Читать книгу: «Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 448», страница 6

It is popularly said, that Japan has two emperors—one spiritual, and the other temporal. The former, however, having no share in the administration of the empire, and seldom even hearing of state affairs, is no sovereign according to the ideas we attach to that term. He seems to stand much in the same relation to the emperor that the popes once did to the sovereigns of Europe. He governs Kioto as a small independent state; receives the emperor to an interview once in seven years; is consulted by him on extraordinary emergencies; receives occasional embassies and presents from him, and bestows his blessing in return. His dignity, unlike that of the Roman pontiffs, is hereditary, and he is allowed twelve wives, that his race may not become extinct. According to Japanese records, the present dynasty, including about 130 Kin-reys, has been maintained in a direct line for above twenty-four centuries. The person of the Kin-rey is so sacred, that no ordinary mortal may see any part of him but his feet, and that only once a year; every vessel which he uses must be broken immediately; for if another should even by accident eat or drink out of it, he must be put to death. Every garment which he wears must be manufactured by virgin hands, from the earliest process in the preparation of the silk.

The adherents of the aboriginal Japanese religion, of which the Kin-rey is the head, adore numerous divinities called Kami, or immortal spirits, to whom they offer prayers, flowers, and sometimes more substantial gifts. They also worship Kadotski, or saints—mortals canonised by the Kin-rey—and build temples in their honour. The laws concerning personal and ceremonial purity, which form the principal feature of this religion, are exceedingly strict, not unlike those imposed on the ancient Jews. There are several orders of priests, monks, and nuns, whose austerity, like that of Europe, is maintained in theory more than in practice.

Three other creeds, the Brahminical, the Confucian, and that which deifies the heavenly bodies, have many adherents; but their priests all acknowledge a certain religious supremacy to exist in the Kin-rey. There is universal toleration in these matters; every citizen may profess what faith he chooses, and change it as often as he chooses, without any one inquiring into his reasons; only it must be a spontaneous choice, for proselyting is forbidden by law. Christianity alone is proscribed, and that on account of the political mischief said to have been effected through its adherents in the seventeenth century. There is a law, by which no one may hire a servant without receiving a certificate of his not being a Christian; and on New-Year's Day, which is a great national festival, all the inhabitants of Nangasaki are obliged to ascend a staircase, and trample on the crucifix, and other insignia of the Romish faith, which are laid on the steps as a test. It is said that many perform the act in violation of their feelings. So much of the religious state of the empire Golownin elicited in conversation with Teske and others; but everything on this subject was communicated with evident reluctance; and though in the course of the walks which they were permitted to take in harness, the Russian captives sometimes saw the interior of the temples, they were never permitted to enter while any religious rites were celebrated.

With respect to the civil administration of Japan, our author seems to have gathered little that was absolutely new to us. The empire comprises above 200 states, which are governed as independent sovereignties by princes called Damyos, who frame and enforce their own laws. Though most of these principalities are very small, some of them are powerful: the damyo of Sindai, for instance, visits the imperial court with a retinue of 60,000. Their dependence on the emperor appears chiefly in their being obliged to maintain a certain number of troops, which are at his disposal. Those provinces which belong directly to the emperor, are placed under governors called Bunyos, whose families reside at the capital as hostages. Every province has two bunyos, each of whom spends six months in the government and six at Yedo.

The supreme council of the emperor consists of five sovereign princes, who decide on all ordinary measures without referring to him. An inferior council of fifteen princes or nobles presides over important civil and criminal cases. The general laws are few and well known. They are very severe; but the judges generally find means of evading them where their enforcement would involve a violation of those of humanity. In some cases, as in conjugal infidelity or filial impiety, individuals are permitted to avenge their own wrong, even to the taking of life. Civil cases are generally decided by arbitrators, and only when they fail to settle a matter is there recourse to the public courts of justice. Taxes are generally paid to the reigning prince or emperor, in tithes of the agricultural, manufactured, or other productions of the country.

Such were some of the leading particulars ascertained by Golownin concerning the social and civil condition of this singular people. He says, they always appeared very happy, and their demeanour was characterised by lively and polite manners, with the most imperturbable good temper. It seems at length to have been through fear of a Russian invasion, rather than from any sense of justice, that his Japanese majesty, in reply to the importunities of the officers of the Diana, consented to release the captives, on condition of receiving from the Russian government a solemn disavowal of having sanctioned the proceedings of Chwostoff. Having obtained this, the officers repaired for the fourth time to these unfriendly shores, and enjoyed the happiness of embracing their companions, and taking them on board.

THINGS TALKED OF IN LONDON

July 1852.

