japanese armour, porcelain, ivory, antique swords, and so forth. My Japanese host would usually show me all these things one after the other with pleasure, and bore me no malice when, struck by the excessive prices, I went away without buying anything. The prices really were horrific. For example, for two little wooden boxes with trays (Japanese crockery) I paid 8 dollars, whereas if they had been new lacquer the top price would have been half a dollar. In this house, when I followed my guide up to the first floor, I found the whole family quietly drinking tea. I too was brought a small porcelain cup containing a dull greenish liquid which was very aromatic, but had an unpleasant taste. Only I had to drink it standing up as there was no furniture at all. Porcelain is also good in Japan, rather for its quality than its decoration, which is coarse and tasteless. On the other hand, especially with the best sorts, the saucers are as thin as sheets of writing paper and completely transparent. It is a pity the decoration is good for nothing. There are huge porcelain vases, over 6 feet tall; there are also delicate, elegant objects, for example, porcelain flowers or reliefs showing various landscapes. In general amateurs prefer Japanese porcelain to the Chinese, however, again only the best sorts. The ordinary porcelain is poor, even in Nagasaki, the centre of this type of art. We spent a long time travelling further around the town on this first day and visited shops selling silk goods, tortoise-shell articles, weapons, and so on. The tortoise-shell articles are not bad, but expensive (the price of some of the larger and more original objects is 100 dollars or more) and – what is more important – all in European taste: studs, combs, cigar-cases, picture-frames, albums. Later, when our first thirst of acquisition had been quenched and we looked carefully at our purchases, we came to the general conclusion that only the lacquer wares were really worth buying and everything else could have been acquired in Europe better and cheaper.

156 Zarubin: Around Asia It is a pity we didn’t arrive in Nagasaki a few days earlier. The Japanese Exhibition closed only just before our arrival and the exhibits had only just been taken away. It would have been interesting to examine the best examples of this country’s products. In Nagasaki there are several hotels, the best of which are run by Frenchmen. Street life is little developed in this town. Soon after sunset all is quiet and deserted. The empty streets are only rarely traversed by a belated Japanese with a paper lantern in his hand – for there is no municipal lighting in Nagasaki. Our rickshaws were also equipped with large lanterns of decorated oil-paper, and we sped along the paved streets quickly and silently. The town slept. The soft contours of the hills could be seen dimly in the dark night sky behind the muddle of houses. Music could be heard from the harbour. There life was still bubbling and the numerous lights of the ships blinked all around. The night air was warm, not with debilitating heat, but with an envigorating warmth of the sort that we had long left behind. The water too glistened differently from the way it glistens at the equator. Lulled by the monotonous rocking of our fune and the regular noise produced by the boatman’s single oar furrowing through the mirror-like surface of the water, my mind couldn’t help focussing on the recent past when this beautiful country barely existed for foreigners, when it was cut off from the whole of the civilised world as if by an impenetrable wall. No country ever stepped so quickly on to the path of reform, no state ever made such a frighteningly sharp turn away from its old forms of society to a new and completely different system of life. There is some resemblance with Russia under Peter the Great, and it is not for nothing that the Japanese see this prince as the ideal of the statesman for all ages and for all people. I, for example, can travel alone in peace through Nagasaki harbour, returning from a town I have viewed almost the whole of, but only twenty-five or thirty years ago this would have been unthinkable for any European. How many fruitless attempts were made by our country alone to open up relations with the Japanese? I recall Golovnin’s captivity, Rezanov’s unsuccessful mission, the half-success of Putiatin’s expedition, so skilfully described by Goncharov. Was this a long time ago? Although the history of Japan begins many years before Christ, this country became known to Europeans only in the middle of the sixteenth century. The first foreigners, the Portuguese and the Dutch, were welcomed cordially and for almost half a century remained the most welcome guests. But as well as trading they began to interfere in the political life of the country; Catholic propaganda began to spread, without restraint in those severe times. The consequence of the Catholic missionaries’ avidity, lust for power and pride was that their presence became hateful to the Japanese. A people incapable of half-measures gave short shrift to their oppressors: most of the Portuguese were sent back to their colony (Macao); the others were slaughtered and their bodies thrown into the sea. The Dutch saved themselves, as they say, only by declaring that they were not Christians. But this helped them little. They were

Zarubin: Around Asia 157 transferred to the little island of Deshima at Nagasaki, and their presence there was tolerated only under the severest of conditions. At around the same time, the famous edict was announced prohibiting foreigners from approaching Japan forever.9 So two centuries of complete estrangement passed and in the words of her historians Japan flourished during this time, her fields were fully sown with rice and her inhabitants prospered. But such a large untouched market could not remain closed forever. In the middle of the nineteenth century foreigners again knocked on the closed door of this mysterious world, but this time they knocked with an armed fist, ready to break in by force if the door was not opened voluntarily. The American squadron of Commodore Perry appeared in 1853 near to the country’s capital, Yeddo [Edo], demanding the conclusion of treaties on trading rights, and in the end the naïve, timid natives with their wooden cannon were unable to oppose the stern demands of the newcomers. Two ports were opened initially, with the undertaking to open three more. Almost simultaneously with the Americans, the Russians entered into normal relations with the Japanese, then the French and the English. The breach was opened and a new life poured irrepressibly into the expectant country. Blinded by the material power of the foreigners, the Japanese first of all sought to imitate the outward trappings of European civilisation, to copy from their teachers those things that struck them most sharply as constituting the latter’s power. A feverish activity began. Only twenty-five years have passed since the opening of the country, and Japan already has railways, the telegraph, steamers, a whole navy; she publishes newspapers, builds machine and powder factories, dockyards and arsenals, and is introducing rifled weapons. Her scholars acquaint society with the best works of the great writers of Europe, translate treatises on astronomy, physics, mechanics and mathematics. Even the political structure has changed. The shoguns have fallen and all power is now concentrated in the hands of the mikado alone. But vast amounts of money were required for such reforms. The state went into debt and has been issuing paper money, a thing previously unknown.10 In many parts of the empire there are complaints about economic disorder. And meanwhile the unscrupulousness and exploitative behaviour of the foreigners have done their work. The majority of French and English come here only for profit and stick at nothing in pursuing it. You need only recall the sale of rotten English steamers at fabulous prices and the remarkable deal of its kind that was the sale of horse harness by the French. There is nothing greater than the trust displayed by the Japanese towards their teachers; contempt from one side and hatred from the other often finish in bloody reprisals. However, the Russians stand aside from this type of politics and hence they are loved in Japan. This is still the state of affairs today. Of course, with time this talented, enterprising, firmly united forty-million strong nation will throw off its involuntary economic dependence and free itself from any kind of outside influence. There are many grounds for supposing this. The Japanese also

158 Zarubin: Around Asia strive to compare themselves with the Europeans in the intellectual sphere. Every year, hundreds of young people set off for London, Paris and New York, sometimes to St Petersburg, to enter institutions of higher education. At home their education system is enviable. Of Japan’s forty million inhabitants not one is illiterate,11 although the Japanese alphabet and written language is copied from the Chinese and is ten times more difficult than ours. Many higher institutions have already been established in Japan: foreigners teach in them. Incidentally, there are also Russian faculties, and one of the officers of the Vladivostok, the retired lieutenant D., was in the Japanese service for several years at Torkeo12 (Yeddo, the second capital) as an instructor in the Russian faculty. And, of course, more is known of Russia in Japan than of Japan in Russia. The next day I visited the surroundings of Nagasaki. What a marvellous view opens up from the nearby hills! The harbour looks like a wide, twisting river and the ships on it are small dark spots. The hills are entirely under cultivation, everywhere there are the green squares of rice fields, gardens and houses. Several streams flow down towards the town. I only regret that I wasn’t able to visit the most important sight of Nagasaki, the Suwa shrine, built on a high hill. I did not want to go alone, and I put it off till the next day, but on the next day it rained right through till the evening. So I did not see this shrine with its remarkable granite staircase of 160 steps or the camellia groves which surround it. That evening a Japanese of our acquaintance had invited us all to his house for dinner, or supper, or a ball – I am not sure how best to describe it. I spent quite a long time in the town and when I got back to the steamer I discovered that my companions had already left. I quickly had to find a boatman who spoke at least a little Russian and set off. My host lived in the suburbs, some distance away. Although his house was right on the water, I decided not to go alone, but to take the boatman with me. Collecting all my Japanese and English words together and adding some in Russian, I explained to him whose house I needed. However, he understood me very well, in proof of which he nodded his head an innumerable number of times. We arrived. An elderly, wrinkled Japanese woman with a face like a dried apple, with grey hair and black lips, explained to my guide that her master was not at home. He in turn spoke to me at length, but I, convinced that I had come on a wild goose chase, decided to return home. Then on the steamer I learned that our acquaintance had sent someone to meet me and that he was receiving us in his other house in the town itself. All the same, these ordeals had lost me an hour and I arrived late for the festivities. The whole house was lit up. In the courtyard thronged the rickshaw men who had brought my companions. I began to make my way up to the first floor by a such a delicate, flimsy staircase that it moved under me as though it were alive. As I have already noted, all the houses here are built in this manner in case of earthquake, but I am sure this staircase only needed one good shove to make it collapse on its own without waiting for an earthquake. When I went in

Zarubin: Around Asia 159 the feast was in full swing. Four of my fellows were already there and their shoes stood in a row along the wall: they had been obliged to take them off as they had no sandals. I followed their example and then sat or stretched out on the soft mats. Stretching out was easier as, notwithstanding the year I spent in Turkestan, I have never learned to sit cross-legged. In the middle of the room were set out porcelain and lacquer trays filled with fruit, flowers, sweets and various decorations. The guests sat along the wall. In attendance were musume (young girls) and later female artistes, musicians and dancers (geiki). In front of me soon appeared a whole lot of wooden stands containing small wooden bowls of food. The Japanese meal has been described many times before, so I will not dwell on it. I will only say that it is difficult to imagine a more extraordinary mish-mash. The general impression you receive is of something sickly-sweet; by the end you don’t feel like eating, but at the same time you still feel hungry. I ate everything – fish and meat of some kind (a rarity in Japan), more fish, and green vegetables and soups, endless soups. Naturally I couldn’t use the chopsticks and there were no spoons, so I drank off the liquid and then ate the pieces of fish and vegetables by spearing them with a chopstick. My lack of skill brought endless laughter from the musume appointed to serve food to the doctor-san, as my host called me. All this was accompanied by rice and washed down with unpleasant Japanese rice vodka – saki [sake]. This vodka is drunk warm. Our host continually proposed toasts and my musume brought a cup of saki in her hands and bowed down to the ground as she gave it to me. One had to drink it – such was the custom. Finally everything was finished. The last stand and the last rice bowl were cleared away, the fruit and sweets were removed, together with the dried fish and rice-flour dragons, which according to Japanese custom were sent to us on board the steamer the following day. Tea was served. The singing began. Japanese singing consists of a few basic tones followed by endless variations, and in general recalls the humming of bees. The musicians accompanied the singers on their samisens. Then our Amphitryon began to show us conjuring tricks.13 This is a favourite amusement in Japan. Although his tricks were very commonplace, you should have seen the pleasure with which the Japanese women watched them. However, in appreciation of his labours we too rewarded him with friendly applause. Then followed dancing and pantomime. The geiki danced not badly although after the Indian bayadères they are not worth watching. But at the same time their dances are expressive in the highest degree. I cannot, of course, describe their content. As I said earlier, in Japan the understanding of propriety and morality are quite different from our understanding of them. For those who have visited Nagasaki I will say that among other pieces we saw the ‘Four Seasons’ and the ‘Confession of Three Girls’ . . . On the way back my rickshaw man, who thanks to the generosity of my host had drunk a double ration of saki, pulled me like a good little horse. The last day of our stay in Nagasaki, on which we had placed great hopes, was a disappointment. A fine unpleasant drizzle fell from early morning. The

160 Zarubin: Around Asia whole vicinity was shrouded in mist. This was very like the fogs which persist in our country at higher latitudes during the summer. The town was hidden as if behind a curtain. My rickshaw man also covered himself with a sort of straw curtain and ran bravely, exposing only the end of his nose to the rain. I hastened to make my last purchases, and among other things lay up a stock of fine Japanese paper. This paper is made from the fibres of some plant. It is thin and strong and is used by the Japanese for a variety of purposes: for wrapping up various items, and as both a napkin and a handkerchief. But the rain finally drove me out of the town. In the evening three of us were invited to the house of a Japanese official living in Inosa, an old acquaintance of one of our officers. By evening the weather cleared, the sun came out and the wet greenery of the hills shone as if it had been polished. On the steamer the last bustle was under way, the clearing up which always precedes departure. Early the next morning we were leaving Nagasaki. It was already past eight o’clock and completely dark when we set off with the engineer K. He knew the way as he had visited this Japanese several times before. Inosa is situated to the west of the town, on the other side of a small bay. We arrived there safely and, ordering our boatman to wait for us, set off for the village. As it was some distance to the house and it was completely dark, we had equipped ourselves with a large lantern. It was extremely quiet. Only drops from the earlier rain, falling from the roofs, dripped noisily on the granite street paving. The road led up the mountain. Inosa is built on the hillside and we often had to climb up stone steps. Occasionally we met Japanese who called out ‘Sainara’ (hello)14 to us in a friendly manner and went on. However, there were few people about as it was already late. We walked for some time. I was relying on my friend and cheerfully following him, but it appeared he had gone the wrong way. From the light of our lantern the surrounding darkness seemed ever thicker, and the streets and alleys of Inosa resembled each other like peas in a pod. We walked on a while and, despairing of finding our way on our own, knocked at the first house we came to. A Japanese came out who spoke some Russian, like the majority of the inhabitants of Inosa, and showed us the way. On this particular evening we were able to see a real musician, considered to be an artist in Nagasaki. So said the wife of the official who had invited us, speaking very good and fluent Russian. Our hosts had invited her and also some girls of their acquaintance. After endless green tea and other refreshments, consisting of a sort of honey cake, we prepared to listen. The usual musical instrument employed here is the samisen. This is like our guitar with several strings. It is played by running over the strings with a tortoiseshell or ivory plectrum or with the fingers in little horn caps. Japanese melodies are very monotonous, at least they seemed so to me. The art of the musician consisted of producing different variations. She played not badly and evidently loved the music. The pretty, expressive face of the girl became

Zarubin: Around Asia 161 animated, and perhaps she enjoyed this monotonous, melancholy music as much as we enjoy the compositions of Mozart or Beethoven. The next day in the early morning, our steamer weighed anchor. We departed for Vladivostok. Goodbye to another country, another people. The steam is up. Farewell Japan!

Notes 1 Source: I. Zarubin, ‘Vokrug Azii: putevye zapiski [pt 3]’, Russkii vestnik, vol. 153, no. 5, 1881, pp. 310–27. 2 Although there certainly were executions of Christians in Japan in the early seventeenth century, the massacre at Papenberg (Takabokojima) which is referred to by several writers cannot be verified from the accounts of contemporary observers. Most likely it is an exaggeration of a relatively minor event. 3 See Chapter 2 (Krusenstern), note 3. 4 Japanese biwa: loquat. 5 The Russian ‘Volunteer Fleet’ was founded in 1878 by public subscription as a naval reserve, and used in peacetime for civilian purposes around Vladivostok, Kamchatka and the Sea of Okhotsk, and on the route from Odessa to Vladivostok. The steamer Vladivostok on which Zarubin sailed also belonged to the Volunteer Fleet. Sakhalin was used by the Russian government as a place of imprisonment and exile from 1869. 6 The Empress Maria Alexandrovna, wife of Tsar Alexander II, died in St Petersburg on 22 May 1880. 7 Zarubin refers to the volcanic eruption near Shimabara in 1792, which caused the deaths of some 15,000 people, and the earthquake at Shimoda in December 1854 which destroyed most of the town and interrupted Putiatin’s negotiations. 8 Apparently a mistake for kimono. 9 The edict forbidding foreigners to approach Japan was promulgated in 1639. 10 Although foreign debt in fact remained low until the late 1890s, the government began issuing domestic bonds in 1872 to finance industrialisation and later to defray the costs of quelling the Satsuma Rebellion of 1877. This led to relatively rapid inflation between 1874 and 1881 (see Harold G. Moulton, Japan: an Economic and Financial Appraisal, Washington: Brookings Institution, 1931, pp. 236–9). 11 See Chapter 6 (Maksimov), note 9. 12 I.e., Tokyo. 13 Amphitryon: host. 14 Presumably Japanese sayonara, which in fact means ‘goodbye’.

8

A. Cherevkova On the Japanese railways (Nagoya, 1890)

By the beginning of the 1890s the initial restrictions on the movement of foreigners beyond the treaty ports had been considerably relaxed, and moreover the development of rail transport during the 1870s and 1880s had made travel itself much easier. A. A. Cherevkova was a doctor who spent a lengthy period of time in Japan. Her account here of a railway journey from Yokohama to Kobe gives the relatively unusual perspective for the period of a woman travelling with a small child and coming to terms with the differences between daily life in Europe and Japan.1

ON THE JAPANESE RAILWAYS Early in the morning of 12 December 1890, I said goodbye to my dear Yokohama hotel. The town wore a cheerless expression at six o’clock in the morning. The buildings looked gloomy after the night’s downpour; life had not yet started up, and the quiet of the district was broken only by a few rickshaws hurrying to the station. There were not many people at the station. My son and I were the only European passengers. I presented my passport at the booking office and immediately received our tickets. There were still around twenty minutes till the departure of the train. A welcoming fire crackled in the hearth of the first- and second-class waiting room. A few Japanese with sleepy faces huddled in the corners or looked through the native newspapers which were piled up on the big table in the centre of the room. At last the train came in. Not waiting for the bells, I got into a secondclass carriage. Geta (wooden sandals) clattered on the platform – several Japanese ladies came into my carriage and looked at me with some surprise. Europeans here travel in the second class just as rarely as Japanese in the first. The difference between the classes is relatively trivial, but in first class I risked spending the whole of my journey entirely on my own, while in second class I would at least have living people around me.2 The last bell rang out while my neighbours were settling down and the train slowly pulled out of the station.

