Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan/Series 1/Volume 3/Part 2/An Ancient Japanese Classic
AN ANCIENT JAPANESE CLASSIC.
(The Tosa Nikki, or Tosa Diary.)
BY
W. G. ASTON, Esq.
Read before the Asiatic Society of Japan, at Yedo,
on the 30th June, 1875.
———o———
The ancient literature of Japan contains few works of a popular character. Almost without exception, everything which has come down to us from the period when the Japanese language was in its greatest purity and perfection was written by and for a learned circle composed chiefly of the Household of the Mikado and the officials of his government.
The Tosa Nikki is not an exception to this rule. The author was a Court noble named Tsurayuki, who traced his descent in a direct line from one of the Mikados, and whose history is little more than the record of the successive offices he held at Kioto and in the provinces. One of his appointments was to the prefecture of Tosa, and it was on his journey back to Kioto after having completed the four years which were then the fixed term for such offices, that he wrote the Diary which is the subject of the present paper. Tsurayuki is also known as a poet of considerable eminence, and as the author of the famous preface to the Kokinshiu, extolled by Japanese critics as the most perfect specimen of composition extant in the native style.
The first entry in the Diary bears date the 21st day of the 12th month, and we learn from other sources that the year was the fourth year of Shohei. This would be, according to the European reckoning, some time in the months of January or February A.D. 935, or now 940 years ago.
Tsurayuki begins by telling his readers that diaries being commonly written by men, this is an attempt to write a woman’s diary. Hence he always speaks of himself in the third person, under the vague designation of ‘a certain man.’ But in Tsurayuki’s day something more than this was implied by the phrase ‘a woman’s diary.’ The learned were at this time devoted to the study of Chinese, and rarely composed in any other language, whilst the cultivation of the Japanese language was in a great measure abandoned to women. It is honorable to the women of Japan that they nobly discharged the task which devolved upon them of maintaining the credit of their native literature. I believe no parallel is to be found in the history of European letters to the remarkable fact that a very large proportion of the best writings of the best age of Japanese literature was the work of women. The Genji Monogatari, the acknowledged standard of the language for the period to which it belongs, and the parent of the Japanese novel, was written by a woman, as were also the Ise Monogatari, the Mafura Zôshi, and much of the poetry of the time. There is even reason to suppose that the traditions collected in the Kojiki, the Bible of the Shintô religion, were taken down from the mouth of a woman. With the exception of the last-mentioned work, which was committed to writing before the invention of kana, the Chinese character was very sparingly used in books written by women, and the use of Chinese vocables was also extremely limited. It is evident, therefore, that when Tsurayuki spoke of writing a ‘woman’s diary’ he meant a diary composed in the style usually employed by the women of that period.
The first day’s entry also records Tsurayuki’s departure from the Government House of Tosa, and his arrival at the port from which he was to set sail. He was accompanied here by large numbers of people who came to take leave of him. Most brought with them parting presents, usually of eatables or saké. The result was that in Tsurayuki’s words, “Strange to say, here we were all fresh by the shore of the salt sea.” He did not actually set sail till the 27th, the intervening six days being chiefly taken up in disposing of the presents, and in a visit to the newly appointed Prefect, with whom he spent a day and right in drinking and verse-making, after which he took a final leave. Tsurayuki’s successor in office shook hands with him at the bottom of the steps leading up to the house, and they bade each other farewell with many cordial, but tipsy expressions of good-will on both sides. On the following day, however, we find Tsurayuki in a different frame of mind. He tells us that during his stay in Tosa a girl had died who was born in Kioto, and that amid all the bustle and confusion of leaving port, her friends could think of nothing but her. Some one, he says, composed this verse of poetry on the occasion.
“With the joyful thought, ‘Home to Kioto,’ there mingles the bitter reflection that there is one who never will return.” We are informed by another writer that Tsurayuki here deplores the loss of his own daughter, a little girl of nine years of age.
