Prints of Japanese Actors – A Brief History Intermezzo: 1764-1796

In Part 2 of my Brief History of Prints of Actors, I raised the question ‘how designers of prints in much of the eighteenth century could possibly make a living,’ as well as suggesting that ‘it is only from the 1760s that Torii Kiyomitsu 鳥居清満 and Torii Kiyotsune 鳥居清経 can finally make a living by illustrating 71 and 200 popular novels respectively, in addition to the prints they designed, a totally new development of the time.’ As this may raise some eyebrows or even the question whether this is really correct, it may be good to have a closer look at the development of popular fiction at the time.

Going by Yamazaki Fumoto’s Nihon shōsetsu nenpyō 山崎麓『日本小説年表附総目録』(近代日本文學大系25) of 1929  – certainly not an infallible source, but absolutely sufficient for an overview and an adequate understanding of the developments – we find for the 1750s a total of 219 various kinds of popular fiction that go by the overall term of kusazōshi 草双紙, the largest portion, some 41%, being of the then popular kurohon 黒本 genre. For only 26 of these 219 titles the name of the illustrator is indicated. When you might consider this surprising, you’ll probably be even more amazed to learn that an author is only mentioned for 79 of these publications, or 36% – and later on, we’ll see why. Indeed, the 1750s and especially the 1760s is the period when names of writers are only just beginning to be mentioned, as also the late Nakano Mitsutoshi 中野三敏 (1935-2019) correctly remarked – but please forgive, I don’t remember where exactly. In the 1760s kurohon it would mostly be Kansuidō Jōa 観水堂丈阿 1686-1770 act 1752-70 whose name is mostly given, probably as he was then the most popular author.

And what about the Kyōhō Proclamation 享保布令 of XI/1722, you may wonder, as this required all publications to clearly indicate the real names of both author and publisher. Absolutely correct, but the common practice in Japan is that it prefers to have rules just in case there is some good occasion or need to apply them. And that moment would eventually and even most incidentally come with the Kansei Regulations of V/1790 (see below), and later again with more consequences with the Tenpō Reforms, Tenpō no kaikaku 天保の改革 of XII/1838 (Feb/1839), and mostly in Edo and to a much lesser extent in the Kansai Region, although they witnessed serious problems and unrest from the peasant uprising led by Ōshio Heihachirō 1793-1837 大塩平八郎 (cf also Kabuki nenpyō 7:345 歌舞伎年表).

Going back to the popular novels, in the 1760s, we see a considerable increase, numbering a total of 494 titles, with for only 198 the illustrator being mentioned. The majority, some 57% is still of the kurohon genre. And in the 1770s the number still increases to 529 titles, with for 262 of these an illustrator given. As I remarked earlier, this is where we finally see the beginnings of the ukiyo or ‘floating world’ culture. No less than 259 of these titles, some 56%, are of the kibyōshi 黄表紙 genre that by general agreement starts in 1775 with Koikawa Harumachi’s 恋川春町 1744-1789 Professor Clink-Clink’s Dream of Glory, Kinkin sensei eiga no yume『金々先生栄花夢』 illustrated by himself, and published by Urokogataya Magobei 鱗形屋孫兵衛. Ever since, novels of the kibyōshi 黄表紙 genre would continue to be a great success, until they were replaced by novels of both the yomihon 読本 and the gōkanmono 合巻本 genres from about 1805. Indeed, in the 1780s we can see some 653 new titles of the kibyōshi genre alone, an average annual production of 65 titles, with the names of the illustrators given for 475 of them, and their writers now for 529 titles. Later still, in the 1790s, their number stays steady and we can cite some 479 titles.

It is thanks to this ever increasing market of various genres of popular literature that those Edo publishers who chose to just focus on local production, the so-called jihon toiya 地本問屋, could develop. Their audience is the more than 1.3 million inhabitants of the metropolis Edo, undoubtedly also finding an avid readership among the 600.000 samurai directly serving the shogun. In fact, to get back to the writers of popular fiction, Koikawa Harumachi 恋川春町 act 1773-89 who is recognized as the author of the first kibyōshi novel, was a vassal of Matsudaira Hōshū 松平房州, the daimyō of Suruga 駿河侯 (as Kyokutei Bakin 1767-1848 in his recollections, Recent Books and the Party of Edo Writers, Kinsei mono no hon Edo sakusha burui. 曲亭馬琴『近世物の本江戸作者部類』1831, in the Kimura Miyogo 木村三四吾 edition of Tokyo: Yagi Shoten, 1988, p 31 tells us). We shall soon see why exactly this position enabled him to become a prolific writer of fiction (14 kibyōshi in the 1770s and 16 in the 1780s). Taking lessons with Toriyama Sekien 鳥山石燕 1713-1788 — whom we know as the teacher of Kitagawa Utamaro 喜多川歌麿 — he would also make the illustrations for most of his writings himself, as well as illustrating those by other authors. Hōseidō Kisanji 朋誠堂喜三二 1735-1813, act 1777-91 (9 kibyōshi in the 1770s and 24 in the 1780s) enjoyed a similar position as a vassal of Satake Ukeichō 佐竹右京兆, the Kubota daimyō 久保田侯 (Bakin 30).

As for Ichiba Tsūshō 市場通笑 1737-1812 act 1779-95 (8 kibyōshi in the 1770s, 96 in the 1780s, and 4 in the 1790s) he appears to have just written novels in his leisure time, otherwise making a living as a mounter of paintings, hyōgushi 表具師 (Bakin 32). Somewhat comparable is the position of Shiba Zenkō 芝全交 1750-1793 act 1780-93 (27 kibyōshi in the 1780s and 16 in the 1790s), writing popular fiction next to his official position of kyōgen actor 狂言師, a kind of comic performances such as were especially popular in daimyō courts (Bakin 32). And Nansenshō Somando 南仙笑楚満人 act 1783-99 (9 kibyōshi in the 1780s and 19 in the 1790s) made a living as a maker of sword sheaths, 鞘師 (Bakin 33).

Kane wa Ueno kana 『鐘は上野哉』A kibyōshi novel by Santō Kyōden illustrated by Kitao Masanobu, i.e. himself

Here we should realize that their writing popular novels would not necessarily yield them some extra income. As we know from Bakin’s recollections ([Bakin 37] act as a writer of 28 kibyōshi in the years 1793-98), it was only around 1795 or 1796 that the publishers Tsutaya Jūsaburō 蔦屋重三朗 and Tsuruya Kiemon 鶴屋喜衛門 decided to at least pay their star writers Santō Kyōden 山東京伝 1761-1816 (act as a writer of kibyōshi in the years 1780-99, 39 in the 1780s and 61 in the 1790s) and himself, as their novels generally sold in editions of 10 thousand copies or more (mind you, a best seller is presently defined as a book selling to 1% of the population, which would be 13.000 copies in the case of Edo). But this was not automatically applied to most other writers. They might at best hope to get some newly published novels or woodblock prints as a New Year present, or maybe being invited to some dinner party in the second or third month at the Yoshiwara — as had been the custom until then.

