by Ueda Akinari
But how may one analyse the total effect of the Chinese influence on the tales? Above all, Akinari's readers expected a serious author to display his knowledge of recondite classics. They welcomed the Chinese flavour, especially that of relatively fresh and unfamiliar works, such as Water Margin and the San yen. Therefore, the student of literary history will find one sort of significance. But for the general reader several other points of view come to mind. The first of these is translation. Although one cannot apply this term rigorously to any complete story, owing to the freedom that Akinari takes, some parts of certain tales come very close to being translations. Four of these, ‘Chrysanthemum Tryst,’ The House Amid the Thickets,’ ‘The Carp That Came to My Dream,’ and ‘The Lust of the White Serpent,’ retain much of the spirit of their Chinese models. Names are changed, scenes reset, and stylistic conventions, imagery, and allusions from classical Japanese literature are added, but these tales remain faithful to the Chinese and give somewhat the impression of a free and poetic translation or adaptation.
All of the four tales mentioned above, and especially ‘The Lust of the White Serpent,’ nevertheless reveal enough Japanese elements that an uninformed reader might think of them as purely a product of native inspiration. Although the immediate source for ‘The Lust of the White Serpent’ is a Chinese story about a white snake who appears in the form of a beautiful woman and bewitches a young man, Japanese legends about serpents in human guise also existed from early times. While nearly every situation in the Chinese model has its parallel in Akinari's tale, the setting, characters, and diction are all Japanese. Furthermore, the Chinese version is more loosely constructed and designed to appeal to the ordinary city-dweller. Akinari's treatment reminds the reader of a no play. The spirit, whether really that of woman or serpent, must be firmly exorcised. Although the sacrifice is great, man achieves maturity and learns to purify his heart.
Akinari's use of Chinese material (as well as that of his Japanese sources), suggests an attitude toward originality that may seem strange to a modern Western audience. Novelty for its own sake carried a low premium. Readers accepted a story more readily if they thought it was old or had come from China. Consequently, imitation was encouraged. For Akinari this act did not mean intellectual poverty or failure of the imagination; rather, it indicated a noble trust in his own strength. Far from abandoning one's creative personality and yielding himself to another author or work, one practiced imitation in order to gain aesthetic merit. By following in the footsteps of the men of old, one hoped to find new worlds. By mastering his sources, one infused them with fresh life. Imitation as an accepted mode of creativity dated back to the practice of early Chinese and Japanese poets. Far better to copy with skill, it was generally held, than to make something that was new but inane.
By understanding how Akinari uses his Chinese sources one may learn to appreciate passages that suggest another author, literary work, or even the manner of an entire period or culture. One discovers how Chinese phrases or metaphors are skillfully adapted to enrich the Japanese language and how Akinari handles the stylistic problems of his Chinese literary sources. In their visual form Chinese characters and phrases might preserve their original meaning. By adding a phonetic gloss, Akinari could suggest a Japanese interpretation and denote specific literary associations. The possibilities were virtually limitless, as if one were to mix French and English poetry with quotations from Latin and Greek classics. Owing to Akinari's ingenuity, a reader could enjoy the visual and semantic associations of the Chinese character with the security and immediacy of the Japanese phonetic script, keeping the best of both worlds. Accordingly, nearly every tale in some degree makes free use of aphorisms, images, metaphors, motifs, and ideas from Chinese texts. The discovery of how this old material is used adds to one's pleasure and enlarges one's understanding, as if a door has opened, leading into an uncharted realm of the human imagination.
11 Influence of Japanese Classics
Two streams of narrative prose flourished in Akinari's day. The first was mainly fed by earlier literature and history-Chinese as well as Japanese. The second was inspired by actual life and experience in the everyday world. More often than not, the former was serious and noble in tone and was meant to enlighten or instruct the reader. The latter was intended to be popular, amusing, and primarily for entertainment. Although a tendency to combine the two streams persisted, on the one hand Saikaku's tales of the floating world and the character sketches published by the Hachimonjiya, or ‘Figure Eight Shop,’ usually belonged to the second category, and, on the other, Ugetsu monogatari and the ‘reading books’ are properly classified with the first. Quite understandably, Akinari's indebtedness to earlier Japanese works extended to nearly every literary form and period.
