TALES
OF
MOON LIGHT
AND
RAIN
Ueda Akinari
A Study and Translation by
ANTHONY H. CHAMBERS
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS
NEW YORK
Columbia University Press
Publishers Since 1893
New York Chichester, West Sussex
cup.columbia.edu
Copyright © 2007 Columbia University Press
All rights reserved
E-ISBN 978-0-231-51124-7
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Ueda, Akinari, 1734–1809.
[Ugetsu monogatari. English]
Tales of moonlight and rain : a study and translation by Anthony H. Chambers.
p. cm.—(Translations from the Asian classics)
Includes bibliographical references.
ISBN-10 0-231-13912-8 (cloth : alk. paper)
ISBN-13 978-0-231-13912-0 (cloth : alk. paper)
ISBN-10 0-231-51124-8 (electronic)
ISBN-13 978-0-231-51124-7 (electronic)
I. Chambers, Anthony H. (Anthony Hood)
II. Title. III. Series.
PL794.8.U3413 2006
895.6'33—dc22 2006015127
A Columbia University Press E-book.
CUP would be pleased to hear about your reading experience with this e-book at [email protected].
Frontispiece: Tosa Hidenobu, portrait of Ueda Akinari (1786).
(Tenri Central Library, Nara)
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
INTRODUCTION
The Early Modern Period in Japan
About the Author
Bunjin, National Learning, and Yomihon
About Tales of Moonlight and Rain
About the Translation
PREFACE
BOOK ONE
Shiramine
The Chrysanthemum Vow
BOOK TWO
The Reed-Choked House
The Carp of My Dreams
BOOK THREE
The Owl of the Three Jewels
The Kibitsu Cauldron
BOOK FOUR
A Serpent’s Lust
BOOK FIVE
The Blue Hood
On Poverty and Wealth
Bibliography
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Haruo Shirane provided the initial spark by asking me to translate three stories from Ueda Akinari’s Tales of Moonlight and Rain for his Early Modern Japanese Literature: An Anthology, 1600–1900, and then suggesting that I translate the whole collection. Deborah Losse, Lawrence E. Marceau, and Donald Richie deserve special thanks for their encouragement and suggestions. The College of Liberal Arts and Sciences at Arizona State University provided time for the work by giving me a year’s sabbatical. Even with time, the study and translation would have been impossible without the pathbreaking work of earlier scholars and the compilers of the marvelous reference works we all depend on. Thanks go also to my incomparable circle of friends and colleagues, who sustain me emotionally and intellectually.
Michael Ashby read the first draft and made countless perceptive comments. I am also indebted to Jennifer Crewe, Anne McCoy, Irene Pavitt, and the rest of the staff at Columbia University Press. The anonymous readers recruited by the press offered encouragement, pointed out errors, and provided valuable advice. Any problems that remain are, of course, my own responsibility.
The translation is dedicated to all my teachers, especially, Ch’en Shou-yi, who introduced me to the study of East Asia; Makoto Ueda, who introduced me to Akinari; Robert H. Brower, who tutored me in Japanese court poetry; and Edward G. Seidensticker, my principal mentor over the years.
INTRODUCTION
Tales of Moonlight and Rain (Ugetsu monogatari), nine stories by Ueda Akinari (1734–1809) published in Osaka and Kyoto in 1776, is the most celebrated example in Japan of the literature of the strange and marvelous. It is far more, however, than an engrossing collection of ghost stories. Japanese scholars regard it, along with Genji monogatari (The Tale of Genji, early eleventh century) and the stories of Ihara Saikaku (late seventeenth century), as among the finest works of fiction in the canon of traditional Japanese literature. The reasons for this esteem have to do primarily with Akinari’s elegant prose—a model of literary Japanese enriched by Chinese borrowings—and with his subtle exploration of the psychology of men and women at the extremes of experience, where they come into contact with the strange and anomalous: ghosts, fiends, dreams, and other manifestations of the world beyond logic and common sense.
Tales of Moonlight and Rain exerted a powerful influence in the twentieth century. Many novelists—including Izumi Kyōka (1873–1939), Tanizaki Jun’ichirō (1886–1965), Akutagawa Ryūnosuke (1892–1927), Ishikawa Jun (1899–1987), Enchi Fumiko (1905–1986), and Mishima Yukio (1925–1970)—were avid readers of the collection. Two of the tales inspired Mizoguchi Kenji’s cinematic masterpiece Ugetsu monogatari (1953; known to Western viewers as Ugetsu), which is widely regarded as “one of the greatest of all films.“1 Deeply rooted in its eighteenth-century cultural context, Tales of Moonlight and Rain is nonetheless a work of timeless significance and fascination.