This explains how and why samurai writers such as Harumachi and Kisanji could afford writing novels in their spare time, enjoying a regular income anyway. Or also, for example as we saw, Ichiba Tsūshō, Shiba Zenkō and Nansenshō Somando, each of them next to their regular metier. Bakin also tells us that many aspiring writers had to pay a publisher the so-called nyūgin 入銀, a sum to have their writings printed and published, which probably explains the numerous names of authors just identified with one or just a very small number of novels in the last decades of the eighteenth century.

However convincing this may seem, it must also be said that Mizuno Minoru in his Santō Kyōden nenpukō. Tokyo: Perikansha, 1991, p 42 (水野稔『山東京伝年譜稿』東京:ぺりかん社) asserts that Kyōden received an advance of one gold ryō and five silver monme 金一兩銀五匁 in VII/1790 for three sharebon 洒落本 that Tsutaya Jūsaburō would publish in I/1791. This is quite well-documented as this would eventually as a result of the Kansei Regulations of V/1790, in III/1791 lead to Kyōden being fined to 50 days in handcuffs, Tsutaya as the publisher seeing half of his possessions confiscated, and the members of the Guild who had okayed their publication being exiled from Edo. There is probably some reason not to rely too much on Bakin’s memory.

Bakin also informs us that Koikawa Sukimachi 恋川好町 1751-1829, a pupil of Koikawa Harumachi, saw some success as a writer of popular novels (15 in the years 1785-94), but couldn’t really make a living (Bakin 35). He then gave up and started training as a writer of kyōka 狂歌 poems. Becoming a judge of these poems and charging one ryō silver  一銀両for his correcting a hundred poems, he finally could make a living. We now know him best as one of the greatest kyōka poets of the early nineteenth century, Kyōkadō Magao 狂歌堂真顔.

As for the background of Iba Kashō 伊庭可笑 38 kibyōshi in the years 1779-86, we have no idea and Bakin doesn’t mention him. A minor writer such as Shitchin Manpō 七珍万宝1758-1831 could afford to do this as an aside to his sweet shop 上菓子店 by Shiba Zōjōji 芝増上寺, or more precisely at Sakurada Kubochō 桜田久保町 as Kyōka jinmei  jisho 『狂歌人名辞書』 has it (Bakin 38). Bakin specifies that he was a pupil of Manzōtei 万象亭writing fiction from late Tenmei until mid-Kansei. Indeed, I found him active in the years 1787-95 with 21 kibyōshi novels to his name. Later he took the name of Manzōtei II and gave up writing fiction, becoming a renowned kyōka poet, active until his death in 1831.

Sakuragawa Jihinari 櫻川慈悲成 1762-1833? presents a somewhat similar case. Bakin informs us that he was running a small shop of Imari porcelains and metal ornaments 今利焼などの陶器を鬻ぐ小店  and that he had but little success with his writings — 47 kibyōshi in the years 1789-99 — and even still displaying no talent when he turned to writing kyōka poems (Bakin 39). Here I would suggest that he deserves some more praise for what he accomplished, for example, among others, he made some very nice surimono designs himself and initiated a most impressive series of annual New Year’s surimono, and was good or even close friends with Utagawa Toyohiro 歌川豊広, Ichikawa Danjūrō VII 七世市川團十郎, and Utagawa Hiroshige 歌川広重.

In conclusion we may say that writing fiction was, at least in the last decades of the eighteenth century, rather a vocation for those who could afford it and would have some leisure time. When we may believe Bakin, it was only from the middle of the 1790s that both he and Kyōden were being paid for their writings, though there is some evidence that Kyōden was even paid a considerable advance sum already in 1790. We may, on the other hand, assume that illustrators, or at least most of them, were considered to be ‘painters,’ eshi 絵師, and thus craftsmen who were naturally being paid for their work. And this, as I stated at the beginning, is how Torii Kiyomitsu and Kiyotsune could make a living as illustrators in the exploding market of popular novels, with a readership that expected a text that would be enlightened by explanatory illustrations.

Most likely, Koikawa Harumachi who, as we saw, also made the illustrations to most of his writings, was not considered an eshi, even though he studied with Sekien, being a samurai anyway, and thus he was not being paid for his illustrations. It seems that Santō Kyōden studied painting with Kitao Shigemasa 北尾重政 1739-1819 from about 1775, aged 14, and made his debut in 1778 as the artist Kitao Masanobu 北尾政演, illustrating the novel Ohana Hanshichi – Kaichō riyaku no mekuriai『お花半七―開帳利益遊合』 as well as the cover for a jōruribon 浄瑠璃本, illustrating another four novels as well as again a jōruribon in 1779, and in 1780 eleven kibyōshi, one sharebon 洒落本 novel and at least six prints of actors in role in the hosoban 細版 format. And then, maybe sufficiently convinced of some promising future, it is also in 1780 that he starts writing novels, illustrated by himself and published by Tsuruya Kiemon, the Yonemanju no hajimari『米饅頭始』in two vols and signed ‘written and ills by Kitao Masanobu’ 北尾政演画作, and Musume katakiuchi kokyō no nishiki 『娘敵討古郷錦』in three vols and signed ‘written for fun by Kyōden’ 京伝戯作. From then, he would always continue to illustrate most of his writings himself. And, as we learned from Bakin, he would be paid for his writing from about 1795 or 1796. We then have no idea whether it was his lifestyle, needing some more income, that made him run a shop of tobacco pouches and such smoking utensils from IV/1794.

Sekien Books of Ghosts – Ctd 5

After the Konjaku Zoku hyakki, the Sequel to the Hundred Ghosts, had been published in I/1779, Sekien wasn’t given too much of a break. The continuing success made his publishers again ask him for more. And so he started working on the Konjaku – Hyakki shūi 今昔百鬼拾遺, something like ‘Gleanings of a Hundred Ghosts,’ that was published in I/1781. It is again a publication in 3 volumes hanshibon, with as mottos Clouds, Dew, and Rain. It has two prefaces and apparently also a postface. But let’s first give the collation:

The Rain Woman Courtesy Smithsonian Institution, Washington

Konjaku – Hyakki shūi 今昔百鬼拾遺

3 vols hanshibon Vol 1 Kumo 雲 (Clouds) 12 sh: 4 pp pref to the Hyakki shūi 百鬼拾遺 signed Genshū Shōbukan 元洲勝武幹, s: Genshū, Shōbukan no in 印: 元洲, 勝武幹之印, dated Anei jū kanoto mi no haru 安永十辛巳春 (Anei 10 year of the Snake, Spring, I/1781); 2 pp pref signed Sekien jijo 石燕自序 (Sekien’s own preface), dated Anei kyū no toshi rōgetsu 安永九のとし蝋月 [sic, for 臘月] (Anei 9 twelfth month, XII/1780); 1 p contents for Hyakki yagyō shūi 百鬼夜行拾遺; 2 pp frontispiece: the mirage of a clam, shinkirō 蜃気楼; 15 pp ills. Vol 2 Tsuyu 露 (Dew) 10 sh: 1 p contents; 19 pp ills. Vol 3 Ame 雨 (Rain) 9 sh: 1 p contents; 14 pp ills; 2 pp ill of Daikoku celebrating the New Year; 1 p colophon: Anei jū kanoto ushi no haru 安永十辛丑春 (Anei 10 year of the Ox, I/1781)/ Toriyama Sekien Toyofusa 鳥山石燕豊房/ assisted by his pupils Shikō 子興 (Eishōsai Chōki 栄松齋長喜)/ Enji 燕二/ block-cutter Inoue Shinshichi 井上新七/ Edo publ 江戸 Izumoji Izuminojō  出雲寺和泉掾/ Enshūya Yashichi 遠州屋弥七.