But the jollifications had not yet come to an end. The new Prefect’s brother made his appearance at a projecting cape on their way to the first stopping place, and they were accordingly obliged to land on the beach, where there was more drinking and composing of verses. Of these verses Tsurayuki seems to have had no great opinion. He says that it required the united efforts of two of the party to make one bad verse, and he compares them to two fishermen labouring along with a heavy net on their shoulders. Their jollity was interrupted by the master of the junk who summoned them on board. There was a fair wind, he said, and the tide served; and Tsurayuki maliciously adds that there was no more saké to drink. They accordingly embarked, and proceeded on their voyage.
On the 29th, they had got no further than Ominato, a harbour only a few miles distant from their starting-point. Here they were detained for ten days waiting for a fair wind. Presents of eatables and drinkables still came in, but more sparingly, and Tsurayuki records regretfully the fate of a bottle of saké, which he had stuck in the roof of the cabin, but which was displaced by the rolling of the junk and fell overboard. One of these presents was a pheasant, which according to the old Japanese custom was attached to a flowering branch of plum. Some brought verses with their gifts. Here is a specimen.
“Louder than the clamour of the white surges on your onward path will be the cry of me weeping that I am left behind.”
Tsurayuki remarks that if that were really so, he must have a very loud voice. On the 9th of the second month, they at last sailed from Ominato. As they passed Matsubara, they admired a large grove of ancient firs which grew by the sea-shore. Tsurayuki mentions the pleasure with which they watched the storks flying about among their tops, and gives us this verse composed on the occasion.
“Casting my glance over the sea; on each fir-tree top a stork has his dwelling. They have been comrades for a thousand years.”
It became dark before they reached their next stopping-place, for like most Japanese vessels even at the present day, the idea of pursuing their voyage all night long does not seem to have occurred to them. Besides, to judge from its having gone up the Osaka river as far as Yamazaki, their junk must have been a very small one, and the diary shows that it depended more on oars than on sails. Here is Tsurayuki’s description of nightfall.
“Whilst we rowed along gazing on this scene, the mountains and the sea became all dark, the night deepened, and east and west could not be seen, so we entrusted all thought of the weather to the mind of the master of our ship. Even the men who were not accustomed to the sea became very sad, and still more the women, who rested their heads on the bottom of the ship and did nothing but weep. The sailors, however, seemed to think nothing of it, and sung the following boat-song.” Tsurayuki gives few lines of it, and then proceeds. “There was a great deal more of this kind of stuff, but I do not write it down. Listening to the laughter at these verses, our hearts became somewhat calmed in spite of the raging of the sea. It was quite dark when we at length reached our anchorage for the night.”
Three more days leisurely travelling brought them to Murotsu, a port just to the west of the eastern of the two horns which the island of Shikoku sends out to the southward. The morning after their arrival here, a slight but constant rain prevented them from starting, and the passengers took the opportunity to go on shore for a bath. In the entry for this day, Tsurayuki mentions a curious superstition. He tells us that since the day on which they first embarked no one wore scarlet or other rich colours or good silks lest they should incur the anger of the gods of the sea. The next day the rain continued. It was a Buddhist fast-day, and Tsurayuki kept it faithfully till noon, but as suitable food for fast-days was not obtainable on board, he bought with rice (not having any copper cash) a tai which one of the sailors had caught the day before. This was the beginning of a trade between him and the sailors, saké and rice being exchanged for fish. There was no change in the weather till the 17th, the fifth day from their arrival at Murotsu. On that day they started early in the morning with the moon then a few days past the full, shining over a waveless sea which reflected the sky so perfectly, that, as Tsurayoki said, the heaven above and the ocean beneath could not be distinguished. He composed the following stanza on this occasion.
“What is this that strikes against my oar as the boat is rowed along over the moon of the sea-depths? Is it the bush of the man in the moon?”