No doubt the reader has already realised that the lyric impulse of the Man'yōshū and court poetry was preeminent among the Japanese influences. Indeed, poetry pervades the entire Japanese tradition. The poet, hot with the blood of life, seized experience and turned it into song, gracing whatever he touched with a startling awareness of human feelings. Concise and melodious, the poetry that resulted was rooted in everyday life, and its basic aim was to free men and women from the restraint of mundane affairs. Whenever a person was possessed by deep emotions about life and love or overcome with sadness and sorrow, whenever he felt a smothering sense of constraint, he might try through poetry to share his feelings with others and thereby find relief from his frustrations. The simplicity of Japanese poetic forms served to further this ideal. Almost anyone might combine words to form a musical pattern with a reasonably clear meaning, though the best poets in addition achieved intimacy, allusiveness, depth of feeling, and a maximum of content within a minimum of form. Certainly the attentive reader of the tales will recognise the voice of Japanese poetry, even without the aid of detailed notes, though their inclusion may lead one to still fuller appreciation.
Above all, the earliest and greatest anthology, the Man’-yōshū, exerted a conspicuous influence on the tales. Study of this collection was one of the favourite activities of the scholars of the national learning. Indeed, Akinari contributed his share to its explication and to its revival in late eighteenth-century Japan. In his choice of diction and geographic names and also in the content of the stories themselves, Akinari showed fondness for this fountainhead of Japanese poetry. A few points relating to the influence of the Man'yōshū on the tales have already been discussed, but for a full understanding of its inspiration the Western reader should consult Japanese commentaries and studies. Yet other early collections of verse, including the best-known imperial anthologies, also left their mark. The Tales of Ise, however, deserves special mention. To an early collection of waka verses it is supposed that unknown authors added brief snatches of narrative prose which told about the circumstances behind the poems. The resulting work became a classic of Japanese literature and served as a handbook for young lovers and a guide for mature men and women who wished to convey their feelings for one another in poetry. Besides the specific influence of this work on Ugetsu monogatari, in later years Akinari wrote a preface and commentary for The Tales of lse, and the title as well as the style of his light and amusing sketches on contemporary life and manners-Kuse monogatari (Ise, a place name, becoming Kuse, meaning ‘Faults’)-were derived from this Heian classic.
Traditionally, in Japan, poetry was combined with prose. The two forms harmonised, as a man and a woman well matched. The classical romances that Akinari knew and to which he devoted great energy owe much to both the poet and the storyteller. Although works such as The Tale of Genji deal with everyday life, they suggest in lyrical prose interspersed with waka verse an unreal world, which one might wind into a painted scroll, each colourful scene merging with the next.
Without suggesting that Akinari's tales in any way rival The Tale of Genji, which breaks away in volcanic fashion from the surrounding terrain to form a magnificent peak of its own, both works suggest a quest, that simpl
est of all romantic structures. Neither Lady Murasaki's novel nor Akinari's collection of tales, however, shows an insatiable craving after absolute knowledge at whatever cost. Rather, each reveals a Buddhist search for wisdom-that most pragmatic and adjustable of virtues. The authors told not of adventure or high romance, but more simply the search of the soul for understanding and the struggle of man to achieve a degree of enlightenment in a human world where people often repeat their old accustomed mistakes. The wisdom found in Akinari's tales, therefore, teaches one to find happiness in this life by casting off worldly desire and by curbing ambition. It represents a Buddhist sense of resignation (though tempered by Chinese thought and native attitudes toward life), as found in the poem,
Iro wa nioedo Though the blossoms may be fragrant,
chiri nuru wo They are doomed to fall,
waga yo tare so Just as in this world of ours
tsune naran No one lives forever.
Ui no okuyama Today I'll cross the mountains
kyō koete Of this mortal world
asaki yume mi shi And cast off dreams of vanity
ei mo sezu And forget all futile pleasures.
Indeed, these simple stanzas, which use each phonetic symbol of the Japanese language one time only, have served for a thousand years as a sort of alphabet song, and they very nearly epitomise Akinari's theme.
