Nureki Chimuo Archive

○○○○-san.

I would like to express my sincere gratitude for the five-page printout of valuable materials regarding “Kodan = Koshaku”17 that you kindly sent me.

I was truly amazed by the numerous detailed and substantial printed materials. I had no idea they existed.

Although I’ve spoken and written at length about kodan (and have even, at times, had the audacity to take the stage and perform it myself), I’ve realized how ignorant I’ve been regarding related publications. I feel like I could crawl into a hole18 (that’s an old expression!).

I’ve been forced to admit that I’m not a researcher or anything of the sort, but merely a kodan fan who’s been nothing more than a curious onlooker.

That said, regarding the masterpiece “Kodan Hakubutsushi” by Koichiro Niijima, whom you mentioned, I was astonished by the depth of its content and the vastness of its scope even before I had the chance to see the actual book.

I was struck not only by the sheer magnitude of Mr. Koichiro Niijima’s effort and dedication, but also by the fact that so many publishers, even among those known as “red-cover publishers,” numbering about 150, had released such a vast number of “Complete Works of Kodan” collections spanning the Meiji, Taisho, pre-war Showa, and post-war periods.

Had printed kodan, clearly intended to be enjoyed by reading, rather than as auditory entertainment, really became so widespread and established as a business in society?

It is astonishing that kodan works were so widely supported during the Meiji period, when print culture was only just beginning to take hold. 17 18

Kodan is a form of traditional storytelling. Koshaku is an Edo period term for storytelling. Japanese, “穴があったら入りたい” ana ga attara hairitai.

Were these dramatic stories, filled with the subtleties of human emotion and the full range of human feelings, joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure, truly embraced by the common people?

I myself have several volumes of “Kodan: Complete Collections” published in the pre-war Showa period that I’ve purchased from used bookstores over the past few years, including some from the “en-bon” era.19

Admittedly, they aren’t as old as those published by Okawaya Shoten. They’re all editions from the “Dainippon Yubenkai Kodansha,” but even so, they were all published before I was born.

Looking at the colophon again now, I was surprised to see that the publisher, Dainippon Yubenkai Kodansha,” was located at 48 Komagome-sakashita, Hongo Ward, at that time.

This is right near where I live now. It’s the neighborhood I’m always wandering around in. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of fate.

The painter Seiu Itoh also lived here, and when he passed away, Minomura Ko rushed to his side and sketched his face, whom he regarded as his mentor, at that very house in Komagome Sakashita.

Well, that aside, the contents of Volume 10 of the Kodansha Complete Collection of Rakugo, a thick 1,200-page volume in the “en-bon” format that I bought at a used bookstore three or four years ago for 700 yen, consist of four long stories: “Sekitori Senryo Nobori,” “Genna San Yushi,” “Sasagawa Shigezo,” and “Higo to Komegata.”

It also includes four short stories: “Monk Shonin,” “The Certificate of Success,” “Sakamoto Ryoma,” and “The Spirit of the Edo Kid.”

The last story, “The Spirit of the Edo Kid,” features a plot that could be described as the prototype for the human-interest tale “Bunshichi Motoyui,” which was later adapted into a kabuki play.

There are countless plays, such as “Hatasui-in Chobei,” that have been adapted from rakugo and performed on the kabuki stage, but I believe that so-called “popular theater” has an even deeper connection to rakugo than kabuki does.

The performances I saw as a child by traveling theater troupes consisted almost entirely of rakugo stories.

19

円本, en-bon, meaning one-yen book published suring the Showa era.

While rakugo is a sole art form performed at a shakuba,20 the traveling theater productions I enjoyed watching were essentially three-dimensional rakugo, with several male and female actors in authentic costumes moving about on stage.

As time went on, yakuza stories, represented by Shin Hasegawa and the “Shin Kokugeki,” emerged, and these were joined by masterpieces of the “Shinpa”21 school, leading to the tradition that continues to this day…

(Just the other day, I saw a flyer at the Mokuba-kan in Asakusa advertising “Tomorrow’s Play: Terushi’s Version of Tsuruhachi and Tsurujiro.”)

…When it comes to this world, I tend to ramble on endlessly, so I’ll stop here. I’ll save the rest for another time.

As I mentioned when we met the other day at Ronsosha in Kanda, the people who particularly influenced me as a child were Mikihiko Nagata, Mantaro Kubota, and Jun’ichiro Tanazaki, among others. However, the deeply evocative field of “Tsuruhachi Tsurujiro,” written by Matsutaro Kawaguchi and performed by Shotaro Hanayagi and Yaeko Mizutani (the previous generation) of the “Shinpa,” left me utterly spellbound. From the time I was fifteen or sixteen until today, at the age of eighty-three, I have remained spellbound ever since.

If I were to delve into the many famous “Kawaguchi-Shinpa” plays that were incorporated into traveling theater troupes (though, in reality, these were unauthorized screenings, essentially “stolen performances”), I could go on and on, so I’ll stop here.

Novels like “Rice and Soup” and “All or Nothing,” which could be described as Matsutaro Kawaguchi’s autobiographical works, as well as the full-length novels known as the “Nobuyoshi series,” are among my favorite books. I’ve read them over and over again. These are the novels that comforted my soul in my youth.

The other day, when Mr. Akira Kuroda sent me the two-volume set, the main story and its sequel, of Matsutaro Kawaguchi’s “The Story of a Sentimental Fool” published by Ronsosha, I was so grateful that tears welled up in my eyes.

It had been a long time since I’d encountered Matsutaro’s distinctive style, and I was captivated by his writing, which evokes a master of the “sewa” storytelling tradition with its crisp, rhythmic prose characteristic of the working-class neighborhoods.

