Kanbunmyaku: The Literary Sinitic Context and the Birth of Modern Japanese Language and Literature 9004433465, 9789004433465

Table of contents :
Contents
Editors’ Preface: Saitō Mareshi, the “Literary Sinitic Context,” and Literary Modernity in the Former Sinographic Cosmopolis
Author’s Preface to the English Edition
List of Illustrations
Introduction
1 What Is the Literary Sinitic Context?: Two Poles of Style and Thought
2 Why Did the Reading and Writing of Kanbun Spread?—The Unofficial History of Japan and the Voice of Kundoku
3 The Formation of a National Literary Style: The Civilization and Enlightenment Movement and Kundokubun
4 When Did the “Modern” Begin in Japanese Literature?: Romantic Love as the Antithesis of Politics
5 Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic: China as the Land of Romantic Love and Revolution
6 The Horizon of Literary Sinitic: From the Literary Sinitic Context to a New Kind of Japanese Language
Bibliography
Index of Chinese and Japanese Terms
General Index

Citation preview

Kanbunmyaku

Language, Writing and Literary Culture in the Sinographic Cosmopolis Edited by Ross King (University of British Columbia) David Lurie (Columbia University) Marion Eggert (Ruhr-Universität Bochum)

VOLUME 2

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/sinc

Kanbunmyaku The Literary Sinitic Context and the Birth of Modern Japanese Language and Literature

By

Mareshi Saitō Edited by

Ross King Christina Laffin Translated by

Sean Bussell Matthieu Felt Alexey Lushchenko Caleb Park Si Nae Park Scott Wells

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustration: Cover image from Keikoku bidan 経國美談 presented courtesy of Shizuoka University and the National Institute of Japanese Literature’s Bibliographic and Image Database of Japanese Modern Times (http://base1.nijl.ac.jp/~kindai/); cover images from Nihon gaishi 日本外史 and Kajin no kigū 佳人之奇遇 presented courtesy of Kōkyū Bunko 光丘文庫 in Sakata City and the National Institute of Japanese Literature’s Bibliographic and Image Database of Japanese Modern Times (http://base1.nijl.ac.jp/~kindai/). The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at http://catalog.loc.gov

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. ISSN 2589-8787 ISBN 978-90-04-43346-5 (hardback) ISBN 978-90-04-43694-7 (e-book) Copyright 2021 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense, Hotei Publishing, mentis Verlag, Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh and Wilhelm Fink Verlag. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Requests for re-use and/or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill NV via brill.com or copyright.com. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Editors’ Preface: Saitō Mareshi, the “Literary Sinitic Context,” and Literary Modernity in the Former Sinographic Cosmopolis ix Author’s Preface to the English Edition xxviii List of Illustrations xxx Introduction 1 1 What Is the Literary Sinitic Context?: Two Poles of Style and Thought 5 1 Japan’s Literary Sinitic Context 5 2 Two Poles of Style and Thought 8 3 Outline of the Literary Sinitic Context in Its Regional and Temporal Dimensions 10 4 Literary Sinitic Cultivation 12 5 The Kansei Reforms 14 6 The Formation of Literati Consciousness 16 7 Common Ground for Warriors and Literati 18 8 How Literary Sinitic Was Studied 21 9 The Style for Discussion of State Affairs 24 10 The Patriotic Lamentations of Men of High Purpose in the Late Edo Period 26 11 The Death Poem of Kondō Isami 28 2 Why Did the Reading and Writing of Kanbun Spread?—The Unofficial History of Japan and the Voice of Kundoku 31 1 Kanbun as a Written Language 31 2 Rai San’yō and His Scholarly Lineage 35 3 The System of Neo-Confucian Zhu Xi Studies 38 4 The “Prohibition of Heterodoxy” and the Institutionalization of Learning 40 5 Learning and the Orientation toward Governance 42 6 The Grand Ambition of Historical Narrative 45 7 The Completion of the Unofficial History of Japan 48 8 Reasons for Bestsellerhood 49 9 Reading-Conscious Kanbun 53 10 Criticism of Washū 54 11 Kundoku Rhythm as Different from Ordinary Speech 58

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12

Vernacular Reading (Kundoku) and Sinoxenic Vocalization (Ondoku) 59 13 Famous, Captivating Melodies 61 14 The Shigin Trend 62 15 The Charm of Grandiose Kanshi 64 16 The Literary Sinitic Context Popularized 68 3 The Formation of a National Literary Style: The Civilization and Enlightenment Movement and Kundokubun 71 1 The Separation of Literary Sinitic and Kundokubun 71 2 Meiji-Period Evaluations of San’yō 72 3 Differences in the Three Appraisals 76 4 What Is “Futsūbun”? 78 5 Two Points of Focus: A Text’s Functionality versus Its Moral Spirit 81 6 Universal and Common 83 7 Kundoku as Inscriptional Style 84 8 The Gradual Dilution of Kanbun’s Mental World 86 9 A Style Fit for Translation 88 10 A Time for Utility and Practicality 91 11 Contemporary Style as Modern Style 92 12 The Rise of “a Compositional Style for the Populace” 93 13 A Massive Lexicon of Sinographic Coinages 98 14 The Writing Style of Enlightenment 101 15 Rhetorical Kundoku Style: A True Account of America and Europe 105 16 Sophisticated Contemporary Style 109 4 When Did the “Modern” Begin in Japanese Literature?: Romantic Love as the Antithesis of Politics 112 1 Calling into Question “Modern Literary History” 112 2 Coteries of Kanshi Poets during Meiji 113 3 Mori Shuntō, Leading Contributor to the Thriving of Kanshi 117 4 The Public and the Private as Constituents of the Mental World 120 5 Devotion to the Private World 122 6 The Literati Mentality: Cherishing Literary Sinitic Poetry and Prose 124 7 Ōnuma Chinzan in the World of the Literatus 127 8 The Polarity of “Politics = Public” vs. “Literature = Private” 130 9 The Separation of Literature from Learning 132 10 Mori Ōgai’s Diary of a Westbound Voyage (Kōsei nikki) 135

Contents

11 12 13 14 15 16 17

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Mori Ōgai’s Self-Consciousness 139 The Framework of Official Career vs. Reclusion 141 Exaggerated Rhetoric 144 The Motif of “The Dancing Girl” (Maihime) 146 The Origins of Renown and Diligent Study 149 Romantic Love as the Antithesis of Politics 150 The Reorganization of “Literature” 153

5 Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic: China as the Land of Romantic Love and Revolution 154 1 The Position of Novels in the Early Modern Period 154 2 The Relative Status of Poetry and Fiction 156 3 The Theme of “Emotion” 157 4 Romantic Love and the Political Novel 161 5 A Great Compendium of Romantic Fiction 163 6 A New Focus for Fiction: The Replication of “Human Emotion” 166 7 Nagai Kafū, Child of a Scholar-Official 167 8 Diametrically Opposed Father and Son 169 9 From Prodigal Son to Spitting Image of His Father 170 10 Consciousness of Foreign Lands Nurtured by Interactions with Qing China 172 11 Intoxication with Shanghai 174 12 Reality Seeps into Kanshibun 176 13 Kafū within the Literary Sinitic Context 177 14 Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, Child of a Merchant Household 179 15 Drowning Single-Mindedly in Beauty 181 16 Shina as the Setting for Eros 183 17 Akutagawa’s Realistic Conception of China 185 18 Contrasting Tanizaki and Akutagawa 187 19 What Was the Taishō Ideology of Education? 188 6 The Horizon of Literary Sinitic: From the Literary Sinitic Context to a New Kind of Japanese Language 190 1 Characteristics of the Genbun itchi (Congruence of Speech and Writing) Style 190 2 Stepping Outside the Literary Sinitic Context 191 3 The Focus of Écriture 193 4 The Struggle of Natsume Sōseki with the New Literary Context 195 5 The Literary Sinitic Context as Counterpoint to the West 196

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Contents

A Predilection for Zen 199 The Aspect of Intellectual Play 201 Literary Sinitic Poetry and Prose Today 205 A Different Kind of Japanese 207 Of Pastimes and Personal Refinement 209

Bibliography 213 Index of Chinese and Japanese Terms 218 General Index 224

Editors’ Preface: Saitō Mareshi, the “Literary Sinitic Context,” and Literary Modernity in the Former Sinographic Cosmopolis Ross King and Christina Laffin 1

The Origins of Our Translation

This book is a translation of Saitō Mareshi’s Kanbunmyaku to kindai Nihon: mō hitotsu no kotoba no sekai,1 a more literal translation of which would be “The Literary Sinitic Context and Modern Japan: Another Language World.” We have chosen to give the title a slightly different twist in English: Kanbunmyaku: The Literary Sinitic Context and the Birth of Modern Japanese Language and Literature. This modified English title calls attention to both Professor Saitō’s novel term, kanbunmyaku 漢文脈, and to our equally novel rendition of this term as “Literary Sinitic Context,”2 while also highlighting the central importance of his book to understanding the origins of literary modernity not just in Japan, but in East Asia more broadly. A key motivating factor in producing this English-language version of the book has been the editors’ conviction of the significance of Professor Saitō’s volume beyond Japanese literary studies alone. Indeed, this translation began as a final project for a small group of graduate students in the Department of Asian Studies at UBC enrolled in Ross King’s spring 2011 graduate seminar, “Questions of Language, Writing, and Linguistic Thought in the History of the ‘Kanji Bunkaken’: Japan and Korea in the Sinographic Cosmopolis.” Inspired by the work of Sheldon Pollock on the “Sanskrit Cosmopolis”3 and his rich conceptual apparatus for the comparative study of vernacularization processes across different cosmopolitan literary cultures, that seminar (populated

1  Kanbunmyaku to kindai Nihon: mō hitotsu no kotoba no sekai [The Literary Sinitic Context and Modern Japan: Another Language World] (Tokyo: Nihon hōsō shuppan kyōkai, 2007). 2  See the following article and review by Mair for rationales for the term “Literary Sinitic” in preference to “Classical Chinese” or “Literary Chinese.” Victor H. Mair, “Buddhism and the Rise of the Written Vernacular in East Asia: The Making of National Languages,” Journal of Asian Studies 53, no. 3 (1994): 707–751 and “Review of Hilary Chappell, ed. Sinitic Grammar: Synchronic and Diachronic Perspectives,” Sino-Platonic Papers 145 (Reviews XI) (2004): 8–14. 3  Sheldon Pollock, The Language of the Gods in the World of Men: Sanskrit, Culture, and Power in Premodern India (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2006).

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largely by students of Korean language and literature) included in its readings the Korean translation of Professor Saitō’s book.4 The translators’ preface to the Korean edition of the book makes it clear how relevant both the literary culture of Meiji and Taisho Japan and Professor Saitō’s ideas are to understanding modern Korean language and literature. After reassuring their Korean readers that Professor Saitō “… wrote this book, not to revive or even recall nostalgically a bygone common Confucian cultural sphere or Chinese character cultural sphere, or to emphasize the fantasies that congeal around ‘cultural spheres’ and notions that ‘East Asia is one’ or the like,”5 the Korean translators go on to note that East Asia (in the sense of countries that used to participate in the Literary Sinitic Context) in some sense still constitutes a region different from, say, the various nations of Europe or the Islamic world, and they note the utility of Professor Saitō’s book for approaching questions like: How were traditional literary cultures grounded in sinographs (J. kanji, K. hancha, Ch. hanzi 漢字) and Literary Sinitic (J. kanbun, K. hanmun 漢文) dismantled and reconfigured as new (and modern) cultures? What kind of legacy does Literary Sinitic represent for Korea and Koreans? The translators of the Korean edition continue: “Were it not for hanmunmaek [the Sino-Korean reading of kanbunmyaku 漢文脈, i.e., the Literary Sinitic Context], neither the modern Korean language, modern Korean literature, nor modern Korean media could have come into being…. In modern Korea, what was once the definitive literary norm now ekes out a living as hanchaŏ 漢字語—sinographic vocabulary included as explanatory glosses tucked between parentheses in otherwise han’gŭl texts.”6 For the Korean translators, the post-1987 han’gŭl-only Korean orthography masks a literary language riddled with sinographic vocabulary, and the shadow of Literary Sinitic looms large in the modern Korean language because of the decisive enabling role played by the Literary Sinitic Context in the realization of Korea’s “translated modernity”—a modernity translated largely through the medium of Japanese during the half century before liberation from Japanese colonial rule in 1945. In this regard, they compare the role of translated kanbun in the formation of modern Japanese literary styles (a key theme of Professor Saitō’s book) to the role of Korean ŏnhae 諺解 (vernacular exegesis) style in the formation of modern Korean “mixed-script” inscriptional styles and note that, “Ninety percent of 4  Saitō Mareshi, Kŭndaeŏ ŭi t’ansaeng kwa hanmun: Hanmunmaek kwa kŭndae ilbon [Literary Sinitic and the Birth of the Modern Language: Kanbunmyaku and Modern Japan], trans. Hwang Hodŏk, Im Sangsŏk, and Yu Ch’unghŭi (Seoul: Hyŏnsil Munhwa, 2010). 5  Ibid., 6. 6  Ibid., 9–10.

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the sinographic coinages used in Japan today are used in Korean.” Even though only a shadow of the former Literary Sinitic Context lingers on the surface today in Korea, the translators insist that it is nonetheless essential to discern and acknowledge that shadow if we are to understand the origins of modern Korean language and literature. 2

What Is kanbun and Why Is It So Important?

When undertaking the study of Literary Sinitic traditions and the “Literary Sinitic Context” in Japan, or indeed, anywhere else in the traditional East Asian region, certain terminological questions immediately present themselves. One thorny term in the Japanese context is kanbun, which in this book we have tended to render as either “Literary Sinitic” or just kanbun. The original temptation was to use “Literary Sinitic” when the implied context is more translocal or cosmopolitan and simply kanbun when a specifically Japanese context is in play, but as Fraleigh reminds us in his useful discussion of the closely related terms kanshibun and kanshi (which he translates as “Sinitic poetry and prose” and “Sinitic poetry,” respectively), “The Japanese term kanshi has never referred to the works of a particular nationality or ethnicity …” and both shi and kanshi “denote poetic compositions in Literary Sinitic irrespective of the poet’s nationality.”7 Much the same applies to the term kanbun, which is the Sino-Japanese vocalization of 漢文, a Japanese neologism coined in the Meiji period8 along with kanshi 漢詩, composed etymologically of 漢 “Han; Han Chinese; pertaining to the Chinese Han dynasty (206 BCE–220 CE)” and 文 meaning “patterned writing; literature” and 詩 “poetry,” respectively. Kanshibun 漢詩文, referring to both prose and poetry in Literary Sinitic, is a portmanteau of these two terms. The problem here is that kanbun in modern Japanese has often been translated into English as “Classical Chinese,” 7  Matthew Fraleigh, Plucking Chrysanthemums: Narushima Ryūhoku and Sinitic Literary Traditions in Modern Japan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2016), 20. 8  In Plucking Chrysanthemums, Fraleigh cites Karatani Kōjin and others who have understood the prefix kan- “Sinitic” to function as “the lingering trace of an epistemological shift in the third decade of the Meiji period through which Sinitic literature came to be reconceived in opposition to other ‘national literatures’” (6) and who suppose that the terms kanshi and kanbun were coined in the 1890s, but the fact that the first attested instance in the Annals of the Chosŏn Dynasty of the Sino-Korean equivalent hanmun appears in the Japan-Korea Treaty of 1876 suggests the term appeared earlier in the Meiji period. See also the discussion in Scott W. Wells, “From Center to Periphery: The Demotion of Literary Sinitic and the Beginnings of hanmunkwa—Korea, 1876–1910” (MA thesis, University of British Columbia, 2011), 24–25.

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“Literary Chinese,” or “Sino-Japanese” without sufficient accompanying explanation or contextualization, and much the same applies to the use of the term in Korean (with the Sino-Korean reading hanmun) and Vietnamese (with the Sino-Vietnamese reading hán văn) contexts since the late nineteenth century.9 In modern Mandarin Chinese, the term corresponds to what is usually called wenyan(wen) 文言(文). Of these various English renditions of the term kanbun, the most controversial has been “Sino-Japanese,” a term that Wixted prefers to reserve for compositions written in Japan, but this usage has found little traction among scholars outside Japan, and we share the skepticism voiced by both Kornicki and Fraleigh about this term.10 Thus, for us in this book, “Literary Sinitic” and kanbun are interchangeable, and refer—however vaguely and indeterminately—to texts composed in sinographs and intended to be intelligible to readers across the Sinographic Cosmopolis. Wixted has objected that the term “Literary Sinitic” encounters problems when the texts being referred to are decidedly non- or un-literary in nature, but for us the “literary” indexes not so much the bellelettristic merits of particular texts as the fact that written “Chinese” has always been just that—“literary” in the sense that it was only ever written and harking back to the Latin etymology: litera/littera meaning “letters of the alphabet; written graphs; an epistle, writing, document; literature, great books.” Literary Sinitic is in some sense “unsayable” or at least quite distinct from spoken varieties of Chinese, with a gap between speech and writing that far surpasses what we typically see in languages that use phonographic, rather than logographic, writing. Mair captures the situation succinctly when he notes that Literary Sinitic is “a sort of demicryptography largely divorced from speech.”11 9  For a useful discussion of the history of the term hanmun and other designations for sinographs and Literary Sinitic in pre-twentieth-century Korea, see Wells, “From Center,” 19–32. In Vietnam today, Literary Sinitic is usually referred to as just “Hán” or “tiếng Hán cổ” (“ancient Chinese”); “Hán văn” appears to be a newer term, probably calqued from Mandarin Hànwén or Japanese kanbun. The term seen more often in writings from the twentieth century and earlier is “văn ngôn” 文言, parallel with the modern Chinese term. (With thanks to John Phan.) 10  John Timothy Wixted, “Kanbun, Histories of Japanese Literature, and Japanologists,” Sino-Japanese Studies 10, no. 2 (April 1998): 23–31 [Reprinted in The New Historicism and Japanese Literary Studies, Eiji Sekine, ed., PMAJLS: Proceedings of the Midwest Association for Japanese Literary Studies 4 (Summer 1998): 313–326; and translated by Amalia Sato, “Kambun, historias de la literatura japonesa y japanólogos,” Tokonoma: Traducción y literatura (Buenos Aires) 6 (Fall 1998): 129–139]; Peter Kornicki, “A Note on Sino-Japanese: A Question of Terminology,” Sino-Japanese Studies 17 (2010): 29–44 and Fraleigh, Plucking Chrysanthemums. 11  Mair, “Buddhism and the Rise of the Written Vernacular in East Asia,” 707–708.

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While we prefer the term “Literary Sinitic” as a blanket term (and also welcome just “Sinitic,” as long as it is understood as a sort of convenient shorthand for the longer term originally proposed and defended by Mair—a usage that Fraleigh 2016a adopts), we hasten to add that we see no reason to sideline localized terms like kanbun in Japan or hanmun in Korea. As Fraleigh helpfully notes, “the use of the domesticated terms reinforces the idea that these Sinitic forms are an organic and inseparable part of each country’s literary tradition,”12 and thus help to some extent to undo some of the original damage done when the term kanbun was first coined in Meiji Japan as part of the project to radically re-envision the status of Literary Sinitic texts written by Japanese authors under the aegis of a modern “national literature” paradigm.13 So why are the Literary Sinitic texts written by non-Chinese so important? In his essay “Kanbun, Histories of Japanese Literature, and Japanologists,” Wixted writes: In terms of its size, often its quality, and certainly its importance both at the time it was written and cumulatively in the cultural tradition, kanbun 漢文 is arguably the biggest and most important area of Japanese literary study that has been ignored in recent times, and the one least properly represented as part of the canon.14 12  Fraleigh, Plucking Chrysanthemums, 8–9. 13  See the “Introduction” to Fraleigh, Plucking Chrysanthemums, for more discussion. 14  Wixted, “Kanbun, Histories of Japanese Literature, and Japanologists.” Wixted provides a rich list of translations of Japanese kanbun texts published in English up to 1998. Wixted provides an update on scholarship related to kanshi Sinitic poetry (including an important French-language volume of kanshi translations) in his “Kanshi in Translation: How its Features can be Effectively Communicated,” Sino-Japanese Studies 21 (2014): 1–12.    Overlooked in this article are the following contributions by Smits, Rouzer, Denecke, Rabinovitch and Bradstock, and Fraleigh.    Ivo Smits, The Pursuit of Loneliness: Chinese and Japanese Nature Poetry in Medieval Japan, ca. 1050–1150 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1995); Paul Rouzer, “Early Buddhist Kanshi: Court, Country, and Kūkai,” Monumenta Nipponica 59, no. 4 (Winter 2004); Wiebke Denecke, “Chinese Antiquity and Court Spectacle in Early Kanshi,” Journal of Japanese Studies 30, no. 1 (2004); Judith Rabinovitch and Timothy Bradstock, Dance of the Butterflies: Chinese Poetry from the Japanese Court Tradition (Ithaca: Cornell University East Asia Series, 2005); Judith Rabinovitch and Timothy Bradstock, “Paulownia Leaves Falling: The Kanshi Poetry of Inaga Nanpo (1865–1901),” Japan Review 21 (2009); Wiebke Denecke, “‘Topic Poetry Is All Ours’: Poetic Composition on Chinese Lines in Early Heian Japan,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 67, no. 1 (2007); Matthew Fraleigh, “Songs of the Righteous Spirit: ‘Men of High Purpose’ and Their Chinese Poetry in Modern Japan,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 69, no. 1 (2009); and Matthew Fraleigh, New Chronicles of Yanagibashi and Diary of a Journey to the West: Narushima Ryūhoku Reports from Home and Abroad (Ithaca: Cornell East Asia Program, 2011).

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Much the same can be said of the importance of hanmun in Korean literary history, where Literary Sinitic texts outnumber vernacular texts even more overwhelmingly than they do in Japan. The modern-day neglect of literature in Literary Sinitic in Korea is likewise even more severe than in Japan, and it goes without saying that in an Anglophone academic world where the number of university programs in modern (let alone pre-modern) Vietnamese language and literature can be counted on two hands, the study of Vietnamese hán văn literature is in its infancy. To return to the specifically Japanese context, another term that goes hand in hand with kanbun and requires definition and clarification is kundoku 訓読. Until as recently as the turn of this millennium there was a mistaken tendency to understand this technique and tradition of reading (decoding, parsing, construing) texts written in Literary Sinitic in or through the vernacular as unique to Japan, but work by Nam P’unghyŏn in Korea and Kobayashi Yoshinori in Japan (among others) has shown that the practice was widespread in Korea from ancient times until the early Chosŏn dynasty (1392–1897). Modern-day Korean research refers to traditional Korean glossing practices as kugyŏl 口訣, but also uses the term hundok 訓讀 to refer to vernacular readings or construals of Literary Sinitic. Moreover, comparative research like Kin Bunkyō15 has shown that kundoku-like reading practices were used beyond just Korea and Japan quite widely throughout East Asia, while papers like King and Whitman place kundoku in a broader global context of pre-modern “glossing” practices that can be compared profitably with the ways in which Latin texts were glossed for vernacular reading in medieval Europe (e.g., in Anglo-Saxon Latin texts from ninth- to twelfth-century England, for which see Robinson 1973).16    Further scholarship has been published since 2014 by Denecke, Fraleigh, Tuck, and Steininger: Wiebke Denecke, Classical World Literatures: Sino-Japanese and Greco-Roman Comparisons (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014); Matthew Fraleigh, “Vassal of a Deposed Regime: Archetypes of Reclusion in the Poetry of Former Shogunal Official Yaguchi Kensai,” East Asian History 38 (2014); Robert Tuck, “Poets, Paragons and Literary Politics: Sugawara no Michizane in Imperial Japan,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 74, no. 1 (2014); and Brian Steininger, Chinese Literary Forms in Heian Japan: Poetics and Practice (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2017). 15  Kin Bunkyō (Kim Mun’gyŏng), Kanbun to Higashi Ajia: Kundoku no bunkaken [Literary Sinitic and East Asia: A Cultural Sphere of Vernacular Reading] (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 2010). 16  Fred C. Robinson, “Syntactical Glosses in Latin Manuscripts of Anglo-Saxon Provenance,” Speculum 48, no. 3 (1973): 443–475; Ross King, “Korean kugyŏl Writing and the Problem of Vernacularization in the Sinitic Sphere” (presentation, Association for Asian Studies, Boston, MA, March 23, 2007); John Whitman, “The Ubiquity of the Gloss,” Scripta 3 (2011): 1–27.

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This has led Lurie to describe kundoku-type reading practices as “reading by gloss,”17 and John Whitman to similarly use “glossing” “… in a somewhat extended sense to refer to a process where a text in one language is prepared (annotated, marked) to be read in another,”18 but throughout our translation we prefer to render kundoku as “vernacular reading,” in line with the approach taken in Kornicki and Kin Bunkyo.19 Lurie’s Realms of Literacy is a brilliant and in-depth study of the history and importance of kundoku in the history of reading and writing in Japan, the key findings of which have been distilled into the following four points by John Timothy Wixted in his recent review of this seminal book: First, kundoku is “interlingual.” As he explains, “because even texts that originated in China could be read as Japanese, traditional reading practices did not necessarily involve awareness of texts as written in one language or the other.” Second, kundoku is “reversible.” In other words, kundoku “is a method of writing as well as of reading. It was used to produce Japanese-language logographic texts (or at least, logographic texts that could potentially be read in Japanese) as well as to read / translate texts with non-Japanese origins” (p. 180). Third, it is “productive,” as manifested by the following: the enormous amount of conventional kanbun written well into the modern period; the generation of “a number of styles of logographic or principally logographic inscription that departed in varying degrees from literary Chinese order and usage” (p. 181), that is, hentai kanbun; and the transposition into Japanese of numerous locutions and vocabulary items … And fourth, kundoku can be “invisible.” Absent diacritics or hentai kanbun locutions (either of which makes kundoku practice explicit), any logographic text can be read aloud with Japanese-language readings, regardless of where in the cultures that used Chinese characters (China, Japan, Korea, Vietnam) the text was written or by whom (i.e., no matter what nationality or ethnicity).20 17  D  avid B. Lurie, Realms of Literacy: Early Japan and the History of Writing (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2011). 18  Whitman, “The Ubiquity of the Gloss,” 1. 19  Peter Kornicki, “A Note on Sino-Japanese: A Question of Terminology,” Sino-Japanese Studies 17 (2010): 29–44; Kin Bunkyo (Kim Mun’gyŏng), Literary Sinitic and East Asia: A Cultural Sphere of Vernacular Reading, edited by Ross King and translated by Ross King, Si Nae Park, Marjorie Burge, Alexey Lushchenko, and Mina Hattori (Leiden: Brill, forthcoming). 20  John Timothy Wixted, “Review of Realms of Literacy: Early Japan and the History of Writing by David B. Lurie,” Monumenta Nipponica 68, no. 1 (2013): 90.

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Because Professor Saitō’s original text usually includes kundoku readings for the kanshi Sinitic poems cited, and given the general utility of including such readings even in a translated context, wherever feasible we have provided romanized versions of the kundoku readings in footnotes along with the original sinographs.21 3

The Problem of Literary Sinitic in North American East Asian Studies Programs

Professor Saitō’s original audience was an educated general Japanese readership interested in modern Japanese literary history, to which we now add with this English translation students and scholars of modern Japanese literature in the Anglophone world who also aspire to explore this intellectual turf. Putting aside for a moment the obvious importance of this book for questions of the dissolution of the broader so-called “Chinese character cultural sphere,” it is of course valuable “as is” for the narrower field of Japanese literary studies. This is especially so when we consider the rather startling neglect of kanbun in teaching and research on Japanese literary culture in North America and Europe. Wixted laments the “slighting of kanbun” in American graduate programs and the concomitant “narrowing” in the definition of what is considered Japanese literature or culture: “… In the U.S., the required training in Chinese of graduate students in Japanese is, at most, two years of the modern language and one year of the classical—which, of course, is scarcely a start. What is the upshot of this? A vicious circle: people shy away from what they do not know, stay permanently ignorant of it, and its non-importance of course is often thereby confirmed, especially because of natural reluctance to draw attention 21  Wixted stresses the importance of including kundoku readings in modern translations of kanshi: “Without the kundoku text, much the most interesting part of a Sino-Japanese poem is left out. A kundoku reading tells us how the text was read, or might have been read, or has been read by many, most, or at least one reader. A kundoku parsing tells much about how the text has been construed: what, in a poetic line, is taken to be the topic, subject, verb, direct object, or adverb, as well as whether the verb is understood to be active, passive, causative, and the like…. The kundoku bridge between vastly different language systems often has its own mesmerizing rhythms which join the two worlds beautifully, and can be enjoyed as an end in its own right.” John Timothy Wixted, “Kanshi in Translation: How its Features can be Effectively Communicated,” Sino-Japanese Studies 21 (2014): 3–4.    Indeed, this latter point is also stressed by Professor Saitō in his discussion of the advent of the “kundoku style.” Fraleigh provides an example of the wide variation in how different Japanese scholars render yomikudashi readings of the same poem in his Plucking Chrysanthemums, 27.

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to one’s weaknesses.”22 Two decades after Wixted expressed such concerns, the number of summer kanbun reading workshops in North America has increased slightly but there are still few degree programs offering kanbun training on a regular basis. Denecke is similarly concerned with the denigration and segregation of kanbun sources in research on Japanese literary culture: “It is hard to imagine how the marginalized role of Chinese impact and of the history of Sino-Japanese literature could be brought into focus, because it is conflicted territory for Japanese consciousness and an implicit reproach to current national literary history. Neither is it of great interest to the Chinese …”23 In short, the field of East Asian literary studies in North America today faces the daunting task of de-nationalizing fields of literary study that have uncritically reproduced modern, exclusively vernacular-centered narratives of literary history in the “national studies” (J. kokugaku 国学, K. kukhak 國學) mode. The challenge is to critique and dismantle the largely artificial and entirely modern divides that separate traditional literary production in cosmopolitan Literary Sinitic from literature in the vernaculars, and “modern” from “premodern.” For Denecke, the ideal goal for a truly East Asian “East Asian Studies” would be to forge a “de-nationalized global discipline” along the lines of what Classics has long since become in the West.24 This is a tall order, but Professor Saitō’s book is an excellent example of the sort of work that needs to be done, and we offer this translation precisely in the hopes of drawing attention to the broader, comparative dimensions of the problem. 4

Towards a More Cosmopolitan East Asian Literary Studies

We have alluded already to the seminal role of Sheldon Pollock’s work on “cosmopolitan and vernacular” in our thinking about the trajectories of literary cultures in the former Sinographic Cosmopolis.25 Professor Pollock’s work 22  Wixted, “Kanbun, Histories of Japanese Literature, and Japanologists,” 29. 23  Wiebke Denecke, “Janus Came and Never Left: Writing Literary History in the Face of the Other. Some Reflections on the Intercultural Axes of China-Japan and Greece-Rome,” in Studying Transcultural Literary History, ed. Gunilla Lindberg-Wada (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2006), 286. 24  Ibid., 285. 25  For a defense of the terms “Literary Sinitic” and “Sinographic Cosmopolis,” see Ross King, “Ditching Diglossia: Describing Ecologies of the Spoken and Inscribed in Pre-modern Korea,” Sungkyun Journal of East Asian Studies 15, no. 1 (2015). Fraleigh, citing Fogel, uses the term “Sinosphere” throughout his book, but this strikes us as an inadequate term, for the simple reason that it omits reference to the single most important and defining

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has already begun to exert considerable influence far beyond the confines of Sanskrit Studies, and has elicited a number of in-depth reviews. Two of these are relevant to our purposes in contextualizing Professor Saitō’s book. The first is Rebecca Gould’s review of Pollock, titled “How Newness Enters the World: The Methodology of Sheldon Pollock.”26 The “newness” in her title refers to Pollock’s analysis of the emergence of Sanskrit as a translocal cosmopolitan language in South Asia in approximately the first three centuries of the Common Era, followed approximately a millennium later by the emergence of new cosmopolitan vernaculars modeled self-consciously on Sanskrit. Gould praises Pollock’s theoretical and methodological contribution to the field of comparative literary history, but closes by expressing her desire “to see the relevance of Pollock’s work become clearly perceptible beyond South Asian studies…. The biggest danger of area studies as it is organized today is precisely the ignorance it enforces of scholarship that takes place beyond the boundaries of a single region … It is particularly difficult to do so in a climate of fragmented areal knowledge.”27 Another useful review is that of Bronner, “A Road Map for Future Studies: The Language of the Gods in the World of Scholars.” While equally effusive in his praise of Pollock’s many fundamental insights, Bronner faults him for the “highly problematic” idea he finds hovering throughout the book that “Sanskrit ‘died’ or was ‘supplanted’ by the languages of place” and points to “a theoretical imbalance in Pollock’s book, where far more attention is dedicated to the fascinating question of what constitutes a beginning than to the equally fascinating question of what constitutes an end.”28 To bring these two reviews of Pollock’s The Language of the Gods in the World of Men back to East Asia, we would assert that Professor Saitō’s book, when read in English in a translation that deliberately highlights its relevance to transregional questions of literary culture in what might be called the Sinographic Cosmopolis, constitutes an important first step toward engaging with Pollock’s feature of this translocal cultural formation: the common reliance on sinographs and a shared core of canonical texts in Literary Sinitic. See Fraleigh, Plucking Chrysanthemums, page 369, note 5, and Joshua Fogel, Articulating the Sinosphere: Sino-Japanese Relations in Space and Time (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009). Professor Saitō prefers the term “Sinographic sphere,” while Lanselle and Bisetto use “sinographosphere.” Rainier Lanselle and Barbara Bisetto, eds., Intralingual Translation, Language Shifting and the Rise of Vernaculars in East Asian Classical and Premodern Cultures (forthcoming). 26  Rebecca Gould, “How Newness Enters the World: The Methodology of Sheldon Pollock,” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 28, no. 3 (2008): 533–557. 27  Ibid., 556. 28  Yigal Bronner, “A Road Map for Future Studies: The Language of the Gods in the World of Scholars,” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 31, no. 2 (2011): 543.

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oeuvre from East Asia (although we must also acknowledge that it is a challenge even within East Asian studies to transcend the narrow boundaries of the nation and attempt comparisons within East Asia, let alone engage entirely different cultural spheres). Moreover, Professor Saitō’s book serves as a model study for future scholarship on precisely the issue of literary endings rather than literary beginnings. How did the Sinographic Cosmopolis unravel in each of Japan, Korea, and Vietnam, and indeed, within China itself? Professor Saitō’s book tackles head-on a problem that cries out for more comparative treatment across East Asian literary traditions. 5

Terminology and Conventions

Because our aim has been to present Professor Saitō’s book in a way that opens it up beyond just the narrow confines of Japanese Studies and Japanese literature specialists, and in order more generally to grope toward a terminology and conceptual language that facilitates conversation between and across East Asian literary studies traditions that engage with each other far too infrequently, we have adopted certain terms and conventions that Japanese Studies readers might find occasionally jarring. We have already discussed the term kanbun above, but what about kanji 漢字? As with kanbun, to leave it untranslated and simply Romanized as such would obscure the otherwise obvious relevance of this term to readers coming to the book from Chinese, Korean, or Vietnamese literature. Thus, for kanji 漢字 we have opted in the main for “sinographs” (which for our purposes here can also subsume so-called kokuji 国字, or made-in-Japan sinographs). Parallel with the use of “Literary Sinitic” for kanbun, the point is to avoid “Chinese” and the unfortunate sinocentrism that terms like “Chinese characters” and “Classical Chinese” encourage in a context where Japanese, Koreans, and Vietnamese used these for more than a millennium. But we also occasionally use just kanji and kanbun when the context is clear, and for kanshi also use (following Fraleigh) “Sinitic poetry.”29 29  In a forthcoming contribution, Denecke renders kanshi as “Chinese-style poetry,” a term first used by Seeley, and found also in Lurie’s Realms of Literacy and Steininger’s Chinese Literary Forms in Heian Japan. Wiebke Denecke, “Modeling Literary Cultures: the Sanskrit Cosmopolis and the Sinographic Sphere,” in Cosmopolitan and Vernacular in the World of Wen: Reading Sheldon Pollock from the Sinographic Cosmopolis, ed. Ross King. Leiden: Brill, forthcoming. Christopher Seeley, A History of Writing in Japan (Leiden & New York: E.J. Brill, 1991).    We agree with Fraleigh that if the term kanshi in Japanese can embrace poetry by both Li Bai and Sugawara no Michizane, it is better to refer to their poems as “Literary Sinitic

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5.1 Romanization For Japanese, we use Revised Hepburn. The object particle を is rendered everywhere as o. For Korean, McCune-Reischauer is used. For Chinese, pinyin is used, but we have omitted indications of tone. This is partly for expedience and to avoid an overly linguisticky feel to the volume, but we also note that in the case of proper names and citations, it is standard practice in Chinese Studies these days to omit the tones. And in the case of Chinese poems written by Chinese poets, the point is not to give an accurate guide to the pronunciation in Chinese (for most of the poems cited, modern Mandarin is anachronistic in any case), but to make a work otherwise targeted at students of Japan and Korea (and even Vietnam) more congenial for colleagues and students in Chinese Studies. 5.2 Citations Like most Japanese works of this nature, Professor Saitō’s original book does not give page numbers for citations. Wherever possible, we have endeavoured to provide these. 5.2.1 Kundoku For the reasons noted above, we have endeavoured for the most part to provide a Japanese yomikudashi reading (a Japanese vernacular vocalization according to traditional Japanese kundoku or “vernacular reading” methods) of the Sinitic poetry in the footnotes for Japanophone readers. 5.3 Sinographs and Footnotes The editors have operated with the assumption that, all things being equal, it is best to keep the use of sinographs in the main text to a minimum. On the other hand, a book like this that argues for a more comparative approach to the role of Literary Sinitic in the formation of modern East Asian literatures needs to give readers access to both sinographs and to the originals of literary texts cited and translated; this we have done in the footnotes. Thus, unless otherwise noted, all of the footnotes in the translation have been supplied by the editors, and they are of two types: footnotes with explanatory content are numbered, while footnotes that indicate sinographs and their pronunciations use symbols. Throughout, we have followed Handel’s approach in differentiating

poetry” or just “Sinitic poetry,” rather than risk a usage whereby “Chinese-style” might be taken to refer only to the kanshi poems of Sugawara no Michizane. See Fraleigh, Plucking Chrysanthemums, 23.

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the font based on the linguistic context. Thus, sinographs appear in PMingLiU (Proportional Ming Light Unicode) when the context is primarily Chinese, in MS Mincho for Japanese (traditional characters when citing sources or titles where they appear as such), and in Batang for Korean.30 In contexts that span more than one civilization, PMingLiU is used. 6

And Finally, About the Author: Saitō Mareshi

Born in 1963, Saitō Mareshi studied Chinese Language and Literature at Kyoto University at both the bachelor’s and post-graduate level. After appointments at Nara Women’s University and the National Institute of Japanese Literature, he was appointed associate professor at the University of Tokyo’s Graduate School of Arts and Sciences on the Komaba campus in 2002. In 2015 he moved to the Graduate School of Humanities and Sociology on the Hongō campus, where he currently serves as professor of Chinese Literature, specializing in Six Dynasties literature, theories of classical literature, and modern East Asian literature. The author of at least eight co-edited or co-authored volumes and no less than five solo-authored monographs, Professor Saitō is a prolific writer with an impressive range in terms of both time period and theoretical interests. As can be seen from the list of his publications at the end of this “Preface,” his interests range from the literary interactions between Late Qing China and Meiji Japan (the topic of his first book in 2005 that in turn led to the kanbunmyaku book of 2007 of which the present volume is a translation), to questions of “écriture” or inscriptional style, rhetoric, and orthography in Literary Sinitic (his 2007 article on kundokubun and his 2010 book on “kanbun style”),31 to finely grained analyses of Literary Sinitic poetry from both Japan and China (his 2013 book, Gateway to Sinitic Poetry in Japan, and his latest book from 2016, Poetic Topos: The Power of Sinitic Poetry to Link Individuals and Places), to the role of sinographic writing across the broad sweep of East Asian history (his 2014 book, Horizons of the Sinographic World).32 Co-authored and/or co-edited works 30  Zev Handel, Sinography: How the Chinese Script has been Adapted to Write Other Languages (Boston and Leiden: Brill, 2019). 31  “Gen to bun no aida: Kundokubun to iu shikumi [Between Speech and Writing: the Mechanism of kundokubun],” Bungaku 8, no. 6: 91–98 (2007), Kanbun sutairu [Kanbun Style] (Tokyo: Hatori shoten, 2010). 32  Kanshi no tobira [Gateway to Sinitic Poetry in Japan] (Tokyo: Kadokawa, 2013); Shi no toposu: hito to basho o musubu kanshi no chikara [Poetic Topos: The Power of Sinitic Poetry to Link Individuals and Places] (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 2016); Kanji sekai no chihei: watashitachi

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have included volumes on overseas travel and translated fiction from the Meiji period, as well as annotated translations from the Zhuzi yulei (Conversations of Master Zhu, Arranged Topically).33 Professor Saitō has also published dozens of research articles and reviews, including an early co-authored review of David Knechtges’ translation of juan 1 and 2 of the Wenxuan 文選,34 a decade-long series of essays published between 2006 and 2018 in UP (University Press) titled “Notes on kanbun” (partially reprised in his 2010 “Kanbun style” book), and papers with titles like “Before the ‘National Language,’”35 “The Freedom of kundoku,”36 “East Asia as Sinographic Sphere,”37 “On the Spread and Transformation The Pilgrim’s Progress Translated into Chinese by William C. Burns,”38 “The Politics of Dōbun 同文 ‘Same Script,’”39 “Pan-Asianism and kanbun in Modern Japan: The Case of Okamoto Kensuke,”40 etc. Though most of his works are available exclusively in Japanese, there are English translations of his scholarship on Liang Qichao and on “cultivated speech.”41 ni totte moji to wa nani ka [Horizons of the Sinographic World: What is “Writing” for us?] (Tokyo: Shinchōsha, 2014). See also “Kindai kundokutai to Higashi Ajia” [Modern kundoku Style and East Asia], in Kindai Higashi Ajia ni okeru buntai no hensen: keishiki to naijitsu no sōkoku o koete [Changes in Écriture in Modern East Asia: Beyond the Incompatibility of Form and Content], ed. Shin Kokui 沈国威 and Uchida Keiichi 内田慶市 (Tokyo: Hakuteisha, 2010), 109–119. 33  Kōzen Hiroshi 興膳宏, Kizu Yūko 木津祐子 and Saitō Mareshi 齋藤希史, eds. Shushi gorui yakuchū, maki 10–11 [Annotated translation of Zhuzi yulei 朱子語類, fascicles 10– 11]. (Tokyo: Kyūko shoin, 2009). 34  Saitō Mareshi 齋藤希史, Taniguchi Hiroshi 谷口洋, and Harata Naoe 原田直枝. “[Shohyō] D.R. Konekutasu yaku Monzen Dai ikkan, Dai nikan” [Review of D.R. Knechtges, trans., Wen xuan, or, Selections of Refined Literature], Chūgoku bungakuhō 44 (1992): 120–136. 35  “‘Kokugo’ izen” [Before the “National Language”], Hyōgensha 5 (2006): 62–65. 36  “Kundoku no jiyū” [The Freedom of Kundoku], Tōhō 319 (2007): 2–6. 37  “Kanjiken toshite no Higashi Ajia” [East Asia as Sinographic Sphere], Daikōkai 66 (2008): 77–85. Unpublished translation by Matthew Fraleigh available online at: http:// fusehime.c.u-tokyo.ac.jp/eastasia/e/activity/images/SAITO%20Mareshi. 38  “Burns yaku Tenro rekitei no denpa to hen’yō” [On the Spread and Transformation of The Pilgrim’s Progress Translated into Chinese by William C. Burns], Chōiki bunka kagaku kiyō 14 (2009): 123–140. 39  “Dōbun no poritikusu” [The Politics of “Dōbun”]. Bungaku 10, no. 6 (2009): 38–48. 40  “Kindai Nihon no Ajiashugi to kanbun: Okamoto Kensuke no baai” [Pan-Asianism and kanbun in Modern Japan: The Case of Okamoto Kensuke], Chūgoku: shakai to bunka 28 (2013): 11–27. 41  “Liang Qichao’s Consciousness of Language,” trans. Matthew Fraleigh, in The Role of Japan in Liang Qichao’s Introduction of Modern Western Civilization to China, ed. Joshua Fogel (Berkeley, CA: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley, Center for Chinese Studies, 2004), 247–271; “The Space of ‘Cultivated Speech’: Writing

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Acknowledgements

First and foremost, the editors wish to thank Professor Saitō Mareshi for his kind permission to translate and publish his book, and especially for his gracious assistance with all manner of details related to the project, ranging from questions of terminology and translation to providing the files for the figures and illustrations. We were especially fortunate to be able to host him at UBC in spring of 2016 as we completed the first complete draft and he made time to come to Vancouver again in 2018 to assist with final editing questions. The editors also wish to acknowledge the hard work of the UBC graduate students in Asian Studies who produced the initial translations of each of the chapters: Alexey Lushchenko (Chapter 1), Sean Bussell (Chapter 2), Scott Wells (Chapter 3), Si Nae Park (Chapter 4), Matthieu Felt (Chapter 5) and Caleb Park (Chapter 6). Nick Hall and Daniel Kane both rendered invaluable editorial assistance at various stages as well. Miaoling Xue and Baba Akiko both checked through parts of the manuscript. The graphic elements were designed by Sophia Wu. We are also grateful to Patricia Radder, Irene Jager, and the rest of the team at Brill for their expert and cheerful assistance. Three colleagues were especially helpful with feedback on earlier drafts of the translation. Joshua Fogel of York University gave valuable advice and encouragement on the first draft, and subsequently Timothy Wixted, Professor Emeritus from Arizona State University, whose publications on kanshi and kanbun had already provided much inspiration for the project, provided a wealth of detailed feedback, corrections, edits, and expertise (far beyond the call of duty), much of which has saved the editors and translators in many cases from certain embarrassment and ignominy. The editors have also benefitted immensely from the kind counsel of Professor Matthew Fraleigh of Brandeis University and from the rich discussions in his recently published book on the life and works of Narushima Ryūhoku (1837–1884), much of which is germane to, and indeed draws on, the ideas in Saitō Mareshi’s book. The final version of the translation is hugely indebted to both Professor Wixted and Professor Fraleigh on many counts, but any and all remaining errors (and there are no doubt many) are the responsibility of the editors. Sven Osterkamp of Ruhr-Universität Bochum also kindly caught many errors in the final stages of manuscript preparation.

and Language in the Sinographic Sphere,” in Cosmopolitan and Vernacular in the World of Wen: Reading Sheldon Pollock from the Sinographic Cosmopolis, ed. Ross King (Leiden: Brill, forthcoming).

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Finally, the editors acknowledge with gratitude that this work was supported by the Academy of Korean Studies Grant funded by the Korean Government (MEST) (AKS-2011-AAA-2103). Bibliography Bronner, Yigal. “A Road Map for Future Studies: The Language of the Gods in the World of Scholars.” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 31, no. 2 (2011): 538–544. Denecke, Wiebke. “Chinese Antiquity and Court Spectacle in Early Kanshi.” Journal of Japanese Studies 30, no. 1 (2004): 97–122. Denecke, Wiebke. Classical World Literatures: Sino-Japanese and Greco-Roman Comparisons. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014. Denecke, Wiebke. “Janus Came and Never Left: Writing Literary History in the Face of the Other. Some Reflections on the Intercultural Axes of China-Japan and GreeceRome.” In Studying Transcultural Literary History, edited by Gunilla Lindberg-Wada, 278–288. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2006. Denecke, Wiebke. “Modeling Literary Cultures: the Sanskrit Cosmopolis and the Sinographic Sphere.” In Cosmopolitan and Vernacular in the World of Wen: Reading Sheldon Pollock from the Sinographic Cosmopolis, edited by Ross King. Leiden: Brill, forthcoming. Denecke, Wiebke. “‘Topic Poetry Is All Ours’: Poetic Composition on Chinese Lines in Early Heian Japan.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 67, no. 1 (2007): 1–49. Fogel, Joshua. Articulating the Sinosphere: Sino-Japanese Relations in Space and Time. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009. Fraleigh, Matthew. New Chronicles of Yanagibashi and Diary of a Journey to the West: Narushima Ryūhoku Reports from Home and Abroad. Ithaca: Cornell East Asia Program, 2011. Fraleigh, Matthew. Plucking Chrysanthemums: Narushima Ryūhoku and Sinitic Literary Traditions in Modern Japan. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2016. Fraleigh, Matthew. “Songs of the Righteous Spirit: ‘Men of High Purpose’ and Their Chinese Poetry in Modern Japan.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 69, no. 1 (2009): 109–171. Fraleigh, Matthew. “Vassal of a Deposed Regime: Archetypes of Reclusion in the Poetry of Former Shogunal Official Yaguchi Kensai.” East Asian History 38 (2014): 97–124. Gould, Rebecca. “How Newness Enters the World: The Methodology of Sheldon Pollock.” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 28, no. 3 (2008): 533–557.

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Handel, Zev. Sinography: How the Chinese Script has been Adapted to Write Other Languages. Boston and Leiden: Brill, 2019. Kin Bunkyō (Kim Mun’gyŏng). Kanbun to Higashi Ajia: Kundoku no bunkaken [Literary Sinitic and East Asia: A Cultural Sphere of Vernacular Reading]. Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 2010. Kin Bunkyō (Kim Mun’gyŏng). Literary Sinitic and East Asia: A Cultural Sphere of Vernacular Reading, edited by Ross King and translated by Ross King, Si Nae Park, Marjorie Burge, Alexey Lushchenko, and Mina Hattori. Leiden: Brill, forthcoming. King, Ross. “Ditching Diglossia: Describing Ecologies of the Spoken and Inscribed in Pre-modern Korea.” Sungkyun Journal of East Asian Studies 15, no. 1 (2015): 1–19. King, Ross. “Korean kugyŏl Writing and the Problem of Vernacularization in the Sinitic Sphere.” Paper presented at the Association for Asian Studies, Boston, MA. March 23, 2007. Kobayashi Yoshinori. “Kankoku no kakuhitsuten to Nihon no kokunten no kankei” [The Relationship between Korean Stylus Glosses and Old Japanese Kunten Glosses]. Kugyŏl yŏn’gu 8 (2002): 50–57. Kornicki, Peter. “A Note on Sino-Japanese: A Question of Terminology.” Sino-Japanese Studies 17 (2010): 29–44. Kornicki, Peter. Languages, Scripts, and Chinese Texts in East Asia. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018. Lanselle, Rainier, and Barbara Bisetto, eds. Intralingual Translation, Language Shifting and the Rise of Vernaculars in East Asian Classical and Premodern Cultures. Leiden: Brill, forthcoming. Lurie, David B. Realms of Literacy: Early Japan and the History of Writing. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2011. Mair, Victor H. “Buddhism and the Rise of the Written Vernacular in East Asia: The Making of National Languages.” Journal of Asian Studies 53, no. 3 (1994): 707–751. Mair, Victor H. “Review of Hilary Chappell, ed. Sinitic Grammar: Synchronic and Diachronic Perspectives.” Sino-Platonic Papers 145 (Reviews XI) (2004): 8–14. Nam P’unghyŏn. Kugŏsa rŭl wihan kugyŏl yŏn’gu [Kugyŏl Studies from the Perspective of the History of the National Language]. Seoul: T’aehaksa, 1999. Pollock, Sheldon. The Language of the Gods in the World of Men: Sanskrit, Culture, and Power in Premodern India. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2006. Rabinovitch, Judith, and Timothy Bradstock. Dance of the Butterflies: Chinese Poetry from the Japanese Court Tradition. Ithaca: Cornell University East Asia Series, 2005. Rabinovitch, Judith, and Timothy Bradstock. “Paulownia Leaves Falling: The Kanshi Poetry of Inaga Nanpo (1865–1901).” Japan Review 21 (2009): 33–122. Robinson, Fred C. “Syntactical Glosses in Latin Manuscripts of Anglo-Saxon Provenance.” Speculum 48, no. 3 (1973): 443–475.

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Rouzer, Paul. “Early Buddhist Kanshi: Court, Country, and Kūkai.” Monumenta Nipponica 59, no. 4 (Winter 2004): 431–461. Saitō Mareshi. “Burns yaku Tenro rekitei no denpa to hen’yō” [On the Spread and Transformation of The Pilgrim’s Progress Translated into Chinese by William C. Burns]. Chōiki bunka kagaku kiyō 14 (2009): 123–140. Saitō Mareshi. “Dōbun no poritikusu” [The Politics of “Dōbun”]. Bungaku 10, no. 6 (2009): 38–48. Saitō Mareshi. “Gen to bun no aida: Kundokubun to iu shikumi” [Between Speech and Writing: the Mechanism of Kundokubun]. Bungaku 8, no. 6 (2007): 91–98. Saitō Mareshi. Kanbun sutairu [Kanbun Style]. Tokyo: Hatori shoten, 2010. Saitō Mareshi. Kanbunmyaku no kindai: Shinmatsu=Meiji no bungakuken [The Modernity of the Literary Sinitic Context: The Late Qing-Meiji Literary Sphere]. Nagoya: Nagoya Daigaku shuppankai, 2005. Saitō Mareshi. Kanbunmyaku to kindai Nihon: mō hitotsu no kotoba no sekai [The Literary Sinitic Context and Modern Japan: Another Language World]. Tokyo: Nihon hōsō shuppan kyōkai, 2007. Saitō Mareshi. Kanji sekai no chihei: watashitachi ni totte moji to wa nani ka [Horizons of the Sinographic World: What is “Writing” for Us?]. Tokyo: Shinchōsha, 2014. Saitō Mareshi. “Kanjiken toshite no Higashi Ajia” [East Asia as Sinographic Sphere]. Daikōkai 66 (2008): 77–85. Unpublished translation by Matthew Fraleigh available online at: http://fusehime.c.u-tokyo.ac.jp/eastasia/e/activity/images/SAITO%20 Mareshi. Saitō Mareshi. Kanshi no tobira [Gateway to Sinitic Poetry in Japan]. Tokyo: Kadokawa, 2013. Saitō Mareshi. “Kindai kundokutai to Higashi Ajia” [Modern Kundoku Style and East Asia]. In Kindai Higashi Ajia ni okeru buntai no hensen: keishiki to naijitsu no sōkoku o koete [Changes in Écriture in Modern East Asia: Beyond the Incompatibility of Form and Content], edited by Shin Kokui and Uchida Keiichi, 109–119. Tokyo: Hakuteisha, 2010. Saitō Mareshi. “Kindai Nihon no Ajiashugi to kanbun: Okamoto Kensuke no baai” [Pan-Asianism and kanbun in Modern Japan: The Case of Okamoto Kensuke]. Chūgoku: shakai to bunka 28 (2013): 11–27. Saitō Mareshi. “‘Kokugo’ izen” [Before the “National Language”]. Hyōgensha 5 (2006): 62–65. Saitō Mareshi. Kŭndaeŏ ŭi t’ansaeng kwa hanmun: Hanmunmaek kwa kŭndae ilbon [Literary Sinitic and the Birth of the Modern Language: Kanbunmyaku and Modern Japan]. Translated into Korean by Hwang Hodŏk, Im Sangsŏk, and Yu Ch’unghŭi. Seoul: Hyŏnsil munhwa, 2010. Saitō Mareshi. “Kundoku no jiyū” [The Freedom of Kundoku]. Tōhō 319 (2007): 2–6.

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Saitō Mareshi. “Liang Qichao’s Consciousness of Language.” Trans. Matthew Fraleigh. In The Role of Japan in Liang Qichao’s Introduction of Modern Western Civilization to China, edited by Joshua Fogel, 247–271. Berkeley, CA: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley, Center for Chinese Studies, 2004. Saitō Mareshi. Shi no toposu: hito to basho o musubu kanshi no chikara [Poetic Topos: The Power of Sinitic Poetry to Link Individuals and Places]. Tokyo: Heibonsha, 2016. Saitō Mareshi. “The Space of ‘Cultivated Speech’: Writing and Language in the Sinographic Sphere.” In Cosmopolitan and Vernacular in the World of Wen: Reading Sheldon Pollock from the Sinographic Cosmopolis, edited by Ross King. Leiden: Brill, forthcoming. Saitō Mareshi, Taniguchi Hiroshi, and Harata Naoe. “[Shohyō] D.R. Konekutasu yaku Monzen Dai ikken, Dai niken” [Review of D.R. Knechtges, trans., Wen xuan, or, Selections of Refined Literature]. Chūgoku bungakuhō 44 (1992): 120–136. Seeley, Christopher. A History of Writing in Japan. Leiden: Brill, 1991. Smits, Ivo. The Pursuit of Loneliness: Chinese and Japanese Nature Poetry in Medieval Japan, ca. 1050–1150. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1995. Steininger, Brian. Chinese Literary Forms in Heian Japan: Poetics and Practice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2017. Tuck, Robert. “Poets, Paragons and Literary Politics: Sugawara no Michizane in Imperial Japan.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 74, no. 1 (2014): 43–99. Wells, W. Scott. “From Center to Periphery: The Demotion of Literary Sinitic and the Beginnings of hanmunkwa—Korea, 1876–1910.” M.A. thesis, The University of British Columbia, 2011. Whitman, John. “The Ubiquity of the Gloss.” Scripta 3 (2011): 1–27. Wixted, John Timothy. “Kanbun, Histories of Japanese Literature, and Japanologists.” Sino-Japanese Studies 10, no. 2 (April 1998): 23–31. Reprinted in The New Historicism and Japanese Literary Studies, Eiji Sekine, ed., PMAJLS: Proceedings of the Midwest Association for Japanese Literary Studies 4 (Summer 1998): 313–326; and translated by Amalia Sato, “Kambun, historias de la literatura japonesa y japanólogos,” Tokonoma: Traducción y literatura (Buenos Aires) 6 (Fall 1998): 129–139. Wixted, John Timothy. “Kanshi in Translation: How its Features can be Effectively Communicated.” Sino-Japanese Studies 21 (2014): 1–12. Wixted, John Timothy. “Review of Realms of Literacy: Early Japan and the History of Writing by David B. Lurie.” Monumenta Nipponica 68, no. 1 (2013): 89–94. Zhu Xi. Shushi gorui yakuchū, maki 10–11 [Annotated translation of Zhuzi yulei, fascicles 10–11]. Translated and annotated by Kōzen Hiroshi, Kizu Yūko, and Saitō Mareshi. Tokyo: Kyūko shoin, 2009.

Author’s Preface to the English Edition When we think about language and modern Japan, it is difficult not to include kanbun and writing styles that reference kanbun in our perspective. This has been pointed out by numerous scholars and is now largely accepted as common knowledge. But the breadth of kanbun and writing styles referencing kanbun make it a challenge to take full account of these forms. This book is an attempt to visualize kanbun in modern Japan through the lens of the “Kanbun Context” (kanbunmyaku), translated in this book as the Literary Sinitic Context. The scope of the term kanbunmyaku, or Literary Sinitic Context, is not predetermined. Like many new terms coined for their utility, the intent was to open up new perspectives with the hope that readers would determine the usefulness of this coinage. In my own work, I continue to consider what can be revealed through the perspective of the Kanbun Context. In 2007, Kanbunmyaku to kindai Nihon: mō hitotsu no kotoba no sekai was published by NHK Books. I had no idea that it would be read so widely. The publisher asked me to ensure that it would be accessible to a general audience, a challenge which helped me refine my own views and provide a clearer perspective. I am grateful for the difficulties I encountered if they have helped me to reach a broader audience. The release of the Korean translation of Kanbunmyaku to kindai Nihon in 2010 reminded me of the importance of considering the issues I had examined, not just in terms of the modern period in Japan, but also for East Asia broadly. The use of sinographs in premodern East Asia produced a shared cultural and literary sphere which was transformed during the modern period. Although there are unique aspects to the changes that took place in each region, it is nonetheless possible to compare these transformations to gain a better understanding of how the world of modern East Asia developed. I found it enormously encouraging to be able to share this historical perspective on language issues through the Korean translation of Kanbunmyaku to kindai Nihon. And now, with the completion and publication of the English translation, I am delighted to be able to reach English-speaking readers, where many are interested in East Asia or the relationship between traditional language worlds and modern language. I am excited to see what kind of readers this translation will reach and I look forward to hearing their responses. The translation was made possible by Ross King and Christina Laffin at the University of British Columbia and the many students and scholars with whom they collaborated. I am grateful for their tireless efforts in carefully examining the Japanese and Korean versions and in adding notes aimed at an

Author ’ s Preface to the English Edition

xxix

English-language readership. Over the course of the translation, I had the opportunity to visit the University of British Columbia numerous times for seminars using the content of this book and meetings to discuss the translation. The chance to discuss problems together in the beautiful setting of Vancouver was an invaluable experience for me. In the afterword to the 2014 Kadokawa Sofia Bunko edition of Kanbunmyaku to kindai Nihon I wrote: “As a book that had the good fortune of being read by so many, may this new edition bring the happiness of even wider readership.” With apologies for repeating the same phrase, it seems a fitting way to thank the many people who have contributed to making this translation possible.

Illustrations 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Tangut script 11 Chữ nôm script 12 Unglossed Literary Sinitic text 33 Woodblock print of Tao Yuanming’s “Returning Home” 34 Portrait of Rai San’yō 36 Kaishinshōsha edition of the Unofficial History of Japan 51 Meiji-era Kawagoe woodblock edition of the Unofficial History of Japan 52 Volume 1 of the Kawagoe edition of the Unofficial History of Japan 55 Volume 6 of Kajin no kigū 65 Meiji-era composition textbook depicting Kusunoki Masashige 74 Two foci: functionality and mentality 82 Dictionary entries with kundoku descriptions 94 Mori Shuntō 116 Public and private worlds 123 Diary of a Westbound Voyage (Kōsei nikki) 136 Tranquility and sentiment 159 An example of a poetry crib 204

Introduction The chief aim of this book is to consider the language space of modern Japan from the perspective of what I am calling kanbunmyaku1* in Japanese, translated here as “Literary Sinitic Context.” I use the term “Literary Sinitic”2 to designate what is often referred to as “Classical Chinese” or “Literary Chinese” in English, wenyan in Mandarin Chinese, kanbun in Japanese (sometimes referred to as “Sino-Japanese” in English), and hanmun in Korean.† The Context in Literary Sinitic Context translates the -myaku of kanbunmyaku, and usually implies a pulse, vein, flow, or path, but is also the second constituent element of the Sino-Japanese term bunmyaku‡ meaning “(textual, literary) context.” I use the term Literary Sinitic Context to encompass both Literary Sinitic proper, as well as orthographic and literary styles (buntai) derived from Literary Sinitic, such as glossed reading (kundoku) or Literary Japanese (bungobun),** which mix sinographs†† and katakana. In addition to styles I also consider Literary Sinitic thought and sensibility,3 at the core of which lie Literary Sinitic poetry (kanshi) and prose (kanbun), collectively termed kanshibun.4 How is literary language in modern Japan related to Literary Sinitic poetry and prose? Linking the process of modernization with Literary Sinitic may seem counter-intuitive. Indeed, the establishment of the colloquial style,5 which served as the basis for modern written vernacular Japanese, is usually considered the single greatest transformation of the Japanese language during the modern period (the mid-nineteenth 1  Unless otherwise noted, pronunciations in italics designate Japanese. All notes have been added by the editors and translators. 2  For the term “Literary Sinitic,” see Mair, “Buddhism and the Rise of the Written Vernacular.” 3  Here and throughout the book, “thought and sensibility” is used to render kankaku 感覚, meaning something like “literary zeitgeist.” 4  Literary Sinitic poetry (kanshi 漢詩), Literary Sinitic prose (kanbun 漢文), and the umbrella term of “Literary Sinitic poetry and prose” (kanshibun 漢詩文). 5  The modern colloquial style here refers to genbun itchi tai 言文一致体: “reconciliation of speech and writing.” See Tomi Suzuki, Narrating the Self: Fictions of Japanese Modernity (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1996); Massimiliano Tomasi, “Quest for a New Written Language: Western Rhetoric and the Genbun Itchi Movement,” Monumenta Nipponica 54, no. 3 (Autumn 1999); and Indra Levy, Sirens of the Western Shore: The Westernesque Femme Fatale, Translation, and Vernacular Style in Modern Japanese Literature (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006).

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004436947_002

*  漢文脈.

†  Wenyan 文言, kanbun 漢文, and hanmun 漢文. ‡  Bunmyaku 文脈. ** Buntai 文体 (literary style; orthographic style), kundoku 訓 読 (literally, “vernacular reading”) and bungobun 文語文 (Literary Japanese) will be discussed in greater detail below. †† Kanji 漢字, i.e., “Chinese” characters.

2

*  Civilization and enlightenment (bunmei kaika 文明開化).

†  Kotoba no sekai ことば の世界.

Introduction

century to present). In contrast, the style of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose is often seen as embodying the old and the premodern. But if the civilization and enlightenment (bunmei kaika)* of modern Japan is tied exclusively to Western influence, modern Japan can only be understood from the perspective of “translation style,”6 a view I reject. Nonetheless, a deeper familiarity with the Meiji era (1868–1912) reveals that many Japanese received a superb education in kanbun; that this background in kanbun facilitated the creation of thousands of neologisms as translation equivalents in modern Japanese; and that the language of modern Japan is intimately bound up with Literary Sinitic. Some may object that kanbun was ultimately driven out by Western culture, that Literary Sinitic poetry and prose were abandoned in the long run, and that a traditional premodern education was simply used in this process as a convenient expedient, only to be jettisoned as soon as it was no longer useful. Some might assume that kanbun was abandoned on the surface, but lives on as the undercurrent of Japanese culture. Or, they may lament that present-day Japan has relegated Literary Sinitic poetry and prose to a kind of benign neglect. In response to such divergent views, this book calls for a more thorough pursuit of the history of Japanese literary language, and for a wider perspective. The roles played by Literary Sinitic poetry and prose in the language world† of Japan vary according to time period, and the factors surrounding the diffusion of Literary Sinitic thought and sensibilities changed greatly around the middle of the early modern period (i.e., late eighteenth century). Literary Sinitic poetry and prose came to acquire such sway, not only at the level of style, but also at the level of thought and sensibility, that we can speak of a veritable surge in the Literary Sinitic Context starting in the early 1800s and peaking during the Meiji period. It was this surge that paved the way for modernity in Japanese literary language. The chronotope (time-space) of modern Japan was established stylistically and philosophically on the basis of a language world supported by the Literary Sinitic Context. Its continued survival was sustained by either breaking away from this world, or by disassembling and recombining this world. Through a clarification of the dynamics of such 6  Hon’yaku buntai 翻訳文体. See Akira Mizuno, “Stylistic Norms in the Early Meiji Period: From Chinese Influences to European Influences,” in Translation and Translation Studies in the Japanese Context, ed. Nana Sato-Rossberg and Judy Wakabayashi (London; New York: Bloomsbury, 2012).