The literature of the Yamato and Heian periods not only influenced the tone of Akinari's tales, but it also afforded him techniques for integrating poetry with prose and furnished him with his underlying motifs. In another way of expressing the search for wisdom that Ugetsu monogatari shares with the best-known works of Japanese literature, Akinari's contemporary, Motoori, wrote of mono no aware, or ‘the awareness of things,’ though he was referring specifically to ancient literary classics. Akinari's tales also evince this quality. Like The Tale of Genji, they may help make young people aware of the pain of growing old and recall to old people what it was to be young.
Still another kind of earlier literature that left its mark on the tales was the personal narrative, a form that emerged in the Heian period, developed during the middle ages, and maintained its popularity until the present day. Although in the West few such works figure as memorable classics, some of the most highly regarded books in the Japanese tradition consist of diaries, travel sketches, and personal essays. As with the court novel, these works often combined prose and poetry, showing the Japanese preference for mixed forms and demonstrating what a narrow and shifting boundary separate fact from fiction and art from reality. Moreover, these texts had a special impact on the development of taste. When art springs directly from life, then the personal diary, travel sketch, and random notes might furnish not only pleasure for the original writer but also enjoyment for the casual reader. Examples such as Lady Sei's Makura no sōshi (The Pillow Book)41 and Yoshida Kenkō’s Tsurezuregusa (Essays in Idleness) in a general way influenced Akinari's style and helped to form his attitudes toward life. Kenk5’s motto, ‘The one thing you can be certain of is the truth that all is uncertainty,’ indeed applies to Akinari's tales. Beauty was linked to its perishability, and the most precious thing about life was its constant surprise, a point of view that Laf-cadio Hearn called ‘the genius of Japanese civilization.’42
Besides the forms already discussed, collections of medieval Japanese stories known as setsuwa figured prominently in the tales. Oftentimes literary versions of legends handed down by word of mouth and compiled by Buddhist priests, these short narratives, that abound in miracles, contributed greatly to the development of the mixed style during the middle ages. Inspired by Buddhist sermons and scriptures, they reveal an intermingling of oral and written tradition, and because they are often allegorical and instructive, many of them resemble fables. Akinari's diction, metaphor, and handling of the supernatural especially benefited from the example of these medieval short stories. In particular, Akinari learned the storyteller's conventional formulas and transitional phrases from the medieval setsuwa, which partly helps to explain why he concludes several of his tales with passages that call to mind the raconteur's matter-of-fact ending.
Certain of the war tales, or military chronicles (the best examples of which set the standard for the mixed style from the middle ages until Akinari's day) left their mark as well. Not only did he reflect a familiarity with widely-known titles, such as the Heike monogatari (The Tales of the Heike) and the Taiheiki43 but Akinari also reveals indebtedness to lesser-known works. Rather than epic descriptions of massed combat or great warriors equal to a thousand men, however, Akinari found in these texts first of all an interpretation of national history, as discussed earlier. But he also derived from the memorable episodes of the medieval chronicles techniques for treating sad and poignant episodes in a touching manner. The war tales abound in examples of religious enlightenment and supernatural incidents. Among the remote precursors of the medieval chronicles, the Kojiki44 and the Nikon shoki45 which tell of the lineage of the gods, the conquest of unruly deities, and the exploits of the early emperors, similarly figure in both the style and content of Ugetsu monogatari. Behind these sources, no matter how indirectly, lay the inspiration of the oral tales of the mountain and forest peoples of Northern and Central Asia and the ancient prototypes of Eastern European and Siberian mythical songs, heroic folk poetry, and fully developed epics.