Cherevkova: On the Japanese railways 163 The air is warm and damp. A drizzle is falling. Leaden clouds hang heavily over the town itself, but on the far horizon they merge into the sea: you can’t tell where the sky ends and the water begins. The grey tile roofs seem even darker from the rain, and only the green of the gardens and the surrounding hills relieves the general gloom a little. A strong wind has got up. The leaden clouds have broken up into huge fragments and flown off in different directions. The sea, which we are following, seethes and roars, sending huge waves on to the shore. I pity anyone out at sea in this! We are travelling along a valley between two ranges of hills. The route is very twisty; the train now draws near to the sea, now veers away from it. The country is wooded, chiefly with pines. But now we start to climb into the mountains. After Yamakita the scenery becomes unusually picturesque. Cliffs, turbulent mountain rivers which twist like links of a gigantic snake, pine groves, miniature clearings of forest greenery sheltering on the hillsides, tiny villages, isolated huts which seem to hang in the air on rocky ledges – all this flashes quickly before our eyes like a kaleidoscope full of enchanting pictures. I have already counted six tunnels. It reminds me of the St Gothard Pass, only added to the wild beauty of Italian Switzerland there is a poetic softness from the light-green clearings of newly sown crops on the hillsides, a temple perched on a rock, a melancholy, wide-branched Japanese pine hanging over a precipice above a roaring stream. These features of the Japanese landscape are able to soften nature’s most gloomy prospect. The train has arrived at Oyama. I use the five-minute halt to look at the guide. I learn that there are seven tunnels between the last two stations, the biggest of which is 270 sazhens long, and all of them together come to over 2 versts. Moreover, between the same two stations, there are four iron bridges across the River Sakkawa and seven across the River Aizu. Beyond Oyama the landscape is flat again, comprising newly sown fields. We arrive at Gotembo [Gotenba] at the foot of the sacred Fuji-yama, whose beautiful cone is now gleaming under its snowy white cap. What a marvellous mountain indeed! From Gotembo we begin to descend to the sea. Now we are at Shizuoka on the shore of Suruga Bay. Shizuoka is the chief town of the province of the same name, famous for its tea. Again mountains, fields, tunnels, rural landscapes and the sea once more. Now it is the large Hamana Lagoon. On the right, parallel to the railway line, lies the old state highway, the Tokaido. This road, sometimes nearer, sometimes further away from the railway, is marked by rows of tall old shady pines and cedars. The village houses here are all surrounded by tall hedges. Openings have been cut through these hedges like doors and windows, but the courtyards and the houses themselves are completely invisible from outside. After Meizaki the train traverses a whole system of embankments and bridges following on one from the other without a break. It seems as if it is travelling directly over the surface of the sea. On our right is the huge

164 Cherevkova: On the Japanese railways semi-circular Hamana Bay with its quiet, transparent waters. On the left is a fierce, stormy, foaming inland sea.3 The rain and high winds have started up again. To heat the carriages they bring in long zinc trays full of hot water. These are placed on the floor under the passengers’ feet. The same method of heating carriages is used in Western Europe, on the French, Swiss and Italian railways. The trays, of course, warm only the legs, and they only work for the first half-hour – after that they get cold, and as they are changed no more than four or five time a day you can easily imagine how much use they are. You do not need to be a specialist either to see what an excellent method this is besides for fostering rheumatism and diseases of the chest. My Japanese companions, however, have no need of these trays. As soon as Japanese people get into the carriage, after stowing away their things (and they always have very little), they quickly kick off their shoes and sit on the bench Japanese style, that is with their feet tucked underneath them. They remain in this position the whole time, very efficiently making use of their own body heat. One peculiarity of the Japanese railways, incidentally, is the absence of buffet cars. Hawkers bring oranges, various Japanese sweets, sometimes tea (green, of course), up to the train, and all these things are offered at very cheap prices. So if you are intending to travel around Japan by rail you must stock up on everything you will need by way of food. This is not especially difficult, however, since my present journey, for example, the longest in Japan, lasts only some sixteen or seventeen hours. After Goyu we come down to the coast again, fly through a tunnel, and before us lies a marvellous view over the sea with its little green islands, across to the opposite coastline with its high mountains and numberless fields flooded with water or sown with rice. On the right is a wide open expanse – a rarity in this mountainous country. It is starting to get dark. The cold is perceptible and I am glad finally to see Atsudo [Atsuta] station, on the outskirts of Nagoya itself, which is now only a few versts away. The lamps have been lit in the carriage, and the rain has stopped, but the wind has got stronger, and the cold is becoming unbearable. Only one of my travelling companions remains, and he commands only a very meagre supply of English words. I ask him: is the Hotel Shinagu far from the station? (This is the only hotel run on half-European lines.) But he doesn’t understand. I take out the address, which I’ve brought written out in Japanese, just in case. My neighbour brightens up and says it is very close, that he is going there himself, and offers to accompany me. The train comes to a stop. There are quite a lot of people at the station; everyone is huddled up from the cold – not surprisingly given their light clothes. I have a thick woollen overcoat, but I feel a fur coat would be more appropriate to the weather. I go out. I have no luggage apart from a light hand-bag since it was all sent by steamer from the hotel in Yokohama direct to Kobe. My Japanese companion is waiting for me. He explains that a conveyance will be unnecessary as the hotel is only two steps away. The hotel was indeed very close, but, my God, what a hotel! An ordinary

Cherevkova: On the Japanese railways 165 middle-ranking Japanese tea-house with sliding walls opening on to the street and gloomily lit by a dim lamp. We are surrounded by a crowd of musumes (Japanese maidservants) who say something I cannot understand. Finally I guess that they are proposing I should go upstairs. A ray of hope strikes me – perhaps there I shall find a warm room and something to eat, all the more since I am not alone and my seven-year-old son is even more in need of warmth and rest than I am. The upper storey, however, was no better than the lower, and I was horrified to think that we would have to spend the whole night there. I began to wonder where I had ended up. My Japanese companion had disappeared, and I started to repeat once more the name of the hotel that was written down. The landlady shakes her head and says ‘Arimasen’, that is ‘No’. I realised that my acquaintance had simply wanted to do his friends a favour by bringing them an extra guest. My position was sad enough. A fair crowd of idlers has gathered. We do not understand each other. The wind is howling dolefully. Outside the ground is wet and dirty. It is nine o’clock in the evening, and it is cold, so cold that we are completely numb. Hunger is also making itself felt. Then a guardian angel unexpectedly appears in the shape of a policeman. I addressed him in English, but by his uncomprehending smile realised that in this backwater English had not yet acquired citizenship rights. (However, even in the treaty ports there are few policemen who understand this universal language.) Then I brought out my talisman, the Japanese address of the hotel. The policeman immediately brightened up, and from his decisive look I realised that salvation was near. My imagination conjured up a blazing hearth, hot tea, and as the crown of it all a good dinner and a warm bed . . . Indeed, a rickshaw very quickly appeared from somewhere; the policeman, like a true gentleman, helped us into it and himself walked alongside. Behind him followed another policeman. On the way we found another conveyance which I offered to my saviour, and we set off together. The famous hotel to which my former travelling companion had taken me turned out to have been on the outskirts of the town. Passing by the dimly lit backstreets of the district, we found ourselves on the most attractive street of the town, Honcho-dori, a wide avenue planted with magnificent trees, with numerous shops and theatres. All these buildings were lit up with a thousand lights – kerosene lamps, candles and lanterns. The sky was completely clear of clouds and a full moon lit up the town. A piercing wind was howling, but the Japanese, paying no attention to the cold, sat unconcernedly round their hibachi [braziers] in their wide-open shops or lounged in half-open tea-houses and restaurants. Leaving Honcho, we wandered through various alleys and finally stopped outside a building. We had arrived. In front of us were dark Japanese structures and smoking kerosene lamps, all open to the street, and it was cold, unbearably cold. The policeman takes me upstairs triumphantly. We stop in a narrow, low, half-lit corridor. A Japanese appears, evidently the owner. I pronounce the words ‘Shinagu Hotel’. The owner nods his head affirmatively. But where are the European or half-European rooms? Where is the fireplace, the warmth? Where can we get warm? Will there finally be someone who can

166 Cherevkova: On the Japanese railways speak a European language? There is no one. My supply of Japanese words was at that time too small to help me in my distress. But then the owner pronounces some words from which I understand that there is ‘one Europe gentleman’4 staying here who speaks Japanese. I ask that he be called. The gentleman appears and explains that this really is the hotel where Europeans stay when in Nagoya, but that I have been taken to the Japanese, not the European, half of the establishment. At the end of all these adventures I am given a room with a huge bed and clean linen, a small table and a washstand. The sliding screens were open and the outside cold entered freely through the corridor. My dreams of a fireplace remained dreams. I had to be content with a hibachi. Half an hour later I was called to dinner. In the dining room there was a real table, chairs, a clean tablecloth, European place settings, and – imagine my amazement – electric light.5 Over the table hung three Edison bulbs in pretty shades throwing a soft light over us. Of course electric light is a marvellous thing, but at that moment I would have preferred a blazing fire, or better still a simple Russian stove, and the simplest ordinary lamp. The dinner was tolerable and, more importantly, hot. My new acquaintance, whom at first I thought a rather suspicious character, turned out to be a professor of German literature at Tokyo University. The professor was very glad when his question, do I speak German (‘because Russian ladies speak all languages’), was answered in the affirmative. English was immediately abandoned and the Japanese dining room lit by American lamps was filled with German speech. Warmed up by our dinner, we talked for a long while about Japanese affairs, the life of Europeans in the capital, their particular circles, etc. The professor was taking advantage of a two-week Christmas holiday to see the south of the island and its remarkable temples. This chance acquaintance told me many interesting things about Tokyo and the New Japan, the character of the country’s student youth, and the local German-speaking study circle, which has over thirty members and meets once a month to hear lectures on various topics in Japanese history, culture, art, etc. But the most interesting thing for me personally was that my companion spoke excellent Japanese and asked me to accompany him around the town and its sights. It was no treat, however, to sleep in that cold room! But tiredness, of course, had its effect. The next day I inspected the hotel, which was like similar institutions of its kind in other Japanese towns: a row of empty bedrooms quite tolerably furnished, a large dining room and a sitting room with a round table and illustrated books, in a word everything necessary, in the understanding of the owner, to the comfort of his European guests. In the summer, probably, it is quite all right here, but now a horrific cold reigned throughout the building, and when it is cold even the most comfortable surroundings lose their charm. Immediately after a light breakfast we set out to look around Nagoya. At the present time Nagoya is merely the chief town of Aichi province, with around 130,000 inhabitants. In the past it was the seat of one of the three main noble families, relatives of the ruling dynasty. Nagoya is situated on a level plain stretching around Owari Bay. The mountains are away in the distance and around the town there is a

Cherevkova: On the Japanese railways 167 vast open expanse. The main streets are wide and straight. Everything is astonishingly clean. Although by its population Nagoya belongs among the largest Japanese towns, the streets are not very busy and in general it gives the impression of a quiet provincial backwater. The most outstanding sight of Nagoya is its castle. This has been preserved as it was built in 1610 by the Shogun Ieyasu for his son, who became the ancestor of the Princes of Owari.6 Our rickshaws set off in the direction of the castle of their own accord without waiting for instructions, but to get there we had to travel through a significant portion of the town, since the castle stands on the very edge of the northern part of Nagoya. The castle is a solid fortress built on the pattern of the Osaka and Tokyo strongholds. The citadel is preserved in its original form: huge moats filled with water, gigantic stone ramparts with white towers at the corners and, in the centre of all these moats and ramparts, a five-storey pagoda-like citadel, painted white, with dozens of extra gables beside the five main roofs, covered with black tiles. On the top of the tower are two golden dolphins under iron nets. They are supposed to have cost 180,000 yen. From the top of the tower there is a panoramic view over the town, the bay and innumerable neighbouring fields and villages. In the distance mountains can be seen, notably Ibuki-yama, all covered now in snow. At the foot of this mountain the decisive battle took place which marked the beginnings of the glory and power of the Tokugawa clan.7 The Nakasendo, or mountain state highway from Tokyo to Kyoto, passes through these mountains. (The Tokaido also goes between these two cities, but along the coast.) Inside, the castle presents a series of empty halls, half-dark because of the shuttered windows, and divided up by hundreds of wooden pillars. A whole army could be accommodated comfortably in these halls. I started to count the number of rooms on one floor, but soon lost my bearings in this wooden labyrinth. It felt eerie somehow in these huge, empty, half-lit halls, where so recently life had bubbled, and where now it seemed as if melancholy shades of the past peered from every corner. The present mikado used to stop here when he was in Nagoya. There is another series of empty halls on the ground floor. These were the princes’ reception rooms. The ceiling is carved, the work of the famous Hidari Jingoro;8 the walls are painted by the no less famous Kano with various winter landscapes, which are unusual in Japan because of their unexpected contrasts.9 The next hall has life-sized depictions of flowering apricots, cherries and plums. The trees are so pretty, so alive, that it seems only their scent is missing for the achievement of total reality. Here is another room. On the pale gold background of the walls is a series of landscapes, and on the ceiling are life-sized peacocks painted in their natural colours, etc., etc. A whole picture gallery opens out before us. But how empty and cold it is in this castle. How uncomfortable on a cold winter’s day like today! The castle is surrounded by some quite attractive buildings. These are various local official institutions – the boys’ grammar school, the girls’ college, the post and telegraph offices. Also here are the governor’s residence, offices, and the white building of the soldiers’ barracks. After the castle, we went to

168 Cherevkova: On the Japanese railways look at the temples, of which Nagoya has a great many. The most remarkable of them is Higashi Honganji on the southern side of the town. Its gates, covered in superb haut-relief carvings and decorations of bronze, are extremely majestic. And inside, this temple is very beautiful, although apart from its great size it has no specific attractions. In another temple, Eikokuji, situated next to Higashi Honganji, we were shown the memorial stone which marks the spot where 1000 Japanese Christians were executed during the persecutions of the seventeenth century. In the same temple can be seen a stone with a huge imprint of the Buddha’s foot. After lunch I said goodbye to my chance companion and the same day set off further towards Kyoto. We travel through an expanse of water-covered fields. Nagoya remains visible for a long time: the high roofs of its temples, the five-storey pagoda and white mass of the castle with its golden dolphins towering proudly over everything. We cross the Kizagawa River on a huge iron bridge. This bridge is very beautiful. The region is monotonous, flat, boring. Near Jifu [Gifu], mountains appear to the left of the track. We pass very close to Ibuki-yama, a now extinct volcano. It is on this mountain, according to the Japanese, that the entrance to hell is situated. Ogaki station is an attractive white building with pretty wooden columns. Around it are flower beds and a thick pine forest. On all sides there are high mountains. How pleasant it must be here in summer! The forest continues all the way to Tarui. Snow-covered Ibuki-yama seems only a stone’s throw away. I can’t take my eyes away from the carriage window. There are tall mountains to right and left. Their slopes are covered with tea plantations, alternating with orchards. In front is a wide plain. This place is so marvellously pretty that it defies description. The train speeds across the plain through tea plantations and rice fields. The mountain ridges that surround us now come close to the track and now keep their distance. Woods give way to fields, mingling with them in picturesque disorder. On both sides the mountains and hills are admirably cultivated with tea plantations and huge orchards. We begin to descend, and come down to Nagaoka, and from there climb smoothly up a narrow valley between two mountain ranges to Maibara. In places the mountains are covered in snow, under which can be seen the thick dark green of pines, cypresses and camellias. The land is high all the way to Otsu. The train flies through rice and tea fields surrounded by rows of fruit trees. In places reservoirs can be seen with narrow canals fanning out from them like mirrored ribbons and losing themselves in the distance. At around eleven o’clock in the evening we arrived in Kobe. Departing on excellent terms with my travelling companions I headed for my steamer, where a warm cabin and all the other delights of European comfort were awaiting me.