Introduction

inheritance and conflict, adoption and exclusion, we can reinterpret the Literary Sinitic Context not as some antiquated style, or as classical wisdom deployed in modern times, but as an entity intimately related to the Japanese language as a whole, even to this day. Such is the main argument of this book. The overall structure of the book is as follows. Chapter 1 provides an outline of the entire book, and Chapter 6 acts in concert with it; they can be read together in order to grasp the broad results of this study. Chapters 2 to 5 are a detailed discussion arranged chronologically. In Chapter 2, I focus on the scholar Rai San’yō7 and discuss the last century or so of the Edo period (1603–1868) when Literary Sinitic came to be established as an essential part of a proper education. In Chapter 3, I trace the early Meiji-era process whereby kanbun kundoku style8 (hereafter Kundoku Style) was adopted as an all-purpose popular “national” style of the people. In Chapter 4, as an extension of the process discussed in Chapter 3, I describe how the mechanics of modern Japanese literature crystallized on the basis of the Literary Sinitic Context. I examine the self-consciousness of the late nineteenth-century kanshi poets Mori Shuntō and Ōnuma Chinzan, and the writer Mori Ōgai.9 In Chapter 5, I focus on the terms “love” and “foreign” as concepts that triggered a profound transformation of the Literary Sinitic Context.* I examine travel writing, novels, and short stories by the modern writers Nagai Kafū, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, and Akutagawa Ryūnosuke10 during the transition from the Meiji to the Taishō era (1912–1926). 7  Rai San’yō 頼山陽 (1781–1832) was a Confucian scholar and statesman, known for his work as a skilled kanshi poet. He authored the Unofficial History of Japan (Nihon gaishi 日本外史), a widely read text that supported a pro-emperor standpoint. The influence of this work is examined in Chapter 2. 8  Kanbun kundoku style, or kanbun kundoku tai 漢文訓読体, is a formalized register in written Japanese that involves converting into Japanese via the kundoku “vernacular reading” textual markings a text originally composed in Literary Sinitic. For the notion of “vernacular reading” or “reading by gloss,” see Lurie, Realms of Literacy. 9  Mori Shuntō 森春濤 (1819–1889) was a kanshi poet and proponent of Qing-era (1644–1911) poetry, particularly the Seirei 性霊 style. Ōnuma Chinzan 大沼沈山 (1818–1891) similarly advocated the Seirei school, and was a student of the kanshi master Yanagawa Seigan (1789–1858). Mori Ōgai 森鴎外 (1862–1922) was a leading novelist and poet with a background in both medicine and literary studies. 10  Nagai Kafū 永井荷風 (1879–1959) was a Japanese novelist trained in both classical Chinese texts and Western literature, with a particular interest in French naturalism. He published diaries and fictional works often centered on the pleasure quarters of early twentieth-century Tokyo. Tanizaki Jun’ichirō

3

*  The original terms are ren’ai 恋愛 (romantic love) and ikoku 異国 (lit., “foreign country”).

4

Introduction

As this brief chapter outline shows, rather than providing a uniform description such as those found in standard overviews, this book gives priority to a specific range of topics. In order to accomplish this I have included numerous citations intended to inform readers about the language world of the Literary Sinitic Context. Let us now consider this language world that looms so large in the background of Japan’s modern written vernacular. 谷崎潤一郎 (1886–1965) was a novelist whose early works were characterized by Western-influenced eroticism and diabolism, with later publications shifting towards traditional Japanese society and aesthetics. Akutagawa Ryūnosuke 芥川龍之介 (1892–1927) was an influential writer known for his vivid and often macabre short stories that drew on a range of materials, including medieval Japanese tale collections, Chinese fiction, and European literature.

Chapter 1

What Is the Literary Sinitic Context?: Two Poles of Style and Thought 1

Japan’s Literary Sinitic Context

As stated in the Preface, this book investigates the relationship between Literary Sinitic poetry and prose (kanshibun) and the written language of modern-day Japan. It is thus necessary to consider not only Literary Sinitic poetry and prose, but also the Literary Sinitic tone or register* that developed from them. Practices like the use of sinographs; the citation of Literary Sinitic poetry and idiomatic expressions consisting of classical historical allusions; and the use of diction derived from registers closely related to kundoku-style practices for glossing Literary Sinitic texts are still important and integral components of the Japanese language even today. Pre-1945 Sinified Literary Japanese,1 which is written as a mix of sinographs and katakana syllables, is a style created from Literary Sinitic. It was formerly widely used as the official style, as can be seen in the imperial edict issued at the end of World War II, which read: Enduring what is hard to endure, bearing what is hard to bear, we wish to open great peace for all ages taegataki o tae shinobigataki o shinobi, motte bansei no tame ni taihei o hirakamu to hossu 堪ヘ難キヲ堪ヘ忍ヒ難キヲ忍ヒ、以テ萬世ノ爲ニ大平ヲ開カム ト欲ス

All legislation, too, was written in the same Literary Japanese for a long time after the war. Criminal law was changed over to more colloquial language only in the 1990s and civil law followed Literary Japanese until very recently. Thus, the sentence, “The exercise of one’s rights and performance of one’s duties must be done truthfully and faithfully,” is at present expressed as: 1  I.e., the Sinicized variety of Literary Japanese deriving from kanbun kundoku.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004436947_003

*  Kanbunchō 漢文調 “a register that evokes Literary Sinitic.” Henceforth rendered as Literary Sinitic register.

6

Chapter 1

Kenri no kōshi oyobi gimu no rikō wa, shingi ni shitagai seijitsu ni okonawanakereba naranai 権利の行使及び義務の履行は、信義に従い誠実に行わなければ ならない

while prior to April 2005 it read as follows:2 kenri no kōshi oyobi gimu no rikō wa shingi ni shitagai seijitsu ni kore o nasu koto o yōsu 権利ノ行使及ヒ義務ノ履行ハ信義ニ従ヒ誠実ニ之ヲ爲スコトヲ 要ス

*  Kanbun no soyō 漢文の 素養.

†  Sodoku 素読.

Although the relative salience of this Literary Sinitic register in public life has been gradually decreasing, it remains deeply rooted in some specialized fields. There are also Japanese who still appreciate the Literary Sinitic register for its rhythm. In any case, this style could not have come into existence without Literary Sinitic poetry and prose. It is impossible to compose a text in Literary Sinitic register without knowing not only sinographs, but also Literary Sinitic poetry and prose. This knowledge is commonly known as “cultivation in Literary Sinitic.”* Unfortunately, the term “Literary Sinitic cultivation” is ill-defined. Is familiarity with Literary Sinitic poetry and prose and knowledge of famous classical allusions sufficient? Does one have to be able to compose Literary Sinitic poetry? Or is this kind of knowledge only attained after internalizing classical works through rote recitation† from childhood? It is impossible to impose a strict definition of “Literary Sinitic cultivation,” but despite the colloquial nature of current Japanese literary culture, many works emphasize the importance of being steeped in both Literary Sinitic and Classical Japanese in order to be published and to enjoy a wide readership. The situation is similar in the case of the term “Literary Sinitic register,” which is difficult to define outside the limited case of pure Literary Sinitic poetry and prose. But when bōsōzoku motorcycle gangs3 of the 2  In the case of texts like this composed in Literary Japanese using a register of Literary Sinitic and following traditional kana orthography (rekishiteki kanazukai), the romanization follows the modern pronunciation rather than transliterating the historical spelling. 3  Bōsōzoku, literally “wild riding tribes,” were motorcycle gangs that arose in the 1970s. Clothing often featured the phonetic use of kanji connoting qualities like strength

What Is the Literary Sinitic Context ?

1980s and 1990s used sinographs to convey common expressions, like the characters 夜露死苦 as phonograms for the Japanese colloquial expression yoroshiku (“best regards”),4 nobody would have classified this as Literary Sinitic register. How, then, does the use of sinographs in graffiti by motorcycle gangs differ from a politician’s speech laden with well-known Literary Sinitic phrases and classical idioms? These cases are nonetheless similar in terms of effect: one uses sinographs to make graffiti appear more foreboding and the other uses them to make a politician sound more seriously statesmanlike—the sinographs add a certain gravitas. Novels that go overboard in their use of sinographs, which makes them harder to read, have a similar effect. All of this renders the scope of “Literary Sinitic register” ambiguous. Within Japanese there is a separate language world produced from the core of sinographs and Literary Sinitic poetry and prose. Knowledge of Literary Sinitic and of Literary Sinitic register are certainly important parts of this world. These concepts, however, tend to be used without much thought given to their historical nature. The lack of clear definitions for these terms leads many to consider kanbun only in terms of the superficial veneer of knowledge and erudition that it evokes. My approach in this book is to place more emphasis on historical flow and depth. For the present I call the language world developed from the core of sinographs and Literary Sinitic poetry and prose the Literary Sinitic Context, and from this perspective I intend to consider questions of Literary Sinitic cultivation (soyō) and Literary Sinitic register. I use the term context (bunmyaku) because of the etymological connotations of the Sino-Japanese element myaku* (pulse; stream; vein)—Literary Sinitic is an entity that can ebb and flow like a pulse, spread and permeate like a stream, or be “tapped into” like a vein.

and evilness. See Ikuta Sato, Kamikaze Biker: Parody and Anomy in Affluent Japan (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), esp. Chapter 2, 53–58. 4  The Sino-Japanese pronunciations for these four sinographs are yo, ro, shi, and ku, respectively, but their meanings are “night,” “dew,” “death,” and “bitter,” rendering 夜露死苦 nonsensical as a Literary Sinitic expression yet meaningful to gang members for associations with each sinograph.

7

*  Myaku 脈.

8

Chapter 1

2

Two Poles of Style and Thought

But we risk missing the core issue if we define the Literary Sinitic Context simply as a question of register. This is because it is not merely a question of register, but of a form of thought and sensibility. Thought determines style, while style guides thought, and thus the two are mutually related. This leads to the question of how the world is perceived and how it is constructed. It is certainly possible to treat style as just surface style: whatever the thought and sensibility behind it, it is easy enough to imitate. And in fact, lessons in style begin with imitation. Once a style disseminates, it becomes a fixed pattern, and people are largely unaware of the act of imitation. Such is the nature of style, and imitation is essential for widespread use of any style. In other words, while style is indeed established through its relationship with thought and sensibility, on the surface level it is possible to imitate it without thinking or feeling. The Literary Sinitic Context is constituted by the constant back and forth between these two poles. Literary Sinitic, also called Classical (or Literary) Chinese in English, is a written code that was established more than two thousand years ago. Despite certain changes over different time periods, its basic grammar and vocabulary have remained fixed. It can be called “classical” not only due to its origins in the distant past, but also due to its abundant use of classical phrases and historical references. In other words, composition in Literary Sinitic is premised on internalized readings of the classics. As a classical language that makes free use of canonical Chinese textual precedents, Literary Sinitic is intrinsically linked to looking at things in the Chinese classical world. In order to study Literary Sinitic it is not enough simply to learn its grammar. Knowledge of the classics is also required. Thus, studying Literary Sinitic is synonymous with immersing oneself in the intellectual world of the Chinese classics. To record one’s emotions and thoughts in Literary Sinitic is to configure and constitute oneself within this intellectual world. In present-day Japan, modern written colloquial language is used in all fields as a result of the shift in language that took place even in the world of legislation, a sphere that, as discussed above, for a long time remained a stronghold of classical literary language. Literary Sinitic was once just one of several written styles used in Japan, including, for

What Is the Literary Sinitic Context ?

example, letters written in sōrōbun classical epistolary style.5 The written style chosen on any particular occasion was naturally determined by the content of what was written. To choose a style was to choose a particular inscriptional world. Apart from the content it conveyed, Literary Sinitic style also spread across East Asia because it was both effective and practical. Its widespread use was related to the peculiarities of sinographs, too. These properties made it possible to use Literary Sinitic to translate Buddhist scriptures in the past and Western scientific and Christian texts in the modern period. Specific examples in this book demonstrate how widely applicable were both Literary Sinitic as a written language and the sinographs undergirding it. For example, the creation of a huge number of sinographic coinages by means of translation proves that Literary Sinitic was and still is an excellent and useful linguistic resource.6 Moreover, inscriptional styles7 are transformed whenever so-called “translations of culture”8 or shifts in worldview occur, leading to the recognition of a discrepancy between worldviews on opposite sides of a translational divide. The transformation of the classical world into the modern world took place through just such a process of cultural translation and will be discussed in this book in terms of the role of the Literary Sinitic Context during modernization. In considering the Literary Sinitic Context, let us first establish that the effective function of Literary Sinitic writing as an inscriptional style takes place within the force field mediating between the two poles of style and thought. In other words, let us measure the force of Literary Sinitic by establishing these two poles. 5  Sōrōbun 候文 is an epistolary style of classical Japanese characterized by the copula verb sōrō, indicating politeness. It originated in thirteenth-century formal correspondence but was adopted within many other genres, including public contracts and private letters. 6  Sinographic coinages, or shin kango 新漢語, consist of using new combinations of graphs to produce new words (e.g., tetsugaku 哲学 for “philosophy”) or using old compounds and associating them with a new meaning (e.g., jiyū 自由 as a translation for “freedom”). 7  Buntai 文体, a term that encompasses both orthographic and literary notions of style. 8  Bunka no hon’yaku 文化の翻訳. This term is often referenced in Japanese translation studies, but this book argues against a strictly culturalist focus.

9

10

Chapter 1

3

*  Sōrōbun 候文. †  Kanabun 仮名文. An inscriptional style using primarily the kana syllabary, in contrast with manabun 真名文 or kanbun. ‡  Chữ Nôm 𡨸喃.

** Ch. baihua 白話.

Outline of the Literary Sinitic Context in Its Regional and Temporal Dimensions

Let us also consider the meaning of the Literary Sinitic Context as inscriptional style from a different viewpoint. Literary Sinitic is certainly structured as a classical language, but looking at the actual settings in which it is read and written, it is impossible to treat it as a self-sufficient and closed system. Literary Sinitic has been continuously involved with spoken, vernacular, and non-Sinitic indigenous languages, including Japanese and Korean. In East Asia, where Literary Sinitic spread, it was considered the standard inscriptional medium. But its transmission also triggered the creation of various other writing systems across this region. In Japan, the transmission of Literary Sinitic led to the creation of Japanized Literary Sinitic,9 epistolary style,* and the Japanese syllabaries.† In other words, the transmission of Literary Sinitic as an inscriptional system led people to think about how their local languages might be written down. It is not clear whether the Japanese language would have generated its own original writing system without the transmission of sinographs and Literary Sinitic. Japan might even have remained non-literate until the arrival of the Roman alphabet. Perhaps consciousness of “the Japanese language” as an entity would never have come into being. That Literary Sinitic did not remain the unique inscriptional system in those regions where it circulated, even in continental China itself, and indeed that it spawned various other writing systems, is an important point that tends to be forgotten. The Tangut script of the Xixia dynasty (1038–1227) in what is now northwestern China, and Chữ Nôm‡ in premodern Vietnam were both modeled on sinographs, and it is clear that even the invention of Korean han’gŭl letters, which may seem unrelated to sinographs at first glance, was rooted in a profound knowledge of traditional Chinese phonological theory. Literary vernacular Chinese,** as seen for example in the novel Water Margin,10 also took shape with reference to the earlier classical literary language and did not simply record colloquial spoken language “as is.”

9  H  entai kanbun 変体漢文, Japanese “Variant Sinitic,” or localized kanbun as it came to be utilized and adapted in Japan. 10  Ch. Shuihu zhuan, J. Suikoden 水滸傳 (sixteenth c.).

What Is the Literary Sinitic Context ?

Figure 1

11

Tangut script

The role played by Literary Sinitic among these multiple writing systems varied subtly or explicitly by time period and region. Literary Sinitic should not be thought of solely as “Classical Chinese”; rather, its meaning has to be considered within the expanse of geography and history. It must be understood broadly within the flow of the Literary Sinitic Context, which also includes written languages created through contact with Literary Sinitic. The term “sinographic cultural sphere”* of course tends to place emphasis on the search for commonalities between the regions in which sinographs circulated, but I believe that the true focus should be on the diversity and individuality of the regions in which both sinographs and Literary Sinitic traveled. Moreover, the diversity and individuality of these regions did not exist prior to the spread of sinographs and Literary Sinitic, but emerged precisely as a result of their diffusion. This book describes modern Japan beginning with the late Edo period (early to mid-nineteenth century). Japan in this period had its own distinctive historicity and regionality. Its distinctiveness, however, first emerges within the wider view of the Literary Sinitic Context, and my objective is to reconsider this distinctiveness in such terms. Put simply, the goal is to discuss the establishment and development of modern

*  Kanji bunkaken 漢字文 化圏.

12

Chapter 1

Figure 2

Chữ nôm script Source: Tự Đức Thánh Chế Tự Học Giải Nghĩa Ca, a Chữ Nôm-Chinese dictionary, 1898

Japan in relation to the Literary Sinitic Context. I will thus consider linguistic questions related to modern Japan (that is, questions about modern Japanese language), as well as questions of literary thought and sensibility in modern Japan. Let us turn now to the problem of what it means to consider the perspective of the Literary Sinitic Context, and why we should focus on Japan from late Edo to the modern period, by first discussing what it meant to be cultivated in Literary Sinitic. 4

Literary Sinitic Cultivation

What is revealed when we consider so-called Literary Sinitic knowledge from the perspective of modern Japan’s Literary Sinitic Context? It is widely accepted that a Literary Sinitic education was seen as essential among Japan’s educated classes ever since the ancient period. This view, however, ignores history. In actual fact, Literary Sinitic cultivation came to be emphasized only from the early modern period.

What Is the Literary Sinitic Context ?

It is often said that intellectuals of the Meiji period received training or cultivation* in Literary Sinitic whereas people today lack Literary Sinitic education.† There is perhaps a subtle difference in meaning: cultivation (soyō) is naturally instilled, while education (kyōyō) must be acquired; cultivation is traditional, whereas education is modern. But whatever the case, why is it that nowadays cultivation and education are invariably mentioned in the context of Literary Sinitic? Literary Sinitic was not just an accumulation of fragmentary knowledge, but was something acquired as a discrete intellectual world. At the same time, it was not simply a form of specialized or technical knowledge required for particular professions (as it is now). Moreover, the acquisition of Literary Sinitic was deemed necessary in order to be treated as a full-fledged member of society. In Japan, it was not during ancient times that Literary Sinitic took on these properties, as is commonly assumed, but during the early modern period when it became associated with social status. It is well known, and correctly so, that Japanese writing and texts were derived from Literary Sinitic. During the Meiji era, Japan’s own national literature was established by positioning Literary Sinitic studies outside the mainstream of Japanese literary history. This trend seems to persist in middle and high school classrooms to this day, but the situation has been changing and at present no one would deny that Literary Sinitic formed the basis of learning and literary arts in Japan. Before concepts like the “Japanese spirit” and the “Chinese spirit” took hold,‡ we can see, in an excerpt from The Pillow Book,11 that people believed: “As for [Chinese] writings, there are the Collected Works [of Bai Juyi]; the new-style fu in the Selections of Refined Literature; and the “Annals of the Five Emperors” in the Records of the Grand Historian.”12 Nevertheless, this does not mean that Literary Sinitic always occupied the normative and central position that Literary Sinitic did in China.

11  M  akura no sōshi 枕草子 (early eleventh c.) by the female writer and court attendant Sei Shōnagon 清少納言 (ca. 964–after 1027). 12  Collected Works of Bai Juyi (Ch. Baishi wenji, J. Hakushi monjū 白氏文集, early ninth c.); Selections of Refined Literature (Ch. Wen xuan, J. Monzen 文選, ca. 520); for “new-style fu” (Ch. xinfu, J. shinpu 新賦), see David R. Knechtges, “The Wen xuan Tradition in China and Abroad,” Bulletin of the Jao Tsung-i Academy of Sinology 2 (2015): 223; “Annals of the Five Emperors” (Ch. Wudi benji, J. Gotei hongi 五帝本紀), Records of the Grand Historian (Ch. Shiji, J. Shiki 史記, ca. 100 BCE).

13 *  Soyō 素養. †  Kyōyō 教養.

‡  Yamatogokoro やまとご ころ and karagokoro からごころ.

14

Chapter 1

After all, studying Literary Sinitic was difficult for Japanese. Although kanbun was regarded highly in Japan, there was only a conceptually loose sense of its vaunted importance and there was no institutionalized support or incentive equivalent to China’s civil service examinations. In China, whether for nobles of the Six Dynasties period (220–589) or for scholar-officials of the Tang dynasty (618–907), not composing poetry and prose was tantamount to renouncing one’s social position and identity, but for the Japanese nobility, Literary Sinitic tended to be something akin to an individually cultivated artistic accomplishment. Kanbun was considered good to learn as a particular form of knowledge, but it seldom extended to thought and lifestyle. Sei Shōnagon, whose Pillow Book was quoted above, should not be viewed as being cultivated in Literary Sinitic based simply on her displaying knowledge of the Collection of Poems by Bai Juyi and the Child’s Treasury.13 It is more appropriate to think that from the medieval to the early modern period, Literary Sinitic gradually gained traction as something essential to cultivation. A major turning point came in the middle of the early modern period, specifically as a result of the Kansei Reforms.14 5 *  Igaku no kin 異学の禁. †  Yangming School (Yōmeigaku 陽明学), School of Ancient Learning (Kogaku 古 学), Eclectic School (Setchūha 折 衷派). ‡  Yushima no seidō 湯島の 聖堂.

The Kansei Reforms

Starting with a sumptuary edict in 1787, a series of policies called the Kansei Reforms was undertaken for nearly seven years by Matsudaira Sadanobu,15 a member of the shogun’s council of elders. One of these policies, a ban on heretical studies,* was important for Literary Sinitic cultivation. The main point of this ban was to determine the standard of education in the shogunate. First, it established Neo-Confucianism as the legitimate hermeneutics of Confucian texts and prohibited the shogunate’s Confucian scholars from lecturing on teachings of other schools such as the Yangming School, the School of Ancient Learning, the Eclectic School† and the like. Second, the Sacred Hall at Yushima,‡ which nominally remained the Confucian school of the Hayashi family

13  Child’s Treasury (Ch. Mengqiu, J. Mōgyū 蒙求, early eighth c.). 14  Kansei no kaikaku 寛政の改革 (1787–1793). 15  Matsudaira Sadanobu 松平定信 (1759–1829).

What Is the Literary Sinitic Context ?

despite continuous shogunate support, was officially designated as the shogunate’s official seat of learning (called the Shōhei School).* Third, it implemented a “scholarly examination” for bureaucratic appointments, which made reference to China’s civil service examination, and also the “rote recitation examination”† aimed at beginners. To put it in more modern terms, the ban specified governmentdesignated textbooks, established state-run schools, and set up unified examinations. Moreover, these three elements were interconnected: taken together, the plan was to establish a shogunate-approved education and appointment system. This took place only within the shogunate, of course, and no centralized enforcement occurred throughout the country. The ban on heretical studies was announced formally within the government, and certainly nothing resembling the suppression of Christianity during the same period took place. The ban only determined the standard model. Several matters must be emphasized. The establishment of this education system by the shogunate affected each domain as well. Actually, six domains, starting with the Tosa domain, had already established Neo-Confucianism as their official education standard. Adopting this system officially was one aspect of the shogunate’s policy. Moreover, its extension from the shogunate to all the domains was widely accepted as a measure to promote learning with the aim of enhancing vassals’ education, rather than as an onerous regulation. There was a sort of feedback loop between practice and standards. In other words, a model was needed for the spread of education. After this, domain schools (hankō)‡ were actively established, and they became the basis of modern education in the Meiji era. The model hankō was undoubtedly the Shōhei School. In terms of personnel, too, many of those who studied at the Shōhei School became Confucian scholars and taught at hankō domain schools. The activity of reading and writing Literary Sinitic thus spread across Japan from the late eighteenth century to the nineteenth century. Although mainly composed of relatively high-ranking samurai and their descendents who made up the shizoku “warrior family” class,** the stratum with Literary Sinitic literacy can be considered quite broad if lower-level warriors are included. Besides members of warrior families, commoners also came to have opportunities for learning, as Japanese reprints of Chinese texts were published in large quantities and private schools and schools for commoners†† grew in number. Using the Shōhei

15 *  Shōheikō 昌平黌 or the Shōheizaka Academy (Shōheizaka gakumonjo 昌平坂学 問所). † Scholarly examination (Gakumon ginmi 学問吟味), civil service examination (Ch. keju, J. kakyo 科挙), rote recitation examination (Sodoku ginmi 素読 吟味).

‡  Hankō 藩校.

** Shizoku kaikyū 士族 階級.

††   Kyōyujo 教諭所.

16

*  Sodoku 素読. †  Bōyomi 棒読み. ‡  Kunten 訓点.

Chapter 1

School as a model, this form of education based on a set curriculum progressed and spread. Learning Literary Sinitic started with rote recitation (sodoku).* At first, sodoku reading was hammered into beginners when they simply read aloud† texts such as the Analects and the Book of Filial Piety16 following the reading marks for Japanese rendering (kunten).‡ Since reading Literary Sinitic by gloss (kundoku) is a kind of translation and interpretation, diverse kundoku readings are possible if the interpretation standard is not fixed. In such a case, it becomes impossible to unify readings, i.e., to make sodoku uniform. Since the “rote recitation examination” (Sodoku ginmi) tested the accuracy of sodoku, unification of sodoku, and kundoku as well, came to be required, and to accomplish this it was necessary to unify interpretation. Thus, unification of interpretation was integrated with the spread of sodoku as part of the curriculum; and the ban on heretical studies led sodoku recitation to resound in every corner of the country. When one conceives of the flow of history in this way it is easy to understand that from the nineteenth century, Literary Sinitic became a publicly and officially acknowledged form of training or cultivation (soyō) in Japan. 6

** Kangaku 漢学.

The Formation of Literati Consciousness

Such was the historical environment in which Literary Sinitic came to be widely studied, but many people did not study classic Confucian writings in order to become Confucian scholars; nor did they peruse the classics to become kanshi poets. They mastered Sinitic Learning** as a scholarly foundation, not for the purpose of becoming specialists. We cannot ignore, of course, the fact that Sinitic Learning also included Neo-Confucianism, which is a form of learning that supports the social system and honors hierarchy based on social status. In reality, however, Sinitic Learning functioned as a gateway to the intellectual world. Students of Sinitic Learning formed their own intellectual world by becoming familiar with a large volume of classical texts via kundoku readings that were drummed into them.

16  A  nalects (Ch. Lunyu, J. Rongo 論語), Book of Filial Piety (Ch. Xiaojing, J. Kōkyō 孝經).

What Is the Literary Sinitic Context ?

Here we should also direct our attention to the formation, in this process, of a particular type of thought and sensibility. I do not mean that by studying Literary Sinitic, people acquired Confucian morals like loyalty or filial piety.* There was this aspect too, but plenty of works preaching popular morality were available in addition to classical Chinese texts. Thus, Confucian morality was by no means something that could only be acquired by learning Literary Sinitic. Let us consider this from a broader perspective. Literary Sinitic or Classical/Literary Chinese started as a written language used by people of a specific social stratum in a specific region. In other words, to enter the world configured by this written code meant to belong to this social stratum. This is true for any language: people acquire a language, the language acquires people, and the language’s world expands. From the time of the Former Han dynasty (206 BCE–8 CE) to the Six Dynasties period, the world of this Literary Sinitic written language was systematized as the Chinese classical world, which in turn was sustained by the social stratum holding status in society by means of its high-level literacy in Literary Sinitic. The people in this social stratum were people called shijin or “scholar-officials.”† Although the opening section of the Analects, for example, appears to discuss the conduct of a person,‡ it actually refers to the conduct of a scholar-official or gentleman. The opening phrase “To study and constantly practice …”17 was written for the class that “studies.” Nor were they exclusively Confucians: Daoists advocated “non-action nature”18 precisely because they, too, were inhabitants of the same intellectual world. In other words, literati teachings were not targeted at, say, farmers or merchants. Apart from intellectual thought, the same can be said about literature. Of course, compositions of popular songs or poems are included in the oldest Chinese poetry anthology, the Book of Poetry,19 but since 17  Ch. xue er shi xi zhi, J. manande toki ni kore o narau 學而時習之.    Translation by James Legge: “to learn with a constant perseverance and application  …” James Legge, The Chinese Classics: With a Translation, Critical and Exegetical Notes, Prolegomena, and Copious Indexes, Volume 1: Confucian Analects, the Great Learning, and the Doctrine of the Mean (London: Trübner & Co., 1861). 18  Ch. wuwei ziran 無爲自然, one of the central virtues of Daoism. Edward Slingerland renders it as “effortless action.” Edward Slingerland, Effortless Action: Wu-wei as Conceptual Metaphor and Spiritual Ideal in Early China (Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2003). 19  Ch. Shijing, J. Shikyō 詩經, eleventh to seventh c. BCE.

17

*  Loyalty (Ch. zhong, J. chū 忠), filial piety (Ch. xiao, J. kō 孝).

†  Ch. shiren, J. shijin 士 人 and Ch. shidafu, J. shitaifu 士大 夫 (scholarofficials). ‡  Ch. ren 人.

18

*  Seishinsei 精神性.

Chapter 1

they were annotated and compiled by literati hands, the established viewpoint was that it was essential to understand the conditions of the people in order to rule. Moreover, from the Six Dynasties period, literati perceived poetry as a means to express their aspirations and emotions, and eventually poetry composition became an almost indispensable element structuring their lives. From this period, even before poetry composition was institutionalized by the civil service examinations in the Tang period, it is clear that classical poetry already belonged to the literati. Seen from this perspective, the civil service examination that tested composition ability in classical poetry and prose was not only a system that institutionally reproduced scholar-officials, but also one that guaranteed the succession of the pattern of thought and sensibility of scholar-officials, which I shall refer to as the Literary Sinitic “mentality.”* The spread of Literary Sinitic in Japan’s early modern society thus also laid the path for an orientation toward a literati mentality or consciousness (to be discussed in more depth later). There is a limit to how skillfully one can read and write Literary Sinitic if only the surface appearance is emulated. Only by assimilating oneself into the consciousness of the literati can one write a composition as if possessed by the spirit of Han Yu,20 a fine writer of the Tang period. In other words, if one writes poems and prose emulating the literati, one’s state of mind eventually assimilates their consciousness; literary style is much more than mere inscriptional mechanics. 7

†  Bushi 武士. ‡  Bakuhan 幕藩.

Common Ground for Warriors and Literati

As we have seen, the very act of adapting oneself to the world of classical writings differed little in China and Japan. It is necessary, however, to pay attention to who did it and how. Let us once again consider the case of early modern Japan. As I pointed out above, in Japan of the late Edo period the warrior class were the bearers of Literary Sinitic learning. Thus, we must consider how China’s scholar-officials and Japan’s warriors† are linked through Literary Sinitic. Unlike medieval warriors who competed in military exploits, warriors under the early modern shogunate‡ system were officials sustaining the government; they occupied a position 20  Han Yu 韓愈 (768–824).

What Is the Literary Sinitic Context ?

similar to China’s class of scholar-officials. In this sense they easily assimilated literati consciousness and values. Although China’s scholarofficials maintained their identity based on “letters,” Japanese warriors were required to adhere to the “military” aspect.21 Even during times of peace they had to carry swords. On the face of it, the difference between the civil and the military, and between the pen and the sword, seems irreconcilable. It is easier to form one’s identity in times of peace, however, if one views the bu (military) not as the opposite of bun (letters, or the civil sphere), but rather as an expression of loyal allegiance.* The sword thus becomes the symbol of loyalty rather than of military bravery.† This switch in evaluation also creates the consciousness that the civil is indeed supported by the military. To express this with some exaggeration, the civil and military arts‡ were seen by late Edo period warriors as embodying administrative skill and the spirit of loyalty, respectively. In general, the main point of martial arts training is also the cultivation of spirit. The fact that domain schools across Japan advocated mastery of both the civil and military arts, starting with the Kōdōkan school in the Mito domain,** is meaningful when understood in this context. For example, observe the following passage in the work Aspirations Recorded Late in Life22 by the late Edo Confucian scholar Satō Issai: As for the art of swordsmanship, one with a cowardly heart loses, while one who relies on bravery is beaten. Certainly, when thoughts of bravery and cowardice are erased through stillness, and thoughts of victory and defeat are forgotten through action … one wins. Shingaku (moral philosophy, study of spirit) is nothing other than this.23 21  “Letters” (Ch. wen, J. bun 文) versus “military” (Ch. wu, J. bu 武). 22  Genshibanroku 言志晩録 (1838–1849) by Satō Issai 佐藤一斎 (1772–1859), consisting of 292 entries providing advice recorded by Issai between the ages of 67 and 78. 23  Tōsaku no gi wa, kyōshin o idaku mono wa jikushi, yūki ni tayoru mono wa yaburu. Kanarazu ya yūki o issei ni binshi, shōbu o ichidō ni wasure … kaku no gotoki mono wa katsu. Shingaku mo mata kore ni hoka narazu.    刀槊の技は、怯心を懐く者は衄し、勇気に頼る者は敗る。必ずや 勇気を一静に泯し勝負を一動に忘れ […] 是くの如き者はかつ。心學 も亦た此れに外ならず。    刀槊之技、懐怯心者衄、頼勇氣者敗。必也泯勇怯於一静、忘勝負 於一動 […] 如是者勝矣。心學亦不外於此。

19

*  Allegiance (chū 忠). †  Loyalty (chūgi 忠義) rather than military bravery (buyū 武勇). ‡  Civil and military arts (bunbu ryōdō 文武両道). ** Kōdōkan 弘道館.

20

*  Shi 士.

†  Shūshin 修身, seika 齊家, chikoku 治國, heiten­ ka 平天下. ‡  Ch. Daxue, J. Daigaku 大學.

Chapter 1

That is to say, one can win only by rising above cowardice, bravery, victory, and defeat. Military arts come under the control of spirit, not technique. For this reason, shingaku, the study of spiritual cultivation, is likened to training in military arts. I would like to note that it is not the military arts that are likened to shingaku—just the opposite. The military arts became consumed by the domain of the spirit so that shingaku could be likened to training in the military arts. After the Kansei Reforms, policies focusing on education made learning an essential prerequisite for members of warrior families to establish themselves in life. Access to politics was opened up not by military arts, but by learning. Of course, what started as the “scholarly examination” (Gakumon ginmi) was clearly different from the large-scale institutional civil service examination system of China; indeed, it merely imitated the system. Results of the “scholarly examinations” or “rote recitation examinations” (Sodoku ginmi), however, affected material and professional rewards and could be included in one’s record at the time of appointment as a shogunal official. These were distinguished civil achievements rather than illustrious military feats. It can also be said that not being a straightforward bureaucratic service examination made this test more palatable to the sensibilities of warriors. Confucianism studied as edification started with moral training, but it should be acknowledged that it was also related to governance and pacification of the realm. That is, it was a consciousness of and about good government. Needless to say, this was an important aspect of the self-identity of scholar-officials.* Military lords and their retainers also became literati* by sharing this consciousness. Another way to describe this consciousness is as an aspiration toward conducting administration. “Cultivation of self, governing one’s family, ruling the country, pacifying the land”† are the last four of the eight articles of the Great Learning,‡ one of the Four Books of Confucianism. The Great Learning was revered as the introductory textbook of Neo-Confucianism and was the foundation of ethics. Needless to say, there is much room for detailed discussion and verification in the discussion sketched out above. For example, how does the discussion above relate in terms of ideology with the first four   

On shingaku 心學, see “The Way of Heaven” (Tentō), in Sources of Japanese Tradition, Volume 2: 1600–2000, 2nd ed., compiled by William Theodore de Bary, Carol Gluck, and Arthur E. Tiedemann (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005), 69–82.

What Is the Literary Sinitic Context ?

articles of the Great Learning, namely, “investigation of things, extension of knowledge, sincerity of thoughts, rectification of hearts”?* Or was recklessly talking about politics strictly forbidden in the Shōhei School and domain schools? It is true that such complexities cannot be fully explained by simply appealing to the intellectual apprehensions of aspiring members of the governing elite. A careful examination of the intellectual history of the Edo period may reveal the approach outlined above to be too broad and loose. The Edo-era students in question faced the world of reading and writing Literary Sinitic, but this world’s context differed from that of everyday language. In addition, Literary Sinitic was the language used to discuss (in writing, that is) principles/justice† and the state.‡ Reading and writing Literary Sinitic also meant taking responsibility for the burdens of justice and the state. 8

How Literary Sinitic Was Studied

21 *  “Investigation of things, extension of knowledge” (Ch. gewu zhizhi, J. kakubutsu chichi 格 物致知), “sincerity of thoughts, rectification of hearts” (Ch. chengyi zhengxin, J. seii seishin 誠意正心). †  Dōri 道理. ‡  Tenka 天下.

Let us now consider one example illustrating how Literary Sinitic was studied. In the Autobiography of Fukuzawa Yukichi,24 the influential modern educator and thinker Fukuzawa Yukichi25 writes as follows: I was doing nothing at all, but at the age of fourteen or fifteen I saw that everybody I knew in the neighborhood read books while I alone did not. I thought that it was bad for my reputation, or shameful, and then I felt truly motivated to read and started going to the village school. It was extremely embarrassing to begin to study at fourteen or fifteen. Others were reading the Book of Poetry and the Book of Documents** while I was reading the Mencius†† by rote recitation (sodoku). A strange thing happened, however, when 24  Fukuō jiden 福翁自伝 (1898–1899). 25  Fukuzawa Yukichi 福澤諭吉 (1835–1901) was an influential writer and educator, and a strong proponent of Western thought. Yukichi’s studies of Literary Sinitic were delayed into his adolescent years due to the early death of his father. He developed an interest in Western science and technology, and became a specialist in English and Dutch Learning. Yukichi went on to found Keio University and to create the major daily newspaper, Current Events ( Jiji shinpō 時事新報). For another English translation of the following passage, see Eiichi Kiyooka, trans., The Autobiography of Yukichi Fukuzawa (New York: Columbia University Press, 1966), 7.

** Ch. Shujing, J. Shokyō 書經. †† Ch. Mengzi, J. Mōshi 孟子.

22 *  Kaidoku kōgi 会読講義.

† Ch. Zhong­ yong, J. Chūyō 中庸.

‡ Inversion glosses (kaeriten 返り点); punctuation marks (kutō­ ten 句読点). ** Kutōshi 句読師. †† Kaidoku 会読.

Chapter 1

open discussion sessions* on the Child’s Treasury, the Mencius, or the Analects were held at the school. Maybe I had some natural literary talent. I could comprehend a text’s meaning well and when in the afternoon I took part in a discussion on the Child’s Treasury with the person who had taught me during the morning’s sodoku I always prevailed. Since the “teacher” was a student who merely read aloud the characters with a poor understanding of the meaning, he was an easy opponent for me in the discussions. Since Fukuzawa Yukichi was born in the last month of Tenpō 5 (1835), by traditional age reckoning he was already two with the coming of Tenpō 6 just a month later. That is, “fourteen or fifteen years of age” in this passage means he had reached the age of twelve or thirteen years by today’s count. This was around 1847 or 1848, still twenty years before the Meiji Restoration. Since at that time it was common to start sodoku at around one’s seventh or eighth calendar year, the boy Yukichi was indeed slow to mature. Even from this brief passage we see that it was shameful for children of warrior families not to study Literary Sinitic. Learning started with sodoku. Usually one of the Four Books (the Great Learning, the Doctrine of the Mean,† the Analects, and the Mencius) was recited; in Yukichi’s case it was the Mencius. Even in the school setting, learning in the Edo period was based on personal tutorials in which the teacher varied the pace according to each pupil’s progress. During sodoku a pupil sat before a Literary Sinitic text with added inversion glosses (kaeriten) (or perhaps only punctuation marks‡) and repeated the reading following the instructor—known as the “punctuation teacher”**—and practiced until able to recite from memory. Often upper-level students served as these teachers and it seems that this was the case when Yukichi studied. After completing the course of sodoku, learning either took the form of lectures on the meaning of Confucian classics or “reading and discussion”†† meetings when students took turns interpreting and debating. In Yukichi’s case, probably because he was already older, sodoku and kaidoku took place more or less simultaneously. Thus, Yukichi could carry out kaidoku in the afternoon and win in debates over content against the upper-level student who had tutored him in sodoku in the morning. In other words, a person who could at least read sinographs could be a sodoku tutor even if he had difficulty interpreting what they meant.

What Is the Literary Sinitic Context ?

Later Yukichi attended a Sinitic Learning school where, “focusing on Confucian classics, I persevered in studying all of the classics, including of course the Analects and the Mencius.” He relates the following interesting point: “I was especially good at the Commentary of Zuo.* Most students stopped after three or four of its fifteen volumes, but I read through the whole work about eleven times and knew interesting parts by heart.” Learning at school started with the Confucian classics, and the Literary Sinitic ability acquired thereby led to multiple readings of voluminous historical works. The Commentary of Zuo or the Commentary of Zuo on the Spring and Autumn Annals is an exegesis on the authoritative Chinese classic the Spring and Autumn Annals,26 but it is actually a historical work. It appears that many students were more interested in historical texts than in Confucian classics. In a later period, the writer Natsume Sōseki27 also mentions this:

23

*  Ch. Zuo zhuan, J. Saden 左傳.

As a child I liked to study Chinese classics. Although I studied them briefly, from the Commentary of Zuo, the Discourses of the States, the Records of the Grand Historian, and the Former Han History I indistinctly and unconsciously obtained the definition of literature as being “things like these.”28 We should bear in mind that Chinese classical works enumerated here as “literature”†—that is, the Commentary of Zuo, Discourses of the States,‡ Records of the Grand Historian, and Former Han History**— are all works on history.29 The Discourses of the States, also called the 26  C  ommentary of Zuo on the Spring and Autumn Annals (Ch. Chunqiu zuoshi zhuan, J. Shunjū sashiden 春秋左氏傳), Spring and Autumn Annals (Ch. Chunqiu, J. Shunjū 春秋). 27  Natsume Sōseki 夏目漱石 (1867–1916) was a scholar of English literature, with an early background in classical Chinese texts. He was a prolific novelist and a pioneer of English literary studies during the Meiji period. 28  Quoted from the “Preface” to On Literature 文学論 (1907). Natsume Kinnosuke 夏目金之助, “Jo” 序 [Preface] in Bungakuron [On Literature], ed. Kamei Shunsuke 亀井俊介 and Izubuchi Hiroshi 出淵博, Natsume Sōseki zenshū 14 (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1995), 7. See also Michael Bourdaghs, Atsuko Ueda, and Joseph Murphy, eds., Theory of Literature and Other Critical Writings (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009), 43. 29  For a detailed discussion of the shifting meaning of bungaku in modern Japanese cultural history, see Suzuki Sadami 鈴木貞美, Nihon no “bungaku” gainen (Tokyo: Sakuhinsha, 1998), for which an excellent but poorly publicized translation exists:

†  Bungaku 文学. ‡  Ch. Guoyu, J. Kokugo 國語 (fifth– fourth c. BCE). ** Ch. Hanshu, J. Kanjo 漢書 (111 CE).

24

Chapter 1

*  Ch. Chunqiu waizhuan, J. Shunjū gaiden 春秋 外傳.

Unofficial Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals,* is a history of the states during China’s Spring and Autumn period (ca. 770–403 BCE). As I will discuss later, Yukichi and Sōseki happen to have shared the same background in this sense. 9

†  Kangakujuku 漢学塾.

‡  “To inquire into the rights and wrongs,” rihi kyokuchoku o tadasu 理非 曲直を正す.

** Ch. taishi­ gong yue, J. taishikō iwaku 太史公曰.

The Style for Discussion of State Affairs

The young Yukichi called the higher-level student who was his instructor “an easy opponent for me in the discussions” and boasted about defeating him in debate. This shows that during kaidoku discussion meetings there was constant competition to give a better interpretation. Since this was the situation even in schools for primary education, we can conjecture about students in the Shōhei School and domain schools (hankō). Sinitic Learning schools† were places of debate and in this sense they were also places of intellectual training. By its very nature Neo-Confucianism is tied to a strong, intellectual sense of learning. Commenting on the Confucian classics is logical and logic is also required to argue for or against something.‡ As works like the Specimens of Prose Writings30 and the Reader of Works of the Eight Great Writers of the Tang and Song Dynasties31 show, argumentative writings were studied actively in the process of learning Literary Sinitic. In historical works such as the Records of the Grand Historian, too, biographies offer more than just biographical facts; they include evaluations and commentaries on those lives. These works would lack an essential element if they did not contain evaluations—that is, the parts that start with “The Grand Historian says.”** Within the Literary Sinitic Context, of course, there are various styles, and it would be one-sided to discuss the Literary Sinitic Context by singling out argumentative writings. It is certain, however, that argumentative pieces are the main style that characterizes the Literary Sinitic Context.

Royall Tyler, trans., The Concept of “Literature” in Japan (Kyoto: International Research Center for Japanese Studies, 2006). 30  Ch. Wenzhang guifan, J. Bunshō kihan 文章軌範, a Song-period collection of Tang-Song famous writings. 31  Ch. Tang Song ba dajia wen duben, J. Tōsō hachitaika bun tokuhon 唐宋八大家文 讀本, a Qing-period (1644–1912) compilation of Tang-Song masterpieces.

What Is the Literary Sinitic Context ?

In retrospect, the origins of Chinese classical literature go back to the Five Classics,32 but its foundations were formed somewhat later through the writings of the Hundred Schools of Thought,33 scholars and schools during the Spring and Autumn period and the Warring States period (770 BCE–221 BCE). The great Japanese Sinologist Yoshikawa Kōjirō34 states that the Five Classics “certainly cannot be read without commentaries,” but nonetheless describes writings of the Hundred Schools of Thought as in “a style that is easy to read.” He writes: An easy-to-read style was formed over a period of three centuries, in the so-called Warring States period; that is, from Confucius in the sixth century BCE to the first emperor of Qin China in the third century BCE. This style dominated the subsequent period of a thousand and several hundred years, and until the beginning of this century it was the style of China’s written language. It also became the style of Literary Sinitic in Japan. The majority of texts from this initial period are writings grounded in argument. They are texts which elaborate the claims of various schools such as the Confucians, the Daoists, the Legalists, the Mohists, the School of the Military, etc.35 The nativist scholar Motoori Norinaga36 criticized this discursive or argumentative aspect of such texts, referring to it as the “Chinese spirit” 32  B  ook of Changes (Ch. Yijing, J. Ekikyō 易經), Book of Poetry (Ch. Shijing, J. Shikyō 詩經), Book of Documents (Ch. Shujing, J. Shokyō 書經), Book of Rites (Ch. Liji, J. Raiki 禮記), and Spring and Autumn Annals (Ch. Chunqiu, J. Shunjū 春秋). 33  Ch. Zhuzi baijia, J. Shoshi hyakka 諸子百家; also sometimes referred to as the “Hundred Masters” or “Hundred Schools.” 34  Yoshikawa Kōjirō 吉川幸次郎 (1904–1980). 35  Yoshikawa Kōjirō, “Dai ni Kodai no giron no bunshō” 第二 古代の議論の文 章 [“Chapter 2 Argumentative writings of the Ancient period”]. In Kanbun no hanashi 漢文の話 [Stories about Literary Sinitic], Part 2 (Tokyo: Chikuma shobō gurīn beruto shinsho, 1962). 36  Motoori Norinaga 本居宣長 (1730–1801) was a member of the Kokugaku school of thought, a nativist intellectual movement that focused on early Japanese texts in opposition to the study of Chinese, Confucian, Buddhist, and other nonindigenous ideologies. Norinaga was a scholar of classical Japanese literature, with his most prominent work centering on the Kojiki 古事記 (712). See Peter Nosco, Remembering Paradise: Nativism and Nostalgia in Eighteenth-Century Japan (Cambridge: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1990) and Peter Flueckiger, Poetry, Empathy, and Community in Mid-Tokugawa Confucianism and Nativism (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2011).

25

26

Chapter 1

(karagokoro). Whether this criticism was warranted or not, Literary Sinitic developed as a style devoted to argument and debate. During the period of civil service examinations in China, examinees were tested on their interpretations of the classics and advice on current affairs. Argumentation was also the specialty of the scholar-officials. The ultimate goal of debates was to argue about state affairs. Naturally, members of samurai families in Japan who learned this style of debate acquired a similar thought and sensibility, i.e., the aspiration to conduct administration. This ambition was the result of the spread of Confucian thought and was supported by the style of debating state affairs. As I mentioned at the opening of this chapter, questions of thought and questions of style cannot be discussed separately. Literary Sinitic was the style suitable for discussing affairs of state and without it the very framework for talking about the state would be absent. *  Shishi 志士.

†  Shiron 史論.

10

The Patriotic Lamentations of Men of High Purpose* in the Late Edo Period

Words deploring and lamenting the evils of the times frequently accompanied debates about state affairs. This is only natural if one considers that lamenting the evils of the times is a motive for discussing the affairs of state. Along with the writings of the Hundred Schools of Thought, the Records of the Grand Historian was also revered as a model by later generations of scholars of the classics. For example, in the first of the “Biographies” section, “Biography of Boyi,”37 the section with biographical facts occupies not even a third of the narrative while the overall framework is argumentative, or so-called historical discussion.† Questions posed by the Grand Historian, Sima Qian,38 along with lamentation, stand out in this argumentative text: Someone said: “the Heavenly Way is fair and always takes the side of a good person.” Is it proper to call those like Boyi and Shuqi good people? They accumulated benevolence and acted honestly like this, but they starved to death. Moreover, among his seventy 37  Ch. Boyi zhuan, J. Hakui den 伯夷傳. 38  Sima Qian 司馬遷 (J. Shiba Sen, ca. 145 or 135 BCE–86 BCE).

What Is the Literary Sinitic Context ?

disciples, Confucius commended only Yan Yuan as a person fond of learning. And yet, [Yan] Hui [= Yan Yuan] often had no food; he could not eat sufficiently even chaff and bran (plain food) and died before his time. Does Heaven reward good people? The Robber Zhi daily killed innocent people, chopped up human flesh as [animal] liver, acted ruthlessly without restraint, gathered bands of several thousands who ran amok throughout the realm, and ended up living out his allotted span of life. What virtue does this follow from?39 The set of rhetorical questions about unjust absurdity—“Is it proper to call [them] good people?” “Does Heaven reward good people?” “What virtue does this follow from?”—reaches its climax in the phrase, “I am extremely confused. The so-called Heavenly Way—is it correct or not?”40 Debate, lamenting the state of society, and the combination of these two all modulate the text and establish its structure. Texts written within the Literary Sinitic Context, if not properly handled, often become absurd representations in which nothing but exaggeration stands out, but this is probably due to the writer’s false idea that a Literary Sinitic register can be achieved as long as the pattern of debate and righteous indignation is imitated. Conversely, however, this also shows how widely these were acknowledged as the main features of the Literary Sinitic Context. For writers and readers seeking to flex their literary muscles during tense times, writings of debate and lamentation provide suitable 39  或  曰、天道無親、常與善人。若伯夷叔齊、可謂善人者非邪。積仁 絜行如此而餓死。 且七十子之徒、仲尼獨薦顏淵爲好學、 然回也屢 空、糟糠不厭、而卒蚤夭。天之報施善人、其何如哉。盜蹠日殺不 辜、肝人之肉、暴戾恣睢、聚黨數千人、橫行天下、竟以壽終。是遵 何德哉。    （或いは日く、天道親無く、常に善人に與す、と。伯夷叔齊の若き は、善人と謂うべき者か非ざるか。仁を積み行いを絜くすること此 くの如くにして而も餓死す。且つ七十子の徒に、仲尼獨り顔淵をの み薦め學を好むと爲すも、然も回や屢々空しく、糟糠にだも厭かず して卒かに蚤夭す。天の善人に報施する、其れ何如ぞや。盗蹠は日 に不辜を殺し、人の肉を肝し、暴戻恣睢、党数千人を聚め、天下に 横行し、竟に壽を以て終わる。是れ何の徳に遵えるや。） 40  余甚惑焉、儻所謂天道、是邪非邪。    （余甚だ惑えり、儻いは所謂天道、是か非か。）

27

28

*  Jugaku 儒学.

Chapter 1

diction. It is well known, for example, that late Edo period men of high purpose were familiar with Literary Sinitic poetry and prose and that they favored Literary Sinitic registers. But when this is explained away as merely the result of late Edo Literary Sinitic cultivation in warrior families, we lose sight of an important dimension of this particular intellectual inclination. Cultivation (soyō) deeply affects the thought and sensibilities that mutually constitute the group and the individual, and in the case of men of high purpose we might say that Literary Sinitic soyō created the very spirit of the times. If men of high purpose had not studied Literary Sinitic, they would probably not have come to define themselves as patriots who could change the state. What is important here is the role of Literary Sinitic (kanbun), as opposed to that of Confucianism* or Sinitic Learning (kangaku). Of course, Literary Sinitic poetry (kanshi) is also included within Literary Sinitic. And it is precisely poetry that is most suitable for emphasizing lamentation over the times. 11

The Death Poem of Kondō Isami

The following two heptasyllabic quatrains may be said to be a typical example of the poetry of lamentation over the times. They were left by Kondō Isami,41 leader of the Shinsengumi and a person who resisted the imperial army and defined himself as a man of high purpose.42 Cut off from reinforcements, our forlorn force is taken prisoner; When I recall my lord’s favor, tears flow all the more. As I face righteous death here with my loyal heart, Suiyang men of high purpose are my comrades-in-arms for all eternity. That’s it, then; what more is there to say? To lay down my life to uphold honor: this is what I respect. 41  Kondō Isami 近藤勇 (1834–1868). 42  The Shinsengumi 新撰組 were the shogunate police and military force in Kyoto from 1864 to 1869. They fought to the end as “loyalists” (shishi 志士) of the shogunate against supporters of imperial restoration. In the Meiji period, this unit was criticized as a band of rebels, but later, especially in post-World War II popular culture, they have been acclaimed as brave heroes who died for a cause.

29

What Is the Literary Sinitic Context ?

I willingly take the flashing three-foot sword; It is only through death that I can repay my lord’s favor.43 Suiyang is a place in modern day Henan province, China. This is a historical allusion to Zhang Xun44 who fought against the Tang rebel An Lushan45 and defended Suiyang to the end. The poem’s author, however, knew about Suiyang not from accounts in historical works such as the New History of the Tang* or the Comprehensive Mirror to Aid in Government,† but rather relied on the “Song of Righteousness,”46 which Wen Tianxiang composed about successive loyal vassals and which contains the line “[Righteousness] became the teeth of Zhang Xun [who defended] Suiyang.”‡ This alludes to the story of Zhang Xun crushing all his teeth by clenching them during fighting. Of course, Wen Tianxiang himself was also a loyal vassal who kept fighting as a vassal of Song and refused to serve the Yuan dynasty (1279–1368) that defeated Song China. Drawing from precedents found in classical history is one technique in writing Literary Sinitic poetry. This is not, however, merely a matter of production, but also an act of positioning oneself within history. The 43  

Kogun en taete shūfu to naru こ ぐ ん

え ん た

しゅうふ

な

  孤軍援絶作囚俘 孤軍 援絶えて囚俘と作る    Kun’on o konen sureba namida sara ni nagaru くんおん

こねん

なみださら

なが

  顧念君恩涙更流 君恩を顧念すれば涙更に流る    Ippen no tanchū yoku setsu ni junzu いっぺん

たんちゅう

よ

せつ

じゅん

  一片丹衷能殉節 一片の 丹衷 能く節に殉ず    Suiyō senko kore wa ga tomogara すいよう せ ん こ

こ

わ

ともがら

  睢陽千古是吾儔 睢 陽千古 是れ吾が 儔    Ta nashi konnichi mata nani o ka iwan た な

こんにち

ま

なに

い

  靡他今日復何言 他靡し 今 日 復た何をか言わん    Gi o tori sei o sutsuru wa wa ga tattobu tokoro ぎ

と

せい

す

わ

たっと ところ

  取義捨生吾所尊 義を取り生を捨つるは吾が尊ぶ所   Kai to shite uken denkō sanjaku no ken かい

う

でんこうさんじゃく けん

  快受電光三尺劍 快として受けん 電 光三 尺の劍    Tada isshi o motte kun’on ni hōzen た

いっし

も

くんおん

ほう

  只將一死報君恩 只だ一死を將って君恩に報ぜん 44  Zhang Xun 張巡 (709–757). 45  An Lushan 安祿山 (703–757). 46  Ch. Zhengqi ge, J. Seiki no uta 正氣歌 by Wen Tianxiang 文天祥 (1236–1283) of Southern Song (1127–1279) China.

*  Ch. Xin Tangshu, J. Shintōjo 新唐書. †  Ch. Zizhi tongjian, J. Shiji tsūgan 資治通鑑. ‡  Ch. Wei Zhang Suiyang chi 爲張睢陽齒.

30

Chapter 1

Mito domain Confucian scholar Fujita Tōko47 composed a poem following the example of the Song of Righteousness, and late Edo patriots enjoyed reciting it. They sought to be the Wen Tianxiangs of Japan.48 This is why Zhang Xun and Wen Tianxiang were “comrades-in-arms” for people like Kondō Isami. The fact that this was left as the death poem of Kondō Isami, and also the fact that it reached its ultimate form through the corrections of Ōnuma Chinzan,49 a great master of the form in the late Edo and Meiji periods, shows that Literary Sinitic poetry certainly became a vivid expression of the spirit of the era. Such was the significance of a Literary Sinitic upbringing and Literary Sinitic cultivation: it shaped both the historical consciousness and the self-consciousness of the literati. 47  Fujita Tōko 藤田東湖 (1806–1855) was a scholar and statesman in the service of the daimyo of the Mito domain, Tokugawa Nariaki 徳川斉昭 (1800–1860). He was a loyalist thinker in support of the Westernization and advancement of Japanese learning in order to offset the encroachment of foreign influences into Japan. 48  For a useful discussion in English of Wen Tianxiang’s poem and several Japanese versions, see Fraleigh, “Songs of the Righteous Spirit.” 49  Ōnuma Chinzan 大沼枕山 (1818–1891) will be discussed further in Chapter 4.

Chapter 2

Why Did the Reading and Writing of Kanbun Spread?—The Unofficial History of Japan and the Voice of Kundoku 1

Kanbun as a Written Language

As seen in the previous chapter, the Literary Sinitic writing style was closely connected to literati or scholar-official (shijin) consciousness. Since at least the latter part of the early modern era in Japan, literati consciousness defined the way kanbun was read and written. The samurai class and their descendents (shizoku) mastering Literary Sinitic poetry and prose would, in scholar-official fashion, acquire a consciousness in which the self and history were one. The works of Chinese literature read at the time spanned all genres, including not only the Four Books and Five Classics, as well as the True Treasures of Ancient Literature and Specimens of Prose Writings, but also works such as Records of the Grand Historian, Book of Han, and Selection of Tang Poems.1 These works would be quite challenging to read without any punctuation or kaeriten reading marks, but with these aids, one could make it through a text in a reasonable amount of time.2 With 1  The Four Books and Five Classics (Ch. Sishu wujing, J. Shisho gokyō 四書五經) consist of the Four Confucian Books: Great Learning (Ch. Daxue, J. Daigaku 大學), Doctrine of the Mean (Ch. Zhongyong, J. Chūyō 中庸), Analects (Ch. Lunyu, J. Rongo 論語), and Mencius (Ch. Mengzi, J. Mōshi 孟子); and the Five Confucian Classics: Book of Changes (Ch. Yijing, J. Ekikyō 易經), Book of Poetry (Ch. Shijing, J. Shikyō 詩經), Book of Documents (Ch. Shujing, J. Shokyō 書經), Book of Rites (Ch. Liji, J. Raiki 禮記), and Spring and Autumn Annals (Ch. Chunqiu, J. Shunjū 春秋). The True Treasures of Ancient Literature (Ch. Guwen zhenbao, J. Kobun shinpō 古文眞寳) was a thirteenthcentury collection of Chinese poems widely circulated in Japan. Specimens of Prose Writings (Ch. Wenzhang guifan, J. Bunshō kihan 文章軌範) is a thirteenth-century collection of exemplary Chinese writing. Records of the Grand Historian (Ch. Shiji, J. Shiki 史記) is a history of ancient China by the first-century BCE historian Sima Qian. The Former Han History (Ch. Hanshu, J. Kanjo 漢書) is a history of the Former Han dynasty covering the first two centuries CE. The Selection of Tang Poems (Ch. Tangshi xuan, J. Tōshisen 唐詩選) is an anthology of 465 poems by 128 poets of the Tang period (618–907), such as Li Bai (J. Rihaku 李白, 701–762) and Du Fu (J. Toho 杜甫, 712–770), completed in the late sixteenth or early seventeenth century. 2  Unglossed, unpunctuated text is referred to as “blank writing” or hakubun 白文.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004436947_004

32

Chapter 2

the addition of okurigana morphological glosses and furigana pronunciation glosses, reading became even easier.3 The “vernacular reading” technique of kanbun kundoku contributed greatly to expanding the literate class, and their numbers increased even more with the mass production of woodblock-printed books with kaeriten or okurigana annotations. Alongside the reading of works that originated in China, the practice of writing kanshi and kanbun was also thriving. At first, compilations consisted of works such as Specimens of Prose Writings and the Selection of Tang Poems so that readers could both appreciate their contents and use them as templates in their own poetry composition. In China, where Literary Sinitic composition was a part of the civil service examination, it was not enough to merely learn to read. Without the ability to write proper Literary Sinitic verse and prose, reading ability on its own was meaningless. In Japan as well, indoctrination in kanshi and kanbun always included learning to write them. This is one respect in which modern Japanese Literary Sinitic educational practices differ starkly from those of the past. Of the many inscriptional styles (buntai) in early modern Japan, kanbun was regarded as the most refined. In Chapter 1, I noted that Literary Sinitic was the style used for matters of the state—in other words, for administration and governance. This was another respect in which kanbun writing ability was important. Additionally, those trained in Literary Sinitic found poetry to be a useful means of expressing their feelings to one another; kanbun was a natural vessel for literati sentiment, and was valuable in forging a sense of solidarity. The peak of this trend can be seen in Kondō Isami’s death poem, discussed in the previous chapter. In examining the spread of the Literary Sinitic Context in terms of both reading and writing, we must consider the nature of kanshi and kanbun works written by Japanese in the early modern period, rather than simply focus on the texts produced by Chinese scholar-officials. Of course, the great quantity and variety of such writings in early modern Japan makes it impossible to give a detailed account of them over the short course of this book. If, however, we narrow our focus to the Literary Sinitic Context of modern Japan, whether in terms of width or depth of influence, then certain key works emerge. One such work is 3  Okurigana 送り仮名 are small kana written to the bottom right of the sinographs indicating vernacular Japanese grammatical elements as an aid to kundoku reading; furigana 振り仮名 are kana written next to a sinograph, indicating its pronunciation.

33

Spread ?

Figure 3

Unglossed Literary Sinitic text Source: Song edition of Jianzhu Tao Yuanming ji 箋注陶淵明集 [Collected Works of Tao Yuanming 陶淵明 (365–427) with Notes and Commentary]

34

Chapter 2

Figure 4

Woodblock print of Tao Yuanming’s “Returning Home” (Gui qu lai ci 歸去来辭) Source: from Seisetsushū 靖節集, published in Japan in 1664, with kaeriten (inversion glosses) and furigana (pronunciation glosses)

Spread ?

undoubtably Rai San’yō’s Unofficial History of Japan, a bestseller from the end of the Edo era to the end of the Meiji period.4 No Literary Sinitic work before or since has matched the popularity of this book. It was encountered by practically every reader of kanbun in these periods and its circulation is thought to have reached between 300,000 and 400,000 copies. But the importance of the Unofficial History of Japan extends beyond its circulation. We should also stress the role this book played in facilitating the Literary Sinitic Context’s progression from early modern to modern times, and more specifically the means it provided for the Literary Sinitic Context to expand from the realm of the literati scholarofficials to something belonging to the general populace. This chapter takes up these matters, starting with a sketch of the life of the book’s author, Rai San’yō. 2

Rai San’yō and His Scholarly Lineage

By Western count, Rai San’yō was born during January of 1781, and was the eldest son of the domain-employed Confucian scholar Rai Shunsui.5 San’yō died in 1832 at the age of fifty-one, an early death even for the time. Kondō Isami was born in 1834, when San’yō would have been fifty-three. San’yō’s generation was in between that of the fathers and the grandfathers of young men of high purpose at the end of the Tokugawa bakufu period (1603–1868). And Fukuzawa Yukichi was born two months after Kondō Isami—thus we can see that the generation born in the Tenpō period (1830–1844) was highly active in the late shogunate period of the 1850s and 1860s and the Meiji period that followed. These generational issues are important when considering the Literary Sinitic Context of late Edo and Meiji-era Japan. San’yō was born in Osaka. At this time his father Shunsui was lecturing on Neo-Confucian Zhu Xi6 Studies at a private school he had opened in the Edobori region of Osaka, but he was originally from a merchant family from Takehara in what was then Aki province 4  Rai San’yō 頼山陽 (1781–1832) completed his twenty-two volume Unofficial History of Japan (Nihon gaishi 日本外史) in 1827. 5  Rai Shunsui 頼春水 (1746–1816). 6  The Neo-Confucian teachings of Zhu Xi 朱熹 (1130–1200) were studied widely by the nativist scholars of early modern Japan. See Flueckiger, Imagining Harmony.

35

36

Chapter 2

Figure 5

Portrait of Rai San’yō held in the collection of the Kyoto University Museum

(present-day Hiroshima prefecture). It was thanks to the prosperity in Takehara reaped by the Hiroshima domain’s development of salterns that Shunsui was able to pursue studies. After acquiring the basics of Confucianism, Shunsui went to study in Matsuyama (present-day Ehime prefecture) and Mihara (present-day Hiroshima prefecture) in his teens. When the 1764 Chosŏn delegation docked at Tadanoumi adjacent to Takehara, Shunsui was led by Karasaki Hitachinosuke to the delegation’s lodgings, and carried out “brush conversations” with one of the Korean attendants,7 which attests to his devotion to learning. Shunsui also studied with his two younger brothers Shunpū and Kyōhei, the former of whom became a medical doctor and the latter a 7  The 1764 Chosŏn delegation was dispatched to offer congratulations for the succession of the shogun Tokugawa Ieharu 德川家治 (1737–1786). Karasaki Hitachinosuke 唐崎常陸介 (1737–1796) was an active Loyalist in the late eighteenth century. His home was Iso Shrine (Isonomiya 礒宮), where his family had served for generations as priests, and in 1751 he began studying under Tanikawa Kotosuga 谷川士清 (1709– 1776), before returning to Takehara in 1757 to complete his studies.

Spread ?

Confucian scholar. The environment into which San’yō was born and the expectations placed upon him as eldest son are clear based on his mother Shizuko’s status as daughter of a Confucian scholar, Iioka Gisai, and the fact that the matchmaker for her marriage to Shunsui was Nakai Chikuzan from Osaka’s famous merchant academy, the Kaitokudō.8 One year after San’yō’s birth in Osaka, Shunsui finally attained a post in the Hiroshima domain as a Confucian scholar.* It was not a highpaying position, but to someone studying Confucianism, the designation as a Confucian scholar employed by the domain held great significance. As described in Chapter 1, Confucianism at its core is inseparable from governance. Shunsui’s father ensured that his children learned the classics not simply so they could be wealthy merchants but also because of his consciousness of and aspiration to participate in public affairs. Understood in this light, inasmuch as Shunsui was of townsman origins, his dominant orientation was toward public affairs, namely, scholarofficial values. It may help to recall that the majority of late-Edo men of high purpose were peasants or low-ranking samurai by birth. The sinographic term for man of high purpose† implies a strong scholar-official consciousness; one did not receive this designation through hereditary social rank but rather became one through self-designation. Shunsui, now a Confucian scholar employed by the Hiroshima domain, began reorganizing the domain’s educational system. He established domain schools and designated them as centers of learning, made regional schools and calligraphy schools into public institutions, and set Neo-Confucian Zhu Xi Studies as the authoritative subject of instruction.9 Shunsui did not accomplish these things alone; his academic connections in Osaka also bear mentioning. Shunsui interacted closely in Osaka with the scholars and poets Bitō Jishū, Koga Seiri, and Shibano Ritsuzan, the trio later known as the “Three Erudites of 8  Iioka Gisai 飯岡義齋 (1717–1789) was a scholar-physician ( jui 儒医) in Osaka. His second daughter Shizuko 静子 married Rai Shunsui 頼春水. His third daughter married Bitō Jishū 尾藤二洲 (1745–1814), one of the “Three Erudites of Kansei” (Kansei no san hakase 寛政の三博士) and an instructor at Shōhei School. Nakai Chikuzan 中井竹山 (1730–1804) was the fourth academic head of the Kaitokudō merchant academy. Kaitokudō 懷德堂 was an Osaka merchant academy, founded in 1724. After World War II, it was absorbed into Osaka University’s Department of Law and Letters. 9  Gōgaku 鄕学 were schools established in each region for the education of han scholars and commoners from the Edo to the early Meiji periods. They were also called gōkō 郷校, gōgakkō 郷学校, and gōgakusho 郷学所. Tenaraidokoro 手習所 were places where calligraphy was taught, or else the homes of calligraphy masters.