The fine weather, however, did not continue. The dark clouds which gathered overhead alarmed the master of the junk, and they put back to Murotsu under a pelting shower, and very miserable. Three more wretched days they were obliged to remain here, endeavouring with indifferent success to while away the time by writing Chinese and Japanese verses, and every morning counting the days that had been already spent on the voyage. On the 21st they again proceeded on their way. A large number of other junks sailed at the same time, a pretty sight which was greatly admired by Tsurayuki. “It was spring,” he remarks, “but it seemed as if over the sea the leaves of autumn were being scattered.” The weather was now fine, and they entered what we call the Kii Channel. Here they were disturbed by a fresh cause of anxiety. It seems that Tsurayuki during his term of office in Tosa had had occasion to deal rather severely with the pirates of these parts, and it was thought likely that they would now try to have their revenge. One of the commentators attempts to save Tsurayuki’s reputation for courage by reminding us that this diary is written in the character of a woman. The course of the narrative, however, shows that their alarm was quite genuine, and indeed, to all appearance, well-grounded. Two days later we find them praying to the Kami and Hotoke to save them from the pirates. On the following days there were constant alarms, and on the 26th they heard that the pirates were actually in pursuit of them, so they left their anchorage at midnight, and put to sea. There was a place on their way where it was usual to make offerings to the God of the sea. Tsurayuki made the captain offer nusa.[1] They were offered by being cast into the air, and allowing the wind to carry them to the sea. The nusa fell in an easterly direction, and the junk’s course was turned to the same quarter. To the great joy of all on board, they had now a favorable wind, sail was set, and they made a good day’s run. The next two days they were again stormbound, but on the 29th, they proceeded on their voyage. On the 30th they crossed the entrance to the Naruto passsage, and the same night, by dint of hard rowing they reached the strait of Idzumi. They had now reached the Gokinai, or five provinces round Kiôtô and here there was no longer any fear of pirates. They first day of the second month they made little way, and on the second we have the following entry. “The rain and wind ceased not; a whole day and a whole night we prayed to the Kami and Hotoke.” On the next day the weather was equally bad, and on the fourth the captain would not put to sea from a fear of bad weather which proved quite groundless. There were a great many beautiful shells on the beach at this place, and Tsurayuki composed these lines in allusion to a shell which is called in Japanese the wasure-gai or shell of forgetfulness.
“I would descend from my ship to gather the shell of forgetfulness of one for whom I am filled with sorrowful longing. Do ye, oh ye advancing surges drive it forward to the strand.”
He afterwards says that the true wish of his heart was not to forget her whom he had lost, but only to give such respite to his sorrow that it might afterwards gain greater strength.
The record of the 5th contains a passage which has some philological interest as giving a specimen of the spoken language at this period. Tsurayuki noticed that a chance order of the captain to his sailors was really a line of poetry of the regular number of 31 syllables. The order was as follows:—
Mifune yori | ohose-tabu nari | asagita no | ide-konu suki ni | tsuna de haya hike.
“Thus it is ordered from the august ship; (i. e. by Tsurayuki, the owner) before the morning north-wind comes forth, make haste and haul the ship along with a tow-rope.” The only form here which is distinctively colloquial is de for ni te, while mifune and tabu nari are now written forms, and would not be used in the spoken language. There are one or two other examples of the colloquial language in the Tosa nikki, and although too few to be decisive, they point to the conclusion that the spoken idiom of the time differed but little from the language employed in literature. A curious colloquial form of the future occurs, ending in zu, as in the phrase “mata makarazu” ‘I will come again.’ The same form of the future is still preserved in some of the local dialects.
I translate part of the entry for the 5th, the day before they arrived within the Osaka river. They were now opposite Sumiyoshi.