Cherevkova: On the Japanese railways 169

Notes 1 Source: A. A. Cherevkova, ‘Po zheleznym dorogam Iaponii’, in A. Kruber et al. (eds), Aziia: illiustrirovannyi geograficheskii sbornik, Moscow: Knizhnoe delo, 1900, pp. 18–26. 2 The 1891 edition of Murray’s handbook to Japan confirms that second-class accommodation was more interesting than first, but notes: ‘ladies are advised to travel 1st class, as smoking is general, and the ways of the Japanese lower middle class with regard to clothing, the management of children, and other matters, are not altogether as our ways’ (Basil Hall Chamberlain and W. B. Mason, A Handbook for Travellers in Japan, 3rd edn, London: John Murray, 1891, p. 11). 3 Cherevkova’s memory appears to be at fault: the water opposite Hamana Lagoon is open sea. 4 In English in the original. 5 Electric light was invented in the United States by Thomas Edison in 1879. 6 Nagoya Castle was the residence of Tokugawa Ieyasu’s ninth son, Yoshinao, whose descendants retained it until 1868. The main part of the castle was destroyed during the Second World War, but has since been reconstructed. 7 The Battle of Sekigahara in 1600, in which Tokugawa Ieyasu defeated forces under Ishida Mitsunari to achieve control over the whole of Japan. 8 Hidari Jingoro: pseudonym of Itami Toshihatsu (fl. late 16th–early 17th century), carpenter and sculptor, who trained at the imperial court in Kyoto, and is credited with many famous works from early in the seventeenth century. 9 Kano Tan’yu (Morinobu) (1602–74): the most prominent of the Kano school painters, also responsible for large-scale commissions at Edo and Osaka castles and Nijo Castle in Kyoto.

9

Andrei Krasnov Around the islands of the Far East (Nagasaki, 1892)

Andrei Nikolaevich Krasnov (1862–1914), a professor at Kharkov University, travelled to Japan, China and Java in 1892 in order to study the natural history and botany of the region. Arriving in Nagasaki on 11 May, he was able to travel extensively around Kyushu, partly on a British passport borrowed to evade Japanese restrictions on the movement of foreigners. Krasnov also later visited Kobe, Osaka, Kyoto and Nara. As well as a detailed scientific study of his visit, he prepared a volume of general impressions of his journey, from which the extract below is taken. Krasnov’s keen observation of the plant life of Nagasaki is matched by his evocative description of the Russian ‘colony’ at Inosa.1

Yet I cannot leave Nagasaki, reader, without saying a few brief words about the poor fishing village of Inosa, situated opposite the town on the other side of the bay. Inosa is familiar to all Russian sailors without exception, although foreigners perhaps know little about it. It is one of the few remote overseas ports where the Russian sailor feels at home. When he stops over at different harbours on a long voyage he generally finds foreign and unsympathetic English customs, a cold English routine and unfamiliar interiors and cooking, and he cannot help feeling uncomfortable. The customs of a new country, the natural need to maintain Russian honour among the cold and stand-offish English, constrain him and render his stay in these places unpleasant. It is not like this at Inosa. The ship has not had time to cast anchor before boatmen christened Vaska and Vanka, well known to those on board, have appeared alongside offering their services in broken Russian. You go on shore, and without a word being spoken you are taken to Omatu-san’s or Omatse’s brightly lit glass verandah, where you see a long table, probably a few naval caps and the Russian interior you have not seen for a long time. On the wall hangs a picture of the tsarevich and under it in an elegant frame is a notice to the effect that His Royal Highness favoured this hotel with a visit during his journey around Japan.2 The photographs of Russian ships and the rules of the Kronstadt Club in the billiards room testify that you are in a Russian institution, and when you are served the long-missed Russian caviar, smoked

Krasnov: Around the islands of the Far East 171 sturgeon, cheese, Popov’s vodka and other things that go to make up Russian zakuski, and when a Japanese woman speaking faultless Russian brings you excellent borshch, or cabbage soup, or other Russian dishes which are never found abroad, you forget that you are on a voyage and start to think you have already returned to your homeland. Omatu-san’s house is a meeting-place for the officers of ships cast up in Japan. Here newly arrived officers find that their colleagues from ships which have been in Japan for some time are fully, if temporarily, married men, living in pretty little wooden houses in the neighbourhood. You are in a RussoJapanese colony in a corner of the world whose manners and customs you will hardly meet with anywhere else. After a long voyage, battles with storms and bad weather, and the tedious monotony of the boundless ocean, you move into a cottage surrounded by the charms of southern nature. The luxuriant, fiery red pomegranate, aromatic white gardenias and magnolias flower in turn in front of the balcony of your house. Your eyes are caressed by the outlines of palms, bananas and other southern trees which evoke the tropics, and in the background, framed by the green mountains, are the waters of the bay, always animated, always scattered with numerous merchant steamers, frigates, corvettes and gun-boats. If you decide to leave your cottage and walk along the streets of the village, you will meet everywhere the politely smiling faces of the Japanese, who will greet you in a kind and friendly manner. Climbing up the hill, you will find Russian signs on the buildings, like ‘Hotel Inosa’ or ‘Kronstadt Tavern’ or ‘Inoye’s Store’. Climbing upwards and looking down a picturesque valley, you will see a picturesquely laid-out cemetery under a canopy of whimsically spreading Chinese pines, and above it a small Buddhist temple. The cemetery is very neatly kept and has rather an attractive appearance. Rows of stone pillars, covered with Chinese hieroglyphs, are surrounded by a fence. In front of each of them are stone vessels of water containing the evergreen branches of camellias and the massed purple flowers of the azalea. A Russian Christian cemetery has been peacefully established in the midst of this Buddhist city of the dead. I must admit it is a very pretty spot. Although our cemetery is looked after by a Buddhist priest, he fulfils his duties conscientiously, and the cemetery is cleaner and tidier than many in Russia. Large sago-palms, those emblems of immortality whose fronds in Russia are an item of luxury and adorn only the graves of the rich, here reach the height of a tree and give the shelter of their glossy dark-green plumes to the headstones of seamen, stokers, officers and other Russian sailors whom death has caught far away from home. Tall pines, camellias and other evergreen trees surround this small city of the dead with their dark, never-fading greenery, and from here there are marvellous views from all sides on to the town, the bay and the surrounding hills and valleys. But the views are even more striking, even more charming, if you climb up the mountain past the cemetery. Here you find a narrow path leading through almost impenetrable thickets, entwined all over with the shoots of climbing

172 Krasnov: Around the islands of the Far East plants and consisting of clumps of plants two or three times the height of a man and with glossy leathery leaves. We are used to seeing these shrubs in orangeries or on summer balconies, but never in the woods, certainly not in scarcely penetrable thickets. Sometimes the path leads you into a forest of high-trunked evergreen trees. Darkness reigns in their shade. You cannot see the usual flowers; the earth is bare. But whenever there is a rocky outcrop the rock is covered either with ivy or a mass of other ivy-like evergreen creeping plants, clinging to the rock face and turning it into a whole world of leaves. No fewer than seven or eight different sorts of fern jostle each other on these cliffs, adorning the dark surface of the rock with their different shaped delicate feathery leaves. Particularly fine are the outcrops a little further up in the shade of the pines. These are covered with a cushion of a variety of Saginella which in damp weather opens up into a rosette of tender moss-like green the size of a plate, and which rolls up into a small ball as soon as the air becomes drier. It can be kept for weeks in this dried-out state and will flower again when thrown into a glass of water. From these cliffs, framed by the branches of the pines, spectacular panoramas open out on to the roadstead, the lower-lying valleys with their miniature huts and their tiny velvet-green fields or little streams twisting among the crags, and covered with lovely bushes. Here and there at your feet

Figure 9.1 Nagasaki harbour. Source: Alcock, Capital of the Tycoon, p. 73.

Krasnov: Around the islands of the Far East 173 are bright azaleas covered with red flowers; here in their wild state they are even richer in flowers, even brighter than those in the windows of the European shops. Large tropical butterflies flit about them and only the song of birds would be needed to turn this wild place, where man is neither seen nor heard, into a paradise on earth. Higher up, the mountains of Inosa are bare. Past a strip of wild chestnut forest you come to a jungle of small wild bamboo, a little taller than our rushes, and almost impenetrable. If, however, you persist through this grove, you come to a summit covered in greensward, and on the right is the boundless smooth surface of the sea, on the left the long bay of Nagasaki stretching out like the palm of your hand. In a word, every five or ten paces of your walk through this jungle and overgrown forest you are rewarded with a spectacular view or an unprecedented picture of nature. Trips by boat along the coast are no less interesting and picturesque. And in the dark of night when you are returning weary home [to your ship], and the familiar figure of the boatman who has waited for you at the jetty sculls his boat rhythmically with the oar at the stern, and you cut across the quiet waters of the bay – even then, rays of phosphorescent light stretch out behind you from the oars and the prow of the boat and give your journey something of a fantastical character. Generally the resident of Inosa does not return home to an empty room – which like a hotel would remind him of his loneliness and the fate which has cast him away at the edge of the world far from his friends and relations. Usually a ‘wife’ is waiting for him, who will to the best of her ability ask him in Russian where he has been and what he has seen, pour his tea, and if he is hungry cook him one of his favourite Russian or native dishes on a small clay brazier conveniently placed on the table. Not so long ago in the age of sail, when our ships did not winter in Vladivostok, but came instead to the Nagaski roadstead, a very large number of Russians spent many months, sometimes the entire year, at Inosa. Temporary marriages were contracted, which at that time really had the character of marriages. The Japanese woman, whose position in the family is not, generally speaking, an enviable one, often received from her new companion far more attention and kindness than did her friends who married Japanese. Like the Russians, the Japanese people have a responsive and affectionate nature, which enables them to understand the feelings and griefs of others, and to attach themselves spiritually to someone in whom they have seen goodness. Japanese women, in addition, have received an upbringing, characteristic of the peoples of Far East Asia, which requires gentle and polite treatment. I cannot say that from our point of view these little Japanese women are particularly beautiful, but many of them had personalities which made their temporary husbands love them, and they loved their husbands still more in return. When a corvette or a frigate departed there were touching scenes of farewell; the abandoned wives would go out in boats to see off their husbands and would for a long time wave handkerchiefs after the departing ship. Quite often, returning from a voyage, a sailor would seek out his wife – providing that in the meantime she had not

174 Krasnov: Around the islands of the Far East managed to contract a real marriage with a Japanese and become the mother of a family, since the Japanese, naturally not those of the higher classes, have no objection to these marriages with divorcees. Now that steamships have become more and more common, the customs of Inosa are changing in many ways for the worse. The stopovers have become shorter, and with them so have the marriages. Feelings have been replaced by simple calculation and the Japanese marriage is becoming more and more like simple prostitution with all its consequences, including syphilis. But even now marriages are still found; even now, however short the honeymoon, the wife remains faithful to her husband while it lasts, lives with him in his house, tries to engage him in conversations, assures him that she is very bored during his absences, and weeps tears at their final farewell, although of course all this is puppet theatre, and an hour later, if another frigate comes in, she will, joking and laughing, start to seek out a new bridegroom. In view of the degeneration of marriages with foreigners into a form of commonplace depravity, the Empress of Japan is undertaking measures to eradicate them completely.3 They have been stopped now almost everywhere, and if by tradition they are still possible at Inosa, it is only because of the more humane attitude of the Russians to their wives, and the greater sympathy in general of the Japanese towards the Russians.* We will speak further of this below. Inosa has been and remains in a unique position. Foreigners are not allowed here. The Russians alone are masters, and a European can only be admitted into the village of Inosa if he is accompanied by Russians. It is exceedingly strange to see in Inosa this combination of the life and customs of the Japanese and Russians, which are so different and even diametrically opposed to one another. Europeans, too big for these Japanese toy houses, just cannot get on with having to sit on the soft mats on the floor, taking their boots off before entering and drinking Japanese tea. And so for their use furniture appears: tables and chairs; the mats on the floor get dirty; a Russian samovar is brought in; the little Japanese teapots are replaced; plates, knives and forks arrive. But all these things are so large for these toy houses that the newlyweds’ apartment looks like a crowded Petersburg holiday cottage. And in this Russian setting it is somehow strange to see gracious, elegantly dressed Japanese women with their elaborate hairstyles and silk bows at their backs, just as if they had walked in from those lively drawings we had seen earlier in Japanese albums. It is somehow strange to sit on a chair in a room whose oil-paper screens are open wide on to a little balcony and to contemplate palms and camellias in a European-style garden against the background of the sparkling waters of the bay, with its scurrying boats and its swarms of completely naked fishermen. Is this a dream or reality? But an invitation to a cup of tea from your kinsmen convinces you it is the latter.

*

Now even the name of marriage has been abolished and generally the paper sent to the village chief certifies that such and such a new arrival has taken a room with servant.

Krasnov: Around the islands of the Far East 175 Pierre Loti has described this sort of European–Japanese family in some detail in his Madame de Chrysanthème.4 There is much truth in this novel and I recommend it to the reader who wishes to become better acquainted with it.

Notes 1 Source: A. N. Krasnov, Po ostrovam dalekogo vostoka: putevye ocherki, St Petersburg: Nedelia, 1895, pp. 64–71. 2 The future Tsar Nicholas II made a tour of Japan in 1891. 3 The empress was patron of numerous social welfare organisations in the years following the Meiji Restoration. 4 Pierre Loti’s novel Madame Chrysanthème (Paris, 1887) was extremely influential in Russia as elsewhere in Europe; see Introduction, pp. 25–6.

10 Nikolai Garin-Mikhailovskii Around Korea, Manchuria and the Liaodong Peninsula (Nagasaki, Yokohama, 1898)

The writer Nikolai Georg’evich Garin-Mikhailovskii (1852–1906) is best known for his literary treatment of controversial social issues and his championship of political reform. In July 1898 he began a journey around the world, which took him across Siberia and to Korea and Manchuria as part of an academic expedition. After briefly visiting Japan, Garin-Mikhailovskii continued across the Pacific to Hawai’i and the United States, before returning across Europe to St Petersburg. His account of his short time in Japan is notable, in the context of its time, for its reflexivity and its sensitivity to the aspirations of ordinary Japanese. Garin-Mikhailovskii had originally trained as a railway engineer, and his appreciation of Japanese achievements in this area is also evident in the extract below.1

11 November Today we arrive in Nagasaki Bay. The sea is deep blue and calm; the sun welcomes us with its rays; a lazy breeze brushes our faces on its way to the tall hills along the shoreline, which are sleeping in the sun, some bare and grey, others green with vegetation. There is Papenberg, a rocky mound at the entrance of the bay, from which forty years ago the Japanese threw ten thousand Europeans and their baptised countrymen into the sea. Many eye-witnesses are still alive today and are among the crowds standing and watching us from the shore.2 Here on the bay and on the slopes of the green hill and right at the top where a temple stands there are pretty little houses that look like toys, Japanese houses with wide awnings – this is Nagasaki. It is warm and quiet, and coming towards us across the emerald surface of the bay are boats with canopies against the rain. In them the Japanese rowers are often naked, either with shorn heads or with their intricate national hairstyles. Naked as they approach, they quickly put on robes and call out in welcome to the passengers, waving their hands energetically. Now we are on the shore and I greedily breathe in the soft warm air, enjoying the voluptuousness of the golden autumn sun of this southern land. I

Garin-Mikhailovskii: Around Korea, Manchuria, etc. 177 feel I have seen it all before – these mountains, the town among them, this clear sunny day with its autumn colours, the yellow and red leaves shining transparently in the sun. All around are signs of a hot, dry and dusty summer just past. I have also seen this crowd before: some in Japanese robes, others in European suits, or in a mixture of the two, some with shaved heads, others with their hair dressed, some with uncovered heads, others in bowler hats, but wearing robes over their bare bodies. Some have sandals on their feet, or wooden pattens which clatter noisily on the pavements; others are in boots. Familiar too are these female figures and hairstyles, the robes with wide belts and a huge bow behind. Their dark faces and slit eyes are welcoming, but somehow inexpressive. We climb up to the higher part of the town until we reach the very top: before us is a broad staircase of several flights leading to a temple. This too is familiar. But perhaps when I saw it before it was night, and the blue evening was filled with bright lights from the portico-like houses of this toy city. The lights were reflected in the bay and shimmered there as a boat sailed past, furrowing the surface of the water . . . Pierre Loti! Chrysanthemum! That venerable little old Japanese man in his robe and topknot, who squats and bows and shows his teeth – surely that is Chrysanthemum’s respected parent.3 And here she is herself, serving us coffee in the temple at the top of the mountain. And it is a long time before I can shake off the impressions produced in my mind by Loti, and I still think these are not people, but figures, figurines of yellow ivory borrowed from the shelves of art galleries, models of people and their houses, the image of that sugary, pink-tinted reality so often found in elegant albums of Japanese colour photography. But reading Loti, who would have thought that so soon the Japanese people would experience a war with China that would straight away promote Japan into the ranks of the civilised nations? A war which showed everybody Japan’s real position in regard to technology and political development.4 Reading Loti, who would imagine the superhuman energy with which this nation, in the trifling period of thirty years, has caught up with and overtaken so many nations whose civilisation has taken centuries to develop! Yet when Pierre Loti was writing his Chrysanthemum, this whole process, unprecedented in world history, was already fully under way . . . But the French ‘Immortal’ noticed none of this, or rather didn’t allow himself to notice or acknowledge it.5 But our Goncharov felt it when the Japanese were harnessing all their energy to throw not just ten thousand, but all the Europeans, if possible, from the cliffs of Papenberg. Be this as it may, I will try to avoid involuntary preconceptions and instead look for direct experience. Here is a Japanese street, and I am much struck by the bustle and purpose of the Japanese crowd. While one thinks of the Koreans and the Chinese as existing in a state of rest, the Japanese is always tensely mobile: if he goes somewhere, he goes in a convulsive haste; if he takes you in his hand carriage,6 he strains every nerve to get you to your destination as quickly as possible.