37

*  Hanju 藩儒.

†  Shishi 志士. Also sometimes rendered as “patriot.”

38

*  Xiu ji zhi ren 修己治人 and jingshi jimin 經世 濟民.

†  Liqi 理氣 (J. riki).

Chapter 2

Kansei.”10 They designated Zhu Xi Studies as orthodoxy, holding that disorder in the world follows from disorder in learning, and thus saw it as their duty to set learning right. They were, so to speak, aspiring to effect societal reform by way of educational reform. Of course, considering the Confucian mottos “Discipline oneself to govern others” and “Administer the state to succor the people,” this act followed naturally from their learning.* 3

The System of Neo-Confucian Zhu Xi Studies

What did the designation of Zhu Xi learning as orthodoxy entail? A detailed account of Zhu Xi Studies, including how it differs from more commonly-known Confucianism, would fill an entire book, so this description will be limited to essential points. Zhu Xi Studies originated in the Southern Song dynasty (1127–1279), when Zhu Xi synthesized ideas from the revival in Confucian studies that occurred when Song scholars began criticizing classical hermeneutics from the Tang dynasty and earlier. Zhu Xi learning was groundbreaking in that it took Confucianism, which was originally founded on the study of individual classics, and reorganized it into a coherent system based on what was called liqi, a dualism between metaphysical li and physical qi.† Just as groundbreaking was Zhu Xi’s creation of a Neo-Confucianist curriculum with his designation of the Four Books (Great Learning, Doctrine of the Mean, Analects, and Mencius), which functioned in his new synthesis as both an introduction to and the core of Confucianism. These two achievements were crucial. One may go so far as to say that the essential point was not the content of Zhu Xi Studies per se. Rather, regardless of what ideas were represented in liqi dualism or the Four Books, the key significance lay in the creation of a principled system and a curriculum planned around it. The key point is that an orientation towards system and organization emerged from within learning.

10  Bitō Jishū, Koga Seiri 古賀精里 (1750–1817) and Shibano Ritsuzan 柴野栗山 (1734–1807) were all scholars and poets; Jishū was also uncle to Rai San’yō. These “Three Erudites of Kansei” (Kansei no san hakase 寛政の三博士) played pivotal roles in the educational reforms that accompanied the Prohibition of Heterodoxy (Igaku no kin 異学の禁) during the Kansei period (1789–1801).

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Of course, this is a somewhat superficial explanation. From the perspective of the history of ideas, the content of Zhu Xi Studies may be a central, if not the central, feature. When considering the question of why Shunsui et al. were able to designate Zhu Xi learning as orthodoxy, however, it is useful to set aside its contents. Zhu Xi Studies systematized Confucianism in terms of an individual’s mental discipline, grasp of the world, and approach to politics. Nothing fell outside the order constituted by liqi dualism. Furthermore, this order was not imposed from above, but rather was seen as being essentially spontaneous. As evident in the importance placed by Zhu Xi Studies on the proposition that one must “study the sages to become one,” this ideal order arises as a natural result of each and every action. Thinking and action both follow the course of the sages and their order. Zhu Xi learning is often understood as involving external moral coercion, whereas in fact it emphasizes spontaneity. But considering that this spontaneity has to be the right kind of spontaneity, with no room for choice, Zhu Xi Studies clearly carries with it an element of pressure even stronger than simple coercion. Anything outside morality has been sealed off in advance. This is the obverse of aiming for a complete system. Besides the Zhu Xi School, early modern Japanese Neo-Confucianism included Wang Yangming Learning and the School of Ancient Learning.* Both schools were alike in originating as reactions against Zhu Xi Studies. Yōmeigaku, using the methodology of Ming-era Confucian scholar Wang Yangming,11 considered listening to one’s own conscience more important than studying the classics. The Ancient Learning School proposed understanding the meaning of sinographs and phrases from the classics by looking back at the time when they were written. In these ways, both schools functioned as forms of anti-Zhu Xi Studies. Of course, with many subtle points as to their similarities and differences, a close analysis would greatly complicate the discussion, so here I will simply characterize them as forms of anti-Zhu Xi Neo-Confucianism, and move on. In essence, these schools were opposed to the way the Zhu Xi School constructed a rigid or closed order and arranged everything into it. While we must defer judgment as to whether this was Zhu Xi’s original intention, there is no denying that it characterized Zhu Xi learning as 11  Wang Yangming 王陽明 (1472–1529).

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*  Yōmeigaku 陽明学 and Kogaku 古学.

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a systematized learning tradition, or that these features lent a sort of power to Zhu Xi learning. Since Zhu Xi Studies offered a system of discourse, to think that placing it at the center of education would bring about a society of promise was understandable. Conversely, to give centrality to schools inimical to Zhu Xi learning was out of the question because they were oriented outside of the societal order. Indeed, we might say that there are ways in which Zhu Xi Studies in Japan was made the orthodox school because it could function in that capacity. Furthermore, it was precisely because the Wang Yangming and Ancient Learning Schools (the latter of which developed into the Soraigaku school of Ogyū Sorai12) were anti-Zhu Xi in orientation that they were able to flourish. They were opposition parties from the start. With this summary behind us, let us now return to the life of Rai Shunsui. 4

The “Prohibition of Heterodoxy” and the Institutionalization of Learning

As mentioned above, when Shunsui institutionalized the Hiroshima domain (han) schools, he did not act alone. Having met Shunsui in Osaka, Koga Seiri13 preceded him in returning to his own hometown as an official Confucian teacher ( jukan) for the Saga domain. Seiri became headmaster of Kōdōkan, which was established in the same year as Shunsui’s return to Hiroshima, and proceeded to set school rules and regulations, and work on the organization of domain schools. Of course, by establishing an educational system centered on domain schools, Seiri was fulfilling his duty as a domain teacher. After seeing the reorganization of domain schools accomplished in Tosa, Shibata, Kagoshima, Obama, Saga, and Hiroshima, the bakufu designated Shōhei School as the official center of learning. In 1790, the Chief Senior Counselor Matsudaira Sadanobu sent the head of the Shōhei School, Hayashi Nobutaka, a decree titled “Prohibition of Heterodoxy,” which stipulated that only Zhu Xi Studies were to be 12  A more extensive examination of Ogyū Sorai 荻生徂徠 (1666–1728) will follow. 13  See page 38, note 10, for Koga Seiri. His writings include Collected Commentary on the Four Books (Shisho shūshaku 四書集釈) and Collected Discourses on Reflections on Things at Hand (Kinshiroku shūsetsu 近思録集説).

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considered orthodoxy at the Shōhei School.14 Note that the prohibition of learning other than Zhu Xi Studies was merely a way of setting a single educational policy for the bakufu, and did not extend to the regulation of studies by individuals. Shunsui and Sadanobu both felt that, while Zhu Xi Studies should form the basis of public learning, it was acceptable, and even necessary, that the various other schools of thought have a presence as well. This is not to say that the “Prohibition of Heterodoxy” was not farreaching, or that variety was permitted. In reality, the “Prohibition of Heterodoxy” resulted in the scattering of pupils from the so-called Eclectic School,* which valued arriving at one’s own theory by choosing freely from the various schools of thought. The followers of this school, whose numbers had once exceeded a thousand, included Kameda Bōsai.15 There was considerable control over education. Born in Kanda, Bōsai counted among his pupils many samurai in the direct service of the Edo shogunate known as middle-ranking hatamoto and lowerranking gokenin, so the bakufu exerted a strong influence. Yet Bōsai was never punished or otherwise admonished for his heterodox studies. In a word, from the perspective of Shunsui or Sadanobu, Zhu Xi learning was suitable for the systematization of learning. Once firmly established, it would be fine for individuals to study according to their natural aptitudes and to display their talents. The establishment of Zhu Xi learning as orthodoxy at the same time served to define heterodoxy. Here, too, there was systematization of thought. Zhu Xi learning, in its aspiration for order, attaches importance to step-by-step processes. With domain schools at their center, regional schools were set up according to learners’ social status and level of proficiency, core texts were determined, and curricular materials related to rote recitation (sodoku), reading and discussion groups (kaidoku), and lecture discussions (kōdoku) were organized.† Constrictive though they may seem, Zhu Xi Studies were what made the institutionalization of learning possible. In 1792, the Shōhei School began administering an examination for sons of bakufu officials known as the Gakumon ginmi (“scholarly 14  The Chief Senior Counselor position held by Matsudaira Sadanobu 松平定信 (1759–1829) was that of rōjū 老中. In the Edo period, the head of the Shōhei School was known as the Daigaku no kami 大学頭. The “Prohibition of Heterodoxy” is the aforementioned Igaku no kin. 15  Kameda Bōsai 亀田鵬斎 (1752–1826) was a calligrapher and Confucian scholar.

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*  Setchū gakuha 折衷 学派.

†  Sodoku 素読, kaidoku 会読, and kōdoku 講読.

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examination”). Unlike in China, this examination was not for the appointment of government officials, but was rather an evaluation of academic progress in all areas. Outstanding candidates were conferred honors and gained in prestige and reputation, doubtless advantageous for their career as officials. Of course, the interpretations from Zhu Xi Studies were the standard by which the examination was judged, and needless to say, this accelerated the unification of education. Just as domain schools had been founded in each han on the model of the Shōhei School, this examination system was also imitated. Examinations were as indispensable then as they are now for disciplining school spaces, as well as for providing a clear gauge of learning progress. An examination for novices, called the Sodoku ginmi, was also initiated. Sodoku amounts to a basic vocalization of the sinographs in the classics using the kundoku reading practice, but without much attention to the meaning. This skill was amenable to testing, thanks to the designation of a single standard for kundoku renditions. It was necessary to set general rules for how to read grammatical particles, as well as for whether to gloss a given sinographic expression with a vernacular Japanese word or to read it with its Sino-Japanese pronunciation. This at least gave learners a standardized way to vocalize sinographs. After the middle of the early modern period, mass-produced books printed from woodblock would often conspicuously display the name of the scholar (spuriously in some cases) who had added the reading glosses to the work, because doing so amounted to claiming, “This is the proper reading.” Thus, starting with the samurai class, a homogenized educational regime employing the systematized learning of Zhu Xi Studies gradually spread throughout the entire country. Rai San’yō’s father Shunsui was the driving force behind this process. 5

*  Hisatarō 久太郎, Kyōhei 杏坪. †  Gakumonjo 学問所.

Learning and the Orientation toward Governance

In 1786, when San’yō (named Hisatarō at birth), was seven years old (five in today’s terms), his uncle Kyōhei taught him the sodoku of the Greater Learning.* Two years later, Hisatarō entered his domain’s Learning Academy (Gakumonjo),† where the classics were gone through one by one in lecture discussions. Rai Shunsui had high hopes for the future of his outstanding son.

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In 1791, Rai Shunsui gave twelve-year-old Hisatarō a new literary name: Noboru.* The earliest of Rai San’yō’s extant writings, On Establishing Will, dates from this time.16 As an account of a young man’s life purpose, naturally it is written in dignified Literary Sinitic: this was the sort of document that could only be written in kanbun. Let us look at the first few lines: If a young man does not study, that’s the end of it; and if he does, he should excel beyond his peers. Today’s world is like the ancient world, and today’s people are like ancient people. With the world and people of ancient times no different from those of today, why does the modern not equal the ancient in governance? Are the country’s conditions different? Are people’s sentiments different? It is because no one has any ambition. Ordinary people get swept up in circumstances, and do not know themselves. All are one, with none higher or lower. This is hardly worth deep discussion. Is it not my party [i.e., Confucian scholars] alone that is transmitting the techniques by which the ancient kings governed the people of the world? But with finicky fastidiousness and to no avail, they tediously murmur the same texts, and mine chapter and verse caviling over the trivial. This they take to be the great undertaking of a lifetime. How contemptible! … The ancient sages and heroes, such as Yi Yin and Fu Yue, the Duke of Zhou and the Duke of Shao—each of them was but a man.17 Although I was born in the Eastern Sea (Japan) thousands of years later, it was my fortune to be born a male and to become a student of Confucianism. How can I not rouse myself and establish my will, so as to requite the favor of my native land and lend distinction to my parents?18 16  On Establishing Will (Risshiron 立志論, 1792). 17  Yi Yin 伊尹 (1648–1549 BCE) and Fu Yue 傅說 (1324–1265 BCE, served under Emperor Wu Ding) were honored officials of the Shang dynasty. The Duke of Zhou (Zhou Gong 周公) and Duke of Shao (Shao Gong 召公) were advisors to King Cheng 成王 of the Zhou dynasty (1046–246 BCE). 18  男兒不學則已、學則當超群矣。今日之天下、猶古昔之天下也。今日 之民、猶古昔之民也。天下與民、古不異今、而所以治之、今不及古 者何也。國異勢乎。人異情乎。无有志之人也。庸俗之人、溺於情 勢、而不自知。無上下一也、此不足深議焉。獨吾黨非傳夫古帝王治 天下民之術者乎。而徒拘拘然、呫嗶是申、尋章摘句、以爲一生大 業。亦已陋哉 […] 古之賢聖豪傑、如伊・傅、如周・召者、亦一男兒

43 *  Noboru 襄.

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*  Gaku 学 and chi 治.

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In On Establishing Will, San’yō asks why modern governance is inferior to ancient governance if the world and people of today are no different from those of ancient times. Common people are too preoccupied with trivial matters to truly learn, yet this is not even considered a problem. San’yō claims it is up to the learned to take on the world, and it is Confucian scholars who are “transmitting the techniques by which the ancient kings governed the people of the world.” But the Confucianists of the world seem to think their work consists solely of reciting or annotating classics. In this they are worse than commoners. Confucian study is for the governance of the country. San’yō writes that the ancient sages and heroes were but men, and he, too, is a young man. How can I call myself a man, he wonders, if I do not set a goal, receive the favors of the domain, and ennoble my parents? This orientation towards learning (gaku) and governance (chi),* then, is typical of scholar-official (shijin) consciousness. Setting Zhu Xi learning as orthodoxy was also a way of cultivating, within schools, Confucian scholars who thought this way. In 1797, San’yō began studying at Shōhei School when his uncle Kyōhei was stationed in Edo.19 For reasons unclear, he returned to Hiroshima after only a year. At this point, San’yō’s behavior began to deviate from the norm. His Zhu Xi-inspired Neo-Confucian orientation towards learning and governance did not square with the feudal political system. 耳。吾雖生于東海千載之下、生幸爲男兒矣。又爲儒生矣。安可不奮 發立志、以答國恩。以顯父母哉。    男兒學ばざれば則ち已む、學べば則ち當に群を超ゆべし。今日 の天下、猶お古昔の天下のごときなり。今日の民、猶お古昔の民 のごときなり。天下と民と、古え今と異ならざるに、之を治める 所以、今の古に及ばざるは何ぞや。國勢を異にするか。人情を異に するか。有志の人无ければなり。庸俗の人、情勢に溺れ、而して自 ら知らず。上下と無く一なり。此れ深く議するに足らず。獨り吾 が黨は夫の古えの帝王の天下の民を治むる術を傳えし者に非ざる か。而るに徒らに拘拘然として、呫嗶して是れ申べ、尋章摘句し て、以て一生の大業と為す。亦た已に陋なるかな。[…] 古の賢聖豪 傑、伊。傅の如き、周・召の如き者も、亦た一男兒たるのみ。吾れ 東海千載の下に生まるると雖も、生まれて幸いに男兒爲り。又た儒 生為り。安んぞ奮發して志を立て、以て國恩に答え、以て父母を顯 らかにせざるべけんや。） 19  His uncle was doing Edozume 江戸詰め, serving as an attendant to a daimyo stationed in Edo. The policy of alternate attendance (sankin kōtai 参勤交代), which required daimyo to spend alternate years in their han and in Edo, also required a daimyo’s attendants to stay in Edo with him.

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As the eldest son of a domain-employed Confucian scholar, San’yō was expected to exert himself as a scholar for the sake of his domain. Rather than the domain, however, San’yō was already concerned with the whole country. This is evident in his On Establishing Will, quoted above. Unlike China, where the civil service examination system meant offices were open to all men of ability, in Japan the domain system was rigid. Having returned from the Shōhei School after only one year, San’yō may have also felt that the academy had not satisfied his ambition for the country. 6

The Grand Ambition of Historical Narrative

After returning to his domain, San’yō was unable to abandon his ambition for the realm and hoped to travel to Kyoto where he could broaden his knowledge further. But to do so would be a politically dangerous act for the son of a han-designated scholar, because it risked arousing the suspicion of the bakufu. San’yō thus fled to the capital, Kyoto, having resolved to follow his dreams and leave his domain, but was caught and repatriated; he lost his status as Shunsui’s legitimate son and heir, and was put under house arrest. However, this may have been a blessing in disguise for San’yō. His father Shunsui, by canceling San’yō’s status as legitimate son and adopting his nephew Motokane, was able to save face as a Confucian scholar (hanju), while San’yō, at the cost of dishonor, obtained freedom of mind. Eventually, San’yō set himself the goal of compiling a national history. Such was the germ of his Unofficial History of Japan. San’yō wrote of this new ambition in a long letter to Kajiyama Kunshū,20 a close friend and fellow pupil under Shunsui and Kyōhei. Being an informal, personal letter, its language differs from that of On Establishing Will in containing a mix of sinographs and katakana. The excerpt below is just one part of a larger whole, but it gives us a glimpse into San’yō’s feelings. Having met with poverty and despair on every front, I have determined to set a proper goal. Like Yu Qing, Sima Zichang (i.e., Sima Qian), and Liu Hedong (Liu Zongyuan) of ancient times, I have

20  Kajiyama Kunshū 梶山君修 (1768–?), pen name Ryūsai 立齋.

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resolved to put my every effort into writing.21 I would have my innards to become one with the Six Classics and Four Masters22 so that I might, as it were, meet with my own eyes and attune my own ears to the saints and sages of antiquity. Additionally, in my free time I intend to accomplish the task of compiling everything scattered throughout the records spanning from the Eikyō period (1429–1441) to the transition from Oda Nobunaga to Toyotomi Hideyoshi,23 and this undertaking holds the promise of becoming the raw materials for a latter-day Grand Historian (Sima Qian) and definitive official account. And as a private scholar, I would consider it an immense pleasure to supplement in even the smallest way the unfinished ambition of the The Lin Classic,24 thereby perhaps also sparing my writing from accusations of uselessness. Besides, this is something my father long ago told me to do, and his words still ring in my ears … When you think about it, the accomplishments of Xiao He and Cao Shen,25 the achievements of many upright officials, the plain authority of local valiants—all of these came within the compass of Sima Qian’s modest brushtip  … Even the meritorious deeds of Pei Du (the mid-Tang official) fall short of the immortality (in

21  Yu Qing 虞卿 was a minister under King Xiaocheng of Zhao 趙孝成王 (r. 265– 245 BCE) during the Warring States period (475–221 BCE). The expression “poor and despondent” (Ch. qiong chou, J. kyūshū 窮愁) comes from the section of the Shiji on Yu Qing: “But if Yu Qing had not fallen into poverty and despair he would have been unable to write his book that presented his views to later generations” (然虞卿非窮愁, 亦不能著書以自見於後世云). Sima Zichang 司馬 子長 is Sima Qian 司馬遷 (ca. 145 or 135–86 BCE), historian of the Han dynasty and author of the Shiji. Liu Hedong 柳河東 is the famous Tang dynasty poet, Liu Zongyuan 柳宗元 (773–819). 22  The Six Classics and the Four Masters (Rokkyō shishi 六經四子) refers to the Five Classics plus the no longer extant Yuejing 樂經 (Classic of Music), and the Four Masters or Four Books. 23  Oda Nobunaga 織田信長 (1534–1582) and Toyotomi Hideyoshi 豊臣秀吉 (1536 or 1537–1598). 24  Ch. Linjing, J. Rinkei 麟經 is an alternative title used to refer to the Spring and Autumn Annals (Ch. Chunqiu, J. Shunjū 春秋), derived from an account at the end of the work about Duke Ai of Lu catching a mythical creature, the lin 麟. 25  Xiao He 蕭何 (d. 193 BCE) and Cao Shen 曹參 (d. 190 BCE) were both Han dynasty statesmen.

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letters) of the Liuzhou “implicated one” (namely, Liu Zongyuan, who was banished to Liuzhou).26 By the estimate of the letter’s discoverer, Tokutomi Sohō,27 it was written when San’yō was approximately twenty-three years old and under house arrest in Hiroshima. It can be seen here that the dejected San’yō revered Sima Qian and Liu Zongyuan. Sima Qian is of course the historian famous for compiling the Records of the Grand Historian, while Liu Zongyuan, alongside Han Yu,28 is considered one of the best writers among the Ancient Prose* scholars, and also wrote outstanding historical essays. In addition, both of them wrote these masterpieces amid straitened circumstances. It was only natural that San’yō would see them as role models. It was both daunting and ambitious for an insignificant Confucian scholar to narrate Japanese history. To describe history, it is not enough merely to report historical facts; one must also include sections 26  僕  足下ノ悉スル所ノ如ク窮愁以來奮然志ヲ立テ、古ノ虞卿司馬子長 モシクハ柳河東氏ノ如ク、大ニ基力ヲ文章ニ肆ニセント欲ス、亦タ ヾ六經四子ノ文我腸ト一様ニナリ、古聖賢ニ目撃耳提スルガ如クニ ナラント欲スルノミ。其餘ハ永享以降織豊ノ交ニ至ル迄ノ舊聞ノ放 失ヲ網羅シ、異日太史氏ノ秉録ヲマツト云業ヲナサント欲ス。コレ マタ處士ノ一大愉快ニシテ麟經ノ遺意ノ萬一ニ副ヒ、且ツ吾文ヲ無 用ノ物ト呼バルルコトヲ免レンカコレマタ家翁昔シ僕ニ命ジタル コトアリ、語猶在レ耳也。[…] 今オモフニ蕭曹ノ功名、諸循吏ノ治 績、諸豪侠ノ素権ナドモ、ミナ子長氏ノ區々筆端ニ籠罩ス、[…] 裴 度ノ功勲モ柳州ノ一累夫ノ不朽ヲナシタル業ニ及バズ    Pei Du 裵度 (765–839) was a famous official of the Tang dynasty. Liuzhou 柳州 is Liu Zongyuan, for whom see the note 21. He became magistrate of Liuzhou (in modern-day Guangxi administrative district) after being exiled there. 27  Tokutomi Sohō 德富蘇峰 (1863–1957) was a journalist, historian, and social critic, with a background in Western studies. He was older brother to Tokutomi Roka 徳冨蘆花 (1868–1927), discussed in Chapter 2. In 1887, Sohō established Min’yūsha, publisher of the magazine The Nation’s Friend (Kokumin no tomo 國民 之友) and the newspaper The People’s Newspaper (Kokumin shinbun 國民新聞), advocating for democracy. He initially advocated the modernization of Japan, but later moved towards a more conservative and rightist view. After the first Sino-Japanese War (1894–1895), he began to embrace imperialism, and after WWII he was imprisoned (though never tried) as a war criminal. See John D. Pierson, Tokutomi Soho, 1863–1957: A Journalist for Modern Japan (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1980). 28  Han Yu 韓愈 (768–824).

*  Guwen 古文.

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providing perspective on the establishment of systems and their nature. Or perhaps such a perspective should permeate the entire text. This is because one can only describe the state polity using concrete facts, not abstractions. However it was done, narrating history was quite a dangerous act. If San’yō had openly revealed his ambition, he would likely have incurred criticism from those around him fearful of any possible repercussions. For this reason, he only told those very close to him of his intent, and carried on his preparations in secret. The paragraph beginning, “When you think about it, the accomplishments of Xiao He and Cao Shen, …” deserves particular attention. For San’yō, as illustrated by the examples of Sima Qian and Liu Zongyuan, performing meritorious deeds in the world of the present could not measure up to producing writings that are eternal and immutable. He was drawn to the conclusion by his own circumstances and lack of prospects. The Unofficial History of Japan emerged from his trying to superimpose himself, as it were, on historians of antiquity. Inasmuch as he was emulating Sima Qian and Liu Zongyuan, it was only natural that he wrote the Unofficial History in Literary Sinitic. 7

The Completion of the Unofficial History of Japan

The first draft of the Unofficial History of Japan seems to have been completed around 1809, when San’yō was about thirty years old. Then, after several versions that incorporated feedback and additions, San’yō produced a more or less complete edition in the winter of 1826, when he was forty-seven. It took him exactly twenty years. Early the following year, he wrote this poem: I will go back a thousand years and put a scoundrel to death, I shall comfort a wronged man who wanders the Nine Springs of the Underworld. Say not that writing is powerless, As judgments are rendered on the page.29 29  “Composed while Compiling a History,” 3 (Shūshi gudai sono san 修史偶題 其三).    Senzai masa ni chūsen to su rōkan no kotsu   千載將誅老姦骨 千載 將に誅せんとす 老姦の骨

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Not only does this show strong feelings that get to the root of San’yō’s original ambition, but moreover it shows his desire to treat his Unofficial History of Japan as a contribution to kō:* the world of public affairs and governance. Indeed, he wrote this work for the purpose of discussing the people and the state. Perhaps he can be said to have lived up to the ambitions stated in his earlier On Establishing Will. In fact, San’yō had arranged, through a friend of his, to have a copy of the work seen by the head of the Shōhei School, Hayashi Jussai,30 or by Chief Senior Counselor Matsudaira Sadanobu. This tactic proved successful, and Sadanobu ordered that the Unofficial History be presented to the shogun. After receiving high praise from Sadanobu, copies of the Unofficial History were distributed through many channels, but a print edition was not produced during San’yō’s lifetime. Four years after his death, a woodblock-print edition was finally published. The work became a bestseller in 1844 when a new edition, known as the “Kawagoe edition” was published by the Kawagoe domain, a domain headed by the Echigo Matsudaira lineage of the Tokugawa. 8

Reasons for Bestsellerhood

The Unofficial History of Japan covers the rises and falls of warrior families, from the ascendance of the Minamoto and Taira families caused by the Hōgen and Heiji Rebellions,31 to the unification of the country under the Tokugawa. The inherent appeal of any history portraying the    Kyūgen nagusamen to hossu daienkon   九原欲慰大冤魂 九原慰めんと欲す 大冤魂    Iunakare enzan kenryoku nashi to   莫言鉛槧無權力 言うなかれ 鉛槧 権力無しと    Kōgi tsui ni masa ni shijō ni ronzu beshi   公議終當紙上論 公議 終に當に紙上に論ずべし 30  Hayashi Jussai 林述斎 (1768–1841). 31  The Hōgen Rebellion took place in Kyoto in 1156. As an event showing the weakening of the nobility and the capability of samurai, it facilitated the development of samurai politics. The Heiji Rebellion took place in Kyoto three years later in 1159. After the Hōgen Rebellion, Minamoto Yoshitomo conspired with Fujiwara Nobuyori 藤原信頼 to take up arms against and try to overthrow Taira Kiyomori, who had increased his power by conspiring with Fujiwara Michinori 藤原通憲. Ultimately, Yoshitomo and Nobuyori were killed, and the Taira rose to power.

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vacillating fortunes of warrior families must have contributed to the book’s great popularity. The appeal of this period is evident even today, when Japan’s national TV station (NHK) produces historical dramas every few years set in this period. The Unofficial History, like its model the Shiji, portrays its period’s history with marked drama and realism. This method is very risky when applied to historical description. Tokutomi Sohō described the Unofficial History of Japan as “truly wellmade as a work of art,” and said its novel-like composition made it as enjoyable to read as popular works of fiction like The Tale of Eight Dogs or Water Margin.32 He praised the work, saying that “With the roughly 450 years from Hōgen and Heiji to Keichō and Genna33 as his warp, and the important figures from that time as his weft, he examines their ups and downs with the eye of a dramatist, and wields a dramatist’s brush in portraying them.” In other words, he saw it as little more than historical fiction. The Unofficial History was also appealing and well suited to the tastes of the time because it took the noble-sounding cause of emphasizing proper roles for lord and vassal and applied this pretext to the case of the imperial house and the military houses (the former as lord and the latter as vassal), making imperial loyalism the basis of the narrative. Of course, if this noble-sounding understanding of how lord and vassal ought to relate to one another is over-emphasized, the account shifts away from historical description and the Unofficial History has been criticized for this in later periods. But for people accustomed to an ethics centered on loyalty and filial piety, it must have been easy to accept explanations such as the one ascribing the Tokugawa clan’s success in unifying the country to the loyalty shown by their ancestor clan, the Nitta, to the Southern Court of 32  Popularly known as Hakkenden 八犬伝, the Nansō Satomi Hakkenden 南総里 見八犬伝 (1814) is a historical novel set in the medieval period which depicts the supernatural. It was written by Kyokutei Bakin 曲亭馬琴 (1767–1848) between 1814 and 1842 and was widely read during the late Edo and early Meiji periods. Despite its importance for the history of Japanese literature, it has been relatively neglected in English-language scholarship. For two recent studies, see Glynne Walley, “Gender and Virtue in Nansō Satomi hakkenden,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 72, no. 2 (December 2012) and Walley, Good Dogs: Edification, Entertainment, and Kyokutei Bakin’s Nansō Satomi Hakkenden (Ithaca, NY: Cornell East Asia Program, 2017). Water Margin (Ch. Shuihu zhuan J. Suikoden 水滸傳) is a fourteenth-century Chinese historical novel in literary vernacular baihua that was widely read and adapted in Japan. 33  Keichō 慶長 (1596–1615) and Genna 元和 (1615–1624).

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Figure 6 Kaishinshōsha 開心庠舎 edition of the Unofficial History of Japan

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Figure 7

Meiji-era Kawagoe woodblock edition of the Unofficial History of Japan

Go-Daigo.34 Right or wrong, there will always be a desire for histories that are easily understood. Furthermore, the fact that the text deals with the rises and falls of warrior families meant that it could function as an aid to self-discovery for those in or aspiring to join the warrior class. From this perspective, it can be said that the ideology of reverence for the emperor was also ultimately a way of finding principles to guide one’s behavior. Indeed, San’yō’s choice in the Unofficial History to write only about warrior families can be seen as an attempt to construct a warrior consciousness. To put it another way, not only did the Unofficial History provide guidelines for how warriors should behave, it is precisely in providing these guidelines that its greatest significance lies. The content of its ideas was important as well, but what people really responded to was the way in 34  Emperor Go-Daigo 後醍醐天皇 (1288–1339, r. 1318–1339) revolted against the Kamakura shogunate and attempted to reestablish imperial power, which led to two courts after he was exiled: Go-Daigo’s Southern Court (the senior imperial line) in Yoshino and the shogunate-backed Northern Court (the junior imperial line) in Kamakura.

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which the Unofficial History of Japan made history easy to understand by providing unified principles: one single arc, one clear standard. 9

Reading-Conscious Kanbun

It is equally important to recognize that the Unofficial History of Japan was written in a Literary Sinitic that was meant to be easily understood and easily recited. Take, for example, the following passage from the introduction by Yasuoka Reinan to the Kawagoe edition: “This book is sound in content and easy to read, such that even warriors and common clerks not yet well-versed in sinographs will be able to discern its meaning.”35 This statement shows that even those on the peripheries of the expanding ranks of those who could read and write kanbun were thought of as capable of understanding the work. This sort of writing was a world apart from the frequently complicated and hard-tounderstand argumentation of Confucian scholarship. As mentioned in the letter above, the Unofficial History was completed through the masterful use of various historical materials and books. Among these were more than a few sources written in Japanese script, and though these were better classified as fiction than as history, San’yō deftly translated them into Literary Sinitic. It was kanbun composition of a sort. Consider the following famous passage from the Tale of the Heike,36 in which Shigemori, the son of Taira no Kiyomori, laments his predicament of being caught between his father and Emperor Go-Shirakawa: How lamentable—that in order to remain loyal in the service of my sovereign, I must thereby forget the debt I owe my own father, a debt that towers higher than the eighty-thousand-foot summit of Mount Sumeru! How painful—that if I disregarded the sin of unfilial conduct, I would have to be faithless to the ruler and 35  Yasuoka Reinan 保岡嶺南 (1801–1868) was a Confucian scholar of the Kawagoe domain who taught at the domain school. He proofread Rai San’yō’s Nihon gaishi and published its Kawagoe edition, facilitating the book’s spread across the country. His passage reads: 此書質實易讀、雖武人俗吏不甚識字者、皆可 辨其意義。 36  Tale of the Heike (Heike monogatari) is a “military tale” (gunki monogatari) composed in classical Japanese that details the rise and the fall of the Taira clan. The most popular variant, the Kakuichi, dates to 1371.

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become a traitor to him! Forward or backward, my way is blocked! Right or wrong—how am I to judge?37 This version has a pleasant ring to it already, but in the Unofficial History of Japan it is rendered as follows: 欲忠則不孝、欲孝則不忠。 重盛進退、窮於此矣。38

In English translation, this reads: “Attempting to be loyal, one cannot be filial; attempting to be filial, one cannot be loyal. Shigemori’s dilemma thus reached its climax.” This is surely the best-known and most-cited passage from the Unofficial History, and it is precisely its conciseness and melodiousness that make it sound so kanbun-like. Thus, this sentence’s popularity was due to its suitability for an age in which Literary Sinitic was spreading as one of the basic elements of culture. As described earlier, the historical events portrayed in the Unofficial History are so dramatic in and of themselves that many had been adapted into works of oral narrative or theatrical performance.39 Before reading the Unofficial History, readers would have already been familiar with its content, and so would have found nothing unusual in it. Therefore, it can be said that people’s pleasure in reading the Unofficial History came less from learning about historical events than it did from reading of these events in easily understandable, melodious Literary Sinitic. 10

Criticism of Washū

If the Literary Sinitic diction of the Unofficial History was judged as simple and easy to understand, it was also criticized as “washū,” or kanbun 37  悲  哉、君の御ために奉公の忠をいたさんとすれば、迷盧八萬の頂よ り猶たかき父の恩、忽にわすれんとす。痛哉、不孝の罪をのがれん とおもへば、君の御ために旣不忠の逆臣となりぬべし。進退惟きは まれり、是非いかにも辨がたし。    English translation cited from Burton Watson and Haruo Shirane, Tales of the Heike (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006), 33–34. 38  Rendered into kundoku it would be as follows. 忠ならんと欲すれば則ち孝な らず、孝ならんと欲すれば則ち忠ならず。重盛の進退、ここに窮ま れり。 39  Kōdan and shibai. Kōdan 講談 was a narrative form of performance describing military exploits; shibai 芝居 can refer to various indigenous forms of theatrical performance like kabuki, jōruri, Noh, etc.

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Figure 8

Volume 1 of the Kawagoe edition of the Unofficial History of Japan (line 6 contains the passage beginning with 欲忠則)

with an unsophisticated, indigenous Japanese flavor.40 Of course, judgments of easiness or lack of sophistication can vary from person to person, so conflicting appraisals are inevitable. For those who consider an ancient style to be the hallmark of kanbun, San’yō’s writing may well seem excessively simple or plain. But then what can be said of “washū?” What might this term designate? Ogyū Sorai was the first to focus on the problem of washū in Japanese Literary Sinitic writing. Sorai, advocating for thorough study of the Chinese language, cautioned against the use of “waji” (lit., “Japanese graphs,” but referring to non-normative and unorthodox Japanese misuses of sinographs from the perspective of normative Literary Sinitic), 40  The term here is washū 和習/和臭 (lit., “Japanese habit” or “Japanese smell”), critiquing Literary Sinitic diction that is unique to Japan.

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*  Tone (goki 語気); bearing (seisei 声勢).

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“waku”—phrases structured on the basis of Japanese grammar, and washū. By “waji,” he was not referring to hiragana or katakana, but rather to “botching a sinograph’s meaning due to interference from wakun” (vernacular kundoku readings)—using a sinograph with the same vernacular gloss as, but a different meaning from, the sinograph being annotated.41 For example, if 持 (motte: to have; hold; take) were used in place of 以 (motte: by means of), anyone could see the mistake. There are also many subtle differences, however, that are easy to get wrong if one is not careful, such as 聞 (kiku: to hear) and 聽 (kiku: to listen). This the focus of Sorai’s admonitions. Waku, a practice that “abandons the rules of sequence,” inverts the normal word order of Chinese, ignoring the differences in Japanese and Chinese syntax. Again, this sort of mistake is easy to catch in cases such as writing 山登 (lit. “mountain-climb,” with Japanese-style Object-Verb order) in place of 登山 (“climb-mountain,” with Chinese-style VerbObject order), but with more complex constructions, mistakes are easier to make. And then there is washū. Sorai defined it as being “untrue to Chinese in tone or bearing.”* However, he found this very difficult to judge. “Tone and bearing” were from the outset vague terms. Thus, defining precisely what it meant to be “true to Chinese” was not simple. Aware of this, Sorai first of all designated “old phraseology” (kobunji 古文辞),42 that is, pre-Qin-Han (i.e., before 221 BCE) writing, as the benchmark for “true Chinese.” This is a rather arbitrary choice, however. San’yō was careful in his writing to avoid waji and waku, but he did not avoid the washū practice to which Sorai had referred. “The shogun and his subjects should be informed that the duty of a scholar from Japan is to compare/weigh conditions in Japan and China, and to apply

41  W  akun 和訓 refers to both the act of “reading-by-gloss” kundoku reading and the process of annotating a text with Japanese vernacular kundoku readings, written in hiragana or katakana. 42  Old phraseology (Ch. guwen ci, J. kobunji 古文辭). For discussions of the sixteenth-century old phraseology movement in China, including its influence on Sorai, see Yoshikawa Kōjirō, Five Hundred Years of Chinese Poetry, 1150–1650 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2014), “Old Phraseology” (pp. 137–140) and “The Failures and Achievements of Old Phraseology” (pp. 169–76). Yoshikawa characterizes the dictum of this movement as “prose must follow the Ch’in and Han, and poetry the High T’ang; all else is not the Way” (137); Sorai and his followers were “… the literary as well as philosophical heirs of Old Phraseology” (175).

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the lessons of China’s sages to our country’s circumstances.”43 As this excerpt from the same letter quoted above shows, San’yō assumed he was writing for a Japanese audience, and moreover, that Japan constituted the proper subject matter of the Unofficial History of Japan. Thus, he often included terms and official titles used only in Japan. To San’yō, this was only natural. It was no different from the way in which, when Chinese histories detailed events in other lands, they often used Sinitic terms that had been created in those regions. No matter how one looks at the Unofficial History, criticizing the work for its washū amounts to criticizing it for its easiness. In fact, when the Unofficial History was published in Guangdong, China in 1875, the preface praised it for having “Writing with an antique character, imitating the Zuo zhuan44 to enhance the drama of its prose, it evinces an elegance that places it on a par with the Shiji. This indeed is an outstanding new history.”45 Thus, not only was there no criticism of the use of washū, the writing style was praised as being modeled after the famous Chinese histories Zuo zhuan and Shiji. To a scholar who has already mastered Literary Sinitic, San’yō’s kanbun must have seemed far too simple. The scholar Hoashi Banri46 criticized it in various ways, saying “The writing in this work of Rai’s is of course crude and full of washū, but insofar as the research is also sloppily done and the discussions biased, it cannot be used for anything better than a lid to cover a miso pot. That this thing has brought him such fame is truly deplorable.”47 The Unofficial History does indeed contain more than a few historical errors, but San’yō’s aim was rather to trace clearly 43  日  東ニ生レタル儒ノ職分ニハ、和漢時勢ヲ較量シ、西土ノ聖訓我邦 ノ時宜ニ合スベシト云フコトヲ此君民ニシラスガ當リマエ也。 44  Zuo zhuan 左傳, the Commentary of Zuo on the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu 春秋). 45  至其筆墨高古、倣之左氏以騁其奇、參之太史以著其潔、可不謂今之 良史哉。 46  Hoashi Banri 帆足萬里 (1778–1852) was a late-Edo scholar of Confucianism, Dutch Learning, and Neo-Confucian studies. He was known for importing Western science, and for developing the theories of herbal medicine scholar Miura Baien 三浦梅園 (1723–1789), who advocated the study of astronomy, physics, medicine, and logic. 47  “Fukushiyu 復子庾,” Seien-sensei yokō II 西崦先生餘稿 下. The original reads as follows:    賴生所作、無論文字鄙陋、和習錯出、加以考證疏漏、議論乖僻、 眞可以覆醬瓿。渠以是橫得重名、眞可怪歎。

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the great flow of history and to place a premium on narrating events in such a way as to impart a sense of immediacy. This is a point on which San’yō’s ambition had always differed from that of other scholars. Also, for San’yō, simplicity and plainness were good things, especially in writing. It is precisely for this reason that the book was an easy read, even for “warriors and common clerks.” 11

Kundoku Rhythm as Different from Ordinary Speech

San’yō’s preference for vivid writing over tiresome historical research can be seen in the following excerpt from the letter discussed above, wherein during a critique of the writing of Japanese scholars he says, “How rare it is to find a style as bright and lively as that of the ‘Basic Annals of Xiang Yu.’”48 Elsewhere in his writing, San’yō describes how that chapter from Sima Qian’s Shiji served as a model for his Unofficial History: The 130 chapters of the Shiji. Though there are changes from chapter to chapter, if you are looking for the greatest (turn of) affairs and the most awe-inspiring principles, they are to be found in the “Basic Annals of Xiang Yu.” … Early in life, I copied out this chapter, and marked paragraph breaks with dots in the margins. Then, when revising the Unofficial History, I would recite this chapter every morning, and the strength it brought me was considerable.49 Since San’yō never learned contemporary Chinese pronunciation, he was referring here to Japanese-style kundoku recitation. Consequently, the rhythm of his recitation would have been completely different from that of Sima Qian. Nonetheless, he wrote that he drew strength from the “rhythm” of the “Basic Annals of Xiang Yu” when composing the Unofficial History. How are we to understand this?

48  “Basic Annals of Xiang Yu” (Ch. Xiang Yu Benji, J. Kōu hongi 項羽本紀). 49  “Postscript to Transcription of the ‘Basic Annals of Xiang Yu’” (Batsu shusha Kōu ki go 跋手写項羽紀後), San’yō-sensei shogo III (山陽先生書後 下). The original reads as follows:    史記百三十篇、篇篇變化、然求其局勢尤大、法度森嚴者、在項羽 本紀 […] 余嘗手寫一通、隨讀批圈勾截. 及修外史、每晨琅誦一過、賞 得力不少。

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Proper consideration of this matter requires some knowledge of the vernacular kundoku glossing practices of the time. The practices signified by the term “kundoku” varied significantly through the ages. Broadly speaking, kundoku practices in the eighteenth century when San’yō was active differed from earlier practices in that, instead of reading sinographic vocabulary with vernacular Japanese equivalents (kun’yomi), there was a trend to read such Sinitic words with Sino-Japanese pronunciations (on’yomi). The practice of marking verbs and adverbs with okurigana had also become standardized, with the result that the vocal resonance when reading aloud had grown so strong as to resemble an artificial language totally different from everyday speech. These basic features persist in modern-day kundoku practices. This can still be seen today, as in the example of the pre-2005 civil law excerpt quoted in Chapter 1 (“The exercise of rights …”). 12

Vernacular Reading (Kundoku) and Sinoxenic Vocalization (Ondoku)

Kundoku, the practice of “reading by gloss” or “vernacular reading,” was originally developed for textual interpretation, and thus one can imagine a technique that does this by maximizing vernacular vocabulary or kun readings. In fact, there was a technique that aspired to do just that in the past, called kaeriyomi—an earlier approach to kanbun kundoku in which a sentence’s object or complement was moved before its predicate, to better match Japanese word order, and vocabulary was mainly read using indigenous vernacular glosses. In fact, there are two components that can be distinguished in the vernacular reading methods collectively known as kundoku. One is at the level of sentence structure and concerns word order: the kaeriyomi practice of “word-order inversions” just mentioned. The second is at the level of individual words and concerns how these words are vocalized: the extent to which vernacular lexical glosses (kun’yomi) are used instead of Sinoxenic (Sino-Japanese) on’yomi pronunciations. The former has remained basically unchanged. It is the latter that became the focus of much attention (and gave rise to different approaches), such as whether to pronounce the word 履行 (fulfillment) with the Sino-Japanese pronunciation rikō, or with the vernacular Japanese pronunciation fumiokonau 履み行う. Up to the first half of the early modern period both approaches were valued, but with Ogyū Sorai’s emphasis on

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Literary Sinitic as an ancient language belonging to a foreign country, there arose resistance against using vernacular Japanese glosses. Sorai proposed the more extreme measure of “direct reading,”* i.e., abolishing kaeriyomi word-order inversions and using contemporary Chinese pronunciations instead of Sino-Japanese pronunciations for all sinographs. This was not a real option for most people though, because, practically speaking, travel to and from China was impossible, and contact with spoken Chinese was mostly limited to Nagasaki, leaving no opportunity for others to learn contemporary Chinese pronunciation. Moreover, simply learning contemporary Chinese pronunciation did not make one able to understand what one was reading. Thus, kundoku remained the prevailing method of reading Literary Sinitic. However, certain changes definitely occurred. A clear difference emerged between the rhythm of everyday Japanese speech and the rhythm of kundoku as standardized through the privileging of Sinoxenic vocalizations of sinographs. As already described, in this period the practice of sodoku had become universal in kanbun learning. Because kundoku emerged out of sodoku, we can say that, before functioning as an interpretative method, it functioned as a method of reading aloud. Kundoku came to occupy a unique position as it developed its own, independent rhythm, different from that of ordinary speech in Japanese or any foreign language. This was the nature of San’yō’s kundoku rhythm. Though it was not the same as the original rhythm of the Shiji, it corresponded to the latter via fixed transformations. San’yō, having internalized this rhythm through his kundoku readings of the Shiji, used it in composing his own Unofficial History. Because the work was only intended to be read in kundoku by Japanese readers, its writing style suggests a kundoku rhythm. Its Literary Sinitic style was based on kundoku as a writing system. Kundoku is primarily a reading method, but what often gets ignored is its involvement in the process of writing. While the practice of using only contemporary Chinese pronunciations, as Sorai had advocated, was implemented to some degree, kundoku nonetheless prevailed, and even at domain schools and at the Shōhei School, texts were read aloud in kundoku (rather than contemporary Chinese), using a mixture of vernacular Japanese and Sinoxenic vocalizations with the latter dominating. Likewise, kundoku was involved in writing as well. Though difficult to imagine for those of us used to writing in the same way as we speak, it may be helpful to think of kanbun at the time as a sort of secret code, with kundoku as a technique or key for deciphering and composing it.

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Because sinographs are logographic, the ability to decipher was quickly acquirable with practice, but learning to compose in this manner took much more effort. 13

Famous, Captivating Melodies

San’yō emphasized the vocal qualities of kundoku. It is no coincidence that his melodies became famous. As for how these melodies captured the hearts of the people, Nakamura Shin’ichirō, in his prize-winning book The Life and Times of Rai San’yō,50 reminisced as follows: My maternal grandmother, born in the early years of Meiji, was but an illiterate old woman from the country. Yet once, when I was a middle-school student struggling with my kanbun reader, Selections from the Unofficial History,51 she casually recited the section I’d been reading, while she stood in the kitchen. Apparently, girls in the early Meiji period memorized the Unofficial History in elementary school. In addition to showing how the Unofficial History had reached every corner of the country, this demonstrates its suitability for recitation and San’yō’s success in achieving an eloquent style that smoothly matches natural human breathing. I have never found a style of modern, spoken Japanese that reaches this level of eloquent beauty. Of course, diction “suitable for recitation,” with “an eloquent style that smoothly matches natural human breathing” was precisely San’yō’s aim. We can see here that, while sodoku originated as a mere introductory step in the study of the classics, reading aloud had become something people did for the physical pleasure it brought. From a different perspective, the Unofficial History of Japan replaced the recitative qualities of works like the Tale of the Heike and Chronicle 50  R  ai San’yō to sono jidai 頼山陽とその時代, first published in 1971 by Chūō kōronsha. Nakamura Shin’ichirō 中村眞一郞 (1918–1997) was a novelist and literary critic who was born in Tokyo and whose postwar writings, such as Under the Shadow of Death (Shi no kage no shita ni), attracted acclaim. 51  Gaishishō 外史鈔. The reference is likely to either Kojima Kenkichirō 児島献 吉郎, Nihon gaishi shōhon 日本外史鈔本 (Tokyo: Kōfūkan shoten, 1928) or Takigawa Kametarō 瀧川龜太郎, Shintei Nihon gaishi shō 審定日本外史鈔 (Tokyo: Kinkōdō shoseki, 1928).

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of Great Peace52 with those of kundoku. For many versed in the classics, reciting famous scenes with a rhythm different from that of ordinary speech carried an appeal all together different from that of rendering sodoku readings of the Four Books and Five Classics. It was more akin to the appeal that comes from chanting a poem aloud. 14

*  Shigin 詩吟.

†  Seidō 聖堂 style. ‡  Jishūkan 時習館 style.

The Shigin Trend

As we consider how kanbun was read and vocalized, it may be helpful to consider how poetry was recited melodically through the genre of shigin* as a popular trend from the late years of the early modern period onwards. Shigin as a form of kanshi recitation became popular mainly in domain and private schools, separately from the kanshi recitation tradition begun already in the Heian period. Needless to say, shigin recitation was performed via kundoku. Several styles formed, such as the Tansō style, which originated in the Kangien;53 the Shōhei School’s Seidō style;† and the Kumamoto domain school’s Jishūkan style.‡ The practice of reciting Literary Sinitic poems aloud arose alongside the study of kanshi and kanbun, and became a school pastime. Here, too, Rai San’yō’s poetry was well received. San’yō’s poem about the battles of Kawanakajima (in Nagano), which contains the line “At night, silencing the crack of their whips, they cross the river,”54 is a good example. Though from a later time, the following quotation from Masamune Hakuchō, dated to 1926,55 is worthy of note. 52  The Taiheiki 太平記, or Chronicle of Great Peace, is a fourteenth-century military tale (gunki monogatari) describing fifty years of warfare during the Nanbokuchō period (1336–1392). It is written in a mixed orthographic style with sinographs and kana that came to be known as wakan konkōbun 和漢混交文. 53  The Kangien 咸宜園 was a private school in Hita, Bungo province (modern Ōita prefecture) established by Confucian scholar and poet Hirose Tansō 広瀬淡窓 (1782–1856). 54   Bensei shukushuku yoru kawa o wataru 鞭聲肅肅夜河過. There is debate on what exactly 肅肅 means but most people think the line refers to how Uesugi Kenshin, under cover of night, led his troops across the Chikuma River to where Takeda Shingen was, stifling the sound of whip on horse so as not to be noticed. (With thanks to Matthew Fraleigh.) 55  Masamune Hakuchō 正宗白鳥 (1879–1962) was a novelist, playwright, and critic. He was born in Okayama and became known for his work as a naturalist writer in objectively portraying a nihilist view of life. His works include the novels Doko e 何処へ (Whither?) and Doro ningyō 泥人形 (The Mud Doll), the play Azuchi no haru 安土の春 (Spring at Azuchi), and the critical work Sakka-ron 作家論.

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Often, when going for walks along the shore, I use shigin recitation to shake off the gloominess from long hours cooped up studying. My shigin habits developed while I was young, studying at a private school; usually I would recite poems by Rai San’yō. Even to this day, I enjoy reciting his long poem “Going down the Chikugo River.”56 We can see in the reference to using shigin to “shake off the gloominess from long hours cooped up studying,” that shigin functioned as a physical activity practiced during study breaks. Shigin was also promoted within schools as a way to maintain physical and mental health amid communal living. In fact, in the latter part of the journal excerpted above, Hakuchō is critical of San’yō, saying that a second look at his poetry’s meaning shows it to be crude and childish. “Although I recite ‘Going down Chikugo River,’ when one examines the meaning, the style is reminiscent of traditional kōdan storytelling, or naniwa-bushi,”57 he writes. Works that are recited and thus become bodily integrated may seem at odds with new aesthetics about modern literary works, but it was precisely because the poem sounded like kōdan or naniwa-bushi that, thirty years after learning it, at the age of forty-seven, Hakuchō could still freely recite it. Hakuchō was born in Meiji 12 (1879), so his adolescent years were in the third decade of the Meiji era (1887–1896). In terms of the recitation of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose, there was no break between the Edo and Meiji periods. For example, in Tokutomi Roka’s autobiographical novel Black Eyes and Brown Eyes, the following description appears, modeled after Dōshisha Academy, which he had attended in the second decade of the Meiji era (1877–1886):58 The ornate writing of Kajin no kigū59 enjoyed great popularity at Kyōshisha [i.e., Dōshisha], and people memorized many of the 56   Masamune Hakuchō, “Nikkishō” 日記抄 (1926) republished in Masamune Hakuchō zenshū 30 (Fukutake shoten, 1986), 206. 57  Naniwa-bushi 浪花節 is a genre of narrative singing on the themes of loyalty and compassion, accompanied by a shamisen. 58  See p. 47, note 27. Among Tokutomi Roka’s best known works is Hototogisu 不如歸 (The Cuckoo, 1899). He authored Black Eyes and Brown Eyes (Kuroi me to chairo no me 黒い眼と茶色の目) in 1914. The Dōshisha Academy later became Dōshisha University. 59  Kajin no kigū 佳人之奇遇 (Strange Encounters with Beautiful Women, 1885–1889) is a political novel by Tōkai Sanshi 東海散士 (1853–1922, born Shiba Shirō

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elegant poems in it. Keiji’s classmate and the top shigin reciter within the school, the slightly pock-marked Ogata Ginjirō, near bedtime on a cold night, would stand on the gravel path between dormitories, and recite: My thoughts are of the mountains back home … The moon shines across the vast sky for a thousand li; The wind blows the golden waves, crashing in the distance. The night is obscure, and my longing boundless; On the ship’s prow, how can one endure tonight’s emotion?60 He would draw out the silvery sound of his voice like a bell as he chanted. Lamplight shone from every dorm window. Three hundred young men who had been absorbed in silent study all listened intently, as if carried away by that undulating vibrato. The recited poem is from the then-popular political novel Strange Encounters with Beautiful Women. We can see how recitation of poetry from this novel would have resonated with the oral reading of Sanyō’s work. 15

The Charm of Grandiose Kanshi

As I have suggested, in the 1850s and 1860s Rai San’yō’s poetry was popularly recited, including both poems from the Unofficial History and his other works. It was popular not just because it was melodious, but also because the rhythm of kundoku was unlike ordinary speech, just as poetry was also considered to be different from everyday speech. Let us now observe some more examples of this, first from one of San’yō’s most famous poems. 柴四朗) describing the observations of countries including the U.S.A., Ireland, Spain, and China. 60  我所思兮在故山 Waga omou tokoro kozan ni ari 月橫大空千里明 Tsuki wa taikū ni yokotawatte akiraka ni 風搖金波遠有聲 Kaze wa kinba o ugokashite tōku ni koe ari 夜蒼蒼兮望茫茫 Yoru sōsō nozomi bōbō 船頭何堪今夜情 Sentō nanzo taen konya no jō   The poem is a pastiche of the first of the famous “Poems on Four Sorrows” (Ch. “Sichou shi” 四愁詩) by Zhang Heng 張衡 (78–139) from Selections of Refined Literature (Wenxuan 文選). See Atsuko Sakaki, “Kajin no kigū: The Meiji Political Novel and the Boundaries of Literature,” Monumenta Nipponica 55, no. 1 (Spring 2000): 93.

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Figure 9

Volume 6 of Kajin no kigū (the passage beginning with 我所思 is in the middle of the right page)

“Mooring on the open sea at Amakusa” Is it a cloud? A mountain? Is it Wu? Yue? In the haze where sea meets sky, a single blue line. The sea at Amakusa, where boats moor for ten thousand li. Smoke cuts across the dock; the sun gradually sets. A glimpse of a great fish, jumping between the waves. Venus shines on the boat, bright as the moon.61 61  

Amakusa nada ni hakusu

あまくさなだ

はく

  泊天草洋 天草洋に泊す    Kumo ka yama ka Go ka Etsu ka.　 くも

やま

ご

えつ

  雲耶山耶吳耶越 雲か山か呉か越か    Suiten hōfutsu sei ippatsu　 すいてん ほうふつ せいいっぱつ

 

水天髣髴靑一髮 水 天 髣 髴 靑 一 髮

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San’yō wrote this poem while visiting Amakusa in Nagasaki. It describes looking out over the vast sea, wondering whether the sight in the distance is a cloud, a mountain, or the coast of either the Wu or Yue region on the Chinese mainland, and seeing only a faint, blue line on the horizon. A kundoku reading of the first two lines would read: Kumo ka, yama ka, Go ka Etsu ka (line 1) Suiten hōfutsu, sei ippatsu (line 2).

*  阿嵎嶺.

The rhythm is certainly good, and in particular, the way the words in the second line all begin with consonants conveys the feeling of a sevensyllable kanshi line. The image of Venus shining on the boat as brightly as the moon is moderate hyperbole, and in kanshi, reciting poems with this sort of hyperbole brought a certain pleasure. Similar hyperbole is present in the image of gazing out on the open sea, wondering if that distant sight is the Chinese mainland, and San’yō’s poetry in general is characterized by the presence of such hyperbole and visions on a grand scale. Kanshi, with its contrast between concise wording and expansive imagery, provides a different sort of enjoyment from that of native Japanese poetry like waka or haikai. Furthermore, in the late early modern period, people tended to prefer the romantic or dramatic, even in poems such as those in the Selection of Tang Poems. The poem by San’yō cited above conforms to this trend. Similar themes can also be found in “Agune,”* one of the poems San’yō wrote while visiting Kyūshū: Dangerous rocks jut out chaotically between big waves. Looking southwest with wide eyes, I cannot make out the mountain.

  

Banri fune o hakusu Amakusa nada ば ん り ふね

はく

あまくさなだ

  萬里泊舟天草洋 萬里舟を泊す天草洋    Moya wa hōsō ni yokotawatte hi yōyaku bossu もや

ほうそう

よこ

ひようや

ぼっ

  烟橫篷窓日漸沒 烟は篷窓に橫たわって 日漸く沒す    Bekkensu taigyo no hakan ni odoru o べっけん

たいぎょ

はかん

おど

  瞥見大魚波間跳 瞥見す 大魚の波間に跳るを    Taihaku fune ni atarite akaruki koto tsuki no gotoshi たいはくふね

 

あ

あか

つき

ごと

太白當船明似月 太 白船に當たりて 明るきこと月の似し

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The eagle’s shadow wanders low and the sail’s shadow vanishes. Where the sky touches the water—this is Taiwan.62 Agune is a famous spot in Akune, Kagoshima, where the bay is filled with strangely shaped rocks. The sinograph 鶻, meaning “hawk” or “osprey,” is derived, like the phrase 靑一髮 in line two of the previous poem, from the second stanza of the poem “Tongchao Tower at Chengmai Station” by the Northern Song poet Su Shi.63 Here is that poem for comparison:64 For the rest of my days I would grow old in a village of Hainan, and the god will send down shaman Yang to summon back my soul. Dim in the distance, at the base of the sky, where a hawk is sinking away, is a hair’s breadth line of green mountains, and that is the heartland.65

62   危礁乱立大濤間     

Kishō ranritsusu daitō no kan

きしょうらんりつ

だいとう

かん

危 礁乱立す 大濤の間 Manajiri o kessureba seinan yama o mizu

まなじり けっ

せいなんやま

み

決眥西南不見山     

眥 を決すれば西南山を見ず Kotsuei wa hikuku mayoi han’ei wa bossu

鶻影低迷帆影沒     

 影は低く迷い 帆影は沒す 鶻 Ten mizu ni tsuranaru tokoro kore Taiwan

こつえい

ひく

てん みず

まよ

つら

はんえい

ところ こ

たいわん

天連水處是臺灣 天 水に連なる處是れ臺灣   63  Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–1101). The poem is 澄邁驛通潮閣. 64   Translation from Stephen Owen, ed., An Anthology of Chinese Literature: Beginnings to 1911 (New York and London: W.W. Norton and Company, 1996), 677. 65   Yosei oin to hossu Kainan no mura よせい

お

ほっ

かいなん

むら

餘生欲老海南村 餘生 老いんと欲す海南の村      Tei wa fuyō o tsukawashite waga tamashii o maneku てい

ふよう

つか

わ

たましい まね

帝遣巫陽招我魂 帝は巫陽を遣わして我が魂を招く      Yōyō to shite ten hikuku kotsu bossuru tokoro ようよう

てんひく

こつぼっ

ところ

杳杳天低鶻沒處 杳杳として天低く鶻沒する處      Seizan ippatsu kore Chūgen せ い ざ いっぱつ

 

こ

ちゅうげん

靑山一髮是中原 靑山一 髮 是れ中 原  

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Su Shi wrote this poem after being pardoned from his exile on Hainan Island, while on his way back to the capital. In the latter two lines, he is looking across the strait at the mainland. This is the part utilized by San’yō. But if we look at these poems carefully we see that compared to Su Shi, San’yō writes on a grand, if not grandiose scale; whereas Su Shi, joyful at his pardon, calls his destination “where a hawk is sinking away” (鶻沒處), and sees “a hair’s breadth line of green mountains” (靑山一髮), San’yō writes “One blue line” (靑一髮) and “The eagle’s shadow wanders low” (鶻影低迷). The surface meaning is the same, but whereas phrases in Su Shi’s poem like “where a hawk is sinking away” and “a hair’s breadth line of green mountains” suggest a certain, known, destination and closure that will be reached at the end of a long journey, San’yō’s “One blue line” and “The eagle’s shadow wanders low” are phrases that suggest the poet lets his thoughts wander all the way across the sea into the unknown. This difference is important. Even from Kagoshima, Taiwan is quite a distance away—past the Ryūkyū Islands. But in the phrase “Where the sky touches the water” (天水連處), San’yō extends his imagination that far. This sort of poetical style was warmly received from the late early modern period, past the end of the bakufu period, and through the Meiji period. This could also have been because it evoked the feeling of overseas travel. Of course, not all of Rai San’yō’s poetry was like this. He also wrote poems about moments from everyday life. But when poems are chanted in shigin style, a grandiose style will prevail, for better or for worse. Because shigin is a way of “shedding pent-up feelings,” using it to sing about the ups and downs of history or nature’s magnificence is a perfect fit. Thus, this type of poetry constructs a world somewhat removed from the ordinary, accompanied by hyperbole, far-reaching visions, and, naturally, literary intoxication. Men of high purpose at the end of the bakufu period cultivated their minds in such a world, and trained their thoughts on the world yet to come, as well as on the yet-unseen distant shores. 16

The Literary Sinitic Context Popularized

This chapter has given an account of the creation of the Unofficial History of Japan and its significance, mostly through examples from the

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life of its author, Rai San’yō. But what if we place this in the sociohistorical context of the time? I will wrap up this chapter with a few related points. First of all, by using history to narrate the situation of the warrior class (shizoku kaikyū), the Unofficial History of Japan acquired an unprecedented number of readers through its content and writing style, thereby allowing scholar-official literati (shi) consciousness to spread to those on the periphery of the warrior class. It is well known that loyalists from the end of the bakufu period, Kondō Isami first and foremost, loved the Unofficial History, regardless of whether they were pro- or anti-bakufu. However, most of them were not from eminent warrior families. Such people acquired a governance-oriented consciousness from reading history, and the Unofficial History played a large role in this. Moreover, it was young scholars from the end of the bakufu period who formed the nucleus of the restored government in the Meiji period. They too were well acquainted with the thinking and writing style of the Unofficial History of Japan. This set the stage for a Literary Sinitic Context with a political bent in the Meiji period. Furthermore, as the practice of kundoku vernacular reading shifted from an ancillary to a central position within the Literary Sinitic written language in Japan, the Unofficial History of Japan served as a sort of accelerator. As the next chapter will reveal in detail, the official written language of the Meiji period was not Literary Sinitic but a form of literary Japanese referred to variously as kundokubun, yomikudashibun, or bungobun (all referring to an inscriptional style heavily informed by and closely linked to Literary Sinitic but written out unambiguously as Japanese).* In other words, there was a shift from Literary Sinitic/ kanbun to kundokubun, and the spread of kundoku rhythm was a crucial intermediate step in this process. The Unofficial History played a major role in this as well. Of course, there was more to the Literary Sinitic Context of the early nineteenth century than just Rai San’yō. One can view the scholarofficial consciousness as a bunjin (“writerly”; literatus)66 consciousness 66  B  unjin consciousness (bunjin ishiki 文人意識). For the term bunjin (Ch. wenren), rendered variously throughout our translation as “literatus,” “man of letters,” or just bunjin, see Yoshikawa Kōjirō, Five Hundred Years of Chinese Poetry, 84–85, where the concept of wenren 文人 is defined as having arisen in the early fourteenth century in reference to “a new type of figure” with “an attitude toward life in which literature and the arts were made supreme.” This concept “… demanded

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*  Kundokubun 訓読文, yomikudashibun 読み下 し文, bungobun 文語文.

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as well, and this trend was also solidifying at the time: a trend toward private concern about public matters, and toward literature about politics. This will be addressed in detail starting in Chapter 4, but first, the following chapter will consider the question of how San’yō’s legacy changed as it entered the Meiji period. a person who devoted himself solely to literature and the arts and who had no connection with politics. Consequently, a wen-jen had to be a pure townsman who was not a bureaucrat-official. Moreover, as a qualification for being an artist, one had to manifest a greater or lesser degree of eccentricity or deviation from accepted norms.”

Chapter 3

The Formation of a National Literary Style: The Civilization and Enlightenment Movement and Kundokubun 1

The Separation of Literary Sinitic and Kundokubun

Chapter 2 described the spread of rote recitation (sodoku) through elementary education, and how this in turn led to the internalization of kundoku’s rhythms through recitation, given their dissimilarity from the rhythms of everyday Japanese language. The chapter also discussed the immense popularity of Rai San’yō’s (1780–1832) Unofficial History of Japan and how it symbolized this spread of recitation. Through learning by sodoku, children discovered that there were speech rhythms that differed from those of everyday language, and they came to understand that these rhythms were used with the language of history and reasoned discourse. Until this time, Literary Sinitic and kundoku had functioned in tandem as a single literary style. And, as we saw with Literary Sinitic in the previous chapter, where we compared it to a kind of secret code, kundoku “vernacular reading” practice was significant as a technique for both deciphering and producing Literary Sinitic. With the mass dissemination of kundoku rhythms (or perhaps because of it), however, Literary Sinitic and kundoku began to separate. To be more precise, composition in kanbun kundoku tai came to be used independently of Literary Sinitic. What eventually emerged as kundokubun (also called kanbun kundoku tai or kanbun kundoku style) replaced Literary Sinitic as a form of literary language (bungobun) by attaining the status of an official literary style through use in imperial edicts and laws, then in education and reportage (public print media). As a language of literary composition, the kundokubun style came to be called by a variety of names, such as “Literary Japanese” (bungobun); “common writing” ( futsūbun); “contemporary-style writing” (kintaibun); “mixed-sinograph-and-katakana writing” (kanji-katakana majiribun); “texts originating in vocalized reading by gloss” (yomikudashibun); “texts originating as written out reading by gloss” (kakikudashibun),

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004436947_005

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*  Tai 体.

