Early Education
When I was very young, we had a book called Tales of Ueno.1 This book depicted such things as crowds of people visiting Kan’ei-ji temple to view the cherry blossoms.2 It must have been the spring of my third year, and I was stretched out on my stomach with my feet inside the kotatsu warmer looking at that book. I asked for a brush and paper and began to trace. For every ten characters, I must have gotten one or two right, and my mother showed it to my father. Someone visiting my father then saw it, and word got around that I had done this. Later, in my sixteenth or seventeenth year, I went to the province of Kazusa and was able to see the copy that I had made.
At about the same time that I began to trace characters, I wrote my name on a folding screen. Two of the characters were legible, but the screen was later lost in a fire. Now I have nothing left from that time. After that, I constantly was taking up a brush and writing down things for fun, so eventually I came to recognize various characters on my own. Since I had never had a proper instructor for reading Chinese texts, I was left to read and learn from epistolary textbooks and other primers.
Among the minister’s house retainers was a certain Tomita, who I hear came from Kaga Province and who was known for his lectures based on a critical edition of the Record of Great Peace [Taiheiki].3 He was originally called Koemon-something and later Kakushin. Every night my father and others would gather together, and he would lecture to them. When I was in my fourth or fifth year I would always attend these sessions and, even though the hour grew quite late, would not leave until the lecture was over, after which I would then ask questions about various issues. People said they thought my actions were those of a prodigy.
In the summer of my sixth year, I met a man called Uematsu, who was somewhat familiar with Chinese characters. His name was Chūbei-something; he was a relative of Uematsu, a house retainer to the Imagawa of Suruga Province, and was a classical linked-verse aficionado and a proficient writer. He taught me a heptasyllabic quatrain in Chinese and explained its meaning to me. When I succeeded in reciting it on the spot, he taught me three more poems, which I then lectured on to others. One contained the line “Three times say, ‘There is a tiger in the market,’ and all will believe you.” Another was the poem that a seven-year-old Korean child had recited to the retired regent Toyotomi Hideyoshi. The third one was composed by a priest known as Vice Abbot Jikyū on the occasion of his trip to Enoshima.
Uematsu remarked, “This boy has real literary talent. You should by all means find him a teacher so that he can receive instruction.”
Obstinate people of the older generation discussed this issue among themselves, saying such things as “It has been noted since ancient times that ‘without the three roots—intelligence, motivation, and wealth—it is impossible to become a scholar.’ This child was born with intelligence, but since he is still young, we cannot yet determine whether he has any motivation. His family certainly does not seem prosperous, so there is little chance that he will inherit any money.”
My father agreed. “Because of the minister’s great beneficence, my son has been allowed to stay at his side. It will not do for him to become a scholar and follow the teachings of a particular master in another place. However, since even the minister has taken pride in him and spoken to others about his writing abilities, I believe that he should at least be given some training in this subject.” Thus in the autumn of my eighth year, after the minister went to his domain in Kazusa Province, it was arranged that I would receive training in calligraphy. Midway through the Twelfth Month that winter, the minister returned, and I served at his side as before. In the autumn of the following year [1665], the minister again went off to his domain, and I was assigned the following curriculum: “During the day you should write out three thousand characters in the semicursive [gyō] and cursive [sō] forms, and at night you should write out another one thousand characters.”
Because winter was approaching, the days were growing shorter, and often the sun would set before I was able to complete my assignment. Sometimes I even had to take my desk out to the bamboo veranda that faced west and finish writing there. It was difficult to stay awake during my writing practice at night, so I secretly planned with my attendant to have two buckets filled with water and placed on the bamboo veranda. When I got too sleepy, I would take off my clothes, toss them aside, and throw one bucketful over myself. Afterward I would put my clothes back on and continue writing. At first I would feel wide awake from the chill. Eventually, however, my body would warm up and I would once again get sleepy, so I then would throw the second bucketful over myself. After this, I usually could complete my assignment. I did this during the autumn and winter of my ninth year.
I soon was copying out in the prescribed manner my father’s correspondence with others. In the autumn of my tenth year, I was given an assignment to practice the Household-Precept Epistles [Teikin ōrai] and, in the Eleventh Month, was ordered to make a clean copy within ten days.4 I successfully completed the assignment as ordered, and my work was then bound and shown to the minister, who showered me with praise. After my thirteenth year I usually was the one who would copy out the minister’s correspondence and replies.
In my eleventh year, I asked to learn the art of sword fighting from Seki, the son of a friend of my father’s, who was training others. I was told that I was too young and that there would be time to learn such techniques later. I responded, “That may well be true, but without knowing sword-fighting techniques, doesn’t it seem ridiculous for me to be dressed carrying a long and a short blade?” Replying, “You are absolutely right,” Seki trained me so I would know at least one technique.
At that time a sixteen-year-old, the second son of a person named Kanbe, wanted to try out his skills on me. Using wooden swords we went for three bouts, and I won all three times. Various people took notice and found this extremely entertaining. I then became absorbed in the martial arts and lost interest in my writing practice. I still enjoyed reading, though, and there wasn’t a single Japanese work of fiction that I hadn’t read.