“Meanwhile a sudden gale sprung up, and in spite of all our efforts we fell gradually to leeward, and were in great danger of being sent to the bottom. “This god of Sumiyoshi,” said the Captain, “is like other gods. What he desires is not any of the fashionable articles of the day. Give him nusa as an offering.” The Captain’s advice was taken, and nusa were offered, but as the wind, instead of ceasing, only blew harder and harder, and the danger from the storm and sea became more and more imminent, the captain again said, “Because the august heart of the God is not moved for nusa, neither does the august ship move. Offer to him something in which he will take greater pleasure.” In compliance with this advice, I thought what it would be best to offer. “Of eves I have a pair—then let me give to the god my mirror, of which I have only one.” The mirror was accordingly flung into the sea, to my very great regret. But no sooner had I done so, than the sea itself became as smooth as a mirror.”
The next day, they entered the Osaka river. All the passengers, men, women and children, were overjoyed at reaching this point of their voyage, and clasped their foreheads with their hands in ecstasies of delight.
There is no mention of any city or town of Osaka in the Diary, for the simple reason that it did not then exist. Naniwa, which has been used in later times as a poetical synonym for Osaka is properly the river-mouth, as its etymology shows, naniwa meaning ‘dangerous waves.’ The bar of the Osaka river had the same evil reputation in ancient times that it has unhappily deserved too well in our own day. Several days were now spent in dragging their vessel laboriously against the strong current of the river. A fast day occurred on their way up it, which Tsurayuki had this time the satisfaction of keeping properly by abstaining entirely from fish. On the 12th, they reached Yamazaki, from which place a carriage (i.e. one of the bullock-carts in which kuges rode) was sent for to Kioto, and on the evening of the 16th they left Yamazaki for the capital. Tsurayuki was greatly delighted to recognize the old familiar landmarks as he rode along. He mentions the children’s playthings and sweetmeats in the shops as looking exactly as when he went away, and wonders whether he will find as little change in the hearts of his friends. He had purposely left Yamasaki in the evening in order that it might be night when he reached his own dwelling. I translate his account of the state in which he found it.
“The moon was shining brightly when I reached my house and entered the gate so that its condition was plainly to be seen. It was decayed and ruined beyond all description—worse even than I had been told. The heart of the man in whose charge I left it was in an equally dilapidated condition. The fence between the two houses had been broken down so that both seemed but one, and he appeared to have fulfilled his charge by looking in through the gaps. And yet I had supplied him by every opportunity with the means of keeping it in repair. To-night, however, I would not allow him to be told this in an angry tone, but in spite of my vexation offered him an acknowledgment for his trouble. There was in one place something like a pond where water had collected in a hollow, by the side of which grew a fir-tree. It had lost half its branches, and looked as if a thousand years had passed during the five or six years of my absence. Younger trees had grown up round it, and the whole place was in a most neglected condition, so that everyone said that it was pitiful to see. Among other sad thoughts that rose spontaneously to my mind was the memory—ah! how sorrowful!—of one who was born in this house, but who did not return here along with me. My fellow-passengers were chatting merrily with their children in their arms, but I meanwhile, still unable to contain my grief, privately repeated these lines to one who knew my heart.”
I shall not give the verses, but proceed to the last sentence of the diary which is as follows:—
“I cannot write down all my many regrets and memories; be it for good or for evil, here I will fling away my pen.”
The Tosa Nikki is a striking example of the truth of Buffon’s dictum that “style is everything.” It contains no exciting adventures or romantic situations; there are in it no wise maxims or novel information; its only merit is that it describes in simple yet elegant language the ordinary life of a traveller in Japan at the time when it was written. But these qualities have gained it a high rank amongst Japanese classics, and have ensured its being handed down to our own day as a most esteemed model for composition in the native Japanese style.
I may observe in conclusion that the Japanese of the Tosa Nikki is on the whole tolerably easy, and it may be recommended as a good book with which to begin the study of the ancient literature of Japan.
- ↑ The strips of white paper seen in Shinto Shrines, and also called Gohei.