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and so on.1 It was also sometimes referred to as Kundoku Style, bungo style, yomikudashi style, etc., with the suffix –tai meaning “inscriptional style.”* In reality, these terms referred by and large to the same thing. The differences in nomenclature come from kundokubun’s origins as a literary style. In other words, they all refer to a convenient or practical literary style derived from kanbun kundoku—the practice of reading Literary Sinitic by vernacular gloss. What, then, led to this shift from traditional canonical composition (i.e., Literary Sinitic) to more practical and utilitarian composition (i.e., kundokubun)? This chapter will consider this and related questions. To do so, we shall again call upon Rai San’yō. 2

Meiji-Period Evaluations of San’yō

San’yō’s poetry and prose were read widely, not only in the late Edo period, but also in the Meiji period following the imperial restoration. His arguments, which provided justification for emperor veneration, stimulated late Edo pro-emperor ideology and are generally thought to have exerted tremendous influence on the realization of the Meiji Restoration of 1868. He was, therefore, all the more esteemed during the Meiji era. His Unofficial History of Japan was used consistently as a textbook in Meiji-period elementary Literary Sinitic classrooms. Entries such as those on the devotion of Kusunoki Masashige (1294– 1336) to Emperor Go-Daigo (1288–1339, r. 1318–1339) in particular were not only committed to memory, but were often considered an ideal subject for school reports.2 The Unofficial History of Japan excelled in its recording of famous anecdotes in Literary Sinitic, and so was easily 1  Bungobun 文語文; futsūbun 普通文, kintaibun 今体文; kanji-katakana majiribun 漢字片仮名交り文; yomikudashibun 読み下し文; kakikudashibun 書き下し文. For a useful discussion of kanbun kundokutai in English, see Atsuko Ueda, “Sounds, Scripts, and Styles: Kanbun kundokutai and the National Language Reforms of 1880s Japan,” Review of Japanese Culture and Society 20 (December 2008). 2  Kusunoki Masashige 楠木正成 (1294–1336) was a military commander in the service of Emperor Go-Daigo. During the Meiji period he became an iconic patriot, revered for his efforts to overthrow the Kamakura shogunate and his use of innovative guerrilla warfare tactics.    Emperor Go-Daigo 後醍醐天皇 (1288–1339, r. 1318–1339) was the ninety-sixth emperor of Japan. He initiated plans to oust the shogunate, leading to a period of civil war referred to as the Kenmu Restoration (1333–1336), and to the division of the imperial family into the two rival factions of the Northern and Southern Courts.

The Formation of a National Literary Style

adaptable as a textbook for Literary Sinitic. Perhaps the epitome of such episodes was the so-called “Farewell at Sakurai,” the story of Kusunoki’s final parting with his son, Masatsura, before he turned to the decisive battle with Ashikaga Takauji (1305–1358) at Minatogawa.3 Even the anthem of the Ministry of Education, “Sakurai, Thick with Green Leaves,” penned by the scholar of Japanese literature Ochiai Naobumi,4 was based on this story, and continued be sung in schools up through World War II. Despite this popular reception, however, members of Meiji’s new intellectual class had cultivated a Westernized modern consciousness, and developed a certain discomfort with San’yō. From their perspective, he was firmly ensconced in an already bygone age. From the perspective of modern historiography, stories like “Farewell at Sakurai” cannot be verified except through fictional works such as the Chronicle of Great Peace. In other words, without reliable historical materials to support them, they must be seen as fiction. Since the Unofficial History accepted these famous anecdotes without questioning them, it too could be considered a work of fiction rather than a historical work. The presence within the Unofficial History of numerous errors of historical fact had already been noted prior to Meiji, but once the “premodern” label was attached to it, its stature changed significantly. Amid this, Tokutomi Sohō attempted a reevaluation of Rai San’yō from a modern perspective. Sohō published the magazine The Nation’s Friend, established the Min’yūsha publishing house, and was a journalist influential in press circles during the Meiji and Taishō eras and into the Shōwa period (1926–1989).5 He was also among those who, after the 3  Ashikaga Takauji 足利尊氏 (1305–1358) was the founder and first shogun of the Ashikaga shogunate (1336–1573). Earlier in his career, Takauji had been a commander in the service of the Kamakura shogunate, but later switched sides in support of efforts to restore power to the imperial family. In a subsequent campaign to set up the Ashikaga shogunate (1336–1573), Takauji fought in the Battle of Minatogawa, resulting in the death of Kusunoki (recounted in “Farewell at Sakurai” [Sakurai no wakare 桜井の別れ]). 4  Ochiai Naobumi 落合直文 (1861–1903), author of “Sakurai, Thick with Green Leaves” (Aoba shigereru sakurai no 青葉茂れる桜井の), was a tanka poet with early training in nativist and Shintō studies. He is known for his unorthodox poetic style, initiating a Meiji-period trend toward practicing new forms of tanka. 5  Sohō modeled The Nation’s Friend (Kokumin no tomo 國民之友, 1887–1898) after The Nation, an American periodical founded by Edwin Lawrence Godkin. Tokutomi’s vision for The Nation’s Friend was to create a platform for freely expressed views on domestic and international current affairs. Founded in 1887, Min’yūsha 民友社

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Figure 10 Meiji-era composition textbook depicting Kusunoki Masashige parting with his son Source: from the textbook Jōtō kiji ronsetsu bunrei 上等記事論説文例 by Yasuda Keisai 安田敬斎 and Tanaka Yoshikado 田中義廉 (Osaka: Bun’eidō, 1880)

The Formation of a National Literary Style

Meiji period, evaluated San’yō most highly. Although he wrote several books reappraising San’yō, the earliest of these, Rai San’yō and His Era, was one volume in The Twelve Men of Letters series published in 1898 by Min’yūsha.6 The book’s primary author was actually Morita Shiken,7 who was known for his translation of Jules Verne’s Two Years’ Vacation (Fr. Deux ans de vacances, J. Ninenkan no kyūka) and other titles, but as it was published after Shiken’s death by Min’yūsha columnists Yamaji Aizan8 and Tokutomi Sohō, who together compiled and edited Shiken’s posthumous work, it was obviously completed with the addition of their contributions as well. We can say, then, that this rather groundbreaking work was a three-person collaboration. I will first explain the work’s background. In 1893, Yamaji Aizan published “On Rai Noboru,”9 extolling San’yō’s works. He begins his critique by stating that “Writing is itself an enterprise,” and claims that a hero’s sword “if not of benefit to the world, becomes a vanity of vanities.” He then states that in like manner, a writer’s pen, “if not relatable to life, also becomes a vanity of vanities.” That is to say, writing, if not of practical worldly use, is meaningless. It is on this point, he reasons, that San’yō ought to be evaluated highly. Aizan’s essay elicited an instant rebuttal from Kitamura Tōkoku,10 bringing about the so-called “What Intersects with Life Debate.”11 This debate, along with the “‘Dancing Girl’ Debate”12 taken up afterward, functioned until 1933. Initially aligned with Christian principles and allied with the Freedom and People’s Rights Movement in opposition to the ultra-nationalist stance of the Seikyōsha 政敎社, after the Russo-Japanese War of 1904–1905 it adopted a pro-imperial stance. 6  Rai San’yō oyobi sono jidai 頼山陽及其時代 in the Jūni bungō 拾貮文豪 series. 7  Morita Shiken 森田思軒 (1861–1897). 8  Yamaji Aizan 山路愛山 (1865–1917). 9   “Rai Noboru o ronzu” 頼襄を論ず, published in The Nations’s Friend (Kokumin no tomo). 10  Kitamura Tōkoku 北村透谷 (1868–1894) was a poet, critic, and essayist and an influential figure in the development of modern Japanese literature. His writing centered on theories of the inner self, and was influenced by his interest in Western learning and Christianity. Tōkoku was prominent in the romantic literary movement of nineteenth-century Japan, and was actively engaged in the Freedom and People’s Rights Movement (Jiyū minken undō 自由民権運動). 11  Jinsei sōshō ronsō 人生相渉論争. The debate centered on the question of “What does it mean for [literature] to intersect with life?” 12  Maihime ronsō 舞姫論争. This debate took place after “The Dancing Girl” was published by Mori Ōgai in 1890 between its author and Ishibashi Ningetsu 石橋 忍月 (1865–1926).

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*  Kinnō ronsha 勤王論者.

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are representative examples of the conflicting and changing conceptions of literature within the Meiji period. Kitamura published “What Does it Mean to Commit to Life?” in the magazine Literary World (Bungakukai),13 wherein he stated that the writer’s mission was not a question of benefitting the world before him, and asserted rather that “an enterprise that was the vanity of vanities” was in fact meaningful in and of itself. He writes, “Literature need not be a task of taking aim at an enemy and attacking, as in the case of Rai San’yō’s royalism.” To Kitamura, San’yō was no more than a crude monarchist.* Meanwhile, in contrast to Kitamura, Morita Shiken was inspired by Yamaji Aizan’s essay and subsequently published the lengthy series “On the Debates about San’yō”14 in The Nation’s Friend. With this work at its core, and with the addition of other works by Shiken, such as Other Matters on Returning15 and “The World of Sinitic Learning before and around the Kansei Period,” Yamaji Aizan and Tokutomi Sohō’s views on San’yō—including of course “On Rai Noboru”—were added and made into the single volume Rai San’yō and His Era. The twelve literary giants were, incidentally, Thomas Carlyle, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Ogyū Sorai, William Wordsworth, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Chikamatsu Monzaemon (1653–1725), Arai Hakuseki (1657–1725), Victor Hugo, Leo Tolstoy, Rai San’yō, and Kyokutei Bakin (1767–1848). The image of a literary giant at that time was apparently rather different from what it is today. 3

Differences in the Three Appraisals

Such was the reappraisal of San’yō through intellectuals affiliated with The Nation’s Friend with Tokutomi Sohō at their center; rather than focus on the confrontation between those reappraising and those rejecting him, here I would like to carefully examine the subtle differences among those reevaluating San’yō. While Yamaji Aizan, Tokutomi Sohō, and Morita Shiken all evaluated San’yō highly, their specific points of 13  “Jinsei ni aiwataru to wa nan no ii zo” 人生に相渉るとは何の謂ぞ, published in Bungakukai 文学界. 14  “San’yō ron ni tsukite” 山陽論につきて. 15  Kiten yoji 帰展餘事; “Kansei zengo no kangakukai” 寛政前後の漢学界; “Rai Noboru o ronzu” 頼襄を論ず. Note that Noboru was the given name for San’yō.

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emphasis were different. Their differences lay in how to evaluate the fact that the Unofficial History was written in Literary Sinitic, and are important in understanding the subject of this chapter: the transition from Literary Sinitic to kundokubun. Yamaji Aizan regarded Rai San’yō’s Literary Sinitic prose and poetry as a product of “China,” and therefore clearly distinct from “Japan.” Aizan wrote of Rai San’yō, “his poetry is like a Japanese in Chinese dress,” and “in sum, he was a scholar of Sinitic learning while yet being Japanese.” Aizan thus evaluates Rai San’yō highly by claiming his core to be “Japanese spirit,” and sees his Sinitic learning and use of Literary Sinitic as external trappings, as clothing imported from a foreign country.* As I will explain, during this period it was common to see Literary Sinitic as representing the foreign place called “Shina.” The modern nation-state system insists on attaching a national label to everything. Language was no different, and its origins were scrutinized to determine what might most appropriately be considered the true “national language.” It was through such scrutiny and winnowing that the outlines of the nation gradually became clear. The emphasis on Literary Sinitic as “Chinese” (Shina) was due to the still-ambiguous outlines of what was “Japanese.” Perhaps Yamaji Aizan, too, held this sort of national consciousness.† Tokutomi Sohō writes the following about the Unofficial History of Japan:

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*  Nihon seishin 日本精神 as opposed to Shina 支那.

†  Kokumin ishiki 国民 意識.

Using the confining medium of Literary Sinitic, [Rai San’yō’s] unrestrained recording of the realities of Japan (situated a thousand li from continental customs) was accomplished without making even a single error in skill. And yet because he set about in this manner, the greater part of his zeal was exhausted in writing sinographs, making it all the more a pity that his efforts at painstaking historical inquiry were spread so thin by this lamentable preference. With his phrase “the confining medium of Literary Sinitic,” Sohō wholly severs Literary Sinitic from “Japan” and regards it as an impediment or handicap.‡ His line of thinking here accords with Yamaji Aizan. Thus, he states that the carelessness in the historical research behind the Unofficial History of Japan is due to the effort San’yō devoted to writing it in Literary Sinitic; his criticism is directed not at San’yō, but at Literary Sinitic. Sohō was an author whose writings swept Meiji Japan, as can

‡  Fujiyū 不自由.

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be gathered from his Kundoku Style being so warmly received by the nation’s youth. Futabatei Shimei,16 for example, was deeply moved by Tokutomi Sohō’s Youth of New Japan,17 which began, “The world of Meiji is a world of criticism, a world of skepticism, a world without faith.” Given how positively Sohō’s writing style was received, his appraisal of San’yō was considered important. As discussed in the previous chapter, San’yō was quite meticulous in using kundoku to read and write Literary Sinitic, and so when viewed from San’yō’s perspective, Tokutomi Sohō’s criticism widely misses its mark. For San’yō, the Unofficial History of Japan would have been meaningless had it not been written in Literary Sinitic. As we might expect, Morita Shiken seems to have realized this point and offered a gentle rebuttal. He writes that at that time “by virtue of a typical scholar’s composition generally being in Literary Sinitic, it was the ‘common writing’ style ( futsūbun, hereafter Common Style). And the style of the Unofficial History of Japan was most typical of this Common Style.” We must be careful with the word futsū (“common”) here. Shiken’s use of “futsū” is not the same as its present-day use in Japanese meaning “usual” or “ordinary.” Rather, by “futsū” he means “universal” or “standard.” 4

*  Taitei kanbun o mochiite motte futsūbun to naseru nari 大抵漢文を 用ひて以て 普通文と為 せるなり.

What Is “Futsūbun”?

The Meiji-era Common Style ( futsūbun) was of course the Kundoku Style—whether called bungobun, kundokubun, or any other of its names—along the lines of the mixed-sinograph-and-kana style in which Shiken wrote his evaluation above: “composition generally being in Literary Sinitic, it was the ‘common writing’ style.”* Tokutomi Sohō’s assertion implies a personal wish that Rai San’yō too might have written 16  Futabatei Shimei 二葉亭四迷 (1864–1909), born Hasegawa Tatsunosuke 長谷川 辰之助, was a writer and translator. He wrote the novel Drifting Clouds (Ukigumo 浮雲) in the genbun itchi style using a more colloquial Japanese in place of classical literary diction. He is considered one of the realist writers and is also known for works such as An Adopted Husband (Sono omokage 其面影; published under this title in 1919 by Knopf) and Mediocrity (Heibon 平凡). His translations include “The Tryst,” a story from Ivan Turgenev’s A Sportsman’s Sketches (1852), which Futabatei rendered in 1888 as The Rendezvous (Aibiki あひゞき). For a classic study, see Marleigh Grayer Ryan, Japan’s First Modern Novel: “Ukigumo” of Futabatei Shimei, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1965). 17  Tokutomi Iichirō 徳富猪一郎, Shin Nihon no seinen 新日本之青年 (Tokyo: Shūseisha, 1887).

The Formation of a National Literary Style

in such a style. After all, the mixed-sinograph-and-kana style already existed in San’yō’s day, as seen in his personal correspondence cited in the previous chapter. As Shiken states, however, in Rai San’yō’s day it was standard to compose in Literary Sinitic. To what extent it was unusual is difficult to say, but it at least functioned as a kind of standard. From this we can see then that Sohō evaluated San’yō from his own presentist perspective, while Shiken tried to situate San’yō within San’yō’s own historical context. This is a significant difference in perspective. Furthermore, Shiken noted that even among Literary Sinitic styles, some were closer to everyday Japanese language than others, as when he stated that “among Literary Sinitic works there are those which … adhere closely to our country’s everyday speech in their terminology and diction, and those which do not.” He stated further that “the Literary Sinitic adopted by San’yō in his Unofficial History of Japan is among the closest.” But how can we tell whether San’yō’s Literary Sinitic was close to everyday language? Morita Shiken’s response was: by determining whether or not it was easy to understand when read aloud. Shiken also poked fun at the criticisms made against San’yō’s Literary Sinitic for containing too many Japanisms (i.e., the washū discussed in the previous chapter) when he stated that the Literary Sinitic of Sima Qian had more Japanisms than the writings of famous early-modern Japanese Confucians such as Yasui Sokken or Shionoya Tōin.18 If a Japanese reader were to vocalize Sima Qian’s writings in Japanese reading-by-gloss fashion, the majority of listeners would understand it. Since San’yō’s Unofficial History of Japan used Sima Qian’s writings as his model (the difference being that the content was Japanese), it should be similarly easy to comprehend. The writings of Yasui Sokken or Shionoya Tōin lay at the opposite end of the spectrum in terms of comprehensibility and thus Shiken asserts that Sima Qian’s works seem, by contrast, to contain more Japanisms than those of either Sokken or Tōin. Shiken’s comparison must be understood in the context that only about thirty percent of the populace could likely understand the mixed-sinographand-kana inscriptional style of Meiji government decrees.

18  Yasui Sokken 安井息軒 (1799–1876) was a poet and Confucian scholar. He worked as a teacher and eventually as principal at the Shōhei School. Shionoya Tōin 塩谷宕陰 (1809–1867) was a conservative sinologue who served as advisor to Mizuno Tadakuni 水野忠邦 (1794–1851), a chief counselor of the shogunate.

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*  J. Hannya shingyō 般若 心經.

†  Jion’yomi 字音読み.

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Tokutomi Sohō would undoubtedly have responded that if the question is how easily a text can be understood when read aloud, it would be best to start by writing down sentences just as they would be vocalized in kundoku from the outset. Since Morita Shiken had already died he did not have the opportunity to field this kind of objection, but it is not difficult to imagine Sohō’s thoughts. In the end, since it is no different than the way something would be read aloud, it would suffice to compose in kundokubun from the very beginning, instead of trying to write first in Literary Sinitic. We might say, then, that kundokubun, the Meiji-period Common Style, was conceptualized from this simple starting point. Let us briefly take stock. Literary Sinitic was originally a written language and a written language only. Therefore, the problem of how to read it was left to the individual reader. Within China, too, the vocalized readings actually varied greatly, since the pronunciations of sinographs differed across region and time period. In Japan, just as in China, one could read aloud a text entirely by vocalizing each character’s Sinic pronunciation (i.e., vocalize using the appropriate Sino-Japanese pronunciations). In fact, with Buddhist sutras there are many cases of such vocalizations. The Prajñāpāramitā Hṛdaya or Heart Sūtra comes readily to mind.* But it is very difficult to understand such a text’s meaning when read aloud in this manner. Kundoku was a technique developed to solve this very problem. To a certain extent it places an emphasis on grasping meaning. Rai San’yō, however, was careful to consider the sound of kundoku. When creating a kundoku reading, he gave special consideration to rendering euphonically well-organized sentences. This emphasis on the sound and cadences of vocalized readings was linked to the dissemination of sodoku recitation and the shift toward kundoku as a process premised on the Sinoxenic (on’yomi) readings of sinographs.† All of this being the case, it would seem that there must exist a kundoku style that is definitively San’yō’s, and yet such was never fixed in writing. Ultimately, it would only appear as the sound when the Literary Sinitic text of The Unofficial History of Japan was vocalized using the kundoku reading approach. Tokutomi Sohō’s reasoning was that if one wrote using an inscriptional style that accorded with the vocalization made when reading aloud, nothing more was needed; for if one is to read aloud a work using kundoku, then one might as well write from the outset in a mixed-sinographand-kana style, as if it were already kundokubun to begin with. In the previous chapter I noted that the political novel Strange Encounters with

The Formation of a National Literary Style

Beautiful Women19 was often recited aloud, despite the fact that it was written in a mixed Kundoku Style of sinographs and kana. Thus, a work did not have to be written in Literary Sinitic to be recited. Incidentally, the pre-Meiji edition of the Unofficial History of Japan contained only word-order glosses (kaeriten). There were no glosses indicating morphological forms (okurigana), so the reader was largely left to his own devices in determining readings when vocalizing via kundoku. That said, reprints of the Unofficial History of Japan from the early Meiji period naturally included kaeriten, but we can also find many cases of okurigana glosses in them. This shows that the vocalization of the text was being fixed in writing. In any case, the mixed-script style certainly existed prior to Meiji. Because the language of kundoku was a “second” Japanese language, as it were, not only for advanced scholars of Sinitic Learning, but for those with basic familiarity with Literary Sinitic as well, writing in that style was a rather simple affair. A letter sent to a close friend, a short memo or list, or even a scholar’s own textual annotations and marginalia— anything for which a note would suffice—were all frequently written in a mixed-script Kundoku Style. The style may have been close to that of a note jotted down based on aural transcription. It is entirely possible that San’yō’s Unofficial History of Japan was based on a similar technique. However it was created, Rai San’yō considered the Unofficial History of Japan to be his life’s work. He thought of it as on par with a treatise on governance. It was for this reason that his On Establishing Will20 was written in Literary Sinitic. Moreover, he was a self-respecting Confucian scholar. The written medium most appropriate to moving his present world and to being transmitted to subsequent generations was Literary Sinitic, and it had been universally so in both the past and present in both China and Japan. 5

Two Points of Focus: A Text’s Functionality versus Its Moral Spirit

As explained in the Chapter 1, when examining kanbun it is necessary to bear in mind that there are two points of focus to this style. These 19  K  ajin no kigū 佳人之奇遇 (1885–1897). See page 63, note 59. 20  On Establishing Will (Risshiron 立志論, 1792).

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Functionality Sinographic coinages Meiji Common Style

Mentality kanshi

Figure 11 Two foci: functionality and mentality

*  Kango 漢語.

are, simply put, its functional aspect as a medium of expression, and the historical—that is to say, the spiritual or moral—aspect of selfconsciousness. These two foci overlap to a certain extent and are mutually reinforcing. The functionality of Literary Sinitic is easy to grasp if we think about the process whereby sinographs and words based on them became widely distributed as the language of modern civilization. That is, we ought to recall that when Western literature started to be absorbed in large quantities in the Meiji period, Sino-Japanese words (kango)* were put to effective use in translation and calquing. One characteristic of sinographs and sinographic loan words is their ready adaptability to other languages and their flexibility in creating neologisms based on a logographic system, something that cannot be achieved through phonetic scripts like the Roman alphabet or hiragana. This characteristic must be emphasized when speaking of the predominance of sinographs and sinographic neologisms. A key point here is the reality that Literary Sinitic is a classical language. In order to write orthodox standard kanbun one cannot break free of the web of historical conventions, literary allusions, and other texts in which it is embedded, since at the very least the vocabulary and grammar used in Literary Sinitic are different from daily colloquial language and therefore have to be learned through texts. While it may not be necessary to restate this, it is important to note that the difference between a literary and a spoken language is not simply whether it is used in writing or verbally; the most definitive difference lies in the learning process. In the case of the spoken vernacular, then, like the process whereby children acquire language, linguistic maturity will be reached by a give and take through conversation, whereas

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in the case of literary language the process is attained via books. How shall I compose? What vocabulary shall I use? Which expressions would be most appropriate? All these things are learned from books. It is not merely a question of whether one can read or write. Since Literary Sinitic is a classical language learned from books, one’s own compositions must be based in the ways of discussing and describing things found in Chinese classics. And through this process of reading and writing kanbun, one develops an awareness of the self within history. Because Literary Sinitic was the language of scholar-officials (Ch. shidafu, J. shitaifu, K. sadaebu), through reading and writing, the self becomes layered onto this history; one is forced to consider the literati of the past alongside one’s own historical contribution. This being the case, then as described in Chapter 1, it is clear that kanbun writing style is inseparable from the characteristic thought, sensibility, or argumentation accompanying Literary Sinitic. Rai San’yō’s poetry became a model not simply because of its unpretentious and easy-to-read style, but because it exhibited a very kanbun-esque appearance to the Japanese. To exaggerate slightly, Literary Sinitic was a style of writing that was thought to evince a certain standard of spirituality. Kanbun writing style was thus in flux between two points of focus: functionality and mentality. 6

Universal and Common

When Morita Shiken stated that Literary Sinitic was once the Common Style ( futsūbun) in his argument against Tokutomi Sohō, he pointed to these two points of focus in using the word “futsū.” When Shiken wrote, “In Rai San’yō’s day the futsūbun of literate society was kanbun, just as Latin was the futsūbun of English literate society prior to Bacon,” he meant that Literary Sinitic should be seen as the universal language of prestige* of the East Asian world. A prestige language is a language that holds normative value. But Shiken did not clarify what exactly had been established as universal by way of Literary Sinitic. In the context of Tokutomi Sohō’s works, Common Style was used with a sense of being universal or shared, as in the language commonly used domestically. Sohō was unconcerned about whether his usage encompassed Shiken’s notions. Rather, he regarded as “common” that which was currently used in Japan and was not

*  Fuhenteki na kōi gengo 普遍的な高 位言語.

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*  Common language (kyōtsūgo 共通語) and standard language (hyōjungo 標準語). †  Common ( futsū 普通) and universal ( fuhen 普遍). ‡  Fuhenteki na kachi 普遍的 な価値.

Chapter 3

attempting to make a more powerful claim that it should become more common as a matter of principle. Just as common language (kyōtsūgo) and standard language (hyōjungo)* are conceptually different terms, common ( futsū) and universal ( fuhen)† are likewise different. This difference, though subtle, is decisive. For Rai San’yō, ease of comprehension was of course important, but it is important to remember that this was because his text was already supported by having “universal value.”‡ Although he did state that he was writing for Japanese readers, it was not simply a matter of making his texts easy to understand in Japan. Yet, Sohō made no effort to think in terms of universality, nor did Shiken emphasize universal value per se. The mindfulness of universality was diluted from San’yō to Shiken and again from Shiken to Sohō. Why so? One answer to this question lies in the fact that, come 1887 (Meiji 20), it became impossible to seek universal values within Literary Sinitic itself. Kanbun was no longer universal: it had begun to be regarded as the writing of a particular place which happened to be known as “Shina” (China). Before rushing to any conclusions based on this, let us give further consideration to the kundoku inscriptional style (kundokutai). 7

** Fujiyū naru kanbun 不自 由なる漢文.

Kundoku as Inscriptional Style

The gradual disappearance of the universality of kanbun and the circumstances of Kundoku Style being circulated as Common Style are intimately connected. Tokutomi Sohō could use the phrase “the confining medium of Literary Sinitic”** because Kundoku Style was already established as the Common Style. If so, what exactly did the period’s Kundoku Style look like? Let us attempt a review. At the end of the early modern period sinographic vocabulary (kango) tended less and less to be glossed via vernacular Japanese; rather, the method of reading Sinitic words according to the SinoJapanese pronunciations of the sinographs ( jion) gradually took root. We have already seen how new texts enabled kundoku reading to acquire its own independent rhythm. If one were to inscribe that rhythm just as it was vocalized, the result would be a style that was neither Literary Sinitic nor everyday spoken Japanese. Of course, whether written with hiragana or katakana, if it was in mixed script it naturally looked different from kanbun. But just how different was it from other mixed-sinograph-and-kana orthographic styles? (After all, modern

The Formation of a National Literary Style

colloquial Japanese style today uses just such a mixed script.) What does it mean for an inscriptional style to differ from everyday colloquial language? For example, we can define Literary Sinitic as having the stylistic features of Chinese classical writings, including frequent use of historical allusions and parallelisms. Incorporating a plethora of these would distance a work from everyday language. But stylistic difference goes beyond this. Perhaps the best analogy would be to imagine the kind of style that results from translating kanbun into modern-day Japanese. For example, the modern-day colloquial phrase Ikura takusan kiite mo jissai ni miru no ni wa oyobanai (No matter how often one hears it, nothing can approach actually seeing it),* when situated in a modernday colloquial context, has nothing stylistically to distinguish it from other types of text or register. This is not the case with the equivalent Hyakubun wa ikken ni shikazu (lit., “Hearing something a hundred times cannot compare to seeing it once”)† with its pithy, classical, Kundoku Style of diction. An approach in which most sinographs are read in their Sino-Japanese pronunciations ( jion’yomi) effectively shows that the original text is in Literary Sinitic. Indeed, this is the effect intended by such a vocalization. Ogyū Sorai emphasized that Literary Sinitic was a language from another time and place, and for that reason advocated a “direct reading” by way of the contemporary Chinese pronunciations. Confucian scholars who opposed Sorai’s view did not adopt this, considering the modern Chinese pronunciations (kaon)‡ to be merely those used in contemporary China. Without denying the status of Literary Sinitic as a different language, however, the kundoku practices of the eighteenth century increased the reading of sinographs according to their Sino-Japanese pronunciations while reducing the reliance on vernacular Japanese glosses (wago).** In other words, the kundoku reading of the phrase below meaning “a hundred hearings are not as good as one seeing” went through two different stages: Kanbun 百 聞 不 如 一 見 100-hear-not-like-one-see Stage One Hyaku tabi kiku wa hitotabi miru ni oyobazu

百たび聞くは一たび見るにおよばず

 and after the reading of sinographs in their Sino-Japanese pronunciations became mainstream, Stage Two Hyakubun wa ikken ni shikazu 百聞は一見に如かず.

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*  いくらたく さん聞いて も、実際に 見るのには 及ばない. †  百聞は一見 に如かず.

‡  Kaon 華音.

** Wago 和語.

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The distance from everyday language here becomes clear. Recall the modern-day colloquial equivalent above: Ikura takusan kiite mo, jissai ni miru no ni wa oyobanai いくらたくさん聞いても、実際に見るのには及ばない

*  “Meaning translation” (iyaku 意訳), “direct translation” (chokuyaku 直訳), and “translation style” (hon’yaku buntai 翻訳 文体).

Until the Kundoku Style gained clear contours as the Kundoku Style, this was how the process unfolded. The technique known as kundoku and the literary-inscriptional style known as Kundoku Style are intimately related, but they do not overlap perfectly. Not all kundoku results in the kundoku inscriptional style. Even within kundoku, there are “meaning translation” and “direct” character-by-character translation. The so-called “kundoku style” is a form of direct translation. It is like the case of the so-called “translation style” (of early Meiji) that arose from direct translation (of Western works);* we do not use the term “translationese (style)” to refer to passages fully translated to convey their meaning. Both Kundoku Style and “translation style” force an awareness upon the reader that there is an original text behind what is being read and are thus styles that lay out clear boundaries from everyday spoken language. 8

The Gradual Dilution of Kanbun’s Mental World

For those accustomed to Literary Sinitic, composing texts in Kundoku Style was quite natural. Since it was an inscriptional style effective for writing quickly, we might regard it as a kind of practical writing. Meanwhile, textual genres themselves—narrative or argumentation— were learned in kanbun. For students who had already completed the stage of rote recitation (sodoku) in their learning, kanbun composition was important training. This was because it was considered essential that writing directed to the public sphere be written in Literary Sinitic. For the sphere closer to everyday life, however, it was undoubtedly more convenient to write in mixed-sinograph-and-kana Kundoku Style rather than in straight kanbun. In contrast to writing in kanbun, where the form somehow becomes more restrictive, Kundoku Style allowed for writing more as one pleased. Writing in Kundoku Style was undoubtedly easier, as opposed to paying close attention to Literary Sinitic grammar and composing uniform kanbun while worrying about

The Formation of a National Literary Style

the intrusions of sinographs used in a Japanese sense (waji), syntax based on Japanese grammar (waku), or other impurities that Ogyū Sorai had criticized. With regard to textual genre, whether producing an essay or reasoned discourse, there was no difficulty in knowing where to start because one had Literary Sinitic conventions to imitate. In matters of composition, there is always a need for a certain degree of predetermined structure, or a model, and one cannot simply start from scratch. That being the case, it seems logical that the introduction of basic composition training in elementary curricula coincided with the spread of Kundoku Style. Particularly with the expansion of the educated class from the end of the Tokugawa to the Meiji period, systematic education in composition became necessary. Once the school system was organized and primary schools were established throughout the country, even from the viewpoint of national public education, the step-by-step improvement of reading and writing ability became a vital policy aim. In this situation, too, Kundoku Style proved a good starting point. In fact, during this period the writings of the Eight Great Prose Masters of the Tang and Song21 and of Rai San’yō were rewritten in mixed-sinograph-and-kana style and widely featured in textbooks as representative examples of the basics of composition. For those reading such books, it was easier to approach sentences prepared as kundokubun than to suddenly grapple with Literary Sinitic. For readers highly trained in kanbun, the yomikudashibun renditions that represented the end result of the reading-by-gloss technique must surely have felt tedious, but such skilled readers (even if they increased in absolute numbers) gradually became a relative minority. Reading and writing Literary Sinitic through the technique of kundoku inevitably entails a distance between the sinographs as written and the readings as vocalized. To great scholars like Ogyū Sorai or Rai San’yō, this distance was one that could instead become a productive springboard for their thinking, but such was not the case for average readers. To write in kanbun for Sorai or San’yō was to have a relationship with the universals of past and present, and we might say that the distance between Literary 21  Han Yu 韓愈 (768–824) and Liu Zongyuan 柳宗元 (773–819) from the Tang, and Ouyang Xiu 歐陽修 (1007–1072), Su Xun 蘇洵 (1009–1066), Zeng Gong 曾鞏 (1019–1083), Wang Anshi 王安石 (1021–1086), Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–1101) and Su Zhe 蘇轍 (1039–1112) from the Song.

87

88 *  至るべき普 遍への距離.

†  Seishin sekai 精神世界.

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Sinitic and kundoku was the “distance to the ultimate goal of the universal,”* but for most everyday people, those who were not Confucian scholars, this was an insurmountable gap. Between the two focal points of functionality and mentality described above, an emphasis on function will incline Literary Sinitic toward Kundoku Style. The universalizing kanbun that had dominated prior to the early modern period was demoted to nothing more than a localized and belated East Asian universal, with little or no use as the spiritual or moral underpinnings of a literary style. From the eighteenth century onward the gradually expanding Kundoku Style, while preserving the extraordinary functionality of sinographs and sinographically derived vocabulary, became the ark for deserting the mental world† of Literary Sinitic. 9

‡  Wakon yōsai 和魂洋才.

A Style Fit for Translation

A closely related point is that the writing style used in the translations from Dutch and English was none other than Kundoku Style. This is in part because the reception of new knowledge from the West came via kanbun. If one used the dictionaries compiled by the Western missionaries active in Qing China (1644–1912), then the task of translating Western vocabulary into sinographic vocabulary was not so difficult. Another reason is that, as described above, the Kundoku Style was widely used by intellectuals as a practical means of inscription. Both Dutch Learning and English Learning22 had matured into systems of practical learning by the early Meiji period. As can be seen in the phrase “Japanese spirit, Western technology,”‡ Western learning was all about knowledge and not about spirituality or thought worlds. As such, the appropriate inscriptional system for it was not the universalizing system of Literary Sinitic, but naturally the more practical system of Kundoku Style. In 1866 (Keiō 2), when Fukuzawa Yukichi published

22   Dutch Learning (Rangaku 蘭学), located primarily in the trading port of Nagasaki, was initiated during the Edo period as part of the major effort to study Western science and technology. English Learning (Eigaku 英学) was more restricted in scope and seems to have been mainly a Yokohama phenomenon from the 1850s. These intellectual movements are often credited for Japan’s successful and rapid modernization during the nineteenth century.

The Formation of a National Literary Style

his Conditions in the West,23 this was the very reason for the book’s use of mixed-sinograph-and-kana style. The work’s introduction includes the following: What some people have said to me is that this book would be very good save for the style being at times unorthodox and inelegant; they suggest therefore that I consult with Master so-and-so, a Confucian scholar of Sinitic Learning, so that with a bit more editing it might fulfill a greater measure of goodness and beauty and thereby suffice to become a longstanding world exemplar. Smiling, I tell them such is not the case; that in translating Western works, to give heed only to dazzling rhetoric and elegant prose is to be out of step with the larger aim of translation; in short, I strive not to adorn the diction of this work and my primary aim is to convey meaning, even by using vernacular parlance. Thus, when Fukuzawa showed his manuscript to people, its style was criticized and deemed in need of editing. Of course it is true that, by today’s standards, passages like, for example, his translation of America’s Declaration of Independence seem considerably stilted.24 23  C  onditions in the West (Seiyō jijō 西洋事情, 1866) was one of Fukuzawa Yukichi’s earliest works, composed after his travels to the United States and Europe in the early 1860s. Its mixed-sinograph-and-kana style with heavy use of kana, made the text broadly accessible to the public. In the work, Fukuzawa addresses various aspects of Western society, including politics, economic, culture, and climate. 24  His translation of the opening line (“We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness”) reads:   In Heaven’s creation of mankind, all are exactly the same, and   ten no hito o shōzuru wa okuchō mina dōitsutetsu nite オクテウミナ

テツ

  天ノ人ヲ生スルハ億兆皆同一轍ニテ   in endowing them, it holds by certain unwavering universal truths.   Kore ni fuyosuru ni ugokasu bekarazaru no tsūgi o motte su. フ ヨ

ウゴ

  之ニ附与スルニ動カス可カラサルノ通義ヲ以テス   To wit, those “universal truths” are along the lines of people’s protection of their own lives, the pursuit of liberty,   Sunawachi tsūgi to wa hito no mizukara seimei o tamochi jiyū o motome ミツ

タモ

  即チ通義トハ人ノ自カラ生命ヲ保チ自由ヲ求メ   And the aspiration toward happiness; and these are not to be interfered with by others.

89

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*  Tatsui 達意.

†  jitsuyō 実用. ‡  bunmei kaika 文明開化.

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The 1868 edition of this book is well marked with yomigana reading glosses (although these were removed from later editions) and sometimes the meanings of sinographic vocabulary are inserted to make it easier to understand them. In some cases this makes it harder to understand today, such as when Fukuzawa glosses 華藻 (elegant, refined) as chaka based on the expression chakatsu 茶勝つ or chagakaru 茶がかる (tasteful). Such expressions may have been common at the time but are hard for Japanese readers to grasp today. Nonetheless, they demonstrate that his intent was to “convey meaning.”* Fukuzawa was also concerned that, if he submitted to the editorial interventions of scholars of traditional Sinitic Learning, the contents of the original might be distorted by the “petty opinions of a stiff-necked, stuffy old scholar of the Chinese classics.”25 Given that Fukuzawa himself translates “Creator” in the Declaration of Independence as “Heaven” (ten), the question of “Classical Chinese stuffiness” is clearly a relative one, but his rejection of the circle of Confucian classicists is noteworthy nonetheless. It was not merely a question of style. Kundoku Style was useful for the recording of events, for reasoned discourse and argumentation, as well as for translation. Recording Western things via kundoku may appear to be cumbersome, but when considering the breadth of vocabulary and the ease of coining new terms, there is no linguistic medium in East Asia that can compare with sinographic vocabulary (kango). Kundoku Style is a comparatively simplified way of writing Japanese. It is easier to insert sinographic coinages—compact kanji compounds—into a text than to write it out in a longer style of Japanese—flowing and pleasing—or to struggle to communicate meaning in vernacular language. Above all else, the value of utility or practicality† rose to the fore within the larger aspirations toward civilization and enlightenment‡ of the time. Instead of the scholar-official mentality that kanbun had connoted, there arose a new ideology of utility and practicality.

  Kōfuku o inoru no tagui nite, hoka yori ikan tomo subekarazaru mono nari.   幸福ヲ祈ルノ類ニテ他ヨリ如何トモス可ラサルモノナリ   The passage has a strong Literary Sinitic flavor to it.   グワンヘキ コ ロ ウ ヒケン 25   漢儒者流カ頑 僻固陋ノ鄙見 .

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10

91

A Time for Utility and Practicality

For Tokutomi Sohō the circumstances were much the same. He described kanbun as an impediment. He determined a writing style’s worth based on whether it was liberating or restrictive—on whether it was easy or difficult for the writer to use. In other words, it was a question of utility and practicality. Value was granted to useful things, and convenience alone was recognized as the highest value of all. In the Meiji period, the concept of utility and practicality was linked with “progress” and “civilization”; this may well be the case today too. Moreover, the question of value was projected onto inscriptional style as well. As the language of modern civilization,* Kundoku Style was common, meaning, for example, that anyone could read or write it— that anyone could use it. It was the spread of education that had made the Kundoku Style “common.” The written word’s usefulness rested in the fact that it had become ordinary within a much wider sphere. Such being the case, it was only Kundoku Style that could emerge as the Common Style ( futsūbun). As can be easily imagined, the next logical step in this progression would be for Kundoku Style to be replaced before long by a colloquial style—a question to be discussed later. Even if one acknowledges that Kundoku Style became widely used on the strength of its utility and practicality, composition instructors who still regarded Literary Sinitic as the standard taught the writings of the Eight Great Prose Masters of the Tang and Song, only reworked in Kundoku Style, and made their students memorize the writings of Rai San’yō. However, if ultimately one does not need to recover the original kanbun, then the existence of such a standard is inevitably consigned to oblivion. What is more, once Kundoku Style became useful as the translation style for Western languages, it only stood to reason that one of kanbun’s two focal points—the furnishing of the moral spirit at the core of the scholar-official mentality—would no longer be transmitted. Of course such a transformation does not come about without discord. Thus, once the decline of Literary Sinitic became obvious to all, a tendency to seek out the mentality of kanbun in Kundoku Style appeared instead. Of course these shifts are relative and proceeded along multiple tracks. Yet by at least grasping the big picture in this way, we can also see the complex details more clearly. The emphasis on function and utility and the erasure of the scholarofficial mentality: it has been pointed out repeatedly that it was the Meiji period, even more than the early modern period, that saw the greatest

*  Bunmei no gengo 文明 の言語.

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outpouring in Japanese history of sinographic coinages, and sometimes there is a tendency to draw the conclusion that this demonstrates high achievement in Literary Sinitic or respect for Sinitic Learning. In other words, this is the claim that people of the Meiji period were well-read. Of course I do not wish to deny such an aspect to that period, but the point is that this was a kind of spending down of Literary Sinitic cultivation, and a phenomenon borne of the process of disengagement from kanbun. Once this kind of consumption and disengagement was complete, sinographic coinages came to be replaced by katakana terms that are Western-derived foreign loanwords. 11

Contemporary Style as Modern Style

Kundoku Style was also referred to as Contemporary Style (kintaibun). And it seems that in early Meiji, it was more commonly referred to it as Contemporary Style than as Common Style ( futsūbun). Today colloquial language is considered an essential element of modern Japanese writing, but the modern writing of the Meiji era was very much a literary language. I may be calling too much attention to this point; it is not as though there was no writing that recorded colloquial language in the early Meiji period or even before this. Without even resorting to writers like Shikitei Sanba,26 one can find everywhere within early modern fictional narratives writing that vividly depicts people’s manners of speech. This can readily be seen by reading something like the picaresque comic tale Shank’s Mare.27 But this literary style still did not contain the kinds of sentences found in narrative or expository writing. It was not considered a kind of work that could be used as a model for 26  Shikitei Sanba 式亭三馬 (1776–1822) was a late Edo writer of books of humor, or kokkeibon, a genre depicting the life of commoners through the heavy use of colloquial dialogue and illustrations. One of his best-known works is Floating-World Bathhouse (Ukiyoburo 浮世風呂). See Robert W. Leutner, Shikitei Sanba and the Comic Tradition in Edo Fiction (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1985). 27  Shank’s Mare (Tōkaidōchū hizakurige 東海道中膝栗毛, 1802–1814) is a work of travel literature that was widely read during the Edo period. It was one of many books of humor, or kokkeibon, written by the novelist Jippensha Ikku 十返舎一 九 (1765–1831). The story details the adventures of two travelers making their way along the Eastern Seaboard (Tōkaidō 東海道), a major route connecting Edo and Kyoto. See Thomas Satchell’s translation, Shank’s Mare, Japan’s Great Comic Novel of Travel and Ribaldry (Rutland, VT: Tuttle, 1960).

The Formation of a National Literary Style

compositional form. Though it could be drawn from to provide terms of the dialogue that enlivened fiction, it could not be emulated as a template for depicting scenery or expounding an argument. The idea that “writing” must have a well-ordered framework was, by today’s standards, unimaginably strong, and for this reason the mere aping of spoken conversation could not be called Contemporary Style. Thus, in early Meiji the boundary between modern and premodern lay not between colloquial and literary language, but between Literary Sinitic and Kundoku Style. The moment Kundoku Style was designated as Contemporary Style, the referent of Ancient Style (kotaibun)* could only ever be kanbun. Literary Sinitic was seen as an “impediment,” fettered by the past, whereas Kundoku Style was seen as useful, unfettered and suitable to “civilization and enlightenment.” Looked at in this way, the reason for calling Kundoku Style Common Style or Contemporary Style was that it captured its status so well. Today we usually call Meiji-period Kundoku Style “Meiji Common Style” (Meiji futsūbun), but if we wished to emphasize historical accuracy we could call it “Meiji Contemporary Style” (Meiji kintaibun)—because this term indexed the new state of affairs in which kanbun’s universality had become a thing of the past. 12

93

*  Kotaibun 古体文.

The Rise of “a Compositional Style for the Populace”

When Kundoku Style broke away from Literary Sinitic and became the Contemporary Style, its scope of application was vastly expanded. There was no reason to render the themes associated with classical kanbun into Kundoku Style. If we examine a Meiji-period textbook, what catches the eye is that kundokubun passages such as the one on Kusunoki Masashige examined at the beginning of this chapter are exhibited as model compositions. Here we discern the traces of Rai San’yō, as his writing is given as an example both of composition and of rhetorical arrangement. Meanwhile, encyclopedia entries were also written in Kundoku Style, as were records of foreign objects or descriptions of mineral properties. Without even using Literary Sinitic literary references (tenko),† Kundoku Style was being used in the same way as so-called translation-style writing (hon’yakubun). Whether the subject was Japanese, geography, history, or science, if it was written in a textbook it was likely recorded in Kundoku Style. In other words, the Kundoku Style was an all-purpose

†  Tenko 典故.

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Figure 12 Dictionary entries with kundoku descriptions Source: from Shibata Masakichi and Koyasu Takashi, eds., Fuon sōzu eiwajii 附音挿図英和字彙 (English-Japanese Words with Pronunciations and Illustrations) (Yokohama: Nisshūsha, 1873). Hibu 比武, in the description, means a competition or event

writing style through which the people of the Meiji period attempted to record all manner of facts and phenomena. We might well ask whether modern-day textbooks are not the same: are they not all written in colloquial style? And indeed they are. This shows how Kundoku Style broke from the writing style of the premodern period, opening the path to a modern colloquial style that had not existed before. Prior to the early modern period, the key to composition was to divide up and allocate different writing styles according to what one was writing about, but the world was not easy to understand. There were multiple worlds, each with its own values, and literary composition had to adapt accordingly. But with the advent of the modern period,

The Formation of a National Literary Style

when the nation-state was born and tried to forge a homogeneous space with the national populace as its foundation, we can say that writing became homogeneous too. A majority of the articles that Tokutomi Sohō published in The Nation’s Friend were in Contemporary Style, and this was also called Common National Style ( futsū kokubun)*—the common writing of the people. We cannot overlook the fact that Meiji imperial edicts and laws were written in mixed-sinograph-and-kana Kundoku Style as well. This was the case with the Charter Oath, which was written in a style brimming with two-character sinographic compounds meant to be read in their Sino-Japanese pronunciations.28 With only slight editorial emendations, it is even possible to convert the Charter Oath back mechanically into kanbun. We might even say that the Meiji period began with Kundoku Style. By contrast, Edo-period early modern ofuregaki

28  The Charter Oath (goseimon 御誓文), or more literally, the Five-Article Oath (Gokajō no goseimon 五箇条の御誓文, 1868), was the proclamation by which the Meiji Emperor announced the commencement of his reign. It reads as follows:   Item. We shall determine all matters of state by public discussion, after assemblies have been convoked far and wide.   Hitotsu, hiroku kaigi o okoshi banki kōron ni kessu beshi.   一 廣ク會議ヲ興シ萬機公論ニ決スヘシ   Item. We shall unite the hearts and minds of people high and low, the better to pursue with vigor the rule of the realm.   Hitotsu, shōka kokoro o itsu ni shite sakan ni keirin o okonau beshi.   一 上下心ヲ一ニシテ盛ニ經綸ヲ行フヘシ   Item. We are duty bound to ensure that all people, nobility, military, and commoners too, may fulfill their aspirations and not yield to despair.   Hitotsu, kanbu itto shomin ni itaru made onoono sono kokorozashi o toge jinshin o shite umazarashimen koto o yōsu.   一  官 武一途庶民ニ至ル迄各其志ヲ遂ケ人心ヲシテ倦マサラシ メン事ヲ要ス   Item. We shall break through the shackles of former evil practice and base our actions on the principles of international law.   Hitotsu, kyūrai no rōshū o yaburi tenchi no kōdō ni motozuku beshi.   一 舊來ノ陋習ヲ破リ天地ノ公道ニ基クへシ   Item. We shall seek knowledge throughout the world and thus invigorate the foundations of this imperial nation.   Hitotsu, chishiki o sekai ni motome ōi ni kōki o shinki su beshi.   一 智識ヲ世界ニ求メ大ニ皇基ヲ振起スへシ   Trans. John Breen in “The Imperial Oath of April 1868: Ritual, Politics, and Power in the Restoration,” Monumenta Nipponica 51, no. 4 (Winter 1996), 410.

95

*  Futsū kokubun 普通国文.

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proclamations were in sōrōbun epistolary style.29 With the advent of the Meiji, writings issued in public shifted to Kundoku Style, which shows plainly that this was the writing style of the imperial restoration as well as of “civilization and enlightenment.” For those responsible for the Meiji Restoration, a generation educated in Sinitic Learning, writing in Kundoku Style was no great hardship. Mixed-sinograph-and-kana Kundoku Style had functioned as the official writing style from the very inception of the Meiji period. In discussing Kundoku Style we cannot ignore the Rescript on Education promulgated in 1890 (Meiji 23), a famous text that many Japanese of a certain age can recite even today. The text of the rescript began as follows:30 Our Imperial Ancestors have founded Our Empire on a basis broad and everlasting and have deeply and firmly implanted virtue Chin omou ni waga kōso kōsō kuni o hajimuru koto kōen ni toku o tatsuru koto shinkō nari 朕惟フニ我カ皇祖皇宗國ヲ肇ムルコト宏遠ニ徳ヲ樹ツルコト深 厚ナリ

The language of the rescript was first drafted by Motoda Nagasane,31 a member of the Privy Council. Motoda was a Confucian scholar who had studied at the Jishūkan in Kumamoto,32 and he of course excelled in Literary Sinitic. It may have been for this reason that even within this rescript there were many parallel clauses, starting with kuni o hajimuru koto kōen ni // toku o tatsuru koto shinkō nari, and extending to examples like the following:

29  O  furegaki 御触書 were a kind of proclamation written in a style aimed at commoners. Sōrōbun 候文 was an epistolary style used in correspondence and in contract documents. See page 9, note 5. 30  English translation from Ryūsaku Tsunoda et al., eds., Sources of Japanese Tradition (New York: Columbia University Press, 1957), 646–647. 31  Motoda Nagazane 元田永孚 (1818–1891) was a Confucian scholar and advisor to the Meiji Emperor. He was a proponent of the integration of Confucian principles into the educational system, and contributed to the 1890 Imperial Rescript on Education (Kyōiku chokugo 教育勅語). 32  The Jishūkan 時習館 was the Kumamoto domain school between 1755 and 1870.

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Be filial to your parents, affectionate to your brothers and sisters; Fubo ni kō ni // keitei ni yū ni 父母ニ孝ニ // 兄弟ニ友ニ as husbands and wives be harmonious, as friends true; fūfu aiwashi // hōyū aishinji 夫婦相和シ // 朋友相信シ bear yourselves in modesty and moderation; extend your benevolence to all; kyōken onore o jishi // hakuai shū ni oyoboshi 恭倹己レヲ持シ // 博愛衆ニ及ホシ pursue learning and cultivate arts, gaku o osame // gyō o narai 學ヲ修メ // 業ヲ習ヒ and thereby develop intellectual faculties and perfect moral powers; chinō o keihatsushi // tokki o jōjushi 智能ヲ啓發シ // 徳器ヲ成就シ furthermore advance public good and promote common interests; always respect the Constitution and observe the laws. susunde kōeki o hirome semu o hiraki // tsune ni kokken o omonji kokuhō ni shitagai 進テ公益ヲ廣メ世務ヲ開キ // 常ニ國憲ヲ重シ國法ニ遵ヒ These parallel clauses comprising combinations of four or six sinographs are reminiscent of piantiwen, the euphuistic prose in four-six clauses (shiroku benreitai)* that began in China’s Six Dynasty period (220–589) and was long used as an official writing style. Also, as is often pointed out, the phrase “ittan kankyū areba”† (“should emergency arise”) from the rescript is unconventional in that it is written in the perfective form (izenkei), whereas according to Japanese grammar, it ought to be in the imperfective form (mizenkei). This, too, originated in the kundoku of the late early modern period, which did not distinguish between fixed and hypothetical conditionals. As traditional Japanese language, it sounds strange; but as Kundoku Style it sounds

*  Piantiwen 駢 體文; four-six clauses (shiroku benreitai 四六駢 儷体). †  Ittan kankyū areba 一旦緩 急アレハ.

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fine. Cases like these may well be symbolic instances of the residual prestige of Kundoku Style. The language of the Rescript on Education bore a legal force that could not even be compared to texts like the Unofficial History of Japan, and it is symbolic as well that it was memorized and recited by the general populace. In a sense this phenomenon was also an extension of sodoku rote recitation. 13

*  Zokudan 俗談.

A Massive Lexicon of Sinographic Coinages

Furthermore, Kundoku Style was widely used in print media, and this played a greater role than anything else in the spread of Kundoku Style. As an inscriptional style spreads, once it crosses a critical threshold, it then spreads in a flash, and the role of communications at such times is extremely important. In the medium of newspapers, which entered the scene in the late Tokugawa period, there was a variety of inscriptional styles. In media oriented to the masses, known as “small newspapers” (koshinbun), Edo-period words of an informal/vulgar type* like gozarimasu (to be) were frequently used, but in the so-called “large newspapers” (ōshinbun, i.e., major broadsheet newspapers) targeting the intellectual class, Kundoku Style was preferred.33 The same was true of magazines like The Nation’s Friend (Kokumin no tomo) and other periodicals aiming for the same echelon of readers. For Tokutomi Sohō and other magazine and newspaper writers of the first half of the Meiji period, because they had been brought up in private or domain schools, Literary Sinitic had been the norm for writing. For them, Kundoku Style writing was the quickest and easiest. (And whatever the period, the mass media require speed and practicality.) Moreover, the massive deployment of

33  The difference was in both size and content, with koshinbun 小新聞 featuring more entertainment-oriented content (including gossip, events/happenings and the theatre), in a tabloid-sized format with illustrations, and the ōshinbun 大新聞 featuring articles on politics and international relations in broadsheetsized format for twice the price. For a summary of research on the key differences between these newspaper types, see Fraleigh, Plucking Chrysanthemums, 271–273.

The Formation of a National Literary Style

sinographic coinages (shin kango)* made it possible to display information compactly because one could pack more into relatively less space on the page. In this way Kundoku Style became an inscriptional style appropriate for the media, and by piggybacking on media its spread was hastened all the more. To expand now on the deployment of massive amounts of sinographic coinages, because the vocalization of sinographs according to their Sino-Japanese pronunciations had come to dominate kundoku practice and was the basis of the Kundoku Style, even when writing in mixed-sinograph-and-kana orthography, sinographic words (kango) could be used in great numbers “as is” (i.e., without relying on earlier more vernacular-oriented “reading by gloss” practice). Looked at from this perspective, the Contemporary Style was ideal for adaptation to the massive accommodation of large numbers of sinographic coinages. (This is somewhat parallel to the situation today whereby katakana words have become the preferred, easy-to-use device for importing foreign words into contemporary Japanese writing.) From the perspective of Meiji period media, which were constantly coining new words (or rather, had no choice but to repeatedly coin new words), Kundoku Style was an extremely convenient device to absorb and accept new coinages in context, this being one its important characteristics. Once this historical transformation took place and a reader or writer was familiar with the standardized modes of expression internalized through kundoku, a writer could simply import sinographic terms en masse and a reader could digest them. The number of words one knew even became an index of one’s intellectual level. A great many sinographic words were used, for example, in official government documents, and people became concerned with having to memorize so many new expressions. Until that time, a dictionary of sinographic terms usually meant a crib consisting of a compilation of poetic phrases (shigoshū),† not the sort of dictionary we might think of today. But with the onset of the Meiji period, dictionaries specifically of sinographic terms and coinages were published in large numbers. These were dictionaries not for the reading and writing of kanbun but instead for Kundoku Style. Until recently, it has been common to view the appearance of a large quantity of newly coined sinographically derived words in the Meiji period as a result of the Literary Sinitic upbringing received by the intellectual class in the late early modern period. The argument contends that people of the Meiji period were learned. My point is not to refute

99 *  Shin kango 新漢語.

†  Shigoshū 詩語集.

100

*  Kangaku 漢学.

†  Keizai 経済; keikoku sai­ min 經國濟 民 (Ch. jingguo jimin), keisei saimin 經世濟民 (Ch. jingshi jimin).

‡  Xin wenti 新文体.

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this. Reading a work like Dictionary of Philosophy by Inoue Tetsujirō,34 it is patently clear that it owes a great debt to kanbun texts. Since the foundation of all existing knowledge was in Sinitic Learning,* it was only natural that the entire tradition was mobilized. For example, the modern term “keizai” (economics) derives from the classical turn of phrase “keikoku saimin” or “keisei saimin” (governing the nation and providing relief to the people),† and is clearly a sinographic coinage based on an awareness of keisei (government administration). But discrete words are merely discrete words; it is only by being used in texts that their meaning is actualized. The term “keizai” was devised as a translation of the English term “economy” and incorporated into Kundoku Style. Of course, simply by virtue of using the word “keizai,” the Literary Sinitic Context was evoked and this constitutes a difference with the original English word “economy.” The main point to keep in mind is that texts that used the term “keizai” were completely kundoku in style; they were not the Literary Sinitic language of the Chinese classics. Sinographically derived words—whether neologisms or old words used with new meanings—were new precisely because of and thanks to Kundoku Style. A major reason why these kango—newly coined sinographically derived words or old words deployed with new meanings—which in Japan even more than in China designated the objects and concepts of Western civilization, were coined in such great numbers is because political reform occurred much earlier in Japan. Their copious invention was for use in Contemporary (kundoku-) Style writing, not for Literary Sinitic. In the case of China, it is known that many of Japan’s new kango were introduced through Liang Qichao,35 the reform party politician and journalist who was active from late Qing into the Republican period (1912–1949). It was at this time that Liang Qichao’s style also underwent a transformation from classical Literary Sinitic to a type of unique writing style that was called “New Style.”‡ I will return to this point. To

34  D  ictionary of Philosophy (Tetsugaku jii 哲学字彙) was written by Inoue Tetsujirō 井上哲次郎 (1856–1944) in 1881. Inoue was a Japanese philosopher, well versed in both Eastern and Western philosophy. He argued against Christianity in Japan and advocated the preservation of traditional Japanese values. In his early years, he composed Sinitic poetry, and went on to serve as professor of philosophy at Tokyo Imperial University. 35  Liang Qichao 梁啓超 (1873–1929).

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repeat, it is necessary to think of Meiji-era kango coinages in tandem with Kundoku Style. 14

The Writing Style of Enlightenment

As we saw in the example of Fukuzawa Yukichi’s Conditions in the West, it was of vital significance that translation happened through Kundoku Style. Also, the fact that translation—as an act of civilization and enlightenment (bunmei kaika)—went hand in hand with and was at the very basis of enlightenment (keimō),* demonstrates that kundokubun was the chosen inscriptional style of enlightenment. The paradigmatic case is the Meiji-period best seller Stories of Successful Lives in the West.36 Published between 1870 and 1871 (Meiji 3–4), Stories of Successful Lives in the West was a translation by Nakamura Masanao of the book Self Help written by the Englishman Samuel Smiles. Nakamura Masanao was a Shōhei School instructor, though he had an early interest in Western learning, and in late Edo he led a government delegation of exchange students to England. Following the Meiji Restoration, he relocated along with other Edo retainers to Shizuoka, and while lecturing on Literary Sinitic texts at a local academy he translated the book. After its first publication the book was printed repeatedly; including a revised edition, over one million copies are said to have been printed. With his status as a gojusha37 in the Edo bureaucracy, Nakamura Masanao could boast of the highest erudition as a Sinitic Learning scholar. Having of course a complete mastery of Literary Sinitic, he wrote the introduction to Stories of Successful Lives in the West in kanbun, though the main text is written in mixed-sinograph-and-kana Kundoku Style. Let us examine the style of the main text. The following is from Chapter 11, page 19:

36  S aikoku risshi hen 西國立志編 by Nakamura Masanao 中村正直 (1832–1891). 37  Gojusha 御儒者 was an official post in the shogunal government concerned with reading and providing guidance on the Confucian classics.

*  Keimō 啓蒙.

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Hito itazura ni ōku koto o shiru o motte tōtoshi to nasu bekarazu. ひとイタヅラ

人 徒 ニ多ク事ヲ知ルヲ以テ 貴シトナスベカラズ。

Koto o shiru tame no meate kukuri aru beki o yōsu. メアテクヽリ

事ヲ知ルタメノ目的帰結アルベキヲ要ス。

Kedashi dokusho gakumon suru yuen wa. Chishiki o jukushi. 蓋シ読書學問スル所以ハ。智識ヲ熟シ。

Tokkō o osame. Jinzen no kokoro o mashi. Gōki no chikara o soe. 徳行ヲ修メ。仁善ノ心ヲ益シ．剛毅ノカヲ添ヘ。

Yūyō no sai o shōji. Onoono jiko no eraberu kōjō no shikō o toge. 有用ノ才ヲ生ジ。各々自己ノ択ベル高上ノ志向ヲ遂ゲ。

Minsei no fukushi o mashi. Hōkoku no keishō o yoku suru ni ari. 民生ノ福祉ヲ増シ。邦國ノ景象ヲ善クスルニ在リ。  38

*  Mokuteki 目的 and kiketsu 帰結.

Just like with Conditions in the West, the placement of the Japanese vernacular glosses next to the sinographs shows that this book was clearly written in the inscriptional style of enlightenment. Today, underlined words above like “mokuteki” (“aim, mark; goal”) and “kiketsu” (“conclusion)* are unremarkable Sino-Japanese words, but it is an interesting fact that at the time, these were terms that required glossing in a work like this. 38  The original English reads: “It is not then how much a man may know, that is of importance, but the end and purpose for which he knows it. The object of knowledge should be to mature wisdom and improve character, to render us better, happier, and more useful; more benevolent, more energetic, and more efficient in the pursuit of every high purpose in life.” Samuel Smiles, Self Help (London: John Murray, 1897), 329. A rough rendition back into English of the Japanese translation would be:   People should not value the knowing of many useless things.   What is required is an ultimate purpose for the sake of which one knows things.   Actually, the reason for academic study is to ripen one’s knowledge,   cultivate virtuous behavior, increase one’s humane nature, steel one’s resolve,   and develop useful talents; so as to achieve the lofty goals that each of us has set for ourselves,   increase benefits to the people, and improve the circumstances of the nation.

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That this is a well-structured passage with a good rhythm when read aloud can be understood from the balanced distribution of clauses as in the following passage: Chishiki o jukushi, tokkō o osame, jinzen no kokoro o mashi, 智識ヲ熟シ. 徳行ヲ修メ. 仁善ノ心ヲ益シ。 Gōki no chikara o soe, yūyō no sai o shōji. 剛毅ノ力ヲ添へ. 有用ノ才ヲ生ジ。 Although I have omitted the English, if we compare the translation to the original we can see that for the sake of rhythm Nakamura Masanao translated using methods such as partially reversing the word order. Nakamura Masanao was not a Confucian classicist of the kind mentioned by Fukuzawa Yukichi, but a scholar who had an enlightened view, and so was both accessible and erudite, and thus able to write in a Kundoku Style fit for public reading or recitation. Hayashi Tadasu,39 who was a companion of Nakamura’s in England, included in his reminiscences, Secret Memoirs of Count Tadasu Hayashi (1910),40 the anecdote of how every morning beginning at five o’clock during their stay in London, the intoning of texts—Eight Great Prose Masters of the Tang and Song, the Spring and Autumn Annals or the Records of the Grand Historian—could be heard coming from Nakamura Masanao’s room. Strange, Hayashi thought, because Nakamura could hardly have brought along so many Chinese texts. He later found out that they had all been recited from memory. The sounds of kundoku had seeped into Nakamura’s bones. It was not just Nakamura’s writing style, but also the contents of his book that were welcomed by Meiji youth. With the term “risshi”* (lit., “establish one’s will or ambition”) in its very title, the book became a guide for young people who were determined to succeed in their studies and make their mark in the world. The following passage is from the first chapter of an autobiographical short story by Kunikida Doppo41 39  Hayashi Tadasu 林董 (1850–1913). 40  Nochi wa mukashi no ki 後は昔の記. Published in English by G.P. Putnam’s Sons in 1915 as Secret Memoirs of Count Tadasu Hayashi (A.M. Pooley, ed.). 41  Kunikida Doppo 国木田独歩 (1871–1908) was a poet and novelist, and a central figure in early Japanese naturalism. His short stories fused a more traditional style with modern Western influences, drawing most notably from the work of

*  Risshi 立志.

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published in 1903 (Meiji 36) and titled “The Uncommon Common Man” (Hibon naru bonjin 非凡なる凡人): “What are you reading?” I asked, and looking, saw it was a thick book with Western-style binding. “Stories of Successful Lives in the West,” he answered and raised his head, looking at me like somebody with his eyes still lost in a dream, his mind still on the book. “Is it good?” “Yeah, it’s good.” “Which is better,” I asked, “that or the Unofficial History of Japan?” Katsura grinned and, seeming to return to himself a bit, said in his usual lively voice, “Better? This one’s better. The stuff in here’s different from what’s in the Unofficial History of Japan.” Both boys here were thirteen years old, so this conversation would have been between two youths still in elementary schooling. Kunikida Doppo was born in 1871 (Meiji 4), so we can assume that this conversation transpired sometime in the second half of the second decade of the Meiji period. The comparison between Stories of Successful Lives in the West and the Unofficial History of Japan is noteworthy and bears eloquent witness to the replacement of the old with the new. Stories of Successful Lives in the West caught the imagination of Meiji-era children of elementary school age not only with its style of writing, but with its contents as well. While kundoku was a practical inscriptional style, to Meiji youth it was also the style for achieving one’s life ambitions. We might say that such a work in such an inscriptional style was possible precisely because it was translated by Nakamura Masanao, who was well-versed in both Sinitic Learning and Western learning. However, we must also consider the fact that this kind of inscriptional style brought about the break from the Literary Sinitic represented in works like the Unofficial History of Japan. The more famous a Kundoku Style text written by a prestigious Sinitic Learning scholar became, the greater the distancing from Literary Sinitic.

William Wordsworth and Ivan Turgenev. For a brief introduction to Doppo and translations of his short fiction, see Jay Rubin, “Five Stories by Kunikida Doppo,” Monumenta Nipponica 27, no. 3 (Autumn 1972), 273–341.