When I was seventeen I was visiting the quarters of a fellow young samurai by the name of Hasegawa, who also was in the minister’s service, when I saw a book on his desk entitled Dialogue with the Elder.5 I wondered what it was about, so I borrowed it and carried it home with me. This was the first time I became aware of the Way of the ancient Confucian sages.6 From that time on I was determined to follow this Way with a single mind. . . .
Confucian Precedent and Justice for a Woman
During the last administration, after I had finished lecturing on the seventeenth day of the Eighth Month of the Year of the Hare [1711], I was made aware of a certain legal case that was under dispute.7 The account is as follows:
A certain person from the town of Matsushiro in Mino Province who was in commerce was living here in Edo. His wife, Ume, is the daughter of a native of Komabayashi village in the town of Kawagoe, in Musashi Province. On the sixteenth day of the Seventh Month of this year, this wife’s elder brother visited her and invited her to Kawagoe. Then on the twentieth, he again visited her and told his younger sister, “Your husband is returning to his home town on business. He shouldn’t be back for some time. You ought to go to your father and wait there until your husband returns.” On the twenty-first he took her to their father’s house. Several days passed but the husband failed to return, so the wife asked her father about it, who told her, “He will definitely be back around the twenty-eighth of the month.” But he did not appear even after the first of this month. The wife was worrying about what might have happened when she heard reports that a body had been found washed downstream in the river nearby. With much trepidation she rushed down to the river, but the body was floating face down in the water, and she could not identify it. She appealed to her father and brother to show her the body, but they refused, saying, “Why would he ever end up like that?” Unable to bear it any longer, the next day she reported to the village headman, aski
ng that the body be retrieved. When it was, it turned out in fact to be that of her husband.
Since this area is under the jurisdiction of Akimoto Takatomo, his officials interrogated the wife’s father and brother, as well as everyone in the household.8 Their testimonies were inconsistent so the officials searched the house and found the husband’s clothes and other belongings there. The father and brother did not have an alibi, and it became apparent that on the nineteenth, they had strangled the husband and tossed his body in the river. There was no doubt that these two committed the crime of murdering the woman’s husband. Given that the wife herself might be guilty of the crime of testifying against her own father, Lord Takatomo submitted the facts of the case to me.
I responded, “This particular case deals with a perversion of the tenet of the Three Bonds, and as such, we should not make rash decisions based on the usual practice.9 My concern here is not limited to the father and child or to the husband and wife. This matter also concerns the ruler and the subject.” To this Takatomo replied, “In that case, find out from the justice magistrates if there is an applicable precedent here. Have them look into it and report back to me.”10
After I arrived back home, I discreetly discussed this matter with my friend Kyūsō, and the very next morning he sent me a letter in which he quoted the passage on hemp garments in the chapter “Mourning Clothes” in Ceremony and Ritual and concluded, “If you reach a judgment based on this passage, then there should be no question of her innocence.”11 When I first conferred with Kyūsō, we agreed, so it brought great satisfaction to have found a clear source of support from this text. . . .
On the twenty-fifth, I was summoned, given a copy of the counsel provided to the Council of Senior Councillors by Hayashi Hōkō [Nobuatsu], head of the Shōheikō Academy, and told to look at it.12 His opinion was as follows: “‘All men can be your husband, but only one can be your father.’13 This passage refers to what the daughter of Zhai Zhong of Zheng was told by her mother when she asked her whether she should be closer to her father or her husband. In this case the father’s crime became apparent when his daughter notified the authorities. The Analects states, ‘It is proper for you to hide your father’s misdeeds.’14 China’s Penal Code states, ‘Put to death one who reports the misdeeds of one’s father or mother.’15 Therefore, reporting one’s father’s misdeeds is a capital offense. But if the daughter did not know that her father had killed her husband, it would be another matter. Japan’s Penal Code, furthermore, states, ‘Exile one who reports the misdeeds of one’s father or mother.’ In the notes, though, ‘exile’ is replaced with ‘hanging.’”. . . The shōgun responded, “Must we really apply the words of Zhai Zhong’s wife here? Also, this murder was not a crime committed in the heat of passion. Moreover, this case does not fit Confucius’s statement that it is ‘proper to cover up’ for one’s father. Put your opinions in writing and submit them to me.”
On the twenty-sixth, I submitted the following opinion: “. . . The investigating officials have expressed concern that the wife may have committed the crime of reporting against her father. The justice magistrates have submitted the opinion that her property should be confiscated and she should be relegated to the position of maidservant. The Confucian minister has argued that she should be punished for testifying against her father.16 . . . I humbly submit the following: This particular case is an unusual example of the Three Bonds, so one should not arrive at conclusions based on the usual principles. We must consider three factors in this case. The first is that one should judge fairly by applying the notion of the bonds of human relationships. The so-called Three Bonds refers to the ruler as the subject’s bond, the father as his child’s bond, and the husband as his wife’s bond. With regard to these three bonds, the level of respect for ruler, father, and husband is the same from the perspective of the subordinate party.