178 Garin-Mikhailovskii: Around Korea, Manchuria, etc. Even in the mass the Japanese crowd preserves its individual peculiarities. Its nervous trembling figures recall the cinematograph, or a mob breaking out of a madhouse and robbing someone who falls in its path. Here are the signs of the robbery: someone has grabbed a hat, another has pinched a jacket; no one is inhibited – dressed, half-dressed, completely naked with just a robe thrown on – what difference does it make? It’s as if they are insane . . . or as if these are people taken up by something so big that the question of dress is a triviality not worth talking about. Look into these tense, dry, excited faces. How infinitely far away this is from the calm repose of that Orient which we have left behind! You want to ask, what is biting them? It reminds me of the 1860s in Russia, also a period of great enthusiasm and progress. But in Russia it was only the tiny educated part of the population that acted, while here, in this Japanese crowd, it is the whole people unconsciously rushing to throw off the routine which has bound it up to now.7 We happen to have come up to a funeral, and our Japanese guide says to me: ‘The dead are cremated in Japan now.’ ‘Is it long since cremation was introduced?’ ‘Not more than five years.’ ‘And everybody accepted it straight away?’ ‘Yes. Except those who haven’t got the 30 dollars, but the police organise cremations for them.’ I was impressed by this clear new proof of Japanese adaptability, the rejection of all routine. In St Petersburg, where because of the marshy soil this question is much more pressing than in Japan, there was a few years ago some discussion in the press about cremation, but it came to nothing. And of course it will be decades before even our educated people will request their descendants to cremate their bodies. But here in just five years the whole nation as one has been able to understand the advantages. We are in an art shop. There are beautiful art objects of tortoise-shell, ivory and cloisonné. Take, for example, this old man in ivory. He has a book on his knees; on one side there is a child as bald as the old man, stretching out his hand. The old man has torn himself away from his book and is looking over the top of it, over his spectacles, at the child. How much thought, power and feeling there is in the superb execution of these figures! ‘No. You should look at these two cloisonné vases.’ In front of us are two enamelled metal vases, almost as tall as a person, and with a shiny patterned surface. This is not enamel, but a special kind of work with wire. You need to be a very great expert, however, to tell the difference. ‘These vases cost me 900 roubles, but now you couldn’t get them for 2000. No one could do the work now. It could be done when the Japanese went around naked and ate food from the sea – then they needed nothing and no one gave them anything. Then a kopeck a day was a fortune, but now they have different wages and different needs. That is why the quality of Japanese crafts has fallen. They are still cheap, but conscientious workmanship has disappeared.’

Garin-Mikhailovskii: Around Korea, Manchuria, etc. 179 ‘Well’, I say, ‘I have often heard from enemies of the Japanese nation that the Japanese have no creative strength, that they are only capable of imitation, like monkeys, but your shop is full of excellent original Japanese work.’ ‘But what can you expect?’ says the shopkeeper. ‘They speak out of envy. They are talking of a pupil who began studying only yesterday. Thirty years – what is that in the life of a nation? No, I fear something else for Japan. The great powers have already shared the world out among themselves like bandits, and although Japan is now arming herself, it is only England who profits by it. They will take endless amounts of money from the English without thinking about it: for a fleet, for the latest technology, for electricity. When they borrow, the Japanese do not reflect for long, but when they are up to their necks in debt to the English, their fate will be no better than that of Egypt.’8 On the steamer we found several new passengers. One of them was Russian, the representative of a large trading house. This person’s name is B. In spite of his youth he already has a small bald patch and wears spectacles. He does not look Russian. He has a thin face with fine features and a close-cropped beard. He has good manners and is sure of himself. He knows how to throw off the business manner and when he does he wants to look like someone who doesn’t give a damn, bright, cheerful and even a playboy. At first impression he was even vulgar. Hearing us speaking Russian he called out: ‘Ah, Russians!’ He came up to us, introduced himself and shook hands. ‘What a pity I had so little time in Nagasaki. But still, I managed to get to know a Japanese lady whose husband had gone away somewhere on business. You’ll have noticed that Japanese women are all very cold, but this one was an exception. Delightful . . .’ He kissed the ends of his fingers and then continued on a different topic. ‘Do you know why the Japanese are so thin and nervous? They are very fond of hot baths – they sit in them for hours every day. They drink coffee there and read the newspapers and receive visitors.’ Remembering something else, he exclaimed: ‘And how the Japanese hate us Russians!’ He whistled, sat down and opened his beautiful brown young eyes very wide. We laughed and he went on: ‘Have you visited the tea houses? No? You haven’t seen the jon-kina? Oh, it’s a dance, danced by young Japanese women. It starts with everybody having to follow the movements of the first dancer, and if anyone makes a mistake there’s a fine. They take off a ribbon, a bow, further and further until they’ve taken off everything . . . And they’re all so . . . The music gets faster and faster, jon-kina, jon-kina!’ And the young commercial gentleman in his checked English suit and silk hat pushed back on his head enthusiastically dances the jon-kina on the deck. While he is doing this a lady who sits at our table happens to come round the corner. At this point he rushes off at top speed to the smoking room, and when

180 Garin-Mikhailovskii: Around Korea, Manchuria, etc. the lady has gone past, he returns and says cheerfully and excitedly: ‘Tell me, who was that lady? Is she travelling on our steamer? Damn it!’ And he twists his moustache. ‘She has a husband’, I say. ‘Young or old?’ ‘Not so young.’ ‘I’ll see him off!’ ‘He’s worth a hundred million’, says V. I.9 ‘A hundred million? Damn it! That’s not good, because I . . .’ He takes his money from his pocket and says: ‘I’ve got 200 dollars. Will that get me to San Francisco?’ ‘You’re already on the way.’ ‘Gentlemen, stop me please. My position is a bit difficult. I’m engaged, you see. The wedding is in a month.’ But half an hour later he is arranging for V. I. to show him all the interesting parts of Yokohama. ‘What about your fiancée?’ ‘What has his fiancée got to do with anything?’ says V. I., tugging at his handsome soft moustache with both hands. ‘Here in the East it’s better not to use words like that – fiancée, wife – if they still have any flavour for some people. It’s all so simple here . . . And anyone who has lived in the East loses his taste for all that. Here women have no value and no interest. A week or two, no more.’ And turning to B., he says, with the condescension of a Mephistopheles: ‘Come on, let’s go, young man. I’ll show you everything.’ ‘Of course, let’s go’, B. replies eagerly. ‘What more is to be said? But still, tell me, gentlemen, what does one wear to dinner here, tails or dinner jackets?’ The evening has taken possession of bay and shore. The mountains seem to have grown higher, and there, at an unattainable height, the lights of the city are burning like huge bright stars. Their bright, colourful profusion lights up the toy town and casts the water of the bay into darkness. It is as if our steamer has vanished and the only thing visible is the distant edge of a deep blue abyss. The night is warm and soft like somewhere in Italy, but there are no Italian songs, no songs at all. 12–14 November Today we are sailing along the Japanese archipelago. It reminds me a little of travelling in the Adriatic – the same airy blue sea, the same craggy grey islands, sleeping in just the same way in the clear gold air. The colours of the sea and the sky and the horizon are just as delicate. Here perhaps there is something even more delicate in the truly pinkish hue of the air. The steamer emits a steady hum, but everything else, the sails on the boats and the distant houses on the shore, everything is locked in the drowsiness and languor of a beautiful day, and you feel you are asleep and seeing this beautiful idyll in a dream. The sea stretches out before you like a blue sheet. The mountains of

Garin-Mikhailovskii: Around Korea, Manchuria, etc. 181 Japan have risen to the sky and frozen there in motionless beauty. A soft warm breeze caresses your face and touches your hair – and then it is still, and again the sun floods the deck with its warm rays. B. is in a bad mood today. He complains that there are no interesting women on board, and says that even our companion has nothing really interesting about her. Perhaps he is a little cross that she did not nod to him at breakfast. She nods to all the rest of us and we half rise and bow politely. It is the custom both here and in America, and only after this nod from a lady does a gentleman have the right to take off his hat and greet her. V. I. comforts B. ‘Well, never mind, she’ll nod to you too tomorrow.’ But B. is thoroughly offended. 14–18 November This morning we woke up in Yokohama. A large bay with a horizon not blocked by mountains. The mountains are off in the distance, and the highest of all is the volcano Fuji-yama, silhouetted motionless in its white clothing against the light blue sky.

Figure 10.1 Fujisan. Source: Bird, Unbeaten Tracks, p. 2.

182 Garin-Mikhailovskii: Around Korea, Manchuria, etc. The town stretches out along the valley and the first buildings hide those that are behind. Boats and launches already crowd around our steamer. We are moving for three days into the town. Because there is a customs house in Yokohama, when we reach the shore we and our luggage are taken to the attractive pointed customs building. A very polite, tiny, embarrassed Japanese in European dress asks us some questions and, without looking at our suitcases, lets us through. We are happy, our rickshaw drivers are happy, and the Japanese official is also happy. We drive along a splendid embankment, meeting numerous carriages equipped like those in Shanghai, only here the drivers are not Chinese, but Japanese. And here is our hotel, a flimsy light-grey, two-storey building with green blinds. An affable, efficient Japanese servant quickly takes our things and as we go tells us the price of the rooms, and here we are on the first floor in a pretty, comfortable room with fireplace for 2 dollars a day. B., who has changed his mind about following V. I. on his adventures, shares my room, and V. I. installs himself completely apart. 18 November10 It is December by the new calendar and the most stormy time of year in the Pacific, but in the wide Yokohama Bay, protected by the barrier, it is still calm and quiet. The masts and funnels of our huge steamer still reach up motionlessly to the sky. The many other steamers which fill the bay are just as motionless. There are English and American ships, but more Japanese vessels, both warships and merchantmen. Only the boats and launches disturb the peace of the bay as they ply incessantly between the steamers and the quay. The clear morning is reflected in the surface of the water, so are the town and the mountains, still green even in December. Only far in the distance, on the very horizon, through the opaline mist, you can just see the huge truncated cone of the volcano, covered in milky snow. Our three days in Yokohama and Tokyo have flown past and I am sitting on the deck again sifting through my complex impressions. I have seen Japan, the land of chrysanthemums, the land of tortoise-shell work, of ivory statues, cloisonné vases and colour photographs, the land of toy-like wooden houses. I have travelled on their railways, just as toy-like (cheap, narrow-gauge), but with which they achieve great things. From the carriage window I saw their farms and toy-like fields, and was impressed by the level of cultivation. There is not a scrap of land, apart from the mountain crags, which is not worked over. And all along the route, as far as the eye can see, little two-storey houses with fantastical Chinese roofs peak out coquettishly behind the palms and the lush green of the orange and lemon trees. Close up, however, the illusion is shattered. Because of the constant

Garin-Mikhailovskii: Around Korea, Manchuria, etc. 183 earthquakes the houses are built very flimsily, almost from orange boxes, but from a distance they look attractive. And to do justice to the Japanese, they have a sense of style not inferior to that of the French. Look at the coloured photographs that they take at the moment the peach tree flowers. The very air looks pink. Or all those pretty, striking knick-knacks: fans, tortoise-shell and ivory objects, silks and silk embroidery. Electric lighting, excellent paved roads, the fine commercial and military port, the many factory chimneys standing out on the horizon. Compared with the Koreans, hopelessly entangled by government surveillance and the burden of the past, compared even with the vigorous but equally trammelled Chinese, the Japanese are a force bursting out towards freedom, impressive for their determination, energy and vision. At the same time there is something about them which is not exactly repellent, but which one has to get used to. The thin, emaciated, dark-yellow appearance, the open mouth and projecting teeth, the pulled-back skin of the face which raises the corners of the eyes and makes the cheek bones stand out prominently on the flat face – all this together makes the Japanese face strikingly similar to that fine specimen of an orang-utan which I saw in the zoological gardens in Tokyo – the same small, wrinkled forehead, the same coarse, thick hair flopping over the scalp. Compared with the dark, icon-like figure of the Korean, or with the rich and varied types of Chinese beauty, the Japanese is a poor remnant, a degenerate among his brothers. Moreover, there is something cold, if not malevolent, in his unlovely face, something mysterious and even frightening. You can believe it when they say: ‘Fear the Japanese, do not trust the deep bow, the smile, the lisping and sucking in of breath, the rubbing together of his hands. He would smile as he stuck a dagger into you, and go on lisping and smiling just the same.’ I close my eyes and I see a Yokohama street at night, just like the street in Shanghai, just the same night, blue and clear from the lamplight. But the Japanese street is calm, still and silent. Rows of brightly lit wooden cages stretch along both sides. In each of these cages white-faced Japanese women in national costume sit at tables in silent, motionless rows. The only difference is in the colours of their dress: in this cage the costumes are red, in the next blue, in the next black. They are as still as statues. For whom are these bodies displayed in these cages from the age of Nero? Who are they all waiting for in the dead silence of this empty street? And you are possessed by an eerie feeling of melancholy as you hurry through this endless, terrifying street. It looks like the entrance to hell. Yes, this is hell and there is a cold Mephistophelian calculation about it. In Shanghai the open cynicism is disgusting, but there is an element of recklessness, of daring, and above all life. The good-natured fat face of the Chinaman looks at you eagerly and carelessly, like a child who doesn’t understand what he is doing. In Yokohama there is no life. There is no wrinkled

184 Garin-Mikhailovskii: Around Korea, Manchuria, etc. Japanese face in this street, no closely shaved old satyr. He has set a trap, and himself gone away like Mephistopheles, equally indifferent to the poisoned bait which he has set and to its victims. And a terrible thought comes into my head: perhaps this orang-utan of an old man, who thirty-six years ago threw the Europeans into the water from the Tarpeian cliff,11 and who now appears fully armed with technological progress, wearing a robe over his naked body and a bowler hat – perhaps actually this barbarian-satyr, trading with his women, is laughing at everything and everyone just as much now as he was before. And I can’t help remembering all the other unfavourable judgements that have been made about the Japanese: they are secretive, indifferent, hypocritical, grasping. Yet how difficult it is for me, only glimpsing this country, to check on these reports. Here is a crowd, in the way it is dressed a really strange crowd, a hurried, pulsating crowd. The face of an old man, indifferent, wrinkled, unpleasantlooking, makes a clear impression, but you continue to look – and next to this face you see the calm, self-satisfied face of a working man. The rickshaw puller who carried me with such zeal and is now wiping the sweat from his face – five, at most ten years, and even the strongest men of this trade die of consumption – this man’s face shows no anger. He has struggled to earn his daily piece of bread with pieces of his life and his face breathes the peace and nobility of the knowingly doomed. Here at the telegraph window a Japanese official peers out like a small insect and pedantically counts the words of my telegram, carefully recounting each word several times, corrects himself, notes down your address in case of a reply, both your present address and the address of your next stop. I thank him and say there is no need for him to do this, but he insists, saying it is better to be safe. And thanks to this I receive a belated, but very important telegram. I was not even able to thank the messenger for this kindness as I was already back on board the steamer when I received it. Would you be treated so efficiently and politely at a Russian telegraph office? Would a Russian telegraph agent take your interests closer to heart than you yourself? I remember the kindness of the administration of the zoological gardens, when we arrived out of hours, and we only had to mention that we were tourists for one of the managers to take us around personally. And we were not just tourists, but tourists from Russia, a country towards which the Japanese cannot entertain any good feelings. Here is another fact. Visiting a Japanese bookshop, I took an interest in some English works on distinctive Japanese paper with fine Japanese illustrations. I wanted to find out their cost, where they were published, whether it would be possible to publish Russian works in the same way. I was given an answer by one of the chrysanthemums, so at least she seemed from her outward appearance. In excellent English this little insect-chrysanthemum, in

Garin-Mikhailovskii: Around Korea, Manchuria, etc. 185 her national dress and hairstyle, gave me such intelligent and detailed answers, pointing with her tiny finger at the book, as I would never have received in a Russian bookshop. I listened to her and thought: they say that Japanese women are mercenary. But why, for example, would a girl like this sell her body when she already has a trade that will feed her? And of course her profession keeps her more certainly from the flesh trade than any of those Russian young ladies, whose only vocation is to preserve themselves in a state of complacent vegetation by means of lawful marriage. The girl in the bookshop talks, and the more I listen to her and the more I look at her, the more I am impressed by her complete dignity of manner, her enthusiasm for my project of publishing a book in Japan. She is talking from pure patriotism, and like any altruistic feeling, which is always higher than a purely personal feeling, this further ennobles her and is far from giving her the impression of a chrysanthemum. I also saw young Japanese women in European dress, modest and cultured in the company of similar young men – just like students in Russia. Finally, I visited factories and railway workshops, and was convinced as a specialist of the striking dedication and original talent of Japanese technicians and workmen. How efficiently they have approached their whole railway industry and set it on a commercial footing. With no offence to our engineertechnicians, I can say with a clear conscience that compared with the Japanese we are poorly trained and lacking in imagination. And it is not just our technicians, but all those cowardly and downtrodden students we still have who see their salvation only in sticking closely to the dross of routine, which only complicates business and makes it more expensive. In this matter so close to my heart, the progress and imagination of the Japanese are particularly evident, and although I envy them from the bottom of my heart, yet I also acknowledge their full superiority over us, consoling myself with the thought that in this at least I do not wish to resemble those Russians who, with the offensive assurance of ignorance, haughtily disparage anyone who is alien to them. We are already weighing anchor. The boats, launches and well-wishers are already down below, while we passengers, huddled at the rail, look down on them. Our giant, among so many other giants, slowly turns and makes for the heads. Now we are passing the giant four-funnel Russian battleship Rossiya. Her fearful guns are hidden, just like all the other horrors of destruction concealed in her mysterious depths: shells, powder, dynamite. One such monster is enough to reduce this whole flourishing, peaceful corner of the earth to ruins. But at the same time one small trivial torpedoboat is enough to destroy the monster. And as if in answer to my thought, four Japanese torpedo-boats head towards the Russian cruiser, remain for a moment alongside her and disappear again into the bay. God forbid either one thing or the other.

