by Kafū Nagai
Kafu Nagai (1879-1959), one of the best known and most popular of Japanese novelists during the first half of the twentieth century, had a versatile career as newspaper reporter, bank clerk, university teacher, playwright, essayist, diarist, and lecturer on woodblock prints. He initially achieved fame as a writer with Tales of America and Tales of France, products of a sojourn abroad. The River Sumida and The Sneer are among his finest works. A Strange Tale from East of the River is generally regarded as the masterpiece of his late years. His works are noted for their depictions of life in early twentieth-century Tokyo, especially among geisha, prostitutes, cabaret dancers, and other inhabitants of the city's lively entertainment districts.
Translator Kurt Meissner, a German businessman and an enthusiastic admirer of Japanese culture, resided in Japan almost continuously from 1906. He translated numerous Japanese literary works into his native language and was well known for promoting Japanese-German relations. He was a personal friend of Kafu Nagai. Ralph Friedrich, his collaborator, lived in Japan from 1946. He translated Japanese children's books into English and authored a collection of poetry. He was formerly an editor with the Charles E. Tuttle Company.
Published by Tuttle Publishing, an imprint of Periplus Editions (HK) Ltd, with editorial offices at 364 Innovation Drive, North Clarendon, Vermont 05759 and 61 Tai Seng Avenue, #02-12 Singapore 534167.
Copyright © 1963 by Charles E. Tuttle Publishing Company, Limited First Tuttle edition, 1963
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INTRODUCTION
NAGAI Kafu (1879-1959), one of the best-known and most popular of Japanese novelists during the first half of the twentieth century, began his literary career as a student at the University for Foreign Languages in Tokyo, where he specialized in Chinese literature. His first successful ventures in fiction, appearing around the turn of the century, marked him as a realist under the influence of French naturalism, although his essentially romantic and poetic bent was eventually to dominate his style. He was at this time an ardent admirer of Zola, and his two early novels, Yashin (Ambition) and figoku no Hana (The Flowers of Hell), both published in 1902, reflected something of the Zola influence. But neither they nor his novel of the following year, yume no Onna (The Woman of Dreams), could be regarded as displays of the genuine Zolaism that Kafu appeared to advocate in the naturalist's credo prefaced to figoku no Hana. In fact, Kafu was soon to turn his back on naturalism and to become one of the leaders of the movement against it.
It was around this time also that his admiration for the dying culture that modern Tokyo had inherited from old Edo prompted him to take up a number of the arts in which the dilettantes of the Edo period were supposed to have been accomplished: the Kiyomoto music of the Kabuki theater, classical dancing, playing the shakuhachi (a type of flute), and the like. It was typical of his taste and his earnest efforts to imbibe the old culture that he even apprenticed himself to one of Tokyo's professional storytellers, learning the technique of humorous narration that was the specialty of the yose (storytellers' hall) and actually taking his place on the platform to entertain the audience. This fascination with the vanishing remnants of a colorful age was to become a trademark in his later novels.
In 1903 Kafu went to the United States for a sojourn of four years during which he worked in schools, in the Japanese legation in Washington, and in the New York branch of the Yokohama Specie Bank. This was followed, in 1907, by a brief stay in France. Returning to Japan in 1908, he published a collection of stories and sketches produced during his American interlude and, the next year, a similar collection dealing with his several months in France. These books, Amerika Monogatari (Tales of America) and Furansu Monogatari (Tales of France), were distinguished by a freshness of expression and a sympathetic and penetrating observation of Western civilization that astonished the Japanese literary world and appeared to mark the birth of a new literature. Kafu's translations of modern French poetry embodied in Sango-shu (Coral Anthology), published in 1913, may also be regarded as a product of his infatuation with France.
In the year following Kafu's return to Japan, the naturalistic movement reached its climax, and a new trend toward romanticism set in. It was reflected in Kafu's. growing distaste for the realism that he had earlier advocated and in a parallel distaste for the vulgarity of society during the closing years of the Meiji period. His collection of short stories, Kanraku (Bacchanals), published in 1909, and his novels, Sumidagawa (The River Sumida) and Reisho (The Sneer), published in 1910, are representative of his work during this time of transition. In these books, as Okazaki Yoshie points out in his fapanese Literature in the Meiji Era, "Kafu expresses vehement resistance against the vulgar society which oppresses and destroys the aesthetic world." Kanraku itself, he continues, "marked the beginning of a series of works which were to be imbued with a spirit of criticism of the contemporary civilization." It is to this series that Geisha in Rivalry belongs.
"Kafu," Okazaki further explains, "charmed by the beauty of Western civilization, returned home to find that the native culture lay in ruins. Unable to control his anger over the desolate situation, he resisted the militarism which was the principal destroyer of culture. However, discovering that his resistance was a puny thing, Kafu sank into a passive, nostalgic mood, gazing back at the culture of the past. At first Kafu seemed to be a poet glorifying the beauty of Western civilization and turning his back on that of the Orient; however, since he came to understand that it was foolish to seek Western civilization in this country, he turned his attention to the mature culture of the Edo period. Thus, he complacently sought the remnants of the past in various corners of modern Tokyo.... And, in depicting this complex world, he attempted to evoke the essence of pure Japanese-style romance, with a strong note of loneliness and submission to fate...