This is after a copy in the Freer Gallery of Art, Washington (ex Gerhard Pulverer , ex Henri Vever [1948:285])

The first preface, in the Joly & Inada translation, reads as follows (my annotations in square brackets):

The artist Sekiyen is a retired old man of very gentle character, he is very fond of his garden the pond of which is “9 hiro deep” (9 fathoms or brasses [仭, an ancient Chinese measure, one jin ranging from four to eight shaku, or 121 – 242 cm]) he amuses himself in that garden all the year round, in flowering spring, and in the cool shade on hot summer days (shūzui tekka nawazu [秋水荻花□]) in autumn the stream flows to the pond, laden with the floating blossoms of Hagi [萩 bush clover], in winter the whole garden is a white mass of snow, and as he thus amuses himself he does not notice the years (growing old). When anyone of similar taste pays him a visit, he offers them excellent tea and talks about painting. When he takes up his brush, he can finish more than a hundred subjects at once. He is not too old when it comes to drawing & I am astonished at the easy way in which he draws like a young man. And in consequence, he has many pupils and he has published many books well known to the public.

In the spring of the Monkey year [1776] he published Hiakki Yagio [Hyakki yagyō], the latter part of which came out during the Boar year [the Zoku hyakki, 1779], both are now out, and this year his publisher asked him for some more ghost pictures. So the old one said: If I draw this sort of subject so often, I am afraid that it may spoil my energy and that moreover, in years to come I shall be laughed at and many devils & Bakemono will be annoyed at my paintings. So his publisher said: Artists must have very superior minds (above these considerations) and if the devils are annoyed, just as if millet grains looked like drops of rain it would show the power of Art.

So earnestly did he ask the old man that Sekiyen at last took his brush again, collecting all sorts of Bakemono, to publish the third volume under the title Hiakki Shui. He asked me for a preface and I have accepted although my knowledge is so small. As the old man said: this is just for the fun of it and for the amusement of children so that you need not worry very much, & therefore I wrote this preface notwithstanding my ignorance.

Anyei 10 [1781], Genshu Tobu

Hairy Wings for a Hairy Manifestation Courtesy Smithsonian Institution, Washington

The second preface, in the Joly & Inada translation, reads as follows:

Waka (Japanese poetry) has the power of expressing all feelings (even those of inanimate things). Thus paintings describe all sorts of Bakemono and devils, exaggerated by the brush as I thought of them in my mind. I am quite ashamed to have drawn such a book, but my publisher wanted it so much because it was, said he, a very good sort of book to stop children crying, and he asked me again and again for it, so that finally I have agreed to have it put upon cherry wood blocks.

Anyei 9th December [XII/1780], Sekiyen

Joly & Inada then add a postface that is apparently missing in the Freer copy, which reads as follows:

There was once a pigeon which was changed into a golden hook, and a deer that became a writing brush. Age is a treasure (old people are quite important).

Sekiyen although 72 years old is still in splendid health. He has finished from the beginning of Hiakki Yagio [Hyakki yagyō, 1776] to the latter part [the Zoku hyakki, 1779], and he has had many prefaces from many people famed in literature. At last he has succeeded in drawing another volume to add to the last edition. It is very interesting that so many devils could be made from furniture, I am surprised that he has been able to change from ordinary utensils into so many wonderful designs of Bakemono. Though he is so old, yet he has wonderful strength to draw such minute pictures and he his [is] still young in that respect. He asked me for a postface and I have written this.

Old man of Kanda (神田庵主人)

Again another nice problem, where does this postface come from, it was certainly not present in the 1805 reprint by Maekawa Rokuzaemon 前川六左衛門 and Maekawa Yahei 前川弥兵衛, at least not in the copy of this printing in the Smithsonian Institution, Washington, the only other copy I could, so far, locate on the internet and also used by Yoda and Alt.  

Sekien Books of Ghosts Ctd 4

The second in Sekien’s parade of Ghost Books is the Konjaku zoku hyakki 今昔続百鬼 also found with the title Konjaku gazu – Zoku hyakki 今昔畫圖 続百鬼 of 1779. It is again in the hanshibon format and comprised of three volumes. I couldn’t find a complete set of images of a first edition copy on the internet—the British Museum has two copies and cites somewhat strange dates for them and only pics of three pages. A copy of the 1805 reprint in the collection of the Smithsonian Institution, Washington, is as follows:

An Ōkubi, or Large Head
Courtesy Smithsonian Institution, Washington

Konjaku gazu – Zoku hyakki 今昔畫圖 続百鬼  – 3 vols hanshibon Vol 1 – U 雨 (Rain) 10 sh: 4 pp pref headed Hyakki yagyō daiji 百鬼夜行 題辞 (prefatory motto) signed Katakian Dōjin 頑菴道人 s: Katakian Dōjin, xxkin no shō, 印: 頑菴道人, □瑾之章, of the Sengyūkan at the Kichijōrin (the Kichijō Grove, probably near Kichijō Temple, or in the village named after it), in the Nippori District in the Eastern Capital (Edo) 東都日莫里吉祥林之穿牛觀 dated Anei tsuchinoe inu kishū no hi 安永戊戌季秋日 (Anei year of the Dog, one Autumn day, IX/1778); 2 pp pref preceded by the seal Reiryōdō 零陵洞 (one of Sekien’s art names) signed Toriyama Sekien 鳥山石燕 s: unread, Sekien no in 印:□, 石燕之印; 1 p contents; 13 pp ills. Vol 2 – Kau 晦 (Darkness) 11 sh: 1 p contents; 21 pp ills. Vol 3 – Mei 明 (Clearness) 11 sh: 1 p contents; 21 pp ills; ibc colophon: Toriyama Sekien Toyofusa 鳥山石燕豊房/ assisted by his pupils 校合門人 Shikō 子興 (Eishōsai Chōki 栄松齋長喜)/ Enji 燕二/ Enjū 燕十(Shimizu Enjū 志水燕十 1747-1810)/ Anei hachi tsuchinoto i no haru 安永八己亥春 (Anei 8 year of the Boar [I/1779])/ Bunka ni kinoto ushidoshi kyūhan 文化二乙丑年求板 (reprinted Bunka 2 year of the Ox [1805])/ block-cutter Machida Sukeemon 町田助右衛門/ Edo bookshops Maekawa Rokuzaemon 江戸 前川六左衛門/ Maekawa Yahei 前川弥兵衛.