186 Garin-Mikhailovskii: Around Korea, Manchuria, etc. We are already at full steam. The whole of the azure sea is filled with white sails. These boats belong to the fishermen. Naked they catch their fish; on shore each of them has sown a strip of rice, and this satisfies their simple needs. All their lives they will work like this and when they die they will be cremated in this country of misty mountain panoramas and of blue unruffled sea with its sleepy white sails. Everything here breathes languor, reverie and tenderness. You feel in fine spirits, and from the bottom of your heart you send this industrious people and these marvellous shores a last farewell. Farewell Japan, for me you will soon become again a distant and strange land, but your beautiful memory, the memory of your mighty, fairy-tale awakening and rebirth, will be one of the best memories of my life. It will be a powerful newly acquired source of faith in the wonder of the world.

Notes 1 Source: N. G. Garin-Mikhailovskii, Po Koree, Man’chzhurii i liaodan’skomu poluostrovu, in his Sobranie sochinenii v piati tomakh, Moscow: Gos. izd-vo khudozh. lit-ry, 1958, vol. 5, pp. 377–90. 2 See Chapter 7 (Zarubin), note 2. Garin-Mikhailovskii’s assertion that the supposed massacre occurred in the mid-nineteenth century is clearly in error. 3 The reference is to Pierre Loti’s influential novel Madame Chysanthème (Paris, 1887); see Introduction, pp. 25–6. 4 Many contemporary observers were surprised that Japan had succeeded in modernising so rapidly that it was able to defeat China in the Sino-Japanese War of 1894–5. 5 ‘Immortal’: member of the Académie Française. 6 I.e., rickshaw. 7 The early 1860s in Russia under Alexander II were a period of major social and political change, seeing the emancipation of the serfs in 1861 and reforms to local government, the judiciary and the army. 8 Egypt had been occupied and governed by the British since 1882 to protect European interests in the Suez Canal. Japan had raised £1 million in London in 1870 and a further £2.4 million in 1873. Both of these loans were liquidated by 1897. A third loan, of £10 million, was taken out in 1899. 9 V. I. is identified earlier in Garin-Mikhailovskii’s narrative (p. 370) as a director of the Russian-Chinese Bank, transferring from Port Arthur to Yokohama. 10 Apparently a mistake for 19 November (19 November old style was 1 December new style). 11 The allusion is to the Tarpeian Rock in Rome, from which in ancient times criminals were hurled to their deaths, and to the legend of the massacre of Christians at Papenberg (see Chapter 7 (Zarubin), note 2 and note 2 above).

11 Vladimir Semenov The price of blood (Kyoto, 1905)

Vladimir Ivanovich Semenov (1867–1910) was a naval officer attached to the staff of Admiral Rozhestvenskii during the RussoJapanese War. He sailed with the Second Pacific Squadron on Rozhestvenskii’s flagship, Suvorov, and participated in the Battle of Tsushima (28 May 1905). Semenov was wounded in the legs, and after the Russian surrender was taken by the Japanese first to Sasebo for treatment and convalescence, and later with the admiral and other staff officers to Kyoto. Semenov’s three volumes of memoirs are an important historical source on the Russian naval campaign and its aftermath. The extract below begins with his arrival at the quarantine station on Ninoshima Island off Shimonoseki en route to Kyoto, and provides a vivid picture of the lives of the Russian prisoners of war. Semenov eventually left Japan to return to Russia with Rozhestvenskii on 31 October 1905. Orthography and punctuation in this chapter follow those of the original English publication.1

Scarcely had we cast anchor, when the commandant of the island, with the medical officer of quarantine, came alongside. They at once entered into a lively altercation with our escort, Captain Kimura and Dr Tadzuki. From what they told me, it would appear that the colonel had demanded that we should undergo all the formalities of disinfection, vaccination, etc., just as if we had come fresh from the seat of war, although we had come direct from Sassebo, where we had spent three and a half months under constant medical supervision. It was with great difficulty that they persuaded him to give up his claim. When we learned later at Kioto, from the prisoners who had to go through this process, what it meant, we thanked heaven for having removed this cup from our lips. I will return to this subject in due course later on. It was no easy task to persuade the colonel to change his mind, as he would see nothing beyond his instructions. Poor Kimura perspired freely in the effort. We went ashore at 7 p.m. to a village composed only of wooden shanties, of which the two nearest the entrance were set apart for the Admiral and the three officers of his staff.

188 Semenov: The price of blood The Admiral’s bed was separated by a curtain from ours, which were close alongside each other and under one mosquito net. The furniture consisted of a small table, three stools, some bedsteads of rough woodwork, with a few crossbars and planks of timber which had scarcely been planed, and were covered with thin and much-worn mattresses. Sacks of sand served as bolsters, and there was no trace of any sheets. Three woollen coverlets completed the equipment, none of which was by any means fresh. Without uttering a word the Admiral gave one look of inspection, sat down by the door, and sank into a deep reverie. Kimura, who had followed us, appeared much put out, and began to pour forth excuses, consoling us by assurances that this state of things would only last one night. “Could we not, at any rate, have a pair of sheets for the Admiral,” said I. “Unfortunately, I am afraid, there are none here.” “Perhaps the Colonel has some.” A faint smile appeared on Kimura’s face. “I doubt if he even knows what they are. All the bona-fide officers have gone to the front, and only the leavings of the army are here. They know nothing of European customs. I will go, however, and see what I can do for you.” Finally they unearthed an almost clean cover, which they offered the Admiral as a sleeping bag. This was all the linen that Kimura and Tadzuki could find; and having done this, they hastened aboard again, after ironically wishing us a good night. Neither the Admiral nor we could sleep a wink. Our shanty, which was only some 20 or 30 feet from the beach, was close to certain primitive structures which I need not define, and as the wind shifted about midnight and blew off the sea, we were overwhelmed with foul smells in spite of closed windows. At early dawn, therefore, we were all up. A bucket of water was brought us for our ablutions, with a wooden slop-pail and a small zinc basin, which was so dirty that none of us would touch it. We preferred to go and wash by turns in the courtyard, using the slop-pail, which was relatively clean, as our basin. When the Colonel and the interpreter came to pay their respects to the Admiral and to ask if he was satisfied, Roje¯stvensky told them quite plainly, that in Russia pigs were better treated than we had been in Japan. The Colonel, in much confusion, blundering out excuses, abruptly departed, and we did not see him again till we were on the point of leaving. The interpreter did his utmost to explain to us that the poor man, who was a thorough Japanese, had endeavoured to treat us in a European manner, but that ignorance of our customs had frustrated his efforts. It is true that in hospital our food was not of an appetising kind, but it was sufficient in quantity, and if it was not always well dished-up, it was at any rate eatable: here everything was different. There were no table-cloths or napkins, the knives and spoons were dirty, and the prongs of the forks were filled up with various kinds of leavings. These, however, could be cleaned at a pinch, but not so the plates on which our

Semenov: The price of blood 189 portions were served. Judging by the repulsive appearance of the edges of them, we had reasonable cause for serious misgivings as to the middle of them. The bill of fare consisted of a sort of broth made of oats and sugar and flavoured with curry. We realised that we had no choice but to be content with tea and dry bread, when to our delight a refreshment seller appeared on the scene, and from him we were able to purchase some American canned food, such as ham and bacon and a preparation called pâté de gibier, as well as some Californian fruit: this was washed down with some café au lait. At midday another meal was offered us, consisting of greasy water claiming to be called broth, and a dirty yellow omelette redolent of onions. Three-quarters of an hour later we were still seated at table, when the shanty began to move with a grating noise, and all the plates and dishes were set dancing. This was an earthquake, which lasted ten seconds. Three minutes afterwards there was another and less severe shock, which lasted five seconds. At four o’clock the table was again laid – if I may use the expression – and the oat and sugar broth reappeared, followed by a liquid in which small pieces of bacon and meat were floating. Even the least fastidious among us turned away from this preparation with disgust. When we asked the interpreter why this meal was taking place so early, he told us that we were going away, that there would be no means of getting dinner en route, and that we should have to wait till the following morning for our next feed. In vain did we appeal to the refreshment seller; his stock was sold out, and there was not time for him to go to the town and get a fresh supply for so large a body of customers as we were. Besides the Admiral and three staff officers, there were five junior officers, two petty officers, and one cadet. However, there was a rosy side to all these hardships. When, during the last days in hospital, and even more on the steamer, when in familiar surroundings and good company, we had time to reflect on the past and think about the future. Then the misery of it all overwhelmed us, and we had moments of such despair, that a very little more would have made us throw ourselves into the sea. When I look back on the state of my feelings on board that steamer, I must own that if anything had gone wrong – if we had struck a floating mine, or had a collision – I would not have lifted a finger to save myself, so utter was my depression. Death would have been welcome, and I desired nothing more. Now we had other distractions: we had to pull ourselves together to avoid dying of hunger – we had to make a pillow out of a tunic rolled up in a napkin, to clean our own plates, knives, and forks, and such-like. These sordid cares left us no time to brood over our miserable reflections. There! they are calling us – we must be off. At 4.30 p.m. we left the quarantine station in a harbour tug, and half-an-hour later we were at the little town of Odzena. The Admiral and two of the midshipmen, whose wounds were not yet ˘ healed, went to the station in jinrikishas [rickshaws], the rest of us walked. Although there were many people in the streets, no one took the least notice

190 Semenov: The price of blood of us. I do not know whether this was in obedience to orders, or was due to familiarity with such a sight, as more than ten thousand prisoners had already passed through Odzena. There was no escort: the interpreter marched at the head of the party with a very young official, then came the Admiral’s “rickshaw,” and the notorious Colonel, who had no doubt reported to the authorities the snub he had received in the morning, and had already received instructions accordingly. In Japan, affairs of this sort are no joking matter. He kept at a respectful distance from the Admiral, and never took his eye off him, so anxious was he to anticipate his least wish. He lighted a match the instant he saw him take out his cigarette case; rushed forward with a chair if he saw him leaning on a railing on the platform; and kept asking him if he would like some tea, sodawater, beer, etc.; but as he did all this, his face became purple with confusion, or anger at the part which he was compelled to play. The train was late, and we did not start till 5.40. Our carriage was not very comfortable; it consisted of two compartments, a first and second class, with a lavatory between. In the first class were three cushioned seats divided into three places each, two running the length of the carriage, and one across. The Admiral, the three staff officers, the interpreter, and the escort took possession of this. In the second class there were only two seats with eight places in each, running the length of the carriage; in this, were the eight other members of the detachment and the civil interpreter. They were very closely packed, but consoled themselves with the belief that the journey would not last long, and that at Hiroshima, where we were to leave the branch line and join the main line, a more comfortable carriage would be provided. But the interpreter soon disposed of this hope, by telling us that there would be no change till we reached Kioto. At 6.15 we arrived in the station at Hiroshima, where the commanding officer, his Aide-de-camp, and the Deputy-Governor (the Governor himself was at Tokio), with his Chief Secretary, met us in full uniform. After an interminable amount of shunting, our carriage was detached and joined on to the Kioto train, when the Admiral was saluted by Lt.-General Manabe, Commander-in-Chief at Hiroshima, and all his staff. Of middle height, thick set, and with an intelligent and well-bred face, he had more the appearance of a Provençal than of a Jap. He had a dignified air and the manners of a European. Round his neck hung the Order of the Hawk (which is equivalent to our St George’s Cross). On his breast he wore the Order of the Rising Sun on the right side, and of St Stanislas with crossed swords on the left.2 Accustomed as I was to Japanese customs, I was much puzzled to understand how it was that a general with all these decorations was not at the front. Lieutenant Martini, the French naval attaché, explained to me afterwards that there was a woman in the question, as generally is the case. In Japan the women’s patriotic associations have much influence, and ladies of fashion are not above taking the lead in them. They occupy a place something between the Soeurs de Charité, who live in the hospital, and our

Semenov: The price of blood 191 lady patronesses who condescend, like the sun, to make occasional appearances there, as sufficient to ensure the welfare of the “poor devils.”3 The Japanese women attend the sick themselves, take an interest in them, and devote all their time to them. During the Boxer War, when the General was winning his laurels under the walls of Pekin, his wife, while engaged in her usual works of charity, won the hearts of the sick and wounded French committed to her care, and was in consequence awarded a medal. Unfortunately the French representative was guilty of a serious blunder in giving a medal to Mme. Manabe, who was an ordinary member of the staff, and nothing to the lady president, who like a thorough Jap was mortally offended; so the lady president, who happened to be the wife of the General in command, resolved to take a notable revenge. When General Manabe, covered with well-earned decorations, returned home, he found a party of officials examining, under a search warrant, the walls, and turning over everything in his house and garden. The General had casually mentioned in his report that he had heard that General Manabe, who was in charge of the Chinese Palace, had seized the opportunity of carrying off all the most valuable objects, and hiding them in his house. In a matter of this kind the Japanese will not stand any joking, for they consider that the national honour is at stake. It is a matter for real regret that all European nations do not share their point of view. Martini did not know the actual result of their investigations. Be that as it may, the Star of the General waned from that day, so that he was not even chosen to take part in the war against us. I beg the reader to excuse this short digression, and now return to my journal. Before the Admiral had time to get out of the carriage – even before the train had stopped – the General jumped in. After the members of the two staffs had been introduced to each other, and a few civil commonplace expressions spoken concerning the uncertainties of war, and the victors of one day becoming the vanquished of the next, we all sat down round a table, and tea was served in European fashion. At this juncture a little comedy, which had evidently been rehearsed, began to be played. Manabe asked the Admiral whether he had been comfortable at Hiroshima, and if he had any complaints to make. In reply, he very quietly, but also very definitely, gave him his candid opinion; whereupon the General, with an air of astonishment and vexation, severely blew up the Colonel, who stood at attention, hand to cap all the time, as red as a lobster, and streaming with perspiration. When this was over, he became profuse in his apologies, throwing all the blame on the hospital authorities at Sassebo, who had turned out the wounded with unaccountable haste, and without giving any notice. But for this, he would have considered it his duty to go in person to Hiroshima and place himself at the disposal of his honoured visitors. “What a clever liar he is,” said I to myself when this incident was over. The conversation was carried on for some minutes in a genial and informal manner. The General declared, with much iteration, that the Order of St Stanislas was

192 Semenov: The price of blood the decoration which he prized most highly. Only four of them had been awarded to Japanese after the war in China, and as the Marquis Yamada was dead, there were only three holders left, of whom he was the youngest.4 After much saluting, the train started again at 7 p.m. Two hours later we began to feel the pangs of hunger. I found it necessary to draw up my knees in to my stomach to suppress the pangs of famine, and there was not the slightest sign of a refreshment-room at any of the stations. At last, at 10 p.m., we stopped, and I saw for the first time some of the members of the local ladies’ patriotic society, for we were travelling in a hospital train full of sick and wounded. I wish that some of our Russian lady patronesses could have been there; they would have seen and learned some very interesting things. With much rustling of their silk kimonos and clattering of their “gata” [geta], or high wooden sandals, these ladies set to work, quickly, but without any fuss, to visit all the carriages, and to hand round cakes and tea, saluting and smiling all the time. They were not above washing up the cups and saucers and running to fetch boiling water, etc. When we examined our allowance of provisions, we found it somewhat scanty. It consisted of a tiny box of ham, six pieces of bread, and half a pound of chocolate. The Admiral urged us to be patient, and to make the best of what we could get; but there was so little conviction in his tone, that we knew that he was as famished as we were; we decided to eat half our bread and the ham, and to keep the rest to eat with the chocolate later on. As there were in the box five very minute slices of ham, we each had one and a quarter, but we most imprudently ate all our bread, trusting to getting some boiled rice when the time came to eat the chocolate. We had to sit bolt upright all the night, as there was not room for us to lie down side by side on the seats. In the evening we had implored the Admiral to occupy one of them for himself, but he steadfastly refused, and we knew him too well to imagine that he would ever go back on his word. The moonlight was magnificent, and the country through which we passed was of singular beauty, but nobody paid any attention to them. Clouds of a peculiar kind of mosquito, which flies close to the surface of the ground, bit our ankles and stung us through our socks. One of our party declared that he could hear them sucking and smacking their lips. After midnight reinforcements came, but these were of another species; they were very small, and only went for the exposed parts of one’s face, neck, and hands. It was like being tickled with stinging nettles. There is a French proverb, that he who sleeps dines, but as we had not a wink of sleep, we began, about 4 a.m., to feel the acute pangs of hunger. Even the Admiral, being unable to bear it any longer, awakened our escort, and called upon them to tell him at once when and where we could get breakfast. The Colonel explained through the interpreter, that a European breakfast would be ready for us at Simedzi [Himeji], where we were due at 11 a.m. The Admiral was much annoyed.