The increasingly rapid changes that followed World War I were reflected in the deepening tone of melancholy that characterized Kafu's work of the period. "Perhaps concluding that the last of Edo was gone," Edward Seidensticker observes in Modern Japanese Stories, "he fell silent from about 1921. When the silence was broken, a decade or so later, it was with novels and short stories which marked a return to his earliest manner, half French and half Edo. The subjects were now barmaids and prostitutes, unlovely successors to the Meiji geisha.... From about 1937, nostalgia came back again—nostalgia now for the Meiji Tokyo that was once so distasteful."
During World War II, Kafu's new works were refused publication by Japan's military leaders, who considered them "too soft" for such a heroic time, and even reprints of his earlier highly acclaimed books were forbidden. Of the new works that appeared following the surrender
, Mr. Seidensticker observes that "they were now for the most part expressions of an old man's loneliness, the more intense because the old man had seen so much happen to the most changeable of the world's great cities." Bokuto Kidan (A Strange Tale from East of the River) is perhaps the masterpiece among his last books.
Readers of Kafu's novels will soon perceive that the author's life was a many-sided one, filled with change and with a versatility of interests. He was at different times a newspaper writer, a bank clerk, a university teacher, a playwright, a lecturer on Japanese woodblock prints, and always an ardent student and loving defender of the traditional customs and arts of the Tokyo demimonde. Actors, dancers, musicians, storytellers, geisha, and other members of the entertainment profession, together with artists, writers, and others from the upper echelons of this "floating world" society—which in Japan inseparably embraces all of these types—are the chief characters in Kafu's stories. And they appear against a rich background of local custom and scenery which, though lovingly and often intricately described, never overloads the story but gives it, instead, a peculiar beauty and elegance.
To say which of Kafu's novels are his masterpieces is of course a matter of taste. But Udekurabe, published in 1918 and here translated under the title Geisha in Rivalry, is counted by all Japanese critics as one of them. Against the backdrop of late-Meiji Tokyo and the Shimbashi geisha district in particular, Kafu brings upon the scene a company of vivid characters to play out their drama of illicit love, shady intrigue, and merciless rivalry. In the forefront are the geisha—some powerful and cruel, some weak and pathetic, some crude and obvious, and all engaged in finding a place for themselves in a world that offers no easy route of escape from their profession. Here too are their patrons: the playboys, the "upstart gentlemen," the actors, and the successful businessmen whose way of life almost demands that they maintain at least one mistress among the women of the demimonde. And here, again, are those who make the machinery of this world function: the geisha-house proprietors, the teahouse mistresses, the actors' retainers, and the servants. And, finally, here are the parasites of the demimonde, who live off its other denizens through their guile and deceit. It is, in a sense, a pageant that Kafu presents, but it is a tawdry one at best, and even his love for the world he describes cannot completely conceal its sordidness. Kafu himself was aware of this, and it is this awareness that touches his portrayal with pathos.
Translations of Kafu's works into foreign languages have been comparatively few. This is somewhat surprising, for his reputation in Japan is of the highest, and although the youth of today no longer read him with the same avidity that their elders displayed, his place in Japanese literature is secure. Perhaps one of the major reasons for the translators' neglect is Kafu's somewhat ornate and involved style, which employs not only a vocabulary now partially archaic but also a considerable amount of jargon peculiar to the world of the period that he portrays. This, needless to say, makes the task of the translator more than ordinarily difficult.
It is the aim of the present translation to avoid an overuse of Japanese words, but there are some half a dozen frequently recurring expressions that it has seemed best to retain in their original form. These include the appellations neisan (literally "older sister") for a senior geisha or the proprietress of a geisha house, niisan (literally "older brother") for a respected actor or male teacher, okami-san (literally "mistress" or "proprietress") for the mistress of a teahouse, danna (literally "master" or "sir") for a geisha's patron or the male head of a household, hakoya (no literal equivalent) for the woman who serves as the accountant or business manager of a geisha house, and the term machiai (again no literal equivalent), which might be translated as "house of assignation." In regard to monetary equivalents, it should be pointed out that the value of the yen (one hundred sen) in postwar Japan is infinitely lower than its value in the period that Kafu describes. It was at that time— that is, around 1912—worth approximately one United States dollar.
KURT MEISSNER
RALPH FRIENDRIGH
GEISHA IN RIVALRY
BETWEEN THE ACTS
IT WAS still intermission. Everywhere in the corridors of the Imperial Theater there was a jostling confusion of strolling people. A geisha who was about to ascend the main staircase almost collided with a gentleman coming down, and as they exchanged glances, both appeared to be overcome with surprise.
"Oh! Yoshioka-san!"
"Ah! So it's you!"
"Well!... And how are you?"
"I say, are you working as a geisha again?"
"Since the end of last year.... I came out again."
"Oh, really. Anyway, it's been a long time."