Another copy with the 1805 dating, published by Maekawa Magobei 前川孫兵衛 and Maekawa Rokuzaemon 前川六左衛門, has only the Sekien preface (National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden RV-1-4459 — and was probably bought by Siebold in 1826). This is apparently also the case with the Regamey copy, as Joly & Inada only give a translation of the Sekien preface.

A Hannya, or Woman Turned Demon
Courtesy Smithsonian Institution, Washington

The Sekien preface reads as follows:

From very ancient times hundreds of devils and Bakemono [ghosts and apparitions] have been depicted by Jozu (上手 experts) and handed down in various families. As I was asked to copy them with my unskilled brush, I became very greatly interested, for there were so many dreadful bakemono that I was afraid the real devil might suddenly appear (to me) in this world. The publisher of my previous books asked me for this volume as an addition to the last one and I have accepted his offer.

The Sekien prefaces and postscripts are admittedly not extremely inspired, but in view of Sekien’s quite specific remark on the problem ’to make the faces of the ghosts that we cannot see with our eyes frightening’ and his likening this to ‘a dragon that might appear,’ the Yoda & Alt translation is more faithful to the original:

Since times of old, the night parade of the demon horde has been passed down, copied and kept in the houses of the great masters. Here I have acquiesced to demands to apply my humble techniques to the topic. There’s no hope of achieving realism when it comes to the fearsome faces of things that can’t be seen with the human eye, but I can at least shock and awe, and so I have tried my best with humble skills to capture their bizarre forms once again. Running my fingers over my beloved earlier work, I mused: I certainly love drawing this sort of thing, but what if a real demon showed up? When a certain man got a visit from a real dragon it was utterly terrifying.* But even still, when the bookseller pleaded for a sequel to my book of a few years back, I found it hard to refuse. And so I, Toriyama Sekien, find myself again taking up my brush under the moonlight.**

* (A Chinese parable about a magistrate named Ye who loved dragons so much that he decorated his entire house with dragon figures and motifs. And one day, an actual dragon dropped by to thank him. But upon seeing the “real deal,” Ye turned and ran in terror.)

** [‘under the moonlight’ reads as Gessō no moto 月窓下, ‘under my moonlit window,’ one of Sekien’s artnames]

Sekien Books of Ghosts Ctd – 3

Quite surprisingly, Joly & Inada in their translation of Sekien’s Gazu hyakki yagyō 畫圖百鬼夜行 start by quoting sort of a mystery preface. It is signed by some Setchuan Riota and dated Anyei 6, that is 1777—a little unlikely for a book that was published the year before, in 1776. Consequently, this preface couldn’t have been part of the original 1776 publication, and first I guessed that it might possibly come from the Konjaku zoku hyakki 今昔続百鬼 of 1779, but that would still be an extremely early, but not impossible date for a preface. 

Yet, so far, I cannot identify any copy of that book with a Setchuan Riota preface. It is anyway quite difficult to locate copies of these Sekien books on the internet. Although ghosts and yokai and yurei seem to be extremely popular these days, Sekien’s books at least failed to attract the early French collectors which might likely help me finding one of these fantastic entries by Charles Vignier in some auction catalogue: Hayashi had a copy of the original 1779 edition (cat 1588); and for the Gazu Hyakki yagyō, Henri Vever had a copy of the 1776 edition (1948: 284, now Freer Gallery of Art, Washington, ex Gerhard Pulverer); and Haviland had a copy of the 1805 edition published by Maekawa Rokuemon and Maekawa Yahei (X: 513), and that’s it. And whereas Jack Hillier took this as an indication of their rarity, I would rather suggest that this kind of pictures did not suit the French taste.

The Yamawarawa, from Gazu hyakki yagyō Courtesy Smithsonian Institution, Washington

As for the Konjaku zoku hyakki, the Smithsonian Library in Washington has a copy of the 1805 reprint with two prefaces by Nibushian Dōjin and Sekien himself, Leiden has a copy of the 1805 edition with only the Sekien preface (RV-1-4459), and UCLA has just the vols 2 and 3, so no preface there. 

As for the Gazu Hyakki yagyō, I then finally also found a copy in the National Diet Library, Tokyo (辰 6-23) with, yes, the Setchuan Riota preface. And that is apparently of a much later ’1805’ edition, issued by Naganoya Kankichi 長野屋勘吉 of Tsu in Ise Province—which must be similar to the copy owned by Regamey. And so I could identify him as Setchūan Ryōta 雪中菴蓼太, seals Tōei and Yōkyō 印: 冬英, 揚喬, actually Setchūan III, a pen-name of Ōshima Ryōta 大島蓼太 1718-1787, and his preface is, indeed, dated Anei rokunen tori shōgatsu 安永六年酉正月 (Anei 6 year of the Cock, I/1777). And though this still doesn’t solve the mystery where it comes from, let’s cite it anyway for the moment, as it is such a nice piece of writing, hoping I will some day find where it really fits or belongs:

One day I went out for a walk passing Toyeizan (Temple Uyeno [Ueno Tōeizan 上野東叡山]) looking at the fallen flowers as I strolled through Negishi [根岸, a location favoured by writers and artists, such as Sakai Hōitsu, Kitao Shigemasa, and Kameda Bōsai, who all lived there] where the wisteria was just in bloom, passing through Higurashi [a village in the Nippori District] where the yamabuki [山吹 Japanese rose] was full open, and I paid a visit to the studio of Sekiyen. A boy told me that the artist was not in but would soon return, he offered me some tea and soon after I felt very sleepy, a few bees came out of their hives and made a great noise, and I thought of the old story in which someone used his sword to drive flies away. A man who drove flies away with his sword must have been in such circumstances, and I attacked the hives with my stick, with the help of the boy, and then the bees flew about the hives and suddenly changed into many small men, and amongst them there were Soshi (strong men [壮士 henchmen]) a fine woman, wise men and fools, a priest, etc, and they spoke human words; understood and acted as if they were large men, and I was looking at them, leaning forward to the writing desk, I was then awakened by my friend who had just returned. I was startled (bonyari [ぼんやり]) & I realized that there were a few bees flying about the house. I still had a feeling as if I had just returned from a far country (kwaikankoku [怪漢国 the Land of Suspicious-looking People]). My friend said: I have just illustrated Suikoden [Suiko gasenran 水滸画潜覧 published in 1777], and then when he showed me his drawings I realized that all the different illustrations were just the little personages of whom I had just dreamt.

I wonder whether I have also dreamt about all the illustrations in this book. Recently a publisher asked him for these and Sekiyen accepting the offer asked me to write the preface, having no reason to decline his request I take my pen.

Setchuan Riota, Anyei 6 [1777]

The Amikiri, Net-Cutter, from Gazu hyakki yagyō Courtesy Smithsonian Institution, Washington

Reading the text a few times, it then suddenly occurred to me that the original source might well have been the Suiko gasenran, which was published in 1777, altogether fine with the dating of the preface. It is a 3-volume publication of Izumoji Izuminojō 出雲寺和泉掾 and Enshūya Yashichi 遠州屋弥七, also the original publishers of Sekien’s ghost books, that might well have ended up likewise with Naganoya Kankichi in Setsu, who then mixed up the various components of Sekien’s books.

