An Artist's Letters from Japan — Context and Discussion

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In Category - Places Peoples
La Farge, John, 1835-1910 Project Gutenberg 2013 Not confirmed
Japan -- Description and travel; Art, Japanese Readers of public-domain and historical texts
Project Gutenberg digital edition en

Edition facts

Words 77,130
Reading time 336 min
Text sections 9

An Artist's Letters from Japan — Context and Discussion can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 77,130 words, 5 hr 36 min estimated reading time, and 9 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 30.0 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Japan -- Description and travel,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

John La Farge's letters from 1880s Japan blend painterly observations of landscapes, temples, and folk tales with personal reflections on travel fatigue and cultural encounters, offering a unique artist's perspective on Meiji-era Japan.
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Editorial Edition Score 4.7/5

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  • Title & short description10 pts
  • Source metadata20 pts
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  • Chapters / structure15 pts
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l run, our runners dragging us at horse's pace. Still it was long before we reached our destination. Streets succeeded streets, empty or full, in desolate Oriental wearisomeness. At length we stopped at a little gate in a plank fence, and entered a vast high space, formerly a prince's park, at one end of which we saw trees and hills, and we came to the Professor's house, a little European structure. My mind is yet too confused with many impressions to tell you of what we saw that afternoon and evening, and what was said; all the more that the few beautiful paintings we looked at out of the great collection lifted me away from to-day into an indefinite great past. I dislike to use analogies, but before these ancient religious paintings of Buddhist divinities, symbolical of the elements or of protective powers, whose worn surfaces contained marvels of passionate delicacy and care framed in noble lines, I could not help the recall of what I had once felt at the first sight of old Italian art.

We passed from this sense of exalted peace to plunge again into the crowded streets at night. It was late; we had many miles to go to catch the last train; two additional runners had been engaged for each _kuruma_--one to push, one to be harnessed in front.

Then began a furious ride. Mine was the last carriage. We were whirled along with warning cries of "Hai-hai!" now into the dark, then into some opening lighted by starlight, in which I could see the flitting shapes of the other runners and of my companions. I remember the creaking of their carriages, the jerking of them with each pull of the men; then our crossing suddenly other parties lighted by lanterns like ourselves, the lights flaring upon yellow faces and dark dresses and black hair; then our turning some narrow corner and plunging at full speed into lighted streets crowded with people, through whom we seemed to cut our way. Much shouting of our men, and dodging of wayfarers with lanterns and of bystanders who merely turn enough to let us glide by. Then one of my runners at full gallop struck a post and was left behind; another was gathered in somehow without a stop, and we tore through the city, still more crowded as we came nearer to our end--the railway station. We were in time, and we slept in the now familiar train. We reached the deserted station and were jogged peacefully to our hotel; our men, in Japanese fashion, sleepily turning out of the way of the ownerless dogs that lay in the middle of the streets. And when I awoke in the morning I found that the day's impressions had faded in sleep to what I tell you.

I have been asking myself whether it would be possible to have sensations as novel, to feel as perfectly fresh, things I knew almost all about beforehand, had we come in any other way, or arrived from any other quarter. As it is, all this Japan is sudden. We have last been living at home, are shut up in a ship, as if boxed in with our own civilization, and then suddenly, with no transition, we are landed in another. And under what splendor of light, in what contrasting atmosphere! It is as if the sky, in its variations, were the great subject of the drama we are looking at, or at least its great chorus. The beauty of the light and of the air is what I should like to describe, but it is almost like trying to account for one's own mood--like describing the key in which one plays. And yet I have not begun to paint, and I dread the moment of beginning to work again. Rather have I felt like yielding entirely to the spirit in which I came, the intention of a rest, of a bath for the brain in some water absolutely alien. A---- and I had undertaken that we should bring no books, read no books, but come as innocently as we could; the only compromise my keeping a scientific Japanese grammar, which, being ancient and unpractical, might be allowed, for it would leave me as unready as on the day I left.

John La Farge opens his collection of letters with a dedication to Henry Adams, acknowledging that without his companion he would not have seen the places described. The letters are framed as impressions, with La Farge admitting that anything worth repeating likely came from Adams or was suggested by being with him. This sets a tone of intimate, conversational observation rather than authoritative travelogue.