Semenov: The price of blood 193 “Since we left the steamer you have given us nothing to eat, for I prefer to say nothing about the pig’s food provided at the quarantine station. You will, please, telegraph at once to the next station to have five hard-boiled eggs ready, each, for twelve persons, with some bread and tea.” We thought the Colonel would have had a fit. He protested that the breakfast was to be a European one, and that as his superior officers had arranged the route and the hours of the meals, he could not make any change. The Admiral would not listen to him, but stuffing some Japanese banknotes into his hands, he shouted: “Quick, quick; I tell you to send off a telegram before the train starts.” This all occurred at a small side-station. “Your Excellency,” pleaded the interpreter, “he can do nothing, and cannot accept the money without Government authority.” “Cannot! what do you mean?” and the banknotes, rolled up into a ball, flew out of the window. The interpreter hurried at top speed to pick them up. At 6 a.m., at Okayama, an agreeable surprise awaited us; all that the Admiral had ordered was there in readiness. When we caught sight of a large basket full of eggs, and a still larger one of bread, jokes began to fly all round. There seemed to be enough to victual a whole battalion; this, however, did not prevent the baskets from being emptied as if by magic a few moments later. Their contents had been washed down by cups of tea, which, in spite of the early hour, the good ladies had brought us. We would have been content with green Japanese tea, but they had had the consideration to prepare for us Chinese tea, in European cups, with saucers and even spoons. The president, an elderly lady, did the honours to perfection. Hunger gave way to good humour and yawning, and as the mosquitoes had disappeared in the daylight, each of us curled himself up in his corner and went to sleep. At 11 we reached Simedzi, where we were in expectation of the famous European breakfast which the Colonel had dinned into our ears, but which, as it turned out, had nothing European about it save the knives and forks. At each place was a little box of white wood containing a minute slice of fried meat, rolled up in a bit of bread, three others of smoked tongue, and a tiny potato – all cold. The ladies (always these admirable ladies) poured out for us some sodawater and beer in addition to the tea. When this so-called “square meal” was over, the Admiral took the matter into his own hands, and without consulting the Colonel, he slipped some money into the interpreter’s hand, and told him to telegraph to Kobe, ordering them to have twelve good beefsteaks, with potatoes, ready for us on our arrival. With much trepidation the interpreter referred the matter to the Colonel, who merely shrugged his shoulders, as though to say, “so be it – I can only be hanged once for a double offence.” At 1.20 we found ourselves seated like true sybarites round a table covered with a spotless tablecloth, and with napkins on our knees. The consequence was that when we arrived at Osaka well fortified with this extra meal, we

194 Semenov: The price of blood treated the Japanese food, which under the guise of a “European meal” had been provided for us there, with some indifference. So we sat down at table merely as a matter of politeness. From a newspaper which we bought here, we learned that on the very night when we left Sassebo a fire broke out on the Mikasa, and that this fine cruiser had been blown up and sunk. The Admiral at once sent a telegram of sympathy to Admiral Togo.5 We reached the station at Kioto at 5.40 without any fresh adventures, and were met on the platform by the commanding officer, Major-General Okama, a major who is inspector of war prisoners, and the lieutenant in charge of the temple set apart for the Admiral’s residence, as well as by an interpreter. Several of our comrades who had gone ahead were also there. The Colonel, who had accompanied us, took his leave, and he did so with an air of delight which seemed genuine. We got into a carriage, not a jinrik
˘sha this time, and the Admiral and the senior officers proceeded to the temple of Chidsiaken, the others went to that of Honkokudsi [Honkokuji]. *** September 1. – For the Admiral and his Staff there has been reserved a separate house, or, to be more exact, an annex of the temple, to which it is connected by an arched wooden bridge built over the narrow branch of a pond, laid out in the shape of a U. As a rule, this pavilion, which is fitted up altogether in Japanese style, is kept for travellers of distinction who visit the city. It is divided into two: in the first part, there are three rooms, or rather one room which can be partitioned off into three by means of movable screens, which are easily folded to admit of their being taken away altogether if desired. This room constitutes the Admiral’s quarters. The remainder of the accommodation is separated from it by a broad corridor, on to which two rooms destined for his suite, another room for servants, and a storeroom, open. I was told off to lodge in one of these rooms, in which there were already two other men who had arrived before us, whom I hardly knew, and for whose society I did not care particularly. Fortunately, however, the Admiral whom nothing escaped, at once noticed my annoyance and invited me to take up my quarters in his third room. I protested feebly, but, as I have related before of the incident of the sleeping accommodation in the railway carriage, I knew that it was useless to argue with him. “This room is yours; it is no good its staying empty, and whether you live in it or not, I am not going to make any further use of it.” All this happened yesterday evening. The Admiral was given a plain iron bedstead with a mattress and two pillows, while the rest of us were given wooden couches, like those in the Ninoshima Quarantine Station, with the pleasing addition of a hard straw mattress and a bolster filled with sand! As I had not closed my eyes for two nights, I slept like a log. When I woke up in the morning, I had the greatest difficulty in the world to recollect what had

Semenov: The price of blood 195 happened to me and where I was. At 9 a.m. General Okama and his Chief-ofStaff arrived. The details of this visit, which I noted down on the spot, were highly characteristic of the behaviour of the Jap when he tries to play the European! All the newcomers, from the Admiral down to the most junior midshipman, were invited to make their way to a hall, in the centre of which was a table surrounded by chairs. When all were assembled, the door opened, and Okama, still followed by his aides-de-camp, appeared in the doorway, and began, by way of welcome, to address us through his interpreter as follows:– “It is in my capacity of Military Commandant in charge of the prisoners of war that I am here to-day.” Then he took a paper which had been respectfully handed to him, and began to read us a lecture in Japanese, stopping from time to time and remaining quite still at the end, while the interpreter translated it into Russian for us. “I, Major-General Okama Masansero, Commander of the Garrison of Fushimi, address you, Gentlemen, Naval Officers recently arrived, as prisoners of war under guard of the garrison which has been placed under my command. You left your country last year and accomplished a long voyage in the face of countless storms: you have endured privations and misfortunes and have undergone trials of all kinds. You have nobly fulfilled your duty to your country. Right up to the time when unkindly Fate, falling upon you, caused you to be taken prisoners, you remained resolute and unmoved, and fought with patriotic energy and courage, to which I cannot but do homage. That is why, considering your present situation, I express my condolences and heartfelt sympathy with you in your misfortunes.” Up to this point the speech was suitable enough and even courteous. If certain phrases seemed to us a little odd and some of the expressions slightly awkward, we put it down to the desire of the interpreter to translate word for word. Then we came to business – 1. “During the period of your captivity you must observe strictly all the regulations and conditions laid down by the Imperial Japanese Government, and under no circumstances must you deviate from or transgress them. The maintenance of military discipline and good order is absolutely indispensable for soldiers and sailors, and you are well aware that it is the same in all countries of the world. I desire, therefore, Gentlemen, that you will attach special importance to keeping the laws of this discipline. 2. “The orders of the Commandant, transmitted through his officials, must be carried out to the letter, as coming from the supreme Japanese Authorities. 3. “During your stay here you must remain on the most friendly terms with each other, and above all you must abstain from all intemperance, for exemplary behaviour, in raising the dignity of the soldier, causes him to deserve well of his country. For the present, it only remains for you to wait patiently for the signature of peace.

196 Semenov: The price of blood 4. “It is in my official capacity as your Commandant that, at our first interview, I feel myself obliged to speak these words of admonition.” During this lecture I looked at the Admiral furtively. He was standing with his hands behind his back and his eyes cast down as if listening attentively, and it was only his habitual nervous twitching of the jaw, close to the ear, so well known to us, which betrayed his inner feelings. If addressed to young middies, these “words of admonition” on good behaviour, might not have been altogether misplaced. But senior officers, with hair already turning grey, and above all an A.D.C. to the Emperor and Vice-Admiral Commander-in-Chief, did not feel altogether at their ease when thus receiving, standing, side by side with midshipmen, the admonitions of a Major-General who was recommending them to abstain from all intemperance! I should have liked to believe that the Japanese only countenanced such ceremonies as these, owing to sheer artlessness or because they did not really know the rules of politeness and decorum commonly used in Europe; but I found it very hard to be convinced that it was so. To the Japanese, above all people, this part of European civilisation ought to be most intelligible and most congenial, because, of all countries in the world, it is in theirs that the spirit of etiquette has been best kept; that is to say, the outward forms of the relations, one with another, which should be kept even among members of the same family. It was obvious to us that Okama was delighting in the task with which he was charged. The interpreter having finished the lecture, Okama, with a solemn inclination of his head, invited us to sit down. When we were seated, he took his place in his chair; then, still by means of the interpreter, he embarked on the following conversation: – The Interpreter. – “The General wishes to express once more the deep respect he holds for your great services and your personal courage. He hopes that the doctors here will prove to be not inferior to those at Sassebo, and that the serious wound on your head will soon be completely healed up, especially as the climate here is better than at Sassebo.” The Admiral. – “Tell the General that I thank him.” The Interpreter. – “The General is much troubled about the condition of your wounds, especially as your arrival, of which he had been notified long before, was postponed day after day; and so he is delighted to see you here at last.” The Admiral. – “Thank you.” The Interpreter. – “He regrets being unable to offer you here the comforts which are customary in Europe, but he will be glad to do anything he can to make up for the deficiency.” The Admiral. – “Thank you.” The Interpreter. – “He instructs me to ask whether you are tired after your voyage, and how you are feeling to-day.”

Semenov: The price of blood 197 The Admiral. – “Very well.” The Interpreter. – “He regrets that his military occupations do not permit him to continue this pleasant conversation, but he feels obliged to depart, and wishes you good-day.” The Admiral. – “Good-bye.” Soon after the departure of Okama, the Major who was accompanying him, came to offer us for signature, each individually, a declaration form to give us the right of moving about freely outside the temple from 8 a.m. till 6 p.m. The signer pledged himself not to try to escape, nor to send off letters or telegrams, nor to pass the prescribed limits, nor to enter into communication with other prisoners confined in the neighbourhood, nor to make his way into private houses, etc., etc. This curious document began thus: “I give my word of honour as a sailor and a Russian officer, that I pledge myself before Almighty God . . .” When the Major presented his paper to the Admiral, he (the Admiral) merely answered, “Quite unnecessary,” which was as brief as it was to the point, and turned his back and walked out of the room. Considering that the plenipotentiaries signed a treaty of peace a fortnight ago,6 and it only needs formal ratification, it would be equally stupid and useless to try and escape; but as the Japanese found this time appropriate for playing this farce with us, I determined, for my part, to pay them out. Therefore, with an appearance of great candour, I declared to the Major that I had not given my word of honour, but had been taken prisoner at a time when I was very seriously wounded, and so I was cherishing the firm hope of escaping on the first possible occasion. The Admiral’s Flag-Captain and A.D.C. who had come with him from Sassebo, followed my example, and, together with me, refused to sign. As a matter of fact, it caused me but little privation. During all my time on board the Suvo¯roff – that is from October 14, 1904, to May 27, 1905 – I only set foot on land on three occasions: once at Vigo, and twice at Nossi Bé, and then only on official business, and for an hour at most.7 Here, the temple and its magnificent garden are far more spacious than a man-of-war, so that not to go outside them is a matter of entire indifference to me, considering that thus I owe neither thanks nor gratitude to our conquerors. September 2. – All the rest of yesterday was spent in household cares and purchase of things which were absolutely necessary. There is in the temple a small cook-shop, whose owner, a Jap, speaks Russian pretty fluently, and is willing to undertake to see that the things which we order are sent us from the town – of course, after deducting a very large commission as his share in the transaction. The Admiral and his Staff (eight persons) are not the only inhabitants of the temple; there are, besides us, an officer of the Osslyabia, representatives from the Vladimir Monomach, the Sissoïet and the Ural, and finally twenty-three or twenty-four of those who surrendered with Nebogatoff’s division,8 and who make a clique apart and refuse to keep not only the military discipline which

198 Semenov: The price of blood Okama preached to us with such fervour, but even the most elementary rules of good behaviour. Sub-lieutenants of the Reserve and some young men who favour the modern “smartness” cultivated of late years in the Naval Training School, set the tone, and, although they certainly do not form the majority, are certainly the most conspicuous. The serious-minded and well-bred among us, who take account of past events and appreciate our present position in a more rational manner, do not put themselves to the front, and, above all, take good care not to brawl on all occasions. We have learned to-day what annoyances we were saved at Ninoshima by the energetic declarations of Dr Tadzuki, who, as Director of Sassebo Hospital, held himself guarantee for our not carrying with us the germs of any infectious disease, with the result that there was no pretext of keeping us in quarantine. The others were treated as follows. Directly they arrived, the members of each detachment were gathered together in a shed promiscuously, with no distinction of age or rank; then everyone had to strip entirely and put all his clothes into a canvas bag marked with a number which tallied with that on a copper ring which each man had to put on his finger. Whereupon, this troop of naked men was conducted to a neighbouring shed, where were large wooden tubs of water treated with antiseptic. There they were immersed, several at a time in the same bath, while the attendants watched to see that each man put his head well under the water, and deluged with buckets all those who resisted. When the bath was over, the whole crowd was sent into an adjoining hall to be vaccinated, and had to wait patiently until the lymph dried, after which they were allowed to exchange the ring for their clothes, which had in the meantime been disinfected. To finish up, they had to endure a fortnight’s confinement in the quarantine barracks. It is only fair to admit that the Japanese, who had no information as to the sanitary condition of their prisoners, had every right to try and prevent infectious diseases being brought into their country, but they might have enforced their sanitary measures in a more agreeable way. My informant laid special stress on the words, “They pushed us about and herded us like cattle,” and then he grew pale and blushed alternately at the remembrance of what he had undergone, for it was obvious to him that the conquerors could not resist the paltry satisfaction of treating Europeans in the same way as a native crowd just arrived from a country ravaged by plague. September 3. – I awoke this morning at daybreak, before 6 o’clock. The temple buildings, with their quaint roofs, trellised galleries, arched bridges, gardens, ponds, variegated foliage of the trees, and ornamental and artistically trimmed shrubs, blended together in a wonderfully attractive picture. From all around floated up sweet smells and freshness, which caused an extraordinary increase of courage and energy to spring up within me. I suppose that all who are recovering from serious illness experience this. I began to wander about the corridors, and saw there sights singularly out of keeping with these beautiful surroundings – groups of men, huddled round a

Semenov: The price of blood 199 table, who had evidently passed the night in playing cards; their faces were flushed, their eyes bloodshot, their voices hoarse – and I felt a wave of immense pity for them sweep over me, and passed on. What wonderful masters of the art of miniature these Japanese are! The more I walk about, and the more I explore the recesses of our enclosure, the more I admire the artist (for he is no mere gardener) who, in so small a space, has been able to create the impression of a large and ancient natural park, by making use of every knoll and every small fold of the ground. Here is a craggy slope, and reaching down from it what to all appearances are not steps built by the hand of man, but merely a passage hewn out of the piled-up rocks. Here is a path barely visible in the bushy grass; yet I only have to push aside a few branches to find myself on a trim lawn, in the middle of which stands a tiny moss-grown temple dedicated to some god or other. Here is a long, flat stone, which seems to have rolled down from the rock, and to have come to rest right across the stream, which connects the two branches of the pond, so as to make a bridge. Instinctively I cast my eye round to look for the place from which it has broken off. To think that all this is not the result of the caprice of nature, but of the well-planned work of human artists! September 4. – It is obvious that our refusal to pledge ourselves in any way, has caused the Japanese astonishment as well as some anxiety. The Major came to find the Admiral this morning, while a lieutenant came in to us to persuade us that, after so long a period in hospital, some distractions and walks were essential to us. This manoeuvre having failed, the lieutenant, who was not easily discouraged, came back in the evening to beg us to persuade the Admiral to sign the document, which, he said, was really nothing more than a mere formality. We only laughed. September 5. – Yesterday evening while we were having tea with the Admiral, the conversation turned on the difference which exists between real active service and the “red tape” conditions and regulations in vogue at our Naval School – conditions which are absolutely contrary to those presented by practical service. The Admiral grew hot over it, and told us that it is absolutely necessary to reform the service education of our officers and men from the very bottom, together with the organisation of our arsenals and the Admiralty. He added that we had always followed the wrong track, and had finished by falling asleep lulled by the song of “All Goes Well.” Our ignorance might perhaps serve us for an excuse for the past: if we had been culpable, we had at least been sincere, and people might forgive us at a pinch; but for the present, when the war has opened our eyes, if we persist in following the old road and not profiting by our bitter experience, we shall be committing an absolutely deliberate and wilful crime which will debar us from pleading any attenuating circumstances. I do not pledge myself that those were the exact words which the Admiral made use of, but I do declare that what I have just written contains the essence of his opinions. September 6. – The General Commanding the Division, Lieutenant-General