Again, it was not easy to locate a copy of this book, but the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston has two copies, both not yet photographed, so I asked Sarah Thompson for help. She kindly promised to check the books next time she would have an opportunity to get to the collection. And something like a week later, there already was her reply: Hit, the preface is the one belonging to the Suiko gasenran, only found in the complete 3-volume copy (MFA 2009.3761 – the other copy, in MFA 2011.1444 is incomplete). Great, Sarah, thank you so much, now we know where the preface comes from. But when did Naganoya Kankichi make this mix-up? As Siebold was in the 1820s still able to get copies of the 1805 edition of both Zoku hyakki yagyō and Hyakki Tsurezurebukuro, it would seem that Naganoya was active even later than the 1820s—unless, of course, the Siebold copies were bought from some antiquarian bookshop, which he seems to have hardly done. 

Sekien Books of Ghosts Ctd – 2

The Japan Demonium book of Hiroko Yoda and Matt Alt arrived in the mail this week, and I must say that it is quite an impressive and serious work, nicely produced by Dover of Mineola, New York, the one thing I possibly would have preferred is the plates at some more distance from the spine. As you may expect, I immediately checked the translation of the preface to the Gazu hyakki yagyō 畫圖百鬼夜行 that I discussed recently. Although their phrasing is quite different from that of Joly & Inada, the text is essentially quite similar, mostly that is. Let’s see.

A Tengu, or Heaven Dog Courtesy Smithsonian Institution, Washington

Joly & Inada’s ‘There are extraordinary changes in nature so that a stone may become a sparrow and a fude [brush] may change into a grasshopper’ reads a bit more wittier with Yoda & Alt ‘Let us speak of shape-shifting things, like stone-swallows or inkbrush-crickets,’ certainly as they moreover explain in a note that ‘Certain species of fossil shells with bird-like shapes were called “stone-swallows” in China and Japan. This is also a play on Sekien’s name [石燕, seki 石 is stone and en 燕 is swallow], which is written with the same two characters. Fudetsu-mushi (“inkbrush-bugs”) is an archaic, poetic term for crickets’. NB notes in parentheses are quoted from the original, those in square brackets are mine.

The next lines read, with Joly & Inada ’Toriyama Sekiyen has followed the avocation of a painter for many years and his brush changes also in many ways as he depicts almost everything that is known in nature,’ and with Yoda & Alt ‘The man who created this book, Toriyama Sekien, has enjoyed himself in the field of art for some years. His very brush shape-shifts; in fact there is nothing in all of creation it cannot evoke’.

Then, getting to the work it introduces, Joly & Inada have ‘He published Toriyama Biko 彦 some time ago as everyone knows, now he is going to publish another one after Hiakki Yagio of old pictures, changing and revising (them). It is divided into six volumes numbered In Yo Fu 風 U 雨 Kwai Mei’ – to wich I add that his Toriyama Biko 鳥山彦 of 1773 is also known as Sekien gafu 石燕画譜, as well as a translation of “Hiakki Yagio” 百鬼夜行 as Nightly Parade of a Hundred Ghosts. Joly & Inada add in a note that ‘In Yo Fu U Kwai Mei’ translates as ‘negative, positive, wind, rain, darkness and brightness.’ Yoda & Alt have here ‘He is already famed for his book Toriyamabiko. This time, he took the ancient Hyakki Yagyō scrolls as inspiration, to which he added his own inimitable touch. A publisher took note and prepared blocks for printing a book. Sekien split his work into six volumes: Yin, Yang, Wind, Rain, Darkness, and Light’. They add the following note to the Toriyamabiko:  Published in Spring of 1774 [sic], this influential art book’s name has been translated as “Toriyama’s Echoes” but also evokes the name of the yokai “yamabiko.” The Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, has made their copy available online [and I would absolutely advise you to have a look and marvel at that great four-page portrayal of a peacock (inv.no. 2009.3766)]. I would also add that the circumstance that the writer of this preface can cite the mottos for the next three volumes of the Konjaku – Zoku hyakki 今昔 続百鬼 of 1779 as well, suggests that Sekien had by 1775 already completed the first two instalments of his books of ghosts. This is also confirmed later on, as he states that ‘these three volumes of part one, zenpen 前編, are titled Gazu Hyakki yagyō‘.

The Kamaitachi, or Sickle Weasel Courtesy Smithsonian Institution, Washington

The preface is concluded, in the Joly & Inada translation ‘These books are entitled Yedzu Hiakki Yagio, he then asked me for a preface, & I could not refuse his request as we have been good friends for many years in poetry meetings, only I hesitated because of the maxim of Confucius (well bred people) dare not talk about Bakemono’ – as concerns the cited maxim, they add the note (Kunshi wa) Kwai Roku Ran Shin (wo katarazu) adding that this comes out of the Rongo [the Analects of Confucius 論語]. This would be (Kunshi wa 君子は people of virtue) Kai Ryoku Ran Shin 怪力亂神 (wo katarazu を語らず).

It is a pity that Yoda & Alt fail to make the association with the Rongo. Their last paragraph reads ‘These are the first three, entitled, naturally, Gazu Hyakki Yagyō (The Illustrated Demon Horde’s Night Parade). By and by he asked me to pen a Foreword. Sekien and I have long been traders of verse, so I could hardly refuse. But if you’re the sort who follows the conventional wisdom of shying away from talks of spirits and demons, you might find yourself wishing to avert your eyes’. Also their ‘traders of verse’ as a translation of 排歌の友にして, or ‘being friends in haikai poems’ is a bit surprising.

As for the writer of the preface, Joly & Inada have ‘Shio Shujin Rosan 紫陽主人老蠶,’ whereas Yoda & Alt have ‘Rōsan, master of Shiyō,’ and even found that this would be ‘A combination of pen names of the poet Maki Tōei (1721-1783), who also wrote under “Rōsan” (Old Silkworm) and “Shiyō-kan” (Hall of Violet Light), among others.’ This is really a great find – which I cannot check with the books I have here at hand–but I do hope that libraries will soon open again. Altogether, I would say that it is interesting to see how the two translations are at times complimentary, so I will continue to work on the Joly & Inada translations of the three other volumes of ghost books by Sekien.

Sekien Books of Ghosts

A dear friend is, like me, organizing her books – an exercise in realizing that we don’t live in eternity and must be realistic about what we can still accomplish, so get rid of most. She asked me if I would be interested in some titles and so she sent me four books for which I now have to find some place. Among these is a MS by Henry L. Joly and Inada Hogitaro, The Books of Goblins and Fantastic Dreams of Toriyama Sekiyen Toyofusa, dated Feb-Mch 1909, and apparently unpublished. 