One more branch of medieval literature that deserves mention is the no drama. This remarkable form of theatre combines the complex literary devices of Japanese poetry, the epic material from the war tales, the philosophical outlook of Buddhism, and new elements such as the conventional michiyuki, or ‘travel scene.’ The no conveys its lyric beauty in both representational and poetic terms. Many of Akinari's ghosts and spirits, for instance, remind the reader of similar creatures in the no -at once beautiful and gentle, in a world impossible to define and yet ultimately real. During Akinari's day the no ranked high among fashionable amusements, and the ethereal quality of its texts influenced much of the popular literature and drama of the time. Both in the no and in Akinari's tales, art and life mingle independently of time and space in a manner that demonstrates the essential oneness of existence, stirring the imagination by means of music and the dance and using travel as a symbolic motif. The structure of the individual tales reveals striking similarities to that of the no plays, with an introductory portion (equivalent to the jo, or ‘preface,’ of the no), a period of development (the ha), and a climax (kyū, where music, dance, and poetry merge in flowery splendour). But even more intriguing than that of any individual drama was the influence of the no performance on the overall structure of Ugetsu mono-gatari. This matter deserves separate treatment.
By Akinari's time commercial publishing was widespread. Printed books had become ordinary items for purchase, and the practice of copying manuscripts declined. Authors might expect gain or profit from their occupation, rather than chiefly pleasure and self-satisfaction. New forms of imaginative literature matured, including haiku poetry, the short story, and the popular novel. Japanese scholars have come to refer to works of narrative prose by a number of special terms, such as kanazōshi (books written in the Japanese mixed style, rather than in pure Chinese), ukiyo-zōshi (the fiction of the floating world),yomihon (reading books), and kusazōshi (chapbooks). Nevertheless, the short stories and novels of the time displayed several features in common. They were written primarily in the mixed style, as previously mentioned. They were intended not for a small literary circle but for anyone who had the money to buy or borrow a book and leisure time to read. Each year new titles vied for success, and many authors relied on light wit, satire, and realism to win acceptance. On the one hand, numerous works catered to a perennial interest in the pleasure quarter and the entertainment world, but on the other hand some popular books inculcated a taste for contemplative pursuits, such as the study of national history, classical learning, and the scholarly branches of literature. Yet others fostered the practical virtues of loyalt
y and filial piety. A few authors, including Akinari, wrote both kinds of books-those for entertainment and also those for enlightenment. Frequently both purposes were combined in a single work, making it hard for the modern reader to set up clearly defined boundaries between what is frivolous and what is not. Nevertheless, Akinari's tales, like the best of the reading books, reflect not so much the ligher strain but rather the serious tendency in the popular literature of the day. As described above, they were part of the mainstream of Japanese literature.
12 Structure
The masterpieces of traditional Japanese literature include unusually long works such as The Tale of Genji and exceptionally brief forms like haiku. Sometimes small units were linked to make larger pieces that reveal an artistic unity of their own. Akinari's tales exemplify this point. It will be remembered that a tale about a former emperor who in a remote time had predicted an age of war and turmoil begins the collection. An announcement that the leadership of the Tokugawa shogun would bring peace to the realm marks the end. Although the significance of the arrangement of the nine tales and the overall structure might not be obvious at first, a total form emerges, indistinctly as a mystic scene in a Chinese landscape and hauntingly as the supernatural content of the tales.
To some extent certain familiar technical devices impart a unity of tone. One of these is the repetition of similar themes and patterns. For example, in ‘White Peak,’ ‘Bird of Paradise,’ and ‘Blue Hood,’ a holy man on his travels has a supernatural experience. In ‘The House Amid the Thickets,’ ‘The Caldron of Kibitsu,’ and ‘The Lust of the White Serpent,’ a man is involved with a woman who later takes the form of a ghost or spirit. Conflict between father and son is mentioned in four of the tales. Warfare figures in five of them. In six of them the main character experiences a physical collapse (reflecting the possibility that Akinari was a sufferer of epilepsy). Various stylistic devices also help to impart a sense of harmony to the collection. Careful use of the well-turned phrase, an occasional ironic or whimsical touch, and numerous scholarly allusions to Chinese and Japanese literary sources all serve this purpose. Intriguing though these qualities are, certain additional elements reinforce the feeling of psychological unity that marks the tales. The idea of the continuity of existence – the cycle of growth, illness, death – is stressed throughout the collection, conveying a sense of man's journey from the cradle to the grave and describing a series of acts and events leading from innocence to experience. Along the way one meets with a fleeting vision of the archetypal female goddess. All of this may be represented by the image of rain and moon.