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15

Rhetorical Kundoku Style: A True Account of America and Europe

Another well-known example of kundoku style composition is A True Account of the Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary’s Journal of Observation through the United States of America and Europe,42 the report of the Iwakura Embassy, a diplomatic and observation mission to the United States and Europe. The report was published by Kume Kunitake,43 and reaches one hundred chapters in total. Instead of the accessible clarity of Stories of Successful Lives in the West, the True Account of America and Europe is the very first masterpiece written in Kundoku Style to compress meaning in a kanbun-like manner. Kume Kunitake was born in Saga domain and educated at the Kōdōkan han school as well as at the Shōheikō, and was serving as an attendant to Lord Nabeshima Naomasa44 at the time of the Meiji Restoration. His mastery of Literary Sinitic goes without saying. So what was his writing like? The following is from an entry in volume thirty-six, in which he mentions a visit to the garden of an English aristocrat: [The grounds] were very extensive and thickly wooded. To our left they rose up the steep hillside (hidari ni sanran o oi), and to our right they reached as far as the low ridge on the other side of the valley (migi wa chōfu ni yoru). Rocks were artfully disposed and trees carefully planted. We stepped from the path into the woods and were immediately confronted by what looked like a leafless orange tree. The trunk (rōkan) and branches stood stiff and unmoving. As we walked past it, water suddenly spurted from the ends of its branches like a shower of rain. We were all startled and stepped quickly backwards. When we recovered our composure and went to look closely, the water just as suddenly (shukuzen to) stopped. The tree [the Willow Fountain] was made of copper and

42  T  okumei zenken taishi Bei-Ō kairan jikki 特命全権大使米歐回覧実記, 1878. Translated in full as The Iwakura Embassy, 1871–73: A True Account of the Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary’s Journal of Observation Through the United States of America and Europe (Graham Healey and Chushichi Tsuzuki, editors-in-chief) in five volumes (Chiba, Japan: Japan Documents; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2002). 43  Kume Kunitake 久米邦武 (1839–1931). 44  Nabeshima Naomasa 鍋島直正 (1815–1871).

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iron, and the dark-green trunks and branches were hollow. Water was piped to the base of the tree and could be made to spurt from the branches by turning a tap.45

*  Rōkan 琅玕; shukuzen 倏然.

It is immediately apparent that the level of kango is different from either Conditions in the West or Stories of Successful Lives in the West. A phrase like hidari ni sanran o oi, migi wa chōfu ni yoru46 is certainly suggestive of Literary Sinitic Context rhetoric, and words like “rōkan” (a type of jade) or “shukuzen to” (suddenly, quickly)* are no longer used. And yet it is not at all difficult to understand that what he describes is a copper fountain fashioned in the shape of a tree. The secret is revealed in the final section, but the concise presentation of the amazed expressions of the group at the water’s sudden springing forth strengthens the overall impression. The description of the garden in set phrases makes the fountain’s eruption more pronounced. Also, in chapter twenty-four when discussing the English political system, he gives the following description: Members are divided into parties over questions of national policy because, fundamentally, they have different objectives in the pursuit of different political principles, and since their points of view must be urged openly before the people, it follows that they cannot simply present an envious, biased and self-serving case (kenshitsu henshi no hekiken). Thus, they do not confuse public debate by constructing a different kind of case for every occasion and in every 45  Healey, trans., The Iwakura Embassy, vol. 2, 344.   En hiroku ju shigeshi, hidari ni sanran o oi, migi wa chōfu ni yoru, ishi o tsurane ki o ue, komichi yori rinchū ni ireba, tachimachi ichiju o miru, kijū no ha naki ga gotoshi, shikan rōkan to shite teiritsu su, hoshite sono katawara o sugureba kotsuzen to shite shibyō no shimatsu yori mizu o funshutsu suru ame no gotoshi, shū mina kyōgaku shite kyakuho shi, shin o yasunji teishi sen to sureba, mizu wa shukuzen to shite yamu, kore wa sono ki o dōtetsu ni te tsukuri shi mono ni te, shikan o chūkū ni shi, ne yori mizu o michibiki, rasen no chōshi ni yorite funhi seru nari.   苑廣ク樹茂シ、左ニ山巒ヲ負ヒ、右ハ長阜ニヨル、石ヲ陳ネ樹ヲ ウエ、径ヨリ林中ニ入レハ、乍チ一樹ヲミル、枳樹ノ葉ナキカ如 シ、枝幹琅玕トシテ亭立ス、歩シテ其傍ヲ過レハ、忽然トシテ枝杪 ノ刺末ヨリ、水ヲ噴出スル雨ノ如シ、衆ミナ驚愕シテ却歩シ、神ヲ 安シ諦視セントスレハ、水ハ倏然トシテ止ム、是ハ其樹ヲ銅鉄ニテ 作リシモノニテ、枝幹ヲ中空ニシ、根ヨリ水ヲ導キ、螺旋ノ張弛ニ ヨリテ噴飛セルナリ。 46  左ニ山巒ヲ負ヒ、右ハ長阜ニヨル。

The Formation of a National Literary Style

argument. The views a speaker expresses (kyōhai o chin shi) are invariably founded on the guiding principles he espouses and are, in the long run, based on an honest belief in what is best for the country. It sometimes happens, therefore, that members of the government party, on a matter of fundamental principle, decline to go along with the government’s actions but support the opposition instead.47 Phrases using sinographic terms like “kenshitsu henshi no hekiken” 娟嫉 偏私ノ僻見 (Healey: “an envious, biased and self-serving case”) likely seem difficult, but if we know the sinographs “嫉” (envy, jealousy) and “私” (self) we can get the gist, and we can judge from context that the phrase “kyōhai o chin shi” 向背ヲ陳シ (Healey: “[t]he views a speaker expresses;” lit., “stating [positions] for and against”) expresses a question of agreement or disagreement. With sinographs like “抑” (somosomo “in the first place”), “固” (motoyori “originally”), “故” (yue ni “therefore”), “要” (kanarazu “inevitably”) the logical progression learned from Literary Sinitic is well in evidence, and because this establishes the overall contextual frame, somewhat difficult characters or terms become decipherable by themselves. Lastly, the following passage is from a description in chapter thirtytwo of the scenery of the Scottish highlands: Suddenly, with no warning, a train coming from Blair Atholl passed us with a shriek of its whistle, went off up the valley ahead and disappeared from sight. No doubt it had gone into a tunnel. It left behind a trail of smoke which drifted halfway up the folded mountains before it eventually dispersed. By now there was a blue 47  Healey, trans., The Iwakura Embassy, vol. 2, 81.   Somosomo kokuron ni tōha o wakatsu wa, sono shugi no hōkō ni, mokuteki o koto ni suru tokoro ni te, kore o kōzen to shūjin no mae ni tonauru ron nareba, motoyori kenshitsuhenshi no hekiken o iiharu ni arazu, yue ni maiji maigi ni kanarazu iyō no ron o netsuzō shi, giji o kōran suru ni arazu, kanarazu sono shugi ni oite kyōhai o chin shi, hikkyō wa aikoku no seii ni izuru koto nareba, toki ni wa seifutō yorimo, kono shui ni itarite wa, seifu no shoi ni fukusezu to, kōseitō ni kumi suru koto ari.   抑國論ニ党派ヲ分ツハ、其主義ノ方向ニ、目的ヲ異ニスル所ニ テ、之ヲ公然ト衆人ノ前ニ唱フル論ナレハ、固リ娟嫉偏私ノ僻見ヲ 言張ルニアラス、故ニ毎事毎議ニ、必ス異様ノ論ヲ捏造シ、議事ヲ 撹乱スルニアラス、要其主義ニ於テ向背ヲ陳シ、畢竟ハ愛國ノ誠意 ニ出ルコトナレハ、時ニハ政府党ヨリモ、此主意ニ至リテハ、政府 ノ所爲ニ服セスト、抗政党ニ与スルコトアリ。

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evening haze and the rays of the setting sun showed from between the mountain-tops. The sunset presented a scene of incomparable beauty.48 After the steam engine blows its whistle and disappears into the tunnel, the smoke trails away and at last it too disappears. His consciousness aroused, the author sees the evening sun just about to sink between the mountains, and draws on a line from the poem, “Ascending the Pleasurable Plateau,” by the late-Tang poet Li Shangyin (813–858).49 He renders the original line 夕陽無限好

Dusk-sun-no-limit-good Xi yang wu xian hao The setting sun, boundlessly beautiful as 夕陽限り無く好し

Sekiyō kagiri naku yoshi using the kundoku reading practice (a typical kundoku rendition of this line is 夕陽無限に好し

Sekiyō mugen ni yoshi) The combination of steam engine, the Scottish highlands, and ninthcentury Tang poetry is all fused within the Kundoku Style.

48  Healey, trans., The Iwakura Embassy, vol. 2, 245.   Tachimachi ichiren no jōkisha, kiteki o fuite “attsoru” mura yori kitari, kotsuzen zenkoku ni sarite, sono ato o ushinau. kedashi zuidō ni iritaru nari, ato wa ichimatsu no baien o amashi, chōjō no san’yō ni hiki, yōyaku shite sanzu, sude ni shite ban’ai sōzen to shite, nikkō o hōgeki yori morasu wa, sekiyō kagiri naku yoki fūchi ari.   乍チ一連ノ蒸気車、汽笛ヲ吹テ、「アッツォル」村ヨリ来リ、忽然 前谷ニ去リテ、其跡ヲ失フ、蓋シ隧道ニ入リタルナリ、跡ハ一抹ノ 煤烟ヲアマシ、重畳ノ山腰ニ拖キ、徐クシテ散ス、已ニシテ晩靄蒼 然トシテ、日光ヲ峰隙ヨリ漏ラスハ、夕陽無レ限好キ風致アリ。 49  “Ascending the Pleasurable Plateau” 登樂遊原, by Li Shangyin 李商隱 (813–858).

The Formation of a National Literary Style

For his description of Western scenery and objects, and his discussion of the British political system, Kume Kunitake uses his full command of the Literary Sinitic Context and a diverse array of sinographic terms. Something like “sudeni shite” for modern “yagate” (before long; finally)* is difficult to understand today because we are no longer familiar with kanbun, and from our current perspective it is perhaps unrealistic to start off with a quote from Li Shangyin’s poetry. But it is entirely reasonable to conclude that an education in Literary Sinitic made for powerful writing then. Whatever our difficulties today, the historical tropes and literary allusions used here were not at all difficult at the time. Indeed, expressions like the ones by Li Shangyin would have been close to set phrases. With barely more than a sodoku-level of learning, such writing would not have been difficult to read. Setting aside complex words and phrasing, one would have been able to follow along easily with the writing’s flow. 16

Sophisticated Contemporary Style

One additional point that must be stressed is the fact that the writing of Stories of Successful Lives in the West and True Account of America and Europe, in contrast to journals or memos, is not in a consistently pragmatic style. Though practicality was unquestionably at the heart of the Contemporary Style, in order to have independent value as an inscriptional style and in order to gain circulation as a formal writing style, some sophistication of its own was necessary. Tokutomi Sohō’s writing was, in this sense, quite different from the pre-Meiji era memotype Kundoku Style as well, since he too was extremely mindful of the rhythm of his writing. Just as Rai San’yō paid close attention to the rhythm of his kundoku when composing his Unofficial History, Kume Kunitake took great care in composing in Contemporary Style. In the case of True Account of America and Europe, there are a number of extant manuscripts that reveal the report was completed only after numerous corrections and revisions. Since it was a report, there was a tendency to repeatedly make corrections in order to confirm facts or supplement arguments. And yet, there are also many revisions as regards the rhetoric of the text. Kundoku Style was originally an ancillary form of writing used for the purpose of convenience, and so one might suppose that there was never an occasion to further revise a Kundoku Style text. But in Meiji reports,

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*  Sudeni shite 已ニ シテ; yagate やがて.

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particularly when Kume Kunitake used the Kundoku Style as the official style for his reports on his travels through America and Europe, he felt it necessary to write in a more elevated manner. And so he made revisions for the same reasons one might make revisions when writing in a more formal kanbun style. Kundoku Style as Contemporary Style was a universal inscriptional style with varied content. In general, it took the form of mixedsinograph-and-kana Literary Japanese (kanji kana majiri no bungobun), but in reality it was exceedingly broad in its stylistic range. The writing in the True Account of America and Europe was a model of rhetorical Kundoku Style. In using Literary Sinitic as a standard, works could often appear disjointed, but the True Account established a new stylistic baseline for drawing from Literary Sinitic. Even in its content the True Account in America and Europe was a work that symbolized early-Meiji Japan. This book, along with numerous copperplate etchings, provided a wealth of material introducing Western civilization to Japan. The points at issue were how to achieve “civilization and enlightenment,” structure government institutions, and spur industry. In this way the work can be seen as similar to the Unofficial History in terms of the clear response it offered to the question of how the warrior class should behave. The Unofficial History tends to be compared with works of history, whereas Stories of Successful Lives in the West and the True Account of America and Europe can be seen as works of geography. Just as the Unofficial History is divided into historical narrative and treatises or critiques, following the structure of Chinese historical records, the True Account of America and Europe is likewise comprised of two clear divisions: first, descriptions of certain observations followed by discussions of these observations—in other words, essays and commentaries. In sum, the True Account of America and Europe can be understood as having taken the place of the Unofficial History. As for its actual dissemination, being a lengthy and expensive book it did not have the same reach as Conditions in the West or Stories of Successful Lives in the West, and therefore one cannot claim that it was widely read among the average people. In this sense we must acknowledge that it was different from Unofficial History, but I believe nonetheless that the aspect just discussed is worth noting. I have explained in this chapter how Meiji’s Kundoku Style (also known as Common Style or Contemporary Style) was formed, as well as the position it came to occupy. Most discussions of the transformation of the Japanese language in the modern period typically take as

The Formation of a National Literary Style

their basis the formation of the genbun itchi style. But if we view this question from the perspective of the Literary Sinitic Context, the important point that emerges is the formation of the Kundoku Style known as Common Style or Contemporary Style. And as I will explain later, it is actually more accurate to understand the development of the genbun itchi style as an extension of this process. This is related to the larger problem of the formation of Meiji-era literature. There is a tendency to focus on the formation of the genbun itchi-style novel, but here again I would claim that the starting point is to be found elsewhere. I will develop this further in the next chapter.

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When Did the “Modern” Begin in Japanese Literature?: Romantic Love as the Antithesis of Politics 1

Calling into Question “Modern Literary History”

When it comes to modern Japanese literature, Literary Sinitic poetry and prose (kanshibun) are rarely examined directly. There certainly have been attempts at re-evaluating Literary Sinitic poetry and prose by excavating elements perceived to represent “modernity” within kan­ shibun from Meiji literature, and in particular, Natsume Sōseki’s many kanshi are frequently the subject of such discussions. The importance of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose in Meiji literature is commonly accepted among specialists and this idea is now reaching a more general audience. Nevertheless, it is safe to say that Literary Sinitic poetry and prose has not been thoroughly examined. As I discussed toward the end of the previous chapter, this lack of attention to Literary Sinitic poetry and prose may seem natural in the context of histories of modern Japanese literature that focus on the advent of the novel written in the genbun itchi (“congruence of speech and writing”) style. Kanshibun, seen from any angle, is distant from the genbun itchi style, and if one looks at the spread of genbun itchi style as progress, then Literary Sinitic poetry and prose are seen as the last bastion of resistance against modernization. In terms of modern literary genres, too, the novel is the mainstream modern genre. For many, the establishment of modern Japanese literature would seem to be explained well enough through tracing the importation of Western literature and the development of fiction from the Edo period, and they have no qualms about dismissing the role of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose as a mere bit part or extra in the story. But what if we treat kanshibun not as a disadvantaged and limited artistic mode composed exclusively of sinographs, but as something that is accompanied by the voice of vernacular reading, i.e., as a manifestation of the Literary Sinitic Context? What if we consider Literary Sinitic poetry and prose not as a closed-off genre but an undercurrent that flows through various literary genres? As discussed in the preceding

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004436947_006

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

chapters, the Literary Sinitic Context has at its core Literary Sinitic poetry and prose but engages a much wider terrain. Starting from such a point of view, this chapter examines the establishment of modern Japanese literature. Nevertheless, the focus of our discussion is not on the extent to which the influence of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose is detectable in Meiji literature or on how it was that so many modern Japanese novels sprang from traditional Chinese fiction. Even A True Account of the Special Embassy in America and Europe, discussed in the previous chapter, is liberally peppered with expressions inspired by Literary Sinitic poetry and prose, and it is a fact that traditional Chinese fictional works such as Wonders of the Present and the Past and Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio have supplied modern Japanese novelists with much in the way of material.1 Putting aside these individual examples, however, and without dismissing their significance in any way, my purpose is to gain an understanding of the relationship between modern Japanese literature and Literary Sinitic poetry and prose from a much broader and more structural point of view. For instance, can the rise of the novel as the paramount literary genre in modern literature be fully accounted for through explanations based solely on the importation of Western literature and the development of fiction from the Edo period? Was divesting the Sinitic word for “literature” of the semantic dimension of “learning” irrelevant to the transformations within the very existence of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose?* These questions, too, can be approached in a fresh way when we direct our gaze to the Literary Sinitic Context. To achieve our goals, I would like to open this chapter by explaining what Literary Sinitic poetry and prose was like during the Meiji period and what changes occurred during the Edo-Meiji transition. 2

Coteries of Kanshi Poets during Meiji

The emergence of the “contemporary style” (kintaibun) out of Kundoku Style, whereby Literary Sinitic is read with Japanese grammatical 1  Wonders of the Present and the Past (Ch. Jingu qiguan, J. Kinko kikan 今古奇觀, ca. 1640) is a collection of short narratives written in so-called “baihua” 白話 (literary vernacular Chinese) from the Ming dynasty (1368–1644) and Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio (Ch. Liaozhai zhiyi, J. Ryōsai shii 聊齋志異) is a collection of short narratives written in Literary Sinitic from the Qing dynasty (1644–1911).

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*  “Literature” (bungaku 文学) and “learning” (gakumon 学問).

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*  Refined learning (gakugei 学芸) and cultivation (kyōyō 教養).

†  Yūrinsha 有隣舍.

‡  Tōban zakku 冬晩雑句.

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elements and Japanese word order, did not mean that people stopped composing and reading Literary Sinitic poetry and prose. As printing technology progressed from woodblock printing to copperplate etching and all the way to movable type, books of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose were increasingly mass-produced. Insofar as Literary Sinitic poetry and prose gave way to the Contemporary Style within the domain of practical writing, their position as a form of refined learning and cultivation* further solidified. Composition of Literary Sinitic poetry, too, burgeoned during the Meiji period. Among early Meiji kanshi poets, a man by the name of Mori Shuntō2 became known for his unparalleled talents. Mori Shuntō is less famous than Rai San’yō these days, but he used to be such a household name that, in those days, it would have been nonsensical to introduce him using the phrase “A man by the name of Mori Shuntō.” The fact that he is not well known today is due to the bias of modern Japanese literary history as an institution, but in any case, let us first briefly consider Mori Shuntō in order to understand better what Literary Sinitic poetry was like during Meiji. Shuntō was born in 1819 in Ichinomiya within the province of Owari (the western part of present-day Aichi Prefecture). His was a family of physicians for generations, so that he, too, was naturally trained to become a physician. Sinitic Learning was essential for him, both to read medical texts and as basic education. After studying the Four Books and Five Classics at a private school, he attended Yūrinsha,† a school of Sinitic Learning in Owari that had been in operation since it was first established in 1760 by Washizu Yūrin,3 the official Confucian scholar under the auspices of the local feudal lord. There, Shuntō studied together with Ōnuma Chinzan, who was one year older than him and with whom he competed for fame in later years; I earlier mentioned Ōnuma Chinzan in connection with his editorial work on Kondō Isami’s (1834–1868) death poem. Mori Shuntō’s interest in Sinitic poetry composition grew intense during this time. After he returned to Ichinomiya as a physician, Shuntō continued to compose poetry. One example from this period is “A Miscellaneous Poem on a Winter Night.”‡

2  Mori Shuntō 森春濤 (1819–1889). 3  Washizu Yūrin 鷲津幽林 (dates unknown).

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

I wrack my brains on a verse, hunger’s grip strong on me; Not a single line can I compose all day long; Sitting at the hearth,4 the old man next door Nudges stale potatoes into the ashes.5 This poem depicts a scene of wintry serenity, where an elderly neighbor buries potatoes in the ashes of his brazier while the speaker is at pains to produce a poem. As the annotation from the New Compendium of Classical Japanese Literature6 indicates, the latter half of this poem is modelled on a poem by Fan Chengda,7 an official and poet known as one of four great poets of the Southern Song dynasty (960–1279). But Mori’s signature trait was to convey the tenor of everyday life rather than to express the stoutheartedly heroic. Perhaps inspired by Ōnuma Chinzan, who had become active as a kanshi poet in the city of Edo, Shuntō eventually moved to Kyoto in 1850 to meet Yanagawa Seigan,8 a renowned kanshi poet at that time. Shuntō also formed friendships with poets in the Kyoto-Osaka region, and in the following year he moved to Edo, where he remained for six months. With a rekindled friendship with Ōnuma Chinzan, Mori Shuntō exerted himself in exchanging his own Literary Sinitic poems with poets such as Ono Kozan and Suzuki Shōtō.9 He communicated with them in earnest as each of his correspondents was a force to be reckoned with on the 4  I ro 圍鑪 (= irori 圍鑪裏) is a type of square-shaped hearth in the center of a room that is filled with hot ashes for the purpose of heating and cooking. 5  Kugin ue o iyashi gataku くぎん

う

いや

がた

  苦吟難療飢 苦吟 飢えを療し難く   Shūjitsu ku o nasazu しゅうじつ

く

な

  終日不成句 終 日 句を成さず   Rinsō iro ni zashi りんそう

い ろ

ざ

隣叟坐圍鑪 隣 叟 圍鑪に坐し     Kaichū rōu o uzumu かいちゅう

ろうう

うず

  灰中薶老芋 灰 中 老芋を薶む 6  Shin Nihon koten bungaku taikei 新日本古典文学大系, a series from Iwanami shoten that is accepted by literary scholars as offering the most authoritative annotated version of many canonical works. The volume referenced here is Kanshibunshū 漢詩文集, vol. 2 of the Meiji-hen 明治編 (a thirty-volume supplemental subseries of Meiji works that was published 2001–2013). 7  Fan Chengda 范成大 (1126–1193). 8  Yanagawa Seigan 梁川星巖 (1789–1858). 9   Ono Kozan 小野湖山 (1814–1910) and Suzuki Shōtō 鱸松塘 (1823–1898).

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Figure 13 Mori Shuntō Source: Photo courtesy of Ms. Natsue Washizu and the Ichinomiya-shi Chūō Toshokan

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literary scene. In these ways, Mori Shuntō was able to make a name for himself in poetic circles. His actions are typical of how neophyte writers of later generations got their start by approaching famous novelists with their portfolios in hand for the purpose of debuting as professional writers. It is worth recalling in this context that Ishikawa Takuboku10 was invited to Mori Ōgai’s haiku circle for socializing, and that Tanizaki Jun’ichirō attended the “Gathering of Pan” (Pan no kai) to introduce himself to Nagai Kafū. Prior to modern times, there was no “literary scene”11 or literary establishment in either China or Japan that focused on the genre of fiction; rather, as we come into the modern period, writers of fiction emerged as bunjin literary figures—or perhaps it is more accurate to say that individuals who had achieved the status of bunjin literary figures came to dabble in fiction—and as a result, literary circles could not help but replace poetry circles. It was precisely this transformation that was implicated in the establishment of modern literature in East Asia. Before we proceed, let us establish for now that by the late early modern period poetry circles like this had become a social phenomenon. 3

Mori Shuntō, Leading Contributor to the Thriving of Kanshi

As previously discussed, Literary Sinitic learning centered on members of the warrior class spread across the entire country, with various local governments (han) vying with one another in the late early modern period. During this time Literary Sinitic poetry as a form of belles lettres also gained popularity. In various parts of the country poetry societies* sprang up to serve as bases for local poets and poetry aficionados. The first volume of Gozan’s Talks on Poetry, a series of collections of poetry criticism written by Kikuchi Gozan,12 with select kanshi composed by 10  Ishikawa Takuboku 石川啄木 (1886–1912) was a tanka poet, known for his candid and unorthodox writing style. He was a contributor to the Myōjō poetry circle which promoted a modernized form of tanka. Takuboku’s works often focused on the hardships of life and social concerns of the time. The “Gathering of Pan” was a society of artists from late Meiji that led a new art movement in opposition to Naturalism. “Pan” is the Greek god of shepherds and flocks. 11  The modern bundan 文壇. 12  Kikuchi Gozan 菊池五山 (1772–1855) was a noted Edo poet and scholar, and was also a close friend of the painter and poet Tani Bunchō 谷文晁 (1763–1841). His Gozan’s Talks on Poetry (Gozandō shiwa 五山堂詩話) is thought to have been

*  Shisha 詩社.

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his contemporaries with commentaries, was published in 1807. The series was published once a year, reaching a total of ten main volumes and five supplementary volumes. To put this phenomenon in other words, nationwide circulation of poetry criticism had been established. Criticism begets creativity, and national competition naturally furthered poets’ zeal. Mori Shuntō had wanted to make a name for himself, and managed just that within this environment. Although his specialty was the style of Song dynasty poetry that portrays matters of everyday life, Shuntō delighted in the fantastic imagery of late-Tang (618–907) poets such as Li Shangyin and Li He.13 Shuntō frequently emulated these figures by composing lush poems written from the perspective of a passionate woman. As far as poetry of daily life goes, many others boasted greater renown than Shuntō, so the fact that he came to be well known as a kanshi poet was connected most closely to his romantic poems: On Xiang banks, flute strains linger, lotus leaves cool; In the land of Chu, autumn colors pale, as willow branches yellow. Rains echo, doleful and drear, night falling by empty tower; Deeply distressed, the Southland’s two girls of Wu.14 The latter half of this poem alludes to the concluding lines of “A Poem Sent to Yin Xielü” by the famous Tang poet Bai Juyi (772–846), a poem that is well known in Japan as the locus classicus of the term 雪月花 (Ch. xue yue hua; J. setsugekka; lit., “snow, moon, and flowers”) referring to the natural beauty of the seasons.15 Bai’s poem speaks of a female entertainer’s sorrow:

influenced by Qing poet Yuan Mei 袁枚 (1716–1797) and his Talks on Poetry from the Sui Garden (Suiyuan shihua 隨園詩話). 13  Li Shangyin 李商隱 (813–858) and Li He 李賀 (790–816). 14  Shōho fue nokorite kayō suzushi しょうほ ふえのこ

か よ う すず

  湘浦笛殘荷葉凉 湘 浦 笛殘りて 荷葉凉し   Sokyō aki awaku ryūshi kō tari そきょう あき あわ

りゅうしこう

  楚鄕秋澹柳枝黃 楚 鄕 秋 澹く柳枝黃たり   Ame shōshō to shite hibiki kūrō kururu あめ しょうしょう

ひび

くうろう く

  雨蕭蕭響空樓暮 雨 蕭 蕭 として響き 空 樓暮るる   Shūzetsu su kōnan no gojijō しゅうぜつ

こうなん

ごじじょう

  愁絶江南吳二娘 愁 絶す 江南の吳二娘 15  “A Poem Sent to Yin Xielü” (Ch. Ji Yin Xielü 寄殷協律).

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

The Wu girl’s tune, “Rain at Dusk, Doleful and Drear,” Not heard since leaving the Southland.16 In China, poems on such themes had a long history and formed a tradition of their own, but the ambience of sensual sensibility these poems carry did not run on the same track as those written by late-Edo poets such as Rai San’yō. Mori Shuntō’s are more the verses of a poet than of a loyalist (shishi). By late Edo, Shuntō’s fame had come to match that of Ōnuma Chinzan, but it was after the Meiji period that he really showed himself at his best. In 1874 (Meiji 7), Shuntō moved from Gifu (a prefecture in the west of the central region of Honshū) to Tokyo, and there he began engaging with poetic circles in earnest. He formed the Jasmine Poetry Society to compete against Ōnuma Chinzan’s Shitaya Poetry Society and proceeded to found a poetry-centric journal of literary criticism called New Prose and Poems.17 Among the various poetry magazines of the Meiji period, Shuntō’s New Prose and Poems was a trailblazer. He was likely inspired by the publishing in the Chōya National News of subscribers’ poetry and Ōtsuki Bankei’s poetry criticism “Left-over from Reading: Superfluous Critiques,”18 after the chief editor post was occupied by Narushima Ryūhoku,19 a former retainer of the Tokugawa Shogunate and a poet every bit as famous as Mori Shuntō. What seems certain is that Shuntō’s launching of his magazine took place against the backdrop of the advent of kanshi poetry being published in modern media in 16  With thanks to John Timothy Wixted for the translation. The original reads:   吳娘暮雨蕭蕭曲 Wuniang mu yu xiaoxiao qu   自別江南更不聞 Zi bie Jiangnan geng bu wen 17  Jasmine Poetry Society (Matsuri ginsha 茉莉吟社); Shitaya Poetry Society (Shitaya ginsha 下谷吟社)—Shitaya was the region of Tokyo where Chinzan lived; New Prose and Poems (Shinbunshi 新文詩). 18  Ōtsuki Bankei’s Dokuyo zeihyō 読余贅評 in the Chōya shinbun 朝野新聞. Ōtsuki Bankei 大槻磐渓 (1801–1878) was a Confucian scholar and medical doctor in the service of the Sendai domain who studied and wrote poetry and prose, particularly in his later years. He was employed as academic head at a school founded by Egawa Hidetatsu 江川英龍 (1801–1855), and at the Yōkendō 養賢堂 Medical School in Sendai. 19  Narushima Ryūhoku 成島柳北 (1837–1884) was a Confucian scholar and writer with an interest in Western learning. In his early career, he was employed as tutor to Tokugawa Iesada 徳川家定 (1824–1858) and Tokugawa Iemochi 徳川 家茂 (1846–1866), the thirteenth and fourteenth shoguns of the Tokugawa shogunate. He went on to serve as Minister of Foreign Affairs (gaimu daijin 外務 大臣) and establish the journal, New Flower and Moon Magazine (Kagetsu shinshi 花月新誌).

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the form of newspapers. The phrase “new prose and poetry” (shinbun­ shi) was a pun on the homonymic term for “newspapers” (shinbunshi), which he in fact was emulating.20 New Prose and Poetry published works both by so-called professional kanshi poets—who made a living by teaching students poetry composition—and by amateurs. Some of the frequent contributors were high-ranking officials in the Meiji administration, including Itō Hirobumi and Yamagata Aritomo.21 It goes without saying that the warrior class that had been educated in late Edo was familiar with Literary Sinitic poetry and prose. With the advent of the Meiji government came political centralization, and people from around the country converged on Tokyo. Seizing the opportunity, Shuntō socialized with illustrious Meiji officials and instructed them in the ways of Literary Sinitic poetry composition while promoting his magazine for a nationwide readership utilizing modern media. In so doing, he was able to form a substantial literary circle in Tokyo and contributed to bringing about a flourishing of kanshi poetry. This was possible not simply because he was able to extend his previously earned renown, but also because he kept pace with new changes emerging during the Meiji era. As I will discuss later, in contrast with Ōnuma Chinzan, Shuntō showed extraordinary adaptability. 4

The Public and the Private as Constituents of the Mental World

At first blush, there appears to be some contradiction in the fact that while Mori Shuntō was not a poet in the patriotic, politically-minded, “man of high purpose” mode, he nevertheless instructed high-ranking officials of the Meiji government in kanshi. Based upon my explanations thus far, there is a seeming mismatch between the fact that Literary Sinitic poetry flourished in the late early modern period in 20  Shinbunshi 新文詩 versus shinbunshi 新聞紙. 21   Itō Hirobumi 伊藤博文 (1841–1909) was a samurai of the Chōshū domain and prominent Meiji statesman (he served four times as Prime Minister). On October 26, 1909, while serving as Resident-General of Korea, he was assassinated by the Korean nationalist An Chunggŭn at Harbin Station. Yamagata Aritomo 山県有朋 (1838–1922) was a field marshal in the Imperial Japanese Army and is considered by many as one of the architects of Japanese militarism. He served twice as Prime Minister.

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

connection with scholar-official (shitaifu) consciousness on the one hand, and the fact that government officials, who were undoubtedly the scholar-officials of their times, took Shuntō as their teacher on the other. However, there is a reason for this contradiction. Although the explanation requires a somewhat lengthy discussion, allow me to expand on this important point. As a style, Literary Sinitic writing takes its foundation from the mental world of the scholar-official (Ch. shiren, J. shijin); I explained earlier that this is one of the two focal points and that the world of the scholarofficial is formed by a layering of two foci, namely: the public (kō) and the private (shi).* Scholar-bureaucrats of China found their raison d’être in serving in the government—they were the ruling class. Skilled in scholarship,† they took “governing the nation and providing relief to the people” as their duty. They could not fulfill their responsibility if they failed to find employment in the government. Such was the public aspect of their mental world. The public world (kō) of the literati primarily concerned their participation in governance. If we go back in time, the reason Literary Sinitic circulated as an official style of writing in East Asia is because it was the written code (Ch. wen; J. bun) used for statecraft and diplomacy. Japan, Chosŏn Korea, and China each found its own position in the world by participating in a China-centric political order. This also meant participation in a world inscribed in Literary Sinitic. On the peripheries of China, Literary Sinitic was mainly used for diplomatic purposes. Using it to write about one’s life or about history came much later. The Five Confucian Classics, consisting of the Book of Changes, Book of Poetry, Book of Documents, Book of Rites, and Spring and Autumn Annals—the sixth classic, the Classic of Music,22 does not survive— are Confucian texts that reign supreme in the world of classical texts. However, unlike the Bible, these do not expound on God or faith. However they may have originated, these texts served to explain how the world operates and to house knowledge for governing it. The Five Classics were guidelines for politics, and scholar-bureaucrats were their principal readers. Did everything written in Literary Sinitic, then, concern politics and the public? This was, of course, not the case. Originally, a scholar-official was expected to participate in governing the realm. When employed he 22  Classic of Music (Ch. Yuejing, J. Gakkei 樂經).

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*  Kō 公 and shi 私. †  Ch. xue, J. gaku 學.

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exerted all his might in the public sphere, but when time and circumstances prevented him from doing so, he was expected to become a solitary recluse and cultivate himself. Even today some Japanese politicians quote the phrase shussho shintai when speaking of a course of action. The original meaning of the expression, however, is a combination of two phrases: “to go out into the world (i.e., to serve in office)” and “to stay at home (i.e., to remain out of office)”; and of “to advance (i.e., be appointed to office)” and “to withdraw (i.e., to retire from public affairs).” The first element of each pair, “to go out” (shutsu 出) and “to advance” (shin 進), were part of the public sphere, that of serving in office (shi 仕). The second element in each, “to stay at home” (sho 処) and “to withdraw” (tai 退), related to the private realm, that of reclusion (in 隱). In sum, the concepts, “public,” “going out,” “advancing,” and “serving,” fall into one category, while “private,” “staying,” “withdrawing,” and “reclusion” form one in contrast with it. These categories constitute the two sides of the life of a scholar-official. Even if a scholar-official leads an uneventful life, he is in the state of “staying” as long as he is at the stage of cultivating himself at home and of not yet having been appointed to public office. Once he has entered the state bureaucracy, he is in the state of “going out into the world” and “advancement.” When he completes his responsibilities and becomes too old to serve, he returns to the state of withdrawal. At precarious junctures caused by the sudden caprice of the emperor or factional struggles, a scholar-official frequently swung between the two extremes like a pendulum. In fact, every scholar-official faced at one point or another an occasion when he either went into the world or withdrew from it. As such, when some set of circumstances compelled a scholar-bureaucrat to distance himself from participating in the world through government office, it was not unusual for him to compose poetry and prose to express his ambitions or depict everyday life. However else they may be defined, scholar-officials were fundamentally men of letters and their Literary Sinitic poetry and prose discussed the world of the private, withdrawn from the public sphere. 5

Devotion to the Private World

Prior to the Han dynasty (206 BCE–220 CE), Chinese literature portraying the private world simply depicted a realm counterpoised to the

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

Public

Private

Service Chinese Classics Scholar-Officials Politics

Reclusion Poetry and Prose Literati Literature

Functionality Sinographic coinages Meiji Common Style

Mentality kanshi

Figure 14 Public and private worlds

public world. Ineradicable frustration was at the crux of such writing. Soon, however, the private world of the literati became more firmly established, attaining a value of its own. Although they could not distance themselves completely from the public sphere, scholar-officials began constructing a world that maintained a certain distance from it. We might say that they realized there was a world worth inhabiting outside of politics. Generally speaking, starting from the Late Han (25–220) through the Six Dynasties (220–589), the lives of Chinese scholar-officials became Janus-faced, having both private and public aspects. Chinese poet Bai Juyi is a good example. He was born during the peaceful mid-Tang period, passed the civil service examination, and attained high-ranking posts in the government; at the same time he was a prolific poet. It was by embodying both the public and private that he exemplified the scholar-official. He was not just an official, nor was he just a literary figure. Equilibrium between the public and private became the model for scholar-officials. When Bai Juyi compiled collections of his poems, he

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organized them into three categories: satire, (enjoying) idleness, and sentimentality.23 Satire deals with political opinions at its core: it concerns the public world. The categories of tranquility and sentimentality concerned the mental sphere of the private world, removed from politics. In Japan there was an aversion to prizing tranquility and sentimentality, but for Bai Juyi, neither could be omitted. Seen from this angle, is it not clear what drove Meiji high-ranking officials to flock to Mori Shuntō? According to Bai Juyi’s classification, Shuntō’s poetry gave preponderance to idleness and sentimentality. Considering that he never became a government official and identified himself as a poet, such a proclivity is not surprising at all. Nevertheless, it must have been difficult for a person accustomed to Literary Sinitic poetry composition—i.e., one who had internalized the mental world of scholar-officials—not to be strongly tinged by public consciousness. The high-ranking officials of Meiji were politicians and were realizing themselves in the public sphere on some level. Yet, devotion to the private sphere was also important to becoming a complete scholar-official. Intellectuals needed to be well-versed in the goings-on in the world outside politics and in cultural affairs. The ideal image of the politician as an intellectual, cultured, and cultivated being was still alive and well as an aspect of East Asian tradition. That Shuntō’s style of poetry was not focused on politics enabled him and these politicians to draw from each other’s strengths. 6

The Literati Mentality: Cherishing Literary Sinitic Poetry and Prose

Whether depicting scenes from everyday life or singing of charmingly beautiful sentiment, Mori Shuntō’s poetry was all about a retreat from the public world into the private. To look at it from the perspective of those who held government posts, clinking cups with friends to forget reality or losing oneself to carnal pleasures in brothels connoted emancipation from the soul-crushing tedium of one’s official duties—even if this emancipation guaranteed nothing more than a temporary diversion. Some structural resonance may be found between such diversions and what we would now call pastimes and recreational activities. 23  Satire (Ch. fengyu, J. fūyu 諷喩), (enjoying) idleness (Ch. xianshi, J. kanteki 閑適), and sentimentality (Ch. ganshang, J. kanshō 感傷).

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Whatever its original meaning was, the word bunjin (literatus, man of letters) in Japan came to refer to people who withdrew from the world and cultivated pleasure. Based upon this, we might call the mindset underpinning this world the bunjin mentality, as contrasted with that of scholar-officials in the public sphere. The mentality of the literary-minded avoids the dust of worldly affairs—the hustle and bustle of everyday life—and revels in “pure talk.”* Such was the kind of Literary Sinitic Context within which *  Seidan 清談. Heian-period (794–1185) aristocrats read and wrote. When Bai Juyi was celebrated as a literary figure, it was his poetry of tranquility that earned him his reputation, not his satirical oeuvre. In Japan, which never institutionalized a civil service examination along Chinese lines and thus had no shidafu elite bureaucrat class that derived its privileged status from that institution, to emulate the mentality of scholar-officials in and through Literary Sinitic, especially prior to the early modern period, was a difficult task. By contrast, the inward- and private-oriented literatus (bunjin) mentality, with its elements of elegant aristocratic play, was more accessible. What was the status of this bunjin mentality in late early modern Japan? A useful example can be drawn when we compare Dazai Shundai and Hattori Nankaku,24 both pupils of Ogyū Sorai. They are commonly referred to as Sorai’s two top students. Emura Hokkai25 once described them in volume 4 of his History of Sinitic Poetry in Japan in the following terms: “I think that after Sorai’s death, the Sorai school bifurcated. For understanding the meaning of the classics, I recommend Dazai Shundai. For poetic writing, my recommendation is Hattori Nankaku.” Although both inherited Sorai’s scholarship, one immersed himself in the meaning of the classics while the other pursued poetry composition. Dazai 24  Dazai Shundai 太宰春台 (1680–1747) was active in Ogyū Sorai’s nativist school of Ancient Learning (Kogaku 古学). He put into practice an analytical and systematic approach to the political realm of Confucian thought, placing less emphasis on the aesthetic qualities of literature. Hattori Nankaku 服部南郭 (1683–1759) was a writer, painter, and poet who studied kanshi under Ogyū Sorai. He was a leading member of Sorai’s Old Phraseology School (Kobunji 古文辞) and contributed to the popularization of Tang poetry in his time. 25  Emura Hokkai 江村北海 (1713–1788) was a Confucian scholar and educator skilled in both classical and contemporary Chinese poetry. He is best known for his History of Sinitic Poetry in Japan (Nihon shishi 日本詩史, 1771), a five-volume history of Sinitic poetry in Japan. He also wrote On Teaching ( Jugyōhen 授業編, 1783), a manual in which he instructs students on the composition of Literary Sinitic poetry.

126 *  Keizairoku 経済録.

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Shundai himself professed in volume 1 of his On Political Economy,* “the way of the Sages has little use except for governing the states in the world … Those who abandon it and instead relish writing and poetry composition for amusement are not true scholars; they are no different from those who engage in zither and chess playing, calligraphy, and painting.” For Dazai Shundai, “governing the state and bringing peace to all under heaven” was the responsibility of Confucians. It goes without saying that such a thought was supported by the mentality of the scholar-official. “The meaning of the classics” refers to the Confucian classics, and therefore, to the realm of the public. From Shundai’s perspective, Hattori Nankaku was preoccupied with poetry composition and trifling matters like zither and chess playing, calligraphy, and painting—he resided in the private realm. The phrases “writing and poetry composition for amusement” and “activities like zither and chess playing, calligraphy, and painting,” which belong to the private realm, deserve closer scrutiny. Shundai considered these activities to be disassociated from the politics of the real world— as flaunting refinement, playing at belles lettres, and showing off pedantic knowledge; namely, the pastimes of the bunjin literati. To the extent one indulged in them, other than as a side hobby, they were shameful. However, from the perspective of Hattori Nankaku, talking politics without being equipped with the authority to change the world was simply “empty talk.” In such situations, one was better off withdrawing from the political arena and concealing one’s talents. He once wrote, “I never speak of administering the world.”26 When he was around seventeen or eighteen years of age, Nankaku became an official under Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu27 and observed first-hand the actual political scene. He must have become well aware that most of political life is occupied with the capricious whims of ruler-masters and the struggles for power among retainer-followers. Factors like these led him to retire at thirty-six. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he was forced out, but in any case Nankaku had no desire to be embroiled in politics.

26  B  unkai zakki 文会雑記, volume 1, part 1, by Hattori Nankaku 服部南郭 (1683–1759). 27  Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu 柳沢吉保 (1658–1714) studied poetry and Confucian learning in his early years and became a disciple of the fifth shogun, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi 徳川綱吉 (1646–1709), who later bestowed upon him the Matsudaira 松平氏 family name. At the height of his career, Yoshiyasu served as tairō 大老, or senior shogunal counsellor, from 1706 to 1709.

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

The world of the literati as seen through Nankaku paints a stark contrast to that of the scholar-officials. 7

Ōnuma Chinzan in the World of the Literatus

Among those who followed the example of Hattori Nankaku during Meiji was Ōnuma Chinzan, a classmate of Mori Shuntō’s whose renown as a poet equaled that of Shuntō. Nagai Kafū once wrote in his Compendium of Stories from Shitaya28 about the life of Ōnuma Chinzan, who was just a year older than Shuntō. In fact, Kafū and Chinzan were related by blood. Chinzan was the great-grandson of Washizu Yūrin, who had founded the Yūrinsha, the educational institution where Mori Shuntō studied. Kafū’s mother was the daughter of Washizu Kidō, who was Yūrin’s great-grandson. Such family relations form the backdrop of the Compendium, a critical biography of Ōnuma Chinzan and Washizu Kidō that contrasts Kidō’s life as the chief Confucian scholar of Owari Domain and later a bureaucrat in the Ministry of Justice29 during Meiji with Ōnuma Chinzan’s life as a loyalist of the old regime. In the Compendium is a passage that evaluates Ōnuma Chinzan as follows: Shinobu Joken’s biography of Chinzan best represents the kind of person Chinzan was. It reads: “When the Master was seventy years old, his family circumstances suddenly declined because of his profligate heir. Somebody tried to persuade him, saying ‘Longevity is a rare thing; how about throwing a banquet, so that people might come to congratulate you [with gifts].’ The Master said, ‘Ever since the Revival [Meiji Restoration], I have withdrawn from the world. That lot of men who busily pursue renown and profit—I spit upon them! Even should I starve to death, I shall never beg for sympathy from the likes of them.’” This passage well illustrates Chinzan’s determination after the Meiji Restoration. When he was around seventy years old, his son, who was to inherit the house, turned to debauchery. Feeling sorry about the destitution of Chinzan’s family, an acquaintance suggested that he throw 28  Nagai Kafū 永井荷風, Shitaya sōwa 下谷叢話 (Tokyo: Fuzanbō, 1939). 29  Called Shihōshō 司法省 at the time (now Hōmushō 法務省).

127

128

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a party in celebration of his seventieth birthday as a way to alleviate his financial woes. In fact, some of Chinzan’s acquaintances had prospered since the advent of the Meiji government, so the idea was to accept gift money from guests in order to help him weather his difficulties. Chinzan resolutely refused this suggestion. His response—“That lot of men who busily pursue renown and profit—I spit upon them! Even should I starve to death, I shall never beg for sympathy from the likes of them”—was strong indeed. Chinzan’s attitude cannot be attributed solely to his undying loyalty to the shogunate and his opposition to the Meiji administration. Of course, he did harbor such feelings, as we can tell from his editing of Kondō Isami’s (1834–1868) poem, which I quoted in Chapter 1. While Chinzan’s works are reminiscent of a loyalist’s patriotic ardor, he also had a proclivity for withdrawal from the ways of the world. Already in 1856, a poem he composed spoke of this sentiment: Drinking The frivolous of today Feign sincerity and purity. No sooner do they start dabbling at literature and history, Than they open their mouths to declaim on politics…. The whole world is busy powdering its face; No truth in either sorrow or joy. Only in this drunken daze Do I seek out those of olden days: The younger kid, Li Bai, And the elder one, Liu Ling. Away from the world, let us band together in drink, And drunk, forget our destitution.30 30 

Kinji no keihakushi きんじ

けいはくし

  今時輕薄子  今時の輕薄子    Gaimen seijun o arawasu がいめん せいじゅん あらわ

  外面表誠純 外 面 誠 純を表す   Wazuka ni bunshi o rō suru o kai sureba わず

ぶんし

ろう

かい

  纔解弄文史  纔かに文史を弄するを解すれば   Kuchi o hirakite keirin o toku くち

ひら

けいりん

と

  開口說經綸  口を開きて經綸を說く

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

In other words, these days, frivolous men pretentiously flaunt their intellect and when they have matured just enough to pursue some learning, they immediately want to talk politics. “Young people busying themselves with politics”—this is one aspect of truth. The “younger” and “elder”* in the poem are Li Bai and Liu Bolun,31 both of whom were famous for their love of wine. Indeed, Liu Bolun was one of the Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove of the Jin dynasty (265–420) and was renowned for his “Hymn to the Virtues of Wine.”† The meaning of the line in Chinzan’s poem, then, is that the three poets were a cozy group of pleasantly intoxicated youths. The word uchite 拚 connotes clapping one’s hands in glee. Chinzan desired to live in another world by withdrawing into himself and immersing himself in the world of alcohol like the ancients. This sentiment was one aspect of the mental world‡ that buttressed Literary Sinitic poetry and prose. The style of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose is founded on the functionality of sinographs as logograms** and the mental world of scholar-officials. And it has two focal points: the public and the private, or society and self. We may also contrast the two as scholar-official vs. literatus—in this case, the word scholar-official is used in a narrow sense as a counterpart to the bunjin literatus. Ōnuma Chinzan’s poetry was certainly the world of bunjin literati in and of itself. In this regard, Mori Shuntō was not too different. What distinguished one from the   Sejō mina funshoku せじょう

み

ふんしょく

  世情皆粉飾 世 情 皆な 粉 飾   Airaku itsu no shin naru nashi あいらく いつ

しん

な

  哀樂無一眞 哀 樂 一の眞なる無し   Tada kono suikyō no uchi ni ただ こ

すいきょう

うち

  只此醉鄕內 只此の醉鄕の內に   Tōku inishie no hito o motomen とお

いにし

ひと

もと

  遠求古之人  遠く古えの人を求めん   Shōji wa ritaihaku しょうじ

りたいはく

  小兒李太白  小兒は李太白   Daiji wa ryūhakurin だいじ

りゅうはくりん

  大兒劉伯倫  大兒は 劉 伯倫   Yo o hedatete uchite tomo ni noman よ

へだ

う

とも

の

  隔世拚同飮  世を隔てて拚ちて同に飮まん   Ware yōte waga hin o wasuru われ よ

わ

ひん

わす

  我醉忘吾貧 我醉うて吾が貧を忘る 31  Liu Bolun 劉伯倫 (ca. 220–300), also known as Liu Ling 劉伶.

129

*  “Little boy” (shōji 小兒) and “big boy” (daiji 大兒). †  Ch. Jiu de song 酒徳頌.

‡  Seishin sekai 精神世界. ** Hyōgo moji 表語文字.

130

*  Chō 朝 vs. ya 野.

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other was the level of intensity they maintained regarding the world. With regard to scholar-official vs. bunjin, or public vs. private, and to a greater extent official vs. unofficial* distinctions, Shuntō integrated the two, as compared to Chinzan’s polarity. This is why Ōnuma Chinzan can be said to be closer to Hattori Nankaku than was Shuntō. 8

†  Bunshi 文史 and keirin 経綸.

The Polarity of “Politics = Public” vs. “Literature = Private”

In the modern era, these two focal points grew polarized to the point of establishing the idea of “politics versus literature.” To put it another way, the position of literature became more firmly established. Before we discuss this, however, it is necessary to consider the question of politics and learning. This is because society witnessed great transformations between the late Edo and Meiji periods, such that the relationship between learning and politics, or between learning and employment in the government, grew much tighter. The word “literature” (bungaku, literally “learning of letters”) originally encompassed the notion of learning (gakumon), but this meaning gradually faded throughout the Meiji period as the definition of learning shifted. Ōnuma Chinzan criticized his contemporaries, saying, “No sooner do they start dabbling at literature and history than they open their mouths to declaim on politics …” But there was nothing unnatural about talking politics to those whom he criticized, because Confucianism was concerned with learning as a means of statecraft, i.e., governing the realm. Some of the “frivolous” people singled out by Chinzan became high-ranking officials in the Meiji administration. This also shows that learning and politics, or employment by the government, were deeply intertwined. What is more, during the Meiji period, the school system was reorganized in order to foster talented people for a new era, and universities were established at the pinnacle of society to produce bureaucrats. For those who harbored grand ambitions in the world, so to speak, literature and history (bunshi) and statecraft (keirin)† were directly connected. Around this time, a rather complex mechanism began to operate. Previously, scholarship had its basis in Sinitic Learning. Learning encompassed not only reading and writing in Literary Sinitic but also reading and composing Literary Sinitic poetry. The civil service examinations of China included poetry questions, so there was nothing surprising about the inclusion of Literary Sinitic poetry in the curriculum

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

of Sinitic Learning. Poetry was also useful for the expression of political aspirations. In the world of Meiji learning, however, Literary Sinitic poetry was no longer essential. As discussed in a previous chapter, the focus of learning was moving toward practicality. Reading and writing in Literary Sinitic, too, was moving further away from that focus. Exerting oneself to compose Literary Sinitic poetry must have seemed the epitome of impracticality. As such, it was gradually removed from the purview of learning. Dissident poems stirring up human emotions are needed in times of revolution, but once a new system has been established, they become an irritation. Scholars often mention that Literary Sinitic poetry became wildly popular during the Freedom and People’s Rights Movement, which opposed the Meiji administration, because the movement was a direct heir of shogunal loyalists. The use of Literary Sinitic poetry was indeed becoming an outdated mode for civil movements. In a way, the growing obsolescence of kanshi reflected the plight in which People’s Rights Movement participants found themselves. The close association between learning and one’s appointment as a government official in the Japanese case was not unlike the way Chinese scholar-officials had lived, with the difference that what constituted learning began to change drastically. Literary Sinitic poetry composition, once perceived as belonging to the public realm, gave rise to Kundoku Style and then gradually receded into the private realm, i.e., the world of a hobby. In the realm of the public, by contrast, it was now Western learning, translated into Kundoku Style, that expanded its domain of influence. In the midst of these developments Mori Shuntō sought to reestablish the status of Literary Sinitic poetry so as to reunite the two focal points of the public and private. Chinzan, on the other hand, refused: he insisted on focusing on the world of the private and refused to compromise his position as an outsider. Can we not also consider the issue in the following way? Literary Sinitic as a form of writing for the sake of the public gave birth to the Contemporary Style of the Meiji period and at the same time, it emerged as the language of political discourse. On the other hand, poetic language that recounted the world of the private was repositioned to become the language of literature (bungaku). The high-ranking Meiji officials who sought out Mori Shuntō for his expertise in kanshi were well aware that they were engrossed in the world of politics and thus

131

132

*  Shishu 詩酒.

Chapter 4

they composed Literary Sinitic poetry and participated in poetry societies to achieve greater balance in their lives. However, it is questionable whether their activities amounted to artistic pursuits in the truest sense. One imagines their poetry gatherings, as well, reeked of worldly connections and ambition. Shuntō himself must have harbored a somewhat warped and what’s more, worldly, desire for recognition and fame in the world of literature, if not politics. Many among the recluses in Chinese history pursued opportunities to attain influence and wealth by building reputations as hermits. Nevertheless, they at least attempted to establish equilibrium between “statecraft” (keirin) and “poetry and wine,”* and within the tradition of the Literary Sinitic Context, such actions were not at all extraordinary. Over the course of the late Edo through Meiji period, learning became the mainstay in the appointment and promotion of talented men. The age had come when the Japanese intellectual class, for the first time, might be compared with that of scholar-officials in China. The pursuit of a successful bureaucratic career used to belong exclusively to Chinese scholar-bureaucrats. In Japan, Stories of Successful Lives in the West was interpreted as a Western version of such success. However, while that was happening, the content of learning underwent rapid changes. It was now impossible simply to put on the airs of a scholar-official of the past. In the course of such changes, Mori Shuntō and Ōnuma Chinzan were each staking out positions of their own. 9

The Separation of Literature from Learning

Considering literature (bungaku) as a lexical item, the word originally covered a broad terrain, referring to writing as well as learning, such that its meaning is often glossed as “gakumon” (learning) in Sino-Japanese dictionaries from the Meiji period. For example, in the Dictionary of Meiji Japanese32 this explanation is found: [Bungaku] originally meant gakumon, but it later became a translation of the English word “literature,” so that in the Meiji period, it came to refer to belles lettres (bungei 文芸), or artistic works in the form of writing. The entry on “Literature bungaku” in the 32  Meiji no kotoba jiten 明治のことば辞典 (1986).

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

Dictionary of Philosophy,33 published in 1881, had a great impact on the formation of this meaning. It is common knowledge that the Sino-Japanese word bungaku was widely used to mean belles lettres or humanities in general, and that with its new identity as a translation of English “literature,” the semantic parameters of the word came to mean exclusively belles lettres in the sense of poetry or fiction. But there is some question as to whether this shift resulted solely from the designation of “bungaku” as a translation of English “literature.” If we assume that the importation of the concept of “literature” gave rise to the concept of literature in the modern sense, then was there nothing similar to the modern notion of “literature” before this? To follow the explanation presented thus far, the shift in meaning of the lexical item bungaku from “learning” to belles lettres would mean that what people had previously perceived as learning underwent a significant transformation, resulting in the separation of “literature” from “learning”—with the former concerned with the private, and the latter with the public. We could also say that the earlier category of bungaku— the equivalent of standard training and cultivation in Literary Sinitic in the early modern period—contained within it something akin to the modern meaning of bungaku. My point is that as bungaku shifted in meaning from learning to belles lettres, the private-vs.-public bipolar frame of the Literary Sinitic Context played a significant role in this shift. Just as people perceived the mentality of the scholar-official as being antithetical to that of the literatus, statecraft and kanshi composition could be perceived as either compatible or antithetical. “Literature” also carries the meaning of a subcategory of art or the arts (geijutsu 藝術). In which case, one can say that Meiji literature resulted from interconnection and interaction between the “literature” of the bunjin mentality and the Western concept of “literature.” At the same time, the duality of private vs. public ingrained in the earlier configuration of literary culture remained strong, so that even in portraying the private world, it was difficult to shake off a consciousness of the public. The recurring critique that modern Japanese literature was obsessed with the private world and lacked public consciousness derives from the consciousness of the public sphere inherent in the earlier bungaku/literary tradition. 33  Inoue Tetsujirō 井上哲次郎, Tetsugaku jii 哲学字彙 (Tokyo: University of Tokyo, 1881; rpt. Tokyo: Meicho fukyūkai, 1980).

133

134

*  Suika 西瓜.

†  Songs of Chu (Ch. Chuci 楚辭).

Chapter 4

Scholars have repeatedly pointed out that when Nagai Kafū was working on his Compendium of Stories from Shitaya he identified himself with Ōnuma Chinzan, who died as a recluse, rather than with Washizu Kidō, whose life was reminiscent of that of a Chinese scholarbureaucrat. This is not difficult to imagine, if we take into consideration that Nagai Kafū’s life and literary works can be seen to have inscribed the antithesis between politics and literature. In one of Kafū’s short stories titled “Watermelon”* appears the following passage, which is rather long but worth quoting in its entirety because of its relevance to our inquiry into the Literary Sinitic Context in Meiji literature: When was it that I first learned how to live the passive way of life? To answer this, I cannot help but recall the society in general that I understood and familiarized myself with when I was young. That is the world between 1877 and 1889 or 1890. At that time, those who occupied the upper echelon of society were bureaucrats. Among them, those who boasted of their merits were the samurai families of the Satsuma and Chōshū domains. People who could not bring themselves to curry favour with the warrior families of these regions fell into despair. In their despair, some, like Dong Hu long ago,34 wielded their brushes in criticism and suffered the humiliation of rope and chains. Others adopted the position of Tao Yuanming and sought to cultivate “chrysanthemums by the east fence.”35 It was not because I was instructed by anyone to do so, and yet the desire I had ever since I was a young student to recite “Returning Home” and read the Songs of Chu† was probably the result of a certain current that lurked beneath the surface of the age. Lines such as those in the quatrain by Kurimoto Joun36 remain indelible in my mind: 34  Kafū is alluding to a line in the “Song of Righteousness” by Wen Tianxiang (cited in Chapter 1, a poem that celebrates successive loyal vassals in Chinese history, many of whom paid with their lives): “[The Upright Spirit is found in] The brush of Dong Hu of the State of Jin.” 35  This phrase alludes to a couplet by Tao Yuanming 陶淵明 (365–427) entitled “Drinking” (Yin jiu 飮酒 no. 5) that reads “plucking chrysanthemums by the eastern fence, I catch sight of the far off southern hills” (Cai ju dong li xia you ran jian nan shan 採菊東籬下悠然見南山). 36  Kurimoto Joun 栗本鋤雲 (1822–1897) was a diplomat and journalist who served as the Japanese ambassador to France. After the Meiji Restoration (which he opposed) he returned to Japan where he was employed as chief editor of the Postal Update (Yūbin hōchi 郵便報知) daily newspaper.

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

135

Along lanes forlorn and bleak, evening hues sad; Nighthawks, their cries heard on moonlit branches. Who would pity, in lone tent under gelid light, This white-haired loyalist reading Songs of Chu?37 Knowing that he would not have a place in society, Tao Yuanming indulged himself in the private world. Qu Yuan,38 author of the Songs of Chu, harboured resentment toward the public world that had excluded him. Whether or not they turned their backs on the world of their own volition is beside the point. The reason Nagai Kafū sympathized with outsiders was not his nostalgia for bygone days but his reflections on current reality. As I will discuss in the next section, he was also thinking about his own father. For Nagai Kafū and his father, the Literary Sinitic Context was an all-too-real entity. 10

Mori Ōgai’s Diary of a Westbound Voyage (Kōsei nikki)

If we understand “literature” from the Meiji period in this way, Mori Ōgai, a representative figure of Meiji literature, emerges as important, because he was fully aware of the public-private dualism and endeavoured to realize it in his own life. That Ōgai excelled in Literary Sinitic poetry is now commonly known. He was born as the first son of the feudal lord’s official physician at the Bureau of Medicine* in Tsuwano (present-day Shimane prefecture) in 1862. He was trained in Literary Sinitic in his youth and also studied at Yōrōkan,† a local domain school, where he cultivated his education in Sinitic Learning. It is also well known that he was interested in Literary Sinitic poetry from an early age and throughout his life, and that Literary Sinitic has an unmistakable 37  With thanks to Timothy Wixted for the translation. The original reads: Monkō shōjō toshite yashoku kanashiku, もんこうしょうじょう

やしょくかな

門巷蕭條夜色悲 門 巷 蕭 條 として夜色悲しく  Kyūryū no koe getsuzen no eda ni ari. きゅうりゅう こえげつぜん

えだ

あ

鵂鶹聲在月前枝 鵂 鶹 の聲月前の枝に在り Tare ka awareman kochō no kankei no moto ni たれ

あわ

こちょう

かんけい

もと

誰憐孤帳寒檠下  誰か憐れまん孤帳の寒檠の下に Hakuhatsu no ishin no Soji o yomeru o. はくはつ

いしん

そ じ

よ

白髪遺臣讀楚辭  白髪の遺臣の楚辭を讀めるを 38  Qu Yuan 屈原 (343–278 BCE).

*  Physician (goten’i 御典医); Bureau of Medicine (Ten’yakuryō 典藥寮). †  Yōrōkan 養老館.

136

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Figure 15 Diary of a Westbound Voyage (Kōsei nikki)

137

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

presence in his oeuvre. In addition, Nagai Kafū looked up to Ōgai as a teacher and admired him throughout his life. In fact, his Compendium of Stories from Shitaya is a work within which Kafū emulated Ōgai’s style of historical biography to memorialize Ōgai. In that sense, drawing a genealogy from Mori Ōgai to Nagai Kafū is a meaningful exercise. The passage quoted below begins at the end of the second line in Figure 15.39 In any case, to understand what literature meant to Ōgai, it is useful to look at his works before he gained fame as a “Literary Giant.”* At the starting point of our inquiry is his Literary Sinitic poetry. After graduating from the University of Tokyo, Mori Ōgai (born Mori Rintarō) traveled to Germany in 1884 to study in the capacity of a military physician. He kept records of his journey to Germany in his Diary of a Westbound Voyage,† a travelogue written in Literary Sinitic that also reveals the reason for his decision to study abroad. The passage below was written by him in Literary Sinitic when he was in his twenties: My original ambition was to study in the West after graduating from university. Inasmuch as modern medical science comes from the West, even if one reads the literature and can recite its contents, unless one treads upon its soil in person, one’s efforts are but a case of “A letter from Ying getting misinterpreted in Yan.” So it was in 1881 (Meiji 14) that, unworthy as I am, I was conferred a medical degree, at which time I composed the following poem:40 39  Cited from Kawaguchi Hisao, Bakumatsu Meiji kaigai taiken shishū (Daitō bunka daigaku Tōyō kenkyūjō, 1984). 40  Unpublished translation (and four accompanying footnotes) courtesy of John Timothy Wixted. Cf. renderings by Nakai Yoshiyuki, “The Young Mori Ōgai (1862–1892)” (Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard University, 1974), 65; and Richard John Bowring, Mori Ōgai and the Modernization of Japanese Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), 9. The original poem reads as follows: Isshō su na wa yū ni shite shitsu wa kaette sen naru o いっしょう

な

ゆう

しつ

かえっ

せん

一笑名優質却孱 一 笑す 名は優にして質は却て 孱なるを Izen to shite kotai ginken o sobiyakasu いぜん

こたい

ぎんけん

そび

依然古態聳吟肩 依然として古態 吟肩を聳やかす Hana o mite wazukani oboyu shinkanji はな

み

わず

おぼ

しんかんじ

觀花僅覺眞歡事 花を觀て 僅かに覺ゆ 眞歡事 Tō ni dai suru mo tare ni ka hokoran saishōnen とう

だい

たれ

ほこ

さいしょうねん

題塔誰誇最少年 塔に題するも 誰にか誇らん 最 少 年

*  “Literary giant” (bungō 文豪).

†  Kōsei nikki 航西日記.

138

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What a laugh, a great actor, but in substance weak: Still the same pose, shoulders raised, blithely reciting poems.41 Out flower-viewing with classmates, he feels little true enjoyment; What matter that, among those “inscribed on the stupa,” he can boast of being youngest?42 He only knows: he feels shame (for placing low in his class) at being the “ox behind” Master Su warned of, One who, for no good reason, let Friend Ti (his classmate Miura) “apply the whip first” (and finish at the top of the class—to be rewarded with further study in Europe).43 Tada sosei no gyūgo o hajiru o shiru mo た

そせい

ぎゅうご

は

し

唯識蘇牲愧牛後 唯だ蘇生の牛後を愧じるを識るも Munashiku ateki o shite bensen o chakuseshimu むな

あてき

べんせん

ちゃく

空敎阿逖着鞭先 空しく阿逖をして鞭先を着せしむ Kōkō to shite imada kujikezu yūhi no shi こうこう

いま

くじ

ゆうひ

し

昻昻未折雄飛志 昻昻として未だ折けず 雄飛の志 Yume wa chōfū ni gasu banri no fune ゆめ

ちょうふう

が

ばんり

ふね

夢駕長風萬里舟 夢は長風に駕す 萬里の船 41  Ōgai is saying that with his prestigious degree he can now call himself a doctor. But behind the mask he really is “in substance weak.” In a poem of the previous year, he had similarly spoken of his academic achievement in sardonically disparaging terms: “精神廿年空突屹.” Seishin nijūnen munashiku tokkitsu su. “Twenty years’ intense application—such ‘majestic soaring’ for nought,” and referring to a kind of play-acting on his part in his early years: “I feel ashamed at how, cockily confident of my talent, I counted on my age [to impress and show up others]” 羞我負才又恃齡 (Hazu ware no sai o tanomi mata yowai o tanomu o 羞我負才又恃齡). 42  The reference here is to drinking parties under flower blossoms that would take place after examination results were posted at the end of the school year. Ōgai was unable to enjoy his graduation outing, out of disappointment at finishing eighth in his class of twenty-eight—not as one of the top two who were sent to Europe. Successful examination candidates in the Tang dynasty were said to have inscribed their names on a stupa in the most famous temple of Xi’an. Ōgai poses the rhetorical question, among my cohort who was the youngest? He was, of course. But the achievement gives him little satisfaction, for his heart had been set on being sent to Germany, a hope now dashed. The ironic stance is confirmed in the next couplet. 43  “Master Su” refers to Su Qin 蘇秦 (380–284 BCE), a Spring and Autumn Period strategist who warned the king of Han not to give allegiance to the expanding state of Qin 秦, saying, “Better to be a chicken’s mouth, not an ox’s behind” (寧 爲鶏口､無爲牛後). “Friend Ti” alludes to Zu Ti 祖逖, close companion of Liu Kun 劉琨 (270–317). (“Friend” approximates the prefix expressing familiarity.)