The Early Modern Period in Japan
In 1603 Japan began to settle into a long era of relative calm and prosperity after a century of disastrous civil war (Warring States period [Sengoku jidai], 1467–1568) and nearly forty years of gradual pacification and unification (Azuchi–Momoyama period) under the successive warlord-unifiers Oda Nobunaga (1534–1582), Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1536–1598), and Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542–1616). The Tokugawa shogunate—the military regime established by Ieyasu—governed Japan for 265 years, an era that is commonly referred to as the Edo period, after the site of the shogun’s capital, or the Tokugawa period. The emperor and the court continued to hold ultimate, though symbolic, authority in Kyoto during these years, but real power was wielded by the Tokugawa bureaucracy until it collapsed in 1868 and the Meiji emperor moved from Kyoto to Edo, which was then renamed Tokyo.
Cultural historians refer to the years from 1603 to 1868 as the early modern period and have divided it into three parts on the basis of cultural and political developments: early (1603–1715), middle (1716–1800), and late (1801–1868).2 The first blossoming of early modern literature came toward the end of the seventeenth century, particularly with the work of three major figures: the fiction writer Ihara Saikaku (1642–1693), the poet Matsuo Bashō (1644–1694), and the dramatist Chikamatsu Monzaemon (1653–1724).
The period we are most concerned with here, the eighteenth century, can be regarded as the time when Tokugawa culture reached its high point.3 The stability of the country under Tokugawa rule (among other factors) made possible a flourishing of artistic activity by and for commoners, who previously had enjoyed only limited access to high culture.4 The man now recognized as the outstanding Japanese author of fiction in the eighteenth century was such a commoner, Ueda Akinari. By the time he began writing, a good education was no longer the monopoly of the court aristocracy, the samurai class, and the clergy: literacy rates were comparable to those in Europe,5 and education had spread to large numbers of affluent residents of the great cities of Kyoto, Osaka, and Edo.6 As a commoner, Akinari wrote primarily for an audience of other well-educated urban residents.
About the Author
Ueda Senjirō was born in 1734 in Osaka, then the commercial center of Japan.7 Akinari, the name by which he is known, is a pen name that he began to use in the early 1770s. His mother, Matsuo Osaki, was the granddaughter of a peasant fro
m Yamato Province who had gone to Osaka to become a merchant; the identity of his father is not known. In his fourth year, he was adopted by a prosperous merchant named Ueda Mosuke. Surviving a severe bout of smallpox that left several of his fingers malformed, the young Akinari had a comfortable childhood and received a good education, possibly at the Kaitokudō, one of the most prominent of the new schools chartered by the government to provide “an appropriately practical Confucian education” to the children of the merchant and artisan classes.8 The curriculum would have included the Confucian canon—the Four Books (Lun yü [Analects] of Confucius, Da xue [The Great Learning], Zhong yong [The Doctrine of the Mean], and Mengzi [Mencius]) and the Five Classics (I jing [The Book of Changes], Shu jing [The Book of Documents], Shi jing [The Book of Songs], Li ji [The Book of Rites], and Chun qiu [Spring and Autumn Annals])—and Japanese classics, especially waka (thirty-one-syllable court poems), Ise monogatari (Tales of Ise, ca. 947), and The Tale of Genji.
Akinari’s earliest surviving literary efforts are haikai verses included in several collections published in 1753 and 1755. Although composing haikai (playful, humorous) poetry, an outgrowth of renga (linked verse), began as an amusing pastime, it had evolved into a serious pursuit by the eighteenth century. Akinari continued to write haikai throughout his life—even if he did not take it as seriously as did some of his contemporaries9—and the pursuit brought him into contact with important literary figures in Osaka and Kyoto, including the painter and haikai poet Yosa Buson (1716–1783), and with proponents of kokugaku (National Learning or Nativist Study), which emphasized the philological study of ancient Japanese literature.10
Akinari never made his living as a writer, however. He married Ueyama Tama in 1760; they enjoyed a happy marriage but had no children. Akinari’s adoptive father died in 1761, leaving to Akinari the family business and the responsibility for supporting himself, his new bride, and his adoptive mother, to whom he was devoted. They lost their business and all their belongings to a fire in 1771, after which Akinari turned to the study of medicine, probably under Tsuga Teishō (ca. 1718–ca. 1794), one of many intellectuals of the time who combined scholarship, writing, and medicine. Akinari worked as a physician in Osaka until 1787, when he retired from medicine and occupied himself with scholarship, teaching, and writing. How he supported his family during these years is unclear; he may have lived on accumulated savings, and he may have earned some money from teaching Japanese classics.