When we shall have a constant supply of pure water—a complete system of efficient and innoxious sewers—a service of street hydrants—when the Thames shall cease to be the cloaca maxima, are questions to which, however seriously asked, it is not easy to get an answer. Add to these grievances, the delay of proper regulations for abolishing intramural interments, and the fact that Smithfield is not to be removed further than Copenhagen Fields—a locality already surrounded with houses—and it will occasion no surprise that the authorities are treated with anything but compliments.

The laying down of an under-sea telegraph wire across the Irish Channel, may be taken as a new instance of the indifference consequent on familiarity. When the line was laid from Dover to Calais, the whole land rang with the fact; but now the sinking of a wire three times the length, in a channel three times the width, excites scarcely a remark, and seems to be looked on as a matter of course. The wire, which is eighty miles in length, is said to weigh eighty tons. It was payed out and sunk from the deck of the Britannia, at the rate of from three to five miles an hour, and was successfully laid, from Holyhead to Howth, in from twelve to fifteen hours; and now a message may be flashed from Trieste to Galway in a period brief enough to satisfy the most impatient. The means of travel to the East, too, are becoming tangible in the Egyptian railway, of which some thirty miles are in a state of forwardness, besides which a hotel is to be built at Thebes; so that travellers, no longer compelled to bivouac in the desert, will find a teeming larder and well-aired beds in the land of the Sphinxes. And, better still, among a host of beneficial reforms to take place in our Customs' administration, there is one which provides that the baggage of travellers arriving in the port of London shall be examined as they come up the river, instead of being sent to the Custom-house.

By a report of the Astronomer-royal to the Board of Visitors, who have lately made their annual inspection of the Greenwich Observatory, we are informed, of a singular fact, that observations of the pole-star shew that its position varies some three or four seconds on repeating the observations at intervals of a few months, and this notwithstanding the extreme accuracy of the transit circle. The only explanation which can as yet be given for this phenomenon is, that the earth, solid as it appears, is liable to slight occasional movements or oscillations.

We shall know, in a few weeks, the result of the telegraphic correspondence with the Observatory at Paris—one interesting point being, as to whether the respective longitudes, as at present determined, will be verified by the galvanic test. Besides which, Greenwich time is to be sent every day to London, where a pole, with a huge sliding-ball, has been fixed on the top of the Telegraph Office, near Charing Cross. This ball is to be made to descend at one o'clock simultaneously with the well-known ball which surmounts the Observatory; and thus scientific inquirers—to say nothing of the crowds who will daily throng the footways of the Strand to witness the downcome—will be informed of the true time, while, by means of the wires, it may be flashed to all parts of the kingdom.

The lecture with which Professor Faraday wound up the course at the Royal Institution may be mentioned here, seeing that it adds somewhat to our knowledge of the theory and phenomena of magnetism. As usual, the lecture-room was crowded; and those who could not understand, had at least the satisfaction of being able to say they were present. Mr Faraday, who, enlarging upon his view, announced, a short time since, that there are such things as magnetic lines of force, now contends that these lines have a 'physical character'—a point most satisfactorily proved by sundry experiments during the lecture. The inquiry is one, as Mr Faraday observes, on the 'very edge of science,' trenching on the bounds of speculation; but such as eminently to provoke research. The phenomena, he says, 'lead on, by deduction and correction, to the discovery of new phenomena; and so cause an increase and advancement of real physical truth, which, unlike the hypothesis that led to it, becomes fundamental knowledge, not subject to change.' A chief point of discussion to which the investigations have led is: Whether the phenomena of what we call gravity may not be resolvable into those of magnetism—a force acting at a distance, or by lines of power. 'There is one question,' continues Mr Faraday, 'in relation to gravity, which, if we could ascertain or touch it, would greatly enlighten us. It is, whether gravitation requires time. If it did, it would shew undeniably that a physical agency existed in the course of the line of force. It seems equally impossible to prove or disprove this point; since there is no capability of suspending, changing, or annihilating the power (gravity), or annihilating the matter in which the power resides.' The lines of magnetic force may have 'a separate existence,' but as yet we are unable to tell whether these lines 'are analogous to those of gravitation, acting at a distance; or whether, having a physical existence, they are more like in their nature to those of electric induction or the electric current.' Mr Faraday inclines at present to the latter view. He 'affirms' the lines of magnetic force from actual experiment, and 'advocates' their physical nature 'chiefly with a view of stating the question of their existence; and though,' he adds, 'I should not have raised the argument unless I had thought it both important and likely to be answered ultimately in the affirmative, I still hold the opinion with some hesitation, with as much, indeed, as accompanies any conclusion I endeavour to draw respecting points in the very depths of science—as, for instance, one, two, or no electric fluids; or the real nature of a ray of light; or the nature of attraction, even that of gravity itself; or the general nature of matter.' These are profound views; but we may reasonably conclude, that, however obscure they may at present appear, they will in time be cleared up and further developed by the gifted philosopher from whom they emanate.