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

Loftily proud yet unbending, with aspirations of heroic flight, He dreams of mounting the long wind on a ten thousand-league ship.44 My spirit was already flying over the banks of the Elbe River. But before long, I was appointed an army physician and became attached to medical headquarters. Marking time and feeling put upon, for three years I drowned in ledgers, reports, memos, and letters. Then came this trip. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t contain the joy inside me. 11

Mori Ōgai’s Self-Consciousness

Mori Ōgai composed the poem above upon his graduation from the University of Tokyo (which was yet to become an Imperial University) in July of 1881; it is a perfect example of how Ōgai’s sense of selfhood was formed within the Literary Sinitic Context. Regardless of how we should understand the latter half of his poem, the first four lines, which illustrate the core of his self-consciousness, have been the subject of various interpretations. For now I refrain from discussing the details. Some proposed that “a name outstanding” meant “famous actor [or entertainer].” Disagreements followed and elicited further disagreements with those disagreements—a rather vociferous debate. We have reliable annotations and translations of Mori Ōgai’s Literary Sinitic poetry in the multi-volume Collected History and Literature of Ōgai.45 The following is a prose paraphrase of the opening two couplets. “Doctor of medicine” may be splendid as a title; but being physically weak, I’m still the same laughing-stock. After graduation, much in the way I did before, I go on reciting Literary Sinitic poetry. The official history of the time records that Liu “was ever fearful that Master Zu would ‘apply the whip first’ [i.e., get a jump on him in career advancement]” (常恐祖生先吾著鞭). Zu Ti is a reference to Ōgai’s classmate, Miura Moriharu, discussed below. 44  Ōgai’s aspirations remain grand, his dream intact of making the journey to Europe that would crown his earlier achievement and lead to further triumph. 45  Volumes 12 and 13 (2000–1), Kanshi 漢詩, annotated and edited by Kotajima Yōsuke 古田島洋介 (in the 13-volume Iwanami shoten series, Ōgai rekishi bungakushū 鷗外歷史文學集).

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But out flower-viewing (as was customary among successful examination candidates in China who would banquet under apricot blossoms), I can at last feel joy well up inside. After all, among the graduates who is the youngest? (I am.) The line Izen to shite kotai ginken o sobiyakasu46 is here paraphrased as “After graduation, much in the way I did before, I go on reciting Literary Sinitic poetry.” The phrase ginken o sobiyakasu refers to kanshi recitation, explicated as “to straighten one’s shoulders and recite poetry.” Gin is a prefix attached to nouns linked to recitation: as here, where the poet straightens his “poetry-reciting shoulders.”47 One might note that in the second of Zhu Xi’s “Two Poems Dedicated to “Refuting the ‘Invitation to Hiding’” by Liu Mingyuan and Song Zifei,”48 the second line reads: “There is nothing to prevent raising our ‘poetry-reciting shoulders’ (i.e., reciting poems) together at leisure.”49 Some commentators have argued that this type of recitation connotes raising one’s voice in heroic style. A case in point is Kojima Noriyuki’s The Weight of Words (Kotoba no omomi, 1984), where the Ōgai passage is interpreted along the lines of “I, as before, in the stalwart style of an unlettered rube, raise my shoulders and let loose in loud song, all the time taking long strides.” The expression sobiyakasu (to raise up or thrust upright) may conjure up something along the lines just outlined, but Ōgai’s expression in fact goes with the first line of the poem by Zhu Xi cited above: “Glory or shame, adversity or success—they are but mere chance”; in other words, whether one’s career advances or is thwarted, is simply fate.50 Since Zhu Xi includes “at leisure” when referring to “poetry-writing shoulders,” Kojima’s interpretation of the Ōgai line seems misguided.

46  依然古態聳吟肩. 47  And Ōgai in another kanshi speaks of treading distant mountains in “poetryreciting sandals” 吟鞋 (gin’ai). 48  次劉明遠宋子飛反招隠韻二首. 49  未妨関共釜吟肩. Liu Mingyuan and Song Zifei are personal names. The phrase “Refuting the ‘Invitation to Reclusion’” alludes to a poem by Wang Kangju 王康琚 (ca. 400) of Jin 晉. For a translation by Burton Watson, see Columbia Book of Chinese Poetry: From Early Times to the Thirteenth Century (New York: Columbia University Press, 1984), 175. 50  榮醜窮通祇偶然.

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Similarly, Su Shi of the Southern Song once wrote a poem entitled “Presented to the ‘Flourishing Talent’ He Chong,”51 containing the lines, Also, have you not seen Meng Haoran riding a donkey in the snow, Brows knit as he recites poetry, his shoulders thrust-up mountains? 又不見雪中騎驢孟浩然 You bu jian xue zhong qi lu Meng Haoran 皺尾吟詩肩聳山 Zhou wei yin shi jian song shan

Meng Haoran52 is described as being removed from the world, immersed in poetry—precisely what Mori Ōgai was trying to communicate about himself. To provide some additional information, Meng Haoran was a poet from the High Tang period (712–762). He never entered officialdom and spent his life in seclusion. His poems are favorably recited in Japan. The phrase “In spring I sleep, unaware that dawn has broken”53 is from one of his poems. If we interpret Ōgai’s words in the second line in the above way, its relationship with the phrase in the first line becomes clearer. His newly attained title upon graduation from university was the rather grandsounding “bachelor of arts,” but he had a weak constitution by nature— the weakness here seems to be metaphorical, rather than physical. That is, the substance of his degree was in fact not as impressive as it seemed. After all, his graduation did not lead to a career as a government bureaucrat and as a result, he is back to reciting poetry just as he was prior to earning his university degree. 12

The Framework of Official Career vs. Reclusion*

Seeing him in such a state, dedicated readers of Mori Ōgai’s works might be reminded of the following passage from the opening of his Biography of Hōjō Katei:54 51  Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–1101), “Presented to the ‘Flourishing Talent’ He Chong” (Zeng xiezhen He Chong xiucai 贈寫眞何充秀才). 52  Meng Haoran 孟浩然 (689–740). 53  Shunmin akatsuki o oboezu. しゅんみん あかつき おぼ

春眠不覺曉 春 眠 暁 を覚えず 54  In Japanese the work is simply Hōjō Katei 北条霞亭 (1917).

*  Official career (shi 仕) vs. reclusion (in 隠).

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*  Hekizan 碧山.

Chapter 4

When Katei was thirty-two years old, having completed his studies but yet to enter officialdom, he moved into a place in Saga, bringing along his younger brother Hekizan.* His circumstances were like those of someone found in the biographies of recluses among the Chinese classics.55 I, too, when I graduated from university at a young age entertained such a dream in my heart, thinking this was only an ideal and something impossible to realize in practice. I only paid lip service to it, without making it happen. Who was this Katei? He was someone who actually dared to do it. Upon his graduation in July, what Ōgai had desired most was an opportunity to study abroad as a government official. Miura Moriharu, who graduated at the top of his class, and Takahashi Juntarō,56 who graduated as the second best next to Miura, were pretty much assured appointments as physicians and the opportunity to study abroad. Soon the two were commissioned by the Ministry of Education to study in Germany, both with promises of professorial positions at the University of Tokyo upon their return. By contrast, Ōgai ranked eighth in his class and had to wait, with high hopes of still becoming an overseas student, until November of that year for the government’s release of the list of other individuals to be given the opportunity. Unfortunately, Ōgai’s hopes proved to be wishful thinking and he joined the army as a military physician, rather against his will. During this period, Ōgai’s status was unsettled in that, much like Katei, he was in the state of “having finished his studies but yet to enter officialdom.” Uncertain as to whether he would ever attain his goal of entering officialdom, he immersed himself in reading books along with his brother Tokujirō.57 When we consider that his poem in Diary of a Westbound Voyage originates from the context described just above, we can gain a clearer understanding of the deeper meaning of “ginken o sobiyakasu.” To recapitulate: the fact that tensions between public vs. private or careerism vs. reclusion function as frameworks in Ōgai’s writings results 55  “Biographies of recluses” is a subdivision of classical Chinese historical texts such as the Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji) and Former Han History (Hanshu) written in the annals and biographies style (J. kiden tai 紀伝体). Other examples of biography subdivisions include “Biographies of cruel officials” and (Ch. Kuli zhuan 酷吏傳) and “Biographies of good officials” (Ch. Liangli zhuan 良吏傳). 56  Miura Moriharu 三浦守治 (1857–1916) and Takahashi Juntarō 高橋順太郎 (1856–1920). 57  Tokujirō 篤次郎 (1867–1908).

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

from his learning and internalizing the Literary Sinitic Context as inscribed in Literary Sinitic poetry. The same framework can be seen in operation in a poem that Ōgai sent to Itō Magoichi,58 a fellow student from his hometown who was unable to finish his studies and was forced to return home. Possibly written in the early summer of 1880, this poem by Ōgai is for a friend who has failed to fulfil his wishes and returns home, and alludes to Dong Zhongshu’s withdrawal from public office and Jia Yi’s59 frustrations at the hands of Emperor Wen of Han: [Lines 33–34] Scholar Dong embraced a sharp knife; Master Jia wrote of the dread owl.60 In another couplet, the lines [Lines 41–42] Men of high aspiration can be content as fishermen and woodcutters, And the heroic find company with deer61 speak of talented people remaining in the wilderness. Elsewhere in the poem, he appeals to those in hiding to come out into the world again after they have regained their will, using phrases such as 58  Itō Magoichi 伊藤孫一 (1862–1936). 59  Dong Zhongshu 董仲舒 (179–104 BCE) and Jia Yi 賈誼 (200–169 BCE). 60  That is to say, even while out of office, Dong Zhongshu wrote biting political commentary. And upon meeting adversity, Jia Yi wrote his famous rhapsody on the owl, which discusses the incomprehensibility of fate. Ōgai is saying that his friend as well, though now back in their shared hometown (in the “wilderness,” as it were), can still make a major contribution—a point repeated in the two quotations from the poem cited below. (Translation and footnote courtesy of John Timothy Wixted.) Tōsei wa ritō o daki とうせい

り とう

だ

か し

き ふく

ふ

董生抱利刀 董生は利刀を抱き  Kashi wa kifuku o fusu 賈子賦忌鵬 賈子は忌鵬を賦す  61  Shishi wa gyoshō ni amanji し し

ぎょしょう あま

志士甘漁樵 志士は漁樵に甘んじ Eiyū wa biroku o tomonau えいゆう

び ろく

ともな

英雄伴麋鹿 英雄は麋鹿を伴う

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[Lines 115–118] Though you now live amid mountains and woods, Best to set your heart’s desire on breaking new ground. I await word that the “dragon (you with your talents) has obtained its cloud (its natural medium),” And of a sudden has emerged from hill and hollow.62 13

Exaggerated Rhetoric

Such exaggerated rhetoric, of course, follows precedents in the Literary Sinitic tradition. Comparing oneself or others to the ancients is a way of asserting one’s own or others’ position within history and society. As I have mentioned previously, Chinzan likened himself to the Chinese poets Li Bai and Liu Ling. Young Ōgai compares his friend with scholarbureaucrats of the past: namely, “men of high aspiration” and “the heroic.” But at the same time he develops a consciousness of self and a feeling of uplift, where the one dedicating the poem, himself, becomes linked to such past figures. Even though the uplift expressed smacks of misappropriated cliché tinged with the hyperbolic, it was an important impetus to Ōgai’s composing kanshi. Undeniably, the poem reflects the sincere affection of one deeply committed to his friend. And it is likely that the recipient, moved by the same sense of uplift as the sender, did indeed return to their hometown. But because of the poem, the return home was not a mere return home. To return to his poem in Diary of a Westbound Voyage, the reason Ōgai wrote the lines Out flower-viewing with classmates, he feels little true enjoyment;

62   Sanrin no naka ni aru to iedomo さんりん

なか

あ

えいど

雖在山林中 山林の中に在ると雖も Shinkyō yoroshiku kaitaku subeshi しんきょうよろ

かいたく

心胸宜開拓 心 胸 宜しく開拓すべし。 Ware wa matsu ryū no kumo o ete われ

ま

りゅう

くも

え

我竢龍得雲 我は竢つ龍の雲を得て Ikkyo ni kyūgaku o izuru o い っきょきゅうがく

い

一挙出邱壑 一挙に邱壑を出づるを

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

What matter that, among those “inscribed on the stupa,” he can boast of being youngest?63 must be because he saw a certain parallel between his graduation from university and the civil service examination. Regardless of their actual curricula, universities at that time were reminiscent of the civil service examination in that both institutions attracted brilliant students from all over the country—of course, were we to look at East Asia at that time, the examinations were still in operation in Qing China, Chosŏn Korea, and Vietnam. Achieving consciousness of self through acquiring skills in Literary Sinitic poetry and prose, too, had a stronger presence in reality during Meiji than it did in the early modern era. And the second line, 題塔誰誇最少年—translated above as “What matter that, among those ‘inscribed on the stupa,’ he can boast of being youngest?”—has typically been glossed through kundoku as Tō ni daishite tare ka hokoran saishōnen: “Inscribed on the stupa, who can boast to be the youngest?” The paraphrase into modern Japanese cited earlier renders the line, “After all, among the graduates who is the youngest? (I am.).” However, as the kundoku reading that I have supplied (“tō ni daisuru mo tare ni ka hokoran saishōnen”) suggests, the line is better understood to mean “even though my name is inscribed on the stupa, toward whom can I take pride in being the youngest?” It is common in Sinitic poetry for the expression 誰誇, just like 向誰誇 or 爲誰誇 (“to whom can [I] brag about [being the youngest]?” or “on whose account might [one] brag about [being the youngest]?”) to convey a feeling of emptiness: “what use is it to be able to brag (about being the youngest)?” In the couplet, 誰誇 is parallel with the 僅覺 (wazuka ni oboyu, “scarcely feels”) of the preceding line: 觀花僅覺眞歡事, “Out flower-viewing with classmates, he feels little (‘scarcely feels’) true enjoyment.” The reserve in the one line, implied in “scarcely,” seems to lead to the rhethorical “who?” of the next. The point is, the couplet expresses Ōgai’s frustration at being in an in-between state—neither in government service nor removed from it. However, this frustration does not crush him, as he closes the poem by writing Loftily proud yet unbending, with aspirations of heroic flight, He dreams of mounting the long wind on a ten thousand-league ship. 63  觀花僅覺眞歡事 H  ana o mite wazuka ni oboyu shinkanji 題塔誰誇最少年 Tō ni daisuru mo tare ni ka hokoran saishōnen

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Two years later when first quoting this poem in Kōsei nikki, Ōgai added, “My spirit was already flying over the banks of the Elbe River.” In other words, at the later date when his longed for wish to study abroad in Germany was being realized and he felt irrepressible joy, he could cite the poem relating how he felt at the time of his graduation. Thus far we have discussed a single poem in some depth. Although it may have seemed unnecessarily complex, this close reading helps us better understand how deeply connected Mori Ōgai’s composition of Literary Sinitic poetry was with his self-portraiture and selfrepresentation, much as it was for Mori Shuntō and Ōnuma Chinzan. To be sure, a tendency to express oneself through metaphor, comparing oneself to the literati of the past, or through fictionalization, was fostered in kanshi composition. Soon, not only in poetry but in fiction as well, Mori Ōgai would begin to experiment at taking his own measure through the free use of metaphor and invention. “The Dancing Girl,”64 which he released in January of 1890, about one year after his return to Japan in September of 1888, is a case in point. 14

The Motif of “The Dancing Girl” (Maihime)

That the hunt for the actual model behind Ōgai’s “The Dancing Girl” is still going on suggests that the novel must have a certain connection with his experience as an overseas student. There is overlap between the protagonist Ōta Toyotarō and Mori Ōgai, while Elise is a real person. It is already well known that there was a German woman who followed Ōgai to Tokyo. What I wish to discuss here, however, is not the corroboration of factual information in the story; nor am I interested in the story’s unique style of writing or technical sophistication. Rather, I am interested in the structure that sustains the work as a whole. Let me show this by following the protagonist: Thanks to a very strict education at home since childhood, my studies lacked nothing, despite the fact that I had lost my father at an early age. When I studied at the school in my former fief, and in the preparatory course for the university in Tokyo, and later in the Faculty of Law, the name Ōta Toyotarō was always at the top of 64   Maihime 舞姫, a short story first published in 1890 in Kokumin no tomo.

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

the list. Thus, no doubt, I brought some comfort to my mother who had found in me, her only child, the strength to go through life.65 The protagonist was born in late Edo, studied at a school in preparation for university in Tokyo, and was entering university at the top of his class; this all evokes Ōgai, and many people have noted the parallels between the work’s hero and the author. Here, let us also note that the story portrays a typical early-Meiji young man who wishes to acquire learning in order to become a government official. The layering of ambition with filial piety for his mother can be seen as a common aspect of the discourse on success and advancement in life. At nineteen I received my degree and was praised for having achieved greater honor than had any other student since the founding of the university. I joined a government department and spent three pleasant years in Tokyo with my mother, whom I had called up from the country. Being especially high in the estimation of the head of my department, I was then given orders to travel to Europe and study matters connected with my particular section. Stirred by the thought that now I had the opportunity to make my name and raise my family fortunes, I was not too sorry to leave even my mother, although she was over fifty. So it was that I left home far behind and arrived in Berlin.66 Toyotarō’s journey from Tokyo to Berlin indicates the elevation of his status to government official, as clearly seen in his remark “make my name and raise my family fortunes.” What appears just after the excerpt above reads: “I had the vague hope of accomplishing great feats and was used to working hard under pressure. But suddenly here I was, standing in the middle of this most modern of European capitals.” This statement, too, illustrates that the protagonist is a man oriented to career success and goal-driven learning. However, Toyotarō does not stay that way. First of all, if he did, the story would not work. After about three years had passed since moving from Japan, he distances himself from the former man of diligence.

65  Richard Bowring, “Maihime (The Dancing Girl): Translation and Background,” Monumenta Nipponica 30, no. 2 (Summer 1975), 152. 66  Ibid., 152.

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My mother, I thought to myself, had tried to make me into a walking dictionary, and my department head had tried to turn me into a living legal regulation. The former I might just be able to stand, but the latter was out of the question. Up to then I had answered him with scrupulous care even in quite trifling matters, but from that time on, I often argued in my reports that one should not be bothered with petty legal details. Once a person grasped the spirit of the law, I grandly said, everything would solve itself. In the university I abandoned the law lectures, and became more interested in history and literature. I found I was in my element (literally, “gradually entering a [wondrous] state of chewing sugarcane”)!67 *  Ikitaru jōrei 活きたる 条例.

†  Zennyū kakyō 漸入佳境.

‡  The Commen­ tary of Zuo on the Spring and Autumn Annals (Ch. Chunqiu zuoshi zhuan, J. Shunjū sashiden 春秋左 氏傳) and Discourses of the States (Ch. Guoyu, J. Kokugo 國語).

Finding the expectation to live as a living “legal regulation”* unbearable, he speaks to his boss about the spirit of the law and gradually moves away from law lectures, becoming “more interested in history and literature.” When he writes, “I found I was in my element!” he compares his pleasure to the increasing sweetness one experiences when chewing sugarcane, which in the context evokes the phrase, “gradually entering a wondrous state.”† History and literature, as the things that led him to experience the most pleasant of states, contradicted his diligence and drive for name and fame. If the law is a practical kind of learning for a bureaucrat, does that mean that history and literature are not? Literature here probably encompasses philosophy. In which case, the contrast here refers to that between the faculty of law and the faculty of letters. “History and literature” is being used here as something akin to the Literary Sinitic learning of the past. In this regard, “literature” for Natsume Sōseki meant the collection of canonical Chinese historical texts such as the Commentary of Zuo on the Spring and Autumn Annals, Discourses of the States,‡ Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji), and Former Han History (Hanshu). Although we have glanced through just the beginning of the work, the motif of “The Dancing Girl” is abundantly clear. It is not difficult to see the overlap between the “law” and “history and literature” paradigms and the two contrasting aspects of the Literary Sinitic Context—i.e., the mentality of scholar-officials vs. that of the literatus, or politics vs. literature. Our protagonist Ōta Toyotarō oscillates between the two.

67  Ibid., 153 (modified).

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

15

The Origins of Renown and Diligent Study*

Stories centered on the quest for fame and honor and the hardships that protagonists must overcome to attain them have their origins in the socalled “Scholar and Beauty”† genre of Chinese fiction, which goes back to “tales of the strange”‡ of the Tang period. For example, in Bai Xingjian’s “Tale of Li Wa,”68 the protagonist—a candidate preparing for the civil service examination—visits the Tang capital of Chang’an, where he falls in love with a courtesan named Li Wa. As a result, he squanders all his money, falls into poverty, and encounters life-threatening dangers that force him to work as a professional mourner and reduce him to a beggar. Later, the protagonist reunites with Li Wa, who decides to turn over a new leaf by dedicating her life to her lover, and through her dedication, the protagonist is able to resume his preparations for the examination; he successfully passes, gains honor and prosperity, and marries Li Wa. Considering the details of the plot, the protagonist’s position is typical of “Scholar and Beauty” fiction. Another famous story is the “Tale of Yingying” by the Tang-era writer Yuan Zhen.69 Yingying, a daughter of the Cui family, has both talent and beauty. While traveling, a young man by the name of Zhang chances upon the Cui family and rescues them from a calamity. As a result, Zhang and Yingying fall in love. Zhang sets off on a journey to Chang’an for the civil service examination, but when he fails to pass the examination the first time, he lingers in the capital and eventually forgets Yingying. After one year, Yingying marries another man while Zhang marries another woman, the daughter of a high-ranking official. Many years later, Zhang happens to pass by Yingying’s house and makes his wish to see Yingying known to her family by identifying himself as Yingying’s cousin, but Yingying refuses to see him. These two works were not only popular during the Tang but inspired many similar stories later. The “Tale of Yingying” becomes the famous Yuan-era drama Tale of the Western Wing,** in which the love between Cui and Zhang is fulfilled. After the Ming period (1368–1644), such fictional narratives emerged as “Scholar and Beauty” fictional narratives with many variations. Of 68  Bai Xingjian’s 白行簡 (776–826) “Tale of Li Wa” (Ch. Li Wa zhuan, J. Riaden 李娃傳). 69  “Tale of Yingying” (Ch. Yingying zhuan, J. Ōō den 鶯鶯傳) by Yuan Zhen 元稹 (799–831).

149 *  Honor, fame, renown (kōmyō 功 名) and perseverance, diligence (especially in one’s studies); adversities or tribulations overcome in the quest for success (benkyō 勉強). †  Ch. caizi jiaren, J. saishi kajin 才子 佳人. ‡  Ch. chuanqi 傳奇.

** Ch. Xixiangji, J. Seishōki 西廂記.

150

*  Government and people (kan 官 and min 民) or “in power” and “out of power” (chō 朝 and ya 野).

Chapter 4

course, the basic plot structure that juxtaposes a talented man soon to take the examinations and a beauty with a taste for the arts remained the same. Toyotarō is far more studious than the protagonists of Chinese “Scholar and Beauty” fiction, in keeping with the temporal background of the Meiji period. It goes without saying that Elise appears in “The Dancing Girl” as the beauty: “Alas, what evil fate brought her to my lodging to thank me? She looked so beautiful there standing by the window where I used to sit reading all day long surrounded by the works of Schopenhauer and Schiller.”70 Toyotarō is no longer a “man of the law.” Avidly reading Schopenhauer (1788–1860) and Schiller (1759–1805) rather than his law books, he has transitioned from the world of the shijin (scholar-official) to that of the bunjin (literatus). Parallel with this transformation, he is laid off from his government office and finds work at a newspaper company as a correspondent. We may see in this change the contrast between the “government” and the “people,” or between those “in office” and those “out of office.”* It is plain to see that this juxtaposition is only a slight modification of the framework of public vs. private worlds. When an opportunity arrives for Toyotarō to make his comeback as a bureaucrat, Elise pleads, “If you do become rich and famous, you’ll never leave me, will you?” To this, Toyotarō firmly replies, “What! Rich and famous? I lost the desire to enter politics years ago.”71 In the end, his assertion proves to be empty words, but there is no doubt that the scene nonetheless illustrates in a very traditional manner of expression that he was in a place of withdrawal from the world. Thinking little of wealth and honour is the worldview of a recluse. To that is added a beautiful flower in the form of a woman. Can we detect a connection between this image and the poems by Mori Shuntō, who took such delight in luxuriant sensuality? 16

Romantic Love as the Antithesis of Politics

Literary critics of the period wasted no time in noticing this framework. As I have already mentioned in Chapter 3 with respect to the “What Intersects with Life Debate,” the critique by Ishibashi Ningetsu of “The Dancing Girl” is famous: “The primary thrust of “The Dancing Girl” deals 70  Bowring, “Maihime,” 156. 71  Bowring, “Maihime,” 160.

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

with the irreconcilable difference between romantic love and ambition.* It reveals the connections between such a situation and an individual who is timid, fearful, and kind, but lacking courage and autonomy.” Ningetsu adds to this excerpt, “To summarize, the author makes Ōta choose ambition over romance. However, I am convinced that he should have chosen romance and forsaken ambition.” The juxtaposition of ambition and romance is none other than that of politics vs. literature that materializes in “The Dancing Girl” as the contrast between “legal regulation” and “history and literature.”† What I would like to remind us of here is that history and literature is seen as belonging in the private world along with romance. The contrast of careerism and romantic love, too, is also found within the conventions of the Literary Sinitic Context. In juxtaposing the private and public worlds, I have argued that the former is concerned with tranquility and sentimentality. Here, sentimentality often verges on romantic love. It was certainly so in the case of Bai Juyi’s and Mori Shuntō’s poetry. One need hardly mention that the same applies to Nagai Kafū’s poetry. Japanese Literary Sinitic poetry of the late early modern period (mid-eighteenth to mid-nineteenth century) contains many poems about beauties and courtesans. Such poems often introduce portraits of women who are frequently described in fiction. For those who were (or aspired to emulate) scholar-officials, such poems freed them from the public world. Tao Yuanming, too, sang of feminine beauty in his “Rhapsody on Stilling the Emotions.”72 Reclusion and women may seem a difficult combination; however, if we remind ourselves that women, especially courtesans, occupied a space outside the public world, the combination is quite understandable. Ishibashi Ningetsu’s advocacy was for both romance and literature. In early modern Japanese literature outside of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose, it was an extremely common motif for romance to run up against the obstacles of social constraints. But the protagonists of such fictional narratives were rarely scholar-bureaucrats, nor could they be easily associated with the protagonist of “The Dancing Girl.” Moreover, to Toyotarō, obstacles were merely obstacles whereas the “the life of a government official” was something that he did not desire for himself. Obstacles are external factors and thus differ from ambition or romance, which are internal drives. 72  Ch. Xianqing fu 閑情賦.

151 *  Romantic love (ren’ai 恋愛) versus ambition, careerism, honor, fame (kōmyō 功名). †  Rekishi bungaku 歴史文学.

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However, sentimentality within the Literary Sinitic Context, just like romantic liaisons with courtesans, was not something one strove to realize at the expense of a successful career. There is an immense difference between sentimentality within the Literary Sinitic Context and romance as championed by Ningetsu. And therein, I believe, lies the trigger that made possible the establishment of modern literature. Even in the Tang genre of “tales of the strange” discussed here, the scholar protagonist goes on to pass the civil service examination, even if it means abandoning his lover. Will he secure both renown and the girl, or leave the girl behind in the realm of sentimentality? Even should he withdraw from the world, his decision depends on his own determination, so when he falls for a woman, criticism from the world around him rains down on him in torrents. This is what Toyotarō fears. “The Dancing Girl” is not a story of romance but of sentimentality. However, Ningetsu asserts that if one is forced to choose between the two, one ought to choose romance, making the point that a man of independent spirit would make such a decision. To put things in simple terms, it seems that while Ōgai did not write “The Dancing Girl”as a modern work of fiction, Ningetsu presumed that he had. The transition from sentimentality to romantic love means the elevation of romantic love to the level of fame, honor, and distinction in the public realm. In other words, to elevate the position of romantic love calls for the juxtaposition of romantic love and careerism. But “The Dancing Girl” is cast in the code of sentimentality. When an opportunity to return to the path of career success presents itself to Ōta Toyotarō, his lips accept it but his heart tells him he shall not abandon Elise; ultimately, he wanders in the snow and loses consciousness. He is unable to choose romantic love. But the times were increasingly inclined to romantic love. Proclaiming “Romantic love is the secret of life. Love comes first, and then human life” in his “Disillusioned Poets and Women,”73 Kitamura Tōkoku spearheaded this new era.

73  “Ensei shiika to josei” 厭世詩歌と女性, published in the journal Josei zasshi 女性雜誌 in 1871 by Kitamura Tōkoku 北村透谷 (1868–1894), a poet, essayist and founder of romanticism in modern Japanese literature.

When Did the “ Modern ” Begin in Japanese Literature ?

17

The Reorganization of “Literature”

This chapter has discussed how the public vs. private binary within the Literary Sinitic Context before the modern period persisted in the Meiji period as a structure of dual focal points. I have also tried to show how, at the same time, the contents of what constituted the public vs. private binary changed significantly. Literature—which formerly had straddled the public and private worlds—underwent a restructuring and became something that pivoted around the private world, thereby shifting from learning (gakumon) to belles lettres (bungei), forming the very core of modern literature. This chapter has tried to highlight the beginnings of this change. Moreover, by analyzing the debates surrounding Mori Ōgai’s “The Dancing Girl” (Maihime), we were able to understand that the transition from sentimentality to romance was moving toward the sacralization of the latter rather than toward an equilibrium between the public and the private. Mori Shuntō concentrated on the private world in his poetic composition while achieving balance with the public world in his actions. We can say the same thing of Mori Ōgai. For Ōgai, fictional writing was part of the private world, something with which he could correct the imbalance brought about by his public life as an army physician. For both of them, Literary Sinitic poetry was the vehicle by which they could express their emotions; that neither of them shied away from exchanging poetry with politicians suggests that they were the type of scholar-officials who thought it important to maintain balance between the public and the private worlds. By contrast, Ōnuma Chinzan and Nagai Kafū were people of the bunjin mentality who immersed themselves in the private world and turned their back on the outside world. What about Kitamura Tōkoku or Ishibashi Ningetsu? They were the type who used the private world of the Literary Sinitic Context as a stepping stone to reorganize it. And therein lies the trigger that made possible the establishment of modern literature. In the following chapters, I will continue to explore how the Literary Sinitic Context was reorganized and what relationship it maintained with the establishment of Japanese modern literature.

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Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic: China as the Land of Romantic Love and Revolution 1 *  “Sentiment” (kanshō 感 傷) and “romantic love” (ren’ai 恋愛).

†  Tsūzoku mono 通俗もの.

The Position of Novels in the Early Modern Period

One characteristic of the establishment of modern literature is the move from “sentiment” to “romantic love.”* The same move is connected to a re-centering of literature around novels that take romantic love as their primary topic. In any case, the context created by materials in Literary Sinitic is an important turning point in the shift to the modern period. As explained when contextualizing “The Dancing Girl” within the genre of “Scholar and Beauty” fictional narratives, although one aspect of this shift is reflected in theme and literary construction, the genre into which the modern novel would develop must also be considered from the viewpoint of the Literary Sinitic Context. First, we should examine the position of the novel. In the early modern period, Literary Sinitic poetry and prose, as well as fiction from China, created a new current for the Literary Sinitic context. Water Margin, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, and other long novels written in baihua “literary vernacular” Chinese were widely read through a type of translation genre known as “popularizations.”† Further, it is well-established that late Ming short vernacular story collections like Wonders of the Present and the Past contributed motifs to the early modern novels of Tsuga Teishō and Ueda Akinari, and that San’yūtei Enchō’s ghost story “The Peony Lantern” is based on “Record of the Peony Lantern” from the early Ming literary story collection New Tales to Trim the Lamp By via the adaptations of Asai Ryōi and Ueda Akinari.1 1  Wonders of the Present and the Past ( Jingu qiguan 今古奇観, ca. 1640); Tsuga Teishō 都賀庭鐘 (1718–1795); Ueda Akinari 上田秋成 (1734–1809); San’yūtei Enchō’s 三遊 亭円朝 (1839–1900) The Peony Lantern (Botan dōrō 牡丹燈籠, 1886); “Record of the Peony Lantern” (Mudan deng ji 牡丹燈記); New Tales to Trim the Lamp By (Jiandeng xinhua 剪燈新話, 1378); Asai Ryōi 浅井了意 (1612–1691) and Ueda Akinari上田 秋成 (1734–1809). See Fumiko Jōo, “The Peony Lantern” and Fantastic Tales in Late

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004436947_007

Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic

These Chinese baihua texts have a less formal style than works in more orthodox Literary Sinitic. For example, they frequently use auxiliary characters that would not be used in formal writing, such as de 的, indicating subordination, or le 了 indicating the perfective. Novels written in this style, like the aforementioned Water Margin and Romance of the Three Kingdoms, were often quite long, and their authors’ identities frequently unknown. Such vernacular novels in China had an intimate connection with street performances and public readings. As in television dramas, numerous “episodes,” each with at least one unique climax, were strung together into a longer series, with “tellings” happening once a day. In order to pique the audience’s interest, the raconteurs would stop at just the right point and continue the story in the next episode. Serialized works of fiction in this style are usually called “chapter novels.”* Shorter fictional works included in collections like Wonders of the Present and the Past were also originally based on public readings, and thus were once intended for oral recitation. On the other hand, many other works of fiction in more orthodox written language, that is to say, written in Literary Sinitic proper, were also diversions of the literati, for example “Tales of the Bizarre”†— narratives that record strange stories. These were usually short. New Tales to Trim the Lamp By and other texts like it also contain many poems written in an ornate style of Literary Sinitic, frequently using the four- or six-character parallel piantiwen format; the world of the strange and marvellous they portrayed carried a certain erotic charm and aesthetic. They were widely read, and because they were considered immoral books many of them actually ended up being banned in China. In any case, there can be no mistake that many Chinese fictional works that crossed over to Japan acquired a wide readership. The number of readers in Japan who could directly read these works, whether in baihua vernacular style or more orthodox Literary Sinitic, was limited, but we should not underestimate the fact that by being translated or incorporated into various kinds of fiction, they cast a long material and spiritual shadow. Hence, awareness of the existence of Chinese fiction was an important issue from the beginning of the modern period.

Imperial China and Tokugawa Japan: Local History, Religion, and Gender” (Ph.D. diss., University of Chicago, 2011).

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*  Zhanghui xiaoshuo 章回小説.

†  “Tales of the Bizarre” (kiji ibun 奇事 異聞).

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2

*  Ga 雅 (Ch. ya) and zoku 俗 (Ch. su).

The Relative Status of Poetry and Fiction

The relative status and prestige of fiction prior to the modern period was different from what it is today. Fiction was written fundamentally for pleasure, unlike poetry, which was an important means of expression connected to the scholar-official’s idea of self. Granted, when considered from our modern perspective, there are works of fiction in which we can see the presentation of the self of the writer, and modern literary scholarship often pursues this kind of interpretation. As a genre, however, poetry in Literary Sinitic is of a different quality in that it is premised on a connection to the writer himself. Cases in which the self of the writer of a work of fiction comes through directly are limited to instances where doing so was unavoidable because of some circumstance particular to the text. The difference between Literary Sinitic poetry and fiction can also be viewed as the difference between the elegant and the vulgar.* In premodern East Asia, regardless of the sphere, there was a boundary between the elegant and the vulgar. This boundary was fundamental to the Literary Sinitic Context, and fictional works, as instances of the vulgar, were viewed as inferior to poetry. Even if not distinguished in terms of high and low, the two genres were considered completely separate. Certainly there are cases in which Chinese literati wrote fictional works as a diversion, and probably some literati were involved in the creation of vernacular novels. However, this was not their primary occupation. It is undeniable that, within the Literary Sinitic Context, fiction was very much beyond the pale. This relative status of poetry versus fiction is connected to what we discussed in the previous chapter about the establishment of literature. Today when we talk about literature, what most likely immediately comes to mind is the novel. In Japanese libraries and bookstores, novels usually occupy about two-thirds of the “literature” section, followed by essays, poetry, and other genres. Poets are less prominent than novelists, and the sales statistics for poetry collections reflect this; the combined sales of every poetry collection published in a one-year period would probably not equal the sales of the single best-selling novel for the same year. Today, novels are seen as the core of literature. In addition to the difference in the volume of works published, there is also an issue with regard to literary value. For example, today we do not find it strange that novels and short stories are included in textbooks for “national language” (Japanese language and literature) classes in

Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic

Japanese schools. It seems natural for instructors to use fictional works as teaching materials and to conduct classes that force students to think about words, life, and society. Works of fiction included in such textbooks are provided as teaching materials for serious learning, not just because they are interesting or amusing. Poetry and essays are taught between novels, in the same serious fashion. This literary sensibility is unique to the modern period. Until about the mid-Meiji period, fiction was not studied in school and never featured in the classroom. Its status can be likened to that of manga and anime until very recently: bringing manga to school was forbidden— school was a place for study. For that reason, it was inconceivable that a teacher of Japanese would use manga as teaching material. This is not to say that the quality of manga was low, but rather that it was regarded as something of low quality. Aside from baihua vernacular novels, wenyan fiction in more orthodox Literary Sinitic was, in terms of language and literary style, little different than works by the eight great authors of the Tang and Song, who were regarded in Edo Japan as the most accomplished writers of Literary Sinitic prose. For learning Literary Sinitic as a language, both written fiction and more traditional classical works worked equally well. Still, although fictional works in orthodox Literary Sinitic did occasionally get used in both Chosŏn Korea and Japan as hanmun~kanbun textbooks, such use was limited. As I have argued repeatedly, the Literary Sinitic Context emphasized both functionality and mentality.* Language was not just learned as language—it was the spirit or Geist (whether publicly or privately oriented) of past generations of Chinese scholars and officials undergirding the language that was important. To expect that spirit from the lowly genre of fiction would have been a mistake. 3

The Theme of “Emotion”

For a short time after the beginning of the Meiji period, Literary Sinitic and the spirit of the Chinese scholar-official were tied even more closely together. The Contemporary Style (kintaibun) of writing in vernacular Japanese was created as a functional writing system, and because of that the territory of Literary Sinitic would continue to be encroached upon. Conversely, its status as the territory of the literati (bunjin) was guaranteed, and, as I will discuss later, through exchanges with Qing, Japanese literati were able to enjoy interacting with their scholar-official

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*  Mentality (seishinsei 精神性).

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*  “Tranquility” (kanteki 閑適) and “sentiment” (kanshō 感傷). †  Emotion ( jō 情); intent, focused dedication, or aspirational goal (shi 志).

‡  Guiyuan 閨怨.

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counterparts in that land. But it was also precisely this interaction that led to the blurring of the boundary between poetry and fiction. Here is why. First, in the mental world of the Chinese scholar, there were two focal points: the scholar-official (shijin) and the literatus (bunjin). Actually, if one looks more closely, there were a number of focal points in the literary world that served as nuclei; for example, the “tranquility” and “sentiment”* in the works of the Tang poet Bai Juyi. For him, “tranquility” referred to a quiet state of mind achieved by being removed from the vulgar world, whereas “sentiment” was the deep emotion felt when coming into contact with something. When conjuring up the image of the literatus, it is tempting to imagine an other-worldly hermit for whom time simply passes slowly by, but here there is actually an emotion that is separate from intent, focused dedication, or aspirational goal.† It is from emotion that “sentiment” is born; this was a key constitutive element of the literati world and mentality. Emotion encompassed lamenting the shortness of human life, being moved by the changing of the seasons, feeling the distress of the helpless traveler, enduring regret at a friend’s parting, and, along with these, enjoying the love between man and woman. As discussed in the section on Mori Shuntō in Chapter 4, compositions on women’s emotion comprised a distinct tradition of poetry in Literary Sinitic. In China, the “boudoir lament” genre, known as guiyuan,‡ existed from ancient times and included the pining for one’s husband far away on a military campaign or the sorrow of a palace woman who had lost the king’s favor. The term guiyuan was first applied to this type of poetry in the Six Dynasties period (222–589), when it also reached its height, but it had previously existed as a pattern of poetry in Literary Sinitic. The difference between poems of the Six Dynasties period and those of previous eras lay in doing everything possible to beautifully evoke the figure of the woman sunk in despair. Because the poets were generally men, composing on women’s emotion was an act of fiction, and because it was feminine beauty that was emphasized, that fictional quality was all the more enhanced in the poems. For this reason they evoked the figure of a beautiful woman that included sorrow. In this sense, guiyuan poetry’s lineage lay in poems composed from a place quite different from self-expression. However, this is not to say that the sorrow of a beautiful woman was always evoked in a way completely unconnected to the life of the Chinese scholar-official. Such sorrow achieves its effect precisely when the scholar-official reader sees himself in the poem (perhaps in terms of his relationship with the emperor), and these poets recognized this. Take

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Tranquillity

Sentiment

Public

Private

Service Chinese Classics Scholar-Officials Politics

Reclusion Poetry and Prose Literati Literature

Functionality Sinographic coinages Meiji Common Style

Mentality kanshi

Figure 16 Tranquility and sentiment

for example a poem by the Tang poet Wang Changling.2 The title was none other than “Complaint from a Lady’s Chamber,” or Guiyuan 閨怨: In the chamber the lady knows no sadness. Spring day, dressed up, she climbs a tower of jade. She sees suddenly the willow’s green in the fields And regrets having sent her husband to seek imperial titles.3 2  Wang Changling 王昌齡 (698–756). 3  Translation from Wai-lim Yip (editor and translator), Chinese Poetry: An Anthology of Major Modes and Genres (2nd ed., Revised; Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1997), 240.

160

*  Ch. Chang­ hen ge, J. Chōgonka 長恨歌.

†  Enjō 艶情.

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It has been a long time since the young wife’s husband went away— anguish draws near for a moment, and she sinks into regret: it would have been better if he had never pursued a career. This framework is extremely close to that for novels in the “scholar and beauty” genre. It is also appropriate to recall here Bai Juyi’s Song of Everlasting Sorrow.* Though it also contains an element of satire toward the regime, no one can deny that the thrust of the poem lies in using the theme of tragic love to heighten the depiction of Imperial Consort Yang Guifei’s4 beauty. In terms of poetic classification, the poem is “sentiment” and could be placed at the extreme of guiyuan (boudoir lament). A prose version titled Story of the Song of Everlasting Sorrow, written by Tang dynasty literatus Chen Hong,5 shows perfectly how emotion straddles the boundary between poetry and fiction. As mentioned earlier, from the time of chuanqi fiction in the Tang onwards, works centering on malefemale emotions had been far from rare. The two genres frequently intermingled, and, in the Yuan, Ming and Qing periods, came to be used persistently as the raw materials for baihua vernacular literature. This kind of layering over the eras made it possible to reconfigure the genre hierarchy. Poetry and fiction, in addressing the theme of emotion, had come to share a border. That is, it became possible to ignore the difference between poetry and fiction as genre if one shifted one’s emphasis to the common theme of emotion. To put it another way, if we imagine a lever with emotion as its fulcrum, the discrepancy in relative status between the genres could be overturned. One aspect of these works is that they take eros† as their theme. Within the public and private realms of poetry, eros is decidedly private: it belongs to the mentality of the literatus (bunjin), which also houses the realm of emotion between a man and a woman. This concern with eros and romantic love serves the tangential role of expanding the genre of poetry, which Keichū no shōfu urei o shirazu けいちゅう しょうふ うれ

し

閨中少婦不知愁 閨 中の少婦 愁いを知らず Shunjitsu yosooi o korashite suirō ni noboru しゅんじつ よそお

こ

すいろう

のぼ

春日凝妝上翠楼 春 日 妝いを凝らして翠楼に上る Tachimachi miru hakutō yōryū no iro たちま

み

はくとう ようりゅう いろ

忽見陌頭楊柳色 忽ち見る 陌 頭 楊 柳の色 Kuyuraku wa fusei o shite hōkō o motomeshimeshi o く

ふ せい

ほうこう

もと

悔教夫婿覓封侯 悔ゆらくは夫婿をして封侯を覓めしめしを 4  Yang Guifei 楊貴妃 (719–756). 5  Changhen ge zhuan 長恨歌傳 by Chen Hong 陳鴻 (fl. 805).

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in turn makes possible the reconfiguring of genres, because this is precisely where poetry and fiction overlap. 4

Romantic Love and the Political Novel

So, how is this shift connected to the establishment of “literature?” As mentioned in the previous chapter, the balance between the public and private arenas in Literary Sinitic poetry and prose gradually tilted toward the latter, and at the same time we see the rise of the “literature” that formed the nucleus of the literatus mentality. Due to poetry that evoked seductive beauty and put on airs of elegance, and thanks to romantic tales that recorded things like erotic intimacy with courtesans, it became possible to treat works in both these arenas as “literature.” At this stage Western literature translated into Kundoku Style also came to play a role. The “romantic love” evoked in Western novels became entangled with the theme of emotion ( jō), and was imbued with high value. Moreover, this tangle of romantic love and emotion came to carry a clearly defined worth that was comparable to “intention” (shi). This conflict between “ambition” and “love” was the point raised by Meiji-period literary critic Ishibashi Ningetsu in his critique of “The Dancing Girl.” The element of emotion was a major theme in the Literary Sinitic Context even in novels written before “The Dancing Girl.” In the decade beginning 1877, along with the exalting of the Freedom and People’s Rights Movement, many novels were written that sought to edify political thought. These were known as “political novels.”* While their roots were in the popular gesaku literature of the early modern period,6 there were also such works written within the Literary Sinitic Context. For example, Tōkai Sanshi’s Strange Encounters with Beautiful Women7 is a political novel written after the fashion of four-six metrical-style 6  Lit., “playful writing,” gesaku 戯作 was a form of writing, primarily in the vernacular, that was popular in the mid-eighteenth century. It included the genres of sharebon (books of wit), ninjōbon (books of sentiment), yomihon (reading books), kusazōshi (text-picture books), and kokkeibon (humor books). See Haruo Shirane, “Dangibon and the Birth of Edo Popular Literature” in Early Modern Japanese Literature: An Anthology, 1600–1900, ed. Haruo Shirane (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002), 449–519. 7  Kajin no kigū 佳人之奇遇 (Strange Encounters with Beautiful Women, 1885–1889) by Tōkai Sanshi 東海 散士 (1853–1922). See also page 63, note 59.

*  Seiji shōsetsu 政治小説.

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*  Waga omou tokoro no uta 我所思行.

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piantiwen style. As the title suggests, the basic plot centers on the meeting and intimacy of the patriot Tōkai Sanshi and a beautiful female refugee from the West. Tōkai Sanshi was a loyalist who fought for the shogunate against imperial forces, and his was more of a scholar-official mentality than a bunjin identity. In the contrast between public and private, however, the loyalist is aligned with the public, and it is important that Sanshi was expelled from the bureaucracy, i.e., from the public arena and the realm of kō. As seen in the previous citation of Tokutomi Roka’s Black Eyes and Brown Eyes, the beautiful female character in the novel composes the poem “What I Think,”* a poem stating her aspirational goals while also expressing her emotions. The original “Four Sorrows” by the Han dynasty polymath Zhang Heng8 is, on the surface, a guiyuan poem that speaks of a distant, far-off love. But if we read Zhang Heng’s personal circumstances into the poem, it can be interpreted as his own personal lament about the chaos of the age, and about seeking but failing to find an enlightened ruler. Intention and emotion are layered in his inability to achieve his aims. In one conventional pattern of Literary Sinitic poetry, the thoughts of the woman toward the man allegorically point to the retainer’s private opinion of his lord. Such is the case here too. Alternatively, in Yano Ryūkei’s political novel Commendable Anecdotes on Administering a Nation,9 which took the Meiji world by storm, as did Strange Encounters with Beautiful Women, we can see how love slips into the context created by writings in Literary Sinitic. This novel, which takes ancient Greece as its subject matter, is written in Kundoku Style with mixed-sinograph-and-katakana orthography, but unlike Strange Encounters, the format is a serialized, chapter novel like Romance of the Three Kingdoms. The plot itself revolves around the three city-states of Athens, Thebes, and Sparta, and while the protagonists are somehow reminiscent of the characters in Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Commendable Anecdotes differs in that each of the main protagonists has been given a lover. Originally, whether in Romance of the Three Kingdoms or Water Margin, the protagonists do not have lovers. Even if there is a sentimentality that accompanies casual intimacy, it does not leave a deep impression on the lives of the heroes in traditional works of Chinese fiction. 8  See page 64, note 60. 9  Yano Ryūkei’s 矢野竜渓 (1851–1931) Commendable Anecdotes on Administering a Nation (Keikoku bidan 経國美談, 1883–1884).

Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic

However, in Commendable Anecdotes, when Leona (the love interest of the protagonist Pelopidas) dies, his “emotions were in turmoil and tangled up like a string, but he was leader of the army, and because he was in front of his officers, not one tear seeped from his eyes … his gathered officers witnessed this emotion, but at the time, no one dared utter a word.” The depth of emotion is checked, because he was “the leader of the army,” but it is clear here that the distance between sentiment and passion had narrowed. In both Strange Encounters and Commendable Anecdotes, the female characters are given important roles, and the works are structured so that these women share intention with the male protagonists. Because political novels were primarily produced for the public arena, once women were included as members of this space it was only natural that female characters with intention should appear in these novels. Also, because the direction of “literature” during this time was still in flux— later it would clearly move in the direction of the bunjin mentality, but at this point in time the scholar-official mentality and bunjin type were still rivals—intimate relations between men and women might exist and be tentatively addressed in the public arena, a key difference from “The Dancing Girl” in 1890. 5

A Great Compendium of Romantic Fiction

There is one text that cannot be overlooked with regard to the emotion that appears in the Literary Sinitic Context of the Meiji period. The collection of Literary Sinitic short fiction Selections from the History of Emotion10 is little known today, but was widely read in the early years of Meiji. Based originally on the late Ming/early Qing History of Emotion attributed to Feng Menglong,11 the History of Emotion is a voluminous work, so the main stories were excerpted, kaeriten and okuriten reading glosses were added, and it was published as Selections from the History of Emotion in 1879. The commentary and glosses were added by Tanaka Masatsune,12 but the colophon records him only as “a commoner from Saitama prefecture,” so exact biographical details are not known. In the preface he authored, he criticizes the singular importance placed 10  Jōshishō 情史抄 (1879). 11  History of Emotion (Qing shi 情史) by Feng Menglong 馮夢龍 (1574–1645). 12  Tanaka Masatsune 田中正彝 (dates unknown).

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164 *  Ri 理. †  Chōchō suishi 嘲々酔士.

‡  Yingying zhuan 鶯鶯傳.

Chapter 5

on principle (ri)* and lack of reflection on emotion ( jō) in “the current of civilizers.” Given that he refers to himself mockingly as a “sneering tippler,”† there is no mistake that he is someone who has turned his back on the times. This pitting of principle against emotion highlights yet again the tension between scholar-official and literatus, public and private, and government and literature; it is clear that this work’s selfconsciousness aligns with the bunjin mentality. Indeed, Feng Menglong was very much in the same camp. The History of Emotion is a work that takes fragments of stories and novels about emotion (primarily the emotion between a man and a woman) and arranges them into twenty-four categories, interspersing them with evaluative comments that begin “The Historian of Emotion says” and “The Unofficial Historian says,” as if to parody Sima Qian’s “The Great Historian says …” in the Shiji. The later Selections from the History of Emotion, while drastically reducing the number of story fragments that appear in each category, follows the same structure. The length of the story fragments varies; some are summarized in one line, whereas others, such as “The Tale of Yingying”‡ mentioned in the previous chapter, are included in their entirety and are quite long. Categories include “Chaste Emotion,” “Fated Emotion,” “Secret Emotion,” “Chivalrous Emotion,” “Manly Emotion,” “Affectionate Emotion,” and “Foolish Emotion.” Rather than the individual classifications having discreet meanings, it feels as if the work is trying to somehow encompass everything that could possibly be called emotion. It could be called a “Great Compendium” of Chinese romantic fiction. Because this collection of stories was written in orthodox Literary Sinitic rather than in baihua literary vernacular, the original was not difficult to read for Meiji readers with little or no competence in the grammar of the Chinese vernacular. Further, with the kaeriten inversion glosses and okurigana morphological glosses fastidiously added, it became easy to read even for first learners. Even though glossed books in Literary Sinitic existed throughout the Edo and Meiji, many typically included just one type of these marks—the kaeriten inversion glosses—which thus excluded many readers. Simply adding the additional okurigana glosses made such books much easier to read. Moreover, to further aid understanding, furigana pronunciation glosses were added to difficult characters, character compounds, and idioms. For example, the character for “bewitching” (蠱) carries the Japanese gloss madowasu, the compound for “threaten” (威脅) carries the gloss odosu (vernacular Japanese for the same meaning), the four-character

Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic

idiom “to distinguish below the surface” (辨于地下) is glossed with the katakana “to distinguish a house in the underworld” (meido nite ie wakesen), and so on. This technique is also seen in the “playful writing” (gebun) by the late Edo and early Meiji literatus Narushima Ryūhoku, who penned amusing materials in Literary Sinitic that would normally have been outside of the style’s purview.13 It is also applied in the aforementioned Conditions in the West and Stories of Successful Lives in the West. While the Selections from the History of Emotion seems close to the playful mood of Narushima in that it is expressing emotion, it is in truth more like the latter two works because of the strong tints of enlightenment thought that it carries. In the introductory remarks we find the following: I was diligent with what is contained in this book and in selecting writings that were pure and beautiful and expressed the elegance of things. Places where custom was thrown out of order by vulgarity were cut out completely and not adopted. I hope this will be of some small value to social education and serve as an aid to further studies of writing.14 Note here the final phrase “aid to further studies.” This implies that the book was used as teaching material for Literary Sinitic and thus reflects a major shift. Like the Writings of Eight Scholars from the Song and Tang, the Selections could also be used as pedagogical material for Literary Sinitic. While it is doubtful that it was studied using the traditional method of rote recitation, it obviously occupied a new and different place in the textual hierarchy. We can grasp from this that by mid-Meiji we had entered a period when the theme of emotion carried significant weight.

13  Ryūhoku’s best-known work in this style is Ryūkyō shinshi 柳橋新誌 (New Chronicles of Yanagibashi). See the Introduction (esp. pp. xxxii–xli) in Matthew Fraleigh, New Chronicles of Yanagibashi and Diary of a Journey to the West: Na­ rushima Ryūhoku Reports from Home and Abroad (Ithaca: Cornell East Asia Program, 2011) for a discussion and illustration of these playful glossing techniques. 14  書中務メテ採リ二事ノ之風雅。文ノ之清麗ナル者ヲ一。若キ二夫ノ猥褻乱ルカ ヲ ハ 一レ俗 者 。    一切省イテ而不レ収メ。欲スレバ少ク益シ二于世教ニ一。併セテ供セント中後 進學ブレ文ヲ之一助ニ上也。

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6

*  Enshi 艶史 (Ch. yanshi).

A New Focus for Fiction: The Replication of “Human Emotion”

In Nagai Kafū’s reminiscences of the late 1890s to early 1900s, there is evidence that the genre of “amorous history” (Ch. yanshi; J. enshi)* formed his model for writing. At about this time, the primary writer of the serial Literary Arts Club, Miyake Seiken,15 addressed Kafū and others, saying, “When you set out to write, above all you should take a close look at texts in Literary Sinitic. The works of Han Yu and Liu Zongyuan16 are not enough on their own. You need in particular to read works from the ‘amorous history’ and ‘narrative fiction’ genres.”17 “Amorous history” here refers to works like the Selections from the History of Emotion and the Unofficial History of Yanshan.18 That these works could be listed alongside Han Yu and Liu Zongyuan, the most prominent of the eight great Tang and Song literati, would have been unthinkable in Rai Sanyō’s era. As I will explain in a moment, Nagai Kafū’s father, Nagai Kyūichirō, also wrote poetry in Literary Sinitic under the names Nagai Kagen and Raisei,19 and there is a note in which Kafū cherishes his father’s memory: “my late father loved reading Chinese works like poetry, Music Bureau lyrics,20 and amorous histories.” There is no hesitation here in placing the genre of “amorous histories” on par with “poetry” amongst the books his father loved. It is not unreasonable to see “literature” as having been reconstituted around the axis of emotion. Tsubouchi Shōyō, in his Essence of the Novel,21 states that the focus of the novel should be on the replication of “human emotion.” This was clearly based on Western theories of the novel, but in order to assert this in Japan, it was necessary for him to adjust the Western theoretical model to suit the situation in his own time and place. Would it have been appropriate for Shōyō, who 15  L iterary Arts Club (Bungei kurabu 文芸倶楽部); Miyake Seiken 三宅青軒 (1864–1914). 16  Han Yu 韓愈 (768–824) and Liu Zongyuan 柳宗元 (773–819). 17  From “Things That Need not be Written” (Kakademo no ki 書かでもの記). 18  The Unofficial History of Yanshan (Yanshan waishi 燕山外史) is a long Qing novel written in the four-six parallel piantiwen style; a glossed edition came out in Japan in 1878. 19  Nagai Kyūichirō 永井久一郎 (1852–1913) also wrote under the names Kagen 禾原 and Raisei 来青. 20  Ch. yuefu 樂府; J. gafu. 21  Tsubouchi Shōyō 坪内逍遥 (1859–1935), Essence of the Novel (Shōsetsu shinzui 小説神髄, 1885).

Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic

clearly discerned what was necessary for those conditions, simply to adopt the Western theory of the novel? On the one hand, there was of course a trend in Edo literary arts to privilege human emotion. At the same time, the pedigree of guiyuan that had accumulated in the world of poetry along with the maturation of the genre of “bamboo branch lyrics”22 that took the customs of the city, including the redlight districts, as its topic, played an important role. The fluctuations in the Literary Sinitic Context and the development of “literature” were interconnected. 7

Nagai Kafū, Child of a Scholar-Official

In addition to the shift to human emotion that occurred in the Literary Sinitic Context in the Meiji period, there is one other important shift that must be examined: the repositioning and demotion of China (Chūgoku) as “Shina.”23 This had a significant effect on the rise of modern literature out of the flux in the Literary Sinitic Context. Let us discuss this development now while tracing the lineages of authors with strong “Sinophilic/‘Shina’ predilections”: Nagai Kafū, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, and Akutagawa Ryūnosuke.24 Let us begin with Nagai Kafū’s father. Nagai Kyūichirō was born in 1852 towards the end of the Tokugawa shogunate, in the village of Naruo in Owari province (present-day Aichi prefecture). He was exactly ten years older than Mori Ōgai. He eventually went to Nagoya and became a disciple of the head Confucian scholar of the domain, Washizu Kidō. After the Meiji Restoration, he followed Kidō to Tokyo and devoted himself to learning. He attended Kaisei Academy, predecessor of the current University of Tokyo, and studied Literary Sinitic poetry under Ōnuma Chinzan and Western studies at Keiō Academy. It would not be an exaggeration to call him a member of the elite of the late Tokugawa period, proficient in both Literary Sinitic and Western studies. He continued on 22  Originating with the Tang poet Liu Yuxi 劉禹錫 (772–842), “bamboo branch lyrics” 竹枝詞 (Ch. zhuzhici; J. chikushishi) was a seven-character four-line folksong genre composed on either the customs of a local area or male-female emotion, and was also popular in early modern Japan. 23  Chūgoku 中国 and Shina 支那. 24  See Atsuko Sakaki, “Japanese Perceptions of China: The Sinophilic Fiction of Tanizaki Jun’ichirō,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 59, no. 1 (June 1999): 187–218.

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this elite course, later entering the Daigaku Nankō (also a predecessor of the University of Tokyo) and in 1871, on the order of the Nagoya domain, studied in the United States. At this time, Kyūichirō was twenty years old. Like other young people of his generation, he left a poem when it was time for him to depart for America. The poem serves to recognize this critical juncture in his life: Whose achievement will rank top in the world? Buoyant, I depart Japan, my heard emboldened. A student sure to open his eyes wide through study, I would board the “fire ship” and soar to the firmament.25 “Shosei,” corresponding to “student” in the third line, is literally “students of books.” But it has a nuance closer to “readers,” i.e., intelligentsia. “Kasen,” or “fire ship,” in the final line is a newly coined word for “steamer.” On the whole, this is a rather bold poem. Thirteen years before Ōgai’s studies in Germany, here was a young man with racing heart about to embark on a tour of study abroad. Perhaps we could say that Ōgai enthusiastically pursued Western knowledge with mentors like Nagai Kyūichirō as his landmarks. Kyūichirō returned after two years, eventually landed a job in the Ministry of Education, and in 1877 married Kidō’s second daughter Tsune. Two years later, his oldest son Sōkichi, later called Kafū, was born. Kafū was thus the child of a Meiji scholar-official. He was the oldest son of an up-and-coming government employee who studied Literary Sinitic, learned Western disciplines, and studied abroad. Kafū studied in America, too, thanks to his father’s arrangements, and later worked as a bank employee in France. In the end, however, he did not live the life his father had envisioned for him. He frequented the red-light districts and ended up having a relationship with a geisha, was dissolute and fond 25 

Tare ka shimen jinkan dai ichi no kō たれ

し

じんかん だいいち

こう

誰占人間第一功 誰か占めん 人 間 第一の功 Hyōzen to shite kuni o saru kono kokoro yū nari ひょうぜん

くに

さ

こ

こころ ゆう

飄然去國此心雄 飄 然として國を去る 此の 心 雄なり Shosei subekaraku dokusho no me o hiraku beshi しょせい すべか

どくしょ

め

ひら

書生須豁読書眼 書 生 須らく読書の眼を豁くべし Kasen ni gashite taikū o shinogan to hossu かせん

が

たいくう

しの

ほっ

欲駕火船凌大空 火船に駕して 大空を凌がんと欲す (with thanks to Timothy Wixted for assistance with the translation).

Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic

of Edo affectations, and championed the causes of useless people. In a word, the life he lived was the exact opposite of his father. It is easy to imagine conflict between the father and son. 8

Diametrically Opposed Father and Son

What must be taken into account here is that their conflict was not just any conflict. Simply because the two of them can be seen as diametric opposites does not necessarily imply that there was no continuity between them. Strange though it may sound, we can understand Kafū’s lifestyle as connected with that of his father. They were two sides of the same coin, with Kafū occupying the obverse. Based on the framework adopted in this book—public vs. private, scholar-officials vs. rank-and-file citizens, serving the government vs. going into reclusion—we can imagine an ellipse with two opposing focal points. In terms of the Literary Sinitic Context, Kafū’s choice of the literatus lifestyle of the bunjin was antithetical to his father’s scholarofficial mentality of the shijin 士人 (Ch. shiren). It is clear that the father lived a scholar-official lifestyle working in government and industry, and that by contrast Kafū chose a literary lifestyle, turning his back on the world. Their attitudes toward society contrasted, but if we regard the two of them respectively as the two focal points of an ellipse, we can see how they balance each other out. The truth is that while Kafū’s father Nagai Kyūichirō belonged to the elite, he was not particularly famous compared with other officials of the same generation. This was likely influenced by his being from Owari rather than Satsuma or Chōshū, the two domains most closely tied to the new Meiji government, but as I will explain, there were also some special circumstances surrounding his departure from the bureaucracy to work for the Japan Mail-Boat Company. The reminiscences of Kafū that I cited in the previous chapter show how officials from Satsuma and Chōshū exerted their authority and how those who did not go along with them “all sank into the abyss of despair.” Even if Kyūichirō’s fate was less extreme and he did not suffer the bitter experience of a conspicuous demotion in rank, he certainly embraced a sense of “despair.” The entry for Nagai Kyūichirō in one biographical dictionary26 quotes 26  Taguchi Ukichi 田口卯吉, ed., Dai Nihon jinmei jisho 3 (Tokyo: Dai Nihon jinmei jisho kankōkai, 1926), 1855.

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Kyūichirō as saying, “Government service did not go the way I wanted, and in private industry I lost out to others. But I have one volume of poetry, and hope thereby to communicate my existence.” He died a poet. Thus, Kafū’s plunge into the private sphere is at once a backlash against his father while nonetheless following in his father’s footsteps. The two of them, father and son, together complete a single ellipse. When Kafū writes in his memoirs, “It was not because I was instructed by anyone to do so, and yet the desire I had ever since I was a young student to recite ‘Returning Home’ and read the Songs of Chu was probably the result of a certain current that lurked beneath the surface of the age,” we can say that he was taking his father’s career as his own. Of course, this interpretation is quite impressionistic. From the standpoint of positivistic modern literature research, one could ask where exactly the influence of Tao Yuanming or the Songs of Chu is to be found in Kafū’s work, and how fiction modeled on his father or his statements about his father are connected to those influences. As I have said before, the intent of this book is to grasp writings in Literary Sinitic as a larger context that goes beyond problems of concrete and easily pinpointed literary influences. This problem should be considered with regard to the nature of Nagai Kafū as an author. 9 *  Enjō 艶情.

From Prodigal Son to Spitting Image of His Father

Regarding the notion of eros* mentioned earlier, Kafū was the diametrical opposite of his father. When in his miscellany Japanese Clover27 he wrote, “My father was one whose firm integrity was unsurpassed,” Kafū was drawing a contrast with his own relationship with women. He followed paternal direction in terms of his first marriage partner, but following the death of his father within several months of the wedding, he divorced his wife in less than two months. His marriage to the geisha Yaeji, with whom he had been intimate for a long time, can be interpreted as an act of revenge against his father. Kafū’s eros in his Literary Sinitic poetry often employed the theme of female entertainers, a trend which, unusually enough, fit into the frame of the Literary Sinitic Context. In Japanese Clover, after noting that “his father had integrity,” he adds a “however” by deliberately including four of his father’s poems from 27  Yahazugusa 矢はずぐさ (1916).

Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic

the “Erotic Style Poems” section of Raiseikakushū,28 an unpublished collection of poetry left by his father. This could also be interpreted as Kafū positioning himself as the flip side of his father. By treating intimacy with geisha as an important element (both in real life and in fiction) it was as though Kafū was enacting his own “Erotic Style Poems.” As previously mentioned, the transition from poetry to fiction was easy to make in terms of the theme of eros. This can also be seen in the balance between the poet father and novelist son, Kafū. Kafū’s interest in foreign countries is another important point to consider, and one that could only have existed because of his father. According to Kafū’s memoirs, his father would “come home from his government office, take off his western-style jacket and change into a reddish-brown smoking jacket, put a large, English-style pipe in his mouth, and read.” The reddish-brown smoking jacket with pipe, at any rate, suggests the refinement of a gentleman who has returned from the West. The following from the introduction to his essay collection After Tea29 shows how Kafū inherited his father’s affinity for the West: After Tea signifies passing the afternoon on a quiet day with a cup of tea from a tropical country in a Chinese porcelain teacup thinner than paper, into which I mix a bit of cognac, or alternatively float a piece of citron zest, which particularly strengthens the intensity of the fragrance and awakens the heart just as it tends to doze off; it means to write incoherent things. Aptly, we see here in the “Chinese porcelain teacup” an affinity for China that formed yet another framework for Kafū. Perhaps it was also his father’s training. As indicated earlier, Kyūichirō was a poet who engaged with the likes of Mori Shuntō, and that influence naturally played out in the home as well. Kafū leaves behind reminiscences like these: When I was a child, I remember that scrolls from Qing dynasty figures like He Ruzhang, Ye Songshi, and Wang Qiyuan were hanging in the alcoves of my father’s study and in the guest room. My father was partial to Tang and Song poetry and had taken part in literary exchanges with Chinese from early on.30 28  “Erotic Style Poems” (entai no shi 艶体の詩) from Raisei Pavilion Collection (Raiseikakushū 来青閣集). 29  Kōcha no ato 紅茶の後 (Momiyama shoten, 1911). 30  From “Autumn at Nineteen” ( Jūku no aki 十九の秋).