Along with his friend Buson and his sometime mentor Takebe Ayatari (1719–1774), Akinari was a classic example of the eighteenth-century bunjin—a nonconformist, independent artist, typically a painter and writer, who, though not a member of the aristocracy, devoted himself or herself to high culture, stood aloof from commercial or political profit, and felt disdain for the “vulgarity” of contemporary society.11 What the bunjin of the mid-Edo period shared was “avoiding the ‘vulgar’ (zoku) and placing themselves on heights beyond the reach of the ‘vulgar.’”12 The bunjin ideal was inspired in part by the Chinese wen-jen (written with the same characters as bunjin, signifying a person of letters) of earlier times, and one aspect of the eighteenth-century bunjin’s avoidance of vulgarity involved the study of Chinese culture, including vernacular Chinese fiction. This was true of Akinari.
Akinari’s first works of fiction, however, owe little to Chinese models and much to the ukiyo zōshi (books of the floating world) tradition of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, with its typically lighthearted, satirical treatment of the foibles of ordinary people. Akinari produced two collections of stories in this genre, Shodō kikimimi sekenzaru (A Worldly Monkey Who Hears About Everything, 1766) and Seken tekake katagi (Characters of Worldly Mistresses, 1767), which turned out to be the last significant ukiyo zōshi.13 Akinari quickly turned his attention to other interests.
One of these was National Learning. Akinari had begun a serious study of the Japanese classics, especially waka, before 1760. A few years later, he studied with Ayatari and then with Katō Umaki (1721–1777), a disciple of the great nativist scholar Kamo no Mabuchi (1697–1769). This led him to abandon the ukiyo zōshi tradition in favor of writing fiction that is far richer and more serious, as well as treatises on such classics as Tales of Ise; the Man’yōshū (Collection of Myriad Leaves, ca. 759), the oldest anthology of Japanese poetry; and the Kokinshū (Collection of Ancient and Modern Poems, 905), the first imperially commissioned anthology of waka. His studies also embroiled him in a famous scholarly debate, which continued over a number of years and on various subjects, with the most noted of the National Learning scholars, Motoori Norinaga (1730–1801)—a confrontation that Blake Morgan Young has characterized as “a clash between the rustic’s blind faith and the urbanite’s critical scepticism,” Norinaga, who lived in Ise, being the rustic.14 Their disagreements ranged from phonology to mythology. Norinaga’s arguments depended on his absolutely literal reading of ancient Japanese compendia of myth and history, while Akinari insisted on a more interpretative, empirical approach.15
Akinari’s studies of ancient Japanese literature merged with bunjin ideals, especially the avoidance of vulgarity and the fascination with Chinese fiction, to shape the solemn beauty of his masterpiece, Tales of Moonlight and Rain. The nine stories in this collection frequently allude to, quote from, and borrow words and phrases from Japanese classics and Chinese fiction and rise above zoku—even though most of the characters in the stories are commoners—to achieve the aesthetic ideal of ga (elegance, refinement), which had been associated with Kyoto court culture.16 No one doubts Akinari’s authorship of Moonlight and Rain, but he signed the work with a pen name and never acknowledged that he had written it. Although the collection is the principal basis for his fame, he probably would have preferred to be remembered for his waka, his studies in National Learning, and his expertise in a form of tea ceremony.