We know Joly (1876-1920) as a professional electrical engineer and chemist with a great love for Japan, authoring his Legend in Japanese Art (1908), the just fabulous Red Cross Exhibition Catalogue (1915), his catalogue of the Behrens Collection (1913), and quite some works on signatures on tsuba and netsuke and on swords. Inada (died 1940) is probably best-known for the still invaluable Japanese Names and How to Read Them (1923) together with Koop, but also for his cataloguing of the prints exhibited at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs in Paris in the years 1909 to 1914.

They decided to make full translations, with occasional annotations, of the four books that Toriyama Sekien 鳥山石燕 (1712-1788) devoted to ghosts, goblins and apparitions, in their transcription the Yedzu Hiakki Yagio (1776), Hiakki Tsure Dzure Fukuro (1784), Konjaku Zoku Hiakki (1779), and Hiakki Yagio Shui (1781). According to a preliminary note “The following translations are taken from our copies, once in the library of Félix Regamey, who had numbered the pages consecutively from 1 to 260, including all prefaces and postfaces.”

The Nure Onna Courtesy Smithsonian Institution, Washington

Isn’t it funny to realize that Emile Guimet and Félix Regamey were together traveling Japan, Guimet searching images of Gods for what is now the Panthéon Bouddhique as an annex to the Musée Guimet in Paris, while Regamey was hunting for ghosts and goblins. Anyway, I thought it might be good to create some kind of sub-blog titled, for example, A Ghost A’day Keeps the Doctor Away — until I searched the internet to see whether ‘Sekien ghosts’ would give some result. And lo, there I found that Matt Alt and Hiroko Yoda already in 2017 published their Japan Pandemonium Illustrated. The Yokai Encyclopedias of Toriyama Sekien. So I ordered a copy that will arrive in a few weeks. Now, I decided to only publish the Joly/Inada translations of the prefaces and postfaces instead, hoping you may like them and possibly also get interested in the Alt & Yoda book. 

The first work in the series that Sekien composed, is the Hyakki yagyō 百鬼夜行 in 3 vols hanshibon, of 1776, also known as Gazu hyakki yagyō 畫圖百鬼夜行 and Ehon hyakki 繪本百鬼.

Vol 1 – 10 sh: 3 pp pref signed Tōto xxshi Shiyō Shujin Rōsan 東都□士紫陽主人老蠶 dated Anei kinoto hitsuji no fuyu  安永乙未冬 (Winter of 1775); 1 p contents; 1 p calligraphy In 陰 (the negative principle) by Rōsan 老蠶; 2 pp frontispiece: portraits of Jō and Uba as the ‘Tree Spirits’; 13 pp ills. Vol 2 – 12 sh: 1 p calligraphy 陽 (the positive principle); 1 p contents; 22 pp ills. Vol 3 – 10 sh: 1 p calligraphy 風 (Wind); 1 p contents; 15 pp ills; 2 pp postface signed Sekien Gessō no shita, s: Toriyama uji, Toyofusa 石燕月窓下 印:鳥山氏, 豊房, dated kinoto no hitsuji no aki kikugatsu 乙未乃秋菊月 (Autumn, IX/1775); 1 p colophon: Toriyama Sekien Toyofusa 鳥山石燕豊房/ assisted by his pupils 校合門人 Shikō 子興 (Eishōsai Chōki 栄松齋長喜)/ Gessha 月沙/ an announcement for a sequel to be cut soon 畫圖百鬼夜行後編 近刻/ block-cutter Machida Sukeemon 彫工 町田助右衛門/ Anei go hinoto saru no haru 安永五丙申春 (I/1776)/ publ Izumoji Izuminojō 御書房 出雲寺和泉掾/ Enshūya Yashichi 書林 遠州屋弥七, both in Edo.

The preface reads:

There are extraordinary changes in nature so that a stone may become a sparrow and a fude [brush] may change into a grasshopper. Toriyama Sekiyen has followed the avocation of a painter for many years and his brush changes also in many ways as he depicts almost everything that is known in nature.

He published Toriyama Biko 彦 some time ago [also known as Sekien gafu 石燕画譜, 1773] as everyone knows, now he is going to publish another one after Hiakki Yagio [Nightly Parade of a Hundred Ghosts] of old pictures, changing and revising (them). It is divided into six volumes numbered In Yo Fu 風 U 雨 Kwai Mei (negative, positive, wind, rain, darkness, brightness).

These books are entitled Yedzu Hiakki Yagio, he then asked me for a preface, & I could not refuse his request as we have been good friends for many years in poetry meetings, only I hesitated because of the maxim of Confucius (Kunshi wa) Kwai Roku Ran Shin (wo katarazu) (well bred people) dare not talk about Bakemono – (Rongo [the Analects of Confucius])

Written in the winter of Anyei, Sheep year [1775]

Shio Shujin Rosan 紫陽主人老蠶

Then there is a Postface (Batsu)

Poetry is the expression of feelings in words (voice) and painting is poetry without words, there is ”sight” but no voice but it gives all kinds of expressions and feelings as well to anyone who understands it.

As there were SanKaiKyō 山海經 in China and Hiakki Yagio by Motonobu [the painter Kanō Motonobu 狩野元信 1476-1559] in this country already and I dared to draw these pictures I was requested by a publisher to let him print them, and he was so earnest in his desire that I have decided to let them be transferred onto cherry wood blocks, in the hope that they may interest all children.

Sheep year, autumn, Kikuzuki (September [IX/1775]) under moonlight windows (1)

Sekiyen (Toriyama) Jibatsu (2) [石燕自跋]

1 – name of studio, Gessō no moto (ni oite) [月窓元]

2 – self postface 

This is a long one for the moment, but maybe it may incite you to want to know more and order the Alt & Yoda book. And I will soon come back to the prefaces to the three sequels that Sekien made.

When Hokusai’s Mount Fuji Became Second to None

As the advert for the Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji appeared in the 1st Month of 1831 in Part 12 of Ryūtei Tanehiko’s 柳亭種彦 (1783-1842) Shōhon jitate『正本製』, it was indicated that what we now usually read as Fugaku 富嶽 should be read as ‘Fuji.’ It is now difficult to know whether this was meant to help the public that might have some problem with the reading of the less common character 嶽, or whether it was, indeed, Hokusai’s or the publisher’s idea that we should read the series-title 富嶽三十六景 as Fuji sanjūrokkei.

The problem – or the question at least – comes up again in 1834 when the first part of his One Hundred Views of Mount Fuji is published, where we similarly, and correctly, usually transcribe the title 富嶽百景 as Fugaku hyakkei. That this is correct can be inferred from the small leaflet that the publishers issued in the Autumn of 1833, announcing the forthcoming album 冨嶽百景 with the indication in furigana that this should be read as ふがくひやくけい, Fugaku hyakkei that is, by ’the Old Man Iitsu formerly Hokusai’ 前北斎為一老翁 to be transcribed as saki no Hokusai Iitsu rōō

The leaflet announcing the forthcoming publication of the Fugaku hyakkei, handed to potential buyers in late 1833

It cannot be doubted that Ryūtei Tanehiko in his preface to the Fugaku hyakkei Part 1 knew that Hokusai used the characters 不二, to be read as Fuji, but literally meaning ’not’ and ‘two,’ or ‘second to none,’ often also translated as ‘peerless,’ for each of the titles of his plates. Indeed, also Tanehiko refers to the mountain as Second to None.