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He Ruzhang is famous as the first ambassador to Japan who was posted to the Qing embassy in 1877. Ye Songshi31 was a literatus who was invited to Japan as a teacher at a foreign language school, and even after returning to China he visited Japan again, dying in Osaka. Wang Qiyuan, also known as Wang Zhiben,32 was an author and noted poet who visited several places in Japan. At any rate, they can be called the most famous among the Qing officials who came to Japan at the time. Kyūichirō fraternized with these kinds of Qing gentlemen and asked them for calligraphy specimens for his home. 10

Consciousness of Foreign Lands Nurtured by Interactions with Qing China

In the wake of the Sino-Japanese Friendship and Trade Treaty of 1871, exchanges with the Qing reached an all-time high, and this brought about a major shift in the state of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose in Japan. At the same time that Japan was opening its doors to America and Europe, it was opening up in new ways to Qing China too. Although there were significant exceptions such as the delegation members from Chosŏn Korea and foreign traders at the tightlycontrolled international port in Nagasaki prior to the Meiji Restoration, Literary Sinitic poetry and prose written by Japanese in this period had an exclusively Japanese readership. The reestablishment of diplomatic relations with Qing China after the Meiji Restoration afforded Japanese intellectuals an opportunity to exchange poetry and prose with Qing bureaucrats and literati. There was no need to travel to Nagasaki to exchange poetry with merchants from the Qing or to chase down emissaries from Chosŏn Korea and ask them to write a few lines of “brush talk.” It was popular to compose poetry together at parties, often by replying to each other’s poems. Also, it became popular for collections of poetry by Japanese authors to include critiques by Qing literati, who would comment as resident experts and lend the collections an element of authority. Just as there were people who came over from Qing China to Meiji Japan, there were also people who went to Qing China from Japan. Certainly the main destination for observation tours or foreign study 31  He Ruzhang 何如障 (1838–1891); Ye Songshi 葉松石 (1839–1903). 32  Wang Qiyuan 王漆園 (1836–1908), Wang Zhiben 王治本.

Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic

was the West, but because ship travel was used at the time, at least in coming and going to Europe the voyage skirted along the Chinese coast via Shanghai and Hong Kong. The same was true for delegations like the 1871 Iwakura Mission, which returned from the U.S. via Europe. Of course, many Japanese also crossed over to Qing China for diplomacy, journalism, and industry. For example, Kishida Ginkō,33 who went to Shanghai at the end of the Edo period in order to help with the editing of James Curtis Hepburn’s famous Japanese-English dictionary, often went to Qing in the early Meiji period as a newspaper reporter and entrepreneur. He frequently interacted with local literati while selling eye medicine in Qing, the concoction of which he had learned from Hepburn, and ran a publishing house. Moreover, he handed over one hundred collections of kanshi by Japanese authors to the famous scholar Yu Yue,34 requesting that he select the best examples and compile an anthology. Yu Yue worked on this for five months, finishing Poetry Selections from Across the Eastern Sea* in forty volumes plus four volumes of appendices, in 1883. This was a groundbreaking endeavor and Qing literati now began to turn their attention to Japanese kanshi. In government, economy, culture, and every other aspect, Japan-Qing exchanges expanded apace. The writings hanging in Kafū’s house were none other than symbols of that exchange. Generally speaking, practice in composing Literary Sinitic poetry and prose would lead to greater longing and affection for ancient China. As one composes poems about landscapes not yet seen and weaves them together with allusions to the ancients in one’s imagination, that yearning gradually grows. The Qing embassy in Japan actively promoted cultural activities, and the fraternization between Japan and China via poetry, prose, and calligraphy characterized the early Meiji period. This is one reason for the richness of Meiji-era Literary Sinitic poetry. The act of composing Literary Sinitic poetry and prose added new meaning to what was either not yet there or still thin on the ground. It was a window onto a foreign land. For literati from Japan and Qing China, Literary Sinitic poetry and writing was confirmed as a shared language. Moreover, the scenery depicted in Literary Sinitic poems was 33  Kishida Ginkō 岸田吟香 (1833–1905). See Matthew Fraleigh, “Japan’s First War Reporter: Kishida Ginkō and the Taiwan Expedition,” Japanese Studies 30, no. 1 (April 2010): 43–66. 34  Yu Yue 兪樾 (1821–1907).

173

*  Dongying shi xuan (J. Tōeishisen) 東瀛詩選.

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not limited to the imagination, but was something one could cross the sea and actually see with one’s own eyes, and thus began to assume a component of reality. In the closed space of early modern Japan, the language of poetry and prose that had formerly constituted a type of fictitious universal world began to function as something that crossed national borders into reality. To put it another way, Literary Sinitic poetry and prose assumed a new position as a language that was comprehensible in the foreign country that was China. Kafū was raised in such a milieu. 11

Intoxication with Shanghai

In September of 1897, the nineteen-year-old Kafū visited a foreign city for the first time when he accompanied his father to Shanghai. His father Kyūichirō had resigned his position as head clerk for the Ministry of Education earlier that March and had, as head of the Japan Mail-Boat Company branch office in Shanghai, crossed over the previous May by himself, but he returned to Tokyo briefly in August and took his family with him when he returned to Shanghai in September. The “Autumn at Nineteen” section cited earlier is from Kafū’s 1935 memoir about that time. Let us examine his youthful exuberance upon arriving in Shanghai: Finally I entered a back room and prepared to sleep, but despite the fatigue from travel, I was not able to fall asleep. From the moment I disembarked, rather than feeling simply curious, I felt more than anything struck by deep emotion. At that time, it’s unlikely I knew the word exoticism, so while I was aware of the excitement I was feeling, I lacked the knowledge to realize and dissect it myself. While the bizarre deep emotion that I experienced day by day grew fainter, I became aware that I was being roused by the call of foreign customs and scenery. There is an intensely colorful beauty in the lifestyle of the Chinese. The Chinese merchants walking the streets, the clothing of the Chinese ladies riding in rickshaws. The pagri of the Indian policeman standing at every street corner, the hues of the hats of Turks. The painted colors of boats coming and going across the river. In addition to these, the various incomprehensible sounds. Though still unknowledgeable about the literary arts of the West, these colors and sounds gave a strong stimulus to my senses.

Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic

Shanghai was a shock to the system for this young man. The dizziness he felt at the colors and sounds of a foreign country can be quite clearly understood. Here I wish to draw attention to Kafū when he writes, “It’s unlikely I knew the word exoticism.” This is quite different from the later Tanizaki and Akutagawa, who already harbored a kind of exoticism within themselves when crossing over to China. Kafū himself had received a standard education in Literary Sinitic, and we can say that through Literary Sinitic poetry and prose he had a close affinity for China. The Shanghai that he encountered as the conclusion to his studies in Literary Sinitic, however, exceeded what he had previously imagined. Rai San’yō could only imagine the continent from Amakusa in Nagasaki, where he penned the poem “Mooring on the open sea at Amakusa” discussed in Chapter 2, but Kafū himself actually went there and experienced the “stimulus to his senses.” Let us also consider the statement, “Though still unknowledgeable about the literary arts of the West.” This comment shows that while Shanghai was in China it served at the same time as the entrance to the West—the city of Shanghai was a semi-colony of the great Western powers. At the same time, it hints that to the older Kafū, later writing these lines about his time as a youth, “the literary arts of the West” could be equated with a “stimulus” to the “senses.” At any rate, the young man experienced an intoxication like being lost at a world’s fair. He also got a strong impression of the local customs of China. One day, I witnessed the local head of civil affairs leading a procession accompanied by the ringing of a gong. Another night, I met with a funeral procession led by a row of women wailing in loud voices, and I stared at these strange customs. The trees of Zhangyuan, where Chinese beauties sporting laurel flowers in their hair hurried by in countless numbers of carriages. Calligraphy of linked verses hanging along corridors of Xuyuan. The loneliness of the blooming autumn flowers in the twilight of the inner garden. The bustle of Sima Street with its theatres and tea houses lined up one after the other. In response to the colors of a foreign country, my stimulation only grew stronger. The head of civil affairs was the Circuit Intendant, an important local official; Zhangyuan and Xuyuan are names of gardens; and Sima was a major commercial street in Shanghai. Patching this list of scenes together gives the impression of assembling a set of Shanghai folk custom postcards; indeed, within Kafū’s reminiscences, they had already

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become like scenes from old postcards. But the “deep emotion” felt by the youth shines through. 12

Reality Seeps into Kanshibun

We can also catch a glimpse from these memoirs of how Kafū’s father, who was also a poet, spent his life in Shanghai. For example, on the day of the Chinese Double-Nine festival on the ninth day of the ninth month, the family went to an old temple on the city outskirts and climbed the pagoda on what would have been a pleasure trip for his father, who composed poetry. Kafū wrote, “Climbing a mountain, picking chrysanthemums and silverberries, and writing poems on the day of the Double-Nine festival is something that Japanese literati who have learned Tang poetry have come to love since the Edo period.” Actually being stationed in Shanghai was one reason that Nagai Kyūichirō (who used the sobriquet Kagen) suddenly became interested in poetic composition. Perhaps it was a combination of two reasons: retiring from a government post and transitioning from scholar-official pursuits to literary ones, and (thanks to arriving in Shanghai) having the chance to “share letters and alcohol with scholar-officials” in his spare time. Because of this a new reality was added to Literary Sinitic poetry and prose. In Kagen’s poetry collections such as Poems from A Journey West and More Poems from A Journey West,35 we can see how prolific his kanshi-writing was at the time. In Kafū’s reminiscences as well, there is just one of Kagen’s poems that is recounted. It is a poem about spending the evening of the thirteenth night in a foreign land with his family: Reed flowers like snow, calls of wild geese cold. Taking wine in the southern pavilion, night is all but gone. Four members of one house, guests all along, Gaze together beyond the heavens, at the rounded lunar circle.36 35  P oems from A Journey West (Saiyū shi kō 西遊詩稿) and More Poems from A Journey West (Saiyū shi zoku kō 西遊詩続稿). 36  Roka yuki no gotoku shite gansei samushi ろ か

ゆき

ごと

がんせいさむ

蘆花如雪雁声寒 蘆花 雪の如くして雁声寒し Sake o nanrō ni toreba yoru nokoran to hossu さけ

なんろう

と

よるのこ

ほっ

把酒南楼夜欲残 酒を南楼に把れば夜残らんと欲す

Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic

Shanghai is a city with many reeds. The cold of winter is yet to come, but the reed flowers look just like snow. “夜欲残” (night-on the verge of-peter out) in the second line means the night has not yet turned to dawn, “客” at the end of the third line is a sojourner in a foreign land, and “団欒” at the end of the fourth is the roundness of the moon.* Of course, “the rounded lunar circle” is also meant to suggest the family being together (while “guests” away from Japan). An unremarkable verse, to be sure, but for Kagen to actually be present in China itself, and to compose this poem extemporaneously, showing it to his family in appreciation of the moon and familial togetherness was an impossible dream for Edo-period literati that was now possible for those in the Meiji period. 13

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*  kyaku 客; danran 団欒.

Kafū within the Literary Sinitic Context

The young Kafū was completely taken by Shanghai, to the point that he considered looking for a school in which to enroll so as to remain there. In truth, in July, just before coming to Shanghai, he failed the entrance examination for the Number One High School in Tokyo, so he felt even more eager to explore this possibility. Of course, even though his father had retired from public service and held an important position in the world of commerce, he would not allow this, and in November of the same year Kafū returned with his mother to Japan. Still, the thoughts of China that had been planted in him continued to grow, and in the end, he entered the “Chinese language course” in the Foreign Languages Department at Tokyo Secondary Commercial School. In his 1909 memoir, he writes, “I went to Shanghai for pleasure for two or three months. I came to view the Chinese lifestyle with interest, and somehow or other wanted to move there, so when I came back, I enrolled in a foreign language school to study more Chinese,† including the spoken language, as quickly as possible.” “Autumn at Nineteen” is the memoir Kafū wrote in 1935, with the background of continued tense relations between Japan and China. The memoir is written with a nostalgia for the past—a distant past when Shikō ikka motoyori kore kyaku し こ う い っ か もと

こ

きゃく

四口一家固是客 四口一家固より是れ客 Tengai tomoni miru tsuki no danran naru o てんがいとも

み

つき

だんらん

天外倶見月団欒 天 外倶に見る月の団欒なるを

†  Shinago 支那語.

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he went to Shanghai with his mother and father—and it seemed almost a different world. The diplomatic tensions eventually turned towards war, and perhaps Kafū wrote based on the discomfort he felt. As cited earlier, Kafū reminisced about Shanghai, beginning first with the vertical hanging scrolls of Chinese poetry in his home. On the occasion of the New Year, he wrote that the quatrain composed by Su Dongpo and written out by Ru Hezhang was still hanging, and that he still had it memorized. The poem he cited is the following: Pear blossoms pale, willows a deep green. When willow floss flies, blooms fill the city wall. Dispiriting, the snow on a lone tree by the east fence: How many Qingming festivals can one lifetime see?37 The poem is “Pear Blossoms by the East Fence” from among the “Five quatrains in response to Kong Mizhou,” written when the Song-era writer and official Su Dongpo38 had finished his term as governor of Mizhou and was exchanging poems with the incoming governor. During the Chinese holiday of the Qingming festival, while gazing at the pear blossoms and the willow flowers in the garden that had turned completely white, the poem wonders how many more Qingming festivals the poet will live to see. In Su Dongpo’s anthology, the character for “tree” (rendered here as 樹) is written with a different sinograph (株), so we can know that Kafū was reproducing the poem simply as he had memorized it. Kafū begins to tell of his connections with China from this point in his memoirs. If this had been all he had written, it might be discounted as nothing more than random memories of his parents’ home, but Kafū must have 37  Rika wa tanpaku ni shite yanagi wa shinsei り か

たんぱく

やなぎ

しんせい

梨花淡白柳深青  梨花は淡白にして柳は深青 ryūjo tobu toki hana jō ni mitsu りゅうじょ と

とき はな じょう

み

柳絮飛時花満城 柳 絮 飛ぶ時 花 城に満つ chūchō su tōran ichiju no yuki ちゅうちょう

とうらん いちじゅ

ゆき

惆悵東欄一樹雪 惆 悵 す 東 欄 一樹の雪 jinsei miru o uru wa ikuseimei zo じんせい

み

う

いくせいめい

人生看得幾清明 人 生 看るを得るは 幾清明ぞ 38  “Pear Blossoms by the East Fence” (Dong lan li hua 東欄梨花); “Five quatrains in response to Kong Mizhou” (He Kong Mizhou wu jue 和孔密州五絶); Su Dongpo 蘇東坡 (1037–1101).

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been a literatus through and through, as after reminiscing about the day he arrived in Shanghai as a youth, he gradually comes to a conclusion, writing: It was all a dream from thirty-six years ago. The months and years wait for no one, and the rush of time passing by is truly as Su Shi [Su Dongpo] says: “Dispiriting, the snow on a lone tree by the east fence. How many Qingming festivals can one lifetime see?” The natural manner with which this overall framework is constructed owes much to the Literary Sinitic Context that Kafū inherited. Without using much Sinitic vocabulary or flaunting the consciousness of a scholar-official, he relays a deeper sense of human life through poetry. For Kafū, and probably for his father, too, Literary Sinitic poetry and prose was the entryway to an exotic country called “Shina,” becoming an essential and inseparable part of their mental framework. 14

Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, Child of a Merchant Household

In 1911, in the magazine Mita Literature* for which he himself served as editor-in-chief, Nagai Kafū enthusiastically praised Tanizaki Jun’ichirō’s fiction. Through this, Tanizaki became known in literary circles, but he had already looked up to Kafū from much earlier, and in his Tales of My Youth,† he writes about joining in the Pan Society that championed anti-naturalism39 and recalls the enthusiasm with which he met Kafū for the first time. Tanizaki respected Kafū as the kind of author he himself wanted to be, and within modern Japanese literary history, the line from Kafū to Tanizaki is represented as that of the “aesthete”‡ school. Furthermore, because Tanizaki wrote poetry in Literary Sinitic when he was a youth, went to a school of Sinitic Learning, and also

39  Naturalism, or shizenshugi 自然主義, was a literary movement that flourished in Japan during the first two decades of the twentieth century; while drawing from the European tradition, it was nonetheless distinct from it. Many of the novelists associated with Japanese naturalism depicted human lives or the individual through an objective and detached portrayal of everyday reality, but they often focused on a search for the individual and a concern with the notion of the modern self.

*  Mita bungaku 三田文学.

†  Seishun monogatari 青春物語 (1932–1933). ‡  Tanbi 耽美.

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because his early works like “The Tattooer” and “The Kylin”40 were strongly influenced by Chinese literature, it is common to single him out from his contemporaries as someone cultivated in Sinitic Learning. Yet, since Tanizaki was born in 1886 his elementary education cannot be compared with that of Ōgai or Sōseki, who preceded him by two decades. It was an age in which education used Kundoku Style, not straight Literary Sinitic. It was also in 1886 that the Minister of Education, Mori Arinori,41 spearheaded the creation of the modern school system which was premised on the notion of a constitutional monarchy. Even though Kafū was only seven years older, the changes in this time period were immense. There would also have been a different consciousness toward Literary Sinitic poetry and prose between Kafū, whose father was a kanshi poet, and Tanizaki, who was born to a merchant house in the Nihonbashi district of Tokyo. Despite being accustomed to the atmosphere of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose from a young age, Kafū was aware that his actual poetic composition abilities would never rival those of his father, a feeling that may have haunted him. Tanizaki was not bound by any such complexes. If he had been born during the end of the Edo period, or had been in the family of a Sinitic Learning scholar like Kafū, then studies in Literary Sinitic would have been fundamental to and practically compulsory for his education. But for Tanizaki (born in 1886), there would have been no sense of compulsion in his generation or in the environment in which he was raised. Studying Literary Sinitic poetry and prose was more of an intellectual diversion. Also, for Tanizaki, who had become close friends with the son of a Chinese restaurant owner from his primary school days, Literary Sinitic poetry and prose was from the outset a window onto a foreign land. It was Literary Sinitic poetry and prose as Chinese culture.

40  “The Tattooer” (Shisei 刺青, 1910) and “The Kylin” (Kirin 麒麟, 1910). For a translation of “The Tattooer” see Howard Hibbett, trans. Seven Japanese Tales (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1963), 160–169. For an analysis of “The Kylin,” see Nobuko Miyama Ochner, “History and Fiction: Portrayals of Confucius by Tanizaki Jun’ichirō and Nakajima Atsushi” in Literary Relations East and West: Selected Essays, ed. Jean Toyama and Nobuko Miyama Ochner (Honolulu: College of Languages, Linguistics, and Literature, University of Hawai‘i at Manoa, 1990). 41  Mori Arinori 森有礼 (1847–1889).

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15

Drowning Single-Mindedly in Beauty

Let us consider Tanizaki and the Literary Sinitic Context from two perspectives. The first is “eros,” and the second is “Shina.” For example, the themes in the short stories “The Tattooer” and “The Kylin” are female beauty and its enchanting quality, which will be familiar to any reader of Tanizaki. In “The Tattooer,” which debuted in 1910, the tattoo artist Seikichi, who wishes more than anything else to obtain a woman whose skin is so beautiful that it would be a fitting canvas for a tattoo of his own soul, eventually finds such a person, an apprentice geisha, and plans to tattoo a spider onto her back. Before doing so, he shows her two pictures of evil women who prey on men. When the tattoo is finished and she awakes from the anesthetic, her timidity is gone and she is transformed into a bewitching beauty. “The Kylin” was presented in the same year. In it, Confucius visits the state of Wei and lectures on morality in an attempt to bring Duke Ling to his senses, who is infatuated with his consort Lady Nanzi.42 The Duke initially appears to follow the advice of Confucius, and Lady Nanzi thus tries to trick Confucius but fails. In the end the Duke is unable to part with Lady Nanzi, leading Confucius to say, “I have yet to see a man who loves virtue in the same way he loves sensual pleasures,” after which he leaves the state of Wei. In “The Tattooer,” one of the pictures shown to the young woman is of Daji, consort of King Zhou of Shang,43 gazing out upon a man who is about to be sacrificed. In “The Kylin,” Lady Nanzi herself tells Confucius that people were surprised that her face resembled Daji’s and that her eyes resembled those of Bao Si, the beloved consort of King You of Zhou.44 Both Daji and Bao Si were not simply beautiful women who could bring the country to ruin by captivating the king, but were also evil women who delighted in cruel acts. This is precisely as described in the scene in the Tang-era “Tale of Yingying” in which Student Zhang casts Yingying aside; Zhang recalls how King Zhou and King You drove their kingdoms to ruin through infatuation with their courtesans, so the implication is that he rejects Yingying because she is an “evil woman.”

42  Duke Ling (Ling Gong 靈公) of Wei 衞 (ca. 534–493 BCE), Lady Nanzi (Nanzi 南子). 43  Daji 妲己, King Zhou (Zhou Wang 紂王) of Shang 商. 44  Bao Si 褒姒, King You (You Wang 幽王) of Zhou 周.

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*  “Fame and honor” (kōmyō 功名) and “romantic love” (ren’ai 恋愛).

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This is not to say that we can see the direct influence of “Tale of Yingying” on “The Tattooer” and “The Kylin.” Daji and Bao Si are representatives of beautiful yet evil women, so we might say that this is just an issue of rhetoric. But that is not the case; in “Tale of Yingying,” the beauty of Yingying and her luscious intimacy with Student Zhang are emphasized, and the narrative brings in Daji and Bao Si in order to reject that emphasis on beauty. In Tanizaki’s “The Kylin,” however, Daji and Bao Si are incorporated not to negate the beauty of the young geisha, but to emphasize it. This shift in Tanizaki’s work in terms of the dynamic between beauty and evil is not based in a moralistic world that rejects Daji and Bao Si, a world characterized by the scholar-official mentality. Rather, it is based in a world that wallows in eros, where beauty comes almost to the point of evil. At this point, this world wallowing in eros has already long since exceeded the bounds of the bunjin mentality, but that is where its origins lie. “The Kylin” takes Confucius as its protagonist, and verses from the Analects are spread throughout the story, but it is clearly not a Confucian narrative. Having said that, there is no confrontation between “fame and honor” and “romantic love.”* If we take love as fundamentally opposed to professional distinction, the eros seen in Tanizaki has already departed from the world of Confucius because Tanizaki has raised its value. Perhaps it is fitting to say that he is single-mindedly immersing himself in beauty. While superficially appearing to depend on the Literary Sinitic Context, the story takes shape by venturing to the very edges of that Context. Perhaps Kafū praised Tanizaki’s work because, since Tanizaki was not, like Kafū, either bound up by the Literary Sinitic Context or raised in it, Kafū was envious that Tanizaki could easily stand on its borders. In other words, for Tanizaki, manipulating this shift with regard to the Literary Sinitic Context was possible and even completely natural; it was an issue of raw material. As I stated in Chapter 3, elementary training in Literary Sinitic was not simply the accumulation of knowledge, but something that was established as the background for a particular mentality. Kafū saw first-hand the ambitions of his father the scholarofficial, as well as the setbacks. Although Kafū did not pursue the same path, he was cognizant of that mentality. By diving into that world he was at last able to establish his own position as an author. For Tanizaki, the mentality of the scholar-official was already something from the distant past—his model was Kafū. But Tanizaki could

Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic

not discern the ethic that Kafū was resisting; he could only see where Kafū stood. This became Tanizaki Jun’ichirō’s departure point as an author. It was as if Kafū strove to extract himself from inside the Literary Sinitic Context, whereas Tanizaki casually strode into it from the outside. Tanizaki could select any part of this world to introduce into his fiction. He did not have to take into account the scholar-official parts. If the aesthetics of the bunjin mentality were attractive, he was free to pursue them totally and completely. This is what I mean when I say he used the Literary Sinitic Context like so much raw material. 16

Shina as the Setting for Eros

We can say the same in terms of Tanizaki’s view of “Shina.” As is often pointed out, the stories written by Tanizaki when he visited China in 1918 to gather materials—for example, works like “Night in Qinhuai,” “Moon over West Lake,” and “Velvet Dream”45—bolstered his reputation as an author fascinated with China. “Night in Qinhuai” is set in Nanjing while “Moon over West Lake” and “Velvet Dream” take place in Hangzhou, but they are all located in the larger Jiangnan area—the Southland—a place yearned for by writers and artists. Tanizaki brought an aesthetic perspective to these places that borders on the degenerate. “Night in Qinhuai” is about eating Chinese food in the pleasure districts of Nanjing that have existed since antiquity, then wandering the streets looking for a prostitute before at last meeting his quarry. “Moon over West Lake” is about going on a sightseeing trip from Shanghai to Hangzhou, arranging his accommodations so that he would be staying at the same hotel as a young beauty seen on the train, then going moonlight pleasure boating on West Lake only to find the post-suicidal corpse of the young lady. “Velvet Dream” is wrapped in even more bizarre scenery, and is about hearing from a friend the long confessions of beautiful slaves kept as “pleasure tools” for the master of a villa and his mistress. In classic Tanizaki style, sex is bound up in everything, but this was easier to accomplish by setting the stories in an exotic place called “Shina.” It has already been theorized elsewhere that these novels are based on an Orientalist affection for Chinoiserie. How does this Orientalist 45  “Night in Qinhuai” (Shinwai no yoru 秦淮の夜, 1919), “Moon over West Lake” (Seiko no tsuki 西湖の月, 1919), and “Velvet Dream” (Birōdo no yume 天鵞絨 の夢, 1919).

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*  Yi Jiangnan 憶江南.

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China affection relate to the Literary Sinitic Context? To answer this, let us return to the problem of eros. I have repeatedly explained how Kafū’s world, more than a bunjin mentality, is built around a center of gravity inclined more to emotion. He established his own position as a novelist via erotic poems and erotic tales. Tanizaki is similar in this regard. In the case of Kafū, however, he somehow sensed his father’s shadow, the shadow of the scholar-official, and played the part of bunjin opposite him. Conversely, Tanizaki played the part indifferently, even frivolously, while greedily trying to consume the bunjin world. To him, erotic poetry and erotic tales were important not for establishing his own position but for satisfying his ambitions. Because his position was not defined by the Literary Sinitic Context, erotic poetry and erotic tales could be nothing more than raw materials. The same could be said for the concept of “Shina.” It is necessary to think about the meaning of Jiangnan as an object of Tanizaki’s yearning. This is naturally premised on the idea of Jiangnan as a place longed for by writers and artists. Modern Japanese literati were familiar with the Eight Views of West Lake and similar sites as topics featuring in poetic composition and art. Poems from the old capital lamenting the country’s downfall can be seen frequently as a theme in the Selection of Tang Poems. Ever since the Six Dynasties period, the center of literary arts was more in Jiangnan than in the north, and it was precisely the brightness of the scenery that moved Bai Juyi to write his “Recalling Jiangnan,”* a landscape he recited, as it were, from memory. On his first trip to China, Tanizaki entered Beijing from the Korean peninsula and turned southward. Tanizaki left various records about his travels, but he chose to set his stories only in the Jiangnan region. Kafū would probably have done the same thing; after all, Jiangnan was the land of the literati. In Tanizaki’s representation we see a clear bias toward Jiangnan as a site of eros, despite the fact that its significance in the Literary Sinitic Context goes well beyond this singular theme. “Travels in Suzhou”46 cites from “The Tower of Twofold Fragrance;”47 “Night in Qinhuai”

46  “Travels in Suzhou” (Soshū kikō 蘇州紀行, 1919). 47  “The Tower of Twofold Fragrance” (Lianfang lou ji 聯芳樓記) is an erotic tale from the late-Ming story collection, New Tales to Trim the Lamp By ( Jiandeng xinhua 剪燈新話).

Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic

affects scenery reminiscent of the Tang poet Du Mu;48 and the young lady who commits suicide in “Moon over West Lake” finds her parallel in the poet Su Xiaoxiao.49 All of this is connected to eros. As I have explained thus far, this certainly belongs to the Literary Sinitic Context, but it is also true that there is more to it. In the world of the literati, sentiment must be balanced consistently with composure, and in the mentality of the scholar-official, the literati mentality is balanced with that of the scholar-official; or at least, it should be. Tanizaki was indifferent to all of this. The literati mentality and the scholar-official mentality had already parted ways, government and literature had become completely different things, and it was sufficient for scholars of literature to think only about literature. The prototype for this new configuration was Tanizaki. This is not to imply that we should be critical of Tanizaki’s stance. We can even say that it is precisely because of this indifference that he could take eros out of the Literary Sinitic Context and succeed in constructing a world that had a different kind of love than that found in the Naturalist school. So Tanizaki, who had expanded his imaginative world through erotic poems and tales, was able to expand his imagination even further by visiting that realm. 17

Akutagawa’s Realistic Conception of China

Akutagawa Ryūnosuke’s “Shina” stood in stark contrast with that of Tanizaki. It was Akutagawa who adapted Tanizaki’s “Night in Qinhuai” and wrote “The Christ of Nanjing,”50 and Akutagawa’s visit to China occurred in 1921, just three years after Tanizaki’s. His collection of travel diaries, Travels in China51 is often contrasted with Tanizaki’s travel diaries 48  Du Mu 杜牧 (803–852). 49  Su Xiaoxiao 蘇小小 (d. ca. 501). 50  “The Christ of Nanjing” (Nankyō no Kirisuto 南京の基督, 1920). See “The Christ of Nanking,” trans. Ivan Morris, in The Columbia Anthology of Modern Japanese Literature Volume 1: From Restoration to Occupation, 1868–1945 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005), 347–355. 51  Travels in China (Shina yūki 支那遊記). First published in 1925 by Kaizōsha. For an English translation see Joshua Fogel and Kiyoko Morita, trans., “Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, ‘Travels in China [Shina yūki],’” Chinese Studies in History 30, no. 4 (Summer 1997): 10–55.

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*  Governance or statecraft (keisei 経世).

Chapter 5

and the stories based on them; where Tanizaki enjoyed China romantically, Akutagawa is regarded as having grasped too much of its harsh reality and suffered neurosis from it. Certainly in reading the various parts of Travels in China, the underlying tone is one of dissatisfaction and disillusionment. Akutagawa even went so far as to say, “I bear no love for China.” It is tempting to speak of this as a difference in temperament: Tanizaki ate ravenously everywhere and solicited women, while Akutagawa was hospitalized with pleurisy shortly after arriving in Shanghai. But their difference in perspective on “Shina” was already established before they arrived. If Tanizaki’s point of departure was eros, Akutagawa’s was governance. This is clear from his introduction to Travels, where he writes: “After all, heaven blessed me (or cursed me) with the talents of a journalist.” One might object that journalism and governance or statecraft* are quite different, and suppose that when Akutagawa says “journalist,” what he means is writing things as they really are rather than dramatizing them as in fiction. But the contrast between novelists and journalists is not only in how they write. More than anything else, their perspectives are different. It is fine for novelists to look at only those things that interest them, but journalists must impartially observe things in their entirety—at least Akutagawa presumably thought so. Akutagawa the journalist—precisely because of his talent as a journalist—was unable to look at China without disappointment. For Akutagawa, a writer who in his own way was intimate with Literary Sinitic poetry and prose, the discovery of poetic sentiment in China was definitely a happy occasion. Getting by without looking closely at the unclean and immoral would have been possible, but he could not do it. Akutagawa could not be satisfied with devoting himself to poetic sentiment alone. Such is the stance of a journalist, and to put it in terms of the themes of this book, such would be the sentiment of the scholar-official. If Tanizaki was of Kafū’s lineage, Akutagawa would be Sōseki’s disciple. I will touch on Sōseki in the final chapter, but for now, I will simply mention that while observing the activities of the everyday world, Akutagawa chose a lifestyle that maintained a distance from them. He can be viewed as someone attempting to carry out his life within the Liteary Sinitic Context yet in modern times. Perhaps he learned this from Sōseki, whose China travel journal, just like his, is laced with disappointment and dissatisfaction.

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18

187

Contrasting Tanizaki and Akutagawa

This approach to Akutagawa is of course based solely on contrasting him with Tanizaki, and looking only at Akutagawa’s consciousness of governance would miss the point. Before Akutagawa went to China, the January 1920 issue of Bungei kurabu ran an interview with him titled “The Appeal of Literary Sinitic Prose and Poetry.”* There Akutagawa writes, “Everyone thinks kanshi and kanbun have an overall ‘classic blandness’ to them (to echo the formulation of the Song dynasty poet, Mei Yaochen). But though that be true in general, the fact is many of these works have a very precise sensitivity.” He then cites a poem with detailed scenery by the Ming poet Gao Qi.52 Afterwards he writes, “People think that lyrical feelings have only a weak connection to Literary Sinitic poetry, but this is not always the case.” He goes on to introduce the Toilette-Box Collection of boudoir-style poems by the Tang poet Han Wo.† Han Wo was a poet who depicted sensual relations with lovely young women with considerable enthusiasm—so much so that later poems about bewitching women came to be dubbed the “Toilette-Box Style,” and Akutagawa’s use of this type of poem in order to answer the question of “The Appeal of Literary Sinitic Prose and Poetry” links to whether or not it is appropriate to read them as modern literature. This can also be seen in his mentions of and comparisons with poets from the same time period, such as Ikuta Shungetsu and Yoshii Isamu.53 Here there is no consciousness of poetry or prose in Literary Sinitic as something that cultivates a consciousness of governance. In this regard, Akutagawa and Tanizaki’s respective points of departure are not so different. Let us consider Akutagawa’s only short story based on materials collected while he traveled in China: “The Folding Fan of Hunan.”54 In this story, the protagonist goes to a brothel with his friend Tan Yongnian while visiting Changsha. Tan gives a biscuit stained with the blood of the executed local bandit Huang Liuyi to his mistress, the prostitute Yulan, and while eating it Yulan says, “I will happily taste the blood of the one I love, dear Huang.” Both in setting the story in a brothel and in searching out the bizarre, Akutagawa is not unlike Tanizaki. And by this time “Shina” had already become stereotyped along these lines as a setting for fiction. The scene 52  Gao Qi 高啟 (1336–1374). 53  Ikuta Shungetsu 生田春月 (1892–1930) and Yoshii Isamu 吉井勇 (1886–1960). 54  Konan no ōgi 湖南の扇 (1926).

*  Kanbun kanshi no omoshiromi 漢文漢詩の 面白味.

†  Toilette-Box Collection (Xianglian ji 香奩集) by Han Wo 韓偓 (844–923).

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when the protagonist “I” looks at the list of prostitute’s names at the brothel and says, “All of the names would be fitting for female protagonists in a Chinese novel” illustrates how this space is connected to the history of eros. But the most significant difference with Tanizaki is the entanglement of governance and politics. The beginning of the story relates that the Hunan area produces many revolutionaries, and that this is linked to the “strong and unbending character of the Hunan people.” Huang Liuyi is none other than a “local bandit,” not a “revolutionary,” but “revolutionary” is often regarded in the same light as “local bandit,” and judging from the introduction, at the very least Yulan’s “unbending” character is set up as something connected to things “revolutionary.” Tanizaki’s “Shina,” while serving as an entrance to modern “Shina,” also connects to a “Shina” of a different world. “Velvet Dream” and other works are the prototype for this portal to another “Shina.” By way of contrast, Akutagawa’s “Shina” is a modern “Shina,” through and through— one that has “local bandits” and “revolutionaries.” Such is the contrast between Tanizaki and Akutagawa. 19 *  Attitude toward governance (keisei ishiki 経世意 識).

What Was the Taishō Ideology of Education?

Akutagawa’s attitude toward governance* is of course quite different from that which existed up until the early Meiji period. It might be clearest to call it the elite consciousness that was cultivated within the modern school system that took the Imperial University as its zenith. In truth, the elite consciousness that existed in Japan’s secondary education system was a sort of reorganization and extension of the scholar-official consciousness, or alternatively, of the warrior-class consciousness. The ideology of education from late Meiji until the Taishō period ending in 1926 is different in its contents from the idea of cultivation that existed through the early modern period, but the overall framework that advocated refining one’s personality via learning changed little. It is fitting to recall Smiles’ Self Help, the work cited in Chapter 3. The introduction to the opening of the eleventh section includes a quote from Edward Gibbon: “Every person has two educations—one which he receives from others, and one, more important, which he gives to himself,” and makes it clear why “education” (kyōyō) here was called “education”: it refers to educating oneself. Educational philosophy does not simply end with molding one’s character; it also means assuming

Japanese Novelists, Nostalgia, and the Exotic

responsibility toward society. This, too, was the traditional consciousness toward governance. Prior to his visiting China, Akutagawa was not particularly aware of responsibility toward society. When he wrote (after traveling to China) that he had the talent of a journalist, he was strongly aware of himself and his inability to bury himself in poetic sensibilities and ignore reality. In contrast to Tanizaki, who only grew increasingly indulgent, Akutagawa’s eyes were opened. “The Christ of Nanjing” is a story Akutagawa wrote before going to China, but looking at it from this perspective, it reveals a certain scholar-official point of view. The work is not based on a straightforward consciousness of the need to improve society, and the difficulty of distinguishing good from evil is noted, but when Akutagawa sketches the setting with, “In order to augment her poor livelihood, night after night she welcomed guests into the room, a prostitute at fifteen years of age,” there is a certain sense of social consciousness. Moreover, the faith and reason evinced by the prostitute are something not seen in the indulgence of Tanizaki’s erotic novels. On the other hand, “the young traveler from Japan” who worries about whether or not he should “give instruction” to the prostitute, can be understood as descending from a scholar-official consciousness whereby one cannot help but always place oneself in a higher position. This kind of perspective from above is also missing in Tanizaki. I am not suggesting that one approach is better or worse than the other, but that we can understand these works as creating two new focal points and setting the stage for a new context in the Taishō period. In this chapter, we have examined how the two catalysts of “eros” and “Shina” that came into focus from the Meiji period worked in the Literary Sinitic Context after the Meiji period by concentrating on Nagai Kafū, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, and Akutagawa Ryūnosuke. Although many other authors could also be studied, through this rough outline we have seen how the flow of modern literature can be understood through the perspective of the Literary Sinitic Context. In the final chapter I will consider broadly what Literary Sinitic prose and poetry, as well as the Literary Sinitic Context, mean for modern and contemporary Japan.

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The Horizon of Literary Sinitic: From the Literary Sinitic Context to a New Kind of Japanese Language 1

*  Tranquility (kanjaku 閑寂) and eros (enjō 艶情).

Characteristics of the Genbun itchi (Congruence of Speech and Writing) Style

In the preceding chapters, I examined the formation and development of the Literary Sinitic Context, or kanbunmyaku. I traced developments in this Context and in the Literary Sinitic poetry and prose at its core in Japan, from Rai San’yō to Akutagawa Ryūnosuke. The frameworks used to examine this were the categories of functionality and mentality, scholar-official (shijin) and literatus (bunjin), and tranquility and eros.* Building on these categories, I considered the emergence of the Kundoku Style and sinographic coinages, discussed the connection between poetry and fiction, and thereby provided one perspective pointing toward the establishment of modern Japanese literature and the contemporary Japanese language. In reality, however, language exists in complex ways that preclude organizing it into such simple frameworks. Just as I demonstrated with the metaphor of the ellipse, focal points are simply a useful heuristic device and many transitional states can be found between them. But this rough sketch can help us consider what the Literary Sinitic Context means. In this chapter, I fast forward into what the Literary Sinitic Context means in contemporary Japan and the significance of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose in Japan today. Japan’s modernity was shaped through the nation’s break from, denial of, and in some cases, struggle against Literary Sinitic poetry and prose—a legacy that continues and extends into today’s Japan. If we consider simply the use of sinographs or sinographic expressions as an indication, this “continuity” is clearly manifested in Japanese writing. Compared to Vietnam and North Korea where the use of sinographs has in principle ceased, or South Korea where most texts are written without the use of sinographs, the tradition of Literary Sinitic still seems to live on in Japan. However, this tradition is fracturing—Japan

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2021 | doi:10.1163/9789004436947_008

The Horizon of Literary Sinitic

modernized by breaking up the Literary Sinitic Context into pieces and consuming it piecemeal. This is exemplified in the cases of the Kundoku Style and sinographic coinages explored in Chapter 4. Both the Kundoku Style and the modern colloquial style* drew upon Literary Sinitic poetry and prose as a resource while prioritizing the context of current usage over the context of origins. The Kundoku Style and the genbun itchi style, or contemporary written Japanese, seem quite different from each other but nonetheless spring from the same source. Rather than drawing from the repertoire of expressions accumulated from the past, both styles of writing place the focus of écriture on accurately describing and expressing an object or feeling. Colloquiality, a characteristic of the genbun itchi style, was adopted to facilitate this effort to convey an object or feeling directly without relying on the repertoire of inherited expressions. This preference itself was triggered by a shift away from Literary Sinitic toward the Kundoku Style. Kundoku Style and Literary Sinitic share numerous points of contact and thus deploy many of the same elements of classical writing. The classical aspects of both Kundoku Style and Literary Sinitic look all the more pronounced when compared with Japanese writing of the present. But the Kundoku Style was promoted as an official style of writing because it was both “common” (or standard; futsū) and “contemporary” (kintai). The shift toward a contemporary writing style can only be understood as a conscious effort to break away from Literary Sinitic. Colloquiality was embraced in order to create even more distance from Literary Sinitic, expunge any remaining elements of classical writing, and advance toward a more transparent language. The Kundoku Style enabled the writing of works of fiction based largely on the Literary Sinitic Context, like Chance Encounters with Beautiful Women, while the colloquial genbun itchi style of writing was needed, if anything, to check this reactionary development. In other words, if the Kundoku Style of writing can be thought of as an attempt to break away from Literary Sinitic, then the establishment of genbun itchi style was an outright “anti-Literary Sinitic”† effort. 2

Stepping Outside the Literary Sinitic Context

Based on this framework, we can see the significance of Mori Ōgai’s writing of “The Dancing Girl” in the style of pseudo-classical, elegant

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*  Genbun itchi tai 言文一 致体.

†  Attempt to break away from Literary Sinitic (datsukanbun 脱 ＝漢文) and anti-Literary Sinitic (hankanbun 反＝ 漢文).

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*  Break away from the Literary Sinitic Context (datsukanbunmyaku 脱＝漢 文脈). †  Anti-Literary Sinitic Context (hankanbunmyaku 反＝漢 文脈).

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and elevated prose.1 In order to more effectively express the sentiment (kanshō) that is essential to the text, a style was chosen that was neither genbun itchi nor kundoku (i.e., the futsū or “standard” one). With its antiquated style, “The Dancing Girl” can be paired with Ōgai’s diary of his studies in Germany, which was originally written in Literary Sinitic. We can even regard Ōgai’s style of elegant and elevated gabun as rooted in the Literary Sinitic mode and countering the anti-Literary-Sinitic genbun itchi style. Similarly, Japanese Clover by Nagai Kafū, examined earlier, was written in a style closer to the elevated gabun style than to the Kundoku Style. We can apply the same framework to tracing the flow of Japanese literature as a whole. Modern Japanese literature started with eros (enjō) and transitioned toward romantic love (ren’ai), and in that process gave birth to Kitamura Tōkoku and what is known as modern Japanese romanticism—all part of the phenomenon to “break away from the Literary Sinitic Context.”* Literary history textbooks teach that this romanticism was followed by naturalism, which represents an “anti-Literary Sinitic Context”† phenomenon. A simple comparison of the literary style of naturalist writing with that of romanticist writing makes it clear that the former was of the genbun itchi variety. The “textbook” history of Japanese literature, seizing upon the genbun itchi style and naturalism, explains the literature produced from Meiji to Taishō in terms of developments in this one particular style of writing and intellectual movement. But considering the context of the times, the genbun itchi style of writing and naturalism should be regarded as having taken shape outside the Literary Sinitic Context, at the hands of those refusing to enter it. This idea of “being outside” is critical. In order to strengthen its footing outside the Literary Sinitic Context, “anti-kanbunmyaku” literature adopted realism and naturalism from Western literature. Of course, it is true from today’s perspective that there were a number of realist and naturalist writers who used sinographic coinages based on the Chinese classics, at least among those who produced their works during Meiji. In fact, it is not difficult to generate a list of such new sinographic terms from works of fiction by Futabatei Shimei,2 who, like Ōgai, was born at

1  Gabun 雅文, lit. “elegant writing,” is a neoclassical style of writing mixing sinographs with kana to create an elevated tone. 2  Futabatei Shimei 二葉亭四迷 (1864–1909). See also page 78, note 16.

The Horizon of Literary Sinitic

the end of the Edo period, and Tayama Katai (1871–1930)3 and Shimazaki Tōson (1872–1943),4 both of whom were born at the very beginning of the Meiji period. However, it would be mistaking the significance of the Literary Sinitic Context to take this as evidence that cultivation (soyō) in Literary Sinitic poetry and prose was still alive and well in their generation and conclude that their works should be considered part of the Literary Sinitic Context. As explained in Chapter 2, soyō does not refer to an accumulation of fragmentary knowledge but to the acquisition and internalization of a totalizing form of knowledge that is overarching and all-encompassing in nature. After all, fragments separated from the whole are only fragments, and they cannot be regarded as forming a literary context (bunmyaku). What writers like Katai and Tōson did was to deny and fracture this kind of cultivation, and thereby attempt to inch closer to (a modern) “reality” and “nature.” 3

The Focus of Écriture5

The pioneer modern writers examined in this book—Mori Ōgai, Nagai Kafū, Tanizaki Jun’ichirō, and Akutagawa Ryūnosuke—were not chosen deliberately with the intention of establishing a genealogy of “antinaturalist” writers, but rather seemed appropriate when tracing the development of the Literary Sinitic Context in Japan. Even if one wished to force these writers into a mega-category called “anti-naturalist” it would be difficult to do so because of Kafū’s status as the last writer 3  Tayama Katai 田山花袋 (1872–1930), born Rokuya 録弥, was a writer and the editorin-chief of the magazine World of Writing (Bunshō sekai 文章世界). Such works of his as “The Quilt” (Futon 蒲團) and “Life” (Sei 生) made him one of the most prominent naturalist writers. He also wrote, among other works, “A Country Schoolmaster” (Inaka kyōshi 田舍敎師) and “Time Goes By” (Toki wa sugiyuku 時は過ぎゆく). See The Quilt and Other Stories, trans. Kenneth G. Henshall (Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press, 1981). 4  Shimazaki Tōson 島崎藤村 (1872–1943), born Haruki 春樹, was a poet and writer. Together with Kitamura Tōkoku and other writers, he began publishing the magazine Bungakukai 文学界. The Broken Commandment (Hakai 破戒) solidified his status as a novelist. He also published a book of poetry, Collection of Fallen Plum Blossoms (Rakubaishū 落梅集, 1901), and the novels Spring (Haru 春), The Family (Ie 家), and Before the Dawn (Yoakemae 夜明け前). 5  J. ekurichūru エクリチュ—ル. This Franco-Japanese literary theoretical term is employed by scholars of modern literature in the sense of “writing as style” (following Roland Barthes), and implies skepticism of the notion of neutral writing or style: all writing carries a discursive style that shapes our view of the world.

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before the emergence of the genbun itchi style of writing and naturalism. If we distinguish Tanizaki and Akutagawa as having appeared on the literary stage after Kafū, it is possible to see that they were strongly conscious of the Literary Sinitic Context or even desired to return to it, but were already standing physically outside it, as opposed to Ōgai and Kafū who laid their literary foundations and carried out their creative work inside the Literary Sinitic Context. Katai and Tōson, in keeping with the trend of the early Meiji period explained in Chapter 3, stepped outside the Literary Sinitic Context and established a foothold there. This attempt to break away from the Literary Sinitic Context gained momentum from the late nineteenth century to sometime in the early twentieth century. At a time when ideas inspired by Literary Sinitic poetry and prose came to be branded as antiquated, the door was opened to the genbun itchi style thanks to the flourishing of the Kundoku Style, and a solid foundation was found outside the Literary Sinitic Context by means of the knowledge of Western literature. Now all the necessary conditions were in place for the focus of écriture to shift—and it did. Of course, there were some who felt threatened by this. Yanagita Kunio,6 who in his youth interacted with Katai and Tōson, provided the following reflection in “The Works of Tayama Katai” found within his Seventy Years of Home:7 It is Futabatei who said that literature must deal with issues of reality. Thanks to him, we have come to subscribe to the notion that fiction must deal with this aspect of life and not just with the marriages of “scholars and beauties.” However, no matter how hard I try, I still find myself unaccustomed to Futabatei’s idea. Since then, a trend has emerged in works like “I-novels” in which writers record their vague impressions, day in and day out, even if there is no point or intended target for their writings. But

6  Yanagita Kunio 柳田国男 (1875–1962) was a folklorist and ethnologist who also participated in literary circles but focused mainly on establishing academically a pristine form of Japanese culture within the framework of folklore or, as he termed it, minkan denshō 民間伝承 (lit. “folk transmission”). He collected and analyzed folk narratives, customs, and beliefs from across Japan, and is often credited with establishing modern Japanese folklore studies. 7  “Tayama Katai no sakuhin” 田山花袋の作品 in Seventy Years of Home (Kokyō shichijūnen 故鄕七十年), 1959.

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I believe this trend began with “The Quilt,”8 which set a precedent for the notion that things like this can be called a work of fiction. That is why whenever I saw Tayama I did not hesitate to talk to him in a tone that suggested, “You are to blame for this.” Needless to say, Yanagita’s mention of “scholars and beauties” points to the idea of fiction as conceived in the Literary Sinitic Context. Yanagita is clearly critical of naturalism or “I-novels,” but his words seem to carry a tone of lamentation resulting from a sense of overwhelmed helplessness. The tables had already turned. 4

The Struggle of Natsume Sōseki with the New Literary Context

Now the stage is set for a discussion of Natsume Sōseki.9 As is well known, Sōseki first tried his hand at fiction in his late thirties, after the arrival of the twentieth century. To be specific, he made his debut as a fiction writer in January of 1905 by publishing “I Am a Cat” in the journal The Cuckoo, “The Tower of London” in the periodical Imperial Literature, and “Carlyle Museum” in the magazine Student’s Lamp.10 This coincided with the emergence of naturalism, as Tōson’s The Broken Commandment appeared in 1906 and Katai’s “The Quilt” in 1907. It was also a period in which Sōseki took a leave of absence from writing Literary Sinitic poetry. Ever since he was very young, Sōseki had been well acquainted with Literary Sinitic poetry and prose, and he attended Nishō Gakusha,* a private school for Sinitic Learning. The fact that he wrote Light and Darkness11 while writing Literary Sinitic poetry routinely in the latter days of his life gives the impression that he, like Ōgai, was a writer 8  “The Quilt” (Futon 蒲團) is the best known work by Tayama Katai, published in 1907. It created an uninhibited portrayal of the love and jealousy that Takenaka, a middle-aged writer, feels toward his beautiful student, Yoko. It is regarded as the first “I-novel” (shishōsetsu 私小說) and had a great impact on the naturalist literature that followed. 9  Natsume Sōseki 夏目漱石 (1867–1916). See also page 23, note 27. 10  I Am a Cat” (Wagahai wa neko dearu 吾輩は猫である), The Cuckoo (Hototogisu ホトトギス), “The Tower of London” (Rondon tō 倫敦塔), Imperial Literature (Teikoku bungaku 帝國文学), “Carlyle Museum” (Kārairu hakubutsukan カーラ イル博物館), Student’s Lamp (Gakutō 学燈). 11  Light and Darkness (Meian 明暗, 1916).

*  二松学舍.

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located inside the Literary Sinitic Context. In fact, the relationship between Sōseki and Sinitic Learning, Literary Sinitic poetry and Literary Sinitic prose has been written about so much that it has become a quintessential aspect of Sōseki as a writer in the contemporary discourse. However, if we consider the fact that he ceased kanshi composition when he became active as a fiction writer—a period from his student days in Britain up until his great bout of illness at the temple Shuzenji,12 which coincided with the emergence of naturalism—and consider also the differences in his Literary Sinitic poems before and after this period, we see that Sōseki the writer of fiction (though there is no doubt that he was inside the boundaries of the Literary Sinitic Context way of thinking before becoming one) was experiencing the urge to break away from kanbunmyaku. Works like The Grass Pillow13 could be viewed as being inside the Literary Sinitic Context; conversely, they could also serve as evidence of the expanding realm outside the Literary Sinitic Context. After his illness at Shuzenji, on the other hand, it seems that Sōseki stepped outside the Literary Sinitic Context and tried to embody the conventions of the post-kanbunmyaku order again. In other words, compared to Ōgai, who stayed unwaveringly inside the Literary Sinitic Context, Sōseki started on the inside but succeeded in breaking away from it. However, he could not reconcile himself with either realism or naturalism, which constituted the foundation of the new realm outside the Literary Sinitic Context. Nor could he re-enter the Context; he battled, as it were, to create a new Literary Context, which could also be understood as “the East” as a counterpoint to “the West.” 5

The Literary Sinitic Context as Counterpoint to the West

The Literary Sinitic Context represents an order whose boundaries are defined historically and geographically; it was not created in opposition to anything or while paying any heed to what lay beyond its borders. The Literary Sinitic Context was the one thing that tied all of East Asia into one sphere, but counter-stances were at work inside its boundaries— the public vs. the private, for example—because what lay outside the 12  In 1910, Natsume Sōseki retreated to Shuzenji in Izu due to his chronic stomach illness. However, his illness took a turn for the worse here and he vomited a large quantity of blood—a near-death experience. It is believed that this experience transformed his view on life and also led to changes in his literary works. 13  Kusamakura 草枕 (1906). For an English translation, see The Three-Cornered World, trans. Alan Turney (Chicago: Regnery, 1965).

The Horizon of Literary Sinitic

boundaries remained invisible. Therefore, any effort to break away from the Literary Sinitic Context had to establish a new basis or foothold on the outside; in turn, the creation of a new external basis relativized the Literary Sinitic Context. Sōseki was part of this process, but to him its basis seemed too fragile. Yet he had no alternative; he could not be like Tōson or Katai, but at the same time he could not, like Ōgai, adhere strictly to the Literary Sinitic Context. Meanwhile, one issue that was important to Sōseki was how to understand the West. The impact of his studies in London in his capacity as an English teacher need not be revisited here. The dissonance formed during this experience prompted him to reconfigure the Literary Sinitic Context into a counter-stance and to imagine it as an Eastern value or an Eastern order. In other words, he countered with a Literary Sinitic Context that had already been relativized. Needless to say, the framework of “East vs. West” was not unique to Sōseki. What modern Japan designated as its “outside” were China on the one hand and the West on the other. But modern Japan displayed a different attitude toward each: it acted as a nation that represented modern civilization (bunmei) with respect to China, while positioning itself as the rightful successor to Eastern culture vis à vis the West. Depending on the time and place, these two attitudes either separated from or overlapped with each other; those who received a European education bolstered their position on the strength of the former, while those who belonged to the Literary Sinitic or Confucian tradition did so on the strength of the latter. From the perspective of the latter, it might be more accurate to call China the “bottom rung” of the East, rather than its “outside.” That is to say, Japan claimed the position of leader in East Asia, overturning, as it were, its former relationship with China. It is not difficult to imagine how Japan’s defeat of Qing China in the Sino-Japanese War of 1895 must have spurred such a self-conception. Sōseki’s “East,” however, differed from this. Just as the change from sentiment (kanshō) to romantic love (ren’ai) shaped modern Japanese fiction, Sōseki’s early body of work seems to have been an experimentation with the possibility of adapting the motif of tranquility* into modern fiction. In other words, he was looking for a place that belonged neither to the “fame and honor” (kōmyō) of the East nor to the romantic love (ren’ai) of the West. In his introduction to the short story “Cockscomb” by Takahama Kyoshi14 that Sōseki wrote in 1907, he di14  Takahama Kyoshi 高浜虚子 (born Kiyoshi 清, 1874–1959), author of “Cockscomb” (Keitō 鶏頭), was a haiku poet and writer who edited the haiku magazine

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*  Kanteki 閑適.

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*  “Taking pleasure in wandering” (teikai shumi 低徊趣味); “a flavor of haiku and Zen” (haimi zenmi 俳味 禅味). †  “The transcendent” (shussekenteki 出世 間的) or the “non-human” (hininjō 非人情). ‡  Efflorescent center (chūka 中華) and the barbarian (ban’i 蛮夷).

Chapter 6

vides fiction into two categories based on the notion of yoyū (freedom of space, leisure, relaxed temporality): “stories with yoyū” and “stories with no yoyū”15 (ones that are more constricted or constrained). He called his own works “stories with yoyū” because they involved enjoying, observing, and savoring miscellaneous things that occur in life, as opposed to “stories with no yoyū,” which dealt strictly with social issues or the meaning of life. To Sōseki, this dwelling on miscellany represented “taking pleasure in wandering,” and he explained that works of this kind had “a flavor of haiku and Zen.”* Anyone familiar with Sōseki’s works would know that he extolled the “the transcendent” or the “non-human” in his novel The Grass Pillow,† quoting the Chinese poets Tao Yuanming and Wang Wei.16 This may seem to some like a direct link to the “tranquil” aspect of the Literary Sinitic Context. However, caution must be exercised here. Tranquility, in the Literary Sinitic Context, constitutes the core of the private and exists in contrast with the world of the public. But Sōseki contrasted tranquility with “ships, trains, rights, duty, morality, and polite conduct,” or with works of Western literature like Faust and Hamlet. In other words, Sōseki’s idea of tranquility stood in contrast with the modern civilization of Meiji Japan and with the West that had brought it about. So Tao Yuanming and Wang Wei took stage as the “poets of the East.” In the Literary Sinitic Context, “the East” and “the West” were alien concepts that did not exist. Of course, there was differentiation between the efflorescent center (China) and the barbarian outside,‡ but the West that Sōseki and Meiji Japan faced no longer belonged to the Hototogisu and produced many students. His works of poetry include A Collection of Haiku by Kyoshi (Kyoshi kushū 虛子句集, 1928) and Five Hundred Haiku (Gohyaku ku 五百句, 1937), and other works of fiction include the short story “An Elegant Repentance” (Fūryū senpō 風流懺法, 1921) and the full-length novel The Haiku Master (Haikaishi 俳諧師, 1909). 15  “Yoyū no aru shōsetsu” 餘裕のある小説 vs. “yoyū no nai shōsetsu” 餘裕の ない小説. For yoyū as “freedom of time and space” and “relaxed temporality,” see Miryam Sas, Experimental Arts in Postwar Japan: Moments of Encounter, Engagement, and Imagined Return (Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University East Asia Center, 2010), 195. According to the scholar Tomoko Aoyama, “This term, yoyū, though written in kanji rather than in hiragana, is what Natsume Sōseki used in his defense of literature that deals with seemingly leisurely, unimportant, and non-urgent subject matter, from the attacks of the shizen shugi (naturalist) critics.” Tomoko Aoyama, “Writing along with and against the Smugness of Writing: Kanai Mieko’s A Study of the Comfortable Life,” PAJLS (Proceedings of the Association for Japanese Literary Studies) 9 (2008), 5. 16  Wang Wei 王維 (699–759).

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category of barbarian. And the West no longer represented the foreign land depicted by those studying abroad in early Meiji either. Instead, it was an embodiment of modern civilization (bunmei) that was rapidly penetrating the everyday life of Japan; this was what constituted the realm outside the Literary Sinitic Context. What Sōseki attempted to do was to present the idea of tranquility as a counterpoint to the West or to modern civilization (bunmei) in general. He knew all too well that the poetry of tranquility, like that composed by Tao Yuanming and Wang Wei, was not the only type pursued in Literary Sinitic poetry, and also that even Tao and Wang did not just write poems about tranquility. But he [Sōseki] still made it a point to single them out, making them representatives of “Eastern poetry.” In the Literary Sinitic Context, the contradistinctions between political engagement and non-engagement and between public and private smoothly transitioned to the contrast between West and East. In some sense this may seem to be an expansion of the Literary Sinitic Context, but clearly it develops outside the context rather than inside it. To borrow the famous words of Sōseki, it was something that was “externally motivated” (gaihatsu-teki).17 6

A Predilection for Zen

It was very difficult for such an attempt to be sustained, however, within the boundaries of fiction writing. Perhaps essays and minor pieces* would have been a better means for accomplishing the task. Sōseki’s fiction was not about withdrawal from “the worldly” or “human sentiments”† but about boring headfirst into what he detested and then wrestling with it. At the same time, he needed something “tranquil” with which to resist modern civilization (bunmei). This is what he found in his Literary Sinitic poetry after his long hiatus from it—the very reason for the change in his Literary Sinitic poems after the break. 17  “Externally motivated” (gaihatsu-teki 外發的). Presented in a series of speeches Sōseki gave in western Japan in 1911 entitled “The Civilization of Modern-Day Japan” (Gendai Nihon no kaika 現代日本の開化). For a translation of the first speech, see Jay Rubin, trans., “The Civilization of Modern-Day Japan” in The Columbia Anthology of Modern Japanese Literature: From Restoration to Occupation, 1868–1945, ed. J. Thomas Rimer and Van C. Gessel (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005), 315–322. The phrase “externally motivated” appears on page 318.

*  Essays (zuihitsu 隨筆) and minor pieces (shōhinbun 小品文). †  “The worldly” (seken 世間) or “human sentiments” (ninjō 人情).

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When Sōseki was writing Light and Darkness, he sent a letter to his students Kume Masao18 and Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, which contains a passage quoted by researchers virtually every time his kanshi writing is discussed:

*  Shichigon zekku 七言 絶句.

†  閉戸空爲閑 適詩.

As usual, I work on Light and Darkness every morning. I would describe my state of mind these days as a layering of “painful,” “pleasurable,” and “mechanical.” Above all, I was pleasantly surprised to find the work refreshing. My mind caught up in the mundane from having addressed the text dozens of times a day, I started composing kanshi poems as part of my afternoon routine—about one heptasyllabic quatrain* a day. I will stop when I get bored of it, so I do not know how many I will end up with.19 The location of Literary Sinitic poetry here is evident; it lay in the “unworldly,” as perfectly captured by Sōseki’s poetic musing, “poems of tranquility written aimlessly behind closed doors.”† However, as the scholar Yoshikawa Kōjirō has pointed out, “Sōseki’s Literary Sinitic poetry became ever more ‘raw-smelling,’ and with a ‘reek of humanity,’ as his fiction writing advanced,”20 showing signs of breaking away from the aspect of tranquility. There are some who counter that Sōseki’s Literary Sinitic poetry looks tranquil because of the frequent use of Zen Buddhist expressions when, in fact, it is not. Others try to connect him with the Tang poet Du Fu, who immersed himself in questions of life and social reality. Whichever side Sōseki’s poetry may lean toward, one thing is certain: it was departing from the conventional routine of tranquility. To speak in light of what has been discussed in this book, the shift in the position of tranquility within the realm of fiction had an impact on his poetry. Tranquility, as a counter-stance to modern civilized society, was not something that could be gained by simply retiring from officialdom. 18  Kume Masao 久米正雄 (1891–1952) was a writer and playwright who, along with Kikuchi Kan 菊池寬 (1888–1948) and Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, contributed to the fourth wave of the coterie magazine New Currents in Thought (Shinshichō 新思潮). He later leaned toward writing popular novels. His works include the play “The Milkman’s Brother” (Gyūnyūya no kyōdai 牛乳やの兄弟, 1914) and the novels Notes of a Student Examinee (Jukensei no shuki 受験生の手記, 1921) and Shipwreck (Hasen 破船, 1922–1923). 19  Letter to Kume Masao and Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, August 21, 1916. 20  Included in his introduction to the collected and annotated poems of Sōseki. See Yoshikawa Kōjirō 吉川幸次郎, ed., Sōseki shichū (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1967).

The Horizon of Literary Sinitic

Realistically speaking, it was impossible to break away from civilized society. Tranquility, then, was a matter concerning the existence of the self. Of course, we can simply boast of “Eastern aestheticism” and be done with it—an attitude by which Literary Sinitic poetry has maintained its tenuous hold on relevance in modern Japan. It seems, however, that Sōseki could not stay content with such a position. As his writing of Light and Darkness reached more profound levels, his Literary Sinitic poetry only became more profound in response. And the very logic of his composing kanshi every day called for greater effort at profundity. The appearance of Zen Buddhist expressions in Sōseki’s Literary Sinitic poetry at the time is quite symbolic. Aside from the question of whether or not his kanshi were “raw-smelling,” it is clear that the poems became ever more enriched with elements of Zen. He had long been interested in the teachings of Zen and in practicing meditation, but he only started to incorporate Zen expressions in full force at the time of writing Light and Darkness. Being tranquil was not enough on its own to establish a counter-stance against modern civilized society (bunmei). The feeling of contentment as one relaxed in front of a fine painting of mountains and rivers represented an attitude hardly sufficient for the purpose. In this sense, Zen could be a powerful contributor to building a counter-stance. Basically, Zen Buddhism or Buddhism in general had the potential to open up the Literary Sinitic Context—the world of the scholar-officials (shitaifu)—to the outside world and perhaps even destroy it. The Literary Sinitic Context had long regarded this threat with trepidation, avoiding its impact by absorbing it into the category of tranquility at times and pretending it was invisible at others. The issue of the Buddhist Way and Zen in relation to the Literary Sinitic Context deserves further study and more detailed exploration on another occasion, but this is true even if we limit our focus to poetry within the Literary Sinitic Context. Here I limit myself to the discussion of Sōseki and assert that he was able to move close to Zen precisely because he ventured to compose Literary Sinitic poetry as an expression of modern civilized society while being situated outside the Literary Sinitic Context. 7

The Aspect of Intellectual Play

Here I would like to add a few comments on a subject that has been left almost untouched so far: the ludic nature of Literary Sinitic poetry and

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202 *  Kokkeimi 滑稽味.

†  Seishinsei 精神性.

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prose. By “ludic” I do not mean the kind of farcical quality* employed by Narushima Ryūhoku and his style of playful writing (gebun). Instead, I refer to the aspect of “intellectual play” provided by Literary Sinitic poetry and prose. One dimension afforded by writing Literary Sinitic poetry and prose, regardless of the time and locale, was intellectual entertainment. Although the latter half of this book has focused on the mentality and ideological nature† of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose rather than on its functionality, it should be pointed out that play and fun were an important “functional” element. It is hard to deny, for example, that the practice of peppering a text with allusions (tenko) was a form of intellectual play or competition—or, better yet, a game. Employing allusions more accurately than one’s counterpart and thereby outwitting him was a crucial skill in determining poetic superiority. And even for novices, composing poetry with the correct alternation of oblique and level tones21 could provide the level of entertainment that one would get from solving a puzzle. For example, a seven-character set of paired verses, written with only the slightest regard to such rules, looks like this:22 晴川

歷歷

漢陽樹

Seisen rekireki kan’yōju ◑○ ◑● ◑○● On the sunlit river are clearly seen the trees of Hanyang; 芳草

萋 鸚鵡洲 Hōsō seisei ōmushū ◑● ○○ ◑●◎ And flowering plants grow in profusion on Parrot Isle.

21  Roughly speaking, in terms of modern Mandarin, the first (level) tone (Ch. pingsheng, J. hyōshō 平聲) and second (rising) tone (Ch. shangsheng, J. jōshō 上聲) count as level (Ch. pingsheng, J. hyōshō 平聲), while the third (departing) tone (Ch. qusheng, J. kyoshō 去聲) and fourth (entering) tone (Ch. rusheng, J. nisshō 入聲) count as oblique (Ch. zesheng, J. sokusei 仄聲). 22  The couplet quoted here is from Cui Hao 崔顥 (704–754), “Huang He Lou” 黃鶴樓 (Yellow Crane Terrace); the translation comes from Stephen Owen, The Late Tang: Chinese Poetry of the Mid-Ninth Century (827–860) (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2006), 194.