"Since then... it's exactly seven years ago that I quit."
"Really? Seven years?"
The bell announced the end of intermission. For a while the confusion in the corridors became still worse as everyone engaged in the struggle to be first to his seat. The geisha, taking advantage of this moment when no one would be noticing her, stepped a bit closer to the gentleman. Looking up at his face, she said: "You haven't changed a bit, have you?"
"Really? You seem to have grown much younger yourself."
"Shame on you! You're joking. At my age..."
"Don't say that. You really haven't changed at all."
Yoshioka stared at the woman's face in honest surprise. Thinking back to the time when she had been a geisha before, he figured that she must have been seventeen or eighteen. If seven years had passed since then, she must already be twenty-five or twenty-six. But as she stood there before him, she didn't look a bit older than on the day when she had been promoted from apprentice to full-fledged geisha. Medium in figure, bright-eyed, and still with the deep dimples in her round cheeks. And the look of her mouth when she laughed and showed her right eyetooth. After all, she had somehow not lost her childish face.
"Won't you meet me sometime for a little talk?"
"What do you call yourself now? Still the same name?"
"No. I call myself Komayo now."
"Oh, do you? I'll call you one of these days."
"Please do."
From the stage came the sound of the wooden clappers announcing the opening of the curtain. With quick little steps Komayo hurried down the corridor to the right to find her seat. Yoshioka started off just as quickly in the opposite direction, but for some reason he suddenly stopped and looked back. In the lobby only the girl ushers and the refreshment-stand salesgirls were left. Komayo had disappeared. Yoshioka sat down on a nearby sofa in the corridor and lit a cigarette. Before he quite realized it, he was recalling what had happened seven or eight years ago.
He had left the university at twenty-six and after that had gone abroad for further study. During the six or seven years since his return, he had worked hard for his company, even if he said so himself. He had also done some dabbling in stocks and had acquired some property. Moreover, he had gained a certain social position. At the same time, come to think of it, he had done quite well at finding entertainment and had drunk so much that he was surprised his health had withstood it so well. During all this while he had been so busy meeting people and having a good time for himself that he hadn't even once had a chance to stop for a moment and look back over his past. This evening, however, when by pure chance he had met again the first geisha he had ever known in his life—it was in his student days—for some reason unknown to himself his thoughts went back to that faraway time.
In those days, when he hadn't really known anything at all, geisha had seemed to him the most beautiful and enchanting of creatures. When a geisha said anything to him, it made him so unspeakably happy that he hardly knew what to do. Today, even if he wanted to, he could never return to such an innocent state of mind.... As the music of the samisen orchestra reached him from the stage, Yoshioka recalled the day when he had come to carouse in Shimbashi for the first time. Today all this appeared so funny to him that he involuntarily smiled. Nowadays reveling and carousing with ge
isha was an ordinary, everyday affair with him. As he thought of it, he had the strange feeling of being somewhat ashamed at how shrewd and calculating he had become in everything, including his sex life. Even in such matters, he told himself, he had been too clever and cunning. Somehow, without realizing it, he had become too exacting in all the details. Now, thinking how much he regretted this, he had the feeling that he had recognized himself for the first time. There seemed to be no doubt that it was true. In his firm he had been given the important position of general manager, even though he still had less than ten years of service to his credit. The president and the directors considered him to have an extraordinary talent for business, but it couldn't be said that he was particularly popular with his colleagues and his subordinates.
Since about three years ago, Yoshioka had been keeping a Shimbashi geisha named Rikiji. She was independent in her profession and owned the geisha house called Minatoya. But Yoshioka was not the usual type of danna who could be foolishly led around by the nose. He knew well enough, for he could see it with his own eyes, that Rikiji was not at all beautiful. On the other hand, she was completely skillful in her art. Wherever her services were called for, she was instantly recognized as a neisan, a senior geisha deserving of respect. For a man like Yoshioka, who moved in the center of business and social life, it was most advantageous to keep one or two geisha whom he could rely on for entertainment at banquets and parties. Moreover, with the idea of cutting down on expenses, he had won her over by pretending to be in love with her.
There was another woman whom Yoshioka kept as a mistress. She was the hostess of the Murasaki machiai, an assignation house in Hamacho that suited the standards of that quarter. Formerly she had worked as a waitress in a restaurant in the Daichi district. At that time Yoshioka, like so many other men who weary of keeping geisha and jump from the frying pan into the fire by burdening themselves with even greater responsibilities, had begun an affair with her one day while he was drunk. After he had had time to sober up and repent, he was extremely annoyed at the thought that his geisha friends might hear of his having become involved with a servant girl. This, however, was exactly what the woman had aimed at. In exchange for her promise to keep the affair quiet and handle it in such a way as not to leave a bitter taste in his mouth, he secretly gave her the money she needed to open the machiai called the Murasaki. Fortunately she did a good business, and all her rooms were occupied every evening. Under such circumstances, Yoshioka told himself, he would be a fool to stay away from an enterprise into which he had sunk so much money. So he went there several times for a drink, and the result was that they renewed their relations on the sly.