“The second factor is that one should find an appropriate precedent in the regulations regarding mourning clothes. The writings of the ancient sage-kings stipulates that if a man’s daughter is engaged to be married but is still living at home, or if she is already married but has returned home, then in the event of her father’s death she should wear hemp mourning garb for a period of three years. If she already is married and is subordinate to her husband, then if her father dies, she should wear a hemmed mourning garment for an unspecified period of time.17 The issue is the inconsistency between when a daughter is living at home and when she has been married, which is clarified in the chapter ‘Mourning Clothes’ as follows: ‘A woman is subject to the Three Subordinates. She may not follow her own way. Thus a woman before marriage is subordinate to her father. Once married, she is subordinate to her husband. Upon the death of her husband, she is subordinate to her child. In this way the father becomes heaven to his child. The husband becomes heaven to his wife. The reason that a woman does not wear the unhemmed mourning cloth twice is that she cannot exist under two heavens. A woman may not divide her respect between two men.’ Thus based on this passage, ‘a woman may not divide her respect between two men,’ we can conclude that when a woman becomes a wife, she is subordinate to her husband and should no longer be subordinate to her father.
“The third factor is that we should consider in our decision the particular circumstances of the situation. Both normal and unusual elements exist in all matters. In practice, we use standard measures as well as expediencies. As an earlier Confucian wrote, ‘Expediencies can serve as the ground for standard measures.’18 When a daughter is living at home, she is subordinate to her father; when she goes off in marriage, she is subordinate to her husband. This is a fine division of duties based on one’s situation and is what we call the ‘righteous order of the ancient sage kings.’. . .
“Human relationships are disrupted when a woman’s father murders her husband. . . . If she is to remain loyal to her husband, then she must be unfilial to her father. There is no greater tragedy for such a person than this. . . .
“According to the order of the ancient sage-kings, because a married woman treats her husband as heaven and may no longer treat her father as heaven, it is wrong to argue that the act of reporting to the authorities the murder of one’s husband by one’s father is subject to the laws against turning in one’s father or mother to the authorities. Indeed, she found out that the body was that of her husband only after she had begged the village headman to retrieve it for identification. This state of events is different from what the justice magistrates have claimed, that the father and brother murdered the husband, and the wife, knowing that her own father and brother were the perpetrators, turned them in to the authorities. There is no reason whatsoever to find this woman guilty of a crime. If on the day of her father’s and brother’s arrest for her husband’s murder, she had immediately taken her own life, she would have showed loyalty to her husband, filial piety to her father, and sororal piety to her elder brother. This would have been viewed as the ultimate act of integrity in the face of a great perversion in human relationships. She should by no means, however, be criticized for having failed to do so. . . .
“According to the ruling handed down by the justice magistrates, this woman should be sentenced to prison for one year, after which her property should be confiscated, and she should be relegated to the position of maidservant. The head of the Shōheikō Academy [Hayashi Hōkō] submitted the opinion that if this woman had knowingly reported her father’s murder of her husband to the authorities, she should be condemned to death. But if she had acted out of ignorance, she should be sentenced to penal servitude.
“If, however, she is found not guilty of any crime, as I have just argued, I humbly wish to submit one more appeal. This pitiful, pitiful widow has already lost all means of support. At this point, it is not certain that the green color of the pines will not change when the bitter cold sets in.19 But I would not regret only her loss of chastity as a widow. I would fear also the likelihood of the harm that her case would do to the status of official law
. In many cases of common people in this land, a person who has lost a father or a husband becomes a priest or a nun. If this daughter were discreetly urged to become a nun for the sake of her father and her husband and she were admitted to a convent, had her head shaved, and were initiated into the holy precepts, her property could be donated to the convent with her, and she would be spared starvation and exposure to the elements. This would preserve both the official law and her chastity.”
Ultimately my opinion was accepted, and what I had recommended was carried out. I later heard that through Lord Takatomo’s good offices, the woman decided on her own to become a nun and that she entered the convent in Kamakura.20
[Taion ki, Oritaku shiba no ki, Rantō kotohajime, NKBT 95: 184–187, 336–343, introduction and translation by Lawrence Marceau]
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1. A kana-zōshi published in two volumes that no longer exists.
2. Kan’ei-ji was a Tendai temple in the Ueno district of Edo.
3. Lectures on this fourteenth-century military chronicle were common during the Tokugawa period.
4. The Teikin orai, attributed to Gen’e, a fourteenth-century Buddhist priest and Confucian scholar, is the best known of the language textbooks in the ōraimono format.
5. Okina mondo (1640–1641), by Nakae Tōju (1608–1648).
6. Seijin no michi: the Confucian Way of scholarship, self-cultivation, social responsibility, and wise counsel to the ruler.
Early Modern Japanese Literature: An Anthology, 1600–1900 Page 55