Interestingly, Hokusai used this spelling of the mountain’s name also in the prints in the final instalment of his Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji series – the ten prints that all have a line-block printed in black from the start. These are Minobugawa ura Fuji 身延川裏不二; Tōkaidō Shinagawa Atagoyama no Fuji 東海道品川御殿山ノ不二; Senju kagai yori chōbō no Fuji 従千住花街眺望ノ不二; and Tōkaidō Kanaya no Fuji 東海道金谷ノ不二 . It would even seem that these five prints were the last five designs that he made, not only introducing the spelling of Fuji as Second to None, as in the Fugaku hyakkei volumes, but also indicating for the first time in the titles of the series, that it was the ‘Second-to-None Mountain’ seen from here, or seen there. Until then, the mountain was not mentioned in any of the preceding fourty-one print titles.

This also corroborates that the last instalment of the Fuji series coincides with Hokusai working on his One Hundred Views of Mount Fuji albums, in 1833 or 1834. 

Hokusai Autobiography or What did Hokusai expect his art to be like at age 86?

Nobody will ever forget these lines once you have read them. That artist who was confident that he would ‘at ninety have got even closer to the essence of art, and at the age of one hundred I will reach a magnificent level, and at a hundred and ten, each dot and each line will be alive.’ Unforgettable words written by the 75 years old Katsushika Hokusai in his One Hundred Views of Mount Fuji, Fugaku hyakkei, coming out in the third month of 1834.

Personally I consider these three-volumes Hokusai’s greatest in the category of books that he largely composed himself. Judging from its popularity among the early Parisian collectors, they too considered it an absolute must for any collector of Japanese art – it ranks first when making an inventory of all those wonderful early twentieth century Parisian auction catalogues (and in case you wonder, the Bunpō gafu volumes rank second, Sukenobu’s Hyakunin jorō shinasadame third, the Hokusai manga volumes fourth, and Kitao Shigemasa’s Seirō bijin awase sugata kagami fifth). It can thus hardly come as a surprise that the short autobiography from the Fugaku hyakkei was translated into French as early as in 1883 in Louis Gonse’s l’Art japonais (Vol 1, pp 286f). The text, just slightly adapted by Edmond de Goncourt – with the assistance of Hayashi Tadamasa? – would then reach an even larger audience as it was cited in his Hokousaï of 1896 (p. 261):

Depuis l’âge de six ans, j’avais la manie de dessiner la forme des objets. Vers l’âge de cinquante ans, j’avais publié une infinité de dessins, mais tout ce que j’ai produit avant l’âge de soixante-dix ans, ne vaut pas la peine d’être compté. C’est à l’âge de soixante-treize ans, que j’ai compris à peu près la structure de la nature vraie, des animaux, des herbes, des arbres, des oiseaux, des poisons et des insects.

Par conséquent, à l’âge de quatre-vingts ans, j’aurai fait encore plus de progrès; à quatre-vingt-dix ans je pénétrerai le mystère des choses; à cent ans je serai décidément parvenu à un degré de merveille, et quand j’aurai cent dix ans, chez moi, soit un point, soit une ligne, tout sera vivant;

Je demande à ceux qui vivront autant que moi, de voir si je tiens ma parole. Écrit à l’âge de soixante-quinze ans par moi, autrefois Hokousaï, aujourd’hui Gwakiô Rôjin, le vieillard fou de dessin.

The text in the second column from the right as it appears in the colophon sheet of the One Hundred Views of Mount Fuji, courtesy National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden

My own most recent translation reads:

From the age of six I had already been drawing all kinds of things. Although I had really made many designs from the time I was fifty [1809], none of my works until my seventieth [1829] is really worth counting. It was only from the age of seventy-three [1832] that I have finally understood the true forms of animals, insects and fish, and the nature of plants and trees. Consequently, I will have made more and more progress by the age of eighty [1839], and at ninety [1849 – the year Hokusai died] I will have got even closer to the essence of art. At the age of one hundred I will reach a magnificent level, and at a hundred and ten each dot and each line will be alive. I would like to ask those who outlive me to see whether I have not spoken idly. Gakyōrōjin Manji

… actually, I am cheating a little, I should admit, this translation still had the mistaken ‘age of eighty-six’ [1845] instead of the correct ‘age of eighty’ – and that is the subject here. It was only quite recently that I discovered this widespread mistake when I first compared one of the many transcriptions of this text in Japanese handbooks with the original.

This cannot, of course, be an excuse, but like many of my colleagues, I only made my translations (see below) using very reliable sources, such as Suzuki Jūzō’s Fugaku hyakkei (Tokyo: Iwasaki Bijutsusha, 1972, p 189f, reprinted in 1986; his essay also reprinted in his Ehon to ukiyoe (Tokyo: Bijutsu Shuppansha, 1979, p 311), or Oka Isaburō in the Hokusai volume in the Ukiyoe Taikei series (Tokyo: Shūeisha, 1975, p 88), or Nagata Seiji in the Hokusai volume in the Ukiyoe hakka series (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1984, p 137), or his Katsushika Hokusai nenpu (Tokyo: Sansai Shinsha, 1985, p 117), or even his revised Katsushika Hokusai nenpu in the Hokusai kenkyū magazine, no. 22, 1997, p 148 – all, most reliable sources as you would agree, I guess. And they all make the same mistake of reading ‘eighty-six’ instead of ‘eighty years.’

I still don’t know who did it, could it really have been Suzuki sensei (is this a case of even Homer nods?) who decided to transcribe the text himself, rather than copy it from Narazaki Muneshige who had already in 1944 provided a perfect transcription in his Hokusai ron (Tokyo:  Atoriesha, 1944, p 6) or even go back to Iijima’s Katsushika Hokusai den of 1893 (Vol 1 p 52b)? Anyway, apart from Willem van Gulik (1982 and 2020), Gian Carlo Calza (2003), and myself (1988, 1991, and 2018), it were mostly Japanese writers, such as Oka Isaburō (1975), Nagata Seiji (1984, 1985, 1997, and 2005), Sakai Gankow (1993), Kōno Motoaki (1996), and Asano Shūgō (ironically in his Hokusai ketteiban, or Hokusai The Final Edition of 2010, p 177), who fell victim to this slight but very meaningful mis-transcription. What seems to have happened is that someone in transcribing the text initially read 八十六 for 八十才 (see above in the text in the picture, at the same height as the 狂 of the signature 画狂老人卍) then quickly corrected the 六 into 才, and then left both, to make the 八十六才 ‘age of eighty-six’ that from then started to corrupt this highly personal observation on his art by the artist himself.