Of minor matters which have been more or less talked about, there is the Library for the Working-Classes, just opened in the parish of St Martin-in-the-Fields—a praiseworthy example for other parishes, but not to be followed unless the readers actually exist, and manifest the sort of want which books alone can satisfy. A suggestion has been made, to use for books in hot climates, where paper is liable to rapid decay, the sheet-iron exhibited at Breslau, which is as thin and pliant as paper, and can be produced at the rate of more than 7000 feet to the hundredweight. This would be something new in the application of metal. Metallurgy generally is being further investigated by Leonhard of Heidelberg, who has just called on manufacturers to aid him in his researches, by sending him specimens of scoriæ, particularly of those which are crystallised. Then there is Mr Hesketh's communication to the Institute of British Architects, 'On the Admission of Daylight into Buildings, particularly in the Narrow and Confined Localities of Towns;' in which, after shewing that the proportion of light admitted to buildings is generally inadequate to their cubical contents, and means for estimating the numerical value of that which really does enter, he states that the defect may be remedied by the use of reflectors, contrived so as to be 'neither obstructive nor unsightly.' He explains, that 'a single reflector may generally be placed on either the outside or inside of a window or skylight, so as to throw the light from the (perhaps small) portion of sky which remains unobscured overhead, to any part in which more light is required.' Such difficulties of position or construction as present themselves, 'may be overcome in almost every case, by, as it were, cutting up the single reflector into strips, and arranging them one above the other, either in the reveal of the window, or in some other part where it will not interfere with ventilation, or the action of the sashes.' This is adopting the principle on which improved lighthouse reflectors are constructed; and we are told, that 'the combinations may be arranged horizontally, vertically, or obliquely, according to the positions of the centre of the unobscured portion of sky, and of the part into which the light is to be thrown, and according to the shape of the opening in which the combination is to be placed.' As a case in point, it was mentioned that a reflector 'had been fitted to a vault (at the Depôt Wharf, in the Borough) ninety-six feet in depth from front to back. The area into which the window opens is a semicircle, with a heavy iron-grating over it; and the result is, that small print can be easily read at the far end of the vault.' It is a fact worth knowing, that reflectors may be so constructed as to throw all the available daylight into any required direction; and in one instance the reflector may be made to serve at the same time as a dwarf venetian window-blind. Instead of wooden splats or laths, flat glass tubes or prisms are used, fitted into the usual framework, and these being silvered on the inside, throw all the light that falls on them into the room, when placed at the proper angle.

Again, the possibility of locomotion without the aid of steam is talked about, and the New Yorkers are said to be about to send over a large ship driven by Ericsson's caloric engine, which is to prove as powerful as vapour at one-half of the cost—a fact of which we shall be better able to judge when the vessel really arrives. Then, looking across the Channel, we find the Abbé Moigno proposing to construct and establish a relief model of Europe in the Bois de Boulogne at Paris, of a size to cover several acres, and with the railways of iron, and the rivers of water, by which means one of the most interesting and instructive of sights would be produced, and the attractions of the Trench capital greatly increased. A desirable project—but the cost! The Montyon prize of 2000 francs has been awarded to M. Mosson, for his method of drying and preserving vegetables for long sea voyages, as published a few months ago. M. Naudin states, that a certain kind of furze or thistle, of which cattle are very fond, may be made to grow without thorns—an important consideration, seeing that at present, before it can be used as food, it has to undergo a laborious beating, to crush and break the prickles with which it is covered. As the plant thrives best on poor soils, which might otherwise lie useless, the saving of this labour will be a great benefit to the French peasantry; and the more so, as it appears the plant will grow in its new state from seed. M. Naudin believes, that the condition of other vegetable productions may be varied at pleasure, and promises to lay his views shortly before the Académie. M. Lecoq, director of the Botanical Garden at Claremont, informs the same body of something still more extraordinary, in a communication, entitled 'Two Hundred, Five Hundred, or even a Thousand new Vegetables, created ad libitum.' Having been struck by the fact, that the ass so often feeds upon the thistle, he took some specimens of that plant, and, by careful experiment, has succeeded in producing for the table 'a savoury vegetable, with thorns of the most inoffensive and flexible sort.' Whatever be the kind of thistle, however hard and sharp its thorns, he has tamed and softened them all, his method of transformation being, as he says, none other than exposing the plants to different influences of light. Those which grew unsheltered, he places in the dark, and vice versâ. Familiar examples are given in the celery, of which the acrid qualities are removed by keeping off the light; while the pungency of cress, parsley, &c., is increased by exposure to the sun. M. Lecoq has not yet detailed all his experiments; but he asserts that, before long, some of our commonest weeds, owing to his modifications, will become as highly esteemed as peas or asparagus. Let him shew that his process is one that admits of being applied cheaply and on a large scale, and he will not fail of his reward.