200 Semenov: The price of blood Ibaraki, has arrived at Osaka; he is coming to inspect, even more solemnly than Okama on the first day, the newly arrived prisoners. Everyone, from the Admiral down, was ordered to attend in the dining hall. At the last moment, however, there was a counter order, as the authorities were afraid lest the Admiral might refuse to leave his room. In any case, Ibaraki knows how to behave himself better than Okama. Directly he arrived at the temple he sent his A.D.C. to ask whether the Admiral would be willing to receive him, and on receiving an answer in the affirmative, he came hat in hand, as for a visit of courtesy. Moreover, his good manners won him a welcome during an audience which lasted for a quarter of an hour. When he left, the Admiral accompanied him as far as the door, and took leave of him in a most cordial way, whereas he had taken no more notice of Okama than if he had not existed. All the officers, gathered in the dining-room, were formally presented to the General, who did not make any tactless speech, but confined himself to expressing in a few simple words his deep sympathy and hope to see them soon at liberty. September 7. – For three days now we have had bad weather. Every morning our linen and our clothes are wet through and through. The food is more abominable than ever, but that is not the fault of the superintendent or of the cook, but of the system. I ask you – How, with a grant of only ls. 3d. a day per officer, could it be possible to give us three good meals – breakfast, lunch, and dinner, especially with the price of meat at 11d. per lb.? Each officer receives, besides his food, 6 roubles (12s.) a month, to keep his clothes and boots in repair, buy tobacco and soap, and meet various other trifling expenses. The upkeep of the rankand-file prisoners is estimated at 6d. a day, all told. Taking these statistics and the numbers of prisoners of war (admirals, senior and other officers, sailors and marines) published in the Japanese newspapers, it is not difficult for the numerous unemployed mathematicians whom we number among our ranks, to calculate what entertaining the prisoners of war will cost the Japanese, supposing our release to be complete in November. The results only differ because we cannot all agree as to the exact date of departure and the numbers of the detachments; but all the statistics approximate to £500,000 or £600,000, to which something might be added for transport, erection and upkeep of the huts, medical expenses, etc. Reckoning 100 roubles (£10) per head (an excessive estimate) for these supplementary expenses, we must add £700,000, and thus, after great thought, we arrive at a total, in round numbers, of £1,500,000, allowing, in addition to the above details, a good sum for unexpected expenditure. I wonder, therefore, why the Japanese exacted £20,000,000 on the above count, and I am absolutely convinced that their demand was only agreed to in order to mask a war indemnity, and it was that which humiliated me more than anything else.9 We cannot even make a pretence of appeasing our hunger with such meagre rations. Those who have availed themselves of the permission to go outside

Semenov: The price of blood 201 the temple grounds, go and have lunch every day at the Miako Hotel and take there one square meal, sufficient to last the whole day. Our position is less advantageous because only the Admiral, after much difficulty, has obtained permission to have his meals brought in from outside. The rule on this point is rigid, as the authorities are afraid lest we might manage to have secret communications from outside brought in to us in our provision baskets. We are able, however, to make some arrangement with our cook who, for a very moderate remuneration, is willing to eke out our daily fare a little; but he, unfortunately, very soon reaches the limit of his accomplishments, and can hardly get beyond beef-steaks and omelettes. Occasionally the canteen man gives us a ham or a case of preserves, and we have provided ourselves well with all the necessaries for making tea, coffee, or chocolate. I have been able to get hold of the Nippon Kai-tai-Kai-sen, the description of the battle of Tsushima, compiled from the reports of Togo, his subordinate admirals, officers in command of ships, and various other people who took part in the fight, and even of mere spectators. It makes two big volumes in Japanese, and I have begun to translate them to-day, which will help me to kill time. At the same time, I am giving a rub up to my Chinese characters; formerly I used to know 2500 of them, but want of practice has made me forget many of them; but now as I study them, they almost all come back to my memory quite easily. I must confess that there are but few students among those lodged in the temple; two or three officers, it is true, like playing the naval war game, but it is always the battle of Tsushima which provides the subject. They have tried every kind of combination, but the result is always the same – it is invariably the Russians who are beaten. On the other hand, the majority do absolutely nothing except loaf about the town all the day, or rather, bury themselves in refreshment bars, restaurants, and tea-houses. In the evening and at night they play cards, and it is very seldom that these parties end without scenes of drunkenness and quarrelling. September 8. – The rain has stopped, but the cold has come: in the mornings it is only 55° Fahr. and everything is drenched, because the mist is just as thick inside the room as outside. That is not astonishing, for, of the three partitions which separate me from the open air, one is of cardboard, and the other two of very thin and transparent oil-paper. September 9. – I got chilled in bed last night and have got a cold – also I am coughing like the d—, and have a sick headache into the bargain. September 10. – The French Vice-Consul at Kobe has been to see us. Why? We are lost in conjecture. Probably it is to discharge an unpleasant, but necessary duty, for he has been appointed intermediary between us and the Japanese authorities. After this he will able to say: “I have been to see them and get personal knowledge of their wants.” I tried to speak to him of the food which they are giving us, but he merely shrugged his shoulders and said: “That all comes of their being unable to understand your European tastes.”

202 Semenov: The price of blood Tanaka, who has just been appointed captain of a cruiser, came in this morning to enquire after the health of the Admiral, on behalf of the Minister of Marine and the Chief of the Naval Staff, and to bring him, in the name of the International Committee of “Red Cross” ladies, five boxes of Egyptian cigarettes and five cases of champagne, which the Admiral sent at once to our mess. I am very much taken with this Tanaka; he reminds me of my old friend Nomoto. September 11. – It is almost as if summer had returned, so beautiful and warm is the evening. September 12. – Nebogatoff had already paid two pretty long calls on the Admiral before to-day, but I had not met him. The Japanese Government, having been notified officially that he and the commanding officers of his division have had their commissions suspended, and are therefore no longer on the active list, has made haste to set them free, and they leave to-morrow. Nebogatoff came this morning to say good-bye, and by chance we met in the verandah, and he stopped me, and we talked for a while. I confess that my first opinion of him is a bit shaken, in spite of its having been so firmly rooted. I did not wish to speak to him of the surrender of the officers who had been placed under his command – it was too much of a burning question. What good would it do to open up old wounds? His position is not so very agreeable even without that. The circumstances certainly were desperate: the Japanese, who were masterly in their choice of range, kept about 6 ¼ to 6 ¾ miles away from him, and shot at his ships from this safe distance without running the slightest risk, owing to their superiority in speed and the longer range of their guns, just as if they were at target practice – and it is of this that we ought to be most ashamed of all. Nebogatoff assured me that he was making haste to get to Russia in order to demand to be put on trial. He wants all the world to know wherein his guilt really lies. As he was incapable of inflicting any injury whatever on the enemy, he might at least, some critics have said, have sunk his ships and tried to save the men in the boats; but as he was certain that 75 out of every 100 would certainly perish, he could not make up his mind to hoist a signal condemning to death 1500 of the young sailors who had been entrusted to his charge. “Yes, I had not the courage to do it, and to this alone I plead guilty. I am sure you will believe that it was not to save my own skin that I acted thus: I was the Admiral, and means would always have been found of saving me. Even if I had wanted to drown myself, they would have taken good care to fish me out by force; the Japs first of all, as I represented a trophy of war to them. Oh no! it was not for my sake, but for the men’s. My heart failed me – well, let them put me on trial!” That was, indeed, the only argument which could have justified him. It is quite clear that he had nothing to fear for his own life, and that it was not to save himself that he surrendered his ships.10 September 13. – Warm and wet.

Semenov: The price of blood 203 September 14. – This morning Monsieur Armand, the French Minister, and his naval attaché, Martini, arrived with Okama and the Major. As always, the Admiral ignored the existence of Okama, and explained the reason of his conduct to the Minister. He could not permit a mere major-general to preach him a sermon in public on military discipline and good behaviour. No! he could not forgive him for that. Armand invited us to dinner this evening at the Miako Hotel; he had also invited some Japs. September 15. – Nothing new. September 16. – At 10 o’clock this morning, there was a slight earthquake shock. September 17. – Cold and gloomy weather. September 18. – Same as yesterday.

Notes 1 Source: Vladimir Semenoff, The Price of Blood, trans. Leonard Lewery and F. R. Godfrey, London: John Murray, 1910, pp. 92–133. 2 Order of the Hawk (Order of the Golden Kite): a Japanese military decoration awarded for conspicuous service against a foreign country; St George’s Cross: a Russian military decoration awarded for outstanding bravery; Order of the Rising Sun: a Japanese decoration for meritorious service, awarded to both military personnel and civilians; Order of St Stanislas: a Russian civil decoration. 3 The Women’s Patriotic Associations (Aikoku Fujinkai) were established in 1901 to provide assistance to wounded and invalided soldiers, and to the families of soldiers killed in action. Its membership largely comprised upper-class women. 4 Russia and Japan had both collaborated in the multinational force sent to put down the Boxer Rebellion in China in 1900. 5 The Mikasa was Admiral Togo’s flagship at the Battle of Tsushima. She sank in early September 1905 (n.s.) following a magazine explosion on board. 6 The Treaty of Portsmouth which concluded the Russo-Japanese War was signed in New Hampshire on 23 August 1905 (5 September 1905 n.s.). 7 En route to the Far East the Second Pacific Squadron had called briefly at the Spanish port of Vigo, and for a longer period at the French island of Nossi-Bé off the north-west coast of Madagascar. 8 Rear-Admiral N. I. Nebogatov was the commander of a reinforcement squadron which caught up with Rozhestvenskii’s fleet at Camranh Bay in Indochina. Nebogatov assumed overall command when Rozhestvenskii was wounded at Tsushima and was the officer who ordered the Russian surrender. 9 Article XIII of the Treaty of Portsmouth provided for reimbursement of expenses incurred for the maintenance of prisoners-of-war. 10 On his return to Russia Nebogatov was court-martialled and sentenced to death, though this sentence was commuted and in the end he spent only a short period in prison.

12 E. Kobiakova My first day in Japan (Gifu, 1913)

In 1909, the Moscow-based Society for the Propagation of Technical Knowledge began to organise educational tours, principally within Europe. Anyone was eligible to participate, though primary school teachers and paramedical personnel received a discount on the tour price. In the first three years the society ran eighty-eight separate excursions for a total of 4029 people from all over the Russian empire. For the 1913 season the society offered a trip to Japan for the first time. The group of forty-nine Russians, including E. Kobiakova, whose first impressions are given below, spent twenty-three days in Japan. After landing at Tsuruga, they travelled by train to Gifu, Tokyo, Nikko, Kamakura, Kyoto, Nara and Osaka, and then sailed down the Inland Sea to Moji, and finally departed from Nagasaki. Kobiakova’s account is notable for the extent to which she creates for herself a specifically ‘tourist’ experience.1

1 Arrival The journey is over! The great endless journey across Siberia – steppe, taiga, Lake Baikal, mountains again and steppe – all this seemed to drag on interminably, yet at the same time to flash by at great speed . . . Our steamer has stopped in the Tsuruga roadstead and Japan lies before us. We can see her shores and in half an hour we will, so to speak, take possession of her with our senses. And what a long way we have come, and from what different places! Petersburg, Samara, Yakutsk, the Caucasus – we have been drawn by distance, by a thirst to see the unknown and to live, if only for a few weeks, in a way we have never lived before. A group of Japanese has appeared on the steamer. A whole deputation sent by the Russia–Japan Society to meet us.2 We have made our first acquaintance. The Japanese look at us with curiosity, and we at them. We try to start a conversation and venture ‘konnichi-wa’ (hello), ‘ohayo’ (good morning) and ‘arigato’ (thank you) – words we had learned in Vladivostok. The Japanese are

Kobiakova: My first day in Japan 205 amazed (or perhaps only pretend to be amazed) at our knowledge, and smile, revealing teeth with numerous gold fillings. Some Japanese women also come on board. All in kimono, with a sort of skirt over the top, like a European skirt, but with slits on both sides. Narrow eyes, round, slightly puffy faces, small mouths fixed in eternal smiles flashing gold, and bowing and more bowing . . . The speech all around sounds strange to our ears. Straw sandals shuffle around on the deck, the women’s feet look so funny with their toes turned inwards. Open fans flash about . . . We are on the shore, the Japanese shore! There is a mass of people. A crowd of children. Funny little faces with slits instead of eyes. Odd figures in long dresses with their hair done up or with half-shaved little heads. Smaller children peek out over their mothers’ or fathers’ shoulders, or else their brothers’ or sisters’. They look so comfortable sitting there they seem to have grown on the backs of their nurses. And the latter obviously don’t even notice the weight of their burdens, but just now and again make a practised shrug of the back and shoulders to hitch them up a bit higher. The children even contrive to sleep in this position. On the wharf we found dozens of photographic cameras pointing at us. The Kodaks click, hoping to capture the unprecedented spectacle.

Figure 12.1 How mothers dispose of their infants. Source: Alcock, Capital of the Tycoon, p. 121.

206 Kobiakova: My first day in Japan From our railway carriage we see the real Japanese landscape in all its beauty. Everything is unusual. First, the rice fields, cultivated with such care and neatness as I have not seen even in meticulous Germany. The rice clumps are planted in rows with mathematical precision. Nowhere is there a weed or a wild flower. Only people, like giant mushrooms in their big flat hats, standing up to their knees in water, bent over to work on something in their tiny fields. And everywhere it is only people who do the work. One of our party set himself the task of counting the horses we saw from our carriage window. But the exercise turned out to be futile. Fields give way to mountains, low and toylike. Pines with a particular pattern of branches, known to us from Japanese drawings, grow on their slopes and are silhouetted against the sky. We look out of the window and are struck by one thing after another. Everything brings out ohs and ahs and cries of delight: ‘Look, bamboo!’ ‘Never mind the bamboo! The pine trees are so pretty!’ ‘And those are lotuses. Look how many there are! Real lotuses.’ And indeed, a whole patch of lotuses flashes by in the middle of the rice fields, arousing in us a feeling close to tenderness. But now there are mountains again, this time cultivated in terraces, bamboo groves, more pine trees, cryptomerias . . . Delights without number. Stations also flash by: a gravel platform, big white boards on posts with names in English and Japanese. The stops are brief – only a few seconds. The trains going the other way are crowded and the people stare across at us. At last a stop of about fifteen minutes. Various strange Japanese refreshments are on sale on the platform: o-cha (tea), bento (lunch), saida (lemonade), various sweets. It is not hard to imagine the ‘tourist’ zeal with which we fall on all these wonders. But the sweets – a sort of cake filled with bean paste, or a sweet pastry, or fruit jelly – are such that with our spoiled European palates we really don’t know what to do with them (you can taste them, but there is no way you can eat a whole one!), and we earnestly press them on each other. We decide to investigate the bento in our carriage. Bento means lunch. Two wooden boxes: in one boiled rice instead of bread, and in the other the most varied mixture of eatables, carefully arranged. There are tiny fish and beans and green seaweed, smelling of mud, and slices of marinated or pickled bamboo (yes, really, this is true!) and pieces of some meat we could not identify. God knows what it was when it was alive. Fine if it croaked like a frog, but I’m afraid it may have lived a quiet and modest life as some sort of worm . . . To all this abundance was attached a pair of chopsticks, which had to serve us for knife, fork and spoon all at the same time. A great deal of pleasure lies in prospect: to try all these delights and pronounce our considered ‘tourist’ opinion. Many of us bravely take on this difficult task and to the general amazement manage tolerably well with the chopsticks. As for the taste of the eatables, I will not offer a judgement. Others will perhaps relish things that I do not like . . . However, the bento boxes are very soon flying out of the carriage windows.

Kobiakova: My first day in Japan 207 But what is this? For some time we have been aware of a smell as if we were going past a smithy. Especially at the stops. We are puzzled where it is coming from. But we soon discover that the axle under our carriage is overheating and that they have started to souse it thoroughly with water at every station. It wouldn’t be worth mentioning this insignificant circumstance, of course, if it wasn’t that the same thing happened on every long trip we made. And it turns out that it wasn’t the Japanese railways who were to blame, but we ourselves. When the Japanese travel there is no problem. But we Russians are large people, and in our group there were so many particularly distinguished by their size and portliness that the carriage was . . . overloaded! However, in spite of being overloaded, our carriage continues on into the depths of Japan. Only a few hours have passed since our arrival, but we have seen so many new things! And we can’t help wondering: how many wonders still await us? What will Gifu have to offer us this evening?

2 Gifu We arrive in our first Japanese town! Our first Japanese hotel! How new everything is to us, how pleased we are with everything, how we are amused by some of the details of Japanese life! We join in first of all by taking off our footwear. You may not enter a Japanese house with shoes on so as not to carry the dust and dirt of the street on to the clean soft mats which are used for sitting, sleeping and even eating. We sit down on the floor, take off our shoes, grunting and groaning, but without complaint – even those of our ladies who are wearing high laced boots. There is no help for it – you cannot come in otherwise. An elegant, light-weight building, with latticed screens instead of windows, moving so easily in their grooves; sliding walls with elegant drawings on them; impeccably clean staircases (but oh, how steep they are!); impeccably clean floors in the corridors; sweet little rooms – all this has us in raptures. It is true that in order to change our clothes or get something out of our suitcases we have to bend down constantly, kneel or even sit on the floor, and if you lean against the wall for any reason you must be careful to choose a place where there is a support, or otherwise you will smash the wall – but these circumstances make our stay in a Japanese house all the more interesting. In one of the rooms, which serves us as a dining room, there is European furniture, brought in specially for us – tables and chairs with padded seats. And, Lord, how crude and clumsy they seem in these surroundings, how their incongruity offends the eye. It would be better to sit on the floor and feel definitively Japanese! However, when at table there is no salt, which is used very little in Japan, we prefer to remain Europeans, ask for shio (salt) and amaze the Japanese by the quantity of salt we can eat at a single meal. We suppose the Japanese are no less amazed by the staggering number of cups of tea drunk by some of us, principally the Muscovites.