The correct transcription of the text by Nagata Seiji, as he came to realize his earlier mistakes in 2008, in Hokusai kenkyu 42

I will continue my search for the original source of the mistake and keep updating, no final edition here. Anyway, if you have any of the books or catalogues giving ‘the age of eighty-six’ please cross out the ‘six’ or rather: paint it black.

Japanese Popular Print Culture – A Critical Review – 1760s (Part 2)

Just forgetting about the printing revolution enabling full-colour printing for those who could benefit from this development, and just focusing on the now well-established benizurie prints, it is obvious that Torii Kiyomitsu, the number two in the 1750s, climbs to the first position in the 1760s. The number two is his pupil, the new talent Torii Kiyotsune, and number three is Torii Kiyohiro – who was the number one in the 1750s. The number two of the 1750s, Ishikawa Toyonobu, is almost completely out of sight, as is Torii Kiyoshige, the number three.

Interestingly, in the format of illustrated novels, we again find the numbers one and two in single print output, Kiyotsune (43 illustrated novels) and Kiyomitsu (40 illustrated novels), here ranking second and third as illustrators of popular novels of various kinds. But it is Tomikawa Fusanobu aka Ginsetsu (126 illustrated novels – “illustrated a few small books” is the comment in Roberts, p. 27) who takes the first position. Fusanobu had been active as a publisher of popular novels and single prints under the name of Yamamoto Kyūzaemon, operating from Ōtenmachō in Edo. However, he is said to have opted to rather be an illustrator as his business declined (Ukiyoe ruikō, p. 102). Yet, the Yamamoto firm seems to have been active from the 1710s to 1768, and we first see Fusanobu as an illustrator from 1756 to 1781, using the art-name of Ginsetsu from 1772. So he may have been the second generation in the family’s publishing business, leaving this to his son. According to the Watanabe copy of the Ukiyoe ruikō, Fusanobu studied with Nishimura Shigenaga. Actually, he just concentrated on illustrations to novels of the kurohon (171) and the akahon (88) genres, and no enpon, so it seems.

Anyway, with a total of 236 illustrated novels in the 1760s, versus only 25 in the 1750s, this is the beginning of an absolutely major development that will enable us to get a more correct notion of how artists of the popular printing tradition were being evaluated in their times. Here, for example, we know both Kiyomitsu and Kiyotsune from their prints, but in regard to Fusanobu, Binyon & Sexton remark ‘About eight prints in all comprise his output’ (p. 44). We will see this again in the 1780s, when the Kitao tradition is at its height, with Kitao Shigemasa (1739-1820, act. 1766-1820) taking the third position, responsible for the illustrations of 35 popular novels, and his pupils Masayoshi (1764-1824, act. 1780-1824) and Masanobu (1761-1816, act. 1778-1804) taking the second and third position, with 150 and 120 illustrated novels respectively. But none of them is really known for his prints.

Japanese Popular Print Culture – A Critical Review – 1760s (Part 1)

We have always been taught that the 1760s would see quite drastic changes, like someone pushing the button and lo and behold, there is the Floating World in multicolour. But is there more than just the birth of full-colour printing, the development of the so-called ‘brocade prints,’ nishikie (錦繪). And is there any effect of that innovation of multicolour printing, other than the numerous privately issued egoyomi (繪暦) for 1765 and 1766 and the Katsukawa trying to overpower the Torii portraits of actors. Is there more than just Suzuki Harunobu (1724?-1770, act. 1760-70) and Katsukawa Shunshō (1726-1793, act. 1764-1793). Are we indeed living in a different world?

Anyway, I am afraid that 1765 has become too much of a magical date – more about that later. What we see in single prints in the 1760s is a considerable decline, at least just focusing on the benizurie prints that Higuchi is listing (but still have to incorporate also Mutō’s database). His total for the 1740s is a pretty sound 188, but dropping to 129 in the 1750s – which is well before the development of full-colour printing – and again decreasing by almost 50% in the 1760s, to 100. Would this mean that the single prints from the latter half of the 1760s were all full colour prints?

As we saw before, tane were mostly produced simultaneously with black and white prints, from 1678 until circa 1723, whereas urushie had already been developed from 1717. And urushie then continued to be produced until circa 1752, with benizurie making their appearance as early as in 1744. And so we must also realize that mastering the technique of colour printing would not change the landscape of prints overnight. Indeed, we find benizurie still being published in the years 1766-68 (Torii Kiyohiro [act. 1752-68] and Kitao Shigemasa [1739-1820, act. 1765-1820]), or even as late as in the years 1770-73 (Kiyonaga, the fifth generation head of the Torii studio). Many regular buyers of prints were obviously simply happy with the benizuri portrayals of actors of the kabuki theatre that they had been buying for so many years. Moreover, and more importantly, it looks as if they simply had to still their hunger with benizurie, as they did not happen to belong to the circles that had access to the novel colour prints – as I will explain later on.

And how did other formats fare? Picture books of various kinds, mostly works with just illustrations and brief captions, but also of the ehon type that Sukenobu developed in the 1740s with illustrations to longer bits of text, these number like 58 in the 1740s, created by 12 artists, a figure almost doubled in the 1750s to 112 works by 23 artists. Actually, this is not very disparate in the 1760s, with 105 works created by 26 artists, with 5 artists being responsible for one single work only. But these are total figures. If we just focus on Edo productions, we are talking about a mere 15 works by three artists in the 1740s. For the 1750s, the figure is somewhat better, with 45 picture books by eight Edo artists, and in the 1760s we finally see some difference with the Edo production at almost half of the total of 105, with 50 picture books by nine artists.

This actually shouldn’t really surprise us, as we see the same in publishing in general: until the 1770s, the total production of books by Kyoto and Osaka publishers is far more than what Edo publishers produce. It is only from the 1770s that Edo publishers beat the combined production of Kyoto and Osaka publishers, and that is the situation until this day.[1]

If we also include enpon with the picture books – assuming that these were not really seen as very different at the time – the figure of 58 for the 1740s becomes 74, now by 13 artists. And for the 1750s, the figure of 112 becomes 122 by 25 artists, and for the 1760s this would be 105 plus 29 works by 11 artists (5 from Edo), which is different – but still nothing compared to what difference enpon would make in the 1770s.

For real change, we probably have to focus on popular novels of various sub-genres, such as ukiyozōshi, yomihon, kokkeibon, sharebon, hanashibon, akabon, kurohon, aohon, and kibyōshi, known collectively as kusazōshi (草双紙). Here we see eleven popular novels illustrated by 5 artists in the 1740s. This number is more than doubled in the 1750s, to 25 novels illustrated by 11 artists (three of which did the illustrations of one novel only, and one person only illustrated two novels). And in the 1760s this is more than quadrupled to 114 various kinds of novels illustrated by 12 artists (one being responsible for one work only, and another single person doing the illustrations of only two novels). So this is really booming, it seems.


[1] With the total production of 590 books in Kyoto and Osaka combined, versus 470 in Edo in the period 1727-49, and 1335 versus 1265 in the period 1750-74, this becomes 975 versus 1190 in the period 1775-1799, or even 510 versus 1130 in the period 1800-14.