The first letter immediately plunges into the landscape around Nikko, describing the red lacquer bridge over the Dayagawa and the legend of Shodo Shonin, who crossed on a fairy snake bridge. La Farge weaves together the natural setting, Buddhist history, and local mythology, establishing his method of layering visual description with cultural narrative.

Painterly Observations and the Languor of Travel

Throughout the excerpts, La Farge repeatedly notes his own physical state: “The languor that oppresses me does not disappear,” he writes in August, describing alternations of exertion that reflect the weather. This personal fatigue becomes a lens through which he views Japan. He contrasts his own weakened energy with the sturdy legs of the pilgrim Enno-Sho-kaku, whose iron sandals hang as offerings in a shrine. La Farge wryly remarks that he would have left his own sandals had he been able, for never had he felt so unenergetic.

His painter’s eye is evident in descriptions of light and atmosphere. He notes how the rain and sunshine compress into a single day “as much as would suffice at home for weeks of summer and winter.” The fog before his house, the play of light on temple details, and the colors of shrine figures are rendered with precision. Yet these observations are always tempered by his subjective experience—the heat, the idleness, the sense of being an outsider.

Legends Interwoven with Landscape

La Farge does not simply describe places; he embeds them in the stories that give them meaning. At Nikko, he recounts the legend of Shodo Shonin, who in 767 opened the mountains under celestial guidance, crossing the Dayagawa on a rainbow-like snake bridge thrown by a colossal god. The saint’s discovery of the tutelary gods of Nikko, who promised to watch over Japan, is presented as a fusion of native and Buddhist beliefs.

Similarly, the shrine of Enno-Sho-kaku, the master pilgrim, is described with its red and green imps and the wooden image that “looked absolutely real in the rainy twilight.” La Farge notes that the shrine is dark among trees, and he follows zigzag stone steps to reach it. These legends are not footnotes but integral to his experience of the place. He treats them as living narratives that shape the landscape, making the mountains and waterfalls feel charged with history.

The Artist as Cultural Mediator

La Farge positions himself as a translator of Japanese culture for Western readers, but he does so with humility. In the dedication to Okakura San, he writes that the memories of their talks are connected with his liking of the country, and that Okakura’s thoughts will be detected in what he writes “as a stream runs through grass—hidden, perhaps, but always there.” This acknowledges his debt to Japanese informants while claiming his own perspective.

His descriptions of architecture, such as the details of cloister walls and bracket capitals, show an artist’s attention to form and ornament. He sketches not only with pencil but with words, capturing the “details of bases of cloister walls” and the “lintel, bracket capital” in a way that suggests he is drawing as he writes. Yet he remains aware of his limitations, noting that he has “withheld that might have been indiscreetly said.”

Structure as a Series of Impressions

The book is organized as a sequence of letters, each dated and often titled by location: “From Tokio to Nikko,” “The Shrines of Iyéyasŭ and Iyémitsŭ,” “From Nikko to Kamakura,” and so on. This epistolary structure gives the narrative a diaristic immediacy. La Farge moves from place to place, but his focus is less on chronological travelogue than on capturing moments of perception.

The excerpts show a pattern: he arrives at a site, describes its physical appearance, then delves into its historical or mythological associations. For instance, the account of the tomb of Iyéyasŭ leads to the legend of Enno-Sho-kaku, which then circles back to the present moment of descending the hill through the wood. This associative structure mirrors the way an artist’s eye moves from detail to context. The reader is invited to follow these digressions, trusting that they will illuminate the place more fully than a straightforward description.

La Farge’s letters reward a reader willing to move at the pace of his observations. The book is not a systematic guide but a series of sketches in prose, where fatigue and wonder coexist. Pay attention to the moments when he steps back from description to reflect on his own state—these are the hinges that connect the external landscape to the internal experience. The legends he recounts are not mere decoration but keys to understanding how the Japanese themselves saw their land. Reading sequentially, one follows not just a journey but a mind in the act of seeing.

There’s something about La Farge’s letters—how he lets fatigue sit next to wonder, unhurried. I finished it feeling I’d traveled beside him, not just read about it. The Near East: Dalmatia, Greece and Constantinople — Edition Insights carried that same quiet intimacy for me, like a long, lingering dusk over unfamiliar water. The Near East: Dalmatia, Greece and Constantinople — Edition Insights stayed with me softly, the way certain places do.

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