208 Kobiakova: My first day in Japan We have Japanese crockery on the table in front of us: wooden plates and trays, shallow cups without handles. Seven or eight nee-san (maids) fuss over us, bowing and smiling. But soon dinner is over. We go downstairs. Again the fuss with our shoes – now we must put them on, because we are going out into the street to go to the night fishing which the town of Gifu has organised today especially for us. The Nagara-gawa River is famous for a fish called the ayu, and they fish for it here in a special unique way using cormorants. It is already dark. Lamps have been lit everywhere, the shops are brilliantly illuminated. Again the streets are crowded with people come to see the unprecedented spectacle in Gifu of fifty Russians together. Even the children are still up, watching and greeting us with a particular characteristic Japanese gesture. We board a tram and travel down to the river. And a magical spectacle begins for us, unforgettable and beautiful as a fairy-tale. We get into elegant flat-bottomed boats fitted out with mats (shoes again!) and lit up by delightful lanterns. The Japanese row us, pushing off from the bottom with bamboo poles. We float along. The dark outlines of the shore with the silhouettes of the pine trees against the sky just lit up by the moon, the dark water, lights in the distance, the sound of what is to our ears strange speech – all this mingles into a single whole, creates a beautiful and so novel impression. We row for a long time. Now and then we come across a sandbank and the bottom of the boat scrapes on the coarse gravel, then we move off into deeper water. And around us everything is so mysterious and enchanting, the light of the moon through the clouds is so limpid. Suddenly a pair of lights appears around a promontory, then another, a third – and lights sail past us in an endless procession. On and on they come, reflecting fiery arrows in the water, and disappear around a distant bend in the river. The town has arranged a distinctive and deeply poetic illumination for us. But where is the fishing? Or have we made a mistake, and there is to be no fishing and it is already time to go home? But there in the distance we see more lights, this time large and bright ones, and we hear shouting. A whole flotilla of boats is approaching us . . . And suddenly we are surrounded, dazzled by the lights, noise and life of this tableau. People are clapping their hands, shouting with peculiar wild guttural voices. There are fires burning on the boats, whole bonfires of resinous wood, the sparks fly in all directions and are extinguished with a hiss in the water, and around the boats hundreds of birds are flying, diving and snatching something from the water, and almost drowning out the human voices with their loud squawking. It is simply overwhelming! It is such a bacchanalia of noise, light and the special excitement of the chase . . . It is only after a few minutes that I come to myself and am able to understand what is going on. In front of us is a multitude of flat-bottomed boats. On each of them one of the crew is holding a whole bunch of strings, and on these the cormorants are

Kobiakova: My first day in Japan 209 attached by the neck, just like a pack of hunting dogs. They swim around the boats screeching, and then they dive and catch and swallow a fish. But then the fish sticks in their gullet because the string constricts their throat and prevents them swallowing their prey entirely. The fisherman pulls the cormorants into the boat by their strings and makes them give up the fish. This is how the fishing is done. One of the boats comes up close to us and a fisherman takes the ring of soft string off a cormorant’s neck to show us, then puts it back on and hands him one of the fish from the catch. The poor cormorant starts to grab one fish after another greedily and swallows them up until his throat is twice its normal size, but now he is turned upside down by his master and forced to give them all back. They say that, like true hunters, the cormorants have spread out around the boat in a particular order. The best fisherman takes the place of honour and the others place themselves according to their skill as hunters. A bird who challenges this distinctive ‘order of precedence’ is beaten mercilessly by his stronger companions. How true this is I don’t know. I am just repeating what I heard. But gradually the hunt comes to an end. The fires go out, the noise quietens down, the boats of fisherman retreat into the distance. And we ourselves feel extremely tired after all the things that we have seen and heard today . . . And we start to wonder about the last new experience that still awaits us today – sleeping on the floor in a Japanese room, where no doubt Japanese beds have been laid out for us with muslin curtains to protect us from the Japanese mosquitoes . . .

Notes 1 Source: E. Kobiakova, ‘Pervyi den’ v Iaponii’, Russkie uchitelia za granitsei, god piatyi, Moscow: Obshchestvo rasprostraneniia tekhnicheskikh znanii, 1914, pp. 228–34. 2 The Russia–Japan Society was established in 1902 under the chairmanship of Enomoto Takeaki to promote good relations between Japan and Russia at a nongovernment level. Enomoto was a naval officer and diplomat who played a leading role in the Meiji government and had been responsible for negotiating the 1875 Treaty of St Peterburg on border issues from the Japanese side.

Index

Topical terms refer to Japan and the Japanese unless otherwise indicated. The letter ‘n’ following a page number indicates a note. Aesop 18 agriculture 53, 108, 182; harvesting seaweed 57; rice fields 109, 148, 158, 164, 186, 206 Ainu (Kuriles) xiii, 3, 5–8, 14, 16, 33–4, 41, 142; seized by Russians 98–100; trade with Japanese 40–1, 99; trade with Russians 5, 51 Akkeshi (Atkis) 33, 44, 46–8, 53 Alcock, Rutherford 23 Aleksei Maksimovich (Ainu interpreter) 81, 83–5, 87n, 91–2, 96–101 Alexander II 23 Americans 2, 9–10 Antipin, Ivan 3 astronomy 75–6 Atlasov, Vladimir 2 bathing 23, 52–3, 139, 179; at quarantine station 198 Bem, Matvei 3 Benyovszky, Mauritius 3, 14 boats 72, 111–12, 149–50, 156, 173, 208–9; toys 104; see also junks bowing 84, 112, 133–4, 183, 205; Dutch ‘compliment’ 66–7, 78 Boxer Rebellion 12, 191, 203n British xiii, 2, 9–10, 19, 61, 144n, 153, 170, 179 buildings: hotels 23, 120, 162, 164–6, 207; houses 132, 145–6, 151–2, 158–9, 176, 182–3; interior design 43, 83, 122; prisons 81–2; Russianised interiors 170, 174; shops 132; tea houses 122, 152; see also temples bureaucracy 106; bureaucratic delays 17, 62, 113–15

castaways see shipwrecked sailors Catherine the Great 5, 32, 35, 58n cemeteries see funeral customs Chamberlain, Basil Hall 25 Cherevkova, A. 21–2, 162–9 children 169n, 205; Japanese seen as children 18–19, 25, 116, 154 Chinese 2, 69; compared with Japanese 177–8, 183–4; junks 69, 71, 73; trade at Nagasaki 73–5 Christianity 1, 60, 77; Catholic Church 136, 156; persecution of Christians xiv, 1, 149, 168, 184; Russian Christian cemetery at Nagasaki 171; see also Papenberg cleanliness and neatness 25–6, 127, 140–1, 152–3, 171, 206 ‘contact zone’ 13, 15–16, 20–1, 28n cormorant fishing 208–9 Crimean War 8–10 Daikokuya Kodayu see Kodayu dance and music 159–61, 179 Davydov, Gavriil 7–8, 20 debt 157, 161n, 179, 186n deceitfulness 86, 183–4 Deshima 1–2, 6, 63, 73, 78, 149, 157 dress 67–8, 105–6, 112, 115–17, 138–9, 152–3, 169n, 176–8, 205; clothes made by Japanese for Russians 86–8; Japanese in European dress 23, 177–8, 185 Dutch xiii, 1–2, 6, 14–15, 60–3, 69–70, 107–8, 116, 149, 156; anti-Russian activities 39–40

Index 211 earthquakes 4, 9–10, 49, 151, 158, 161n, 189 Edo (Tokyo) 1, 5, 9–11, 21, 24, 118–24; communication with 71–2, 113–15 Edomo 5, 53, 59n English language 129, 158, 165 Etorofu see Iturup European writing on Japan 14, 20, 24, 60–1 executions 142–5 Ezo (Hokkaido) xiii, 3, 5, 14–15, 20, 32–58 passim fans 19, 141–2, 205 festivals 70, 78, 139–40 firearms 17, 58, 62, 92; Armstrong guns 131; gun battery at Nagasaki 108; Russian superiority 104, 185 food and drink 22–4, 82, 87–8, 120, 122, 149–50, 188–9, 192–4, 200–1, 206–7; Ainu hospitality 34; food tasters 54–5; formal banquets 15; hawkers 145, 164, 189; Japanese hospitality 15, 18, 43, 53–5, 158–60; Russian food in Japan 87–8, 170–1, 173; Russian hospitality 105, 107, 112–13, 115–16, 128–9, 137; tinned food 110–11; see also ships (Russian): provisioning Fuji (Mountain) 163, 181 funeral customs 42–3; cemeteries 171; cremation 143, 178; Russian cemetery at Nagasaki 171 furs 36, 41 gardens 53, 122, 158, 163, 174, 199 Garin-Mikhailovskii, Nikolai 21–3, 25–6, 176–86 geography: knowledge of 66, 76 Gifu 22, 204–9 Golovnin, Vasilii xiv, 7–8, 13–15, 17, 19–20, 81–102, 156 Goncharov, Ivan 13–16, 18–19, 25, 103–17, 156, 177 Goshkevich, Iosif 11, 116, 117n hair 68, 105, 115–16, 128, 139, 153, 177 Hakodate xiii, 7, 10–11, 15, 21–2, 52, 56, 83, 125–47 Hearn, Lafcadio 25 Hidari Jingoro 167, 169n Hokkaido see Ezo hostility: to foreigners 6, 11, 21, 157; to Russians 62, 119–21, 135, 147n, 184

illnesses: among Russians 37, 41, 95; scurvy 40, 43 industriousness 131–2, 177, 183–5 Inosa 10, 24, 149, 160, 170, 173–5 interpretation and translation 15–17, 39, 66–7, 83–5, 87, 89, 91–3, 96–8, 106–7, 113, 128, 154 interrogations 85–95, 100, 107, 114 Iturup (Etorofu) 4–7, 10, 20, 32, 98–9 Japan compared with: Asia 23, 130; China 23, 129; Germany 206; Italy 22, 180; medieval Europe 23; Russia 23, 118–19, 123, 135, 139, 156; Singapore 23, 104, 149; Switzerland 22, 163 Japan perceived as ‘strange’ 22, 125–47 passim Japanese compared with: Chinese 177–8, 183–4; French 183; Koreans 177–8, 183; monkeys 179; orang-utans 183; Russians 114, 128–9, 185 Japanese language schools: Irkutsk 16; St Petersburg 2 Japonisme 25 junks 69, 71, 126–7, 129–30; compared with barges on Volga 23, 127; shipwrecked 73 Kaempfer, Engelbert 14, 28n, 61, 71 Kanagawa 10, 21, 118, 147n Kano Tan’yu 167, 169n Karafuto see Sakhalin Karap see Sakhalin Khlebnikov, Andrei 81, 83, 87, 96 Khvostov, Nikolai 7–8, 20, 79n, 85, 93, 101 Kipling, Rudyard 23 Kobe 162, 168 Kobiakova, E. xiv, 21–2, 24, 204–9 Kodayu (Daikokuya Kodayu) 32, 35, 57 Koreans 2; compared with Japanese 177–8, 183 Kornilov, A. 21–4, 118–24 Krasnov, A. 21–2, 24, 170–5 Krusenstern, Ivan xiv, 6, 13–17, 60–80 Kumajiro (Uehara Kumajiro: Ainu interpreter) 81, 86, 93, 96–9, 101n Kunashir (Kunashiri) 6, 20, 32, 98 Kurile Islands xii, 2–6, 10–11, 32, 54, 60; see also Iturup; Kunashir; Urup Kuriles (people) see Ainu Kyoto (Miyako) 21–2, 187–203; silk production 136

212

Index

labour: cheapness 130–2 Langsdorff, G. H. 18, 76, 78 Laxman, Adam xiii–xiv, 5, 13–17, 32–59, 77 Laxman, Erik 32 Laxman permit 6, 17, 60 Lindenberg 8 literacy 139, 147n, 158 Lopukhin family 23, 119, 124n Loti, Pierre: Madame Chrysanthème 25–6, 175, 177, 186n Lovtsov, Vasilii, 5, 32, 38, 48–50, 55, 57 Maksimov, Sergei 21–3, 125–47 maps 37–8, 110, 122; non-existence of 61 Marco Polo 1 marriages, temporary 24, 171, 173–5 Matsumae 4, 15, 58, 81, 85 Megasaki 6, 63–4, 71–3 Melo, Nicolaus de 2 Miako see Kyoto Miloslavskii family 23, 119, 124n mistrust of Russians 3, 7, 17–18, 61, 65, 118–19 modernisation (Japan) xiii, 18, 22–4, 26, 149, 156–7; anxiousness to modernise 39, 91, 116, 136 modernisation (Russia) xiii, 23–4; inferior to Japanese 185 Mofet, Roman 123–4 morality 24, 152, 174 Mur, Fedor 81–3, 87n, 89n, 90–1, 93, 95 Murav’ev-Amurskii, Nikolai 10, 21, 118, 124n murder of Russian sailors 11, 123–4, 135 Nagasaki xiii, 1–2, 5–6, 9–11, 14–15, 21–2, 24, 60–80, 103–17, 147n, 148–61, 170–80 Nagoya 21–2, 164–8, 169n natural beauty 22, 104, 122, 146, 163–4, 168, 180–2, 186, 192, 206; absence of movement 109–10; Nagasaki 14, 108–9, 148, 158, 171–3, 176 natural resources 104 navigation 44–6, 108 Nebogatov, Nikolai 197, 202, 203n Nemuro 4–5, 34, 50, 54, 58 Nesselrode, Karl 9 Nicholas I 9 Nicholas II 11, 170, 175n Nikolai, Father (Nikolai Kasatkin) 11 Nizhnii Novgorod: fair 127, 147n nostalgia: Russian, for ‘old Japan’ 24

Papenberg xiv, 69–70, 108–9, 117n, 149, 161n, 176–7, 186n Paul (Russian emperor) 6 Perry, Matthew 9, 25, 157 Peter the Great 2, 23, 119, 156 Portuguese xiii, 1–2, 156 Pos’et, Konstantin, 10, 113, 115, 117n presents 5, 37–8, 52, 68, 72–3, 79, 86–7, 106, 114; Russian presents to castaways 77 priests 137–8, 140–2 processions 55–6 prostitution 145, 174, 183–4 Putiatin, Evfimii 9–10, 13, 16, 25, 103, 115, 125, 156 Raffles, Stamford 2 railways 21–2, 157, 162–4, 168, 182, 185, 206; axles overheating from weight of Russians 207 Red Cross 202 religion 136 Restoration Wars (1868–9) 11 Rezanov, Nikolai 6–7, 13–14, 16–17, 60, 85, 156 rice see agriculture; food and drink rickshaws 150–1, 159, 165, 167, 184, 189–90 Rikord, Petr 8 ritual suicide 106, 143 Rozhestvenskii, Zinovii 12, 187–203 Russia: knowledge of 39–40 Russia–Japan Society 204, 209n Russian–American Company 6–7, 60 Russian travel writing 17 Russo-Japanese War (1904–5) xiii, 12–13; indemnity 200; prisoners of war 187–203 St Augustino, Nicolaus de 2 Sakhalin (Karafuto, Karap) 9–12, 38, 51, 60, 142, 148, 150, 161n; Japanese settlement 7; Russian raid on 93; Russian settlement 8 Sakhalin–Kurile Islands Exchange Treaty see Treaty of St Petersburg seclusion policy 1, 19, 103–4, 157, 161n Semenov, Vladimir xiv, 21–2, 25, 187–203 Shabalin, Dmitrii 4–5, 16, 32–3, 58n Shimoda 9–10, 147n, 151, 161n ships (Russian): provisioning 7, 18, 20, 45, 65, 78, 85–6, 110, 114, 123; repairs 18, 64, 75, 79

Index 213 shipwrecked sailors xiii, 2, 5, 8, 16, 32, 35, 77, 82, 114; attempted suicide 76 shopping 24, 132, 137, 153–5, 178 Siebold, Philip von 14, 116 Sino-Japanese War (1894–5) 11–12, 177, 186n smoking 54, 66, 86, 94, 107, 169n Society for the Propagation of Technical Knowledge (Russia) 204 Spanberg, Martin 2–3 Spanish xiii, 1 storms 86, 146 streets 119–20, 132, 156, 183 suicide see ritual suicide swords: social significance 106, 139 temples 24, 121, 124n, 139–42, 168, 171, 198; residence for prisoners of war 194–203; Suwa Shrine (Nagasaki) 158 Thunberg, Carl 14, 28n, 61, 71, 76 time: attitude to 130, 134 Titsingh, Isaac 14 Tokugawa Ieyasu 167 Tokyo University: foreign instructors 158, 166 tourist experience (Russian) 21, 24, 120–1, 206 trade with Europeans 11, 134–5; economic tensions 11 translation see interpretation and translation

Trans-Siberian Railway 11 Treaty of Edo 10, 147n Treaty of Nagasaki 10 Treaty of St Petersburg (Sakhalin– Kurile Islands Exchange Treaty) 11, 209n Treaty of Shimoda 10, 13, 20, 147n Tsushima, Battle of 12, 21, 187, 201; role of Admiral Nebogatov 202 Uehara Kumajiro see Kumajiro Urup (Uruppu) 3–4, 6, 10 volcanic activity 57, 146, 151, 161n Volga river barges 23, 127 Walton, William 2–3 women 25, 111, 138, 140, 144, 152–3, 173–5, 180, 184–5, 205; performers 159, 179; portraits 95; prostitutes 183 Women’s Patriotic Association 190–3, 203n Xavier, Francis 1 Yellow Peril 24–5 Yokohama 21, 118, 123–4, 147n, 153, 162, 181–6 Zarubin, Ivan 21–5, 148–61