The Horizon of Literary Sinitic

The required placement of a sinograph with the level tone is marked with ○, while ● marks the required placement of an oblique tone; ◑ represents a sinograph that can accommodate either, although there are detailed rules governing this too. And ◎ represents the sinograph that determines the rhyme. The couplet above shows the Sino-Japanese readings of the sinographs, but the rules of level and oblique tones are deployed according to the historical rhyme categories (specifically, the Sui-Tang readings) as set out in Chinese rhyme dictionaries.* Spaces here indicate breaks in rhythm, since heptasyllabic poem-lines are normally phrased as follows: dum dum / dum dum // dum dum dum; namely, there is a minor pause after the second and a major one after the fourth graph. The symbols above show that tones alternate between level and oblique every second character. Also, the second, fourth, and sixth sinographs in the first line are paralleled with opposite-tone characters in the second line. That is, 川, 陽, and 萋 are level-toned, while 歷, 草, and 鵡 are oblique-toned. The essential point is that the even-numbered graphs have alternating level and oblique tones; thus, it is permitted to switch completely the places of ○ and ●, i.e., even-toned sinographs and oblique-toned sinographs. In order to satisfy this rule, one only need consult a poetry crib (arranged according to themes like “season” and “nature”) featuring phrases with even-oblique alternation, and mix and match two-character and three-character phrases. The extent to which such mixing and matching can express poetic inspiration is an entirely different matter but, for a novice, creating a correct tone alternation scheme and thereby memorizing useful phrases would suffice. There is no better way to determine who possesses a greater store of knowledge or ability to improvise than Literary Sinitic poetry composition. Youths in the late Edo and Meiji periods pursued Literary Sinitic poetry composition enthusiastically because, as explained earlier in this book, there was an institutional basis for it; and at the same time there were a large number of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose manuals like reference books and cribs. One such poetry crib (or jukugoshū 熟語集) is illustrated in Figure 17, from Shigo shinpen 詩語新編 (1877): it gives the topic “beginning of summer” (rikka 立夏), and provides associated twocharacter phrases listed according to their tone patterns (●○, ○● and ○○). The page preceding this collects phrases in the pattern ●●, while the following page features three-character phrases in the patterns ○○● and ●○●. The crib also contains ○○○ and ●●● phrases for cases that

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* Insho 韻書.

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Figure 17 An example of a poetry crib

*  Waka 和歌.

involve three consecutive level or oblique sinographs in a row. Youths could show off their brilliance by using these manuals. That is, by composing Literary Sinitic poetry adeptly they could draw compliments on their intelligence from adults and win the respect of their peers—a very important source of motivation. The flourishing of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose in the Meiji period is related to the fact that one’s ability to compose Literary Sinitic poetry was regarded as the measure of excellence by those who had received their education in the late Edo period and through the Meiji period. Literary Sinitic poetry, rather than Japanese poetry (waka),* became the measure of intelligence because kanshi composition—thanks to its institutional basis—was a rite of passage for everyone and an avenue through which to advertise one’s intellectual skills. Starting in the Meiji period, the study of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose gradually lost the scale and range it had enjoyed in the Edo period.

The Horizon of Literary Sinitic

That is, just as the curriculum based on Sinitic Learning—one part of it, for example, being the rote recitation (sodoku) of the Four Books and Five Classics—was weakening, the ludic aspect of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose as a form of intellectual play was gaining strength. Writing Literary Sinitic poetry and prose was now becoming a display of cleverness, rather than an index of one’s mentality.* 8

Literary Sinitic Poetry and Prose Today

This aspect of “intellectual play” can also be explored with respect to how a great number of sinographic coinages were generated based on sources in the Chinese classics. Coining translated terms is clearly an intellectual task. With the rule in place that the terms must be taken from the Chinese classics, the issue of who comes up with an appropriate term or (new) mot juste becomes quite an interesting game. This rule disappeared at some point, and new terms are created now by piecing together sinographs without regard for the classics. But its traces can still be found in the unwritten rule that a translated term comprises two sinographs forming a phrase. This translation practice requires far more knowledge and sophistication, say, than simply using katakana to phonetically transcribe “game” and “rule” into “gēmu ゲーム” and “rūru ルール” as is now the convention. That Tanizaki and Akutagawa both took an interest in and composed Literary Sinitic poetry can be seen as an extension of this trend, and it is emblematic that Tanizaki used his own experience of kanshi composition during his elementary school days in his short story “The Boy Prodigy.”23 This is precisely why Tanizaki and Akutagawa were able to use the Literary Sinitic Context as material for their works while nonetheless standing outside it. This is no different from the case of Hinatsu Kōnosuke,24 who purposely employed abstruse sinographic terms, infusing a sense of foreignness, or unfamiliarity, into his writing. 23  Shindō 神童 (1916). 24  Hinatsu Kōnosuke 日夏耿之介 (1890–1971), born Higuchi Kunito 樋口国登, was a poet and a scholar of English literature. He drew attention with his symbolical poetry of mysticism that contained prosaic sinographic expressions. His collections of poetry include In Praise of Conversion (Tenshin no shō 転身の頌, 1917) and Virgin Mary in Black (Kokue seibo 黒衣聖母, 1921), and he also wrote A History of Poetry from the Taisho and Meiji Eras (Meiji Taishō shishi 明治大 正詩史, 1929).

205

*  Seishinsei 精神性.

206

*  Kanbunmyaku fū 漢文脈風.

Chapter 6

The sinographic terms used in his poems, despite being taken from the Chinese classics, were not necessarily couched within the context in which they had originally been used. They were simply raw material employed to create an impression.25 Just as I posited in Chapter 1, frequent use of sinographic terms did not necessarily mean that a work belonged to the Literary Sinitic Context. Tanizaki and Akutagawa, although they stood outside the Literary Sinitic Context, had an understanding of what it was. Today, however, when even Kundoku Style has all but disappeared from everyday use, it is difficult to gain an understanding of the Literary Sinitic Context as a separate language world. Even when one uses sinographic terms to invoke a sense of gravitas, it seems that the usage hardly extends beyond the level of “playing” with sinographs. The empty Japanese phrase “yoroshiku” written with the spurious sinographs 夜露死苦 is a good example.26 Of course, there is a certain skill to this sort of sinographic whimsy. These four particular sinographs combine to produce something that superficially passes as a meaningful phrase. At the same time, the phrase is a phonetically jarring one, as all four sinographs are oblique-toned; in a smoother phrase, the second and fourth graphs would display level/oblique alternation in tone. This phonetic quality— though it may not have been intended—is what makes the phrase intriguing. Such sinographic punning, however, still cannot be considered part of the Literary Sinitic Context. Contemporary Japan’s “pseudo-kanbun context”* exists in forms other than wordplay. For example, moral discourses that may well be employed in a politician’s speech or an employer’s motivational catchphrase contain set phrases with a smattering of kundoku thrown in every now and then. These phrases represent a contrived effort to create an air of the scholar-official mentality in the fashion of Rai San’yō, and thus sound hollow and even made up, especially when the speaker draws attention to them. In Chapter 2, I mentioned that Masamune Hakuchō, 25  For related discussions of the use by Mori Ōgai of abstruse sinographs and kanji compounds to create separate worlds or simply to show off, see: the discussion of Sokkyō shijin 卽興詩人, his adaptation of Hans Christian Andersen’s Improvisatoren (The Impromptu Poet, 1835), in John Timothy Wixted, “Mori Ōgai: Translation Transforming the Word/World,” Japonica Humboldtiana 13 (2009–2010); and John Timothy Wixted, “The Kanshi of Mori Ōgai: Allusion and Diction,” Japonica Humboldtiana 14 (2011): 104–107. 26  As explained in Chapter 1, these graphs can be read as yo, ro, shi, and ku, to convey “best regards” but the characters do not make a coherent Literary Sinitic expression.

The Horizon of Literary Sinitic

an avid follower of naturalism, read Rai San’yō and felt a strong sense of dissonance or, better yet, contempt. Perhaps this sense is felt even more strongly in contemporary Japan where the genbun itchi style of writing has become the “standard” style. We should also be careful not to forget the political overtones of the Kundoku Style used as the official written language in pre-war Japan. The Kundoku Style had originally been weighted towards functionality. But when the genbun itchi style was put in place, the weighting shifted in the opposite direction to the mentality (seishinsei) of the Literary Sinitic Context, which was now promoted as a Confucian moral value. The 1890 Imperial Rescript on Education27 is a perfect demonstration of this, as is the argument that Literary Japanese (bungobun) written style was ideal for lending weight and authority to the language of the law. All of this lent prestige to the Kundoku Style. This style, of course, did not exist exclusively in one form—a fact that needs no more illustration here. What I want to highlight is the political character that the Kundoku Style of writing came to assume after and indeed thanks to the establishment of the genbun itchi style. In this regard, the two styles cannot be discussed separately. In short, thinking about the Literary Sinitic Context today needs to go beyond topics like “cultivation in classical knowledge” and “East Asia’s common culture,” because we stand today in the realm of the genbun itchi style of writing, which was developed outside of and with goals antithetical to the Literary Sinitic Context. Modern Japan abandoned the Literary Sinitic Context. But why? And what does its abandonment say about Japan and the Japanese that they did so? These are the questions we must look to next. 9

A Different Kind of Japanese

Literary Sinitic poetry and prose may well be a treasured resource of Japanese culture; perhaps now is the time to revive the cultivation of Literary Sinitic knowledge. I would be the last to raise an objection to 27  The Imperial Rescript on Education (Kyōiku chokugo 教育勅語) was a short document issued by the Meiji Emperor one year after the promulgation of the Meiji Constitution. It presented the moral basis of the Meiji state (with the emperor at its center), delineated Confucian values within family relationships, and described the duties of the nation and its citizens. The Rescript was posted in schools alongside images of the Meiji Emperor and Empress and students were required to recite it.

207

208

*  Dōbun dōshū 同文同種.

Chapter 6

such a line of thinking, but I wonder if we should not first ascertain what the Literary Sinitic Context has meant for modern Japan. This book has been an attempt to do just that. In Japan today, any discussion of what Literary Sinitic means is often reduced to issues of cultural heritage and intellectual cultivation (soyō)—a reflection of our desire to reconstitute what we now lack. It is, however, intimately bound up with the question of where we stand today. In other words, thinking about the Literary Sinitic Context means putting it in comparative perspective rather than attempting to reinforce perceived weaknesses in modern Japanese language or culture. The Literary Sinitic Context, after all, is a world we have been distancing ourselves from for more than a century. This point of view is also useful when we expand the scope of our examination to other regions of East Asia’s Literary Sinitic Context. China, Korea, Vietnam, and Japan—which we might refer to collectively as the sinographosphere28—have shared sinographs and Literary Sinitic since the earliest times, and thus each boasts a substantial vocabulary derived from sinographic expressions. It is easy to highlight their commonalities, as the fraught phrase “shared script, shared race”* indicates. However, what sinographs and Literary Sinitic actually brought about in this region, as explained earlier in the book, was each member polity’s consciousness of its own singularity and variety. Each of these “consciousnesses,” linked in complex ways with the others, constituted its own modernity and externalized the Literary Sinitic Context in its own way. At present, the only place outside of the Chinese-speaking world that makes regular use of sinographs is Japan. They are essentially unused in North Korea and Vietnam, and their use is limited even in South Korea. The languages of these countries, although they possess higher overall proportions of sinograph-based idioms and expressions than Japanese, have turned their backs on sinographs as a matter of language policy. Therefore, one can no longer argue that “sinographs constitute East Asia’s common culture” or that “we use the same script and belong to the same race.” Instead, one must first examine in each case how the Literary Sinitic Context was externalized. With this in mind, it is essential to reacquaint ourselves with the world we have become distanced from. The goal is not to retrieve something that can contribute to our life today or add to our store of 28  Or even, perhaps, as the “Sinographic Cosmopolis,” as in the name of the Brill series in which this translation appears.

The Horizon of Literary Sinitic

209

knowledge. Instead, it is to understand the Literary Sinitic Context as a separate world of Japanese language and, based on the perspective gained from this understanding, to examine the world of contemporary Japanese as reflected in this view. This will yield a more profound way of thinking about contemporary Japanese than simply brandishing one’s knowledge of the Chinese classics in order to determine whether a sinographic expression is being misused (even if we admit that such brandishing is rooted in forms of intellectual play originating from within the Literary Sinitic Context). By realizing that there are certain things that can only be expressed through the Literary Sinitic Context, we can put the world of contemporary Japanese into comparative perspective and thereby understand both its limitations and uniqueness. This is analogous to how Sōseki, while writing Light and Darkness in the vernacular, would at the same time compose Literary Sinitic poetry. 10

Of Pastimes and Personal Refinement

The Literary Sinitic Context is not simply a matter of literary or orthographic style but an entire framework of thought and sensibilities. Thus, language is not the only subject that can be examined through the Literary Sinitic Context. A thorough acquaintance with the Literary Sinitic Context can shed new light on phenomena and practices that earlier seemed like self-evident phenomena of an everyday nature and therefore escaped our consciousness. Take, for example, the notion of having a “hobby.”* All résumé templates available for purchase today in Japan contain a section for recording one’s hobbies or pastimes. The formulaic response to this section seems to be “reading” or “listening to music.” In terms of the Literary Sinitic Context, such a response corresponds to how a traditional hermit would enjoy a life of reading Laozi and Zhuangzi and playing the zither. The “sho” 書 of the phrase “kinki shoga” 琴棋書画 (zither, chess, calligraphy and painting) generally refers to calligraphy, but reading is also a critical part of a hermit’s life. Tao Yuanming’s indulgence in playing a string-less zither (kin 琴) and passing his time reading was longed for by bunjin of later ages. Considering that the modern space called “pastime” represents the private as a complement to the public, this banal response fits well with the tradition of the Literary Sinitic Context. One reads a paperback novel now instead of Literary Sinitic poetry and prose, or listens to classical music instead of Chinese music,

*  Shumi 趣味.

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yet this still connects to the Literary Sinitic Context. The underlying structure remains the same. Then there is the matter of “pastime” versus “personal refinement” (kyōyō). Although it can be difficult to articulate exactly what distinguishes the two, it is generally accepted that they are different. It may be challenging to explain the difference between “reading as a pastime” and “reading as a means of personal refinement,” or “music as a pastime” and “music as a means of personal refinement,” but they certainly feel different. With the framework adopted in this book, however, this difference may be explained clearly. That is, a pastime would be aligned with the world of the literatus (bunjin), whereas a source of personal refinement would belong to that of the scholar-official (shijin). The former gravitates toward one’s own private world, while the latter situates one as a social being. Contemporary sensibilities perforce treat these as completely separate subjects, but viewed from the perspective of the Literary Sinitic Context, they can be understood by their positions in relation to each other within a larger overall framework. Such a perspective may provide a fuller context for daily living now that can seem dispersed and devoid of connections. To modernizing Japan, the Literary Sinitic Context seemed like intellectual shackles impeding national progress. Those shackles have been cast off in contemporary Japan, but may (ironically) prove to be the key to understanding the world today. Yet this “key” cannot be gained by memorizing a hundred works of Literary Sinitic poetry or reciting The Analects in its entirety. I propose instead that it can be gained through accepting Literary Sinitic poetry and prose as an entirely other world that has its own order, distinct from the world of contemporary Japanese reading and writing. Clearly it is not an easy task to travel back and forth between these two different worlds; we belong today to a language world created as an “anti-kanbunmyaku” response. So it would not be hard to find someone turned off by the unfamiliar sinographic compounds in Kafū’s Dyspepsia House Diary.29 In it, however, definitely lies a portal to a different world of Japanese language.

29  D  anchōtei nichijō 断腸亭日乗 (1958–1959) is a journal by Nagai Kafū that contains entries from September 16, 1917 (age thirty-seven) to April 29, 1959. The translation of the title is from Rachael Hutchinson, Nagai Kafū’s Occidentalism: Defining the Japanese Self (Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 2011).

The Horizon of Literary Sinitic

Our predecessors struggled heroically with the Literary Sinitic Context. Some lived in it, and some poked holes in it, while others stepped outside of it entirely. If our Japanese language today has indeed emerged from such a background, and if we wish to gain a better understanding of our language now and that background then, is it not time we reversed course and stepped back into the world of the Literary Sinitic Context?

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Index of Chinese and Japanese Terms baihua 白話 literary vernacular Chinese 10, 50n32, 113n1, 154, 155, 157, 160, 164 bakuhan 幕藩 shogunate 18 ban’i 蛮夷 barbarian 198 benkyō 勉強 perseverance, diligence (especially in one’s studies); adversities or tribulations overcome in the quest for success 149 bōyomi 棒読み reading aloud of texts without concern for understanding 16 bu 武 “military” (versus “letters” [bun 文])  19 bun 文 “letters” (versus “military” [bu 武])  19 bunbu ryōdō 文武両道 civil and military arts 19 bungaku 文学 “literature” 113 bungō 文豪 literary giant 137 bungobun 文語文 “Literary Japanese” (the kundokubun style that functioned as the official written language of the Meiji period) 1, 69, 72 bunjin 文人 man of letters, literatus 69, 117, 125, 126, 129, 130, 133, 150, 153, 157, 158, 160, 162–164, 169, 182–184, 190, 209, 210 bunjin ishiki 文人意識 bunjin consciousness 16, 18, 19, 20, 30, 31, 37, 44, 69 bunmei kaika 文明開化 civilization and enlightenment 2, 90, 101 bunmei no gengo 文明の言語 the language of modern civilization 91 bunmyaku 文脈 (textual, literary) context  ix, x, 1, 192, 206 bunshi 文史 literature and history 128, 130 buntai 文体 literary style; orthographic style 1, 2, 9, 32, 86, 100 bushi 武士 warrior, samurai 18 buyū 武勇 military bravery (versus loyalty chūgi 忠義) 19 caizi jiaren 才子佳人 “Scholar and Beauty” (genre of Chinese fiction) 149 chengyi zhengxin 誠意正心 sincerity of thoughts, rectification of hearts 21 chikoku 治國 ruling the country 20

chikushishi 竹枝詞 “bamboo branch lyrics” (seven-character four-line folksong genre) 167 chō 朝 official; in power (versus ya 野 unofficial; out of power) 130, 150 chokudoku 直読 “direct reading,” i.e., abolishing kaeriyomi word-order inversions and using contemporary Chinese pronunciations instead of Sino-Japanese pronunciations for all sinographs 60 chokuyaku 直訳 direct translation 86 Chữ Nom 𡨸喃 Vietnamese vernacular writing based in sinographs 10 chū 忠 allegiance; loyalty 17, 19, 54, 55f chuanqi 傳奇 tale(s) of the strange, 149 chūgi 忠義 loyalty (versus military bravery buyū 武勇) 19 chūka 中華 efflorescent center; central efflorescence 198 dōbun dōshū 同文同種 “shared script, shared race” 208 dōri 道理 principles; justice 21 edozume 江戸詰め serving as an attendant to a daimyo stationed in Edo 44 Eigaku 英学 English Learning 88 enjō 艶情 eros 160, 170, 190 enshi 艶史 genre of “amorous history” 166 fengyu 諷喩 satire 124 fuhen 普遍 universal 83, 84, 88 furigana 振り仮名 kana written next to a sinograph, indicating its pronunciation 32, 34f, 164 futsū 普通 common (universal, standard) [vs. usual, ordinary] 71, 72, 78, 83, 84, 91–93, 95, 192 futsū kokubun 普通国文 Common National Style 95 futsūbun 普通文 “common writing” (kundokubun style); Common Style 71, 78, 83, 91–93 fūyu 諷喩 satire 124

Index of Chinese and Japanese Terms ga 雅 elegant, refined (versus zoku 俗 coarse, unrefined) 156 gabun 雅文 “elegant writing,” a neoclassical style of writing mixing sinographs with kana to create an elevated tone 192 gafu 樂府 Music Bureau lyrics 166 gakugei 学芸 refined learning 114 gakumon 学問 learning 113 Gakumon ginmi 学問吟味 scholarly examination 15, 20, 41 Gakumonjo 学問所 Learning Academy 15, 42 ganshang 感傷 sentimentality 124, 151–154, 158, 159f, 160, 192, 197 gebun 戯文 “playful writing” 165, 202 genbun itchi tai 言文一致体 modern colloquial style; the style that “unifies speech and writing” 1, 78, 111, 112, 190–192, 194, 207 gesaku 戯作 “playful writing” 161 gewu zhizhi 格物致知 investigation of things, extension of knowledge 21 gōgakkō 郷学校 regional schools for han scholars and commoners in the Edo and early Meiji periods; also called gōgaku 鄕 学, gōkō 郷校, and gōgakusho 郷学所 37 gojusha 御儒者 official post in the shogunal government concerned with reading and providing guidance on the Confucian classics 101 goki 語気 tone 56 gōkō 郷校. See gōgakkō Goseimon 御誓文 Charter Oath (1868) 95 guiyuan 閨怨 “boudoir lament” genre 158, 160 guwen 古文 Ancient Prose 47 guwen ci 古文辭 old phraseology 56, 125 hakubun 白文 “blank writing” 31n2, 33f hanju 藩儒 Confucian scholar (official domain post) 37, 45 hankō 藩校 domain school 15, 24 hanmun 漢文 Literary Sinitic; Literary Sinitic prose x–xiv, 1, 157 heitenka 平天下 pacifying the land 20 hentai kanbun 変体漢文 variant kanbun; Japanese “Variant Sinitic”; localized kanbun in Japan xv, 10

219 hon’yaku buntai 翻訳文体 translation-style writing 2, 86, 93 hyōgo moji 表語文字 logogram; logographic writing xii, xv, 129 hyōjungo 標準語 standard language 84 hyōshō 平聲 first (level) tone 202n21 igaku no kin 異学の禁 ban on heretical studies 14, 38n10 ikoku 異国 foreign country 3 in 隠 reclusion (versus shi 仕 official career) 141 insho 韻書 rhyme dictionary 203 iyaku 意訳 meaning translation 86 jingguo jimin 經國濟民 governing the nation and providing relief to the people 100 jingshi jimin 經世濟民 govern the nation and provide relief to the people; administer the state to succor the people 38, 100 jion’yomi 字音読み the Sinoxenic (on’yomi) readings of sinographs 80, 85 jitsuyō 実用 utility; practicality 90 Jiyū minken undō 自由民権運動 Freedom and People’s Rights Movement 75 jō 情 emotion 157, 158, 160–165 jōshō 上聲 second (rising) tone 202n21 jugaku 儒学 Confucianism 28 jukugoshū 熟語集 poetry crib; compilation or glossary of poetic phrases 203, 204f kaeriten 返り点 inversion glosses; word-order marks 22, 31, 32, 34f, 81, 163, 164 kaidoku 会読 reading and discussion meetings 22, 24, 41 kaidoku kōgi 会読講義 open discussion sessions 41 kakikudashibun 書き下し文 “glossed out writing” (the kundokubun style) 71, 72 kakubutsu chichi 格物致知 investigation of things, extension of knowledge 21 kakyo 科挙 civil service examination 15 kan 官 the government (versus min 民 the populace) 150 kanabun 仮名文 Japanese inscriptional style using primarily the kana syllabary 10 kanbun 漢文 Literary Sinitic; Literary Sinitic prose 10

220 kanbun kundoku tai 漢文訓読体 kanbun kundoku style 3, 5, 32, 59, 71, 72 kanbun no soyō 漢文の素養 cultivation in Literary Sinitic 6 kanbunchō 漢文調 Literary Sinitic register  5 kanbunmyaku 漢文脈 Literary Sinitic Context ix, x, xxviii, 1, 190, 192, 196, 206, 210 kangaku 漢学 Sinitic Learning 16, 28, 100 kangakujuku 漢学塾 Sinitic Learning school 24 kango 漢語 sinographic vocabulary; Sino-Japanese words 9, 82, 84, 90, 99, 100, 101, 106 kanjaku 閑寂 tranquility 190 kanji 漢字 sinographs; “Chinese” characters x, xix, 1, 6n3, 90, 198n15, 206n25 kanji bunkaken 漢字文化圏 sinographic cultural sphere ix, 11 kanji-katakana majiribun 漢字片仮名交 り文 “mixed-sinograph-and-katakana writing” (kundokubun style) 71, 72n1, 110 kankaku 感覚 thought and sensibility; literary zeitgeist 1 kanshi 漢詩 Literary Sinitic poetry xi, xiiin14, xvi, xix–xxi, 1, 5, 6, 28–30, 62, 100, 114, 115, 117, 120, 124, 125, 130–132, 135, 137, 139, 140, 143, 145, 146, 151, 153, 156, 162, 167, 170, 173, 187, 195, 196, 199, 200, 201, 203–205, 209, 210 kanshibun 漢詩文 Literary Sinitic poetry and prose xi, 1, 2, 5–7, 28, 31, 63, 77, 112–114, 120, 122, 124, 125, 129, 145, 154, 161, 172–176, 179, 180, 186–191, 193–196, 202–205, 207, 209, 210 kanshō 感傷 sentiment, sentimentality 124, 154, 158 kanteki 閑適 (enjoying) idleness; tranquility 197–201 kaon 華音 modern Chinese pronunciations 85 karagokoro からごころ Chinese spirit 13, 26 keikoku saimin 經國濟民 governing the nation and providing relief to the people 100 keimō 啓蒙 enlightenment 101

Index of Chinese and Japanese Terms keirin 経綸 statecraft 128, 130, 132 keisei 経世 governance or statecraft 100, 186, 188 keisei ishiki 経世意識 consciousness toward governance 188 keisei saimin 經世濟民 governing the nation and providing relief to the people 38, 100 keizai 経済 economics 100 keju 科挙 civil service examination 15 kiden tai 紀伝体 annals and biographies style 142n55 kiji ibun 奇事異聞 tales of the bizarre 155 kintaibun 今体文 “contemporary-style writing” (kundokubun style) 71, 92, 93, 95, 99, 109, 110, 111, 113, 114, 131, 157 kō 公 public (versus shi 私 private) 49, 121 kō 孝 filial piety 17, 54, 97 kobunji 古文辞/古文辭 old phraseology 56, 125n24 kōdan 講談 Japanese narrative form of performance describing military exploits 54n39, 63 kōdoku 講読 lecture discussions 41 Kogaku 古学 Ancient Learning School 14, 39, 125n24 kokkeimi 滑稽味 farcical quality 202 kōmyō 功名 ambition, careerism; fame and honor; renown 149, 151, 182, 197 kotaibun 古体文 Ancient Style 93 kotoba no sekai ことばの世界 language world 2 kundoku 訓読 reading by gloss; “vernacular reading” xiv–xvi, xx–xxii, 1, 3, 5, 16, 31, 32, 42, 54, 56, 58–62, 64, 66, 69, 71, 72, 77, 78, 80, 81, 84–88, 90–101, 103–105, 108–111, 113, 131, 145, 161, 162, 180, 190–192, 194, 206, 207 kundokubun 訓読文 the form of literary Japanese that functioned as the official, written language of the Meiji period xxi, 69, 71, 72, 77, 78, 80, 87, 93, 101 kunten 訓点 glosses used in kundoku 16 kun’yomi 訓読み vernacular pronunciation 59 kutōshi 句読師 “punctuation teacher” 22 kutōten 句読点 punctuation marks 22

Index of Chinese and Japanese Terms kyoshō 去聲 third (departing) tone 202n21 kyōtsūgo 共通語 common language 84 kyōyō 教養 cultivation; education 13, 114, 188, 210 kyōyujo 教諭所 schools for commoners 15 liqi 理氣 dualism between metaphysical li and physical qi 38, 39 manabun 真名文 Japanese inscriptional style using primarily sinographs 10 min 民 the populace (versus kan 官 the government) 150 myaku 脈 pulse; stream; vein 7 Naniwa-bushi 浪花節 a genre of narrative singing on the themes of loyalty and compassion, accompanied by a shamisen 63 ninjō 人情 human sentiments 199 nisshō 入聲 fourth (entering) tone 202n21 ofuregaki 御触書 a kind of proclamation written in a style aimed at commoners 95, 96n29 okurigana 送り仮名 small kana written to the bottom right of the sinographs indicating vernacular Japanese grammatical elements as an aid to kundoku reading 32, 81, 163, 164 ondoku 音読 Sinoxenic (Sino-Japanese) vocalizations 59 on’yomi Sinoxenic (Sino-Japanese) pronunciation 59, 80 piantiwen 駢體文 euphuistic prose in four-six clauses 97, 155, 162, 166n18 pingsheng 平聲 first (level) tone 202n21 qusheng 去聲 third (departing) tone 202n21 Rangaku 蘭学 Dutch Learning 21n25, 57n46, 88 ren 人 (individual) person 17 ren’ai 恋愛 romantic love 3, 151, 154, 182, 192, 197 riki 理氣 dualism between metaphysical li and physical qi 38, 39

221 risshi 立志 establish one’s will or ambition  103 Rokkyō shishi 六經四子 The Six Classics and the Four Masters 46n22, 47n26 rusheng 入聲 fourth (entering) tone  202n21 saishi kajin 才子佳人 “Scholar and Beauty” (genre of Chinese fiction) 149 sankin kōtai 参勤交代 policy of alternate attendance that required daimyo to spend alternate years in their han and in Edo 44n19 seidan 清談 “pure talk” 125 seii seishin 誠意正心 sincerity of thoughts, rectification of hearts 21 seiji shōsetsu 政治小説 political novel 161 seika 齊家 governing one’s family 20 seisei 声勢 bearing 56 seishin sekai 精神世界 mental world 86, 88, 121, 124, 129, 158 seishinsei 精神性 mentality; ethos 18, 82f, 83, 88, 90, 91, 123f, 124–126, 133, 148, 153, 157–164, 169, 182–185, 190, 202, 205–207 seken 世間 “the worldly” 199 Setchū gakuha 折衷学派 Eclectic School  14, 41 Setchūha 折衷派. See Setchū gakuha shangsheng 上聲 second (rising) tone  202n21 shi 仕 official career (versus in 隠 reclusion) 141 shi 志 intent, focused dedication, or aspirational goal 158, 161–163 shi 私 private (versus kō 公 public) 121 shibai 芝居 blanket term for various indigenous Japanese forms of theatrical performance 54n39 shichigon zekku 七言絶句 heptasyllabic quatrain 200 shidafu 士大夫 scholar-official 17, 83, 125 shigin 詩吟 a form of melodic kanshi recitation 62–64, 68 shigoshū 詩語集 compilation or glossary of poetic phrases 99 shijin 士人 literatus, literati, scholar-official 17, 31, 44, 121, 150, 158, 169, 190, 210

222 shin kango 新漢語 sinographic coinages 9, 99, 101 shingaku 心學 the study of spiritual cultivation; moral philosophy; study of spirit 19, 20 shinpu 新賦 “new-style fu” 13n12 shiren 士人 scholar-official 17, 121, 169 Shinsengumi 新撰組 shogunate police and military force in Kyoto, 1864 to 1869 28 shiroku benreitai 四六駢儷体 piantiwen euphuistic prose in four-six clauses  97 shiron 史論 historical discussion; historical argumentation 26 shisha 詩社 poetry society 117 shishi 志士 man of high purpose; patriot; loyalist 26, 28n42, 37, 143 Shisho gokyō 四書五經 The Four Books and Five Classics 31n1 shishōsetsu 私小説 the “I-novel” 194, 195 shishu 詩酒 “poetry and wine” 132 shitaifu 士大夫 scholar-official 17, 83, 201 shizenshugi 自然主義 naturalism 3, 103, 117, 179, 192, 194–196, 207 shizoku kaikyū 士族階級 warrior family class 15, 18–20, 22, 28, 52, 69, 110, 117, 120, 188 Shōheikō 昌平黌 Shōhei School 15 Shōheizaka gakumonjo 昌平坂学問所 Shōheizaka Academy 15 shōhinbun 小品文 minor pieces 199 shoshi hyakka 諸子百家 Hundred Masters; Hundred Schools; Hundred Schools of Thought 25n33 shumi 趣味 hobby; taste 198, 209 shūshin 修身 cultivation of self 20 Sishu wujing 四書五經 The Four Books and Five Classics 31n1 sodoku 素読 internalization of classical works through rote recitation 6, 16, 21, 22, 41, 42, 60–62, 71, 80, 86, 98, 109, 205 Sodoku ginmi 素読吟味 rote recitation examination 15, 16, 20, 42 sokusei 仄聲 oblique tone 202n21 sōrōbun 候文 the epistolary style of classical Japanese 9, 10, 96 soyō 素養 training, cultivation 7, 12–14, 16, 28, 30, 92, 133, 193, 207, 208 su 俗 coarse, unrefined (versus ya 雅 elegant, refined) 156

Index of Chinese and Japanese Terms tai 体 inscriptional style. See buntai, genbun itchi tai, hon’yaku buntai, kanbun kundoku tai, kiden tai, kintaibun, kotaibun, shiroku benreitai, xin wenti tanbi 耽美 aesthete 179 tatsui 達意 convey meaning 90 tenaraidokoro 手習所 places where calligraphy was taught; homes of calligraphy masters 37n9 tenka 天下 the state; all under heaven 21 tenko 典故 Literary Sinitic literary references/allusions 93, 202 tsūzoku mono 通俗もの popularizations (translation genre) 154 wago 和語 vernacular Japanese glosses 85 wakan konkōbun 和漢混交文 a mixed orthographic style with sinographs and kana 62n52 wakon yōsai 和魂洋才 “Japanese spirit, Western technology” 88 wakun 和訓 the act of “reading-by-gloss” (kundoku vernacular reading); the process of annotating a text with Japanese vernacular kundoku readings 56n41 washū 和習/和臭 “Japanese habit/Japanese smell” (used to disparage Literary Sinitic diction unique to Japan) 55n40, 57n47 wenyan 文言 Literary Sinitic xii, 1, 157 wen 文 “letters” (versus “military” wu 武) 19 wenren 文人 man of letters, literatus 69n66 wu 武 “military” (versus “letters” wen 文) 19 wuwei ziran 無為自然 effortless action  17n18 xianshi 閑適 (enjoying) idleness 197–201 xiao 孝 filial piety 17, 54, 97 xin wenti 新文体 New Style pioneered by Liang Qichao 100 xinfu 新賦 “new-style fu” 13n12 xiu ji zhi ren 修己治人 “discipline oneself to govern others” 38 ya 野 unofficial; out of power (versus chō 朝 official; in power) 130, 150 ya 雅 elegant, refined (versus su 俗 coarse, unrefined) 156 yamatogokoro やまとごころ Japanese spirit 13

Index of Chinese and Japanese Terms yanshi 艶史 genre of “amorous history”  166 Yōmeigaku 陽明学 Yangming School; Wang Yangming Learning 14, 39 yomikudashibun 読み下し文 “vocalized gloss writing” (kundokubun style) xvi, xx, 69, 71, 72, 87 yoyū 餘裕 freedom of space, leisure, relaxed temporality 198 yuefu 樂府 Music Bureau lyrics 166 zesheng 仄聲 oblique tone 202n21 zhanghui xiaoshuo 章回小説 chapter novel 155

223 zhong 忠 loyalty 17 Zhu Xi Studies (J. Shushigaku 朱子学) 35, 37–42, 44 zhuzhici 竹枝詞 “bamboo branch lyrics” (seven-character four-line folksong genre) 167 zhuzi baijia 諸子百家 Hundred Masters; Hundred Schools; Hundred Schools of Thought 25n33 zoku 俗 coarse, unrefined (versus ga 雅 elegant, refined) 156 zuihitsu 隨筆 essays 156, 157, 171, 199

General Index Academy of Korean Studies xxiv Aki province (J. Aki no kuni 安藝國) 35 An Adopted Husband (Sono omokage 其面影) 78n16 After Tea (J. Kōcha no ato 紅茶の後) 171 Akutagawa Ryūnosuke 芥川龍之介 3, 3–4n10, 167, 175, 185–190, 193, 194, 200, 205, 206 An Lushan 安祿山 29 Analects (Ch. Lunyu, J. Rongo, K. Nonŏ 論語) 16n16, 17, 22, 23, 31, 38, 182, 210 Arai Hakuseki 新井白石 76 Asai Ryōi 浅井了意 154 Ashikada Takauji 足利尊氏 73 Aspirations Recorded Late in Life (J. Genshibanroku 言志晩録) 19 Autobiography of Fukuzawa Yukichi (J. Fukuō jiden 福翁自伝) 21 Bai Juyi 白居易 13, 14, 118, 123–125, 151, 158, 160, 184 Bai Xingjian 白行簡 149 Bao Si 褒姒 181, 182 “Basic Annals of Xiang Yu” (Ch. Xiang Yu Benji, J. Kōu hongi, K. Hang U pon’gi 項羽 本紀) 58 Before the Dawn (J. Yoakemae 夜明け前)  193n4 belles lettres (bungei 文芸) 117, 126, 132, 133, 153 Biography of Hōjō Katei (J. Hōjō Katei 北条霞) 141 Bitō Jishū 尾藤二洲 37, 37n8, 38n10 Black Eyes and Brown Eyes (J. Kuroi me to chairo no me 黒い眼と茶色の目) 63, 162 Book of Changes (Ch. Yijing, J. Ekikyō, K. Yŏkkyŏng 易經) 25n32, 31n1, 121 Book of Documents (Ch. Shujing, J. Shokyō, K. Sŏgyŏng 書經) 21, 25n32, 31n1, 121 Book of Filial Piety (Ch. Xiaojing, J. Kōkyō, K. Hyogyŏng 孝經) 16 Book of Poetry (Ch. Shijing, J. Shikyō, K. Sigyŏng 詩經) 17, 21 Book of Rites (Ch. Liji, J. Raiki, K. Yegi 禮記)  25n32, 31n1, 121

“Boy Prodigy, The” (J. Shindō 神童) 205 Broken Commandment, The (J. Hakai 破戒)  193n4, 195 Buddhism 9, 25n36, 80, 200, 201 Bungo province (J. Bungo no kuni 豊後國)  62 calligraphy 37, 126, 172, 173, 175, 209 “Carlyle Museum” (J. Kārairu hakubutsukan カーライル博物館) 195 Carlyle, Thomas 76, 195 Cao Shen 曹參 46, 48 Charter Oath, The (goseimon 御誓文) 95 Chen Hong 陳鴻 160 Cheng Wang 成王 (King Cheng) of Zhou  43n17 Chikamatsu Monzaemon 76 Child’s Treasury (Ch. Mengqiu, J. Mōgyū, K. Monggu 蒙求) 14, 22 Chōshū domain (J. Chōshū han 長州藩)  120n21, 134 “Christ of Nanjing, The” (J. Nankyō no Kirisuto 南京の基督) 185, 189 Christianity 15, 75, 100 Chronicle of Great Peace (J. Taiheiki 太平記) 62n52 civilization and enlightenment (bunmei kaika 文明 開化) 2, 71, 90, 93, 96, 101, 110 language of modern (bunmei no gengo 文明の言語) 82, 91 modern 91, 197–199, 201 class 12, 17, 32, 73, 87, 98, 99, 132 elite bureaucratic (shidafu 士大夫) 17, 83, 125 ruling 121 samurai class 42 “warrior family” (shizoku kaikyū 士族 階級) 15, 18, 19, 52, 69, 110, 117, 120, 188. See also scholar-official Classic of Music (Ch. Yuejing, J. Gakkei, K. Akkyŏng 樂經) 46n22, 121 classroom 13, 72, 157 clothing 6n3, 77, 174 “Cockscomb” (J. Keitō 鶏頭) 197

General Index coinage, Sinographic (shin kango) xi, xxviii, 9, 82, 90, 92, 98–101, 123, 159, 190–192, 205 Collected Commentary on the Four Books (J. Shisho shūshaku 四書集釈) 40n13 Collected Discourses on Reflections on Things at Hand (J. Kinshiroku shūsetsu 近思録 集説) 40n13 cultural sphere xix Chinese character x, xvi Confucian x literary xxviii sinographic xviii, 11 sinographosphere xviii, 208 Sinosphere xvii Collected Works of Bai Juyi (Ch. Baishi wenji, J. Hakushi monjū, K. Paek ssi munjip 白氏 文集) 13 Collected Works of Tao Yuanming (Ch. Jianzhu Tao Yuanming ji 箋注陶淵明集) 33f Collection of Fallen Plum Blossoms (J. Rakubaishū 落梅集) 193n4 Collection of Haiku by Kyoshi, A (J. Kyoshi kushū 虛子句集) 197–8n14 colloquiality 1, 5, 6–8, 10, 78, 82, 85, 86, 91–94, 191 Commendable Anecdotes on Administering a Nation (J. Keikoku bidan 経國美談) 162, 163 Commentary of Zuo (Ch. Zuo zhuan, J. Saden, K. Chwajŏn 左傳) 23, 57n44, 148 Commentary of Zuo on the Spring and Autumn Annals (Ch. Chunqiu zuoshi zhuan, J. Shunjū sashiden, K. Ch’unch’u Chwa ssi chŏn 春秋左氏傳). See Commentary of Zuo commoner 15, 37n9, 44, 92n26, 95n28, 96n29, 163 Compendium of Stories from Shitaya (Shitaya sōwa 下谷叢話) 127, 134, 137 “Complaint from a Lady’s Chamber” (Ch. Guiyuan 閨怨) 159 Comprehensive Mirror to Aid in Government (Ch. Zizhi tongjian, J. Shiji tsūgan, K. Chach’i t’onggam 資治通鑑) 29 Conditions in the West (J. Seiyō jijō 西洋事情, 1866) 89, 101, 102, 106, 110, 165 Confucianism x, 3n7, 14–17, 19, 20, 22–26, 28, 30, 31, 35–41, 43–45, 47, 53n35,

225 57n46, 62n53, 79, 81, 85, 88–90 96, 101n37, 103, 114, 119, 121, 125–127, 130, 167, 182, 197, 207 Neo-Confucianism 14, 15, 16, 20, 24, 35, 37–39, 44, 57n46 Conversations of Master Zhu, Arranged Topically (Zhuzi yulei 朱子語類) xxii “Country Schoolmaster, A” (J. Inaka kyōshi 田舍敎師) 193n3 Courtesan 149, 151, 152, 161, 181 Cuckoo, The (Hototogisu ホトトギス, journal) 195 , 197–8n12 Cuckoo, The (Hototogisu 不如歸, novel)  63n58 Cui Hao 崔顥 202n22 Daji 妲己 181, 182 “Dancing Girl, The” (J. Maihime 舞姫) 75, 146–148, 150–154, 161, 163, 191, 192 Daoism 17, 25 Dazai Shundai 太宰春台 125, 126 Denecke, Wiebke xiii, xvii, xix Diary of a Westbound Voyage (J. Kōsei nikki 航西日記) 135, 136f, 137, 142 dictionary 12f, 88, 94f, 99, 100, 132, 133, 148, 169, 173, 203 Dictionary of Philosophy (J. Tetsugaku jii 哲学 字彙) 100, 133 Discourses of the States (Ch. Guoyu, J. Kokugo, K. Kugŏ 國語) 23, 148 “Disillusioned Poets and Women” (J. Ensei shiika to josei 厭世詩歌と女性) 152 Doctrine of the Mean (Ch. Zhongyong, J. Chūyō, K. Chungyong 中庸) 22, 31n1, 38 Dong Zhongshu 董仲舒 143 Drifting Clouds (J. Ukigumo 浮雲) 78n16 Du Fu 杜甫 (J. Toho) 31n1, 200 Du Mu 杜牧 (J. Toboku) 185 Dutch Learning (Rangaku 蘭学) 21n25, 57n46, 88 Dyspepsia House Diary (J. Danchōtei nichijō 断腸亭日乗) 210 écriture (ekurichūru エクリチュ—ル) xxi, 191, 193, 194 Eclectic School (Setchūha 折衷派) 14, 41 edict 5, 14, 71, 95 Egawa Hidetatsu 江川英龍 119n18

226 “Elegant Repentance, An” (J. Fūryū senpō 風流懺法) 197–8n14 Emerson, Ralph Waldo 76 Emura Hokkai 江村北海 125 English Learning (Eigaku 英学) 88 essays (zuihitsu 隨筆) 156, 157, 171, 199 Essence of the Novel (J. Shōsetsu shinzui 小説 神髄) 166 ethnicity xi, xv ethnology 194 examination 15, 41, 42, 138n42, 140, 145, 149, 150, 177 civil service (Ch. keju, J. kakyo 科挙) 14, 15, 18, 20, 26, 32, 45, 123, 125, 130, 145, 149, 152 gōgaku 37n9 hankō 15, 24 rote recitation (Sodoku ginmi 素読吟味) 15, 16, 20 scholarly examination (Gakumon ginmi 学問吟味) 15, 20, 42 Family, The (J. Ie 家) 193n4 Fan Chengda 范成大 115 farmer 17 Faust 198 Feng Menglong 馮夢龍 163, 164 Five Hundred Haiku (J. Gohyaku ku 五百句) 197 Floating-World Bathhouse (J. Ukiyoburo 浮世 風呂) 92n26 “Folding Fan of Hunan, The” (J. Konan no ōgi 湖南の扇) 187 Former Han History (Ch. Hanshu, J. Kanjo, K. Hansŏ 漢書) 23, 31n1, 142n55, 148 Fraleigh, Matthew xi–xiv, xvi–xx, xxiii, 30, 62 , 98, 165, 173 Fujita Tōko 藤田東湖 30n47 Fukuzawa Yukichi 福澤諭吉 21, 22, 35, 88–90, 101, 103 Futabatei Shimei 二葉亭四迷 78, 192, 194 Fu Yue 傅說 43n17 Gao Qi 高啟 187 Gibbon, Edward 188 gloss xiv, 1, 3n8, 5, 16, 42, 56, 59, 60, 71, 72, 79, 84, 85, 87, 90, 99, 102, 132, 145, 165, 166n18

General Index explanatory Sinographic vocabulary (hanchaŏ) x inversion (kaeriten 返り点) 22, 31, 32, 34f, 81, 163, 164 morphological (okurigana 送り仮名)  32, 81, 163, 164 pronunciation ( furigana) 32, 34f, 164 punctuation mark (kutōten 句読点) 22 reading marks (kunten 訓点) 16 traditional Korean (kugyŏl 口訣) xiv Go-Daigo, Emperor 後醍醐天皇 52, 72 Goethe, Johan Wolfgang von 76 Gould, Rebecca xviii Gozan’s Talks on Poetry (J. Gozandō shiwa 五山堂詩話) 117 Grass Pillow, The (J. Kusamakura 草枕) 196, 198 Great Learning (Ch. Daxue, J. Daigaku, K. Taehak 大學) 17n17, 20–22, 31, 38 Haiku Master, The (J. Haikaishi 俳諧師)  197–8n14 Hamlet 198 Han Wo 韓偓 187 Han Yu 韓愈 18, 47, 87, 166 Hattori Nankaku 服部南郭 127, 130 Hayashi Jussai 林述斎 49 Hayashi Tadasu 林董 103 Heart Sutra (Ch. Bore xinjing, J. Hannya shingyō, K. Panya simgyŏng 般若心經, Sanskrit Prajnāpāramitā Hṛdaya) 80 He Ruzhang 何如障 171, 172 Henan province (Ch. Henan sheng, J. Kananshō 河南省) 29 Hepburn, James Curtis 173 Hideyoshi 秀吉. See Toyotomi Hideyoshi Hinatsu Kōnosuke 日夏耿之介 205 Hiroshima domain (J. Hiroshima han 広島藩) 36, 37, 40 Hirose Tansō 広瀬淡窓 62n53 History of Emotion (Ch. Qing shi 情史)  163–166 A History of Poetry from the Taisho and Meiji Eras (J. Meiji Taishō shishi 明治大正詩)  205n24 History of Sinitic Poetry in Japan (J. Nihon shishi 日本詩史) 125 Hoashi Banri 帆足萬里 57 Hugo, Victor 76

General Index “I Am a Cat” (J. Wagahai wa neko dearu 吾輩 は猫である) 195 Ichinomiya-shi Chūō Toshokan 一宮市中央 図書館 116f Iioka Gisai 飯岡義齋 37 Ikuta Shungetsu 生田春月 187 Imperial Rescript on Education (Kyōiku chokugo 教育勅語) 96n31, 207 Inoue Tetsujirō 井上哲次郎 100, 133n33 In Praise of Conversion (J. Tenshin no shō 転身の頌) 205n24 Ishibashi Ningetsu 石橋忍月 75n12, 150–153, 161 Ishikawa Takuboku 石川啄木 117 Itō Hirobumi 伊藤博文 120 Itō Magoichi 伊藤孫一 143 Iwakura Mission 105–108, 173 Japanese Clover (J. Yahazugusa 矢はずぐさ) 170, 192 Jia Yi 賈誼 143 Jippensha Ikku 十返舎一九 92n27 Kajiyama Kunshū 梶山君修 45 Kagoshima domain (J. Kagoshima han 鹿児 島藩) 40 Kameda Bōsai 亀田鵬斎 41 Kansei Reforms (Kansei no kaikaku 寛政の 改革) 14, 20 Karasaki Hitachinosuke 唐崎常陸介 36 Kawagoe domain (J. Kawagoe han 川越藩) 49, 52, 53n35 Kikuchi Gozan 菊池五山 117 Kikuchi Kan 菊池寬 200n18 Kin Bunkyō 金文京 xiv, xv Kishida Ginkō 岸田吟香 173 Kitamura Tōkoku 北村透谷 75, 152, 153, 192, 193n4 Kōdōkan 弘道館 19, 40, 105 Koga Seiri 古賀精里 37, 38n10, 40 Kojima Noriyuki 小島憲之 140 Kōkyū Bunko 光丘文庫 iv Kondō Isami 近藤勇 28, 30, 32, 35, 69, 114, 128 Korean peninsula x–xv, xix, 120n21, 121, 145, 157, 172, 184, 208 North Korea 190 South Korea 190 Kornicki, Peter xii, xv

227 Kumamoto domain (J. Kumamoto han 熊本藩) 62, 96 Kume Kunitake 久米邦武 105, 109, 110 Kume Masao 久米正雄 200 Kunikida Doppo 国木田独歩 103, 104 Kurimoto Joun 栗本鋤雲 134 Kusunoki Masashige 楠木正成 72, 73, 74f, 93 “Kylin, The” (J. Kirin 麒麟) 180–182 Kyokutei Bakin 曲亭馬琴 50n32, 76 Kyoto University Museum (J. Kyōto daigaku sōgō hakubutsukan 京都大学総合博 物館) 36f Laozi 老子 209 Legalism 25 Liang Qichao 梁啓超 xxii, 100 Li Bai 李白 (J. Rihaku) xixn29, 31n1, 128, 129, 144 “Life” (J. Sei 生) 193n3 Light and Darkness (J. Meian 明暗) 195n11 Li He 李賀 118 Ling, Duke (Ling Gong 靈公) of Wei 衞  181 Li Shangyin 李商隱 108, 109, 118 literary history xiv–xviii, 13, 112, 114, 179, 192 Literary Arts Club (Bungei kurabu 文芸倶楽) 166, 187 literary scene (bundan 文壇) 8, 117 Liu Bolun 劉伯倫 [= Liu Ling 劉伶] 129 Liu Hedong 柳河東 [= Liu Zongyuan 柳宗元] 45, 46n21 Liu Kun 劉琨 138n43 Liu Ling 劉伶. See Liu Bolun Liu Yuxi 劉禹錫 167n22 Liu Zongyuan 柳宗元. See Liu Hedong Macaulay, Thomas Babington 76 Mair, Victor ix, xii, xiii, 1 Masamune Hakuchō 正宗白鳥 62, 63, 206 Matsudaira Sadanobu 松平定信 14, 40, 41, 49 Mediocrity (Heibon 平凡) 78n16 Mei Yaochen 梅堯臣 187 Meiji Constitution 97, 207n27 Meiji Emperor 95n28, 96n31, 207n27 Meiji Empress 207n27 Meiji Restoration 22, 28n42, 72, 96, 101, 105, 127, 134n36, 167, 172

228 Mencius (Ch. Mengzi, J. Mōshi, K. Maengja 孟子) 21–23, 31n1, 38 Meng Haoran 孟浩然 141 merchant 17, 35, 37, 172, 174, 179, 180 “Milkman’s Brother, The” (J. Gyūnyūya no kyōdai 牛乳やの兄弟) 200n18 Mita Literature (Mita bungaku 三田文学)  179 Mito domain (J. Mito han 水戸藩) 19, 30n47 Miura Baien 三浦梅園 57n46 Miyake Seiken 三宅青軒 166 Mizuno Tadakuni 水野忠邦 79n18 Mohism 25 “Moon over West Lake” (J. Seiko no tsuki 西湖 の月) 183, 185 More Poems from A Journey West (J. Saiyū shi zoku kō 西遊詩続稿) 176 Mori Arinori 森有礼 180 Mori Ōgai 森鴎外 3, 75n12, 117, 135, 137–147, 152, 153, 167, 168, 180, 191–197, 206n25 Mori Shuntō 森春濤 3, 114–121, 124, 127, 129–132, 146, 150, 151, 153, 158, 171 Morita Shiken 森田思軒 75, 76, 78–80, 83, 84 Motoda Nagazane 元田永孚 96 Motoori Norinaga 本居宣長 25 motorcycle gang (bōsōzoku 暴走族) 6 music 209, 210 Nabeshima Naomasa 鍋島直正 105 Nagai Kafū 永井荷風 3, 117, 127, 134, 135, 137, 151, 153, 166–171, 173–180, 182–184, 186, 189, 192–194, 210 Nagai Kagen 永井禾原. See Nagai Kyūichirō Nagai Kyūichirō 永井久一郎 [= Nagai Kagen 永井禾原] 166–172, 174, 176, 177 Nagasaki 60, 66, 88n22, 172, 175 Nagoya domain (J. Nagoya han 名古屋藩)  168 Nakai Chikuzan 中井竹山 37 Nakamura Masanao 中村正直 101, 103, 104 Nakamura Shin’ichirō 中村眞一郞 61 Nanzi, Lady 南子 181 Narushima Ryūhoku 成島柳北 xxiii, 119, 165, 202 National Institute of Japanese Literature (J. Kokubungaku kenkyū shiryōkan 国文 学研究資料館) iv

General Index Nation’s Friend, The (Kokumin no tomo 國民 之友) 47n27, 73n5, 75n9, 98, 146 Natsume Sōseki 夏目漱石 23, 24, 112, 148, 180, 186, 195–201, 209 New Chronicles of Yanagibashi (J. Ryūkyō shinshi 柳橋新誌) 165n13 New History of the Tang (Ch. Xin Tangshu, J. Shintōsho, K. Sin Tangsŏ 新唐書) 29 New Tales to Trim the Lamp By (Ch. Jiandeng xinhua 剪燈新話) 154, 155, 184n47 “Night in Qinhuai” (J. Shinwai no yoru 秦淮 の夜) 183–185 Nishō Gakusha 二松学舍 195 Nobunaga 信長. See Oda Nobunaga Notes of a Student Examinee (J. Jukensei no shuki 受験生の手記) 200n18 Obama domain (J. Obama han 小浜藩) 40 Ochiai Naobumi 落合直文 73 Oda Nobunaga 織田信長 46 Ogyū Sorai 荻生徂徠 40, 55, 56, 59, 60, 76, 85, 87, 125 On Establishing Will (J. Risshiron 立志論)  43–45, 49, 81 On Literature (J. Bungakuron 文学論)  23n28 Ono Kozan 小野湖山 115 On Political Economy (J. Keizairoku 経済録) 126 On Teaching (J. Jugyōhen 授業編) 125n25 Ōnuma Chinzan 大沼沈山 3, 30, 114, 115, 119, 120, 127–132, 134, 144, 146, 153, 167 Osaka 大阪 35, 37, 40, 115, 172 Ōtsuki Bankei 大槻磐渓 119 Owari province (J. Owari no kuni 尾張國)  114, 167, 169 domain 127 Ouyang Xiu 歐陽修 87n21 painting 126, 201, 209 Pei Du 裵度 46, 47n26 Peony Lantern, The (J. Botan dōrō 牡丹燈籠) 154 People’s Newspaper, The (Kokumin shinbun 國民新聞) 47n27 Pillow Book, The (J. Makura no sōshi 枕草子) 13, 14 play intellectual 201, 202, 205, 209

General Index glossing 165 pastime 206 ludic poetry and prose 201, 202, 205 sinographic 206 wordplay 206 Poems from A Journey West (J. Saiyū shi kō 西遊詩稿) 176 “Poems on Four Sorrows” (Ch. Sichou shi 四愁詩) 64n60 Poetry Selections from Across the Eastern Sea (Ch. Dongying shi xuan, J. Tōeishisen 東瀛 詩選) 173 Pollock, Sheldon ix, xvii, xviii “Quilt, The” (J. Futon 蒲團) 193n3, 195 Qu Yuan 屈原 135 race 208 Rai San’yō 頼山陽 3, 35–37, 42–45, 47–49, 52, 53, 55–64, 66, 68–73, 75–81, 83, 84, 87, 91, 93, 109, 114, 119, 175, 190, 206, 207 Rai San’yō and His Era (J. Rai San’yō oyobi sono jidai 頼山陽及其時代) 75, 76 Raisei Pavilion Collection (J. Raiseikakushū 来青閣集) 171n28 Rai Shunsui 頼春水 35–37, 39–43, 45 Reader of Works of the Eight Great Writers of the Tang and Song Dynasties (Ch. Tang Song ba dajia wen duben, J. Tōsō hachitaika bun tokuhon, K. Tang Song p’al taega mun tokpon 唐宋八大家文 讀本) 24 Records of the Grand Historian (Ch. Shiji, J. Shiki, K. Sagi 史記) 13, 23, 24, 26, 31, 47 “Returning Home” (Ch. Gui qu lai ci 歸去 来辭) 34f, 134, 170 Romance of the Three Kingdoms (Ch. Sanguozhi yanyi, J. Sangokushi engi, K. Samgukchi yŏnŭi 三國志演義) 154, 155, 162 Ryūkyū 琉球 68 Saga domain (J. Saga han 佐賀藩) 40, 105 San’yūtei Enchō 三遊亭円朝 154 satire 124, 160 Satō Issai 佐藤一斎 19 Satsuma domain (J. Satsuma han 薩摩藩)  134, 169

229 Schiller, Friedrich 150 scholar-official. See Index of Chinese and Japanese Terms: sadaebu; shidafu; shijin; shiren; shitaifu School of Ancient Learning (Kogaku 古学)  14, 39, 125 Schopenhauer, Arthur 150 science 93 Western 9, 21, 57n46, 88n22 medical 137 scientific texts 9 script. See race. See also Index of Chinese and Japanese Terms: Chữ Nôm 𡨸喃; hancha; hanmun; kanabun; manabun Secret Memoirs of Count Tadasu Hayashi (J. Nochi wa mukashi no ki 後は昔の記)  103n40 Sei Shōnagon 清少納言 13n11, 14 Selection of Tang Poems (Ch. Tangshi xuan, J. Tōshisen, K. Tangsisŏn 唐詩選) 31, 32, 66, 184 Selections from the History of Emotion (J. Jōshishō 情史抄) 163–166 Selections of Refined Literature (Ch. Wenxuan, J. Monzen, K. Munsŏn 文選) 13, 64n Seventy Years of Home (J. Kokyō shichijūnen 故鄕七十年) 194 Shank’s Mare (J. Tōkaidōchū hizakurige 東海 道中膝栗毛) 92 Shao Gong 召公 (Duke of Shao) 43n17 Shibano Ritsuzan 柴野栗山 37, 38n10 Shibata domain (J. Shibata han 新発田藩)  40 Shikitei Sanba 式亭三馬 92 Shimazaki Tōson 島崎藤村 193–195, 197 Shionoya Tōin 塩谷宕陰 79 Shipwreck (J. Hasen 破船) 200n18 Shizuoka University (J. Shizuoka daigaku 静岡大学) iv Sima Qian 司馬遷 26, 31n1, 45–48, 58, 79, 164 Sino-Japanese War 47n27, 197 Song of Everlasting Sorrow (Ch. Changhen ge, J. Chōgonka, K. Changhan ka 長恨歌) 160 “Song of Righteousness” (Ch. Zhengqi ge, J. Seiki no uta 正氣歌) 29, 30, 134n34 Songs of Chu (Ch. Chuci 楚辭) 134, 135, 170

230 Sōseki 漱石. See Natsume, Sōseki Specimens of Prose Writings (Ch. Wenzhang guifan, J. Bunshō kihan, K. Munjang kwebŏm 文章軌範, Song dynasty) 24, 31, 32 Spring (J. Haru 春) 193n4 Spring and Autumn Annals (Ch. Chunqiu, J. Shunjū, K. Ch’unch’u 春秋) 23, 25, 31, 46n24, 57n44, 103, 121 Stories of Successful Lives in the West (J. Saikoku risshi hen 西國立志編) 101, 104–106, 109, 110, 132, 165 Story of the Song of Everlasting Sorrow (Ch. Changhen ge zhuan 長恨歌傳) 160 Strange Encounters with Beautiful Women (J. Kajin no kigū 佳人之奇遇) 63–4n59, 64, 80–81, 161–163 Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio (Ch. Liaozhai zhiyi, J. Ryōsai shii, K. Yojae chii 聊齋志異) 113 Su Dongpo 蘇東披 [= Su Shi 蘇軾] 178, 179 Su Qin 蘇秦 138n43 Su Shi 蘇軾. See Su Dongpo sutra 80 Su Xiaoxiao 蘇小小 185 Su Xun 蘇洵 87n21 Su Zhe 蘇轍 87n21 Suzuki Shōtō 鱸松塘 115 sword 19, 29, 75 syntax 56, 87 Taiwan 67, 68 Takahama Kyoshi 高浜虚子 197 Takahashi Juntarō 高橋順太郎 142 Tale of Eight Dogs (J. Nansō Satomi Hakkenden 南総里見八犬伝) 50 “Tale of Li Wa” (Ch. Li Wa zhuan, J. Riaden, K. Yi Wa chŏn 李娃傳) 149 Tale of the Heike (J. Heike monogatari 平家 物語) 53, 54, 61 Tale of the Western Wing (Ch. Xixiangji, J. Seishōki, K. Sŏsanggi 西廂記) 149 “Tale of Yingying” (Ch. Yingying zhuan, J. Ōō den, K. Aengaeng chŏn 鶯鶯傳) 149, 164, 181, 182 Tales of My Youth (J. Seishun monogatari 青春物語) 179 Talks on Poetry from the Sui Garden (Ch. Suiyuan shihua 隨園詩話) 117–8n12

General Index Tanaka Masatsune 田中正彝 163 Tani Bunchō 谷文晁 117–8n12 Tanikawa Kotosuga 谷川士清 36n7 Tanizaki Jun’ichirō 谷崎潤一郎 3, 117, 167, 175, 179–189, 193, 194, 205, 206 Tao Yuanming 陶淵明 33f, 34f, 134, 135, 151, 170, 198, 199, 209 “Tattooer, The” (J. Shisei 刺青) 180–182 Tayama Katai 田山花袋 193–195 textbook 15, 20, 72–74, 87, 93, 94, 156, 157, 192 “Time Goes By” (J. Toki wa sugiyuku 時は過 ぎゆく) 193n3 Toilette-Box Collection (Ch. Xianglian ji 香奩集) 187 Tōkai Sanshi 東海散士 63–4n59, 161, 162 Tokugawa Ieharu 德川家治 36n7 Tokugawa Iemochi 徳川家茂 119n19 Tokugawa Iesada 徳川家定 119n19 Tokugawa Nariaki 徳川斉昭 30n47 Tokugawa Tsunayoshi 徳川綱吉 126n27 Tokutomi Iichirō 徳富猪一郎 78n17 Tokutomi Roka 徳冨蘆花 47n29, 63, 162 Tokutomi Sohō 德富蘇峰 47, 50, 58, 73, 75–80, 83, 84, 91, 95, 98, 109 Tolstoy, Leo 76 Tosa domain (J. Tosa han 土佐藩) 15, 40 “Tower of London, The” (J. Rondon tō 倫敦塔) 195 “Tower of Twofold Fragrance, The” (Ch. Lianfang lou ji 聯芳樓記) 184 Toyotomi Hideyoshi 豊臣秀吉 46 tranquility 124, 125, 151, 158, 159, 190, 197–199, 200–201 travel xxii, 3, 15, 68, 158 in China 60, 174, 176, 177, 183–185, 187, 189 to Europe and United States 89, 110, 137, 139, 147 to Kyoto 45 between language worlds 210 Literary Sinitic 11 literature 92, 127, 149, 176, 186 overseas 68 by ship 173 Travels in China (J. Shina yūki 支那遊記)  185, 186 “Travels in Suzhou” (J. Soshū kikō 蘇州紀行) 184

General Index

231

True Account of the Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary’s Journal of Observation through the United States of America and Europe (J. Tokumei zenken taishi Bei-Ō kairan jikki 特命全権 大使米歐回覧実記) 105, 109, 110, 113 True Treasures of Ancient Literature (Ch. Guwen zhenbao, J. Kobun shinpō, K. Komun chinbo 古文眞寳) 31 Tsubouchi Shōyō 坪内逍遥 166, 167 Tsuga Teishō 都賀庭鐘 154 Turgenev, Ivan 78n16, 103–4n41

Wen Tianxiang 文天祥 29, 30, 134n34 wine 129, 132, 176 Wixted, Timothy xii, xiii, xv–xvii, xxiii, 119n16, 135n37, 137n40, 143n60, 168n25 Wonders of the Present and the Past (Ch. Jingu qiguan, J. Kinko kikan, K. Kŭmgo kigwan 今古奇觀) 113, 154, 155 Wordsworth, William 76, 103–4n41 World War II 5, 28n42, 37n8, 73, 47n27

Ueda Akinari 上田秋成 154 “Uncommon Common Man, The” (J. Hibon naru bonjin 非凡なる凡人) 104 Unofficial Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals (Ch. Chunqiu waizhuan, J. Shunjū gaiden, K. Ch’unch’u oejŏn 春秋 外傳) 24 Unofficial History of Japan (J. Nihon gaishi 日本外史) 3, 31, 35, 45, 48–55, 57, 58, 60, 61, 64, 68, 69, 71–73, 77–81, 98, 104, 109, 110 Unofficial History of Yanshan (Ch. Yanshan waishi 燕山外史) 166

Yamagata Aritomo 山県有朋 120 Yamaji Aizan 山路愛山 75–77 Yanagawa Seigan 梁川星巖 3n9, 115 Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu 柳沢吉保 126 Yanagita Kunio 柳田国男 194, 195 Yang Guifei 楊貴妃 160 Yano Ryūkei 矢野竜渓 162 Yasui Sokken 安井息軒 79 Yasuoka Reinan 保岡嶺南 53 Ye Songshi 葉松石 171, 172 Yi Yin 伊尹 43, 43n17 Yoshii Isamu 吉井勇 187 Yoshikawa Kōjirō 吉川幸次郎 56n42, 69n66, 200 Youth of New Japan (J. Shin Nihon no seinen 新日本之青年) 78 You Wang 幽王 (King You) of Zhou 周 (795–771 BCE) You, King of Zhou 181 Yu Qing 虞卿 45, 46n21 Yu Yue 兪樾 173 Yuan Mei 袁枚 117–8n12 Yuan Zhen 元稹 149

“Velvet Dream” (J. Birōdo no yume 天鵞絨 の夢) 183, 188 Vietnam xii, xv, xix, xx, 10, 145, 190, 208 Virgin Mary in Black (J. Kokue seibo 黒衣 聖母) 205n24 Wang Anshi 王安石 87n21 Wang Changling 王昌齡 159 Wang Kangju 王康琚 140n49 Wang Qiyuan 王漆園 [= Wang Zhiben 王治本] 171, 172 Wang Wei 王維 198, 199 Wang Yangming 王陽明 39, 40 Wang Zhiben 王治本. See Wang Qiyuan Washizu Kidō 鷲津毅堂 127, 134, 167 Washizu Natsue 鷲津名都江 116 Washizu Yūrin 鷲津幽林 114, 127 Water Margin (Ch. Shuihu zhuan, J. Suikoden, K. Suho chŏn 水滸傳) 10, 50, 154, 155, 162

Xiaocheng Wang (King Xiaocheng) 孝成王 of Zhao 趙 46n21

Zen (Ch. chan, J. zen 禪) 198–201 Zeng Gong 曾鞏 87n21 Zhang Heng 張衡 64n60, 162 Zhang Xun 張巡 29, 30 Zhou Gong 周公 (Duke of Zhou) 43n17 Zhou Wang 紂王 (King Zhou) of Shang 商  181n43 Zhuangzi 莊子 209 Zhu Xi 朱熹 35, 38, 39, 44, 140 zither (kin 琴) 209