At the beginning of “The Story of a Sentimental Fool,” the story of how popular novels emerged from “shorthand rakugo” is described succinctly and to the point. So for my own study, I’ll transcribe that passage here once again.

20 21

A traditional storytelling venue. A modern form of theater in Japan.

“...Engaku’s real name was Yoshisaburo Namikami and he was a rakugo storyteller under the tutelage of Kahuen Matsubayashi.”

“Matsubayashi Hakuen was a master who created rakugo stories such as ‘Kozaru Schichinosuke’ and ‘Nezumi Kozo.’ He was not merely an entertainer but a distinguished creator. Had Hakuen lived in the present day, none of us would have held a candle to him as a popular writer. The plays adapted from Hakuen’s original rakugo stories by Kawakaku Mokuan were all smashing hits, and kabuki continues to benefit from them to this day. Because it was an era when original works were not respected, Hakuen’s name was buried and only Mokuan’s fame remained. However, ‘Shimachidori’ by Akashi no Shimazo and Matsushima Chita, as well as the ‘Spring New Form’ version of ‘Nezumi Kozo,’ all of these were based on Hakuen’s original works, and Mokuan was merely the adapter.”

“Engaku was a disciple of that Hakuen. Initially known as Matsubayashi Engaku, he later called himself Gudo-ken. Due to poor health, he retired from the performing arts, learned shorthand, and attempted serialized transcriptions of rakugo stories in the newspapers and magazines of the time, which became a huge hit and served as a valuable breeding ground for the development of popular fiction.”

“...When it came to evening newspaper serials up until the mid-Taisho period, they were invariably kodan stenography, and the majority of entertainment magazines were filled to the brim with them. Unfortunately, since they lacked the creative power of Hakuen, after continuing for several years, they ran out of ideas and ended up repeating the same material. Consequently, both magazines and newspapers sought to come up with new kodan stories and commissioned third-rate writers to pen them. From among these efforts emerged the authors and works that formed the early popular novels, leading to the prosperity we see today. In other words, Engaku was, in effect, the benefactor of popular fiction.” It seems that “Kodan Hakubutsushi” by Koichiro Niijima, whom you recently introduced to me, contains even more detailed accounts of the shorthand kodan (and perhaps fictional kodan as well) performed in this area, as well as the circumstances surrounding their publication. I’m really intrigued by this.

Mr. Akira Kuroda, who is aware that the novels by Mikihiko Nagata, such as “Zero-raku” and “The Story of Ogi no Noboru,” which I read as a child and which feature traveling actors, had a profound influence on me later in life, has once again sent me some rare materials.

It’s a copy of a booklet titled “Kodan and Rakugo,” which was published as a supplement to the “Tokyo Nichi-Nichi Shimbun” on May 5, Taisho 14.

It features a piece titled “The Wandering Monk Unkai,” written by Mikihiko Nagata, a true “new-style kodan.”

A glance at the table of contents reveals that this volume contains three traditional kodan stories, three rakugo performances, and other compelling works such as waka poems by Akiko Yosano. However, the volume opens with an original kodan-style historical tale, labeled as original, in which a handsome but evil monk works behind the scenes to kidnap a beautiful woman.

The content is reminiscent of “The Transition from Shorthand Kodan to Popular Novels” by Godoken Engaku, as featured in “The Tale of the Sentimental Fool.”

In this issue of the “Tokyo Nichi-Nichi Shimbun” from Taisho 14, we clearly see a concrete example of how traditional kodan, transcribed in shorthand as a service to readers, and new kodan were published in newspapers.

Come to think of it, in my prewar home we had a complete collection of back issues of “Engei Gaho,” a magazine my father loved to read, and other theater magazines focused primarily on kabuki. Every issue invariably featured kodan and rakugo.

Partly because there were no other books available during the war, I became familiar with rakugo, kodan, and kabuki through the printed word from the time I was in elementary school.

Koichiro Niijima’s “Kodan Hakubutsushi” appears to be based on meticulous research into the vast number of publishers, both in the east and west, that compiled and published kodan stories transcribed in shorthand and edited into readable form. Here in my own circle there is also one person who has collected and researched a large number of historical materials on kodan. In this age when all manner of information flies around the internet as if by magic (though I have absolutely no connection to the IT world), you are probably already familiar with him. His name is Hideaki Yoshizawa and he resides in Saitama Prefecture.

He has accomplished the astonishing feat of compiling an encyclopedia that lists the names, backgrounds, and brief storylines of the countless characters appearing in each individual kodan, as well as the names of the storytellers who performed them in each era.

Just by opening a single page, you can grasp the profound charm of the kodan, and the passion of a researcher who loves and pursues this art with fervor surges forth with tremendous intensity. It is a magnificent book, lavish and splendid, with meticulous attention to detail extending to every corner.

Since he has already published several volumes as private editions and is known even among active kodan storytellers, I’m sure you’re already aware of him, but I thought I’d mention it just in case.

I would like to share specific thoughts on just how grateful I am to have been able to draw upon his “Encyclopedia of Kodan Works” (Volumes 1-3), “A Survey of Meiji-Era Stenographic Kodan Manuscripts,” and “Draft Chronology of the Second-Generation Matsubayashi Hakuen” in my own writing, but as this could go on endlessly, I will stop here for now.

Just now, there was a knock at the front door, and a package from Ronsosha was delivered. When I opened the thick package, it appeared to contain a copy of the tape recording from that interview you arranged for me the other day. It seems I ended up rambling about all sorts of random things again during that interview, so I’m feeling a bit unsure and anxious, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. With my heart pounding, I’m going to go through it right away. This has turned into a rather half-hearted thank-you note. Please forgive my rudeness.