As a scholar, Akinari distinguished himself through editing and publishing works by Kamo no Mabuchi and his circle. In 1773 he wrote Ya kana shō (or Yasaishō), a commentary on the particles ya and kana, but for some reason he would not allow it to be published until 1787, when it appeared with a preface by Buson. Kaseiden, Akinari’s biographical study of the great Man’yōshū poet Hitomaro (late seventh–early eighth centuries), apparently was written in 1781. The astonishing Reigotsū (ca. 1793) was “a comprehensive work in six sections, one each on the names of Shinto deities, the names of Japan’s provinces, noted products of the various regions, poetry, terminology, and systems of kana orthography,” but only the kana section survives.17 In 1794 he published Man’yōshū kaisetsu, a short study of the ancient anthology, and in 1800 he began a comprehensive commentary on the Man’yōshū, which, however, he left unfinished. Kinsa (1804) and Kinsa jōgen (1804) bring together favorite poems from the Man’yōshū, with Akinari’s commentaries on them.
Akinari also compiled several miscellanies. Two are collections of humorous and satirical stories: Kakizome kigen kai (New Year’s Calligraphy and a Sea of Changing Feelings, 1787) and Kuse monogatari (Tales of Eccentricity, 1791; published 1822), whose title parodies Ise monogatari. Tsuzurabumi (Basket of Writings, 1805–1806), a collection of his prose and poetry, represents the final stage of Akinari’s serious literary work, as he saw it; after it was published, he threw all his manuscripts down a well. Tandai shōshinroku (A Record of Daring and Prudence) was completed in 1808.18
Akinari wrote waka and haikai verse throughout his adult life and was one of the most distinguished waka poets of his time. His personal collection of waka, Aki no kumo (Autumn Clouds), was completed in 1807. He also distinguished himself as an expert in senchadō (the Way of sencha), a form of tea ceremony that employs tea leaves instead of the powdered tea of the better-known chanoyu ceremony. Seifū sagen (Trivial Words on Pure Elegance, 1794), his treatise on senchadō, is a classic in the field. Pottery implements that Akinari made for the ceremony survive.19
Akinari did not abandon fiction after Moonlight and Rai
n. In 1808 and 1809, he gathered ten of his stories and essays under the title Harusame monogatari (Tales of the Spring Rain). The collection is uneven, partly because Akinari died before he could polish it to his satisfaction, and perhaps because he wrote more for his own enjoyment than for publication. The pieces in Spring Rain are less tightly structured than the stories in Moonlight and Rain, and the element of the marvelous and strange is relatively unimportant. The language is plainer, and there is much less reliance on Chinese sources. Perhaps even more than the tales in Moonlight and Rain, the stories and essays in Spring Rain attest to Akinari’s studies in National Learning, particularly in the emphasis he placed on naoki kokoro (true heartedness, sincerity, guilelessness), which he apparently held to be the essential nature of the Japanese people. The stories in Spring Rain represent Akinari’s most important fiction aside from Moonlight and Rain.20
In 1793 Akinari and his wife moved from Osaka to Kyoto, where they lived in poverty near the temple Chion-in, on the east side of the capital. His wife died in 1797. Within a few months, Akinari, whose vision had been failing for some time, went blind, but then regained partial vision in one eye. He continued his writing and scholarship as he moved here and there in Kyoto, depending on friends for support, until his death in 1809 on the twenty-seventh day of the Sixth Month (August 8, in the Western calendar), in his seventy-sixth year. His grave is at the Buddhist temple Saifukuji, near the Nanzenji monastery.
Bunjin, National Learning, and Yomihon
The result of Akinari’s synthesis, in Moonlight and Rain, of a bunjin orientation with the National Learning was a new genre: the yomihon (books for reading).
The distinction between ga and zoku arose from ancient Chinese poetics and was embraced by Japanese artists of the Tokugawa period. As the painter Gion Nankai (1677–1751) said, “ga is neatness, propriety, elegance; zoku is vulgarity.“21 This analysis was applied to all the arts, including painting and literature. From the Japanese point of view, elegant literary genres encompassed Chinese poetry and prose, including fiction; Japanese court poetry and linked verse; classical monogatari, such as Ise and Genji; and nō dramas.22 The traditional gazoku aesthetic was modified, however, by Japanese artists in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries from a system that distinguished clearly between the courtly and the common, into a quest for elegance in realms that had traditionally been considered vulgar. Thus Bashō urged his students to raise their minds “to an enlightened state, [and then] return to zoku,” by which he meant “practicing ga while remaining in the ordinary zoku world of haikai.“23 In short, “Bashō raised haikai poetry, traditionally a zoku form, to the world of ga, thereby confounding the traditional distinctions of ga and zoku.”24
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